Una stirred in her sleep, and woke, and rose, letting the years fall away. Between a thought and a thought she was settling down in the grass by the water, watching two children in a dinghy playing at war with cooking pots for helmets.
“They want to know about Dunkirk,” Dan was sitting beside her, his uniform dry and whole and his face young, still unmarked by the years in trench and hospital. “And I never can remember how it turned out.”
“That’s because it’s her story to tell,” said Puck.
So she did. And never once mentioned anyone drowning.