His hair was blown high on top of his head and the wind already made its mark upon his skin. “No . . .”
“Did you lose something?” Catherine said carefully.
“Has someone fallen off the cliff?”
“I don’t want . . . I don’t want this,” he cried.</ span>
“Don’t want what?”
The man stole a quick glance towards the tankers dotting the ocean horizon and turned back to Catherine. “I don’t want them,” he yelled, pointing towards the sea. “I don’t want to be ruled by those murderers!”
Catherine now understood the catalyst to the man’s distress. No one on Guernsey wanted an occupation by the Germans. Half the population had fled in terror.
Catherine took another step closer, wary of the fear in his brown eyes as she did so. She reached out her hand until they were inches apart. “What’s your name?”
“Ben.”
“Ben, what about you with come with me and grab a nice piece of cake at the cake shop? How does that sound?”
The young man shook his head furiously. “No, they will be there! They have taken over everything!”
“No, they won’t be,” Catherine said slowly. “It will only be you and me.”
Ben looked behind him to the crashing waves below, his body limp in defeat. He let out a sigh and turned towards her. “Okay,I will come with you.” He reached for her hand, when another voice broke through the defiant wind.
"What’s going on here?”
Catherine glanced over her should to see a young German officer standing behind them, bracing against the wind.
Ben’s eyes widened at the sight and he started to back up towards the edge of the cliff. “No, no, no,” he mumbled, slipping on the lip of the cliff.
Heart pounding, Catherine stretched out her hand to the distressed youth. “Ben! Please, come with me,” she ordered, ignoring the figure behind her.
Ben shook his head, his hands outstretched as though seeking redemption from above. “I’m sorry. I cannot do it,” he said. “Not with him around.” Ben’s swollen eyes glanced at</ span>Catherine once more, before turning into the wind, and jumping off the cliff.
“Nooo!” Her body flashed hot then cold as she fell to her knees in the damp grass, her hand stretched outright, grasping nothing but thin air. She felt the officer brush past her as he poked his head over the cliff.
The man’s body lay crucified on the rocks, blood speckling the blue ocean water.
Catherine ignored the tugging on her arm as the German officer hauled her to her feet. Violently, she pushed him away.
“Get off me!” she screamed, regaining her footing.
He was close now, close enough she could see the lines of youth etched in his face.
“What is your name?” he asked calmly.</ div>
“Catherine La Mar.” She almost spat her name at him.
The officer dipped his head in a polite greeting as if what happened meant nothing to him. “May I see your papers?” he asked, bringing out his hand.
Catherine sucked in a breath of indignation and pulled her papers, which consisted of an identity card and birth certificate from a pocket in her dress. She watched him as he scanned them over. It was the first time she managed to have a good look at him.
It was his eyes that caught her breath, standing out in contrast to his dull uniform. They were the same shade of the sea, crashing and spitting below them. His straw-coloured hair was slicked under his visor cap. He was the perfect example of Hitler’s Aryan race.
The officer handed her papers back to her. She wanted a fight; wanted anything to contest him. “Why didn’t you stop him?” she asked.