by Nancy Revell
A burst water main had kept him from dehydrating while he had been trapped under a blanket of bricks and mortar. Peter’s survival training at Wanborough Manor had taught him that he could last without food for weeks, but only days without liquids. The water from the ruptured pipes had been tainted with mud and dirt, but it had served its purpose. And, of course, he’d had oxygen. The air had been dusty and acrid, but he had been able to take short, shallow breaths.
During the time he’d been buried alive, he had hypnotised himself to stay calm and not think about his inability to free himself, forcing his mind to think of a life beyond his concrete coffin. When he had felt dust and debris on his face and sensed movement above him, heard the voice of a young boy, he’d started banging hard on the wooden boards of the caved-in trapdoor. On hearing his rescuers he had experienced a rising feeling of insanity that, thankfully, he had managed to keep at bay for the time it took a team of men to dismantle the bomb site and reach the basement. As he’d been freed from his prison, he’d heard a French voice, which he guessed belonged to a doctor, telling the medics to blindfold him and give him a water-soaked cloth to suck on. And so he was kept in darkness as his body was hauled onto a stretcher and into a truck. He had felt the jolts as the vehicle drove over potholes and after losing consciousness he had woken in a darkened room in a makeshift medical centre. Apart from being dehydrated and having some cuts and bruises, he was told he’d had a miraculous escape.
The nurse charged with his care had been a chatty young girl and she had told him the story that had now gone around the town several times: how Madame Toulouse had originally noticed there was life amongst the rubble, but it had initially seemed like a false alarm, that the rat had been very much alive, but the man whom the rodent had unwittingly unearthed hadn’t been. Peter expressed sadness that a young boy had been forced to see death up close, but the nurse had waved her hand and said, ‘Ce n’est rien,’ it’s nothing, he had not only seen dead bodies before, but had witnessed men die. Peter didn’t think he had felt so sad in his entire life, hearing the nurse’s words. What had become of the world where a little boy had become accustomed not only to death – but to cold-blooded murder?
Peter had vowed to himself there and then that one day he would like to go back to Sainte-Mère-Église and thank both the old woman and the young garçon. Perhaps Rosie and Charlotte would come too. He knew Rosie would also want to thank them. He thought about the letter he had written to her. His unit had all been in agreement that they wanted their loved ones to be given their letters as soon as reports of their demise came through. They had not wanted their wives and families to wait longer than necessary, especially as they knew there was a good chance that their bodies might never be found or identified. It hurt him to think that Rosie would have read her letter by now. He knew how devastated she would be. It was why, as soon as he was conscious, he had asked to be taken to the commander in charge, who had facilitated his communication with London.
Whilst there he had also been given an update on the events of the past few days and his spirits had risen on hearing of the success of the Battle of Normandy. It was clear that Jour J had more than lived up to the Allies’ hopes and expectations. Battles were still being played out, but the second front had been established. There was no doubt that this marked a decisive turning point in the war. Victory was not far off.
As his thoughts again wandered to his wife, Peter’s stomach was suddenly in his mouth. The plane must have hit a pocket of air and momentarily lost altitude. He looked out of the window and could just about make out the White Cliffs of Dover. His heart leapt with joy. Not long before he saw Rosie. Not long before he could wrap his arms around her and hold her tight. He didn’t think he’d ever let her go.
As they flew over the clifftops, it felt as though the plane was again losing altitude.
They seemed to be flying very low.
So low he could almost see the houses beneath.
He looked out of the window and saw smoke coming from the engine; the view below was now obscured by thick, billowing grey smoke.
He looked towards the cockpit as one of the pilots turned and looked over his shoulder.
‘Strap yourself in and assume the brace position!’ the pilot shouted.
Peter stared ahead for a moment. Both pilots were pulling back on the yoke with all of their might. He looked beyond them and through the window of the cockpit. He could see a flash of houses, then a mass of treetops. A forest. In the distance he caught sight of fields of sun-kissed wheat.
He put his head down to his knees and covered it with his hands.
There was an eerie silence.
It took him a beat to realise the engine had died.
He knew it would just be seconds before he felt the impact as the plane crash-landed.
He’d got so near. So near to getting home. To being with the woman he loved.
He thought of Rosie. Imagined her smiling face, determined that if these were to be his last moments on this earth, then she would be the last image he saw.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Bobby had left the yard in such a hurry he’d forgotten to hand in his clocking-off board. Davey hung out of the window, shouting to catch his attention, but it was no good. Bobby couldn’t hear, and even if he had heard, he wouldn’t have gone back. There was no time to lose. Why he hadn’t done this before, he did not know. It was like everything had come to him in one fell swoop. Seeing Toby had somehow pulled away the chocks and now he was off there was no stopping him.
Racing towards the ferry landing and seeing the boat pull away, he leapt on board, grabbed the railings and climbed over the entrance barrier. Stan, the ferry master, gave him a look like the summons as Bobby apologised, digging in his pocket and giving him his penny fare along with extra for a pint.
‘Something important has just come up,’ he said, sucking in air and trying to get his breath back.
‘Let me guess,’ Stan said, speaking into Bobby’s good ear. ‘It concerns a woman.’
Bobby let out a loud guffaw. ‘How did you know!’
The old ferry master walked away, smiling to himself and shaking his head.
As Bobby looked out at the Wear, for the first time he really felt happy to be back home. Since hearing the reports that Peter was dead, he had thought a lot about life and love. He had come to realise that his father still had power over him – was still stopping him enjoying his life with his mam, her new fella, his little sister and all the people they had around them. It was up to him to let go of his anger and resentment and to finally allow himself to be happy.
When he had left his hometown all those years ago, he had succeeded geographically in leaving the past behind, but it had stayed within him – no matter where he went. How strange, he mused, that it had taken his return to the home he’d run away from all those years ago for him to be able to let go of the past and move on.
It took Bobby five minutes to run in his steel-toecapped boots along High Street East, onto High Street West, then left down West Sunniside, before slowing to a jog when he reached the top of Foyle Street. The sun was still beating down despite it being late afternoon. He was dirty and sweaty. Reaching the main front door of the flat, he knocked, wiping his brow with the sleeve of his overalls. He really should have gone back home, cleaned up and changed, but he couldn’t wait. He felt as though he were in a race and every second counted.
‘Ah, Bobby.’ It was Mrs Kwiatkowski. She stepped back and opened the large oak door wide to let him in. ‘I’m guessing you’re after Dorothy?’
Bobby gave a short laugh. ‘I am. For my sins.’
Walking over the threshold, he took a deep breath and clomped up the two flights of stairs to the woman who had taken his heart captive.
Seeing that the front door was open, Bobby knocked loudly.
‘Hello, anyone home?’ he shouted through.
Seconds later, Dorothy appeared from the kitchen. She was still in her work overa
lls, but was in the process of freeing her arms and tying the sleeves around her waist. She didn’t hide her surprise at seeing who her caller was.
‘What do you want?’ she asked.
Bobby laughed loudly.
‘Do you mind if I come in?’ he asked, thinking how she reminded him of that day by the quayside. His ardour for her had not abated since then but grown.
‘If you must.’ Dorothy turned and went back into the kitchen.
Bobby walked down the short hallway and into the small kitchen. Dorothy had her back to him and was making a pot of tea.
‘So, to what do I owe this pleasure?’ she asked, turning round and putting the pot onto the table, which already had two cups and saucers in place and a jug of milk.
Bobby looked around.
‘No Angie?’
Dorothy made a show of looking under the table and around the room. ‘It doesn’t look like it.’ She went over and opened the small kitchen window. She felt hot. A light breeze made its way into the room.
‘She’s at the shops,’ she said eventually, ‘or rather, standing in a queue waiting to get into a shop.’
Bobby smiled and opened his mouth to speak.
‘And before you say it – I have not bullied her into doing the shopping. We take turns and today it’s Angie’s turn.’
Bobby chuckled. ‘Actually, I wasn’t going to say that, but it’s good to know.’
Dorothy glowered at him.
‘So, what were you going to say?’ Suddenly, she felt a little self-conscious. This was the first time they had been in a room together, just the two of them.
Bobby stepped forward and put his hands on the back of one of the chairs.
‘I was going to say what brilliant news it is about Peter.’
Dorothy’s face immediately lit up. All awkwardness gone. ‘Isn’t it just! No one can quite believe it.’ In the blink of an eye Dorothy’s demeanour had changed from surly to sunny.
‘See,’ she said, ‘you can have a happy ending in real life.’
Bobby laughed. ‘You certainly can.’
He stood for a moment, taking in the vision of this woman whom he found irresistible. He had to stop himself going over, taking her in his arms and kissing her from here to eternity. He forced himself to push all amorous thoughts from his mind.
‘And I think you might have another happy ending …’ Bobby let his voice trail off.
‘Really?’ Dorothy said. ‘Two in one day?’
Again, Bobby smiled. ‘Yes, two in one day.’
‘So, what’s the second one?’ Dorothy was now genuinely curious.
Bobby inhaled.
‘I’ve just had a chat with Mam – and we’ve managed to sort out our differences,’ he said simply.
Dorothy’s face lit up. ‘That’s brilliant news!’ She looked at Bobby and for the first time saw that there was something different about him. He seemed happier. More at peace.
‘Tell me more,’ she demanded.
‘Well, there’s nothing much to tell,’ Bobby said, suddenly feeling slightly ill at ease.
‘Of course there’s plenty to tell,’ she said, putting out two cups. ‘Sit down and drink some tea – I want every detail.’
Bobby smiled and sat down, watching as Dorothy sloshed tea and milk into the cups. How lovely, he thought, that she was so happy for both Rosie and Gloria.
‘Come on, I want to hear all about it,’ she said impatiently.
Bobby smiled. His heart lifted to see that the only barrier between them had been the problem he’d had with his mam. Now that had gone, so had Dorothy’s animosity towards him. He took a sip of his tea, stalling a little. Talking about his personal feelings and his past was not his forte. It was something he rarely did – especially not with women, never mind with a woman he was mad about. Bobby knew, though, that he had to be open and honest if he was to win Dorothy over. And so he started to tell her the real reason why he had found it so hard to be a loving son to his mam. It was not as Dorothy had thought – he was not against divorce, far from it, and he didn’t judge those who chose to live in sin. It was, he explained, because of his own feelings of resentment, the origins of which stemmed from way back when he was just a boy.
The more he talked, the more easily the words came and, after listening intently, Dorothy confided in Bobby about her own childhood, which, she said, had been in no way as bad as the one Bobby and Gordon had suffered living under the same roof as Vinnie, but it was, however, still something that had affected her. She knew how it felt to be young and innocent and to be an unwilling witness to the violence of a father – a man whose role it was to love, care for and protect his children.
They had been talking for quite some time when Dorothy glanced at the clock and jumped up.
‘Oh my goodness, look at the time. I’ve got to get ready.’
Bobby knew why Dorothy had to get ready. Toby was in town. He felt a rush of jealousy. And also panic. He had been sidetracked into talking about his mam and his dad and now it looked like he was running out of time to tell Dorothy what he had really come here to say.
‘I better let you get on,’ he said, standing up.
‘I’ll see you out.’ Dorothy stepped forward, but Bobby didn’t move out of the way.
She looked at him and knew what he wanted. Knew what she also wanted. Now that her anger towards Bobby had dissolved, the feelings she had tried to deny were laid bare.
Bobby saw the look in Dorothy’s eyes. He leant forward and kissed her. Softly. Gently. The feel of her full, soft lips on his own was the most sensuous feeling he’d ever experienced.
Suddenly, he felt Dorothy pull away. His heart was pumping at full force. He opened his eyes just as Dorothy raised her hand and slapped him around the face. His skin stung momentarily.
He looked at Dorothy, into those blue eyes, and saw not anger that he had overstepped the mark, but confusion and, dare he even think it – love.
He watched as she leant back into him, her eyes dropping to his mouth before she kissed him. He closed his eyes and was again lost in the sensuous feel of her lips. He pulled her close, feeling her body respond and pressing against his own. All he wanted to do in that moment was touch every part of her body, explore every wonderful curve and make love to her. He sensed she felt the same about him.
They stood, their bodies so close they could feel each other’s chests lifting as their breathing became heavier by the second. He felt Dorothy kiss his neck and then whisper something in his deaf ear. He responded by kissing her neck, breathing in her scent, desperate to ask her what she had just told him, but not wanting to break free.
And then, all of a sudden, they heard Mrs Kwiatkowski’s voice shouting up the stairs.
‘You’ve got another visitor, Dorothy!’ Her words were followed by the sound of footsteps taking the steps two at a time.
Bobby and Dorothy froze. They seemed unable to part.
‘Oh my God!’ Dorothy said, finally forcing herself to move away from Bobby.
She managed to put a little distance between them just in time.
‘Where’s that jolly gorgeous girl of mine?’ Toby’s voice could be heard before he appeared in the kitchen doorway. His face dropped as soon as he saw Bobby.
‘Ah, hello there, old chap.’ His voice was flat, he was clearly disappointed to see Dorothy had company and that company was Bobby. ‘Didn’t expect to find you here.’
Bobby simply stood there. He wanted to explain that this jolly gorgeous girl was no longer Toby’s – that Dorothy was now his girl. They were meant for each other. It was as clear as day. Especially now they had kissed – her kisses spoke a thousand words.
‘Bobby just popped round to chat about his mam,’ Dorothy explained.
‘Ah, is that so?’ Toby asked. ‘Everything all right, I hope?’
‘All good,’ Dorothy answered. ‘Bobby was just leaving, weren’t you?’
Bobby gave a tight smile, ran a hand over his jaw and nodded. His e
yes lingered on Dorothy as he started to leave.
‘I didn’t catch what you said just then,’ he said, touching his left ear.
Dorothy looked him in the eye. ‘It wasn’t important.’
Bobby turned, giving Toby a sharp nod farewell and throwing Dorothy one last look.
Chapter Forty-Nine
When the train pulled in, Rosie was already at the door and had the sash window down. She looked out, her eyes searching for Peter. The platform was partially obscured by steam and she felt a sudden pang of concern that he’d not been able to make it. The train slowly screeched to a halt. Above the noise she heard the conductor telling travellers that they had arrived in King’s Cross Station and this was the train’s final destination.
It was the end of the line.
But the start of a new life, Rosie thought.
One she would never have dreamt a week ago could possibly happen.
Stepping down onto the platform, Rosie hauled her bag off and stood, adjusting to the noise, smells and chaos of one of the capital’s busiest railway stations.
She looked for Peter.
When the steam had cleared and all the passengers had got off, she was still standing.
Still looking.
Perhaps he had been delayed?
Stuck in traffic? Had a puncture?
Or perhaps his plane hadn’t made it over the Channel?
Stop it! Rosie told herself.
Toby had said his journey back was not in any way dangerous. As safe as houses.
Peter is alive.
Nothing had happened to him.
Had it?