Whisper on the Wind (27 page)

He wanted Roz out of this, and the two Waafs. Just frightened kids, the pair of them. Ought to have been at home with their mothers.

Hell, but this was a damn awful war.

The fingers of St Mary’s church clock pointed to seven-thirty as the Army lorry came to a stop at the top end of Alderby Green.

‘Right, then,’ the driver called. ‘This is where I turn off. You’ll be okay from here?’

Paul thanked him and said they would, helping the aircraftwomen down, holding up his arms to Roz.

‘Tonight?’ he whispered as he swung her to the ground.

‘Yes. Same time?’

‘Same time – unless …’ He didn’t have to say it.

‘See you, then.’ She knew he wouldn’t kiss her; not in front of the Waafs; not here, right in the middle of Alderby.

‘’Bye.’ His eyes said ‘I love you’, then he turned and walked away, the young girls beside him.

She waited until they had rounded the bend in the lane, then looked around her in amazement. There had been no bombs here, no fires, no killing. Nothing had changed in Alderby. Nothing ever would except that maybe this morning the milk delivery was late.

‘Kath!’ Just to see Daisy and the milk-cart, the normality of it, sent relief rushing through her. ‘Oh, Kath!’

‘You’re all right? Oh, thank God! They’re all frantic at the farm and I couldn’t say a word. They know, though.’

‘How? Who told them?’

‘Jonty. He went to Ridings when the siren went; wanted to know if you were both all right.’

‘And I wasn’t there,’ Roz whispered flatly.

‘That’s it. He stayed with your gran till the all-clear went. When I got there this morning he had a face like thunder on him.’

‘Had he just? Well, it’s none of his business, is it?’

‘It is if he loves you. But you’ll want to be getting home and I’m late enough as it is. The Warden made us all get out of bed when the bombing started; we were in the shelter most of the night and I slept through the alarm. Last up gets the worst bike. By the time I got there, there were only two left in the bike shed, and both of them with a flat tyre. Had to blow the damn thing up three times on the way.’

‘Panic all round, eh?’ Roz shrugged. ‘Look, Kath – I’ll tell you about York later. It was pretty bad; I was really afraid. Tell Mat I’ll be over just as soon as I’ve got into my working togs and had a cup of tea. And Kath – thanks.’

‘What for?’

‘For not going on and on about it; for not saying you told me so.’

‘Was it worth it, Roz?’

‘Like I said, the raid was awful, but yes, it was worth it.’

‘That’s all right then, isn’t it?’

She stood, frowning, as Roz hurried away, then clicking her tongue, she took the pony’s head, leading it on.

My, but she wouldn’t be in Roz’s shoes for anything this morning. Facing her grandmother would be one thing; facing Jonty’s rage would be altogether another.

Sorry love, but I did tell you so
…

The kitchen door opened the minute Roz set foot on the cobbled yard and she was gathered into her grandmother’s arms, and hugged until it hurt.

‘Roz! Darling, you’re all right!’

‘I’m fine, Gran, and I’m sorry to have been a worry to you, but don’t go on about it – not just yet.
Please
?’

‘I won’t. But, Roz, whatever possessed you to miss that train? What were you thinking about?’
Tell me? I’ll try to understand, truly I will. Only tell me about him. No more lies between us.

‘But that’s just it. I
didn’t
think. My watch, you see. And I was all right. There was a shelter. York’s in a terrible mess, though. There were two Waafs in the YWCA with me and we all hitched a lift back together.’
Lies. Lies.
‘The army driver told us he thought the Minster is all right, but they got the Guildhall and the station’s gutted and the Edinburgh express. The Convent got a direct hit, Gran. We saw nuns being carried out.’

Her face crumpled and she closed her eyes tightly against the tears she had been longing to cry since that first, frightening bomb; closed them against the lies she was telling and must tell, for Paul.

‘There now. It’s all over. You’re back home and that’s all that matters. Come inside and I’ll put the kettle on. A cup of tea is what we’re both in need of.’

‘I’m sorry, Gran.’ The tears came, then. ‘I’m sorry you were worried and sorry you were alone last night.’

‘But I was all right. Jonty came.’

‘Yes. Kath said.’ She should have remembered. ‘And, Gran – I – I …’

‘Yes?’
Tell me. Tell me about your airman.

‘Nothing. Just that I – I was afraid last night, that’s all.’
I want to tell you about Paul, but I can’t. I love you, but I can’t tell you about how it is between us. Not just yet.
‘And I need that cup of tea. I really do.’
Some day soon, I’ll tell you, Gran. When Paul has done his tour and we know he’ll be safe for a while. I’ll bring him home, then.
‘And I’m truly sorry – for missing the train.’
For lying about Paul and me when all I want is for you both to meet and like each other and for you to let me marry him.

But you won’t let me. You’ll say I’m too young and that I’ll understand, some day, that you were right. You’ll say it because you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be young and in love; desperately, hurtingly in love.
‘Forgiven, Gran?’

Kath was still not back from the milk-round when Roz hung her coat behind the dairy door and rolled up her sleeves. But there was plenty to do and she was glad of the quiet; glad to be here, where there’d been no bombs. Paul would be back by now, and the two Waafs. She hoped it would be all right about their kit.

Fear ran through her again just thinking of it and she took a deep breath, willing herself to be calm. It wasn’t only the air-raid; it was being found out. Gran knew, and Jonty, and there’d have to be more lies. It wasn’t fair, which was stupid, wasn’t it, when people were always saying that all was fair in love and war. Plain stupid. She flung round as the door opened, already on the defensive.

‘Well, Roz, I hope it was worth it?’ Jonty stood there, his face a mask of anger. ‘I hope it was worth all the worry you caused? And how did you get back so early?’

‘I hitched a lift, if it’s any of your business. As soon as the all-clear went, we –’

‘
We?
’ His face flushed darkly.

‘Yes!
We.
Me and two Waafs. An army lorry stopped for us.’

‘Then why didn’t you do that last night? Why didn’t you hitch a lift then?’

‘I would have, if I’d known what was going to happen. If I’d known about the air-raid, I’d never have gone to York, would I?’ She breathed in deeply, trying to be calm, to bite hard on the anger that made her want to fling the truth at him. But he knew already, didn’t he? And maybe Kath was right; maybe he
was
in love with her. ‘But don’t say you’re glad to see me; glad I’m all right!’

‘Glad to see you?’ His hands reached for her shoulders, his fury erupting as he shook her violently. ‘All right? God, you don’t deserve to be all right! You were with the airman, weren’t you? You were with him!
All night.
You’re a tramp, Roz; a
tart
!’

Her hand flew high and wide then she slammed it into his face with all the force she could muster. White-faced, wild-eyed she spat, ‘Don’t ever do that again! Don’t
ever
touch me again! You are not my keeper; you are not my lover; you are – you are
nothing
!’ She pushed into him, and bewildered by the fury of her attack he stood aside to let her pass. ‘Never – ever – touch me again!’

Head down, she ran blindly. Across the yard, across the orchard and up the lane that led to the village. Climbing the field gate she made blindly for the haystack, almost gone now, and throwing herself face down on it she began to weep with great, tearing sobs.

‘I
hate
you, Jonty!’

Her fists beat her fury into the ground. She hated him for knowing about last night; hated him for dirtying it for her. But most of all she hated him because he’d made her hate herself.

She wept until there were no tears left; sobbed out the terror that had been York, their lovely night spoiled. And she cried shame for her lies and because Jonty had called her a tramp and a tart, and that had hurt.

She sat hugging her knees, fighting fresh tears. How long she had been there she didn’t know.

‘So this is where you’ve got to?’ It was Kath. ‘Jonty sent me to look for you. Trouble, was there?’

‘I hit him.’

She wondered how Kath could be so calm, so matter-of-fact about it all. But Kath was like that. There was a quietness in her that made her that way. She had survived a lot of air-raids, hadn’t she, though she never talked about it and she hardly cried at all that day she’d fallen from the stack. But then, it wouldn’t do if everyone in the world were the same; if everyone had red hair, and a temper to match it.

‘Hit him? Silly thing to do, wasn’t it?’

‘He asked for it. He shook me, then he called me a tramp, and a tart!’

‘He’d been worried about you. And jealous, too, I shouldn’t wonder. You aren’t helping yourself any by getting into a state about it. What’s done is done. It was just bad luck about the air-raid, that’s all.’ She offered a handkerchief. ‘Here. Dry your eyes and blow your nose and let’s be having you. We’re behind with the work as it is, and I’ve still got a flat tyre to see to.’

Roz did as she was told, fear, anger, guilt all gone. Now she was drained of all emotion. She couldn’t even feel shame.

‘God, Kath, who’d be young? Just who, will you tell me? Right now I wish I were old,
really
old – or that I’d never been born. I just feel numb.’

‘I know, love.’ Kath laid an arm across the dejected, drooping shoulders. ‘But things’ll be better tomorrow. You need a good night’s sleep. We all do. And just to help you feel a little bit better, there’s the milking parlour to be mucked-out.’

Her mouth tilted into a smile, then she began to laugh and Roz laughed with her. There wasn’t anything else to do.

There was a new word; a word to add to blitz and gone for a burton and civvy and conchie and prang.
Baedeker.
One more for the vocabulary of wartime slang: the German word for reprisal.

‘Another Baedeker raid. It was on the lunchtime news. Did you hear it, Kath?’

‘No. I ate my sandwiches outside. Reprisal for what? They’ve already had a go at Exeter and Bath and Norwich. Now York.
Why
?’

‘Because they’re all precious old places; mediaeval, or with beautiful architecture. It’s senseless. Seems it’s because of that thousand-bomber raid of ours on Cologne.’

‘Did Paul’s family have any bomb damage?’

‘No. He lives in a little place outside Bath.’ Roz pushed wide the gate. ‘Wouldn’t you know it? Those stupid things always take themselves off to the bottom end of the field just before milking. I swear they can tell the time. We’d better hurry them up. No use calling them.’ They set off for the far corner of the pasture where the herd cropped steadily at the grass, swinging irritated tails at flies. ‘It was as if that raid had never happened when I got back to Alderby this morning.’

‘Bad, was it?’ Kath sensed her need to talk.

‘Awful. It was a lovely afternoon when I met Paul. The station was a happy place then, yet next morning it was bombed and blazing and people still buried under the rubble. It was like a warning not to get too smug.’

‘I know, love. Air-raids we can all do without. But try not to think about it. You and Paul were lucky.’

‘I suppose we were. Seems neither of us could have ghosted through the graveyard last Friday night.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! You’re not still on about that St Mark’s Eve thing?’

‘Not really. Just a bit edgy. I need to see Paul. It seemed wrong this morning, not kissing him. He just said, “See you” and walked off with the Waafs, as if we didn’t know each other. I wish it didn’t have to be that way.’

‘It needn’t be. I still think you should tell your gran. She’d understand. I know she would.’

‘And I know she
wouldn’t.
Oh, don’t let’s talk about it. Let’s get this lot seen to. The sooner milking’s over, the sooner I can go home. And listen! There it is – a cuckoo at last! Turn your money. Make a wish.’

‘
You
turn your money. I heard my cuckoo yesterday, after you’d gone. Only had a few coppers in my pocket, though. Does it matter?’

‘Matter? Yesterday was the twenty-eighth, you jammy beggar. That’s the lucky day for hearing your first cuckoo. Hope you wished for something really good, Kath.’

‘No. I just turned my money over, and left it at that.’

She’d heard that first cuckoo loud and clear as she walked across the stackyard to the poultry arks in the two-acre field and had gasped with pleasure and jingled the pennies in her pocket. But she hadn’t wished. She hadn’t dared. When you want something you know is wrong, you don’t push your luck. So she had shaken that almost-wish from her mind and counted the cuckoo calls instead. One for every year of life still to come, hadn’t Roz said? And it had called and called. It was still calling when she got to the poultry field and Marco had beckoned her over to the hazel hedge to show her a blackbird’s nest with five blue eggs in it.