by Jenny Holmes
The answer was always no, with a telling phrase tagged on the end – ‘No, thank goodness’, ‘No, poor chap’, ‘No, God bless him’. Few people were interested enough to ask questions – most closed the door on Grace, Joyce and Bill and returned to their baking of mince pies or their shoe-cleaning, their bed-making without a second thought.
It was when they drove up above the crag, along the top road over into the next dale, that Joyce, sitting in the back seat, saw Edgar walking by the frozen tarn. He was recognizable by his RAF coat even from a distance of quarter of a mile. ‘Stop!’ she called.
For a moment, Grace and Bill thought she’d spotted Frank. Bill slammed on his brake and the car squealed to a halt. Joyce jumped out of the car and ran across the bare moor.
‘Wait a minute – that’s Edgar.’ Grace was quick to follow. She soon caught up with Joyce and together they called out his name.
Edgar had walked all day until he was weary. To walk off the nightmares, to walk into a brighter future – that was his intent. He strode by the riverside then up the hill out of the tree-lined valley onto the exposed, boulder-strewn tops. Cold and alone, stripped of memories.
He turned when he heard them shout. He waited. The ice on the lake was crazed and cracked – a jagged piece sank when he tapped it with his toe. ‘Look at this,’ he said to Joyce, stooping at the black water’s edge to pick up a piece of soft white rock. He crumbled it between his fingers. ‘It’s a piece of tufa – a form of limestone. Quite rare.’
‘That’s very interesting,’ she told him. He looked and sounded as if his ghosts had fled at last. He was clearer, stronger. ‘But just now we have more pressing things on our mind.’
‘Do you remember that old shooting hide here on Swinsty Edge?’ On the way back to Burnside, Edgar leaned forward to tap Bill on the shoulder.
‘Which one? I can think of at least three.’
‘The one you can see from the road, not far from here. It gives a bit of shelter if you’re caught out by a sudden storm.’
‘I know the one.’ Bill recalled that this was where Edgar had been heading out from when he and his father had spotted him and brought him home. He recognized that Edgar shared a fugitive’s instincts with Frank but said nothing to Joyce and Grace.
‘Shall we take a look there before the light goes?’ Edgar pushed harder for them to take up his suggestion.
‘Yes – it’s worth a try,’ Bill agreed.
Joyce sat quietly beside Edgar, gazing out at the hillsides and mistaking every shadow cast by a hawthorn tree, every humped rock for the missing Frank. Grace was in the front passenger seat, doing the same.
The car swooped into a dip then climbed a hill. The road sign told them that it had a gradient of one in four. They crested it and came to a wide open view of the grouse-shooting moor where the round hides stood – rolling rises and dips unbroken by walls or trees. Bill parked by the stile that gave access to the moor and the four of them climbed it and set off through the snow.
They found straight away that the ice-encrusted surface didn’t bear their weight and they sank almost to their knees in soft, wet snow. It made for hard going and there was a fair distance to cover before they came to the hide that Edgar had described.
‘Are we going to get there before dark?’ Joyce was on the point of turning back, but Edgar urged her on.
‘It’s not that far. And look, there are footprints.’ He pointed to a single, meandering track that led to the hide.
Grace saw that the prints were blurred by a light covering of snow. ‘Made before the last snowfall – when was that?’
‘Yesterday morning.’ Studying the prints, Bill was worried that they led up towards the hide but didn’t come back down. If these turned out to be Frank’s, he pictured him taking refuge in the hide then setting out again onto the wild moor top where there would be no sign of habitation for miles on end.
They walked on with their hearts in their mouths, breathing hard and sometimes staggering or slipping as they made their laborious way up the steep hill. The blackened stones of the roofless, circular hide stood out bleakly against the white slope and as they walked higher, the wind buffeted them more strongly. They leaned into it until they came to the low, crudely built structure.
The entrance lay to the leeward side of the prevailing westerly. A feeble hawthorn tree had taken root in the thin soil, its twisted trunk and bare branches leaning with the wind, so Bill, who was the first to reach the hide, had to stoop under it to look inside. He stiffened then put up a warning hand.
Joyce and Edgar came to an uncertain halt but Grace joined him in the entrance. She peered into the circular hide, some four feet high and crumbling after years of neglect. Sheep had nibbled at the surrounding heather and dislodged some of the stones – the weather had done the rest.
Frank lay on his side, curled like a child in the womb. His jacket was stiffened by frost, his bony wrists and bare hands exposed. There was no movement, no breath. His eyes stared into nothingness.
Grace slid past Bill then crouched beside the body. She felt the urge to take off her coat and cover Frank to keep him warm. But he’d been dead for some time. He clutched something in one frozen hand – a piece of white fabric edged in lace, with – just visible in one corner – a blue embroidered flower.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Jim Aldridge was in no hurry. Taking a pair of reading glasses from his pocket, he shuffled paperwork on his desk while Brenda and Una stood in the doorway to his office.
It was a large, bare room furnished with tall, military-style filing cabinets and shelving, with brown lino on the floor, walls painted khaki green and with dark-green roller blinds that were seldom raised to reveal a view of the front drive and the sentry box beyond. The electric light suspended from an elaborate ceiling rose had no light shade, adding to the functional feel.
‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting, girls. I’ve been busy liaising with the guys at Beckwith Camp, ready for tomorrow’s take over. If I don’t put these lists into the correct files, it’ll be mayhem.’
Brenda took shallow, uneven breaths, trying to frame her first sentence once she was given the opportunity to speak. ‘I’m sorry I have to break this to you …’ or ‘I’m sorry to bring bad news, but …’ No – saying sorry is a bad start. It sets me off on the wrong foot. ‘I’ve come to make a complaint …’ No, not strong enough. ‘I have a serious complaint against Flight Lieutenant Mackenzie.’ Or, better: ‘A very serious complaint …’
Una glanced at her with a reassuring smile, unaware that John Mackenzie was hovering in the corridor behind them.
Aldridge was about to pin one of his lists to the noticeboard behind his desk when he looked up and saw him. ‘Yes, Mac – what is it?’
Brenda’s stomach lurched and every word of her prepared speech fled.
Mac came up behind her until he was so close that she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. ‘A request from the kitchen, sir. They want permission to order extra bully beef, potatoes, baked beans et cetera to feed the new arrivals on the twenty-seventh.’
‘Come in, Mac – I didn’t get all of that.’ Aldridge smiled apologetically at Brenda as Mac pushed past her. ‘Write it down here so I don’t forget.’
Mac had made sure to brush against Brenda. She recoiled from the feel of his hand on her hip. Now she shuddered as she watched him reach over the desk to take the piece of paper that Aldridge slid towards him – broad shoulders, strong, stocky build like a middleweight boxer’s.
The squadron leader’s genial manner continued. ‘Ladies, I hope Mac thanked you properly for inviting us to your Christmas show. It was much appreciated, I’m sure.’
Mac finished writing, put the kitchen’s request on a spike then turned to face the visitors with his top lip curled into a sneer that Aldridge couldn’t observe. ‘I sure did. I stayed behind specially to say my thank-you to Brenda.’
The gorge rose in her throat and she felt the situation slip fro
m her control. Una too was so taken aback that she couldn’t speak.
‘That’s great. We’ll have to return the favour,’ Aldridge said. ‘Next time we put on a dance here at the base we’ll make sure to invite the Land Army.’
Mackenzie looked cock-a-hoop as he walked to the door. ‘I’ll see you then, girls,’ he promised. ‘I can promise you a four-piece band playing all your favourite songs.’
The door closed behind him. Aldridge finished shuffling papers then gestured towards two canvas chairs. ‘OK, come right in and sit down.’
Brenda sank into the chair, her face pale and drained. Una sat beside her.
‘Now – to what do I owe the pleasure?’
Mac’s interruption, together with Aldridge’s affable style, rendered Brenda speechless and she cast a desperate look at Una for her to begin.
‘This will come out of the blue, I’m sure.’ Una’s voice was soft but her head was up and she didn’t sound apologetic. ‘But something happened last night that you ought to know about.’
Aldridge took a guess. ‘Uh-oh, don’t tell me – one of my men got a little over enthusiastic. What did he do – climb up onstage and join in?’
Una shook her head. ‘Worse than that, I’m afraid.’
‘Was he drunk? Did he get out of hand?’
‘No. No one interrupted the show. It was afterwards.’ She paused and turned to Brenda.
‘Afterwards, when I was getting changed.’ Her throat was dry and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. But Una had begun and now she felt able to go on. ‘Flight Lieutenant Mackenzie came into the changing room.’
‘Yes, to thank you – he said.’ Aldridge placed both hands flat on his desk and leaned forward, as if realizing that there was worse to come. The overhead light cast shadows across his clean-cut, handsome face.
‘No, that was a lie.’ Brenda’s voice grew stronger. Whatever it cost in dignity, she would get it out. ‘He wouldn’t go away, even when I told him to. He came up to me and …’ She faltered then steeled herself to go on. ‘Then he tried to kiss me and I slapped him. I couldn’t make him stop.’
Aldridge nodded slowly, looking for a way to phrase things delicately. ‘Maybe he thought … I mean – maybe he misunderstood?’
‘No.’ She looked directly at him. ‘I told him to his face – go away, get out. He ignored me.’
‘So he overstepped the mark.’ Something in Aldridge’s tone suggested that he wasn’t surprised but that he would still do his best to play this down. His hands remained flat on the desk as a way of holding steady and following an official line. ‘Things may have got a little out of hand, but that happens sometimes. It usually turns out to be nothing.’
‘Brenda had to slap him and use her knee against him but then he pushed her onto the floor.’ Una leaned towards him. ‘I don’t call what Flight Lieutenant Mackenzie did to Brenda nothing.’
Aldridge closed his eyes for a moment then opened them again. ‘But he was just here. He came in, cheerful as you like, said hi to both of you – everything completely normal.’
‘To throw you off the scent.’ Una spoke vehemently. ‘He did that on purpose – don’t you see?’
Brenda breathed in deeply then stood up to gather every ounce of will-power and speak evenly. ‘What Mac did to me was as bad as it gets – him using all his strength to make me do what he wanted me to do. I could make it easy or hard, he didn’t care – that’s what he said. He treated me like dirt.’
The squadron leader knew with chilling certainty that what she said was true. He’d never felt at ease when he observed his second in command’s behaviour around women – had even pulled him up over it occasionally. But he’d turned a blind eye and now the consequences were staring him in the face.
Una gave Brenda a small smile of encouragement.
‘And it’s not the first time he’s done it,’ Brenda went on. ‘We – that is, Una, Kathleen, Joyce and Grace – have put our heads together and come to the conclusion that he did the same to another Land Girl called Eunice Mason.’
Aldridge’s self-control suddenly snapped. His face changed again as he jumped up and strode to the door. ‘Wait here,’ he told them before he yelled down the corridor. ‘Someone, get Mac for me.’
There was a flurry of activity – hurried footsteps, doors opening and closing, voices calling. Within seconds Mackenzie had reappeared. ‘Come in and close the door,’ Aldridge ordered.
He closed it warily then waited.
Aldridge struggled to control his temper. ‘Mac, does the name Eunice Mason mean anything to you? Did you meet her in the pub maybe, or take her to the movies?’
Mac shook his head as if puzzled then slid his eyes angrily towards Brenda.
‘Is that a no? I put it to you again, Mac – and take care what you say because if you deny it then I go to the girl and she gives me a different story, you could be in deep trouble.’
‘Oh no.’ Startled, Una tried to step between them. ‘You can’t do that.’
‘Why not?’ Exasperated, Aldridge turned to her.
Suddenly Brenda was the calmest one in the room. She went to within a foot of Mac and looked him in the eye. ‘Because Eunice is dead. She was expecting your baby, Mac. You got her pregnant then you dropped her like a ton of bricks. So she killed herself.’
The accusation made him reel backwards against the door. Brenda felt herself pushed to one side and saw Aldridge launch himself and pin Mac back with his forearm. He shoved his head backwards. Brenda and Una heard the thud of bone against wood. ‘True or false?’ he spat.
With spittle dribbling from the corner of his mouth, Mac thrust him off then straightened his collar. ‘So what if it’s true?’
‘So you forced yourself on two girls – that’s what!’ Disgust ran through the squadron leader’s whole body at Mac the sweet talker and dapper dresser, drinking companion and man about town. ‘One’s dead because of it.’
Mackenzie wiped his mouth and fought his corner to the last. ‘Says who? Says one crazy Land Girl!’
‘Not just one,’ Una jumped in. ‘Kathleen is willing to be Brenda’s witness.’
Aldridge shook his head and groaned. Giving up on forcing Mac to admit his guilt, he picked up the telephone and dialled a number to ask for two armed guards who were there within seconds, ready to escort the culprit from the room. Then he sat Una and Brenda back in their chairs.
While Brenda came to terms with the last violent, bitter look that Mac had thrown at her before he was marched away, Una was the first to break the deep, uneasy silence. ‘What will happen to him?’
Aldridge sounded weary. ‘We’ll draw up charges. Flight Lieutenant Mackenzie will have to face a military court. We don’t like to lose trained pilots so I can’t say for sure that he’ll be drummed out of the force even if he’s found guilty. I do know he’ll be stripped of his rank, though.’
‘But he won’t stay on here at Penny Lane?’ Brenda asked. The surrounding silence weighed heavily on them all. The blinds cast a subdued, green-tinged gloom over their skin.
‘No. You’ll be asked to give evidence but after that you won’t see him again.’ It was time for Aldridge to escort them from his office, down the corridor to the main entrance with its red and green stained-glass door. He said nothing more but his face was full of regret as he shook each of them by the hand.
Brenda and Una felt numb as they walked down the drive. ‘Well done – you did it,’ Una murmured while the sentry raised the barrier.
‘We did it,’ Brenda corrected her. ‘I’m pleased for Eunice’s sake that the truth will come out.’
‘And I’m pleased for Frank that he won’t get the blame.’
Brenda sat astride her bike and stared down the straight road as she waited for Una to mount the pillion seat. The sentry glanced curiously at them from his box. ‘Shall we go and give Joyce and Grace the good news?’
They’d fought hard to set in motion justice for Eunice – a good reason to feel satisf
ied. ‘Yes, what are we waiting for?’
The reality of Frank’s lonely death wove a cocoon of silence that wasn’t broken until Bill and Grace dropped off Joyce and Edgar in the pub yard. During the drive back from Swinsty Edge, they’d each been lost in their own thoughts.
Bill had been working out the practicalities of how to get an ambulance out there to collect the body this late on Christmas Eve. He’d decided to ask Edgar to phone the hospital while he and Grace drove to Home Farm to inform Emily and Joe – that was, as long as Grace was prepared to go with him. It would be better to have her there to break the news as gently as possible. Meanwhile, Edgar had put himself in Frank’s position, imagining his final few days of cold wandering, cast out by his father and utterly alone. And why? Because Frank Kellett hadn’t fitted in – that was why. Because he’d been a misfit all his life, misunderstood and living in a silent world that he’d never made sense of. Poor bastard, Edgar thought over and over. Poor, bloody bastard.
If only we’d got to him sooner. Joyce’s regrets centred on the fact that they’d left it too late to form their search party. The build-up to Christmas had got in the way – rehearsals for the show, especially. And besides, everyone feared Frank’s strangeness and had shied away from him. I was looking out for Una instead of him – we all were. She stared out of the car window at the darkening hillsides and saw only her own reflection and Edgar’s beside her. His hand closed over hers where it rested on the seat and she left it there.
Grace had stared straight ahead as the car headlights carved a way through the darkness. She would never forget the sight of Frank’s emaciated body lying on its side in the snow, curled tight as if to conserve the last, fleeting warmth of his body before ice had entered his veins. She prayed that he hadn’t been aware, that death had crept over him like sleep and he’d drifted away without fear, clutching the few fond memories that his harsh life had offered – instances of his mother’s dogged, determined care for her broken boy, or perhaps a fleeting picture of Una’s lively, laughing eyes.
She said yes right away to Bill’s request to drive out to the Kelletts’ farm and they left Joyce and Edgar outside the Blacksmith’s Arms and drove straight there. Theirs was the only car on the road. The clear sky was studded with a million stars. When they turned into the lane, Joe saw the headlights and came to his door.
