by Sofia Grey
“Juliet, he’s easily ten years older than us. And if you thought the sentinel was stern, he’s a fluffy bunny compared to the ghardians. I’ve never seen Marc smile. Not once. He scares me with his intensity.”
“Aren’t you going to read his message?”
We’d just arrived at the kitchens, with five minutes to spare. I’d been friends with Juliet for many years, and we had few secrets. “Okay.” I sat on the grass, tugged the letter from my pocket, and opened it. “You can read it with me.”
With her reading over my shoulder, I scanned the note.
Student Gillman. Isabella.
I want to offer my congratulations on your first jump, and to wish you good luck. It is easy to become overwhelmed by the array of emotions, and so I urge you to fall back on your training and to maintain our protocols at all times.
I remember you as being a sensitive young girl and am concerned that you may find this first jump to be difficult. Since I am not on active duty at the moment, I will be available on your return, should you need counselling or advice.
Marc Gallagher—Lt.—
“Well,” murmured Juliet. “The scary ghardian is offering you counselling. He doesn’t sound so bad.”
“He’s probably just making sure I don’t make any terrible mistakes and disgrace our families.” Like falling in love with someone.
Chapter Five
I was busy in the kitchen all afternoon, not escaping until after we’d had dinner. It was another lovely, warm evening, with only wisps of high cloud in the sky and the moon even closer to full. It seemed very likely they’d be flying tonight, and the thought made me shiver.
Juliet and I went back to our room. I lay on my bunk and pretended to read a period novel, while she adorned her fingernails with foul-smelling pink lacquer. “There.” She waved a hand under my nose. “Don’t they look pretty?” I grunted in reply. “All the girls will have their nails painted at the dance on Friday. Would you like me to do yours?”
Before I could reply, a low rumble sounded outside, and I froze. When the rumble increased to a throaty roar, I scrambled down from my bunk and fumbled for my shoes. “They’re leaving.” Juliet followed me as I charged down the stairs, along the hallway, and outside. I ran around the building to the grassy bank that overlooked the main runway and stopped. The breath jammed in my lungs.
The massive Wellington bombers were on the move, trundling forward, the first one gathering speed and about to leave the ground. It was still daylight, though only just, with the moon already high. The planes, silhouetted against the fading light, looked primeval. Giant black monsters that would rain fire and death on thousands of innocent people.
“There’s C-Charlie.” Juliet snapped me out of my stupor. She waved, her entire arm swinging, and I followed. We weren’t the only ones watching them take off. Several WAAFs and uniformed men stood nearby, waving to the crews as they eased into the sky. Even without meaning to, I found myself counting them as they left. C-Charlie was fourth to go. Ten in total.
We watched until the last one was just a speck in the sky, its engines a faint rumble in the distance. I sagged at the knees and had to sit on the grass, my heart racing as though I’d been running. How did they do this? I knew they flew twice, sometimes three times each week. Many did not return. When they had been numbers on a page, it had been different. They had names now, and faces. The crews were real people.
Nausea rose and burned my throat when I swallowed it down. The WAAFs had dispersed, the men too, and there was only myself and Juliet left. For once, she didn’t have much to say.
•●•
I slept badly again, waking at every slight noise. I’d listen, accept it wasn’t the bombers returning, and then try to doze some more. Eventually a familiar noise permeated into my tired brain. An engine. I opened heavy eyelids and forced myself out of bed, grabbing a dressing gown to cover my pajamas. I didn’t bother with shoes. Behind me, I heard Juliet stumbling down the stairs.
We made it to the grass mound just as the first Wellington was landing on the runway, and I waited until all ten had returned. It took close to an hour before they were all safely on the ground, long minutes filled with flashing signal lights, trucks, and voices in the distance. Juliet slumped against me, half asleep, and I wrapped my arms around her to keep us both warm. It was too dark to tell which plane was Davy’s, but I knew he was back. Safe. The anxious knot in my chest loosened a fraction, and I staggered back to bed, half dragging my friend with me.
•●•
I yawned all through the morning chores and fretted when Juliet told me neither Teddy nor Davy had appeared at breakfast. Common sense reminded me the crews would all be sleeping late.
I was really thinking far too much about Davy Porteous. There were a dozen reasons I should distance myself from him, but the minute he appeared at the kitchen door, I forgot all of them.
It wasn’t three o’clock yet. Was he canceling? I wiped my damp palms on the baggy overall I wore and went to speak to him. Standing there, his hands shoved in his pockets and a curving smile on his face, he looked pleased to see me. “Hullo, Isabella. I wanted to see if you were still coming out this afternoon?”
Relief coursed through me. “Hullo, Davy.” My voice came out scratchy. “And yes.”
“If you don’t mind a little walk, there’s a nice tea shop in Beck Row.” He shrugged, his eyes never leaving my face. “If it’s too far, we could just stay here.”
What did he see when he looked at me? I knew my hair was escaping down the back of my neck, my cheeks were blushing a dark red, and my overalls made me look shapeless. I didn’t have Juliet’s quick laugh or her ready chatter. He waited for my answer, and I managed a smile. “The tea shop sounds nice.”
“All right.” He stared at me some more. “Meet you by the gate at three?”
•●•
I watched Juliet setting off with Teddy to ride on his motorbike and wondered how she was so confident, while I walked in her shadow. Like everything she did, I’d no doubt she’d be a successful historian. If she put her mind to it, she could probably live in any time period and adapt perfectly—while I struggled to cope with the fundamentals. My stocking clasps refused to fasten. Again.
Battling with my clothing made me late, and I had to run across the grass to the main gate, arriving flushed and out of breath. Davy stood waiting for me, hands in his pockets as usual. How would he look out of uniform? And why was I even asking myself that question?
We set off at a gentle pace, and Davy asked how my day had been. There wasn’t much I could say to make kitchen work sound interesting, and I hesitated. “It’s been busy,” I muttered. “How was it last night?”
His lips curved upward. “Busy.” Was he laughing at me? I felt the familiar heat rise to my cheeks and spread down my throat. “I should apologize for teasing, but you’re very pretty when you blush.”
Oh. I covered my cheeks with my hands.
“But in answer to your question, last night was uneventful.” He quirked his brows. “A lot of doing nothing.”
Come on, Isabella, talk to him. I fell back on a question. “How long have you been here?”
“At Mildenhall?” I nodded. “Since January. I’ve flown twenty-six ops so far.”
I felt more at ease talking about data, and I relaxed a fraction. Here was my opportunity to learn the reality about the bombing campaign of Europe. My knowledge so far was limited to numbers on a page: 55,000 aircrew lost, out of approximately 125,000. Right now though, the war was in its infancy. The Americans had yet to join the allied forces, and Britain still had three years of fighting ahead.
“Twenty-six? With the same crew?”
“Aye. Flight Lieutenant Marshall is a good captain. We feel safe with him.” He gave a short, awkward-sounding laugh. “Lady Luck plays a big part, though.”
It took an effort, but I pushed away the knowledge Lady Luck was about to turn away from Davy and his crew, and I forced myself to foc
us on the here and now. “What a lovely afternoon for a walk. Do you go here often?”
The question sounded stilted to my ears, but Davy flashed me a smile, as though grateful for changing the subject. “Aye. They raffle a chocolate cake every week, or what passes for chocolate these days. I sometimes buy a ticket.”
“Do you like cake?” It didn’t exist in my time. I’d no idea what it would taste like.
“I love my mum’s cakes. She also makes the best apple pie I’ve ever tasted.” His eyes darted to me, bright and full of mischief. “Tart Bramley apples, melt-in-the-mouth soft, in thick, buttery pastry. Sugar sprinkled over the top. Hot from the oven, with a puddle of yellow cream by the side.” He smacked his lips together. “Does it get any better?”
“Are you sure you want to be a doctor? Sounds like you could be a chef.”
“Ha. You’re just envious. Next time I go home on leave, I’ll bring a slice back for you.”
“How often do you go back?”
“Not since last year.” He glanced at me and smiled when he saw me looking at him. “After I’ve completed this tour, I’ll be grounded for a few months before I can sign on for the next. If I’m lucky, I’ll get home then. And you know what, Isabella?” He reached across and tucked my arm in his, instantly bringing me closer.
My heart was in my mouth when I spoke. “What?”
“It’s a lovely spring day. I’m walking in the sunshine with a beautiful girl. I’d say I’m pretty lucky.”
Chapter Six
Despite the sunshine, clouds gathered in the distance, and the air felt strange. Heavy. Davy followed my gaze. “Looks like a storm rolling in. They’re common this time of year, but they’re normally over quickly. We’ll be fine, and we’re nearly there now.”
The wide, tree-lined path had given way to a quiet road, and I could see the village up ahead. No more than a pub, a church, and a handful of shops, there were plenty of blue uniforms. It must be popular with the airmen and WAAFs, since it was such a short walk from the base. Davy kept his arm tucked through mine and led me to a double-fronted brick building, the large windows taped in zig-zag patterns.
“This is it. Sid’s Teashop.” He pushed the door open with his free hand, waited for me to walk ahead, and then greeted the plump-faced woman behind the counter. Within moments we were seated at a rickety table for two, so close our knees pressed together.
I tried not to stare openly at the other patrons, but it was hard not to. It was so different to my usual life. A group of elegant WAAFs clustered around one table, talking with animated hand gestures. A couple of tired-looking air force officers smoked at another table and spoke in low, dispirited tones. My attention skipped to the next group, two young mothers chatting over a pot of tea while jiggling their babies on their knees. Over at the back of the room, a young officer in uniform clutched the hands of the young WAAF sitting opposite him.
My mind skipped back to Marc’s letter. I needed to fall back on my training, and remember our protocols. I took a deep breath, and focused on Davy.
“You okay, Isabella?”
No. I’m struggling to cope, and adrift on a sea of unfamiliar emotions. I fiddled with the cutlery on the table and bought myself a few moments. “I’m not used to this.” I swallowed and tried to cover my mistake. “Being with you,” I whispered.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I know how to fix that.”
“You do?”
“Cake.” He flicked at the corner of the little typed menu card on our table. “Tea and cake can fix most things.”
The tea arrived in a large porcelain pot, accompanied by delicate flower-patterned cups and saucers. It was refreshingly different from the utilitarian white crockery at the base. Moments later, the waitress deposited a plate containing two slabs of a dark orange-colored cake.
“That’s a relief.” Davy nudged the plate toward me. “The carrot cake is good. Better than the coconut one. I swear they put sawdust in with the coconut.”
I had to smile. He was joking, surely? While I sat, uncertain how to respond, he added milk to both cups and then poured the tea through a metal strainer. It smelled fragrant and appetizing, and I realized I was hungry. Not just for food, but for him. To know more about the charming young man beside me.
“Where do you come from, Davy?” I wrapped my hands around the cup. I knew it was too hot to drink, but it stopped me from fidgeting.
“Wales. But you knew that by my accent, aye?” I shrugged. “I come from Holyhead, off the North Wales coast.”
“Tell me about it?”
“It’s a fishing town on an island just off Wales. In winter it can be gray for days on end, and damned cold when the north wind blows in, but the spring is breathtaking. Daffodils everywhere. This time of year, the hawthorns will be flowering, and the hedgerows will be a riot of blossom.” His eyes softened as he talked, his accent lilting even more. “My dad is the GP in the same practice that his dad held before him. We’ve had doctors in our family for generations.”
The tea had cooled enough to drink and was quite delicious. Davy picked up his own cup and then nodded to me. “So how about you? Where do you come from?”
I took a quick breath before I launched into my much-practiced cover story. “Not much to tell. My father is a lecturer, a historian, and we moved around a lot when I was growing up.”
“And?”
I wanted to share something honest. “My plan is to study history. Like you, I want to do the same as my father.”
“Favorite period?”
Huh? I was supposed to be learning about Davy, not the other way around. “The Dark Ages. After the Ancient Romans left Britain and the Saxons tried to take over. I’m fascinated by the way society reformed itself and became even stronger as a result. It developed into a united nation. Eventually. It just took a few hundred years.”
Davy gazed at me. He looked interested. “You ever been to Scotland?” I shook my head. “You should go, and take a trip to Hadrian’s Wall. It’s almost two thousand years old, and large parts of it are still intact. The Romans knew how to build walls.”
Parts of it existed in my time, but hermetically sealed to preserve it indefinitely. The idea of visiting it now, seeing—and touching—it, was intoxicating. “I’d run my hands over the stone and imagine how it looked the day it was laid there.” I wasn’t sure if I’d spoken aloud, but Davy’s nod confirmed it.
“I did that too. I was ten years old, and my head was filled with Roman soldiers and battles. I pretended I was a time traveler and had gone back in time to watch it being built.” He ducked his head, a hint of color staining his cheeks. “Stupid, huh?”
“It’s not stupid.”
My quiet words hung between us. Inside, I cringed. There was no reason ever to tell the natives why we were there, or to hint at future tech. Nothing would corrupt the timelines quicker than a peek at the future, and I felt cold at the secret I almost revealed.
Davy replaced his cup in its saucer, and then reached across the table and touched the back of my hand. My gaze leaped to meet his. “Maybe when I go on leave next time, you might come with me? I could take you to Hadrian’s Wall, and to sample my mum’s baking.”
Shame flooded me at the deception I was creating. I couldn’t look at him. I tucked both hands in my lap and stared down at the table. The tea left a bitter taste in my mouth, or maybe that was guilt? This was so unfair.
I didn’t even realize I was trembling until Davy spoke in a low, pained voice. “I’m sorry, Isabella. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”
Looking up, I saw the hurt in his eyes and the way his jaw tightened. “I’m sorry,” I blurted. “I can’t do that.”
His mouth twisted, but he didn’t look away. “I’ve only known you a couple of days, and I know it’s too soon to be making plans, so don’t say no. Not yet.” He hesitated. I wondered if he could hear how loud my heart was pounding. “Let’s just take it as it comes. One day at a time.” His lips cu
rved in a ghost of a smile. “Can we do that?”
I longed to say yes. This was supposed to be a fact-finding exercise and a step toward an excellent grade for the field trip. Over a pot of tea in a bustling café, it had grown into something I didn’t recognize.
“Isabella?” His voice was soft, coaxing me to speak. I remembered when he said my name that first night. The gentle lilt, the way it rolled off his tongue like an endearment. I swallowed. I was in way over my head already.
Still he watched me. Tension vibrated in the air. I couldn’t say yes, but it would kill me to say no. The paper I’d written was meaningless. Their chances of survival—this man’s chance—was dependent on more than proximity to home. He wanted someone to come back to.
There was a lump in my throat the size of a rock. “One day at a time.”
His smile was real this time. “That’s all right, then.” He slid the plate of forgotten carrot cake toward me. “We start with cake.”
Chapter Seven
With trembling fingers, I took a slice of cake and lifted it to my lips. At any other time I’d be curious about this new food, eager to try it and to add it to the list of things I’d experienced. Now though, it could have been made of cardboard. My mouth was too dry, my throat too tight. I managed to bite off a small piece and forced it down, feeling as though I’d choke in the process.
Davy’s eyes widened when he saw my struggle to eat. “It’s not that bad, is it?” He broke off a corner, chewed it and swallowed, and then stared at me, concern in his eyes. “Are you okay?”
I gulped down some tea and somehow replaced the cup in its saucer without spilling it on the table. “I’m fine.” I groped for an explanation. “It was just a crumb.”
A rowdy group of airmen claimed the table next to us, chattering about a movie they’d seen, and arguing about the details. I shrank in my seat. I was stupid to think I could cope with this.
Davy glanced at the airmen, looked back at me, and paused, his forehead crinkling in a frown. “It’s too noisy in here. Let’s go.”