Whisper on the Wind (55 page)

‘Ruddy-well hedge-hopping, that’s what! Nearly took the top off the load!’

‘He’s in trouble, Mat,’ Kath whispered. ‘He’s far too low.’

They watched, stunned, as the bomber disappeared behind the trees in Peddlesbury Lane, its engines spluttering.

‘He isn’t going to make it …’

They sensed and felt the impact as it hit the ground, heard the terrible roar, saw the blinding flash of the explosion high above the treetops.

‘Oh, my Lord!’

There was silence, then; a second dragged out to a minute. Then smoke, mushrooming up; black and dense, flames licking through it.

‘Mat! I must go!’ Back to Tuckets, back to Roz. Oh, God, God,
God
! One of Peddlesbury’s and with a bomb-load, too. The noise of the explosion still beat inside her head. She had never run so fast.
Roz, it’s all right. It wasn’t Sugar. It wasn’t
!

They met at the foot of Tuckets Hill; Kath breathless, chest heaving, Roz white-faced, eyes round with fear.

‘Kath! I saw it! Right at the very end of the runway – going like mad for take-off. Then it seemed to slew …’

‘
Slew
? Then what?’

‘He was going just fine. Another second and he’d have been airborne. Then something went wrong. I think it’s just behind the wood. I’m going there!’

‘No, Roz! You mustn’t! You can’t! They won’t want people there. It could be dangerous.’

But she was running already, heels kicking the ground, hair flying.

‘Wait for me!’ She couldn’t run any more. Already there was a pain in her chest. ‘Roz – come back! That wasn’t Skip; it
wasn’t
!’ Holding her heaving sides, Kath stumbled after her. Roz mustn’t see that crash. It would haunt her, if she did, every time Paul took off. ‘Wait for me …’

She caught up with her at the edge of the wood, arguing with the armed sentry who blocked her way.

‘Sorry, girl – like I said, you can’t go any further and that’s an order.’ There was damn-all to see, anyway. Just bits here, bits there and a hole so deep it could hide a hangar.

‘Which one was it? Was it Skip Wright’s?’ Her voice was high and wild, bordering on hysteria. ‘What are the markings on it? Surely you know that? It’s all I want to know.’

‘Markings? How the ’ell would I know?’ He looked up sharply as a bomber roared overhead, climbing surely, its undercarriage already up.

‘They’re still going?’ Roz gasped. ‘After what just happened, they’re still taking off?’

‘There
is
a war on, or hasn’t anybody told you?’ The sentry’s voice was surly. Today had been pay-day. He’d intended spending an hour or two at the pub tonight, not being ordered out to stand guard over a bloody great hole. Because that’s all there was to see. There’d be none of them walk away from
that
one, poor sods. ‘A war on – all right? So why don’t you go home, miss? There’s nothing you can do and I don’t want to have to call the sergeant, now do I?’

‘But I want to know! I
must
know!’

‘And I flippin’ can’t tell you.’ She was beginning to annoy him. ‘So ring the aerodrome – they’ll know something. Ring the adjutant or the padre, but don’t ask me.’

They flinched as another bomber roared into the sky above them. Two gone. Three, if you counted the first.

‘Kath – what are we to do? He won’t let me go any farther; said people would be all over the place, looking for bits of shrapnel, bits of the plane. I’m not after souvenirs – God knows I’m not. I just want to
know …
’

‘Come home, Roz. He’s right. He doesn’t know anything. We’ll ring the aerodrome – set your mind at rest …’

‘But they might refuse the call. What’ll we do if they won’t accept it?’

‘We’ll keep on ringing till they do. And if we can’t get any sense out of them tonight, then you’ll have to wait until morning when Paul phones – all right?’

‘Yes. It wasn’t Sugar, was it?’

‘Of course it wasn’t.’ She took Roz’s shoulders, gripping them tightly. ‘Listen to me, will you? You’ve had more than your fair share of trouble for one week and there’s Skip’s baby to think about, too. God wouldn’t be
that
rotten, now would He?’

‘No. You’re right. It isn’t Paul. Paul said he’d take care.’

‘And he
will.
He’s getting married next week. Now are we going home or are we going to stand here debating the issue all night? I could do with a cup of tea, I know that much. And as for you, Roz, you’ll do exactly as you’re told. When I’ve phoned Peddlesbury you’ll go to bed with a cup of hot milk – all right?’

‘All right. I’m sorry if I made a fool of myself, only it was such a shock; such a terrible explosion. I don’t seem to have slept for so long. I feel like I want to close my eyes, shut it all out and not wake up till Paul phones.’

‘That’s my girl. Sleep – that’s all you need. In no time at all it’ll be morning and you’ll be telling yourself what a fool you were to get so worried. It’s ten to one
against
it being Paul – and odds like that are just fine by me.’ Kath laid an arm across her shoulders, pulling her close. ‘Come on, now. Home.’

And Paul
? Kath sent her thoughts high and wide.
Wherever you are, whatever you are doing right now, for God’s sake take care. She can’t take much more. She really can’t
…

‘The key, Kath. I gave you the key …’

Kath dipped into her pocket, surprised she could have forgotten so heavy an object. Was it really only an hour ago she had set off, light-heartedly almost, for the binoculars?

Yet since then a bomber had crashed on take-off; had slammed into the earth behind Peddlesbury Lane wood. And they had run there, dry-mouthed, with thudding hearts only to be ordered away.

But it wasn’t S-Sugar, Kath insisted silently as she slid the big iron key into the lock. Why should it be? Roz had had more than her fair share of grief. Tonight, it must be the turn of someone else to weep.

She pushed open the door. Nothing had changed since they left. Paul was all right – they were
all
all right – in the morning he would telephone Roz and she’d be starry-eyed with joy again, breathless with relief and everything would be marvellous until next time.

‘I’m cold. This kitchen is like an ice-house.’ Roz rubbed her arms, glaring at a firegrate laid with paper and kindling. ‘I suppose we couldn’t light it?’

‘We can if you want to, but you’re cold because you aren’t eating. You’ll make yourself ill if you carry on like this,’ Kath grumbled. ‘Polly is only trying to save coal for the winter. No one needs fires in June.’ She didn’t know why she was going on so about one shovel of coal when logs were stacked high in the stables across the yard; the tearing out of the game-cover had seen to that. Next winter, and the winter after that, Ridings would be warmer than it had been for years. ‘But I suppose it mightn’t be a bad idea. We could get the water hot and have a decent bath,’ Kath conceded. ‘Shall I bring some logs in? They’ll be good and dry, now.’

‘Would you – and Kath …’

Kath turned in the doorway, knowing what was to come.

‘It’s all right, isn’t it? It wasn’t Sugar?’

‘It
wasn’t
Sugar. How many more times – oh, put the kettle on, will you. I need a cup of tea and a smoke.’

It wasn’t Sugar, she insisted as she filled the log basket. Why should it be? Why, when they were nearly at the end of their tour should the best and most experienced pilot in the squadron crash on take-off? Though it was understandable that Roz should be anxious. Roz wasn’t over the shock of her gran’s death yet, and she was only a kid when all was said and done. Of course she was anxious.

But tea was what they needed. Tea with sugar in it and be blowed to rationing. And she was taking no more refusals. Roz would eat something before she went to bed – or else!

Roz spun round almost guiltily as Kath heaved the log basket through the kitchen door.

‘I – the phone,’ she murmured. ‘No use …’

‘You rang? You tried to get through to the aerodrome? But surely –’

‘I got through, Kath. They accepted the call and I asked for the padre, only he wasn’t there. So I left a message and my phone number. The girl who answered said she’d make sure he got it.’

‘And that was all? Just that he’d ring back? The girl didn’t tell you anything?’

‘No.’ Roz turned away from Kath’s probing eyes, carefully piling wood on the fire. ‘But I didn’t ask because she wouldn’t have told me, anyway. She couldn’t have. But the padre – well, I thought that maybe, if there was anything to tell –’

‘
If
there was anything to tell – but there won’t be.’ Kath picked up the kettle. ‘And I thought we were going to have a cup of tea.’

‘Sorry. I’m still a bit light-headed. I’ll be all right, once I’ve had some sleep.’

‘Too darn right you will. And you’re going to eat something, too. When we’ve got the water hot you’ll have a bath and get straight into bed! You’re going to close your eyes and think about the wedding, what you’ll wear and how wonderful everything is going to be.’

‘The wedding.’ She looked over to the dresser and the vase of flowers. Pale pink carnations and white gypsophila. Paul had brought them on Monday night. She wondered how he’d managed to get so large a bunch. Flowers were considered a luxury now, but Gran would have been so pleased to get them. They were still fresh and sweet-smelling. Paul’s flowers. In this house. Reminding her of his love.

‘Our wedding. I can’t believe it, Kath. Roz Rennie. Sounds good, doesn’t it?’

‘It sounds great – so how about something to eat? I think we can run to toast and jam. In the morning I’ll ask Grace if she can spare me a black market egg for your breakfast – okay?’

‘Okay – and thanks. You’re an old love.’ Shyly, almost, she kissed Kath’s cheek. ‘I’m grateful – I truly am.’

‘Oh, away with your bother. It works both ways, doesn’t it? Only try to eat something or you’ll look dreadful at the church and you don’t want that, now do you?

‘And, Roz – don’t worry overmuch if the padre doesn’t ring back. Chances are he’ll be up to the eyes in it with – well – other things.’

‘I won’t. I’ve got myself in hand, now. I’ll be all right, once I’ve had some sleep.’

Sleep. Blessed, beautiful sleep. She wished she could sleep for a week; sleep until Kath shook her awake, saying, ‘This is your wedding day!’ But she couldn’t, of course, because tomorrow she must go back to work. Mat had been short-handed at a time when he could least afford to be and next week, maybe on Tuesday or Wednesday if all went well, she would be asking for more time off. Even a day could be ill afforded.

Such a quiet wedding it would be. No white satin slippers, no confetti. No trousseau, no honeymoon. No marquee on the lawn nor tiny bridesmaids stealing the show nor half the North Riding there in big, beautiful hats. And she didn’t care. Only Paul mattered, and that they be married. Soon.

Kath was washing-up at the sink when the phone rang. Quickly she snatched it up.

‘Good evening. Miss Fairchild?’

‘Sorry, Roz is – well, she’s in the bath, but I can get her down. Is it the padre?’

‘It is. I got her message. Are you family – or a close friend, perhaps?’

‘Her friend. Kath Allen. Is there anything I can do?’

A message she could take? That Sugar was all right, perhaps? It was all she wanted to know.

‘There
is
a message, Miss Allen –’

‘Yes?’ Kath sucked sharply on her breath, wishing she could see his face, read what was there, in his eyes.

‘Tell me – is it the same Rosalind Fairchild whose grandmother was recently killed? Is her young man aircrew here at Peddlesbury – Paul Rennie? And were they wanting to be married?’

‘That’s it. By special licence. I think Paul spoke to you about it.’

Her words sounded strained and strange.
Were
they wanting to be married …

‘Then the news isn’t good, I’m afraid. Are you up to it. Miss Allen? Will I come there, or can you tell her that the bomber that crashed tonight was –’ He stopped, unsure, and the silence was terrible and menacing.

‘It was Sugar, wasn’t it?’

‘The pilot’s name was John Wright. Paul Rennie was the navigator …’

‘And they’re all –’

‘There were no survivors. I’m sorry; so very sorry. Are you there, my dear? Are you all right?’

‘Yes.’ Yes, she was here but no, she wasn’t all right! She damn-well
wasn’t
!

‘And can you manage?’

‘I’ll tell her.’ Somehow, she would tell her. Tell her that her lovely world had come to an end; that there’d be no wedding, no Paul, ever again. Oh yes, she’d tell her, then hope Roz wouldn’t hate her for the rest of her life.

‘Thank you, my dear. Goodnight, then, and God bless you. I’m sorry to put such a burden on you …’

Kath stood for a long time, staring at the receiver, wondering if she had heard aright; wondering if it had been a tragic mistake.

‘I can’t do it,’ she whispered. ‘I
won’t.
’

Carefully she opened the kitchen door. Holding her breath she stood there, listening.