Epilogue
May 8, 1945. They’re calling today “V-E Day”- Victory in Europe Day. Germany has surrendered. The war in Europe is over.
I’ve been at war for 6 years. I was eighteen when it started, little more than a schoolgirl with a fascination of motorbikes and airplanes. Now I’m nearly twenty-five, a grown woman who has lived far more in her twenty-four years than many have lived in a lifetime. I’ve been a British military officer, a pilot, a spy, a fugitive, and, in the eyes of some, a war hero. I shot down an enemy plane, I flew to France under fire and crash-landed a broken plane, and I rescued a group of prisoners from certain death. I tipped Doodlebug bombs and survived the London Blitz and flew more planes than I could count. I made a best friend. I gained a new family. I fell in love.
As I joined the throngs of celebrants in London, I was struck by how sad I was, despite all the happiness of the moment. I thought to how many lives had been lost for us to come to this moment, for us to finally come to peace- so many that I had known had given up their lives for all of us to be HERE, right now. I reached into my shirt to pull out the ring that rested against my heart. It’s become a habit of mine- when I’m scared, or sad, or happy, or really anything- I grasp the ring and think of Julie. Think of how she loves me. It makes me feel almost as if she’s with me… almost.
“Maddie!”
I hear my name over the noise of the crowds. Someone is calling out to me.
“I thought I’d lost you,” she pants, out of breath after having jogged to catch up to me. She still worries about losing me, even though nearly two years have passed since our ordeal in France. She’s gained all the weight she lost back, but, like the scars on her body that are neatly covered with clothing, there are other scars below the surface, scars that don’t heal so easily.
She grasps my hand, and we walk together. No one notices that we’re holding hands, mingling in with the countless others who have gathered on the streets.
“The war’s over, Maddie.” Julie gives me one of her beaming smiles, the smiles that I thought were lost forever after Ormaie. They’re less frequent now than they used to be, but they come from time to time. When they come, it usually has something to do with me. “The war’s over. We can go HOME.”
We still haven’t decided where home will be. Perhaps Scotland, perhaps Stockport, perhaps London. Julie has even mentioned South Africa, but she still hasn’t quite convinced me yet (if I thought Kent was far away from Gran and Grandad, what would I do in South Africa). But it doesn’t matter where we live. For me, Julie will always, ALWAYS, be home.