by Vicki Beeby
May held still, and Jess teased a few tendrils loose at her temples. It softened the look considerably.
‘There you go.’ Jess stepped back to admire her handiwork. ‘With that new uniform and all, you look gorgeous.’
Evie linked arms with the pair of them. ‘What with Katharine Hepburn on one side and Jean Harlow on the other, Alex Kincaith won’t look at me anyway.’
Jess laughed. ‘Don’t you believe it. He hasn’t been able to take his eyes off you ever since you arrived.’
Those words were still ringing in Evie’s ears when they walked into the Horse and Groom twenty minutes later. The Horse and Groom had long since been taken over by the inhabitants of RAF Amberton, and the more retiring locals had deserted it for the Stag, some two miles away. The public bar was full of rowdy airmen. Even though some WAAFs had daringly joined them, Evie, May and Jess didn’t go in there. Instead they entered the snug and looked for a free table. As soon as they walked through the door, Evie was aware of Kincaith, sitting with Peter Travis and Bob Law. His eyes met hers and she felt a jolt in the pit of her stomach. He raised his pint in a silent greeting, and Evie felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She would have walked past to take a seat at another table, but Travis happened to glance up.
‘Come and join us, ladies. What will you all have?’
Evie opened her mouth to murmur an excuse, but Jess got there before her. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, taking a seat next to the station commander. ‘A port and lemon for me, please.’
There was nothing for it but to sit down. She took the nearest seat, which happened to be between the station commander and Kincaith. The next moment she sprang to her feet and gave a hasty salute. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she said, ‘I forgot.’
Bob Law gave a negligent wave. ‘We don’t bother with all those formalities when we’re off duty.’
Evie swallowed and nodded. ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘What will you have, Evie?’ Travis asked, rising.
There was no way she was drinking alcohol in front of such senior officers. Her head was already swimming from finding herself sitting beside Alex Kincaith. ‘A lemonade, please, sir.’
‘No need for all the “sirs” while we’re here. And how about you?’ Travis turned to May. It seemed to Evie that he saw her for the first time, for his gaze lingered on her face. ‘It’s Lidford, isn’t it? I’m sorry, I don’t know your first name.’ There was a softness to his tone Evie hadn’t heard before.
‘May, sir.’
‘Call me Peter.’
‘Peter.’ May lifted her gaze to his face and gave a tremulous smile.
Watching them, Evie had the curious feeling she was intruding upon a private moment.
‘Right,’ said Peter, turning to the rest of the group with what Evie felt was great reluctance, ‘I’ll get the drinks, but I’ll need help carrying them.’
Alex Kincaith leapt to his feet, clearly relieved for an excuse to get away from Evie for a while. He must be regretting his spur-of-the-moment invitation already.
But as the evening progressed, and they toasted Alex and his new squadron, Evie’s attention kept drifting back to Peter and May. May said very little, which wasn’t unusual, and Peter addressed all his remarks to the group, but there was something about their posture that set Evie thinking. Maybe it was the way Peter’s head seemed to tilt towards May while he told the group he would enjoy seeing Alex vent his spleen upon the Germans instead of the Ops Room staff, or perhaps it was how May’s body angled towards him even when she turned to say something to Jess. Whatever it was, Evie’s suspicions were raised. She could only hope May wouldn’t get hurt. If anyone was vulnerable, it was May. She resolved to speak to her about it at the earliest opportunity.
* * *
Evie’s irregular hours meant the opportunity didn’t come until a couple of days later, when the three friends took their trip to Brighton. May was allowed to take a car for the day, on condition that she drive one of the Ops Room officers to the station for an early train, as he was transferring to another station for operational flight training.
They parked by the station and, after saying goodbye to the officer, caught a trolleybus to take them down to the seafront. Climbing on board, Evie wrinkled her nose at the smell of stale cigarette smoke.
The moment they had taken their seats, Evie twisted round, propped her elbows on the back rest and fixed her gaze on May, who had taken the seat behind. ‘What’s up between you and Squadron Leader Travis?’
‘Nothing.’ A faint blush coloured May’s cheeks.
‘No, Evie’s right,’ Jess said. ‘When I saw you together at the pub the other night, I had the definite feeling he was soft on you. Just how many times have you been his driver?’
‘It’s not like that. I mean, I’ve had to drive him places, and he’s been friendly, but that’s all it is.’
Evie was about to argue when the trolleybus turned a corner and suddenly they were on the seafront. ‘We’re here!’ Her voice was shrill with excitement. She craned her neck and gazed, all worries gone at the sight of the sparkling blue expanse, the view framed on both sides by the two piers snaking out into the sea.
They jumped down from the bus, and Evie ran to the iron railings, leaning over them as she drank in the view. She took off her cap to allow the warm breeze to ruffle her hair. Drawing a deep breath of tangy, salty air mingled with the aroma of fish and chips, she tilted back her head to let the sunshine warm her face. The rhythmic surge of breaking waves was a constant presence, like the wind rustling the leaves in a wood on a stormy day; gulls glided above the waves, their shrill cries filling the air. ‘If I close my eyes, I can almost believe there’s no war on, and we’re here for our summer holiday.’ A pang of sorrow struck as she remembered how she had dreamt of bringing her father to the coast. He would have loved it here. The sea shimmered and blurred as tears welled in her eyes. She hadn’t had much time to miss Stan since joining the WAAF, but now she was struck afresh by the realisation that every day out from now on, no matter how enjoyable, would be one without her father.
But Jess wouldn’t allow her to wallow for long. She grasped Evie’s arm in one hand and May’s in the other and tugged them towards the steps. ‘Come on, let’s go down to the beach.’
Evie blinked away her tears and shook off her melancholy as she galloped down the steps onto the pebbles. They crunched underfoot, and Evie had to cling to Jess’s arm to keep her balance as the stones shifted with each step. They removed their shoes and stockings and left them bundled up in their tunics by the steps. Then they hobbled down to the water’s edge, wincing whenever sharp pebbles dug into their bare feet.
‘Careful you don’t splash your skirts,’ Jess said. ‘Sea water stains are a bugger to remove.’
There was no way Evie was going to spoil her pristine uniform. Copying Jess, she raised her hem above her knees before wading into the water. She gasped as the chill water lapped her toes. Beside her, May yelped as a wave washed up to her ankles. They stood there for some time, squealing and giggling with the shock of each cold wave. Eventually, unwilling to risk spoiling their uniforms, they left the water and returned to their pile of clothes. They spread their tunics and sat upon them, stretching out their legs to catch the sun and dry them.
‘You should have seen this place before the war,’ Jess said after a while, her eyes alight with memory. ‘My Auntie Vera brought me here once for a day out. We walked out on the Palace Pier, ate sticks of rock and had fish and chips on the sea front. The perfect day. It’s a shame the piers are closed.’
Jess spoke so little about her life before the war it was something of a surprise to see her in a reminiscent mood. She usually lived firmly in the present. Evie hesitated, wondering if she should ask her more about her life in London, but then Jess gave a little laugh, and the moment was gone. ‘Time to explore.’
She led them along the seafront to the Palace Pier, then after regretfully noting that the decking had been pulled up
, they turned their back on it and went to see the Royal Pavilion. Evie and May gasped when they caught their first glimpse of its many domes, pinnacles and delicate tracery around the windows.
‘I feel as though we’ve wandered into India,’ May breathed. After walking all the way around to view it from every angle, they gave in to Jess’s urging and spent the rest of the morning exploring the quaint shops, giggling over humorous postcards, admiring paintings of seascapes and investigating crammed antique shops. Eventually, Jess complained of sore feet, so they bought fish and chips for lunch and found a bench on the sea front to eat them straight out of the newspaper. As Evie unwrapped her chips, a headline jumped out at her: ‘Our Brave Men at the Flanders Coast’. Below ran a report of the desperate attempts to rescue the troops from the beaches. The sunshine seemed to dim. What with that and the closure of the piers, she felt vaguely resentful at the war for intruding upon the day out she’d eagerly anticipated for so long. She made an effort to shake off the thought of soldiers huddled on beaches. Gradually the haunting images faded, and she became aware of the sun warming her face again.
The girls lingered on the bench, throwing their leftover chips to the seagulls. ‘Come on,’ said Jess finally, crumpling up her newspaper and throwing it into a bin. ‘I refuse to leave until you two have bought something.’
‘We bought fish and chips,’ May said, licking the last of the grease from her fingers with relish.
‘Doesn’t count. It has to be something to keep. I know!’ Jess clapped her hands. ‘Lipstick and scent. No self-respecting girl should be without them. When we were in the pub, I heard someone talking about a midsummer dance at the village hall. You’ll need something for that. No arguing,’ she said, when both Evie and May protested. ‘There’s nothing like a bit of lipstick and a splash of scent to perk a girl up. Come with me.’ She picked up her brown-paper packages from their earlier foray and marched off.
She led them through the streets to Hannington’s Department Store. Evie gawked up at the impressive Georgian-style façade, wondering if they would be allowed in. Jess, however, walked in as if she was royalty, bestowing a gracious nod upon the doorman. Soon they were examining lipsticks under the eagle eye of the shop assistant. Evie, who had never worn make-up in her life, reached for the cheapest brand, but Jess slapped her wrist. ‘No. If you’re going to buy just one lipstick, you need quality and the perfect colour. And that goes for you, too, May. Let me choose for you. It’s not as if you have much to spend your pay on.’
Evie sent a fair bit to her mother every month and was saving as much as possible towards her degree, but she bit back the argument that sprang to her unpainted lips. There was no harm in spending a little on herself.
‘Go on, then,’ she said. ‘What colour should I choose?’
Jess studied her. ‘With your red hair and pale skin, you should get a plum. Or maybe a burgundy.’
The assistant showed her all the lipsticks in those shades, and Jess picked up a rich burgundy. ‘This one. Try it.’
Evie applied it carefully, mimicking the way she’d seen Jess apply her lipstick, then looked in the mirror. She was shocked and pleased at the transformation. The burgundy shade didn’t drain her pale face as so many bright colours seemed to do, and it brought out the blue flecks in her grey eyes.
‘What did I tell you?’ Jess said, triumphant. ‘Perfect! Now for May.’
‘I’ve never bought anything for myself before.’ May gazed at the array of colourful lipsticks. ‘I wouldn’t know where to start.’
Even the assistant’s face softened at that, and Jess squeezed her arm. ‘That’s why I’m here. Now, with your colouring, you’d look stunning in anything.’ Her hand hovered over a bright scarlet, but at May’s horrified gasp she conceded, ‘Perhaps you’re not ready for that.’ She picked out a deeper red and read the label. ‘Garnet Dusk. You’ll look gorgeous in this.’
May applied it. Yet again, Evie had to admire Jess’s keen eye. The subtle shade seemed to bring out the warm glow of her skin. Peter Travis would be knocked off his feet when he saw her wearing it. She opened her mouth to say it, but changed her mind, not wanting to embarrass May. She handed over the money for her lipstick and felt absurdly excited to take charge of the tiny package. Although she didn’t regret a single day of her hard studies, it meant she’d missed out on the simple pleasures of life, such as a day out with friends and buying little luxuries like lipstick. When she’d joined the WAAF, she’d never thought it would give her the chance to do such things. So she didn’t protest when Jess marched them to the perfume counter.
The perfume stocks were sadly depleted; the artful display couldn’t disguise the lack of variety. But with Jess’s help they both managed to find a scent they liked. May opted for a light floral scent and Evie picked a delicate perfume with citrus tones. They both chose the smallest bottle available, but Evie felt quite daring and grown up as she walked out onto the street carrying her new purchases. With her smart new uniform, new lipstick and a dab of scent on her wrists, she felt like a glamorous character in a film. She couldn’t help imagining the admiring glances she’d get at the village dance when she appeared wearing her new purchases. What would Alex think?
She hurriedly squashed that train of thought. What Alex Kincaith thought was of no consequence to her.
At the end of the afternoon they returned to the car with dragging feet. It had been the perfect day, and Evie wished they could stay longer. She turned to the sparkling sea for one last look, then followed her friends up the road to the station. But when they got back to their car, they found the road blocked by army ambulances. A group of men and women in army uniform stood by the side of the road, talking in low, tense voices.
‘What’s going on?’ Jess asked a corporal who stood beside the nearest ambulance, smoking a cigarette. ‘We need to get out.’
‘You’ll ’ave to wait, love,’ the corporal replied. ‘Train’s due in with evacuees from Dunkirk. We’re driving a load of ’em to the ’ospital.’
No sooner had he spoken than they heard a heavy rumble and the squeal of brakes. Dirty smoke drifted onto the road from the station. The corporal threw down his cigarette, ground it under his heel and went to join the others who were hurrying towards the platform.
‘I suppose we’ll have to get out of the way and wait,’ Evie said. She bit her lip, hoping this wouldn’t make them late.
They stood by the car, not wanting to climb into the baking interior until they were able to leave. Presently a procession of soldiers hobbled out of the station. Some were carried on stretchers, some supported by nurses, others could walk unaided or on crutches. All were caked in dirt and blood, with stained bandages and dressings. Their uniforms were torn; many of them were missing tunics and shirts.
Then the stench reached Evie’s nose: the sour smell of unwashed bodies; the metallic tang of blood; the putrid reek of infected wounds. She gagged and hated herself for her weakness when she couldn’t imagine what these men had endured for the sake of their country. But in their dull eyes she saw their nightmare reflected. They were downcast, in an attitude of pain, defeat and despair.
She had to do something; she couldn’t just stand there, gawking at these suffering men without doing something to help. But what? All she could think was that the men looked half-starved. Remembering a precious bar of chocolate that she’d stowed in the car for the return journey, she grabbed it. The chocolate was soft, but better than nothing.
Her gaze fell on a lad who must have lied about his age to get into the army. He looked no more than fifteen. Wincing, he limped towards one of the trucks. A fifteen-year-old should be playing football with his friends, not watching them getting shot up on a godforsaken beach. Fighting nausea, she went to him and pressed the chocolate into his hands.
He looked in her direction, but his eyes were unfocused. Or perhaps they gazed at some horror only he could see. ‘Thanks, miss,’ he croaked.
You shouldn’t be thanking me, she
wanted to cry. It should be me thanking you. But her throat closed, strangling the words.
The lad swayed, biting back a groan. She grabbed his arm. ‘Here. Lean on me. It’s not far.’ Murmuring encouragement, she took his weight and guided him to the ambulance. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she blinked them away. It took all her self-control not to gag at his stench. When they reached the ambulance, hands reached out to help him on board. He slumped onto one of the stretchers and gazed upwards. Evie hated to think what scenes of horror were playing out in front of those blank eyes.
She turned to see May and Jess also helping the wounded into the trucks. Noticing another soldier stumble, she dashed to take his arm. Back and forth they went, offering support and kind words. It was precious little, but it was all she could do. Doing nothing was unthinkable.
Finally, the doors slammed on the last ambulance and the trucks drove away.
The three friends sat in the car, unmoving. Evie wished she could cry, vent her emotions in some way, but every time the feelings inside swelled and threatened to burst free, it was as though a fist reached inside and squeezed tight, denying any release.
‘This is real,’ was all she could say at first. The others nodded.
‘I had no idea.’ Jess’s voice was scarcely more than a tight whisper.
Gradually Evie’s scattered thoughts and emotions coalesced into a coherent idea. She knelt on her seat so she could look at both May and Jess and gripped the seat-back so tightly her knuckles turned white. ‘This is serious, girls,’ she said. ‘I can’t speak for you, but until now, I think I was just playing at being a WAAF.’
May frowned and Jess looked down, studying her nails.
‘I mean, I took my job seriously,’ Evie clarified, ‘but I wasn’t doing it for England or our pilots, I was doing it for me. I was doing it to escape home.’
‘Me too,’ muttered May.
‘And me.’ Jess met Evie’s gaze. ‘But we’re going to change, aren’t we?’