I was angry,’ he said, his voice a soft whisper. ‘It took me a long time to realise there was nothing I could have done.’
The town hall bell suddenly struck, ringing out across St Peter Port. It was getting late. He screwed his eyes shut, feeling suddenly weary.
‘I have to go,’ he said with a sigh. ‘To get some sleep before the morning. The boats are coming at two-thirty in the morning, but the attorney general has managed to persuade them to delay boarding until six.’
Johanna let go of his hand and let out a deep breath. He tried to take hold of her again, but she pushed herself away from the wall and walked towards the end of the alley.
‘Where are you going?’ Jack called after her.
‘To the hotel,’ she shouted back over her shoulder. ‘They need volunteers. At least I can be useful!’ Johanna walked away, leaving him alone in the side street.
20 June 1940
Jack awoke with a start, the faint light of morning framing his curtains but failing to give a sense of time. The dream he had been having disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and a trickle of sweat ran between his shoulder blades. The anger he had felt upon waking subsided, almost forgotten. He knew it was aimed inward, but he couldn’t remember why he had been angry with himself. He pulled the alarm clock off the side of his bed, noting that it was roughly five minutes before he had set it to go off. As usual it felt worse waking up earlier than intended, even though the extra five minutes wouldn’t have made any difference.
He dragged himself out of the bed, barely sitting up as he did so. His sheets had been kicked to the floor during the few hours of unbearably hot sleep he had managed to grab. He pulled on some clothes, not caring that he had worn them the day before. It didn’t matter anyway, as he would head to the police station to collect his uniform before going on duty. First he wanted to see Johanna, and she wouldn’t care what he was wearing. He wasn’t happy with the way they had left things the previous evening. He needed to speak to her, to assure her that he wanted her here, that he would do everything in his power to care for her.
Jack climbed down the stairs, careful with each step. He knew the creaks and groans, but sometimes an unexpected noise would betray him. By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs he could just make out the faint murmur of his grandparents either talking, or snoring in their room, and he was careful not to disturb them. His mother would likely already be stirring; she didn’t sleep well and it was even worse in the summer heat. She was prone to night terrors, all her fears playing through her mind while she tried to sleep. He didn’t have time to check on her, especially if he wanted to find Johanna before work. The front door clicked softly open as he turned the handle. He picked up his boots with one hand, thumb and finger clasping them together, so that he could put them on outdoors.
As soon as he was outside a gust of wind caught the door and its hinges squealed as it slammed shut behind him. He winced – so much for not disturbing his family. He had been meaning to fix those hinges for some time, and now they would be angry he had disturbed them. He didn’t have time to worry about it now. The sun was just coming over the horizon, its warm glow slowly spreading across the island, and he had a lot to do before it had fully risen.
*
The Royal Hotel he was looking for was one of the main hotels in St Peter Port, near the harbour with easy access to the ferry and the shops. Prior to the war it had been one of the locations in which people had come to stay when they travelled from the mainland or Europe to experience the beauty of Guernsey. The businesses would surely be struggling to make ends meet, and he wouldn’t be surprised if some of the proprietors joined the evacuation to try to find a new life on the mainland.
Now, the hotel was a scene of furious activity, as staff piled wooden crates that were normally used for groceries by the entrance. At this time of morning it would have been strange to see so many people at work, were it not for the current circumstances. Whether the staff had volunteered to help, or had been forced to by their employers, Jack didn’t know, but he hoped it was the former.
‘I’m looking for Johanna?’ he asked one of the porters as the man dropped another crate on the pile. He waved Jack in the direction of the kitchen behind him and carried on his work without saying a word. As with a number of hotels on the island, the kitchen was in a lower ground floor, accessed by the side of the building allowing easy access for unloading supplies, and there was an almost steady stream of volunteers going back and forth. He dodged one of them as he stepped down the stairs to the main kitchen. There were more people inside working at counters, some in silence, others busy talking amongst themselves. The kitchen smelt strongly of breads, cheeses, and pickles.
He recognised her straight away, even from behind. It was the way she stood taller than everyone else and worked with a practised efficiency. It struck him that it was similar to the very first time he had laid eyes on her. He smiled to himself as he walked up behind her. She was working on her own at one side of the kitchen, away from the comings and goings of the regular staff.
‘Johanna?’ She turned and her smile made him weak at the knees. He had expected her to be angry, but as usual her anger had diminished as quickly as it had come. Her temperament was fiery, and he would not have her any other way. It had taken him a while at first to stop himself thinking that she hated him. In time she had shown him more love and passion than anyone else ever had.
‘Jack,’ she said, still smiling up at him and revealing perfect, white teeth. ‘What are you doing here?’
He stepped closer to her, wanting to take her hands in his, but she was busy working, making sandwiches for the evacuees to take with them on their journey to the mainland.
‘I wanted to say … to say.’ He hesitated despite running the words through his head over and over again on the way to the hotel. The lack of sleep was playing with his mind and he wondered if he was doing the right thing.
‘Yes?’ she asked, looking up again and nodding at him to continue. Her curly hair had been tied up and there were bags under her eyes that spoke of a lack of sleep. The whites of her eyes were red, which made it look as if she had been crying. He second-guessed himself again. Would she really appreciate what he was trying to say? He convinced himself that her smile was genuine; there was a warmth there despite her tiredness.
‘I wanted to say that I don’t want you to leave the island,’ he said, finally blurting out the words in a torrent. ‘I don’t want you to leave, not without me. I want you to stay here with me, and I will give everything to look after you.’
He couldn’t gauge her reaction. Was it shock? His heart thumped heavily in his chest, and he felt sick. He thought about walking away and forgetting everything he had said, to save himself from the embarrassment. But he could never walk away from her; he didn’t have it in him.
‘Oh, Jack,’ she said, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. ‘You should have been a poet, not a policeman.’ He wasn’t sure if she was gently mocking him or not. She wiped away the tears with an index finger, then cleaned her hands on a nearby tea towel. ‘The only thing that makes staying on this island bearable is the thought that I will be with you. Even if most people treat me like an enemy. I’ve been through worse.’
She tried to smile again, but another wave of tears took over. As always he wondered what it truly was that had happened to her in Germany,
