Wish Me Luck

by Dickinson, Margaret

  ‘Then why take it out on Robbie if it’s not his fault?’

  Betsy glared at her and avoided answering. Instead, she asked another question. ‘Were they together at the wedding?’

  Fleur frowned. ‘Who? Robbie and his mother?’

  Betsy gave a tut of exasperation. ‘Your dad and her?’

  Fleur blinked. ‘Well – yes – they talked.’

  Betsy held Fleur’s gaze, as if daring her to look away. Fleur stared back boldly but her heart was thumping madly. She didn’t want to lie to her mother, but neither did she want to admit that her father and Robbie’s mother had stood close together holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes.

  ‘Did they – did they go off together?’

  Her heart rate slowed a little. ‘Go off together? Of course not.’

  ‘Hm.’ Betsy sounded doubtful. She folded her arms in front of her and stepped closer to Fleur. ‘Tell me – and I want the truth mind – did your father wipe your face with his handkerchief?’

  Fleur gaped. ‘Wipe my face? I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘There was a woman’s make-up on his handkerchief. He said it was yours. That . . . that you’d shed a few tears and he’d mopped your face. Is that true?’

  Fleur’s gaze didn’t flicker, but she felt her heart begin to pound again. Slowly, she nodded. ‘Yes, yes, he did. When he first got to the house. He was late and I thought he wasn’t coming . . .’ Her voice trailed away and she held her breath. Was her mother going to believe her? It was true she’d cried. It was true that someone had dabbed her face with a hanky. But that someone had been Ruth – not Jake.

  After a moment, Betsy nodded. ‘Very well then. But they did meet and they did talk?’

  Fleur forced a laugh. ‘Well, yes, of course they did. They could hardly avoid each other, now could they? But it was only at the pub afterwards and—’

  ‘But you weren’t there all the time, were you? You went off on your honeymoon. You don’t know what happened after that, do you?’

  ‘Well, no, but Kenny was still there.’

  ‘Oh yes, Kenny. But he was so taken up with this . . . this Ruth that he wouldn’t see what was going on under his nose.’

  ‘Ruth had to go back to camp straight after we left. Kenny wouldn’t have wanted to stay on then.’

  ‘Oh.’ Betsy was thoughtful for a moment then she turned away. ‘Anyway, what have you come for?’

  ‘I came to see if I could put matters right between you and me, Mum.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted journey. While you’re married to that lad and seeing his mother, I don’t want owt to do with you. And now Kenny’s gone . . .’ She left the accusation hanging in the air.

  ‘Then I’m sorry, Mum, very sorry. But I love Robbie and he loves me and if no one will tell us what this . . . this feud is all about, then there’s nothing either of us can do. And I’m sorry about Kenny too. He would have gone somewhere – the army or somewhere – but yes, I agree, it is my fault he chose the RAF and I’m just going to have to live with that, aren’t I?’ Then she turned and fled upstairs, rushed into her old room and slammed the door behind her, leaning against it. She closed her eyes and groaned. Now she had two people she loved to worry about. Robbie – and Kenny too.

  Ruth’s reaction to Fleur’s news that Kenny had joined the RAF was predictable.

  ‘Stupid little bugger,’ she railed. ‘Why on earth didn’t he stay out of it? He’d got the chance living on a farm and being in a reserved occupation. All quite above board. Why on earth does he want to play the hero?’

  ‘Mum says it’s all my fault. Because I joined up, he doesn’t want to be left behind and have everyone thinking him a coward.’

  Ruth let out a very unladylike snort. ‘No one’s going to think that. At least, not anyone with any sense.’

  There was a pause before Fleur asked gently, ‘Then why did you join the WAAF? You could have done your bit some other way – in a factory or something.’

  ‘ ’Cos I was just as stupid when it all began. Fighting for my country and all that tosh.’

  ‘So you wouldn’t mind if Hitler walked in then?’ Fleur said with deceptive mildness.

  Ruth sighed heavily, her anger dying. ‘Yes, of course I would. Oh, I know we’ve got to stop him. I know we’ve got to stop him coming here and we’ve got to help all these other poor folk he’s already trampling over, but . . . but – oh, Fleur – you should understand if anyone does – what with Robbie and now Kenny too in danger every day.’

  ‘Oh, I do,’ Fleur said grimly, thinking of the sleepless nights she was having even when she wasn’t on duty. The only time she felt at peace was when Robbie was lying beside her. But even that was spoilt because now she had Kenny to worry about. She didn’t even know where he was or what he was doing. She didn’t know which was the worst: knowing – or not knowing.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Ruth put her arms around Fleur. ‘It must be awful for you. And with your mum making it worse by blaming you. How’s your dad taking it?’

  ‘He’s worried. Naturally.’

  ‘But – but does he blame you?’

  ‘I don’t know. He hasn’t said except to say that Kenny had joined the RAF because of Robbie. He’d never say outright, but . . . but maybe deep down . . .’

  Ruth hugged her harder. ‘Come on, girl. Chin up. Let’s just pray they’ll both stay safe, eh?’

  Fleur rested her face against Ruth’s shoulders and screwed up her eyes, trying to stem the tears.

  She’d pray all right. Oh, how she would pray. But it was a lot to ask.

  Thirty-Six

  Towards the end of March, the RAF began a round-the-clock bombing campaign against the German arms’ factories. Night after night the airmen at Wickerton Wood and their new Lancasters were involved, often escorted by Spitfires.

  On a rare night off Fleur and Robbie spent the time at Mrs Jackson’s cottage. Flying was still going on, so Ruth was on duty.

  Robbie lay back on the bed, still in his uniform, his tie loosened, his hair ruffled. He closed his eyes with a weary sigh. ‘Oh, Fleur, when is it all going to end and we can find our own little cottage with roses round the door and an apple tree we can sit under to watch the sunsets?’

  She sat on the bed beside him, took his hand and kissed each finger. ‘I don’t know, but we’re all doing our best to end it quickly. You especially.’

  ‘But the end’s nowhere in sight. At least, it doesn’t seem to be. Two and a half years and we don’t seem any nearer. In fact, it just seems to have got worse. What with Japan and America in it too now. Oh, darling, I just feel so . . . so tired. I . . .’

  Fleur leant forward to kiss him, but then she hesitated. Robbie was asleep. She put the eiderdown over him and then undressed quietly and slipped into the bed beside him. But sleep evaded her.

  She was worried. She had never heard Robbie talk like that. With a defeated air. He was always so positive with a ‘get up and get at ’em’ attitude. But tonight he’d seemed – well – beaten.

  He’s just so tired, she thought. He’ll be all right tomorrow. And tomorrow, she reminded herself, is his very last mission. The four men from the original crew would have completed a full tour of duty and deserved a well-earned break. But one worry ate away at her. With the newly formed crews, would they want to break them up? Would they make Tommy and the other three carry on? She wasn’t sure of regulations and Robbie refused to discuss it. It was as if he was superstitious about discussing the elusive thirtieth op. Only very few aircrews survived to even reach it and to mention it seemed like tempting fate . . .

  The following morning, they rose late and ate a leisurely breakfast, which Fleur had gone downstairs in her dressing gown to bring up to their room.

  They set the tray aside and Fleur climbed back into the bed.

  ‘Feel better this morning?’ she whispered.

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry about last night. I don’t know what got into me.’

&
nbsp; She stroked his hair. ‘You’re tired. You’re all tired. But only one more mission tonight and then . . .’

  ‘I know. Maybe that’s what’s getting to me. What’ll happen then, d’you think? D’you think we might get split up? Posted, even?’

  ‘Oh, I hope not!’

  Robbie grinned wickedly and took her in his arms, ‘But we’d better make the most of this morning, just in case . . .’

  ‘Fleur? Fleur, dear, are you there?’ It was Mary Jackson calling from the foot of the stairs.

  Robbie let out a groan and Fleur stifled her giggles against him, before she was able to lift her head and shout, ‘Yes, Mrs Jackson. What is it?’

  ‘Kenny’s here, dear.’

  ‘Kenny! How lovely! Oh—’ She turned back to Robbie. ‘I’m sorry, darling.’

  Robbie smiled and kissed her. ‘It’s all right. Let’s go down and see him.’

  They dressed quickly and hurried downstairs. Fleur flung her arms round her brother, tall and resplendent in his RAF uniform.

  ‘I’ve just got a spot of leave,’ he said excitedly. ‘Basic training’ll soon be finished. Then it’ll be passing out parade and I’m volunteering for fighter training . . . So, in the meantime . . .’ He saluted smartly. ‘Aircraftman Bosley reporting for duty, ma’am. Digging fatigues, is it?’

  Fleur hugged him. ‘We’ll have a lovely day together, but we’re on duty tonight. It’s Robbie’s last mission for a while.’

  Kenny grinned and slapped his brother-in-law on the back. ‘And there I was hoping to be escorting you in my Spitfire one of these days.’

  ‘Oh, you’ll get the chance. I’ve no doubt we’ll be called on to do another tour before long.’

  Fleur felt her heart plummet. Naively, she thought that Robbie’s flying days would be over, that he’d be given a nice, safe desk job somewhere. In her wilder moments she’d even imagined him being in charge of the watch office, that they would be working together. But of course that would never happen. He was a trained wireless operator. Of course he would have to fly again . . .

  But for today, she had both of them safely with her. They would make the most of today. ‘So,’ she said, forcing a bright smile onto her face. ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘Well, I thought I’d help you in the garden a bit this morning – if you want me to, that is – and then this afternoon, I thought we’d go into Lincoln,’ Kenny said. ‘I’ll treat you to a slap-up tea in Boots cafe. How about that?’

  ‘You’re on. A celebration tea.’ She glanced at Robbie. ‘Do you know what day it is?’

  Robbie blinked. ‘Er – Wednesday?’

  Fleur smiled. ‘Well, yes it is, but I meant the date. It’s exactly a year ago today since we met.’

  ‘Is it really? Fancy me forgetting.’

  She reached up and kissed him lightly. ‘You’re forgiven. You’ve rather had other things on your mind just lately.’

  ‘I’ll make a stew for all of us for dinner and an apple pie,’ Mrs Jackson said, struggling to her feet.

  ‘We don’t want to put you to any trouble, Mrs Jackson.’ Robbie turned to her.

  ‘No trouble, love.’ The old lady patted his arm and chuckled. ‘It’ll make me feel useful.’

  ‘Oh, I almost forgot, Mrs Jackson,’ Kenny said. ‘Dad’s sent you some eggs and butter. I’ll get them.’

  As he opened the door, Ruth was coming round the corner of the cottage. Kenny’s eyes lit up. ‘Just the person I’d hoped to see. We’re going into Lincoln this afternoon for tea.’ He gave an exaggerated bow. ‘Would madam care to join us?’

  ‘Hi, Kenny. Fancy seeing you here. Got your wings yet?’

  ‘Not quite, but I start training soon. Can’t tell you where, of course.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Careless talk, and all that, but it’s somewhere down south.’

  Fleur giggled. ‘Oh, I think we’re allowed to know where, Kenny. Else how will Mum know where to address all those food parcels she’s bound to want to send you?’

  He blinked and his young face wore a comical expression. ‘Oh yes. I suppose so. I’m just not used to all this sort of secrecy. They dinned it into us so much that we mustn’t say this and mustn’t say that, that I’m not exactly sure what I can say and what I can’t.’ He grinned. ‘So I thought it best just to say nothing.’

  They all laughed, but Fleur said, ‘I know what you mean. I felt that way too at first, but you soon find out what it’s safe to say. You can tell your family where you’re stationed but not the details about missions and so on.’

  ‘But I’m going to train as a fighter pilot. That’s a bit different, isn’t it? We get scrambled when enemy aircraft are approaching, don’t we?’

  ‘I expect so.’

  ‘And I suppose that’s why I’m being sent down south. That’s where the Battle of Britain went on, isn’t it?’

  Fleur felt a cold shudder of apprehension run through her as she imagined her baby brother up there above the clouds chasing after enemy bombers as they thundered towards England to rain death from the skies. She quelled the feeling swiftly and smiled up at him. ‘Let’s hope there’s not so much going on now. Old Hitler seems to have other things on his mind.’

  ‘Good job he has,’ Kenny said with feeling. ‘We were lucky he didn’t invade in ‘forty, y’know.’

  ‘I do know. If he had done . . .’ She said no more, but the same thought was in all their minds. If Hitler had pressed home his invasion plans in September 1940, what would life be like right now in Britain? It didn’t bear thinking about.

  ‘I wish Mum would see it like that,’ Kenny murmured.

  ‘How is she?’

  Kenny pulled a face. ‘Cross and then weepy. Hardly speaking to me one minute and then crying all over me the next.’

  ‘Poor Mum,’ Fleur said. ‘It’s not easy for her, Kenny.’ She punched his arm gently. ‘And for heaven’s sake, take care of yourself. And, now,’ she added briskly, ‘this garden isn’t going to dig itself.’

  Ruth yawned. ‘I’ll just grab a couple of hours on my lovely soft feather bed upstairs and then I’ll nip round to Harry’s.’

  The day passed all too quickly and then they were waving Kenny goodbye on the train back home. ‘Well, I’ll be off back tomorrow and then I’ll soon be up in the clouds alongside you, Robbie. Wish me luck.’

  The two men shook hands and Fleur hugged her brother hard. ‘Oh, we do, we do. Good luck, darling bro.’

  And then Kenny turned to Ruth. ‘Goodbye, Ruth,’ he said and suddenly he was boyishly shy.

  ‘Good luck, Kenny,’ Ruth said, giving him a bear hug. As she drew back, she touched his cheek tenderly and looked into his eyes as she added earnestly, ‘And take care of yourself.’

  ‘I will. I’ll . . . I’ll see you soon.’

  Then, with a last wink to Fleur, he boarded the train and leant out of the window waving until they could no longer see him. For several minutes, Fleur stood watching the receding train until Robbie put his arm around her shoulders and said softly, ‘Come on, love, time we were all getting back. Last trip for a while – I can’t wait for tonight to be over.’

  Fleur shuddered. It was the first time she’d ever heard Robbie talk like that. He must be wearier than even she had realized.

  In the control tower, Fleur stood alone staring at the blackboard with the names of the aircraft chalked up as they returned. There was one blank space left. One plane had not returned from the operation.

  Robbie Rodwell’s bomber.

  Fleur lost track of the time she stood there, just staring at the blackboard, willing the radio to crackle into life, praying to hear the call sign. ‘Hello, Woody, this is Lindum T-Tommy calling . . .’

  But the radio was silent, the space left blank. She couldn’t even have Ruth with her. She was already on duty at the debriefing. But she knew that T-Tommy had not come home. Maybe, at this very moment, Ruth was hearing what had happened to Robbie and the others. It had seemed a good omen at the time, that the c
all sign given to the new Lancaster they were now flying had, by coincidence, the same name as its skipper. Now, Fleur wasn’t so sure.

  Kay, too, had remained in the control room, hunched over her radio but unable to meet Fleur’s eyes. Bob Watson carried on with all the necessary duties he had at the end of a mission, his face grim. He was studiously avoiding looking at either of the girls.

  The room was silent, the airfield outside the window silent too in the early morning light. Though she strained her ears, there was no welcome sound of a damaged aircraft limping home.

  She heard the door open behind her and for a moment her heart leapt. She spun round, her face suddenly alight with hope. There’d been a mistake! T-Tommy had landed and they’d missed it. Robbie had been safely home all the time . . .

  It was her heart speaking, not her head. Control never missed a plane landing. It simply didn’t happen. They were all too professional, too thorough. But terror and hope are strange bedfellows and forced the mind to play strange tricks.

  Of course it wasn’t Robbie who had stepped into the room, but Squadron Leader Tony Harris, whose aircraft had been the last to land. His face was sombre and her heart plummeted as she saw the sympathy in his eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry, Fleur. One of the other pilots has reported at the debriefing that he saw a bomber with two of its engines on fire going down just off the coast. It looks like it could have been T-Tommy. It’s the only one that hasn’t come back this time.’

  It was a good night’s work. Even Fleur had to acknowledge that. Only one bomber missing. But why, oh why, did it have to be Robbie’s?

  The lump in her throat threatened to choke her, but she managed to ask, ‘Did they see any parachutes?’

  ‘It was too dark to see.’

  ‘Thank you for letting me know, sir,’ she said, shakily.

  ‘There’s still a chance, Fleur. We don’t give up hope until we know for definite, do we?’ Like her, the squadron leader was forcing an optimism he didn’t really feel deep inside. He was not relishing the thought of the difficult letters that he would have to write to all the families of the missing crew, should the worst be confirmed. Fleur nodded, now not trusting herself to speak.