Page 57 of Never Tear Us Apart
‘I’m glad you did,’ Sal said. ‘Vittoria gave me your papers, too. If she looked inside the envelope, she didn’t say anythingto me. But we must be careful, Maia. Word is going round that there might be a British and American convoy on the way to break the siege. Of course, you and I know exactly when that will be, but if we say the wrong thing to the wrong person, there is a chance we could alter history and give the island to the Axis.’
‘I actually don’t know the dates,’ I tell him, a little shamefaced. ‘History wasn’t ever really my thing. I sort of regret it now.’
‘I see.’ Sal smiles. ‘Well, that at least narrows the risk. I will keep what I know to myself. Come along then. We must hurry.’
Just as we leave the house, we see Christina walking towards us along the street.
‘Prof!’ she calls. ‘I was just on my way to call in and see how Maia was after the crash and fainting on the bus.’
Cheerfully, she hooks one arm through mine and another through a delighted Sal’s, so that we are walking three abreast.
Looking around, I see shopkeepers opening up their bare-shelved shops and little children heading somewhere to learn something. I seem to be in the morning, the day after I saw Danny nearly die. It is already incredibly warm. The sun beats down on the top of my head, seeking me out through the narrow alleyways and tall buildings.What is reality?Dr Gresch mused.If it seems real, if it feels real, then what does it matter either way?I feel the hot road underfoot, the touch of my hair on my neck, the thinness of Christina’s arm in mine, and in my heart, there’s a quiet desperation to know how Danny is today. I can’t remember the last time when I felt anything so keenly as everything I am feeling here and now.
‘Is Danny OK?’ I ask Christina, trying to sound casual. ‘Have you heard anything?’
‘Oh, yes, he was back in the sky last night,’ Christina says, shaking her head. ‘Those boys – they are so exhausted, but they refuse to stop, even for a second. He’ll be up there again today before long, I don’t doubt.’ Christina pauses. ‘My Warby’s off somewhere today, too. Can’t say where, but I know I’ll be holding my breath until he lands again.’ She looks at me briefly, her smile growing wan. ‘Don’t fall in love with a pilot, Maia. It’s a fool’s game and one that can only end in heartbreak. One way or another, I will lose him. All that remains to be seen is how.’
‘Come, now,’ Sal intervenes. ‘There are some young men who are like gods in the sky, and Adrian Warburton is one of them, as is Danny Beauchamp. These young men are like Icarus: they have the sun in their thrall.’
‘I don’t think you’ve heard quite the same version of that story as me,’ I say.
‘I have, but you see these men are pilots. They don’t fly into the sun; they fly out of it.’
This thought enormously cheers Christina, whose smile is restored as she listens to Sal reinvent Greek mythology just for her. As they talk, she treats him to a succession of dazzling smiles. Every now and then, she hugs his arm a little closer to her body. It’s clear that Christina has real affection for Sal, just as it’s clear Sal is very fond of Christina – and so am I. Now I can fully believe that there are a million of me spread out across a multitude of realities. What I find harder to fathom is that there could possibly be more than one version of someone as spectacular as Christina Ratcliffe.
I’ve almost wilted completely away by the time we reach the administration building, where Christina drops us off before heading down into the tunnels and the war rooms.
‘Now, don’t let me down in there,’ Christina tells me, brushing me off and hastily applying a dab of a blunt lipstickto my mouth and cheeks, before rubbing it in. ‘Remember I’ve vouched for you.’
‘I promise I won’t,’ I tell her.
‘That’s the spirit!’ She claps me on the shoulder before walking off to work, whistling a show tune. The sunlight follows in her wake.
Chapter Forty-One
The administration building is grand and ornate, presiding over the surrounding destruction with a kind of detached aloofness. Sal seems confident in my papers, but still, my stomach knots in anxiety as we make our way up the steps to the entrance and inside. To calm myself, I think of that other me, sleeping in Dr Gresch’s sleep lab. Is she an empty vessel, or is she dreaming me? Perhaps I am just a series of dreams, echoing across the universe. Perhaps we all are.
In the first room we are shown into, there are several women sitting at typewriters. The mechanical noise of fingers hitting keys fills the room with an industrial symphony. One noticeable exception is a young, fair-haired woman, who seems to have managed to keep up a certain level of glamour, despite shortages. She sits with her fingers poised to type, but her blue eyes that gaze towards the window are somewhere else entirely. I suppose you don’t always need to fall through a portal in reality to time-travel – her way is much better.
An older Englishwoman, probably an officer’s wife, notices me and Sal right away and clicks over to us with the air of someone used to giving orders.
It’s the British who seem to hold most of the positions of authority here. The Maltese fight side by side with their allies, but I still get a sense they are very much considered lesser in the partnership. It makes me bristle with injustice. If Sal feels it, though, he keeps it well hidden behind hisgentle smile and perfect manners. He is a natural diplomat – he’s had to learn to live incognito, not something that is easily done if you are prone to drawing attention to yourself, especially not in a country about the same size as the Isle of Wight.
‘Miss Maia Borg,’ Sal tells her, gesturing to me. ‘Come to me just recently – before that, she was staying with an aunt on the other side of the island. We have brought her papers and are presenting them as required.’
‘Thank you, Professor Borg.’ The woman glances up at him over the top of her wire-rimmed glasses as she examines the papers. ‘These seem to be in order. Please give me a moment to have them verified further. Take a seat.’
She glances at me, giving me a quick once-over before disappearing into an internal office.
‘What does that mean?’ I whisper to Sal, as I take a seat next to him. He looks down at my once-white tennis shoes with dismay. ‘Next, we must ask Miss Ratcliffe to find you presentable shoes,’ he says. ‘Perhaps I might yet find some in the house.’
‘I don’t want to wear a dead person’s shoes,’ I say.
‘No time for a sensitive disposition now, my dear,’ Sal says. ‘There is nothing on this island except for what we already had when the raids began. We must make do and mend.’
A door opens at the other end of the long room, and a tall woman enters. I recognise her at once by her stride: the doctor, and she seems to be alone. I’m not sure now is the perfect time to talk to her about Vittoria, but if there’s one thing I’ve learnt, it’s that sometimes second chances never come.
I step into her path. ‘Doctor.’
