by Iona Grey
The tenuous laughter of a moment ago was smashed, swamped, swept away by a tidal wave of emotion. Across the table their hands touched, clasped tightly, as if across a void.
‘What are we going to do?’
He sighed. ‘Carry on as before, I guess. I have nine missions left to fly before my tour ends. Depending on the weather and the mood of the guys in charge it might be two weeks or two months.’
Or never. He didn’t say it, but it was there. A fact. An obscenity, too appalling to acknowledge. From the deep, black waters at the back of her mind questions surfaced about odds and statistics and current expectations. She drowned them all.
‘And then what will happen?’
‘In the normal run of things I’d get sent home, given a few weeks to rest up, and then get sent around the good old US of A selling war bonds or something.’ He let go of her hand, picked up his pint and drank. ‘I’m going to apply to stay here. To transfer to a different squadron or fly with rookie crews or something. Anything. I’m not much of a cook, but hell, I could have a go at that too, if it meant they’d let me stick around.’
‘The war brought us together, but it’s going to keep us apart too. The unfairness of that makes me—’ Her breath caught awkwardly in her throat, in a sort of silent sob.
‘I know.’
Long moments passed. She took a mouthful of beer and, putting the glass down again, traced patterns in the condensation clouding its sides. She didn’t want to look at him because she knew that she would cry. The future had unfurled itself before them. In the distance there was happiness – the house he was going to build on the beach, the fur rug in front of the fire – but it was on the other side of a vast chasm. Crossing it safely seemed impossible.
‘What about me? What shall I do? I don’t want to be married to Charles any more. Life is too short and love too precious to waste in pretending.’
‘Will he agree to a divorce?’
Stella considered this for a moment before answering. ‘I think he has to. I mean, I know the whole sanctity of marriage thing is important to him, but it’s obvious he doesn’t even like me very much, never mind love me. I noticed it last time he came home, when he brought Peter to stay, and it struck me that he’s never looked at me or spoken to me with anything like the warmth he shows to him. And he can’t go on pretending that ours is a normal, happy marriage when it’s obvious he finds touching me as appealing as stroking a slug. I think even he would have to agree that the whole thing has been a rather terrible mistake.’
‘This Peter guy . . . You told me about him in your letter. He and Charles seem pretty close.’
‘Oh yes, they knew each other from theological college, long before I met Charles. They used to go on fishing holidays together.’
She said it in a way that was supposed to make him laugh, but his face stayed thoughtful. Serious.
‘It was quite a coincidence, them being on leave at the same time, and then meeting up at the station like that.’
‘Yes . . .’ Stella felt her smile falter. She’d said the same thing to Charles at the time, but he had snapped that she was being ridiculous; thousands of military personnel passed through Victoria every day. She had shut up then, and not bothered to explain that that was what she’d meant; that the chance of them bumping into each other in the flood of people seemed so small.
Across the table Dan drained his beer and put the glass down carefully. ‘It’s just a hunch, but something about what you said in your letter got me thinking . . .’ He looked up at her with a wry smile. ‘And finding out that Charles isn’t driven wild with desire for you has got me thinking a whole lot more. I might be wrong . . . but I’d say the marriage may not have been a mistake, exactly. More of a . . . smokescreen.’
‘What do you mean?’
He took a packet of Lucky Strikes out of his pocket and slid one out. He knew her well enough not to offer her one now. ‘There are some men – women too, come to that – who aren’t attracted to the opposite sex, but to their own. It’s more common than you might think.’
‘But . . . but isn’t that against the law?’
‘Yep.’ He paused to light the cigarette, cupping his hand around the lighter flame, then continuing as he snuffed it out again. ‘But there isn’t a legal system in the world that can control people’s feelings. And if I’m right about Charles, I guess that’s why he felt the need to marry, so he could carry on feeling how the hell he likes in private. Hey, I might be completely on the wrong page, but—’
‘No . . .’ Stella was distracted, fascinated. It felt like she’d been stumbling around in a landscape where everything was blurred and indistinct and he’d just given her a pair of spectacles that brought it all into focus. ‘It all fits, including why he asked me to marry him in the first place. He obviously knew I was stupid and naïve enough not to suspect anything. And since then, he’s used that to make me believe that I was to blame for everything that was wrong in our marriage.’
Dan took a long, deep lungful of smoke and exhaled slowly. ‘It doesn’t change much, though. You’re still married.’
‘At least I understand now. Actually, I feel rather sorry for him – I’ve always sensed how unhappy he is, deep down. I thought it was all tied up in his calling, and his belief that he somehow wasn’t good enough to please God, or his parents. But now I can see . . . How horrible it must be, loving someone and wanting to be with them forever, and knowing that it’s hopeless.’
He looked at her through the haze of blue. ‘Like us, you mean?’
‘No.’ She stood up and went around to his side of the table. Moving his empty glass to one side she hitched herself up so that she was sitting in front of him on the rough wood, then leaned forward and took his face between her hands. ‘It’s not hopeless for us. Charles tricked me into a charade of a marriage under false pretences. There’s nothing he can do to make me stay now. All you have to do is come through this safely. Alive.’
It sounded so simple. In the damp green garden, with the scent of honeysuckle and rank earth and the river, and her face only inches from his, it was obvious. Stay alive. He’d almost believed it was possible.
But the 3 a.m. demons had woken him again, trailing their icy fingers down his back and whispering their sour-breathed truths in his ear. Two out of three airmen don’t live to see the end of their tour. Losses in the Group currently standing at seventy-two per cent after seventeen missions. The faces of crewmen he no longer saw in the mess hall emerged from the darkness at the edges of the room and crowded around the bed. There was the ball-turret gunner who’d taken the hit on the milk run to Fruges, the side of his head a bloody pulp as it had been when Dan had watched him get carried off the plane; the pilot and co-pilot of Sweet Georgia Brown whom he’d last seen through the glass of the cockpit before their ship spiralled downwards, engulfed in flame.
Sweat drenched his body and his heart punched his ribs. Beneath the sheets his legs twitched from the flood of adrenaline. He turned his head on the pillow, inhaling the scent of Stella’s hair like oxygen, listening to the sound of her breathing and trying to hold on to its slow rhythm. He wanted to pull her into his arms and bury his face in her neck, knowing that she’d turn to him and wrap herself around him and allow him to lose himself in her again. Instead he sat up and, taking care not to wake her, slipped out of bed.
In the afterglow of a bone-melting orgasm sleep had come easily, but he knew that it wouldn’t be back tonight and it wasn’t fair to keep her awake too. In the darkness of the blackout he groped for his cigarettes and went over to the window. Raising the blind a couple of inches he saw that the sky was the smudged grey blue of the hour before dawn, the city still folded in its shadows. He lit a cigarette, noticing the tremor of his hand in the lighter’s flame.
As she’d said herself, none of it was fair. The war. People in Europe being herded into camps because of the family they were born into and the building in which they worshipped. Flak that whistled past one boy�
��s shoulder and hit another right in the head. Him bringing her here, sleeping with her, talking about a future he knew damned well wasn’t his to promise.
Things were happening; the whole USAAF was alive with rumour and speculation. Meetings had been held, new strategies decided. Fresh crews had been arriving to take up the empty beds at Palingthorpe and all the other bases. An announcement had been made about the Combined Bomber Offensive, which was to see American and Brit flyboys harness their efforts and rain bombs down on Germany day and night, to destroy the Nazis’ military, industrial and economic strength. It sounded great, until you remembered that the Nazis were pretty shit hot at trying to stop that kind of thing, and the only reason new crews were being trained up and spat out onto the ground so fast was because the guys in those meetings knew they’d be needed. Because they knew what the losses were going to be like.
In the bed Stella sighed and stirred. Light was seeping into the sky; cool and pearly but enough to bring her face into focus, like a photograph developing in a darkroom. His heart squeezed. It was nothing new for him to be awake in the small hours and thinking of her. Over the months since he’d met her, since he’d started flying and watching ships fall out of the sky and men get shot to pieces or consumed by fire, she’d been his safe place. It had been her letters, her voice, her smile he’d focused on when the demons whispered and the adrenaline wouldn’t stop pumping. She’d been his escape from the fear of dying.
Now she was the biggest reason for it.
He looked over to where she lay in the wreckage of the hotel’s immaculate bed, the sheets twisted around her naked body, her hair spread across the pillow. And in that moment he almost wished he’d never found that watch.
‘Our bed. I can’t bear the thought of other people sleeping in it. Making love in it, when we’re miles apart from each other.’
The covers were pulled straight and tight, the blue satin eiderdown retrieved from the floor and placed neatly on top. The room was respectable again. Neutral. It was impossible to tell that for three days it had been their whole world, and the setting for such joy.
He had saved the treats he had brought to give to her now, to lighten this moment of parting, and took out nylons and chocolate from the bottom of his kitbag, and tins of pineapple. There was two of everything – ‘For you and for Nancy,’ he explained. ‘ To thank her for being on our side.’
Stella’s throat felt sore with the effort of not crying. She didn’t want their last moments alone together to be tainted by sadness, and made a convincing attempt at a smile.
‘I’m sure Nancy will be keen for us to visit her mother as often as possible for all those treasures. Will we be able to do this again soon?’
‘I hope so.’
She nodded, glimpsing the continent of uncertainty that lay beneath his words, and understanding. ‘If this is all there is . . . If these three days are all we ever have . . . I want you to know, they were enough. Enough happiness to feed off for a lifetime.’
He kissed her, fiercely, as if he was trying to imprint himself on her. When they finally fell away from each other her cheeks were wet with tears.
‘This isn’t all there is,’ he said, gently wiping them away with his fingertips. ‘Letters. We still have letters. Whatever happens, just keep writing, OK?’
19
23 July ’43
Sweetheart
I got back to the base an hour ago. It’s 6 p.m. and I have the hut to myself since everyone else is either in the bar or the ablutions block taking a shower before heading out to the pub in the village. Lying here I can just about catch the scent of your skin on mine. It’s just as well I’m alone because the others would think I’m crazy.
Johnson tells me I haven’t missed much. There’s been cloud over Europe and not much flying. Too bad. I was hoping they’d have nailed the Nazi bastards while I was away.
I love you. Look after yourself for me.
D x
26 July ’43
Darling Stella
A couple of days ago the sun came out, as the weather guys predicted it would. We’re back in the air. They seem to be ready to pull out all the stops, which hopefully means things will start to move in the right direction now. It should also mean that I rack up these last few missions quickly. We’ve done two in as many days and we’re on the list again tomorrow. I guess they won’t keep scheduling us to go up like that as we’re all pretty tired, but I ’d fly all day and all night if it meant getting to the end of my tour quicker.
There’s no time to think of anything on the way out or when we’re over the target, but it’s when we’re headed home it always feels like I’m flying right back to you.
Take care sweetheart, for me.
D x.
Darling girl,
Your letter was waiting here when we got back today. I didn’t even wait until after the debriefing to open it.
I guess he had to get Embarkation Leave sometime. Fourteen days sure seems like a long time, but it’s nothing, not really, I promise you. It’ll pass, and when it has and he’s gone I might be finished my twenty-five. We’re nearly there. Now is not the right time to tell him about us, not when he’s going away – it wouldn’t be fair. Also, with any luck he’ll give you up without a fight, but right now there’s not a damn thing I could do about it if he didn’t. Just two weeks. Hang on in there, beautiful girl. Send him off with a smile and we’ll sort everything out properly when he gets back.
The war has to be over soon. These missions we’re doing are big ones, and from twenty thousand feet up they look pretty damned successful. After what happened in North Africa it sure feels like the tide is turning in our favor.
I know it’s going to be hard for you to write me when Charles is home so don’t worry about it. It sure is good of Nancy to offer her services as delivery girl – I still had her address from that first time. I’ll write whenever I can, I promise, and I know that you’re thinking of me.
Johnson’s wife had her baby – the flight chief was standing on the control tower waving a blue towel when we landed today. A boy. Mother and baby both doing well back home in Ohio. I don’t think I ever saw anyone so happy. So you see, that’s another reason why we have to stay safe and finish up real soon.
I love you, and I’m counting down the days until we can be together. Look after yourself for me.
D x
28 July ’43
Sweetheart,
Sorry this is going to be a short one. It’s late and I’m on standby again for tomorrow, though it seems we only just got back from today’s mission. It was the longest and the toughest I’ve ever done. Our target was █ █ █ █ █ █ and when we got there we could see that the RAF boys had been there before us. The city was pretty much on fire. Even from 10,000 feet up we could feel the heat. █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ We watched the crews to either side of us bail out. █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ I guess I’m lucky to be here.
I think about you all the time, though it doesn’t bring me the same kind of peace as usual, knowing that he’s with you. I hope he’s treating you well. He doesn’t know how lucky he is.
I love you. Take care of yourself for me.
Dan x
Jess’s head pounded and her hand was shaking too much to put the letter back in its envelope. It had crept up on her while she’d been reading, this feeling, stealthy and sinister as sea fog, and now it engulfed her, swallowing up familiar landmarks so there was nothing else but her aching body. The black, blanked-out lines of the letter spread across her vision. Still holding it, she lay back on the bed and closed her eyes.
They were almost there. Neither Dan nor Stella knew for sure that he would survive his twe
nty-five missions, but Jess did. She knew that he would live to the grand old age of ninety, in a house on the beach in Maine. Without her. So what had happened?
Beside her on the bed the box of letters offered up its secrets. The afternoon light was still bright enough to read, but it was too bright for her eyes, which burned behind her closed lids. Her throat felt like she’d swallowed rusty razor blades. She longed for hot coffee to soothe the pain, or even water, but couldn’t face the thought of going downstairs. She was cold. So very, very cold. Moving from the warm hollow she’d made on the bed was out of the question.
Whimpering slightly she pushed down the pink bedcover. The blankets beneath felt impossibly heavy and tight and gave off the chill breath of the tomb, but she slid beneath them, still fully clothed. Every muscle screamed a protest at the movement, and so she tucked up her knees and lay very still, waiting for the pain in her head to subside and the shivering to stop.
‘I brought you a coffee. Thought you might need it.’ Bex set a cardboard carton from the coffee chain across the road on Will’s desk and looked down at him with eyes full of compassion. ‘You all right?’
Will dredged up a crooked smile. Having discovered that one whole branch of the Grimwood family tree had been signed up by a rival company, Ansell had been on particularly bruising form this morning and, as usual, Will had taken the flak. It hadn’t been pretty.
‘I’m marvellous, thank you. Never better. After all, I had Sunday lunch with my parents. My ace-barrister brother was there, with his ace-barrister fiancée and my father’s sarcasm is always particularly biting after half a bottle of Chateauneuf, so I’m at the top of my game when it comes to dealing with ritual humiliation. A day in the office with Ansell is like a picnic in the park in comparison.’