Wish Me Luck

by Dickinson, Margaret

Betsy stood a moment, staring at her husband, then at the young airman. Then, with a sob, she turned and fled from the room. They heard her footsteps pounding up the stairs and then the slam of the bedroom door.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Jake said, his eyes troubled.

  ‘Whatever’s got into Mum?’ Kenny was mystified.

  No one answered him. Fleur just muttered, ‘I’ll make that tea.’ And Jake sat down opposite Robbie, who leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees and linking his fingers together.

  ‘Mr Bosley, I’m sorry to have distressed your wife. I wouldn’t have come here at all, but . . .’ He glanced at Fleur busying herself between scullery and range. ‘We – I – have something to ask you. Something important and it wasn’t fair to expect Fleur to do it.’

  There was a moment’s silence in the kitchen, and then Kenny let out a guffaw of delight. ‘I know why . . .’ he began, but earned himself a light punch on the shoulder from his sister.

  ‘Shut up, our Kenny.’ But she was smiling as she added, ‘Let Robbie do it properly.’

  So Kenny sat down on a chair near the table, folded his arms and looked backwards and forwards between his father and Robbie, a huge grin on his boyish face. ‘Get on with it, then.’

  Robbie cleared his throat and said formally, ‘I’d like to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage, sir.’

  Kenny tried to stifle a laugh but failed. ‘Don’t you want the rest of her?’

  Fleur punched him again, but her gaze was on her father’s face.

  Jake stared at Robbie for a moment. Then slowly, his gaze came to rest upon Fleur’s anxious face. ‘Well, well,’ he murmured at last, after what seemed an age. ‘Meg’s boy and my girl. Who’d ever’ve thought it?’

  Fleur was holding her breath. She moved closer, beseeching him with her face. Their eyes met and held for a long, long moment. And then she saw the smile begin to twitch at the corner of his mouth. He rose and she flung herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck, laughing and crying, ‘Oh, Dad! Dad!’

  Robbie rose to his feet as Jake held out his hand. ‘It’s not going to be easy, lad,’ he said softly. ‘I think you know that, but you have my blessing.’ No one in the room could fail to hear his accent on the word “my”.

  Kenny sprang to his feet and slapped his future brother-in-law on the back. ‘And mine. As if it makes any difference,’ he added wryly.

  ‘Of course it makes a difference,’ Fleur cried, turning from her father to hug her brother. ‘You might be the one to bring Mum around.’

  There was an awkward silence until Kenny broke it by saying, ‘Dad – what is up with Mum? She can’t not like Robbie. She’s never even met him before, has she?’ He glanced at the other two. ‘Has she?’

  Fleur shook her head and looked to her father for an explanation. An explanation that she and Robbie needed too. But Jake shook his head. ‘Don’t you worry about it. I’ll talk to her. Try to get her to see reason.’ It should be the happiest day of their lives and Betsy was trying to rob them of their joy. He glanced sadly at the young couple as he added, ‘But I can’t make any promises.’

  Twenty-Two

  ‘I shan’t go to the wedding, Jake, so you needn’t expect me to. I don’t know what you’re thinking of – giving your permission. If you’d told her “no” she might’ve had the sense to think again.’ Betsy sniffed. ‘Mind you – I doubt it.’

  ‘It was just a courtesy to ask, love,’ Jake said mildly. His anger was gone now, but replaced by disappointment that Betsy refused to join in the happiness that such news should have brought. ‘They don’t need to. They’re both over twenty-one.’

  Robbie and Fleur had left and now only the three of them – Jake, Betsy and Kenny – sat around the supper table.

  ‘Mum – why don’t you like Robbie?’ Kenny asked innocently. ‘He seems a good bloke and he’s besotted with our Fleur. And her with him. Why—?’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with you, Kenny. You’re too young to understand . . .’

  The young man flushed but he was not about to cave in. ‘Mum – if I’m old enough to fight for my country, then I’m old enough to understand why—’

  ‘You’re not old enough to fight for your country.’ Betsy’s voice began to rise.

  ‘Leave it, there’s a good lad,’ Jake said softly. There was no censure in his tone – just an infinite sadness.

  There was a morose silence between them. Betsy’s blue eyes flashed from one to the other. She was rarely angry with Kenny, but now even he was included in her malevolent gaze. At last Jake said, ‘You don’t mean it, Betsy love, do you? You wouldn’t really stay away from your daughter’s wedding. Your only daughter’s wedding.’

  Tight-lipped, Betsy muttered, ‘If she marries him, then, yes, I shall stay away.’ Her eyes narrowed as she glared at her husband. Slowly and deliberately she added, ‘And if you go, I shall never speak to you again.’

  Shocked, Jake stared back at her. Slowly, he rose to his feet and stood looking down at her. Sadly, but firmly, he said, ‘Then this house is going to be very quiet, Betsy, for I intend not only to attend the wedding but also to give my daughter away. No one – not even you – is going to deny me that.’ He began to turn away, but Betsy sprang to her feet and caught hold of his arm.

  ‘I’m not just thinking of myself, though God knows if I never saw Meg Rodwell again as long as I live, it’d be too soon. No – I’m thinking of Fleur. He’ll break her heart. He’ll be devious and ruthless and selfish, just like her. But you can’t see it, can you? Where Meg Rodwell’s concerned, you’re blind. Always have been.’

  Jake shook his head. Quietly, and with a patience that the watching Kenny – for once – believed his mother did not deserve, Jake said, ‘I’m well aware of all Meg’s faults, Betsy. But I do believe that when Robbie was born, she changed.’

  Betsy snorted derisively. ‘How do you know? You’ve not seen her since . . .’ Her eyes widened as she added accusingly, ‘Have you?’

  ‘No, of course I haven’t.’ Now, even Jake’s composure was wearing thin. ‘Don’t you trust me better than that?’

  ‘It’s her I don’t trust. No man’s safe around her. What about him? What about Robbie’s father? His real father? He couldn’t be trusted, could he? Poor—’

  ‘Betsy!’ Jake thundered. ‘We don’t talk about that.’

  Guiltily, Betsy glanced at Kenny as if – for a brief moment – she’d forgotten his presence. She had the grace to drop her head. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘You’re right, Jake. I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt—’ She bit her lip. ‘Innocent people.’

  But then her head shot up again and she tightened her grip on Jake’s arm. ‘But I meant what I said. If you go to their wedding, I’ll never forgive you. Never!’

  He stared at her for a long moment whilst Kenny held his breath. Then Jake shook himself free of his wife’s grasp, turned on his heel and strode from the house, leaving both Betsy and Kenny staring after him.

  ‘It’s the last thing I wanted,’ Robbie said as they sat together in the train, holding hands. ‘To upset your family.’ They’d been lucky. There was one bound for Lincoln just as they reached the station.

  Fleur sighed. ‘I know. But there was no other way to do it.’ A faint smile touched her lips. ‘Unless we eloped.’

  He smiled too. ‘Now, there’s an idea. Why on earth didn’t I think of that?’

  She touched his cheek as she said seriously, ‘Because you wanted to do it properly, and besides, we couldn’t hurt your mum and Pops like that.’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t do that.’ He sighed heavily. ‘But it looks as if I’ve really caused trouble amongst your folks. The annoying thing is’ – his eyes clouded – ‘I don’t know how or why. I wish I did. Just why is your mother so . . . so vitriolic against my mam? You see, Fleur, having seen her for myself now, I don’t think it is actually against me personally. It’s my mother.’

  ‘I don’t think we can worry about it any more. Dad sai
d he’ll come to the wedding and I know Kenny will.’

  ‘And your mother?’ Robbie’s bright blue eyes were clouded with anxiety.

  Fleur sighed. ‘I don’t think for a moment that she will come.’

  Robbie’s eyes widened. He was shocked. ‘Not come to her only daughter’s wedding?’

  Fleur said nothing but just shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘My God!’ Robbie breathed. ‘It must be something serious.’

  For the rest of the journey, they were both silent, each lost in their own thoughts, yet those thoughts were much the same.

  Just what on earth could have been so serious that Betsy’s bitterness was so deep, her hatred of Meg so strong, that she would refuse to attend her own daughter’s wedding?

  ‘There’s a notice on the board about a dance in the sergeants’ mess on Saturday night. There’s rather a shortage of females on station – so all ranks are invited. You going?’

  ‘You bet!’ Fleur grinned.

  Ruth rolled her eyes. ‘As if I needed to ask! And I expect you’ll monopolize one particular chap all night and not give any of the rest of us girls a look in.’

  Fleur grinned again. ‘Of course. But there’ll be plenty left for you.’ She paused, wondering if she dare raise a rather delicate subject. ‘Anyone in particular you’ve got your eye on?’

  ‘Who me? Never! Safety in numbers. That’s my motto,’ she said, with a forced gaiety, and her mouth tightened as she added, ‘now.’

  ‘There’s one thing,’ Fleur said lightly, trying to steer the conversation away from thoughts that were painful for Ruth. ‘At least we’ll all be in uniform. We won’t have all the civilian girls in their pretty dresses to contend with.’

  Ruth laughed. ‘You’re right and there won’t be any local yokels getting jealous either.’

  Fleur pulled a face as she remembered the recent fracas at the Mucky Duck. ‘You know we were lucky to get away with that. We could all have been in serious trouble if anyone had reported us. Especially Tommy.’

  ‘I don’t think they would. I think all the locals -apart from young Alfie and his mates – are friendly towards all of us.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right. They’ve certainly been generous giving me stuff for Mrs Jackson’s garden.’

  ‘You’ve done a grand job, Fleur. It’s coming on a treat. Do you know, Mrs Jackson was in tears the other day?’

  Fleur gasped. ‘Tears? Oh no, why? Have I upset her?’

  ‘No, no. Tears of joy, silly. She’s so happy to see the garden like her Arthur used to keep it. Only thing she misses, she says, are her precious sweet peas.’

  Fleur smiled. ‘You haven’t told her then?’

  ‘Course not. And I’ve sworn old Harry to secrecy. Mind you, when he comes round now, he uses the little gate you’ve made through the fence near the shelter. Not round the front path like he used to.’

  ‘But he does know about them?’

  Fleur had planted a row of sweet peas close to the sunny wall on the south side of the cottage, and the plants were already growing well and climbing the cane frame.

  ‘Yes, but he’ll not say a word,’ Ruth reassured her.

  ‘Do you think she’ll see them before they’re ready?’

  ‘I doubt it. She hardly ever goes out now. She can hardly get across the back yard to the lavvy some days, her arthritis is that bad. Poor old dear. Harry says she used to love going to church every week but she hasn’t even managed that the last two Sundays. Shame, isn’t it?’

  ‘Mm,’ Fleur said thoughtfully. ‘I wonder if we could get hold of a bath chair. We could wheel her to church.’

  ‘You’d never get a bath chair down that narrow path, would you?’

  ‘We could take her out of the front door.’

  Ruth laughed. ‘Her front door is jammed shut. Just like Harry’s. I bet neither of them have used their front door in years.’

  ‘How are you getting on with Harry? I was round there the other day taking some tools back he’d lent me and he took me into his kitchen. You’ve got it looking like a new pin.’

  ‘Yeah, the house is clean from top to bottom now. There’s still a lot of clutter I’d like to turf out, but I can’t be too hard on the old boy. Do you know, he’s still got all his wife’s clothes hanging in the wardrobe? And she’s been dead for two years, he was telling me.’

  Fleur sighed. ‘I expect he can’t bear to part with them. Perhaps it helps him to feel she’s still close. Still around, even.’

  ‘Maybe. But nobody would ever want to wear them again. Not now, even though there are some lovely things amongst them. They pong to high heaven of mothballs. No, I’ve given that up as a bad job. But there’s just one thing I haven’t managed to do yet.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Fleur asked innocently, and then dissolved into helpless giggles at Ruth’s answer.

  ‘Get that tin bath that’s hanging in his shed on the hearth in front of the fire and get Harry in it!’

  The dance was a great success. It was the first that Fleur had been to on the camp, though Ruth said there had been one or two before Fleur’s arrival. Half the fun for the girls was getting ready together in their bedrooms at the cottage. There was much to-ing and fro-ing across the tiny landing.

  ‘Have you got any shoe polish?’ Fleur called.

  ‘Only a tiny bit, but you can have it. I’ve done mine.’

  ‘Have you got any Brassó? My buttons look a bit dull . . .’

  And then, from Ruth, a mournful, ‘I’m down to my last pair of silk stockings. Do you think it’s worth risking them getting ruined?’

  ‘That’s up to you, but don’t let Brown catch you or you’ll be on a charge. Silk stockings aren’t exactly classed as regulation uniform, y’know. I’m saving mine for a rather special occasion . . .’ Fleur smiled at the thought. ‘So I’ve only got my be-ootiful lisle ones.’

  ‘Right then. Silk, it is. Even if only to show you up.’

  ‘Thanks, friend!’

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ Ruth called back gaily. A pause and then, ‘Do you want this lipstick? It doesn’t suit me. I’m better with paler colours, but it might suit you.’

  Fleur trotted across the landing. ‘Let’s see. Ooh, yes. That’s lovely.’

  ‘You can keep it . . .’

  Fleur grinned. ‘No, tell you what. I’ll borrow it. And I’ll borrow it on my wedding day. That can be my “something borrowed”.’

  They went down the stairs, laughing and chattering, their spirits high at the thought of being able to forget the war for a few hours and into the kitchen for Mrs Jackson’s inspection.

  ‘It was just like listening to my girls getting ready when they were going out on a date. Now, have a good time, my dears, won’t you?’

  Impulsively, they both kissed her on her cheek. It was like having a loving granny watching out for them.

  ‘Oh, she is an old duck,’ Ruth said as they walked through the darkness back to camp.

  ‘She is,’ Fleur agreed readily, ‘but with her arthritis so bad, I just don’t know how we’re going to get her to the wedding.’

  ‘Oh, she’ll get there. By hook or by crook. You’ll see. She was only saying the other day that she’ll manage it somehow, if she has to get all the village lads together to carry her.’

  Ruth couldn’t know how much her remark touched Fleur. To think, she mused, that an old lady who had only known her a few weeks was prepared to make the painful effort to get to her wedding, when her own mother was flatly refusing to attend.

  ‘Here we are,’ Ruth said, interrupting Fleur’s troublesome thoughts as they walked into the large hall, where the tables and chairs had been cleared away. The air was filled with cigarette smoke and the smell of beer. Chatter, laughter and music shook the rafters. Already couples crowded the floor, dancing to the band.

  Robbie, standing near the bar, had been watching for them and at once threaded his way around the edge of the dance floor, Johnny following in his wake.

&nbs
p; ‘May I have the pleasure . . . ?’ they chorused as Robbie held out his arms to Fleur and Johnny bowed courteously to Ruth.

  ‘It was so nice,’ Fleur commented as she and Ruth walked home through the darkness, their arms linked as they followed the tiny beam of Ruth’s torch, ‘to be just RAF personnel and weren’t the band fantastic?’

  An RAF band had been formed on camp – the girls had often heard the lads practising in a hangar, the music echoing around the silent aircraft.

  ‘Mmm,’ Ruth murmured. ‘A pity though.’

  ‘A pity? Why d’you say that?’

  ‘There was a very good-looking lad on the drums, but of course he couldn’t come and dance.’

  Fleur spluttered with laughter. Ruth had been as good as her word. She’d not danced with the same man twice all the evening, yet had never been short of partners.

  ‘What were you trying to do? Dance with every man there?’

  ‘Something like that,’ Ruth chuckled.

  ‘Well, I was happy with just the one.’

  ‘We noticed!’

  Fleur smiled to herself in the darkness. It really had been a lovely evening. She’d been able to spend the whole time in Robbie’s arms quite openly. The rumours of their engagement were already flying around the room. There’d been slaps on the back for Robbie and chaste kisses for Fleur.

  Strangely, only Bob Watson had been disapproving. Fleur had tackled him about it at once. ‘Do you mean I won’t be able to carry on as an R/T operator after I’m married?’

  He’d shaken his head. ‘No, it’s not that. I just don’t hold with wartime marriages. ‘Specially not with fliers. When he goes missing, it’ll be the rest of us who have to mop up your tears.’

  Fleur had been dismayed by his bluntness. And the worst of it was he had said ‘when’ not ‘if’. That, more than anything, had shocked her. He was as bad as -worse than – Ruth. At least her friend was no longer disapproving, or if she was, then she was hiding it very successfully.

  ‘Well, I’ll tell you something, Flight, here and now. If it does happen,’ Fleur had replied heatedly, emphasizing the word deliberately, ‘then I promise you, you’ll never see me cry.’ And with that, she’d turned on her heel and gone in search of Robbie, who was at the bar getting drinks for them. By the time he returned to her, she’d calmed down and was able to smile and enjoy the rest of the evening.