by Isla Dewar
She heard footsteps walking up the front path, someone banged on the front door. Mrs Brent opened it. Voices. Then Mrs Brent called, ‘You’ve got a visitor.’ More footsteps climbing the stairs, then Jimmy stood leaning on the door frame, smiling. ‘Julia phoned and told me you’d almost been bumped off.’ He came over to the bed, stooped to kiss her.
‘I’m fine,’ said Izzy. ‘The plane I was in caught fire. I got out. Diane didn’t. Now I have to wait till I’m passed fit enough to fly.’
Mrs Brent stood watching this small embrace, then picked up a chair and placed it several feet from the bed, indicating that’s where Jimmy should sit. Not on the bed, not a man on the bed of a woman he wasn’t married to, that wasn’t right. She busied away. Noisily made the bed in Julia’s room, then Claire’s room, going back and forth past the open door of Izzy’s room. Izzy and Jimmy waited till she went back to the kitchen before they kissed properly. But then Mrs Brent came back with tea and ginger cake. ‘Made it myself.’ She hovered while they ate.
All morning, Mrs Brent cleaned and polished and sang and clattered, reminding the pair in the bedroom that she was there, and no nonsense was allowed. But, eventually, she left. She was due at the Golden Mallard, where she worked washing up.
Izzy held back the blankets, inviting Jimmy into her bed.
‘You’re sick,’ he said.
‘No, I’m not. Besides if I am sick, it’s in my mind. Not in any of my interesting bits.’
He stripped off and climbed in beside her. They lay awhile, chatting. Conversation was easier now Mrs Brent had gone, and they were lying down, side by side and undressed.
He asked if she was all right.
‘Of course I am. I wouldn’t have invited you in beside me if I wasn’t.’
He told her Julia had been worried about her. ‘She said you’d been traumatised by your friend’s dying.’
‘I was upset. I am upset. I got a little depressed and sometimes the picture of it comes into my mind, vividly and I can’t get rid of it.’
He said he saw a lot of that.
‘My friend Wanda died, then Diane died. People die and you’ll never see them again. There’s a hole in your life.’ She propped herself on her elbow, kissed him. ‘I’ll miss them both.’
‘You never stop missing them,’ he said. ‘I’ve lost friends. I’ve lost guys who were carried into the hospital screaming and there was nothing I could do for them. When this is over, I won’t forget them. I’ll put a little bit of every day aside to think about them. Just a few quiet moments.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Twenty to two. That’ll be your remembrance time.’
Later, they went to the Golden Mallard and had a late lunch outside on the terrace. The day was warm, the air smelled of newly mown lawns, but Izzy shivered. ‘I’m a bit shaky. Haven’t been out much. I must stop lying about.’
He agreed. ‘Doesn’t do to get maudlin.’
She told him she had an interview with the CO on Monday. ‘To see if I’m fit to fly. Probably a psychological test, too. I’ll tell them about setting aside time to remember Diane. Organised grief, they’ll like that.’ Then she said, ‘Actually . . . ?’
‘Actually, what?’ he asked.
‘Last time we spoke on the phone and I asked you to go to Dolores’ party, you said you couldn’t. Then you said “actually”, and we were cut off.’
‘Oh, yes. I was going to say that I have some leave due in August. We could go to Scotland then.’
They spent the rest of their time planning their trip north. Izzy reminded him they wouldn’t be able to sleep together.
He said they could have a couple of nights in Edinburgh on the way back. ‘To make up for lost pleasures.’
‘Another actually, would you mind not talking about my work. My father doesn’t know I’m a pilot.’
‘He doesn’t?’
‘I just haven’t told him what he doesn’t want to hear.’ Izzy looked away, watched a couple of wood pigeons strut across the lawn. ‘Don’t,’ she said.
‘Don’t what?’
‘Don’t tell me I’m stupid for not telling my folks what I do.’
‘I wasn’t going to. I didn’t tell my folks I’d joined up till a couple of days before I had to report. Couldn’t face the fuss.’
‘That’s it. I can’t face the fuss. I’ll probably tell my father when I see him. And in that case we might find ourselves leaving early and having more than a couple of nights in Edinburgh.’
She caught him looking at her, scrutinising her. She knew he wanted to ask her again if she was all right. And she knew he wouldn’t. Because she’d only tell him once more that she was fine.
When they got back to the cottage, he got into his car. He had to get back, he was on duty that night. They smooched on the doorstep and promised to see one another again soon. Before he drove away, he leaned out of the car and said, ‘Twenty to two. That’s your time.’
Izzy agreed. ‘Twenty to two.’ She waved goodbye.
Inside, Julia was sitting by the fire. ‘You’re up,’ she said.
‘Out of bed and walking about,’ said Izzy. ‘Did you have a good time on leave?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Julia. ‘Guess what I did.’
‘You went out dancing? You ate at the Savoy?’
‘Yes,’ said Julia. ‘And I got married.’
Chapter Thirty-one
A Grand Night Out
SATURDAY NIGHT AND Elspeth and Lorna resisted the dance. Lorna said that the whirl and the sweat of it would make her feel sick. ‘And there’s all that eyeing up the boys and them eyeing you up back. I’m not in the mood.’
Elspeth put her arm round her and said that dances would be fine if they were just about dancing. ‘But they’re not. They’re about who you’re going to kiss tonight and who’s going to take you home.’ She thought about this. ‘Not that anybody would take us home. Not to where we live.’
‘I just want to go somewhere quiet and be sad,’ said Lorna.
So Elspeth suggested they squander her recital earnings on a meal at the local hotel. ‘There will be carpets and waitresses and cakes.’
‘That’s what we need,’ said Lorna. ‘Something to remind us we’re human beings.’
The White Cockade Hotel in the centre of the village square was where Elspeth stayed with Izzy on her visits. Tartan carpets stretched from the foyer to the dining room and on up the stairs. Lorna and Elspeth were led to a small table by the window, beyond was a view of the river and mountains and forest in the distance. ‘If I didn’t work in that bloody forest, I’d think this view lovely. But trees will never be the same to me now.’
Elspeth agreed. She looked across the dining room at the table where she and Izzy normally sat. Bloody Izzy, she thought. Where are you? No visits for months and no letters for weeks. Too caught up with your love life and your glamorous job to think about me. She felt ignored, rejected, left behind and sorry for herself. She missed Izzy.
So instead she became hearty, clapped her hands and said, ‘Let’s stuff ourselves.’
A waitress in a black dress and white apron brought them menus. They considered their options. Elspeth chose roast beef, Lorna fish and chips.
‘I know, fish and chips, I could have that across the road at the chippy for half the price.’
‘But,’ said Elspeth, ‘this time your fish and chips will be on a posh plate, you get to pour your own tea from a silver teapot and the cutlery will be splendid.’
‘Can we have pudding? Pudding’s important when you’re out for a treat.’
‘Pudding’s a must. We have to eat pudding. Life without pudding is a dull affair.’
‘You can say that again,’ said Lorna.
Elspeth suggested they start with a glass of sherry. ‘Since we’re being posh.’
The waitress brought them two small, ornate glasses filled to the brim. Lorna drank, made a face. ‘It’s horrible.’
Elspeth agreed. ‘Tastes like it’s been under the kitchen sink for a y
ear or two. Still, we have to finish it. We’re on a spree. Look on the bright side, the fish and chips will put the taste away.’
So, they sipped some more. ‘Doesn’t taste so bad once your throat knows what’s coming. And it warms you up a treat,’ said Lorna.
‘Does it help with the sadness?’
‘A little.’
‘How are you coping? Do you miss Freddie awfully?’
‘Yes,’ said Lorna. ‘I save up my sadness for when I’m in bed at night. I pull the covers over my head and I’m alone so I can cry.’ Then she asked what Elspeth thought about when she pulled the bedclothes over her head.
‘My little cottage. I used to dream about running away to it. I’d light the fire to heat the boiler for a bath, then I’d make tea and just sit.’
Lorna said that just sitting sounded good. ‘Freddie and me will never just sit by the fire in the evening listening to the wireless. We’ll never have kids. We never even made love. I should have done that. I shouldn’t have kept telling him no. I said I was a good girl and good girls saved themselves for marriage. I was a fool. I wish I was a modern girl, like you.’
Elspeth told her not to be silly. ‘You were true to yourself. That’s what Freddie loved. If you’d been like me, he’d never have looked at you.’
They ate in silence. Food was too serious for conversation. Afterwards, Lorna said food did taste better when it was on a nice plate and the tea in a china cup and your feet were on a carpet. ‘It spoils you, proper china. I’ll know what I’m missing when I get back to my tin mug.’ They had trifle for pudding, drained the last of the tea from the pot and declared themselves stuffed to bursting.
Lorna patted her stomach and said the meal had been grand. ‘I feel a lot better. Food always cheers me up.’
Elspeth paid. Outside, the evening was warm, the sun still shining. Newfies were crowding into the pub. They called on Elspeth and Lorna to join them, but they refused. ‘I don’t fancy all their rude jokes and showing off tonight,’ said Lorna.
‘The camp will be empty,’ said Elspeth. ‘We could go down to the spot by the river and swim. Nobody would see us, they’re all here, drinking.’
‘Are you sure?’ said Lorna. ‘I don’t want hundreds of blokes looking at me in the buff. I’ve never seen myself naked. We’re not naked people in my family. My grandmother used to keep her vest on in the bath.’
Elspeth laughed. ‘I don’t believe you.’
‘She did, too. She thought it a sin to be in the nude. She’d keep her vest on, and wash her bits under it without pulling it up.’
They propped their bikes against their hut, went inside and gathered a towel each, some chocolate Izzy had sent and Elspeth’s accordion.
The path down to the river was overgrown, thick with brambles and bracken; nobody had been down it for weeks. But Elspeth’s spot was as lovely as ever – lush grass and willows trailing in the water. The night was still warm, the sun fading and a slip of a moon rising. Elspeth stripped off, and waded into the river. She called on Lorna to join her.
‘Nah,’ said Lorna. ‘I can’t stop thinking that there’s someone watching.’
‘There’s nobody,’ said Elspeth. ‘All the men are drinking in the village. Then they’ll be at the dance, eyeing up the girls, hoping for a cuddle.’
She spread herself into the coolness, let water lap round her and swam. Up and down she went, rolled on her back and watched the sky. The first stars were coming out, the moon getting brighter. ‘Night comes fast!’ she called.
She climbed up the bank, dried herself, dressed and shared out the chocolate. ‘I’ll play some music. Just for us. What would you like?’
‘You know that stuff, that classical music that I didn’t used to like before I came here and heard you play it. What’s that bloke’s name?’
‘Bach?’
‘That’s the chap. Play him. It makes me sad. But I don’t mind being sad when it’s him I’m listening to.’
As Elspeth played the ‘Goldberg Variations’, Lorna lay back. ‘That’s how I feel,’ she said. ‘That music says everything.’ She sighed. ‘I wish I’d learned to play something. The violin, I’d like to play that.’
‘Still could learn,’ said Elspeth. ‘It’s never too late.’
‘Nah,’ said Lorna. ‘Better to dream about it. In my dreams I can make wonderful music, people clap and cheer. I’m a star.’
‘You don’t have to be a star. You could just learn to play for your own pleasure.’
‘I couldn’t play the violin in real life as well as I can in my dreams. I like the me I am when I daydream. I can do wonderful things in my dreams. I can play the violin and I haven’t had the bother of going to lessons.’ She leaned forwards. ‘That’s the point, you can be what you want to be. I wouldn’t daydream about playing the violin badly, would I?’
Elspeth supposed not.
‘See, it’s better just to imagine things. What do you dream about?’
Elspeth looked momentarily vacant. ‘I don’t know. I don’t daydream any more. I’ve lost the knack.’
‘Oh, you should take it up. It’s a good hobby, cheap and fun. Could you play some more? It’s lovely being with someone who makes actual music. Especially out here. The notes mix with the leaves and the water. It’s calming.’
Duncan Bowman thought the music perfect. This must be the best evening of his life. He’d been walking with his dog when he’d heard the girls’ voices, and had slipped into the trees to watch them.
Elspeth swimming, how his heart thundered. He made sure the sinking sun was behind him so there would be no reflection on his binoculars. He held his breath as she slipped into the water, seen, to his delight, her floating on her back, arms rippling by her sides, feet waving slightly. Now she was playing his favourite music, he could hardly contain his joy. ‘Oh, my,’ he said.
He sat down and listened. Bach drifted up to him, filled his heart. He was utterly happy.
When Elspeth stopped, put her accordion back in its case and said it was time to get back to the hut, he wanted to shout out, ‘Don’t stop! Play on. Play all night.’ He wanted to tell her he’d give her the money she’d earned at the recital, and more if she wanted. But he kept quiet. She’d be furious at him if she knew he’d been spying.
He climbed back up through the trees to the path that led to his cottage. Progress was slow. He’d been sitting too long and was stiff. He stopped, rubbed some warmth into his aching knees. Swore at the pain he was in. As he straightened up, another pain shifted through his chest, heavy, squeezing his heart and shooting down his arm. He fell, could hardly breathe. He slumped to the ground. This is it, he thought, this is the end of me. He lay, sweating, taking shallow breaths, looking up at the stars, feeling helpless. The dog sat quietly looking at him, waiting.
It passed. The pain eased. He struggled to his feet. He started to slowly, slowly head home. Just as well he hadn’t given Elspeth that money. Bloody arthritis, bloody heart. His bloody body was letting him down. He’d need every bloody penny he could get his bloody hands on when the time came. He’d have to pay the doctor.
Chapter Thirty-two
Everything I Need
IZZY WAS HAPPY. She’d been passed as fit to fly. At her interview, she’d mentioned setting time aside to remember Diane. ‘It means I am in control of my feelings,’ she’d said. ‘Work now, tears later. That’s what Diane told me.’
The CO had smiled and asked Izzy if she had nightmares.
‘Just a couple of bad dreams,’ said Izzy. She didn’t tell him she’d woken up screaming. But she knew he was smart enough to know she must be suffering. ‘I mean,’ she added, ‘I can’t help having a dream or two. You don’t walk away from something like that whistling.’
He’d smiled again.
‘I’m fine,’ Izzy said. ‘Really. I want to get back to work.’
He’d said, ‘All right, Izzy.’
In the end Izzy thought it was all a matter of priorities. He couldn’t aff
ord to lose a pilot. She wanted to get back into the air. She’d told him what he wanted to hear. And he’d known she was telling him what he wanted to hear.
‘That’s the way of it,’ Julia had said that night. ‘He figures if you’re sane enough to tell him you’re sane enough to fly, then, damn it, you’re sane enough.’
At half past eight in the morning Izzy, Claire and Julia cycled to work through the village, past the long queue of women behind the notice outside the local shop – TINNED SALMON AT NINE O’CLOCK TODAY. ONE TIN PER CUSTOMER.
Further up the road there was turmoil. Overnight, the American troops had gone. Before they left, soldiers had given villagers blankets, Hershey bars, chewing gum and nylons. Now, the police were trying to confiscate everything.
The three stopped to watch. Policemen, along with military police, were banging on doors, going into each house, searching and coming out again, empty-handed. Meantime, it was mayhem in all the back gardens. As officers entered at the front of houses, goodies were being thrown out of back windows into neighbours’ arms and taken into homes that had already been searched.
‘Jeepers,’ said Izzy. ‘What’s all this about?’
‘People want to keep their goodies,’ said Julia. ‘Can’t blame them.’
‘But why are the police taking the stuff?’
‘The military must be covering up every sign that the GIs have been here. It must have been a secret.’
‘Some secret. They’ve been drinking and shouting and keeping us all awake at night, and, probably half the women in the village are pregnant,’ said Izzy.
Julia told her not to exaggerate. ‘It’s probably only a quarter.’ They climbed back on their bikes and started towards the base. Izzy asked Julia if she was enjoying married life.
‘So far. Though it’s much the same as single life. Only, the sex is legal.’
Last night, Julia had gone to her favourite club in Blackpool with a couple of pilots and Dolores and Alfie, the night before she’d eaten at the Golden Mallard with friends. Married though she was, life was still a whirl. She didn’t think that being someone’s wife should stop her putting on her glad rags and stepping out to have a good time. Tonight, though, Walter was coming for a few days.