He inhaled her scent and felt himself jerk involuntarily beneath her gentle caress. Uh-oh, it was getting a bit tight down there. He was both horrified and thrilled by his predicament.
What a girl! And all mine! Cripes!
“I was just deciding whether to stay here and let you continue to do that really rather nice thing that you’re doing to my very best bits, or to jump up and run for the hills as fast as my little legs will carry me before the police arrive to arrest us both for lewd conduct.”
Her smile became positively feral, “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet, young man.”
Rose found his throat had become unbelievably dry, and he swallowed jerkily.
She licked her lips and her forefinger ran lightly along the length of his dangerously burgeoning tumescence.
“Crikey! Um, shall we go back to the flat, Ma’am?” he croaked, and in his mind he wondered forlornly if it were possible for him to walk without drawing attention to the terribly inconvenient bulge in his trousers produced by the girl’s gentle ministrations.
Molly’s eyebrows arched seductively again, her lips glistening in anticipation and those dark, liquid eyes were full of warm promise.
She gripped him through the fabric, her fingers firm and delightfully warm against his hardening penis.
“What a lovely idea, young man. I thought you’d never ask!”
Chapter 2
A thin trickle of fine dust spilled lightly from the roof above, sprinkling delicately onto his sweat-sheened face once again, and ineffectually Rose tried to blow it away.
The dust and sweat were rapidly congealing, creating a mask-like thin layer akin to a coat of plaster, and he would have preferred to wipe it off his face, but Molly was tucked comfortably against his right arm, snug against the wall, snoring softly.
A trail of saliva trailed elegantly from the corner of her beautiful mouth to nestle onto the silk wings and ribbons on his chest.
The very nice elderly lady whose corned beef sandwiches and chipped flask of strong hot sweet tea they had shared earlier was lying on his left hand, dead to the world, mouth gaping to reveal pink gums and a flopping denture, rather nattily draped in a filthy looking blanket that smelled of cats and cabbage.
His hand was tingling atrociously but he daren’t move it, lest he wake her.
After all, she was also very kindly sharing her (rather limited) space on the platform with them, and if it were not for her thoughtfulness, Rose and Molly would have only had the space on the bottom steely step of the escalator.
In fact, they were very fortunate indeed to be there at all, because the first of the night’s inhabitants usually arrived to stake their family’s place on the London Underground’s platforms just after 4pm, whilst the trains were still running busily and crowds of commuters thronged the stations.
The low thump and trembling aftershock of yet another explosion above ground (was it near or far?) was just discernible, felt rather more than heard, and for the umpteenth time he hoped desperately that a water pipe had not been breached by this latest bomb.
It would be ironic to escape the fires in the streets above to drown below them. No use worrying about it, he tried telling himself for about the thousandth time. If it happened it happened. But the thought didn’t make him feel any better.
At least it would wash away the putrid stench, he thought. Somehow, the choking, disgusting reek of sweating, unwashed crowded bodies, cigarette smoke, food and human waste did not seem as bad as when they’d first found their way onto the platform.
The station’s public lavatories, initially only meant for use by a small number of commuters in peacetime, now proved unable to meet the demand of hundreds of people, and there had been more than a few open chamber pots on show, adding to the poisonous atmosphere.
Amidst the snoring and quiet conversation an outraged voice shouted out at the other end of the platform, “Oi, you dozy cunt! That’s my sodding leg you’re pissin’ on! Go on, fuck off out of it, you daft tosser!”
Rose sighed and transferred his gaze from the curving wall with its posters of Max Miller, Jack White and Syd Dean, from which the dust lazily drizzled down onto him, and looked along the platform to where the Inspector, John Humphreys, was walking precariously along the platform edge, checking that all was well, and sharing a reassuring smile or a quick chat with those still awake.
He caught Rose’s eye for a moment, and touched the peak of his cap briefly with one forefinger in quiet salute.
Unable to move, Rose nodded cordially in response.
Humphreys stopped for a moment, squatting down to talk for a moment with an elderly couple.
Thank God for people like him, thought Rose with admiration, idly watching the high, thin haze of sluggishly coiling cigarette smoke lurking sullenly beneath the platform’s roof, veiling the sodium lights..
Humphreys and those others like him are the ones, no matter how hopeless things seemed, who hold the whole thing together, he thought.
It’s so easy to forget those who quietly and without fanfare manage the routine business of keeping our country running smoothly despite the added complexities and dangers of wartime. They take on these appalling trials every night, and just get on with it.
I’m lucky. At least I get the chance to shoot back. These poor buggers just have to carry on in the midst of all of Jerry’s hate.
He turned his head marginally, licked dusty lips and glanced at the darkly foreboding mouth of the tunnel close by, thinking with dread of the roving feral monkeys, and he shuddered involuntarily.
Molly stopped snoring for a moment, but her breathing remained calm and measured and she did not awaken, instead snuggling deeper against him.
Earlier, when they first made their way onto the platform (with Rose keeping as far from the edge as possible even though no trains were now running), they passed beside the Inspector talking to a large group of children, and stopped to listen.
“So kids, would you like to hear about the wild London Underground monkeys?”
The little faces gleamed with anticipation, and one little girl shouted out, “Ooh, yes please, mister!”
The Inspector smiled warmly, squatted down onto the platform, and balanced himself forward on straight arms and the knuckles of his hands, playfully feigning the posture of an affable gorilla.
“Well, a few years ago, when you lot weren’t even a gleam in someone’s eye, we had a cage of monkeys waiting for a train.”
“What’s a gleam, mister?”
Sweat shone on his forehead but the smile didn’t slip. “Doesn’t matter, little ‘un. And you can all call me Johnny, OK?”
“Why were they waiting for a train, mister?” asked a little boy with scabby knees and something unpleasantly green dangling from one nostril. He couldn’t have been more than eight years old.
“I was getting’ to that, pal.” The warm smile still glowed, “Well, they were sitting comfortably in a cage near Notting Hill waiting to go back to their circus tent, because the circus was going on a tour of the northern cities.”
Scabby knees piped up, “My Dad says that Northerners are all…”
“Yes, alright, chum,” the Inspector interjected hurriedly, “Anyway, someone very naughty let the monkeys out. ‘Course they scarpered, but the police managed to catch some of them straight away, some were found asleep in the market, and one got stuck in a coal locker and gave himself up.”
“I fell asleep in my sister’s pram once,” volunteered the little girl shyly.
“Did you, sugar?” the smile had slipped ever so slightly, and was there the hint of a twitch in those calm eyes? “Must have been awfully comfy. A very nice place to sleep. Well, anyway, although some of the monkeys were caught, they didn’t get them all!” the Inspector looked around him expectantly.
“I couldn’t get out by myself,” continued the little girl, “and I was proper busting, so I did a wee-wee in it.”
Nonplussed by this latest awful revelation Hu
mphreys scratched his short beard and searched for an appropriate response, “Ah. Uh…”
“How’d they catch the monkeys, mister? My Nan says the Rozzers couldn’t catch a cold,” offered scabby knees brightly.
The Inspector’s eyes glittered under the murky sodium lights, and he rallied bravely. “Does she? Does she indeed. Hm. OK. Right then. Well, the Rozzers, er, I mean the Police, are still looking. Some people say that the monkeys are still out there, hiding in the tunnels, waiting for children travelling without their parents.”
The children stared at him, and even Scabby Knees seemed impressed.
The Inspector looked towards one of the dark, open mouths of the tunnel, then back at his audience, and his voice dropped to a loud whisper, “and I’ve heard tales of children DISAPPEARING!”
His eyes opened wide as the last word boomed out of his mouth, echoing hollowly along the chamber, and he bounded upright, hands outstretched and clutching for them.
Rose and Molly both jumped, and the children scattered as far as the space allowed them to with screams and howls of laughter that reverberated up and down the chamber.
Rose watched the children spread out as they rushed back to their respective families.
The Inspector thumped his chest in a suitable bit of apish posturing, then cupped his hands and called out after them, “Don’t let the monkeys eat you, children, and stay close to your parents! Sleep well! Nighty-night!”
Rose navigated past a collection of steel pots and pans wrapped in a table cloth and an ornate and chipped chamber pot half-filled with some evil-looking dark ochre fluid, within which a half-submerged something unmentionable floated.
There were beads of the vile fluid liberally scattered around the pot, and he kept as much distance as he could away from them. Uck.
He held out his hand, “How d’you do, Inspector. That was some tall tale!”
The Inspector took his hand, “Why thank you, but no need for the Inspector thing, the name’s John Humphreys, and believe or not, but that was no tale.” He sniffed and, removing his cap, pulling a hanky out of the crown and wiping his face. “Phew, it’s warming up nicely tonight.”
Despite the frozen iciness of the weather outside, the huddled mass of bodies generated enough heat to make the temperature of the platform almost unbearable, and Rose could feel sweat running down into the small of his back.
The foetid odour just made it worse.
Humphreys popped his handkerchief back into his cap and replaced it smartly on his head.
“Back in 1926 a troupe of monkeys, trained as a Jazz Band apparently, believe it or not, not circus performers like I said to the kids, was let out of their cage by thieves, and although most of them did get recaptured, there’re still three or four unaccounted for to this day.”
“Oi! John, come’n ‘ave a cuppa and a sarnie wiv us!” shouted a woman’s voice stridently.
“Thanks, Hev, just give us a minute, and I’ll be along directly. Keep it warm for me, yeah?” Humphreys gave the woman a thumbs-up for the offer, and shrugged apologetically to Molly and Rose for the interruption.
“So, they say the monkeys lived under the platform at Latimer Road station for a while, they might even be there still, for all we know. There’ve been efforts to capture them loads of times, but no joy. Even after all these years, we still get reports of sightings, and food often goes missing.”
“Good Lord!” Rose was surprised. He had been certain the story was a fairytale. “Oh, gosh, where are my manners? I’m Harry Rose and this is my wife, Flight Officer Molly Rose.” Molly Rose, how fine that sounds!
“Really Inspector, do you think it was appropriate to scare the children so much? Aren’t they scared enough? Don’t you thinks telling them stories like that is a terrible idea?” Molly’s contralto was cool and distant, her eyes stony.
Uh-oh, thought Rose, and mentally braced himself. He’d seen Molly before when she was angry. It wasn’t pretty.
Better run for cover while there’s still time, chum.
But Humphreys just smiled affably and nodded. “Ah. Yes, Ma’am, I can see why you’d think that, and it might seem cruel, but kids can be dreadfully inquisitive, and we’ve already had more than one of the pluckier ones exploring the mysteries of our tunnels at night.”
The corners of Humphreys’ lips turned down. “On at least one occasion that I know of, we had a pair of little ‘uns who must have wandered off, and then gone to sleep on the tracks. They were still there when the electrics was turned back on. A work crew found the bodies.”
He shivered involuntarily and looked away, “What are we supposed to do when it’s time for the trains to start again? London can’t afford to stand still.”
Humphrey’s eyes were serious now, faraway, glistening with some memory.
The smile had gone.
“I can’t bear the thought of someone’s youngster down the tunnels when the rails are switched on again in the morning. Every one of these kids’re too precious. Putting the fear of wild and dangerous animals into the little tyke’s heads is one way of keeping the little monkeys, if you’ll pardon the expression, safe and sound and close to their families.”
Molly’s cheeks flushed pink in mortification, but her lips quirked upwards. “Oh, I see. I understand. I’m sorry, John. I didn’t realise. Should’ve known better, spoke too soon. Silly of me.”
Dearest Molly, thought Rose warmly, if ever she was wrong, was never reluctant in admitting it.
She touched Humphreys’ arm briefly, “On behalf of the children and their parents, thank you for keeping them safe, and please do excuse my words. I spoke out of turn.”
After the events of the previous year, Rose and Molly both appreciated how precious children were. The Luftwaffe had seen to that.
Pleased by her compliment, Humphreys waved away the apology shyly, not seeing the sudden glistening of Molly’s eyes.
But Rose felt her pain, knew the tears were there, and his hand slipped surreptitiously into hers and squeezed her fingers gently, and in response she gratefully took his hand as if it were a lifeline and squeezed him back.
“No problem at all, Ma’am. I can see that you care, it’s written all over your face. Just wish I could do more for them. When this is all over, and we’ve properly spanked old Adolf’s arse,” he smiled shyly, “if you’ll pardon me for saying so Ma’am, these kids’ll be the future for us. Our future. We all have to do our very best in making sure they make it.”
An example of that hoped-for shining future now sidled up beside him. Scabby knees had returned, this time clutching the hand of a little girl with dirty cheeks and golden curls.
“Mister, me Ma says our Lil’s a cheeky monkey. Is she one of them’s yer lookin’ for? Is there a reward?” he smiled expectantly.
The little one beamed angelically at them and picked her nose.
Humphreys laughed and shook his head ruefully, “No, mate, I’m sorry, she isn’t one of them. Nice try. You’d best keep her. Take your Lil back to your Mum and Dad, and look after her well. Keep an eye on her, yeah? Don’t let her wander, and don’t you go wandering about now, either. You settle yourself down for a nice bit of kip, pal, OK?””
Scabby knees looked crestfallen, and turned to go, “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he muttered crossly, “C’mon, Lil.”
Another jagged tremor pulsated through the chamber, its echo resonating back through his nerves, there was a muffled drawn-out thump like a wet sackful of sand and books falling to the floor somewhere overhead, and more dust sprinkled liberally across his face.
Molly began to snore gently again (Good grief, how does she do that?) whilst the nice lady next to him muttered something incomprehensible in her sleep and shifted in position, moving partly over onto her back, her right buttock warmly enveloping Rose’s trapped hand like a large hot sponge.
She mumbled something incomprehensible, broke wind gently, and sighed happily in her sleep.
An errant strand of Molly’s hair t
ickled his nose and he blew it away carefully with a soft breath, careful not to disturb her.
He felt the plaster-like masking layer of oily sweat and dust on his face crack uncomfortably as he blew out, and he grimaced uncomfortably.
His gammy leg was aching on the hard floor now, and he shifted his own buttocks stealthily, careful not to disturb his pair of sleeping beauties, and crossed his legs to take the pressure off it.
Bloody hell, what a fucking awful war. I’ve got Molly slobbering all over my ribbons, and some nice old girl whose name I don’t even know farting onto my hand.
Rose sighed and closed his eyes, trying to blink away the dust and grit as he did so.
He was totally exhausted.
Despite the appalling noxiousness of the environment he found himself in, and the uncomfortable position he was squashed into, Molly’s closeness and warmth was so very comforting that he felt blissfully content.
Thank you, Lord, for giving me such good fortune.
So long as no water pipes were breached by the bombing, and the feral monkeys of the London Underground didn’t come a-calling, they were reasonably safe, and Rose would try and get some sleep.
Chapter 3
The shiny little red sports car screeched to a stop at the barrier, skidding a little as it did so, at RAF Dimple Heath’s main gate with inches to spare, the smell of burning rubber, oil and hot metal filling the flaring nostrils of the white faced and staring sentry.
Incredibly, despite the speed of its approach, the wet road and the icy conditions, the little car didn’t hit him.
Bloody hell, fuck me…thought the stunned sentry with relief, glad his bladder hadn’t involuntarily emptied.
For a moment there, it looked as if the bloody thing would smear him across the barrier like strawberry jam on toast.
He noticed that the girl behind the windscreen was smiling expectantly at him, and that there was an RAF officer sitting next to her in the passenger seat.
If he hadn’t been holding his breath in fear, he’d have been amused by the expression of frozen terror on the pale face of the young officer.
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