‘Pregnant?’
She blew out a breath that made wisps of her hair fly up. ‘Yes, pregnant,’ she confirmed.
‘Hold on, that entire speech was you trying to tell me that you intended to take a flying job while you were pregnant? With my child?’
She laughed. ‘I suppose it was, yes.’
‘Over my dead body!’ he growled, leaning in and holding her close.
‘I’ll be deciding what to do with my own body, thank you very much,’ she muttered.
‘We’re actually having a baby?’ He had tears in his eyes. ‘Oh, Lizzie. This is incredible news.’
‘Try to stop me flying and I’ll divorce you immediately,’ she said.
‘I’ll tell you right now that you won’t be flying dangerous aircraft with my baby on board,’ he told her. ‘This is not a negotiation, Liz, this is me firmly putting my foot down!’
‘Just try stopping me.’ Lizzie stood, hands on hips as she glared back at him.
‘Fine, then you can’t fly without me in the cockpit beside you.’
He stood too, and a flicker or excitement ran through her. This was what it had been like working together, the fire between the two of them always flaring, and she’d missed it.
‘I’ll think about it,’ she replied with a shrug, knowing that it was probably the best compromise she was going to get.
‘You’ll be doing more than thinking about it.’
‘I haven’t told Mama yet, but I’ve asked her around for dinner,’ she said, ignoring his words. ‘I thought I’d cook for a change instead of her having us over. I actually can’t wait to tell her.’
He groaned. ‘Can’t your mother do the cooking? You know I’m only going to have to go buy ready-made food after you set the oven on fire.’
She swatted at him, but he just laughed at her.
‘Come here,’ he said, grabbing her and pulling her in, kissing her fiercely as she clung on to him. He was one in a million, her Jackson, and there wasn’t another man who’d ever have managed to get her to marry him, let alone have his child.
‘I love you,’ she whispered into his ear.
‘My crazy flygirl,’ he whispered back. ‘I love you too.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
LONDON, ENGLAND, 1946
MAY
‘What is it that could be such a big secret?’ May asked grumpily as Ben led her into their sitting room. ‘I don’t see why you can’t just tell me!’
Ben gave her a long, hard stare. ‘Can’t a man do something nice without being interrogated?’
May was about to apologise when there was a knock at the door. She rose, but Ben’s hand on her shoulder firmly pushed her back down.
‘Just sit, woman. Would you please follow orders for once?’
May swallowed her smile. ‘Yes, sir,’ she said obediently, saluting. What on earth was going on?
He disappeared and seconds later Ruby burst into the room, looking as frustrated as May felt.
‘Ruby!’ May said, standing to hug her. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I honestly have no idea,’ Ruby said, hugging her back. ‘It’s lovely to see you, but I don’t know what’s got into Tom. He wouldn’t tell me where we were going and . . .’
‘Benjamin!’ May called out. ‘Will you please explain all this?’
She traded glances with Ruby as they both sat down.
‘They’re up to something,’ Ruby said. ‘Why all the secrecy? Why didn’t he just tell me we were coming to your house?’
‘I hope you’re sitting down,’ Ben said, appearing in the doorway. ‘Because this is the best kept secret in the history of—’
‘Lizzie!’ Ruby screamed, her voice piercing through May as she leapt off the chair.
‘Surprise, ladies!’ Lizzie drawled, holding one arm up in the air dramatically, the other cradling a bouncing baby girl on her hip, who frantically flapped her arms in response.
‘Lizzie,’ May whispered, waiting for Ruby to stop squealing and hugging their friend. ‘How are you . . . ?’
Ben came up beside her and kissed her cheek. ‘Enjoy your reunion, my love. We’re off to the pub with Jackson.’
She barely heard Ben’s words. She crossed the room and wrapped an arm around Lizzie as a wave of emotion washed over her. Then she opened her arms for the little girl, who was holding out a fist to her.
‘She’s beautiful, Lizzie,’ May laughed, kissing and cuddling her. ‘Look at her! She’s just perfect.’
All of them were transfixed by the smiling, babbling child, who with her halo of blonde hair and bright blue eyes was the spitting image of her mother.
‘I could hardly make you two little Polly’s godmothers and not have you meet her, could I?’ Lizzie asked, her voice cracking.
‘Little Polly,’ May cooed, passing her to Ruby, who looked desperate to get her hands on her. ‘It’s lovely that you named her after our Polly. It means so much to all of us.’ It was true; it allowed Polly to live on in a way, and kept the memory of her alive.
As Ruby held little Polly, stroking her hair and soaking up every inch of her, May took Lizzie’s arm. ‘Come on, let’s go into the garden. Polly can crawl around on the grass and we can sit and talk. How long do we have you for?’
‘A month. So you’ll be well and truly sick of me by the time I leave,’ Lizzie teased.
May pushed the doors wide open, sunshine greeting them as they stepped out. Once she’d wished for Lizzie to go home and never come back, but that seemed like a lifetime ago. Now, she’d relish every moment with her until the very last second.
‘You look good with her,’ Lizzie told Ruby. ‘It’s the best thing, having a little one. Who would imagine me, all clucky over a child?’
May laughed. ‘Not me, that’s for sure.’
‘I, we . . .’ Ruby stuttered, kissing Polly’s little hand. ‘I’ve lost two, pregnancies I mean. We’re trying.’
Lizzie embraced her, so much softer than she’d once been, so much more open and understanding. May stood for a moment, not able to take her eyes off her friends as they sat on her lawn under the shade of the oak tree. Suddenly everything in the world felt right. They were a country at peace after six years of devastation; they were safe, they weren’t going to lose any more soldiers or pilots or civilians. And now the two women who meant the most to her in the world were sitting in her garden.
She went to make them tea, listening to the laughter and baby talk, imagining a day when she and Ben might have a brood of their own playing out there. After half a decade of everything feeling so painful, of not being able to see the light, suddenly she felt as if she were bathed in it.
‘You didn’t die for nothing,’ she whispered, as she looked skyward. They’d lost so many men, but they were free now. And without all that sacrifice, there would only have ever been darkness.
EPILOGUE
WHITE WALTHAM AIRFIELD, ENGLAND,
AUGUST 2008
RUBY
Ruby held on to her grandson’s arm as they walked out towards the airfield at White Waltham on the sixty-fourth anniversary of V-J Day. She smiled over at May, Ben, Lizzie and Jackson as she stepped onto the grass, remembering the first time she’d eyed up a Spitfire, ready to prove her flying skills, and the moment she’d stood beside May, her commanding officer, and received news that she was to transfer to Hamble and fly four-engine bombers. It was a lifetime ago; a time that her grandson would never be able to comprehend, no matter how many times he asked her about the planes she flew and the near misses she’d had in the sky. He was an impeccable young pilot himself; she was hardly able to believe that she was old enough to have a grandson dressed in a Royal Air Force uniform, serving his country as she’d done at the same age.
‘You okay, Grandma?’ he asked, patting her hand.
She smiled up at him. ‘I might be old, but an itty-bitty Spitfire isn’t enough to scare me,’ she said. The truth was, she wondered if she still had the nerves to go up in the aircraft
at all, but at almost ninety years of age, she wasn’t about to turn down the opportunity to fly one last time. She could imagine confessing her fears to Lizzie afterwards and the old biddy telling her to toughen up, and the thought only made her more determined to climb into the cockpit.
‘You don’t have to be brave for me, Grandma,’ Lewis said with a grin.
He reminded her of the men she’d met when she’d been flying, except that her grandson had grown up seeing women doing anything and everything, and back then they’d been the first of their kind. She’d never forgotten the look on most of the male pilots’ faces on seeing her climb out of a plane, especially a Wellington or a Walrus. They’d almost tripped over their jaws.
Ruby looked back at the gathered crowd and wished her husband were there to see her. He’d been her biggest advocate, her Tom, even when his mother had refused to attend the christening of their first child in protest at her daughter-in-law’s flying for the RAF; he would have been so happy to see her in a Spitfire once again. You’ve made me the proudest husband, Ruby. She could still hear his words: he’d said the same thing to her every year when they’d quietly toasted the anniversary of V-J Day. How many men can say their wives actually helped to win the war from the sky?
‘You know, these were my favourite planes, even though I did like being in charge of those big bombers,’ she said.
Lewis laughed. ‘I know, Grandma,’ he said, and she realised she’d probably told him a hundred times. ‘I’m embarrassed that you’ve flown more planes than I ever will.’
‘The perfect ladies’ plane, that’s what they used to call the Spitfire. Although I doubt they were ever designed with women in mind.’ She stood beside it now, a wave of nostalgia hitting her harder than she’d expected. She took a deep, shaky breath as memories flooded back from her flying days. Sometimes it only felt like yesterday – the adrenaline rush of flying high, the dread of seeing a pilot’s name erased from the board in their mess room or the stomach-curling feeling of limping back to base in a plane that was no longer airworthy. Seeing the wreckage of the plane that had killed her friend Polly. They’d done things that even now seemed impossible.
‘Grandma, we looked for this plane for a very long time,’ Lewis started, his smile as wicked as his granddad’s had always been. ‘I think you might have flown her before. Does she look familiar?’
Ruby’s eyes were wide as she looked it over. ‘Help me up,’ she said, knees creaking as she pulled herself up and into the cockpit. She bent and squinted, studying the cockpit, looking for the letters she’d scrawled there all those years ago.
‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ she said, laughing and sitting down in the seat, shifting back and recalling the hours she’d sat there.
‘If we scribbled our signature in a plane now, we’d be fired on the spot,’ he told her, looking pleased with himself for surprising her. ‘Now, what do you say we get this old lady up in the air?’
‘Don’t go calling me an old lady,’ she retorted.
‘Grandma, I was talking about the plane,’ he said with a laugh.
The truth was, they were both old ladies now, and she knew this would be her last flight in a fighter plane, the very last time she’d ever take to the skies unless in a commercial jet liner. Her only wish was that Tom were beside her, so she could smile across at him as they took to the sky side by side.
Ruby shut her eyes for a moment, remembering every step, knowing the plane as well as she knew her little car. She settled into her place and Lewis helped her with her straps, securing her just as their mechanics had always done. Ground crew appeared, and she noticed them assisting, but her eyes couldn’t leave the interior of the beautiful old warplane, taking her back in time, her memories coming to life. Once upon a time, this was all she’d lived for.
Lewis took control and started her up, the engine kicking into life, the noise even louder than she remembered. Or maybe it was the way it rattled her old bones that intensified the noise and vibrations, her legs somehow even shorter in her seat than they’d been back then.
‘Ready, Grandma?’ he shouted.
She nodded, blinking away tears as she tightened the knot in her scarf and thanked the heavens that she’d worn warm clothes. But even if she got frostbite, it would be worth it to be back in the air. She’d survived colder temperatures for hours all those years ago, she’d been almost frozen into her seat, so she’d survive this.
Her stomach flipped the way it always had at take-off, and when they finally started to taxi down the airfield she felt a sense of relief. The plane lifted, the nose pointing skyward as they slowly rose, higher and higher, settling just below the cloud cover as they’d always been instructed to do.
The sky was blue and bright, and Ruby watched her capable grandson, remembering a time when it had been her husband teaching her and showing her the ropes. Lewis had turned to smile back at her and was gesturing at the controls. He couldn’t be serious, could he? But his thumbs-up suggested he was.
He wanted her to take over. She was certain the RAF wouldn’t be so happy to know an old pilot who was about to celebrate her ninetieth birthday was flying one of their best and most well-preserved aircraft, but the opportunity was too good to miss. She’d never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and she wasn’t about to start now, no matter how terrifying the prospect might be.
She nodded and took a deep breath before taking over on the dual controls. It all came back to her, as natural as breathing; suddenly it was as if she were in her twenties again, settling in for a long flight to deliver a plane. You don’t need me as your co-pilot anymore. You’ve turned into more of a Spitfire than those planes you love so much. You can do this without me, my little bird. Don’t be afraid. Tom’s words were comforting as she soared through the sky.
‘You’re a beautiful old girl, that’s for sure,’ she muttered to herself. She decided to fly along the railway line that had been so fiercely protected during the war before turning in a perfect arc and heading back towards the airfield and doing a sneaky barrel roll. She laughed along with her grandson, feeling as lightheaded as a girl on her first ever flight. The scenery was familiar, yet different at the same time; she vividly recalled her first cross-country trip, proving to herself and to her commander that she understood geography and could find her way wherever she needed to go. Once she’d completed a large circle she signalled for Lewis to take over again, her hands unsteady and shaking the moment she relinquished control.
Years ago, before landing, she’d have giggled to herself as her plane zigzagged while she fixed her lipstick and quickly powdered her nose. She’d have been in the plane for hours and desperate for a toilet stop, but nothing stood in the way of her doing her face before she landed.
She shut her eyes as they made their descent, loving the shudder through her bones as the plane changed, the vibrations different now that they were heading back in, the noise of the engine spluttering more slowly. She felt like that young pilot again, that young, brave girl flying her favourite plane as Lizzie and May watched on below.
‘Well, someone’s a show-off!’ Lizzie called out as Ruby climbed out of the cockpit, her grandson’s hands guiding her safely on to the grass again. ‘Don’t think I didn’t see that roll!’
Ruby grinned at her friends, not noticing their grey hair or the way Lizzie’s hands were gnarled and knotted. Instead she saw her bright eyes and remembered her the way she’d been, with her sweep of lipstick and her perfect curls.
‘We did our country proud, didn’t we?’ May said, wiping her eyes.
‘We sure did,’ she whispered back, and they all embraced, holding each other tight.
‘You do know I received a medal from President Obama, don’t you?’ Lizzie said. ‘That outranks your little stunt in the air.’
May laughed. ‘She hasn’t changed a bit, has she?’
Ruby looked Lizzie in the eye. ‘Honey, I just flew a Spitfire the week of my ninetieth birthday. There’s no way you ca
n beat that.’
‘You want to see if we can take the controls of a Halifax?’ Lizzie asked, as bright as she’d ever been, the rivalry still alive. ‘I might just win that first bomber flight second time around. What do you say?’
They all burst out laughing, heads bent together as they linked arms and walked off to find their families. Some of her friends had lost their lives in the air, had been cut down in their prime and denied the long life they’d deserved, but she’d had the privilege of living. And she’d loved every single moment of it.
We will not again look upon a women’s flying organization as experimental. We will know that they can handle our fastest fighters, our heaviest bombers; we will know that they are capable of ferrying, target towing, flying training, test flying, and the countless other activities which you have proved you can do . . . We of the Army Air Force are proud of you; we will never forget our debt to you.
—General ‘Hap’ Arnold, December 1944
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Although this book is a work of fiction, it is loosely based on real women who dedicated themselves to the ATA and the WASP, and some of the situations they found themselves in during the 1940s as women fliers.
In the United States, two women were responsible for the creation of the WASP, and ultimately for women being accepted and encouraged to fly. Jacqueline ‘Jackie’ Cochran met Mrs Roosevelt and suggested that women pilots could help in the war by taking over military flying jobs, and this meeting resulted in Mrs Roosevelt writing a newspaper article stating that women pilots were ‘a weapon waiting to be used’. Despite the army disagreeing at the time, Jackie refused to give up, and General Henry ‘Hap’ Arnold asked her to deliver a twin-engine bomber across the Atlantic. At this time, the United States still wasn’t in the war, but they were sending warplanes over for use by British fliers. When Jackie successfully delivered the plane and returned home, she lunched with the president and Mrs Roosevelt, and the president himself asked her to find out how many other American women could fly well enough to handle American warplanes. General Arnold then went on to suggest that Jackie take a group of American female pilots to England to join the British women’s pilot group that was already flying non-combatant missions. Given this, Jackie’s career was a big part of my inspiration for the character Lizzie, and I’ve woven fact with fiction into some parts of Lizzie’s story.
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