Chasing Ghosts

by Madalyn Morgan

  ‘And if you eat it all up, there’s sponge cake with buttercream and jam for afters,’ Esther added. ‘That is if you want cake?’

  ‘Yes, please!’ Aimée shouted.

  ‘I spotted a cake-tin in the box Father Christmas left with me, so I took a peek. I know I shouldn’t have looked, but I don’t think he’d mind. And I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you eat some of the cake today. Especially as you won’t be here on Christmas Day.’

  Claire looked at Aimée, waiting for her to jump for joy because not being at home meant she would be at Foxden with Grandma Dudley, her aunts and uncles and her new cousin Nancy. ‘Aimée?’

  ‘But Daddy won’t be there. How can we have Christmas without Daddy?’

  Esther went to her great-grandchild, put her hands on her shoulders and walked her into the living room. ‘Because that is what your Daddy would want,’ she said. Esther sat on the settee and patted the cushion next to her. When Aimée sat down, she said, ‘Your Daddy wouldn’t want you to stay here and be sad. He’d want you to be happy and have fun at Christmas.’ Aimée looked down at her shoes, kicked her heels against the sofa and rocked back and forth.

  ‘Before you went to Canada you told me you were worried that you wouldn’t be home in time for Christmas because you wanted to go to Foxden.’

  ‘Yes, but that was before I knew Daddy wasn’t going to be with us. What if he comes home and we’re not here?’ Aimée looked up when her mother came into the room. ‘What will he do all on his own?’

  ‘He won’t stay here on his own, darling, not if we’re not here. Daddy knew we’d planned to have Christmas with Aunt Bess and Uncle Frank at Foxden, so he’ll come up to us.’ Aimée didn’t look happy. ‘I know,’ Claire said, ‘we’ll leave him a note reminding him that we’ve gone to Foxden and ask him to come to us as soon as he can. How’s that?’ Aimée nodded, but Claire could see she wasn’t won over by the idea.

  After tea Claire cleared the table and washed the dishes. Esther rinsed the washing, put it through the mangle, and hung it on the clothes horse.

  ‘Right! It’s time I made a move,’ Esther said. Heading to the hall, she put on her coat. ‘I’m not keen on driving in the dark at this time of year, the roads can be icy once the sun’s gone down. Besides, I haven’t packed my case yet.’ She laughed. ‘I daren’t be late getting to Dorry’s tomorrow. She’s expecting me for lunch. If I’m not there by one o’clock she’ll think I’ve had an accident and start telephoning round the hospitals. She is a worrier.’

  After walking Esther down the icy path and seeing her safely into her car, Claire returned to the house. She closed the front door and locked it before joining Aimée at the living room window. Together they waved Esther off. When the car was out of sight, Aimée resumed her drawing and Claire went into the hall, picked up the telephone, and dialled her sister Bess’s number in Leicestershire.

  ‘Hello, Bess, it’s Claire. Aimée and I will be coming to Foxden for Christmas as planned.’

  CANADA - THREE MONTHS EARLIER

  September 1949

  CHAPTER TWO

  Aimée was excited on the flight to Canada. It was the first time she had been on an aeroplane and she asked her father a million questions. She watched with awe as the stewardess demonstrated how, in the event of an emergency landing, passengers were to stay calm and exit by the nearest doors. Aimée beamed her best smile at the stewardess and when she had finished demonstrating the emergency procedures, said, ‘Excuse me, please? How does the aeroplane stay in the air?’

  Looking surprised the young stewardess said, ‘That’s a good question.’ Leaning across the seat next to the aisle, she pointed out of the window. ‘You see the big engines under the wing?’ Aimée nodded. ‘Well,’ the stewardess said, ‘they draw in air and the air mixes with fuel, which burns and pushes the aeroplane forward.’

  Aimée frowned as she tried to understand what the young woman was saying. ‘And then the pilot who is flying the aeroplane, the Captain, controls how fast and how high the aeroplane flies.’

  ‘My Daddy is a captain,’ Aimée said, proudly. ‘He flies aeroplanes too, don’t you Daddy?’

  ‘I used to, honey. It’s been a while,’ he said to the stewardess.

  ‘In the war, Captain?’

  Mitch nodded.

  Later, the same stewardess was serving drinks. When she had taken Mitch and Claire’s order she asked Aimée if she would like to visit the cockpit and meet the pilot?

  Aimée caught her breath. ‘Yes please.’

  ‘Good. I’ll see you later when the plane has stopped climbing. The pilot is usually free for a while then.’

  By the time Mitch had told Claire and Aimée about Canada; what the weather would be like when they arrived, how beautiful the Fall is, and how it snows for several months in the winter, the stewardess had returned.

  ‘Captain Duval, the pilot, is free now, Aimée.’ Wide-eyed, Aimée looked from her father to her mother. Both nodded and she scrambled out of her seat.

  The stewardess brought Aimée back in time for the evening meal. She chatted on about the dials and buttons, how she had sat in the co-pilot’s seat and driven the aeroplane. She was so excited with the experience, she told the stewardess who came to take their evening meal order. She stood and listened patiently, although she must have heard the story hundreds of times before, Claire thought.

  When Aimée had finished chattering, Mitch ordered Canadian bacon with asparagus and sliced tomatoes, French fries and a bread roll, followed by pancakes and maple syrup.

  ‘The same for me, please,’ Aimée said.

  ‘I don’t think you’d like the bacon, honey. It isn’t like the bacon we have at home in England. Why don’t you have junior roast chicken and fries?’ Aimée said okay - so long as she could have tomato sauce on her fries.

  ‘Ketchup,’ Mitch explained. ‘Honey?’ He passed the menu to Claire.

  ‘I’d like roast beef,’ she said, ‘and apple pie and custard for dessert.’

  ‘All the trimmings with the beef, Madam?’

  Claire glanced down the menu and read: Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes, carrots, peas and gravy. ‘Yes, please,’ she said, ‘and a glass of red wine.’

  ‘Make that two wines, and…’ Mitch looked at Aimée. ‘Cola for you, sweetheart?’

  Aimée nodded. ‘And chocolate,’ she said, ‘for pudding.’

  ‘I think an apple would be better after your dinner,’ Claire said. Aimée stuck out her bottom lip.

  ‘I know,’ the stewardess said, ‘we have some juicy red grapes.’ Aimée said yes to the grapes and, happy with the compromise, sat back in her seat and looked out of the window.

  ‘Grapes?’ Claire laughed. ‘I can’t remember the last time I had a grape.’

  ‘Nor me.’

  ‘The luxury of flying, a poster in the departure lounge called this airline.’

  ‘And it sure is. There’s no rationing on this flight.’

  ‘Is food still rationed in Canada like it is in England?’ Claire asked.

  ‘No. In the summer of forty-seven, the government took dairy products off the ration list. Canada’s a big country with a good climate for farming. We grow oats, wheat, barley, every kind of vegetable, and we breed cattle. Now we don’t send as much food overseas we’re living better.’

  While they ate their meal, stewardesses walked up and down the aisle topping up passengers’ glasses with wine and soft drinks. When they had finished eating they brought round newspapers. Mitch chose the Montréal Gazette. Claire a Canadian magazine called, Chatelaine, and Aimée couldn’t make up her mind between Girls Magazine and a copy of Calling All Girls, an American magazine that had been left behind on an earlier flight. She chose Calling All Girls because it had a picture of seventeen-year-old movie star Elizabeth Taylor on the cover, saying it was more grown up. She put it on the seat next to her with her drawing pad and crayons, leaned back and yawned.

  ‘Are you tired, honey?’ Mitch asked. Aimée
shook her head.

  ‘Are we nearly there, Daddy?’

  ‘No, we have a way to go yet. Hey? Why don’t you lie down for a while and close your eyes? Have a nap and when you wake up we’ll be almost there. What do you say?’ Aimée nodded, kicked off her shoes and tucked her legs underneath her. Mitch got to his feet, opened the overhead locker and took out a pillow and a blanket. Sitting down again, he plumped up the pillow and laid it across his knees. Aimée stretched out with her head on her father’s lap and her feet beneath the window.

  Claire lowered her magazine and watched the two people she loved most in the world making themselves comfortable. When Aimée stopped wriggling, Mitch tucked the blanket around her and picked up his Gazette.

  Claire continued to read her magazine until Mitch put down his newspaper. She reached up and put out the overhead light. When she had settled, Mitch took hold of her hand and they spoke quietly while their daughter slept.

  ‘Are you looking forward to your new job at St. Hubert?’ Claire asked.

  ‘Yes. There aren’t any rookie pilots to train now, it’s all pretty much intelligence work.’ A sad smile crossed her husband’s face.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I was thinking about when I was training rookies before the war. It seems like a lifetime ago. It is a lifetime ago,’ he sighed. ‘I wish I’d been in Canada when Avro designed the XC-100 - jet fighter in forty-six. I saw the plans when I was back last year. Boy, the XC-100 Canuk is some aircraft. Commander Landry told me she is ready to fly. You never know, I may get lucky and get to go up in her.’ Claire hoped not. Too many test pilots had been killed during the war. St. Hubert’s was Defence Command Headquarters, half airport half base, with the hub of RCAF intelligence based there.

  A frown crept across Mitch’s face, the lines on the bridge of his nose deepening. ‘I wonder what the treatment at the Louis Bertrand Hospital will be like? I shall have to juggle work and hospital visits. Thank God I’m only a day patient.’

  ‘We’ll know more when you’ve had your initial assessment.’

  ‘Do you think I’m mad, Claire?’

  ‘Of course not, darling.’ Shell shock had affected thousands of servicemen who saw or experienced terrible things in the war. She squeezed his hand. ‘You’re one of the lucky ones. You’re going to have treatment to deal with the horrors you’ve seen, that you’ve been through.’

  Mitch sighed deeply and looked past his sleeping daughter to the world beyond the small round window in the side of the aircraft. Claire followed his gaze but seeing clouds below them, she felt her tummy churn and brought her attention back to her magazine - though she wasn’t able to concentrate to read.

  When she felt Mitch’s hand relax, she looked across the table at him. He was asleep.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Claire woke to the hushed sound of Mitch’s voice. He was reading to Aimée. She wriggled down in the seat, closed her eyes again, and listened to the familiar words of The Tale of Peter Rabbit. When she was younger, it had been her daughter’s favourite book. Aimée knew it so well she could recite every word of the story, as well as the five books that followed. Hearing it now reminded Claire of her oldest sister Bess and the many times she had taken her to the lending library in Lowarth when she was Aimée’s age.

  Claire bit her bottom lip remembering how disappointed she had been when, after several visits, the librarian told her The Tale of Jemima Puddle-Duck was still out on loan. When Bess was shopping in Rugby the following week she bought The Tale of Peter Rabbit and The Tale of Jemima Puddle-Duck from a second-hand bookshop and gave them to Claire as early birthday presents. From then on, Bess bought her a book every birthday which, after reading, Claire carefully placed on the shelves of an old Welsh dresser that doubled as a chest of drawers in her bedroom. The books were still in good condition and she had passed the collection onto Aimée.

  ‘No Daddy,’ she heard Aimée say, ‘you’re not reading it properly.’ Claire smiled to herself. Mitch had been reading Peter Rabbit stories to their daughter since they had returned to England from France in 1945. At that time Aimée was too young to read them herself, but later, as Claire had done at her age, she had memorised every word. Mitch grinned at Claire and purposely paraphrased the next paragraph.

  Aimée sighed loudly, put her hands on her hips, and, looking into her father’s face, tutted. She was bright for her age and more than capable of reading books written for girls much older than herself. Mitch read to her for fun and often, as she was doing now, when he got it wrong Aimée would tell him off and make him read the passage again, properly.

  A worried look crept across Claire’s face. She leant her head on the headrest and closed her eyes. Aimée had grown out of Peter Rabbit some years ago, but recently she had returned to the books, reading them at bedtime. And although she was much more advanced in her reading and had brought with her a selection of books recommended by her school teacher, she had insisted on taking The Tale of Peter Rabbit to Canada, too.

  Claire had wondered if it was because Aimée was nervous about flying in an aeroplane, frightened even. She said she wasn’t - and she certainly hadn’t shown any signs of nervousness or fear. Perhaps it was the arguments that she and Mitch had been having lately that were upsetting her and she was taking comfort from something that reminded her of a time when her parents were happy. Claire hoped it wasn’t that. They had tried not to argue in front of Aimée but sometimes it was impossible not to.

  Aware that Mitch had stopped speaking, Claire opened her eyes. ‘She’s asleep, again,’ he whispered. Closing the Peter Rabbit book, he passed it across the table to Claire and she slipped it into the holdall at her feet.

  ‘We were right to bring Aimée with us, weren’t we, Mitch?’ Leaning forward, Claire looked at her sleeping daughter. ‘Uprooting her, I mean. Were we right to take her out of school, away from her friends, and your grandmother? Taking a child half way around the world is a big step.’

  ‘Yes, we were right to bring her with us. It was what she wanted. We asked her if she would rather stay with Grandma Esther or go up to Foxden to live with Bess and Frank and her cousin Nancy, but she said she wanted to come with us.’

  ‘I know,’ Claire said. ‘She thinks she’s going to be spoiled by her new Grandma and Grandpa.’

  ‘And she will be. I have no doubt about that,’ Mitch laughed.

  After almost a decade Claire’s heart still beat faster when Mitch laughed. He had joked and laughed all the time before he became ill. She looked into his eyes. They twinkled when he laughed and the skin at the corners creased. He hadn’t laughed much recently. He hadn’t had much to laugh about. That will change, Claire thought, when he has had treatment for anxiety and bad nerves, which the doctor at Brize Norton had diagnosed as shell shock.

  ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, would you fasten your seat belts, please. We will be landing in fifteen minutes,’ the stewardess said, repeating the instruction every couple of rows, as she walked down the aisle of the plane.

  Mitch gently eased Aimée up into a sitting position before buckling her safety belt. She slipped sideways until her head rested against him again. He eased his arm from under her and wrapped it around her shoulders protectively, cuddling her while she slept. Claire leant across the table and clicked Mitch’s belt into position, before gathering up magazine, newspaper and Aimée’s colouring book and crayons and putting them into the holdall. She then put on her own safety belt and, with the heel of her shoe, pushed the bag under her seat so it was safely out of the way.

  After the customary bumps as the plane’s wheels touched down, the reverse thrust, followed by ten minutes taxiing along the runway, the plane came to a halt. Claire carrying the holdall, and Mitch carrying their sleeping daughter, they shuffled along the aisle towards the exit with the rest of the passengers.

  As they reached the door, about to leave the aircraft by a set of wide metal stairs, Aimée’s head jerked back and her eyes opened. ‘Put me down, Daddy,’
she said wriggling, ‘I’m not a baby.’

  Mitch lowered her onto the landing at the top of the stairs and holding his hand Aimée reached up and grabbed the handrail above the metal side of the moveable staircase. Pale from having just woken up, she beamed a smile at Mitch and Claire.

  The baggage claim hall, large, bare and very cold, reminded Claire of an aeroplane hangar. After twenty minutes the luggage arrived on open trailers pulled by squat tractor-type vehicles. Mitch found their suitcases, and because Montréal St. Hubert’s airport was half a military airbase, and Mitch was a captain in the RCAF, they were waved through security and passport control and were in the arrivals hall before the other passengers.

  ‘Alain? Alain?’ Claire turned at the sound of Mitch’s Christian name being called by someone in the roped-off public area. ‘Over here!’ Claire looked in the direction the voice was coming from. Searching the crowd of people waiting for friends and family from England she spotted a young woman waving frantically. ‘Alain?’ she shouted again. Then, pushing her way to the front of the crowd she ducked under the rope and ran across the concourse. Smiling at Claire, she threw her arms around Mitch’s neck.

  Almost losing his balance Mitch dropped the suitcases and picked the woman up. ‘Aimée?’ he shouted, swinging her round. Laughing, he set her down and held her at arm’s length. ‘This beautiful young woman,’ he said, turning to Claire, ‘is my baby sister, Aimée.’ Claire was stunned how alike the siblings seemed. Aimée was pretty and petite, Mitch tall and broad-shouldered - and they had different mothers - yet they were unmistakeably a pair.

  After hugging Claire and kissing her, Mitch’s sister dropped onto one knee and said, ‘Hello Aimée.’