Page 55 of Never Tear Us Apart

Chapter Fifty-Three

I know exactly where I am.

The Barrakka Gardens, on a bright day of celebration. Joy courses through me. I feel as if several tons of grief and trauma have been floated away out of my body, and I’m light, so light that I could float away into the sky, just like the coloured balloons that sail towards the sun.

Crowds throng around me, humming with chatter and laughter.

Children run in and out of adults’ legs, some waving British and Maltese flags on sticks.

I see the back of heads I think I recognise: a man holding a girl’s hand, her dark hair tangled in rat-tails down her back – somehow, I know she hates to have it brushed.

Then I see it, the banner, one of many that have been strung out across the arches that look over the harbour:

1942–1992

I am at the fiftieth anniversary of the end of the siege. Sal was here once – he might still be here. Perhaps I am here to find him.

That’s when I see the person I am really here to meet, the soul I’ve come home to.

Danny is sitting alone on a bench, as if he can’t really see all the celebrations going on around him.

He’s older now, of course, in his seventies.

His mop of brown curls has become fine white hair, cut neatly in a military style he never wore as a Spitfire pilot in Malta.

He wears a grey suit over a pale-blue shirt that exactly matches the colour of his eyes, finished with an RAF tie.

A line of medals is pinned to his lapel.

His hands, knotted with age, rest on a walking stick.

He is alone, seemingly apart from the crowds, as if he is here for another reason entirely.

The sight of him grown old is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

My eyes are full of tears as I walk to him. The crowd seems to make a path for me, and I feel as if he and I have moved eons to put aside this moment just for us.

‘Flight Lieutenant Daniel Beauchamp,’ I say, sitting down next to him and taking his hand.

‘Stitches.’ Danny turns to look at me, a slow smile spreading over his face. ‘I’ve been waiting for you, Maia. Here you are at last.’