As Archie drank in the emotion of the scene before him, goosebumps erupted on his forearms. The subject in the painting was someone he’d come to know very well, and there had been so many thoughts hurtling through the young pilot’s mind back then.
As Archie studied the scene further, he also saw disillusionment and sadness; after all, airman’s burn was often life-changing, and the scars penetrated deep beyond the skin. But the longer he mused, the more he thought how this represented something more conflicting, perhaps. It evoked beauty in so many ways. The nurse was beautiful, evident despite the fact her face was half covered with a mask. The scene of a caring nature carried beauty and tenderness within it, and then there was the man himself.
‘Just needs a few more finishing touches.’ Freddy put the palette down and stood back, drawing his hand up to his tousled, mousy brown hair, smoothing it back from his forehead.
Archie glanced at the young artist. Freddy had never flinched or recoiled in horror at the sight of any disfigured man. He merely sat sketching, analysing every detail, every contour, absorbing every inch of maiming as if it was all in a day’s work, but Archie recognised his impartiality and the intensity that flashed in his eyes. The act of a real artist, discovering and revealing beauty in all its guises.
‘It’s marvellous.’ Archie grinned as he gazed admiringly at the scene before him, his chin held high. Art was open to interpretation, which was always subjective, but he had been interpreting the effects of burns on real patients for years. ‘It’s such a powerful, symbolic image. Truly compelling, Freddy. The Air Ministry ought to be happy with it.’
‘Ah, well I had a good muse that day.’ He grinned, a streak of black almost vanishing into a fold by his mouth as it creased at the corners and curved upward. His shirt was awash with colour, mirroring his palette.
Freddy had painted Mac as he’d seen him that day, his head down, focusing on all the bad, slipping into that dark place they all found themselves when they first arrived on Archie’s ward. But of course, his young lady had been a refreshing change from the usual sort. She had courage and determination, and she’d made him see sense and helped him to embrace life fully, after a little innovative meddling. It was the only way. Archie sighed, and his gaze returned to the ill-fated Lancaster crew on the wall, their futures now erased.
Outside, the Ashdown Forest brimmed with life, and pink bell heather and yellow gorse blossomed, carpeting the forest floor. From a treetop perch, the rise and fall of the elusive male nightjar’s churring song chorused all around this flourishing corner of Sussex, untouched by war.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Acceptance
‘Hey, Mac. You still seeing that girl?’ Wilson slid his side window shut and dragged off his earphones.
‘Yeah, sure am. As it happens, we just got engaged.’
‘Why didn’t you say so earlier, buddy?’ Wilson slapped him on the back. ‘Congratulations. So when’s the big day?’
‘Oh, we haven’t set a date yet, but you’ll be the first to know.’ Mac hoped they still would. He hadn’t seen or heard from Stella for a few days now, although he’d tried calling a couple of times, but no one had answered.
‘Come on. Let’s get outta here. The drinks are on me, but first I gotta show you something.’
The aches and numbness had increased in his hands over the past few days, and it troubled him. He’d managed that morning’s training flight, but how would it be over enemy territory? Riding through flak, prop wash, and dodging fighters was bound to throw up a whole new set of challenges. Knowing what to do was one thing, but could he handle it? He pressed his lips together as he dragged a hand through his sweat-drenched hair, ruffling it a little.
After they’d changed and dumped their kit, Mac followed Wilson over to the barracks where his former crew had bunked. The bunks were all taken by new guys and a whole new set of personal effects littered each bedside, with posters and photographs plastered across the walls, except for one wall. The memorial. Mac swallowed as Wilson wandered down to the end of the room, and there, in the middle of the wall, near the top, he pointed to words that had been painted on in red.
‘Virg wrote that while you were up in the hospital.’ Wilson removed his cap.
Mac stepped closer. ‘James T Bird, Arizona, 17th April 1943.’ A lump formed in his throat and his stomach tightened. He gazed at the name a little longer, picturing the young man, who would have made a great artist someday. ‘Blue skies, Birdie.’
‘Amen.’
Stella poured the tea. ‘Thanks for coming round, Vera.’
‘It’s all right. Sam’s flying today and besides, I feel as if I haven’t seen you in ages. These bloomin’ shifts. We’re always working opposite one another.’ She sipped her tea. ‘So, come on then. What’s wrong?’
Vera had intuition like radar. Stella sighed. ‘Charlie turned up at the base a few days ago.’ Her chest tightened, and she gritted her teeth as she choked back the tears. ‘Alex is missing. His Lancaster went down over Germany – no chutes.’
‘Oh, Stell. I’m so sorry, love.’ Vera threw her arms around her. ‘I can’t believe it. God.’
Stella drew away and looked down into her cup at the swirling vortex of tea. ‘I shouldn’t have left him. He needed help.’ Her thoughts turned to Elizabeth. Was she distraught? ‘Charlie gave me a letter. Alex said he was to deliver it if anything happened.’
Vera raised her eyebrows. ‘Where is it?’
Stella pulled it from her pocket and passed it over. Vera read it to herself. Then she folded it, handed it back, and sniffed. ‘I know I said he was no good for you, but he was all right. I’d never have wished this on him in a million years.’
Stella’s chin trembled, and she swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘It’s my fault. I should have helped him. Oh, God, I can’t bear it.’ She held her head in her hands and sobbed.
Vera wrapped her arm around her. ‘There, it’s always better to cry it out. Now, listen to me. None of this is your fault. You couldn’t have stopped that happening. Look at how many crews we’ve lost. When they set out, they never know who’ll make it back. It’s bad luck.’
‘I can’t do it, Vera.’
‘Do what?’
‘Marry him.’
Vera puffed out a breath. ‘But you love him, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well then. What are you harping on about? Time’s not going to wait for you. And don’t let guilt stop you. Alex has given you his blessing in that letter.’
‘Mac said he needs me. That’s just what Alex said, and now he’s dead. Don’t you see?’
Vera shook her head.
‘If anything happened to Mac, I’d never forgive myself. I can’t do that to him. I can’t.’ Her chest heaved. ‘I’m bad luck. What about Alice Turner? Every man that asked her out went missing on a mission. In the end, no one would look at her. They all said she was a jinx.’
Vera sighed, her mouth opened, one eyebrow hitched up. ‘Stella, you’re not making any sense, and that was a load of old codswallop.’
Stella sniffed, glanced at Vera, and shrugged.
‘Well then.’ Vera shook her head again. ‘Silly girl. It’s simple. You love him, and he loves you. Take this chance, love. You might not get another as good or as worthy. Don’t waste it, not for a second. He needs you, and you need him. Take what you can for as long as you can. That’s all any of us can do.’
Stella dried her eyes and sniffed. ‘Mac was here, the day Charlie gave me the letter, and I asked him to leave, and he hasn’t been back since. It’s not like him to stay away.’
‘Oh, Stella.’ Vera flashed a warm grin and shook her head. ‘What are we to do with you? It’s just as well he loves you.’
Stella flicked a gaze at the picture of Mrs Brown’s former fiancé on the mantelpiece and a pain seized her heart. She clenched her jaw. ‘I need to see him, make things right.’ She checked her watch. ‘It’s just gone three o’clock. I have to go.�
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‘What? But I’ve only just got here.’
Stella ran out to get her shoes with Vera on her tail. ‘I have to get to the base.’
Vera rolled her eyes.
‘Are you coming?’
‘Me? Don’t be daft. I walked here. You can give me all the details tomorrow.’
Stella went around the side of the cottage and grabbed her bicycle. The day was fresh, the air lukewarm. She raised her face skyward as she cycled. Lead-grey clouds hung like a dense blanket and she hoped it wouldn’t rain. An olive-green jeep zipped past her and vanished around the bend in the road, and a squeal of rubber screeched out. She braked, only the cycle barely slowed and, spying the gentle hill ahead, she waited, and as she climbed, the cycle gradually slowed to a halt, by which time the American jeep drew up alongside. She glanced over and smiled.
‘Mac, I didn’t see you until the last minute and I couldn’t slow down.’
He shook his head and jumped out. ‘What did I say? I don’t want you riding this death trap, at least until I get one of the guys to check it out.’ He swaggered over, put one hand on the cycle and slipped the other around her waist and put his lips on hers. ‘Now, let’s get this heap in the back. I sure missed you, honey. Where were you off to anyway?’
‘To see you.’
His mouth curved up into a half-smile. ‘Well, that’s a coincidence because I was on my way to see you.’ He helped her into the jeep. ‘Come on. Let’s go someplace where we can be alone.’
Mac drove a little further along the road and turned off right into a farm.
‘What are we doing here?’
‘They won’t mind. Farmer’s kind of used to me by now. I come here all the time after a mission. Come on, let’s take a walk.’
They strolled hand in hand through the field that bordered Mac’s base, where Flying Fortresses basked on their hardstands in the late afternoon sun. ‘Mac, I’m sorry about the other day.’
He sighed and pulled her towards him. ‘No need. I understand.’ He wrapped his arms around her. ‘I know you’re hurting, but it’s going to get better. You just need to give it time.’
He brushed her lips with his and the blood quickened through her body. She slipped her arms around his waist, as he drew her close, exploring her mouth with his tongue. ‘Say, put me down, woman. We don’t want to go giving the farmer here any ideas, now.’ He cast her a mischievous look, and she playfully thumped his arm. ‘Hey, what was that for?’ He laughed.
She dipped her hand into her pocket and withdrew the letter from Alex, holding it out.
Mac’s smile slipped. He unfolded the notepaper, and she watched as his eyes darted across the lines. When he’d finished, he looked up and sighed. He handed it back, and Stella slipped it into her pocket. ‘I’m glad you let me read it. Sure makes things a little clearer.’
Stella glanced at him and saw sadness in his eyes. ‘I did love him, but in the end, I realised it was more like a brotherly love. I just wanted to be there for him, and I feel as if I’ve let him down.’ She turned away to gaze out across the open farmland. Poor Alex. She hated thinking of how he’d died.
‘You didn’t let him down. He knew that.’ Mac wrapped his arms around her, and she clung to him, burying her head against his chest. The whiff of manure drifted on the breeze so she buried deeper, hunting for soap and cedar wood, his warmth soaking into her skin.
She glanced up at him. ‘I know he was grieving, but he knew about us and the way things ended, well, I can’t help wondering if . . .’
‘If he shouldn’t have been flying that night. I know, but honey, it doesn’t work like that, and if you keep thinking that way, you’ll drive yourself mad. It’s tough, but you have to move on.’
She gazed at a horse grazing in the next field as it snorted in short bursts. Mac was right, but her heart remained bruised. ‘Life’s rotten at times. Why does it have to be so hard?’
‘Life is what we make it, and man makes war. That’s just how it is. Yeah, man makes many mistakes, that’s for sure.’ He took her hand in his. ‘Remember, after this is over, I’m taking you home with me. You need to get away from all this and go somewhere new, where you can make fresh memories with me.’
His words wrapped around her like his strong, warm arms and she harnessed comfort from them. He was right. Her heart lay with his now, and perhaps they could be as one in Montana.
‘Mac, take a seat.’ Colonel Edwards leant back in his chair. A stack of papers leaned precariously close to the edge of his desk and his pipe rested in an ashtray, the drift of tobacco smoke swirling into the room. ‘I have some good news for you. The United States Air Force is making you a captain, so, congratulations. Secondly, I’m putting you and your crew back up there. There’s a milk run in a few days so you can test the water. Do you think you’re ready?’ Colonel Edwards looked at him with his hawk eyes, dark and searching.
‘Yes, sir. And thank you.’ Mac’s stomach quivered.
‘Okay, good. There’s a big one coming up soon, and I’m going to need you to fly lead.’
Mac swallowed. ‘Yes, sir.’
The Colonel sucked on his pipe as he rose and strode across to the window, gazing out across the airfield. ‘You know, Mac, there are all kinds of people in this crazy, twisted world of ours. You’re a good man, a leader, level-headed – either that or you’re one crazy son of a bitch when you could have walked away from all this.’ He smiled, and his eyes twinkled. ‘Well, that’s all. Good luck, captain. See you at the briefing.’
Mac’s face creased into a smile. ‘Thank you, sir.’ But he was right about one thing. He must be crazy. He thought about Stella and how she’d opened up to him earlier, drawing him closer than ever before. He was never going to let her go again. It was time to put that request in.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Emden, 2nd October, 1943
‘Bombardier to pilot, we’ll be at the IP in one minute.’ Val’s voice.
‘Okay, she’s all yours, Val.’ Mac gazed out at the armada of bombers around them. They were flying lead today, sandwiched in the middle layer of the combat box formation. The group had crossed the Channel, cutting inland across the Netherlands, heading straight towards the seaside town of Emden, riding on shock waves, juddering and bouncing as flak exploded all around them. The engines shook with an almighty fury, shaking Mac like a horseback rider with no seat. He felt uneasy, strangely disconnected from this ship, former bonds lost in the flak, swallowed by the flames of hell through which they flew, and a part of him was drifting.
‘Can’t see a damn thing down there.’ Val’s strained voice sliced through his reverie.
‘Nine-tenths cloud. They got it wrong again.’ Mac shook his head. Plumes of thick black smoke billowed upward just ahead of them. ‘First wave must have dropped their bombs.’
‘Okay, I see a landmark,’ Val’s voice over the interphone.
Val’s eye would be fused to the bombsight, his finger hovering over that button, poised, ready to unleash hell. Mac’s mouth ran dry, and his hands were like slippery eels inside his gloves.
‘That’s it. Bombs away.’ Val’s voice edged with relief and excitement to match Hell’s Fury as she lifted, now thousands of pounds lighter. ‘Bomb bay doors closing.’
Mac peered through a break in the cloud as plumes of smoke rose and swirled. Emden was burning. The image of Stella amidst the fire and the rubble crept into his mind. ‘Jesus. God forgive us,’ he muttered to himself. He tightened his jaw. ‘Let’s take her home, boys.’
He put Hell’s Fury into a sharp turn, banking left. Images raced through his mind of collapsed buildings, with people buried beneath, as it had been that day in East Grinstead. The people. Oh Jesus, people, and children. That wasn’t some aircraft or munitions factory; it was individuals and lives. It was enforced retaliation, something he had to live with, somehow. He swallowed hard as his heart hammered against his ribs. He had to block it out. There was no time to dwell, and no time for mistakes
.
‘Where’re the fighters?’ Emmett’s voice.
‘Fuck knows but keep watching. They’re coming, I can feel it.’ Carleton’s voice.
‘There ain’t no one out there but us.’ Ivan’s voice from the tail.
The returning formation had so far only been hit by flak. A couple of Forts bore jagged tail sections and fuselages riddled with holes. As they approached the coast, they punched their way through a heavier barrage of anti-aircraft fire and Mac bounced around in his seat as the ship lunged a couple of times, but he held her steady. He glanced at the Fort on his port side. Their number two engine trailed thick black smoke and then fiery sparks erupted. She’d be slowing up some, running on three for the rest of the way. His mind and his heart raced for home; raced to escape the hell of the sky. Then he could wash up, ditch the baggage, and go see his girl. Warmth flickered in his chest. Stella made everything glow.
They left the flak behind as they flew out across the shimmering waters of the Channel. Here, the cloud was breaking, and sunlight streamed through, sparkling silver upon the calm ripples below. It was almost over, and, thankfully, it had been a milk run. Mac felt a flicker of relief, but he couldn’t shake the darkness that pinned him down and threatened to haul him in. The world had gone crazy. And it wasn’t only the bombings. There was talk of the Germans clearing entire communities by other means; rounding up Jews like cattle and taking them to camps. People were saying all kinds of stuff right now. He wondered if the Luftwaffe pilots felt the same way as he did. Just because you’re doing your duty doesn’t mean to say you agree with it all. No, but it didn’t matter how wrong it all was, he was simply one cog in that wheel of war – necessary, yet expendable. And if they didn’t fight, Hitler would march in, and unleash an even greater hell.
THE BEAUTY SHOP Page 29