The next two weeks passed by in a blur. I hadn't done any lasting damage to my nails and they healed quickly. I had trained myself long ago not to bite them and, although the urge was greater for a while, I resisted and kept them trim.

My hands were the reminder of my past, a past I never wanted to return.

The Airline had been very good during my recovery and had liaised directly with Françoise, allowing me to be free from worry whilst my mind and body took the time they needed to heal and, even now, they would not be in contact with me until I arrived at the airport in Bordeaux where a representative would meet me and fly back with me.

Now that time was near, the Friday of my last weekend. My flight was arranged for the following Monday, the first day of October so I was determined to make the most of what I saw as the last weekend of my Summer.

Françoise, Pascale and Dominique had all ensured that they did not have to work or see anyone so that we could enjoy the short time I had left.

I wondered if my father would be here too, although I did appreciate that he had a lot of work at the farm and that it may not be possible. But I did hope that he would be here. He promised to be with me at the airport but the weekend would be complete if only he were here.

I pottered around the kitchen, helping the girls to prepare dinner for when their mother returned home from work. We expected her about seven so had timed the meal accordingly.

I looked at the clock on the wall. Seven fifteen.

That's odd, I thought. Françoise was always home at the same time unless she was delayed at the hospital and even then she would telephone and let us know.

I tried to put all thoughts to the back of my mind but, with all the things I had been through I found that to be impossible. I had become a worrier. Something else I had to learn to control!

Pascale checked the fish stew simmering in the pan and looked at the clock, Seven twenty-five. She frowned but said nothing. Dominique, however, was more verbose.

“Where is she? The stew will dry out if she doesn't get here soon.”

“Dominique!” Pascale scolded, casting a sideways glance toward me, “She is just delayed, she will be here soon.”

I smiled. Pascale would do anything to protect me, even wrap me in cotton wool if she could.

“Don't worry,” I said gently to her, “I am going to be back in the real world soon but thank you.”

She blushed as red as her hair but said nothing, grinning childishly with embarrassment. As I spoke I heard tyres scrunching the gravel outside.

“You see?” I said brightly to them. “Nothing to worry about after all.”

Pascale returned to the stew, picking up a wooden spoon and giving it a final stir as Dominique placed four large bowls on the surface beside the stove ready for her sister to ladle it out when their mother came in at the same time as I sliced some bread.

The car door thumped closed twice. I assumed it had not closed properly the first time.

Françoise appeared shortly.

“Mmm, that smells good,” she said to no-one in particular, “Sorry I'm late, the train was delayed.”

“Train?” Dominique asked, puzzled,”What train?”

“My train.” came the unexpected reply.

“Dad!” I exclaimed as he too put his head around the door frame.

I ran to him, throwing my arms around him and holding him tightly.

“I am so pleased to see you. I hoped you would be here.”

“Hey, hey! Steady on!” he laughed. “As if I would miss your last weekend.”

I looked at Françoise.

“You knew didn't you!” I exclaimed.

“Of course she did!” my dad laughed. “It is a long walk from the station you know.”

Françoise chuckled.

“I wanted to surprise you,” she said.

“I will get another bowl for you,” I said, “You must be starving!”

I turned around and saw that Dominique had already placed another bowl beside the stove.

“Erm, just a minute...” I said half to myself as I rubbed my chin thoughtfully, “You knew as well, didn't you? I thought there was rather a lot of stew for just the four of us!”

Pascale was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“I didn't know!” Dominique pouted as she playfully punched her sister's arm.

I suddenly felt as though it was my birthday all over again only this was better. For a start, my dad was here and then, I had the sweetest family I could ever wish for.

For the next two days we spent our time together relaxing in the sunshine, Françoise and my father sat side by side in the deckchairs, chatting whilst we younger ones played tennis and badminton and generally let the world pass us by.

Sadly, in what seemed like no time at all, Sunday night was upon us. The sun began to set, casting an orange glow under the few fluffy clouds which were scattered about the evening sky.

Dinner was a quiet affair. We all said very little, not wanting to spoil the last few hours we had together.

I was the first to mention the subject. I put my wine glass down on the table and cleared my throat of the lump which was forming as I thought about the coming morning.

“Thank you,” I said, casting my eye around each and every person at the table. “You have made me so welcome here, in your home. You have given up so much of your time and lives for me that I cannot thank you enough.”

Pascale opened her mouth to protest but I didn't give the chance to speak.

“I know the airline has paid for me to be here but you have given me far more than mere money could ever pay for, you have given me love and all the money in the world would not be enough to pay for that.”

“Karen, you don't have to...” Françoise began but I didn't allow her to finish.

“No, I know,” I replied to her, “But you have given me a life, a future. You have shown me that I was heading for a big fall. Now, I can be happy, even if I am alone for the rest of my life.”

At that point, she interrupted me.

“Karen, you will never be alone again, I promise you. As long as we are on this earth, you will be welcome here, right girls?” she addressed the sisters who were watching and smiling as she spoke. Both nodded emphatically.

“Thank you, all of you,” I said, swallowing back the aching lump which seemed to want to silence me, "I don't deserve it.”

“Yes you do!” Pascale jumped in, “You really do deserve it, and more!” Her face was reddening. “You have been so sweet to me. You have treated me with such respect and I will never meet another whom I will respect as much as I do you!”

Her face was glowing now and I could feel mine beginning to turn a matching hue.

“I know that you know how I feel about you,” she whispered, “And you have never let me believe that there could be anything between us and, at the same time, you have been my best friend and confidante so it is me that should be thanking you, Karen. I will always be your friend, whenever you need me.”

I was lost for words now and blushing furiously.

Dominique was just sitting, staring at her sister, mouth wide open.

“You mean...? You wanted...?”

“Oh shut up Dominique!” Pascale scolded and she snapped her mouth shut.

“Your Mum will explain,” I said to her.

“It's OK,” she replied, “I do know of these things, I just never knew that Pascale..., wow.”

“Well, you support her, Little One. It is not easy in this day and age.”

She looked at her sister.

“Oh Gosh, Pascale I am so sorry, I didn't mean anything. I was just surprised, that's all.”

Pascale took her sister's hand and smiled. She said nothing but gave a little nod to show that she understood.

“Besides,” I stared at her, “I thought it was you who wanted to be close to me.”

“Ha! Me? No. Why did you think that?”

“Because of how you were with me on my first night here.”

“Oh, that!” she chuckled, “Crikey no. I was just trying to help you and make you comfortable. When you stopped me I thought I had offended you, at least for a moment.”

We sat quietly for a time, each of us lost in our own thoughts as the room dimmed with the setting sun. Dominique got up to switch on the light and collect the dessert bowls from the table to wash them. It was so quiet that that the gas popped audibly as she lit the stove for some hot water and the gas hissed as the blue flames flickered beneath the big iron kettle.

It was Françoise who broke the silence. I had noticed her exchange glances with my dad before she spoke.

“Dominique, would you come and sit down for a moment, I want to ask you both something.”

The young woman returned to her chair without question but with a look of puzzlement on her face.

I waited as she returned to the table and took her place. I, too, was curious as to what she wanted to say. My journey the following day had been discussed thoroughly and I could not think of anything we had missed.

We sat quietly, impatiently, looking at each other and then, I looked at my dad. He smiled and seemed a little nervous. Was he now going to tell me he could not come to the airport with me?

The few moments we waited seemed like an eternity but then, Françoise cleared her throat gently and took a deep breath. Her face remained serious as she addressed her daughters.

“I have to tell you both something,” she began, staring anxiously at each of their faces. They both, now, looked apprehensive but didn't interrupt. The atmosphere was so tense, suddenly, that I felt as though I could cut it with a knife.

“As you know, Albert and I...” she paused, another deep breath. I looked at my dad but kept silent so as to not distract her but his face remained impassive, giving nothing away. She cleared her throat again. “..Albert and I have spent many hours together, trying, and succeeding I think...” she smiled at him, “...to unravel his tangled memories and thoughts.”

Again she stopped and looked at each one of us in turn. I had never seen her so flustered and once again I began to worry that something was seriously wrong. My heart was almost stopping now, with only the adrenalin keeping it pounding with heavy thumps.

Pascale cracked under the suspense.

“Maman, please! What is wrong?” she pleaded.

“Oh, Sweetheart, nothing is wrong,” Françoise smiled and then, almost instantly became serious again. “At least, I hope there isn't,” and turned again to my dad.

“Well, then, what is it?” Pascale insisted.

This prompted an even deeper breath from her mother who turned to face her again.

“Albert and I have become close.”

There was a stunned silence whilst the three of us took in the importance of what we just heard.

I turned to my father.

“Dad?” It was all I could manage.

At the same moment both Pascale and Dominique gasped.

“You mean...?, Pascale said.

Françoise nodded.

“Yes but we wanted to try to break it to you all before Karen goes home.”

There was another momentary silence. I didn't know how to react. All I could think of was the way he treated my poor mother, the woman he was supposed to be so in love with!

He looked at me, terrified now that I hadn't spoken. I imagined he had an idea about what I was thinking.

“Karen?”

“I, I don't know what to say, Dad, honestly I don't...”

I was lost. I didn't know whether to be happy or angry. On the one hand he was telling me that he wanted to be with the one person who I regarded almost as my surrogate mum and I should be so happy but then, on the other, he had treated my real mum with such violence and contempt. The mum who looked after me and protected me until her untimely death.

For a moment I wondered what the girls thought about their mother wanting to be with him. My mind was in a spin. I couldn't hear what they were now discussing because my own tormented thoughts were so loud in my head.

All I could see were visions of my mum with bruises, my dad knocking me across the dining room table and him drinking, drinking, drinking... I was suddenly frightened, no, terrified that it was all going to come back and start again. I couldn't breathe and began to gasp for oxygen.

“Karen, Karen!”

I could hear voices as though through a mist, distant and vague.

“Karen, breathe! Relax, sweetheart, breathe!”

I felt sick but slowly, I began to breathe and realised that I was wringing my hands together unknowing.

My dad and Françoise were either side of me, rubbing my back and encouraging me as, slowly, I stopped hyperventilating and began to breathe normally. My whole body tingled with excessive oxygen and gradually, I calmed down and was able to think clearly again.

Pascale and Dominique were frantic, their faces etched with concern. When I could finally speak again I apologised profusely.

“I'm sorry,” I said, “I'm sorry,” over and over.

“Karen, it's OK,” my dad rubbed my back. “We are the ones who should be sorry, we should have broken it to you more sensitively.”

“No, Dad, it's not that,” I tried to say but I couldn't speak. I just couldn't make my mouth form the words my brain was trying compose.

In the end I managed to force out the words that meant 'I need to think'.

I heard my father speaking to Françoise, saying they should wait a while until I was ready. I reached out and took a hand each in mine.

“No,” I said, “No, I'm sorry. I'm all right now but we do need to talk.”

“Yes, I agree,” Françoise said, “Come on, girls, we will give them some space.”

“Don't go!” I said quickly, “Please stay. You have all become like a family to me and it seems as though it is possible that we may actually now become a family so no, please stay and we will talk together, no secrets.”

I took a sip of the water that Pascale had placed in front of me, my hand shaking so much that it looked like a mini storm inside the glass. I took my father's hand.

“I'm sorry, Dad. I am afraid. No, not afraid...” I paused while I pondered the words. “No, afraid is the wrong word. I am terrified! What if you go back to how you were, what if you start drinking again. I couldn't bear you to put Pascale and Dominique through what I went through and Françoise...” I turned to her, “What about her, what if you treat her the way you did my mum?” I was becoming frantic again and my voice began to rise in pitch. I glared at my dad who had remained impassive throughout. “I promised you once and I will remind you of that now, I promised you I would kill you if you so much as raised a hand against me or my mum, well now I extend that promise.” My voice suddenly lowered in tone to become menacing. “You harm so much as one single hair on any of these wonderful people...”

“Karen!” Françoise looked at me, aghast. I stopped and stared at her. She looked angry and Dominique and Pascale looked at me, shock and astonishment etched clearly on their faces.

I turned to my dad. The tears were streaming down his face but I didn't feel sorry, I couldn't, it was how I felt but the faces that were now staring at me, the people I had come to love, were full of fear and sorrow and that alone broke my heart.

“I'm sorry,” I whispered and turned and ran from the room.

“Karen, wait, please. It's OK...”

“Give her a minute to calm down,” I heard my dad say, "I will talk to her in a minute. It's not her fault.”

I had been in my room just minutes when the door opened and both Françoise and my father entered without so much as a knock. It was Françoise who spoke first.

“Karen, what is wrong with you?” she urged, “Have you learnt nothing at all?”

I stared at her then shouted out:

“I am never going to escape the past! It will torment me for ever, I know it will! I can't go back and now I can't go on! I am trapped in a never ending nightmare from which I will never awake!”

I stood still, rigid and shaking, clenching and unclenching my fists as I sobbed heartily between sentences. “I am going insane, don't you see? I am never going to escape this! I will never, never ever have a normal life!”

“Karen...” My dad stepped towards me, his hand raised to strike me.

“Get away from me! You will hurt them all! Just like you did my mum and me!” I screamed and pushed past them both, running as fast as I could from the room, along the hall and out through the front door. I had to get away, I would not let him strike me again!

“Karen! Wait! come back! Where are you going?” I heard the voices calling after me but still I ran blindly, panicking. I ran down the gravel drive and out through the gateway. He won't hurt me again, he won't! I won't let him!

As I ran, scenes flashed through my mind. I saw Harry Simmonds, grinning insanely, his trousers around his ankles. I saw my father hitting my mother. I saw Fred, standing amidst the rubble, smiling benignly, reaching out his hand to me but, with his other, holding his erect penis. I saw dead faces, crushed and bleeding faces trapped in aircraft seats. I waved my arms about wildly, brushing them aside as I ran and I heard the scream of the bombs as they fell and the explosions. I heard the air raid siren and the screech of a bomb as it fell towards me. The force from its blast hit me hard and threw me sideways onto the road where I curled up into a ball to protect myself as I felt the life ebb slowing away from my body and a peaceful, merciful darkness began to envelope me like a black veil and through it all I saw a figure moving toward me, a black cloaked figure, holding out a bony fingered hand, beckoning me to follow him until, finally, there was... nothing!

To be continued...