Gwen, who had gone to the kitchen to see what Lucy was doing about dessert, returned in time to hear her husband’s prediction. Her shoulders dropped.
‘Let’s pray you’re wrong, Oliver,’ she said. ‘Otherwise John will have to go to war, just as you did. You can’t want that.’
‘Of course I don’t want that! Why is no one listening properly? What I’m trying to say is—’
John coughed. ‘I don’t think Dad wants war, Mum. But . . . er . . . a lot of us rather do, you know, if we’re being honest. It’s obvious Adolf’s going to have to be stopped sooner or later. I’m training on Tiger Moths now and the chaps say that could mean qualifying for a Hurricane or even a Spitfire squadron. If Dad’s right, we might actually get a crack at showing Hitler where he gets off.’
His parents stared at him.
‘You never mentioned this,’ said Gwen, after a pause. ‘You never said you were training to be a fighter pilot. Isn’t that awfully dangerous, Oliver?’
Mr Arnold hesitated. ‘Well, up to a point. All flying has its risks, especially in war. We just have to—’
Diana clapped her hands. ‘What fun, Johnnie! A girl I know at Girton goes out with a fighter pilot. He flies Gloucester something-or-others . . . Radiators – oh no, it’s Gladiators. Anyway, he’s gorgeous and so is everyone in his squadron. You simply must fly fighters!’
She turned to her mother. ‘Don’t worry, Mummy. Like it says in the song: “There ain’t going to be no war, no war”. Old Adolf won’t dare attack us, or France. Especially France. Professor Hislop told us during a lecture this week that the French have a massive army, much bigger than ours. We’ll be fine.’
She pointed at her brother. ‘When you start flying fighter planes, Johnnie, promise you’ll bring home the best-looking pilot in the squadron to stay for Christmas, and I’ll bring home Sarah Tweed, that girl you kept making ridiculous sheep’s eyes at during the Freshers’ Ball. Agreed?’
John smiled. ‘I haven’t even got my wings yet, sis.’
‘Oh, but you will. You have my fullest confidence. Anyway, talking of old Hislop, I ought to be off. No time for pudding. Will you give me a lift to the station, Pa?’
‘Me too, please,’ said John, standing up. ‘I’m due back at camp tonight. Flying first thing in the morning.’
‘Certainly,’ said Mr Arnold, with forced cheeriness. ‘This lawyer can run a one-man taxi-rank with the best of them. No difficulty there. I’ll get the car out.’ He turned to Diana. ‘Come on, Piglet – you open the garage for me while I start her up.’
Gwen said nothing as her children kissed her goodbye. Foreboding had risen from her throat like ash and her tongue was choked.
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The Way You Look Tonight Page 29