THE BEAUTY SHOP

by Suzy Henderson

  ‘You did, Mrs B. You’ve been amazing. How can I ever thank you enough?’

  ‘Oh, well, your young man has kept us in spam and coffee for some time now.’ She laughed. ‘Knowing you’re happy is more than enough for me.’

  ‘Are we going to have a little drink this evening before the big day?’ Mrs Charlton surprised Stella with her suggestion, especially as she never drank.

  ‘Well, I’ve got Vera coming over. Her chap’s off to the pub with Mac tonight. They’re having a drink with some friends,’ Stella said.

  ‘Well, that’s settled then. We’ll put the radio on, I’ll prepare some food, and we’ll have a small celebration. Can I ask Mrs Thompson over, and a few of the other ladies?’ Mrs Brown heaved herself up, puffed out a breath, and smoothed down her skirt.

  ‘Of course. That would be lovely.’ Stella turned to the mirror, admiring the dress. Mac would be back soon. He’d gone to see the Colonel about something and then he was coming for his things as he was booked in at the Hardwicke Arms for the night. He’d been a little preoccupied over the last couple of days, but that was understandable. Such a lot had happened. But yesterday afternoon, around three o’clock, when everything that could rattled and shook when those Flying Fortresses roared overhead, she’d watched him. He’d looked up from the newspaper, and gazed out of the window, holding his breath, and she’d glimpsed the intense look of yearning that flared in his eyes.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Bourn, 14th November, 1943

  Stella gazed up at the silent bells of the Church of St Helena and St Mary as the chilled November breeze nipped her cheeks. Family and friends from RAF Bourn and from Mac’s base at Bassingbourn filed into the church to take their seats. Mr Thompson opened the door as Stella stepped out of the sleek black Austin Princess, accompanied by her Uncle Bill.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Thompson.’ Stella smiled at the elderly man. He was a friend and neighbour of Mrs Brown and had generously offered to drive her to the church today.

  ‘Stella, I thought you’d never get here.’ Vera emerged from the church, holding up her long, pink dress so as not to trip over it. ‘You’re cutting it fine.’

  ‘Is everyone here?’

  ‘Everyone who needs to be, love.’ Vera winked. ‘Don’t you worry. My Sam’s been keeping an eye on him.’

  Stella’s heart leapt. The big day was finally here, and her man was waiting just a short walk away. She swallowed.

  ‘Ready, Stella?’ Uncle Bill held out his arm, his mouth curved up into a smile. ‘Your dad would be right proud of you, lass.’

  A lump rose in her throat as tears rushed to her eyes. She took a deep breath as Vera arranged the train of her dress. ‘Thanks for being here, Uncle Bill.’ She placed her hand on his arm and gazed down at her bouquet of pink carnations and fern as she caught the scent of their subtle sweet perfume on the breeze.

  ‘Right then, all perfect. Ready?’ Vera rose and ran her hands down her waist and hips, smoothing out her dress.

  Stella glanced at her uncle, smiled, and nodded. She took a step forward, and Vera filtered in behind her, carrying a posy of pink carnations. They paused at the entrance, and Stella glanced down the red carpeted aisle to where Mac waited at the altar, his back to her, his wavy black hair gleaming. Seeing him there released a flight of doves from inside her soul and the breath caught in her throat. Beside him stood Wilson, his best man. Mrs Brown was seated at the organ, hands poised over the keys, staring directly at her, waiting for her cue. Stella took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and nodded.

  The wedding march rang out, and Stella glided down the aisle, past rows of polished mahogany pews, clutching her uncle’s arm for support. Fresh carnations, gypsophila, and hydrangeas adorned vases placed on the altar and around the church. An icy breeze flowed around her, and Stella shivered, glad of the fur stole Mrs Brown had given her that morning. She’d said it was for ‘something borrowed.’

  The congregation rose. Mac’s side of the church was fit to burst, with so many of his friends from the base. She spotted Colonel Edwards sat among them. Nestled near the back was Archie, along with Blackie, Pete, and Bea. She recognised them all instantly and smiled as she passed by. Archie grinned, his blue eyes sparkled, and he winked.

  Her stomach rocked and fluttered, but that was bound to be nerves. Everyone suffered from nerves before their wedding, didn’t they? Her mother had called it the ‘jitters.’ She was almost there, and everyone paled into insignificance as Mac spun around and their eyes met. Heat flared in her cheeks as he gaped, his open mouth breaking into a broad smile. His uniform was immaculate, and she flicked her gaze over his medals which sat proudly over his left breast, the Purple Heart now complemented by the oak leaf cluster, the most recent addition. Uncle Bill turned and lifted her veil back and kissed her cheek. He took her hand and placed it in Mac’s and a tingle like an electric current fizzed through her soul.

  ‘You look so beautiful.’ Mac squeezed her hand affectionately.

  They both turned to face Reverend Peters, who smiled and glanced at Mrs Brown. The organ music ceased, and a low hustle filled the church – a mix of the wind outside and the people inside, shuffling on pews. The vicar began, and Mac wore a dazzling smile the entire time.

  As the ceremony came to a close and Mac slipped the gold band onto her finger, Stella’s heart swelled. He gazed lovingly into her eyes. ‘About time, Mrs Mackenzie.’

  Her stomach soared. She was the luckiest girl in the world, and her gaze lingered for a moment on the medals. Medals that came from fighting a war and from almost dying for your country. Blinking back tears, she linked her arm in his, and they went into the vestry to sign the register. As she scribed her married name in fresh ink, her eyes drank in every new letter formed – letters that bound them together for eternity.

  ‘Well, Mrs Mackenzie. Are you ready to go greet our guests?’ Mac held out his hand and winked and her stomach flipped.

  The congregation rose and waited as the happy couple made their way slowly down the aisle, arm in arm. Outside the church, Mac’s friends had lined up either side of the oak doors to form a guard of honour, with swords raised.

  Mrs Brown had arranged for a photographer to take some pictures and there was a lot of fuss made about who needed to stand where and arranging her dress and so on. After several minutes, Stella began to shiver and her teeth chattered uncontrollably as her entire body chilled in the icy wind.

  ‘How about you kiss the bride, Mac? We’ve come a long way to see this.’

  ‘Archie!’ Mac laughed and turned to Stella. ‘Better do as the doc says, honey.’

  She lifted her chin as he pressed his lips to hers, and a cheer erupted as cameras clicked furiously around them. The taste of him sent her heart soaring.

  The trees shook, casting leaves of red and burned ochre into the wind, which scattered among them all like confetti. A few threw small handfuls of rice and Stella giggled when some of it slipped down the back of Mac’s tunic jacket and slithered down his neck.

  Mrs Brown and the ladies from the WI had done a marvellous job of transforming the village hall, and bunting bearing both the American and British flag hung all around the room, while vases of flowers adorned tables. The musty odour would soon be eclipsed by rising tobacco smoke, no doubt. As Stella strode across to the top table, she gazed admiringly at the feast. ‘Oh, Mac. The cake’s beautiful.’ She admired the white iced two-tiered cake, complete with a miniature bride and groom decoration on top. ‘And real fruit.’ She grinned.

  ‘Yeah, it sure is something.’ He grinned back.

  Once Wilson had delivered his best man’s speech, it was time to hear from the groom. Mac scraped his chair back and stood up tall.

  ‘Well, I’m not one for speeches, but I’d like to thank you all for helping us celebrate our special day.’ He cast a gaze at Stella and smiled. ‘Almost a year ago, I saw a beautiful girl across a smoky dance hall in Meldreth, and something smacked me hard in the chest. At that m
oment, I knew she was the girl for me. But what she didn’t know was that she came along just when I needed to believe in something – or someone. And then when I was injured, rather than run for the hills, she decided that maybe I was worth sticking around for.’ As the guests laughed, Mac glanced at Archie and nodded. ‘And as for the doc there, why he even tried to poach her for his own staff, only the RAF weren’t having any of it.’

  Archie laughed and raised his glass as people turned to look at him. ‘It’s all true, of course. I’m well known for poaching staff and people.’ He chuckled, and everyone laughed.

  ‘So today I stand here because my beautiful wife and Archie refused to give up on me, and boy can they push and nag a guy.’ More laughter rippled around the hall. ‘I reckon I’m the luckiest guy in the world, so please raise your glasses in a toast to the bride.’

  Everyone stood up and chorused, ‘The bride.’

  ‘And if I can just add, Archie, when you first saw me and said you’d fix me up, I didn’t quite believe it, but you did.’ His voice faltered for a moment, and Stella reached out and took his hand in hers. He took a deep breath. ‘And for that, I’ll be forever in your debt, and I’ll never forget what you did for me. Please, everyone, raise your glasses to Archie, the Maestro. A great surgeon, an even greater friend, and the perfect matchmaker.’

  ‘Oh, now, I don’t know about that.’ Archie chuckled. ‘You’d better check with the bride first.’ Another wave of laughter.

  ‘The Maestro,’ everyone chorused.

  ‘Here’s to you, Archie.’ Mac raised his glass as Archie grinned and nodded.

  Mac gazed into Stella’s eyes and brushed her lips with his while the guests smiled and cheered. She was the happiest woman on earth. Mac always said they were meant to be, and he was right.

  The first notes of ‘Moonlight Serenade’ swayed out into the room, and Mac held out his hand. ‘They’re playing our song. Excuse me, ma’am. May I have this dance?’

  Stella rose, and as he led her to the dance floor, he slipped his arm around her waist and placed his hand on the small of her back, firm and warm, his touch electric.

  ‘Say, haven’t I seen you before?’ His blue eyes sparkled as he smiled, the skin crinkling at the corners, and his face lit up her world.

  ‘Oh, Mac. You remembered this was playing when you first asked me to dance.’ Tears pricked her eyes.

  ‘Well, Mrs Mackenzie, how does it feel to be a married woman?’

  ‘Perfect, and what about you?’

  ‘A married woman?’

  Stella laughed as he drew her close. One by one their guests joined them, filling the dance floor. ‘You’re mad.’ She nestled her cheek against his tunic and drank in cedar wood.

  ‘You’d better believe it, honey. And that’s why you love me.’ He planted a kiss on her lips. ‘I have a little surprise for you, wife.’ He smirked. ‘How do you fancy two days at a top-class London hotel with all the trimmings?’

  ‘Oh, that sounds perfect.’ As the closing bars played, he held her against him and kissed her.

  A little later, Stella passed Archie and overheard him talking about his work to a rather captive audience. Some of Mac’s crew were huddled around, along with her mother and some of the WI ladies while Archie talked about tubed pedicles, describing them like elephant’s trunks. She smiled to herself.

  ‘Hey, Mac, Stella. We wanted you to be the first to know. Bea has agreed to marry me.’ Pete beamed as he wrapped his arm around Bea’s shoulders.

  ‘Well, how about that? Congratulations.’ Mac shook his hand and slapped him on the back, and he suddenly realised he was holding skin, rather than leather. Pete had finally ditched the gloves. He leaned forward and kissed Bea on the cheek. ‘That’s swell news. I’m pleased for you both.’

  ‘Well, that’s not all. I’m staying on with the RAF. They’re giving me a desk job.

  ‘So much good news,’ Archie said. ‘Must be something in the water right now.’ He smiled and shook Mac’s hand. ‘Congratulations. I knew you could do it.’

  ‘Well, I almost didn’t, and I have you to thank for that.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t do anything at all. The credit is all Stella’s.’ Archie grinned and winked at her.

  As Stella gazed at Archie’s kind, genuine face, words failed her. There he stood, such an ingenious man, next to her husband – a man he had quite literally saved. And then there was Pete and all the others she’d met on Ward III. She understood why some of the men called Archie God, and when he turned to her and held out his hand and said goodbye, she smiled and hugged him. ‘Thank you, for everything,’ she whispered, as tears filled her eyes.

  ‘Not at all, my dear. All in a day’s work.’ He chuckled. ‘Just make sure you live life.’ He pushed his spectacles up on his nose as his face broke into a huge grin.

  ‘Mrs Mackenzie, how about you and I get a little fresh air.’ Mac steered Stella away from their guests and led her outside. The air had chilled even more, and wafts of smoke drifted like smog from neighbouring chimneys.

  Stella gazed admiringly at her new husband. He was so smart and handsome. ‘I love you.’

  He brushed a loose curl from her face. ‘I love you too, honey, now and always.’

  She moved towards him, raised her chin and gently caressed his face, both sides, comparing one to the other, smooth against roughened, reddened scar tissue. ‘I love who you are, Mac. You’re beautiful, inside and out.’

  He kissed her brow. ‘As long as I have you by my side, the world’s my oyster.’

  ‘It’s funny, I never thought we’d see this day, and now here we are. It’s a miracle really, isn’t it?’

  He cupped her chin and looked deep into her eyes. ‘I was lost for a while, but you guided me back to where I needed to be. You showed me who I am and who I could be. You’re the only woman for me, Stella. You’re all I need. Without you, I’m nothing.’

  ‘As Archie says, what good is a face if the man is not whole?’ Stella smiled.

  Mac was now whole, the circle complete. She linked his arm and a radiant warmth filled her inside and glowed so bright her cheeks warmed. A formation of Flying Fortresses droned from the east, and within minutes several dark cruciform shapes gracefully roared over their heads. Mac glanced up, his lips moving. He was counting them back.

  ‘Nine.’ He turned to her and kissed her gently, his breath warm, with a tinge of whisky. ‘All back.’

  ‘How did you know how many had flown today?’

  ‘I counted them out this morning.’

  She sighed. ‘You miss it.’ Stella tried to mask the sadness in her voice.

  Mac held her face in his hands. ‘You know, the truth is, I missed you more. And there’s no place I’d rather be than grounded, here with you.’

  Stella’s heart drummed to the tune of love. ‘You’ll fly again, I know it.’

  ‘I know, and I’m taking you with me, remember? Across the prairies, just like I said.’ He slipped his arms around her waist and drew her close. ‘You’re my girl, now and forever.’

  She smiled, leaning into his chest, drinking in undertones of cedar wood, with a hint of a prairie future and reminiscent notes of aircraft and war. Two white doves fluttered overhead, circling in the tranquil, sterile blue sky before swooping down to roost in the old oak tree across the road.

  Epilogue

  April 1990

  The years slip by, yet memories remain. While their form grows fuzzy, their outline blurred, they remain deeply rooted, roots that will thrive until the end.

  Decades pass. Each Remembrance Day, they gather together at an old airfield, somewhere in England. They fly in from all across the United States, and a coach delivers them to Bassingbourn, the former home of the 91st Bomb Group. Sometimes it is sunny, more often it is raining, yet always a breeze blows through as faces and voices sail back to greet them, whispers carried on the wind.

  They gather in the grounds by the memorial, seated in chairs in rows, facing the padre w
ho reads the service. Wreaths are laid as old friends are remembered. A soldier plays the Last Post, blowing notes up to the heavens.

  Later, they amble across the old airfield and pause for a few moments out on the perimeter track, sucking in the wind that blows in their faces where spirits soar. Memories resurface, blossoming with the breeze, and they pour over the procession of Flying Fortresses all biting to soar as one by one they hurtle down the track into the wind, screaming as they sail into the blue. Nostalgia swells and flows like the tide as they inhale reminiscent wafts of rubber, oil, cordite, and high octane fuel. Memories as vivid as ghosts.

  John Mackenzie wanders a little further out, looking towards a corner of the field where once he landed his Flying Fortress, where once an old friend died, and he gazes across the entire site, drinking in the scene as he recalls those who returned and those who did not. A heaviness settles in his chest, an ache he has always carried, one which his wife lightens, but here today it is an oppressive burden once more as old wounds reopen. He catches his wife’s eye and smiles.

  Age has worked miracles, and his scarred cheek has sagged and settled into the worn skin which bears fresh, deeper lines. He wears age like a mask and here, at his old haunt, the breeze whispers familiar words in his ears. ‘Time’s a healer.’ He sees the face of the nurse who spoke them and smiles to himself.

  Red Swanson walks slowly with a cane, the old leg injury prodding him daily with memories of air battle. Val stands tall, taking in the old place as he gazes around, the left arm of his jacket empty, hanging by his side.

  As they gather to examine the stretch of old concrete, Mike Wilson taps it with his foot, ruminating over how it’s stood the test of time just as they have done, and they laugh. Before they leave, they turn their faces to the sun, squinting into the golden light to glimpse one last memory of those mighty cruciform shapes as they plough through the sky with their thunderous roar. For a fleeting moment, silence falls, sadness caresses their eyes and lips as they scan the sky and see, and as they turn their heads away, the sky is empty.