After Doctor Harlow left me alone, reassuring me that he would come back at any time I needed him, I lay still, looking up at the ceiling. My dream was going round and around in my head.

Each time my eyes began to close I forced them open. I didn't want to sleep and have these nightmares, Every one felt worse than the one before and the fear or the confusion I felt inside just scared me beyond belief.

I looked constantly at the clock on the wall. Two O'clock, two-thirty, three, my eyes getting so heavy but I couldn't allow sleep to overtake me.

What seemed far away, in the darkness, a light flickered, a match or something like.

Once again I heard a voice, a man's voice.

“Come on Karen, I am waiting.”

“George? Is that you?” I asked.

“You can trust me, this is the way out,” the voice urged.

I took a step towards the distant light then immediately stopped and turned for, to my right, equally distant, a door appeared, a rectangular light in the darkness.

“This is the way out Karen,” a woman's voice called.

“Karen! You have to decide, now!” the man's voice.

“I don't know who to trust, who to follow.” I called out.

“You can trust me, Karen. Come to me, you know this is the way, you can't stay here, alone,” the woman called.

“You will not be alone,” the man called, “Not if you choose this way out.”

Suddenly, the flickering light was extinguished and the distant door closed suddenly, silently and once again I was left alone in the darkness.

“No, wait!” I wailed, “Don't leave me, please...” I stared around in the silent darkness the words seemingly absorbed as they left my mouth.

As I called out I noticed a feint light begin to flicker. Not a yellow light like the flaring match but an orange glow which grew steadily larger until I could see actual flames and feel the heat from them.

That familiar feeling was rising again from the pit of my stomach, the feeling of utter panic and hopelessness.

I stared wildly about, looking for something, anything that would lead me away from the fire but there was nothing at all. Apart from the flickering flames, all else was black.

I screamed out:

“I can't bear it anymore, I don't want to die! Not like this, not alone... Help me, Please!”

There was no reply, no answers to my pleas and my voice was lost into the ether.

The heat was growing in intensity and I could hear the flames roaring all around me and now, the all pervading smell of aviation fuel. There was no escape!

The pressure from inside me rose ever higher until, seeing no way out, the scream of terror burst forth from my lungs!

At that instant, the flickering flames were gone, replaced by a soft warm light as my eyes snapped open. The morning sun was trying, and succeeding, to light the hospital room through thin curtains.

My heart was pounding and my breathing laboured as I stared wildly around the room, a nurse was beside me holding a glass of water, her hand on my arm.

Dropping back onto the pillows, I let out a groan.

“Mademoiselle,” she said as she held out the glass. “ Vous e tes bien , maintenant. ”

I had no idea what she said but gratefully took the glass from her.

“Merci ,” I replied as she released her grip on it.

For a moment I looked at the glass, the surface of the water was splashing about like the ocean during a storm as my hand trembled violently in unison with the rest of my body.

I felt physically sick.

Lifting the glass slowly to my lips I sipped at the cool water, some of it dripping down my chin as I tried to steady it using both hands whilst the young French nurse studied me, her eyes filled with pity as she held a cloth under my chin to help catch the spilling fluid.

With the gentle touch of an angel, she took the glass when I indicated I had enough and placed it on the little table, wiping my face with the cloth. I realised I had been sweating profusely and and my eyes were red and gritty due to the lack of sleep.

The clock showed ten minutes to six as I took the nurse's hand whilst she made me comfortable.

“Merci,” I smiled, genuinely grateful that she was there.

“You are welcome, Mademoiselle,” she replied with difficulty, her accent heavy, “Matron will be, erm, 'ere, soon, oui?”

I nodded and closed my eyes but instantly opened them again, fearing drifting back into the seemingly unending nightmare.

“Why were you here?” I asked her, “Did I shout out?”

“Oui, mais, Docteur 'arlow, say to, erm, 'ow is it you say, to, erm, spy on you?”

Her face contorted with concentration as she tried to remember the English words.

“To watch me,” I smiled.

“Ah, oui, to watch you,” she agreed.

“I am fine now,” I told her, “Thank you”

The day was hectic. Doctor Rousseau was true to his word and, once I had breakfasted and washed, he worked with me to get me on my feet. He and Françoise supported me whilst I learnt to walk with two crutches. It was important that I put no weight on my leg whatsoever.

By lunch time I was exhausted and lay back on my bed to rest. I closed my eyes.

“Karen?” a female voice entered my head, “Karen.”

“Oh no, not again,” I thought and immediately opened my eyes, shaking off the weariness.

Something touched my arm, a gentle grip.

“Jemima!” I exclaimed, relieved that this time, I was not dreaming.

“I am leaving now, going home.” her wide smile seemed a little forced but, as there were others around I played along.

“Already?” I replied, “That is wonderful!”

“I am going to stay a few days at a hospice in Brighton until I am well enough to go back home.”

“I have never been there,” I told her, trying so hard to keep up the small talk, my insides churning at the thought that I would be alone again, “I believe it is very nice though and the sea air will do you good.”

She smiled.

You will be home soon enough too,” she said, “and then we will catch up.”

I nodded and squeezed the hand she extended towards me.

“Have a safe journey.”

“You too,” she answered.

There was an awkward silence then, both of us lost for words until she looked up at the porter behind her and nodded. He pulled her wheelchair gently backwards and our hands slipped apart.

One last smile and she was gone.

After lunch my Dad came back. He appeared with Françoise and they were chatting away in French.

He stayed for the rest of the afternoon and we talked together like we had never talked before.

After a couple of hours he suddenly said

“Matron Blanchard told me about your dreams.”

“She told you about...?” I was astounded! She told him what I had dreamed about her and me? How could she?

“Oh, no, not about the content, just that you were suffering nightmares.” I breathed a sigh of relief.

“She thought I could help you. That was why I drank so much, shutting out the memories and the dreams.”

I didn't answer straight away. I couldn't tell him about my dreams. He wouldn't understand. Maybe about the fire and the dead people but... no, I couldn't.

“I know what you are going through, Sweetheart, probably better than anyone...”

“I can't,” I whispered, “Not yet.”

He looked at me through sad eyes.

“Don't leave it too long, Love. The Matron says you need help. You will get so tired that it will become unbearable.”

I understood that. I was so very tired already and I gazed a him for while, seeing the worry etched in his face.

“They said I am going home tomorrow. Will you come with me?”

“I can't return to England, Karen. I am listed as dead there and they may think I deserted.”

I frowned.

“Did you? Desert I mean.”

He shook his head.

“No. What I told you was the honest truth but the farmer and his wife have both passed on so there is no-one left to verify my story.” There was a brief silence, then, “You do believe me don't you?”

I smiled and nodded.

“Yes,” I said at last, “I do. I can see the change in you. That does not happen for nothing.”

“I will come to the airport with you, if would like me too,” he offered, “See you onto the plane?”

“Yes, Dad,” I replied, “I would like you to.”

The night came and went much as it had every other night since the crash. I tried to stay awake as long as possible but fatigue got the better of me and the nightmares recurred unabated. More dead faces, more flames, more panic and fear but, this time, no voices. No-one calling me this way or that.

The following morning Doctor Harlow came to see me before his shift ended.

“Hey Kiddo!” he greeted me with his usual cheery grin. “I believe you are going home today?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“I am flying back this afternoon.”

“I'm gonna miss you,” he said. “I will check up on you, see how you get on.”

“I will miss you too, Doc. Thank you for taking care of me.” I tried to be cheerful but I was scared. I was going back home and leaving behind these people who had looked after me and been so kind to me. In the few days I had been in the hospital I had grown so close to them.

“Will you promise me something?” He asked.

“If I can...”

“Remember you are strong. Remember how you were before. I know you will get through this but, most of all, don't keep it inside. Let the doctors in England help you. Promise?”

I didn't answer. I couldn't promise that.

“Karen!” he insisted, “I am serious. Please, promise me.”

I squeezed his hand tightly.

“Alright.” I conceded, “I will try.”

“I guess it is a start. Stay safe and let me know how you get on. Come back and see us when you are well again, yes?”

“You won't be able to keep me away!” I smiled.

“Take care, Honey,” he said then turned away.

I wondered then if I would actually see him again.

About lunchtime, Françoise came in. I was dressed now, in the smart new uniform the company had sent me. I knew it was going to be hard once the time came. The airline had arranged for the media to be present when I left so I was glad of the time alone with her before it all started.

“I don't know what to say,” I told her. “My whole life has changed and I couldn't have got through without you and Doctor Harlow.”

“I think you would have managed somehow, Karen,” she smiled, “But strictly between you and me, I have to say I will miss you. You have become special to me. Like a daughter,” she quickly added as I looked up at her and I too smiled.

“Thank you for being so understanding. Anyone else would have been disgusted with me.”

She took my hand as she spoke.

“I worked in a hospital during the war. I saw many such things. You must remember that most men were away fighting.”

“I will never forget you, Françoise. Thank you.”

“I will not forget you either, Karen. Will you promise me something?”

I knew what she wanted so went straight for the answer.

“All right, Françoise, I will seek help, I promise.” I gave a half smile as my eyes began to water a little.

She leaned forwards and hugged me then, placing a little kiss on each of my cheeks, said:

“Take care, ma Cherie.”

“You too,” I replied.

She went to the door then and opened it to allow the porter to bring in my wheel chair in which I would be taken to the waiting ambulance, through the throng of reporters and photographers and thence to the station where I would board a train to Bordeaux, the nearest airport.

My father travelled with me on the train along with two nurses whom the airline had provided.

We travelled in a compartment for which they had paid to be reserved just for us.

I didn't tell the airline who my father was and they accepted my story that he was just a relative whom I wanted to travel with for company.

It was a long journey, some four hours in all but It gave me time to get to know a little more about my dad and where he lived, the life he had 'inherited'.

“Did you find anyone else?” I asked him at one point.

He smiled, almost wistfully.

“No,” he replied. “I met many people and made many friends but somehow, there was never anyone who interested me romantically. I never really thought about why but I suppose, thinking about it now, that you and your mother were still living deep in my memory, hidden from my conciousness but always there.”

Under the blanket that covered my legs, I held his hand. I wanted to hug him, tell I forgave him, that I understood why he had been the way he was but I just squeezed gently.

The steady movement of the train, clicking of the wheels and my own exhausted condition made it so difficult to keep my eyes open but I persevered in forcing my eyelids apart.

Unbeknown to me, my dad had been watching me struggle.

“Let sleep come, Sweetheart,.” he said gently. “I will wake you if you become agitated,”

I nodded and let my eyes close. I was beyond tired now and just being able to let go for a minute was a joy I could not deny myself.

Almost immediately the voices returned, the man and the woman, coaxing me, calling me but before the fear returned I felt my father shaking my arm.

“Karen, wake now,” he whispered, “We are almost at Bordeaux.”

“How long did I sleep?” I asked him.

“Almost two hours,” came the reply.

“Two hours? It seems like just minutes!” I was amazed but I felt so much better. I had slept so deeply that I had thought I had only slept a few minutes but the effects were remarkable.

The train squealed to a halt in the platform and immediately I noticed the ambulance waiting to take me to the airport. The airline had arranged the journey to the minutest detail and the transfer went without a hitch.

Although my dad would not return to England with me, he could still accompany me as far as the aircraft.

Leaving the train, one of the nurses beckoned the ambulance driver who reversed his vehicle up to the carriage door. It was only a few steps so I used my crutches rather than go to the trouble of the wheelchair.

The journey to the airport took just a few minutes and on arrival I was surprised to learn that we had been cleared directly to the aeroplane on the apron..

The ambulance reversed right up to the steps and the doors swung open.

For the first time I saw the gleaming silver bird, the polished metal glinting in the late afternoon sun. It looked beautiful and couldn't wait to get on board.

I wasn't allowed to board right away though. We were here before the other passengers but my passport and baggage had to be checked by the customs officer who had come out especially.

Once he was satisfied I was given permission to board.

I turned to my dad.

“I think Doctor Harlow may have been right.”

“About what?” he asked.

“Do you believe in fate?” I asked, just as the doctor had so many days before.

“Haven't really thought about it,” he replied, “Why?”

“Doctor Harlow said that things happen for a reason. If the crash hadn't happened you would not have regained your memory and I would still have thought you were dead.”

“So what about all those who died? Was that just to bring us together then?”

“Probably not,” I answered after a short pause, “Maybe there was another reason for their deaths.”

“I think they are waiting for you,” he said, indicating the two nurses standing by the ambulance door. “Time to go.”

He helped me to my feet then we embraced as though for the last time.

“When I am strong enough I will return to see you,” I promised him.

“We have so much lost time to catch up with,” he said, “Whenever you are able to come back I will be here.”

He stepped from the ambulance and waited whilst the two nurses helped me down onto the tarmac.

It was a slow, arduous process trying to get down the steps with one leg and two crutches but with their support I was, at last, on the ground.

At the steps to the cabin, the crew were waiting, smiling.

“Miles, John!” I exclaimed, instantly recognising the pilot and co-pilot, “and Pamela, what are you doing here?”

Pamela Barnes, the cabin crew training officer, was smiling as broadly as anyone.

“I had to come, Karen,” she answered, “I always knew you were a good Stewardess from the moment I met you and you have proved me right over the years so, here I am.”

She put out her arms to embrace me and I hobbled forwards to accept the ultimate accolade from the one person I had always looked up to.

“Look at you,” she said, standing back and looking me up and down, “After all you have been through you still look so smart. I am very proud of you.”

Both the Captain, Miles Henderson and his first officer, John Wilson, stepped towards me and each hugged me.

There was silence for a moment until Miles said:

“I am so sorry about Eric and Bob.”

“Me too,” I whispered sadly, “They were good friends.”

“Come on,” he continued, “Let's get you on board and then we can load the passengers.”

I took one last looked at the polished airframe the began to hobble towards the steps.

I gripped the safety chain to haul myself up to the first step but my legs didn't want to move. I clenched my teeth and with all the strength I could muster I slowly, aided by the two nurses, pushed myself to climb up, drawing the crutches up beside me. The second step was more difficult but I managed.

Pamela was waiting patiently in the doorway, reaching out her hand as I drew near, to take one of the crutches and to support me as I struggled with the last step into the cabin.

I stood for a moment, just inside the door, catching my breath and allowing my screaming muscles to relax before taking the last few steps to my seat... seat Twenty-five!

She took my elbow to gently guide me but I didn't, no, couldn't, move!

To be continued...