Wish Me Luck (35 page)

‘Oh, I hope not!’

Robbie grinned wickedly and took her in his arms, ‘But we’d better make the most of this morning, just in case . . .’

‘Fleur? Fleur, dear, are you there?’ It was Mary Jackson calling from the foot of the stairs.

Robbie let out a groan and Fleur stifled her giggles against him, before she was able to lift her head and shout, ‘Yes, Mrs Jackson. What is it?’

‘Kenny’s here, dear.’

‘Kenny! How lovely! Oh—’ She turned back to Robbie. ‘I’m sorry, darling.’

Robbie smiled and kissed her. ‘It’s all right. Let’s go down and see him.’

They dressed quickly and hurried downstairs. Fleur flung her arms round her brother, tall and resplendent in his RAF uniform.

‘I’ve just got a spot of leave,’ he said excitedly. ‘Basic training’ll soon be finished. Then it’ll be passing out parade and I’m volunteering for fighter training . . . So, in the meantime . . .’ He saluted smartly. ‘Aircraftman Bosley reporting for duty, ma’am. Digging fatigues, is it?’

Fleur hugged him. ‘We’ll have a lovely day together, but we’re on duty tonight. It’s Robbie’s last mission for a while.’

Kenny grinned and slapped his brother-in-law on the back. ‘And there I was hoping to be escorting you in my Spitfire one of these days.’

‘Oh, you’ll get the chance. I’ve no doubt we’ll be called on to do another tour before long.’

Fleur felt her heart plummet. Naively, she thought that Robbie’s flying days would be over, that he’d be given a nice, safe desk job somewhere. In her wilder moments she’d even imagined him being in charge of the watch office, that they would be working together. But of course that would never happen. He was a trained wireless operator. Of course he would have to fly again . . .

But for today, she had both of them safely with her. They would make the most of today. ‘So,’ she said, forcing a bright smile onto her face. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘Well, I thought I’d help you in the garden a bit this morning – if you want me to, that is – and then this afternoon, I thought we’d go into Lincoln,’ Kenny said. ‘I’ll treat you to a slap-up tea in Boots cafe. How about that?’

‘You’re on. A celebration tea.’ She glanced at Robbie. ‘Do you know what day it is?’

Robbie blinked. ‘Er – Wednesday?’

Fleur smiled. ‘Well, yes it is, but I meant the date. It’s exactly a year ago today since we met.’

‘Is it really? Fancy me forgetting.’

She reached up and kissed him lightly. ‘You’re forgiven. You’ve rather had other things on your mind just lately.’

‘I’ll make a stew for all of us for dinner and an apple pie,’ Mrs Jackson said, struggling to her feet.

‘We don’t want to put you to any trouble, Mrs Jackson.’ Robbie turned to her.

‘No trouble, love.’ The old lady patted his arm and chuckled. ‘It’ll make me feel useful.’

‘Oh, I almost forgot, Mrs Jackson,’ Kenny said. ‘Dad’s sent you some eggs and butter. I’ll get them.’

As he opened the door, Ruth was coming round the corner of the cottage. Kenny’s eyes lit up. ‘Just the person I’d hoped to see. We’re going into Lincoln this afternoon for tea.’ He gave an exaggerated bow. ‘Would madam care to join us?’

‘Hi, Kenny. Fancy seeing you here. Got your wings yet?’

‘Not quite, but I start training soon. Can’t tell you where, of course.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Careless talk, and all that, but it’s somewhere down south.’

Fleur giggled. ‘Oh, I think we’re allowed to know where, Kenny. Else how will Mum know where to address all those food parcels she’s bound to want to send you?’

He blinked and his young face wore a comical expression. ‘Oh yes. I suppose so. I’m just not used to all this sort of secrecy. They dinned it into us so much that we mustn’t say this and mustn’t say that, that I’m not exactly sure what I can say and what I can’t.’ He grinned. ‘So I thought it best just to say nothing.’

They all laughed, but Fleur said, ‘I know what you mean. I felt that way too at first, but you soon find out what it’s safe to say. You can tell your family where you’re stationed but not the details about missions and so on.’

‘But I’m going to train as a fighter pilot. That’s a bit different, isn’t it? We get scrambled when enemy aircraft are approaching, don’t we?’

‘I expect so.’

‘And I suppose that’s why I’m being sent down south. That’s where the Battle of Britain went on, isn’t it?’

Fleur felt a cold shudder of apprehension run through her as she imagined her baby brother up there above the clouds chasing after enemy bombers as they thundered towards England to rain death from the skies. She quelled the feeling swiftly and smiled up at him. ‘Let’s hope there’s not so much going on now. Old Hitler seems to have other things on his mind.’

‘Good job he has,’ Kenny said with feeling. ‘We were lucky he didn’t invade in ‘forty, y’know.’

‘I do know. If he had done . . .’ She said no more, but the same thought was in all their minds. If Hitler had pressed home his invasion plans in September 1940, what would life be like right now in Britain? It didn’t bear thinking about.

‘I wish Mum would see it like that,’ Kenny murmured.

‘How is she?’

Kenny pulled a face. ‘Cross and then weepy. Hardly speaking to me one minute and then crying all over me the next.’

‘Poor Mum,’ Fleur said. ‘It’s not easy for her, Kenny.’ She punched his arm gently. ‘And for heaven’s sake, take care of yourself. And, now,’ she added briskly, ‘this garden isn’t going to dig itself.’

Ruth yawned. ‘I’ll just grab a couple of hours on my lovely soft feather bed upstairs and then I’ll nip round to Harry’s.’

The day passed all too quickly and then they were waving Kenny goodbye on the train back home. ‘Well, I’ll be off back tomorrow and then I’ll soon be up in the clouds alongside you, Robbie. Wish me luck.’

The two men shook hands and Fleur hugged her brother hard. ‘Oh, we do, we do. Good luck, darling bro.’

And then Kenny turned to Ruth. ‘Goodbye, Ruth,’ he said and suddenly he was boyishly shy.

‘Good luck, Kenny,’ Ruth said, giving him a bear hug. As she drew back, she touched his cheek tenderly and looked into his eyes as she added earnestly, ‘And take care of yourself.’

‘I will. I’ll . . . I’ll see you soon.’

Then, with a last wink to Fleur, he boarded the train and leant out of the window waving until they could no longer see him. For several minutes, Fleur stood watching the receding train until Robbie put his arm around her shoulders and said softly, ‘Come on, love, time we were all getting back. Last trip for a while – I can’t wait for tonight to be over.’

Fleur shuddered. It was the first time she’d ever heard Robbie talk like that. He must be wearier than even she had realized.

In the control tower, Fleur stood alone staring at the blackboard with the names of the aircraft chalked up as they returned. There was one blank space left. One plane had not returned from the operation.

Robbie Rodwell’s bomber.

Fleur lost track of the time she stood there, just staring at the blackboard, willing the radio to crackle into life, praying to hear the call sign. ‘Hello, Woody, this is Lindum T-Tommy calling . . .’

But the radio was silent, the space left blank. She couldn’t even have Ruth with her. She was already on duty at the debriefing. But she knew that T-Tommy had not come home. Maybe, at this very moment, Ruth was hearing what had happened to Robbie and the others. It had seemed a good omen at the time, that the call sign given to the new Lancaster they were now flying had, by coincidence, the same name as its skipper. Now, Fleur wasn’t so sure.

Kay, too, had remained in the control room, hunched over her radio but unable to meet Fleur’s eyes. Bob Watson carried on with all the necessary duties he had at the end of a mission, his face grim. He was studiously avoiding looking at either of the girls.

The room was silent, the airfield outside the window silent too in the early morning light. Though she strained her ears, there was no welcome sound of a damaged aircraft limping home.

She heard the door open behind her and for a moment her heart leapt. She spun round, her face suddenly alight with hope. There’d been a mistake! T-Tommy had landed and they’d missed it. Robbie had been safely home all the time . . .

It was her heart speaking, not her head. Control never missed a plane landing. It simply didn’t happen. They were all too professional, too thorough. But terror and hope are strange bedfellows and forced the mind to play strange tricks.

Of course it wasn’t Robbie who had stepped into the room, but Squadron Leader Tony Harris, whose aircraft had been the last to land. His face was sombre and her heart plummeted as she saw the sympathy in his eyes.

‘I’m sorry, Fleur. One of the other pilots has reported at the debriefing that he saw a bomber with two of its engines on fire going down just off the coast. It looks like it could have been T-Tommy. It’s the only one that hasn’t come back this time.’

It was a good night’s work. Even Fleur had to acknowledge that. Only one bomber missing. But why, oh why, did it have to be Robbie’s?

The lump in her throat threatened to choke her, but she managed to ask, ‘Did they see any parachutes?’

‘It was too dark to see.’

‘Thank you for letting me know, sir,’ she said, shakily.

‘There’s still a chance, Fleur. We don’t give up hope until we know for definite, do we?’ Like her, the squadron leader was forcing an optimism he didn’t really feel deep inside. He was not relishing the thought of the difficult letters that he would have to write to all the families of the missing crew, should the worst be confirmed. Fleur nodded, now not trusting herself to speak.

‘I’ll see Caroline – your commanding officer.’

If she hadn’t been so distressed, Fleur might have smiled at the squadron leader’s use of ma’am’s Christian name. Rumour on camp had it that they were seeing each other on the QT. As it was, Fleur was quite lost in a flood of grief that she scarcely noticed. She couldn’t allow herself false hope. She’d already seen too much of it. ‘I’ll see if she can arrange a spot of leave for you,’ he went on. ‘I expect you’d like to go home. See your own folks. And . . . and his mother. She’s in Nottingham, I understand.’

Fleur nodded and managed to whisper huskily, ‘Thank you.’

He moved across the room to have a word or two with Kay, who was still sitting in front of her microphone. He put his hand on her shoulder and bent down towards her, but Kay didn’t speak, didn’t even respond to his kindly gesture.

After he’d left the office, Fleur stood for a few moments longer just staring at the blank space on the blackboard. A space that would never now be filled in.

‘Fleur . . .’ She heard the scrape of a chair on the floor and heard Kay’s voice, but she held out her hand, palm outwards. She closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head. She couldn’t cope with sympathy – however well meant – at this moment. She was about to turn away, to run away as far as she could go, to deal with her anguish on her own, but then, even through her own pain, she remembered.

Tommy – Kay’s Tommy! Of course! He was missing too. How could she have been so thoughtless, so selfishly wrapped up in her own grief that she had not given a thought to Kay?

‘Oh, Kay – Kay . . .’ She held out her arms and the two girls flew to each other, holding their friend tightly and crying against each other’s shoulder. Quietly, his work finished, Bob Watson left the room.

The man felt guilty. There was nothing he could say. It would sound hypocritical. He’d never hidden his disapproval of wartime romances, let alone a wartime wedding. And now his fears had been realized and there was nothing he could say – or do. Not for the first time he silently cursed this blasted war!

After a few moments, Kay pulled herself free of Fleur’s clinging arms. ‘Right. This won’t do any good. It’s not what they would have wanted. Come on, get a grip, girl.’

Fleur was still hiccuping, overwhelmed by her grief, wallowing in a deluge of loss, despairing as to how she was ever going to cope with tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. A lifetime of loneliness stretched bleakly before her. She raised her head and stared through her tears at Kay. She couldn’t believe that the other girl was already being so callous.

With a sob she tore herself free and rushed from the control room. Once outside the building, she began to run and run until she felt as if her lungs would burst. Only when she could run no more did she sink down near the perimeter fence and lie, face down in the long, cold grass and weep.

‘Oh, please, let him be alive,’ she prayed wildly. ‘I’ll do anything, give anything – everything – if only you’ll let him be alive.’

His poor mother, she was thinking. How is she going to take it? And his grandfather? News like that might . . .

I must go and see them, Fleur told herself. Once there’s been time for the authorities to have informed them, I’ll go.

She shivered; the damp coldness of the ground was beginning to seep through. She sat up and dried her eyes, but fresh tears trickled down her face. She couldn’t stem the flow.

‘Fleur? Fleur – where are you?’

Distantly across the open ground, she heard Ruth’s anxious voice. She scrambled to her feet and through the pale morning light she could see her friend running up and down, calling her name. She waved and called weakly, ‘Here. Over here.’