The Forgotten War

by David Fiddimore

  ‘I think that you’re beautiful, Grace. I always thought that you were beautiful. I always will.’

  We all get it right, sometimes, don’t we? Her face softened, and the rough colour from crying faded as I watched her.

  ‘Good man, Charlie Bassett.’

  ‘Someone else told me that a few years ago.’

  ‘It wasn’t me; I probably didn’t know then.’

  ‘But you do now?’

  ‘Yes, and I’m pleased to see you after all.’ She stood up, walked directly at me, grabbed me and kissed me. Every woman’s kiss is different, isn’t it? Grace’s kisses made you feel as if there wasn’t a stitch of clothing between you – as if she was holding nothing back. That was ironic: because once you got to know her you realized that Grace held everything back. Even so, you wanted them to go on for ever; you wanted to die kissing.

  ‘Suddenly I want you to fuck me more than anything else in the world, Charlie.’

  Even though I was hard, I said something strange. I said, ‘I’m not sure that I can, Grace . . . not now. I’m sorry.’

  One of the nice things about Grace was that she rarely asked you for an explanation, and never took a refusal personally. Welcome back, Grace.

  We walked around the paths, through the rhodies, the woods and across their lawns for hours: holding hands, and catching up. Anyone who saw us would have sworn that we were already lovers again. The swan’s body had gone from the lake. When we had finished walking we found that the gates had been closed, so we climbed through a gap in the outside fences. She linked her arm through mine as we walked down the Bishops Avenue and asked, ‘Are you staying?’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t know for how long.’

  ‘Can I stay with you tonight?’

  Did she honestly think I could refuse her?

  We made love all night. I’d never done that before. Grace’s body was flatter and sparer, and still tanned. She said that I was more muscular. We fought against each other until we could see light coming through the gaps in the curtains. Then we slept. The Krauts had had a phrase for it: Strength Through Joy. Lovemaking wasn’t what they meant, but it was nice to know that they didn’t get everything wrong. When I awoke an hour later Grace was sitting up beside me, talking about dead babies. She was still asleep. Her spine was ridged like an animal’s. I touched her back. She started, woke up, and immediately asked, ‘Was I jabbering? Sorry. I’ve done that a few times in the last couple of years. Mostly when I’m relaxed and safe – that’s a bit odd, isn’t it?’

  I yawned. ‘Not as odd as opening your eyes and being instantly awake. I’d forgotten that you did that. Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes.’ She cuddled back down into bed and snuggled against my shoulder.

  ‘You were shouting about children.’

  ‘Yes. I always do. I was caught in a raid at the end of ’44. I was driving past a school that was hit.’

  ‘I know. Tell me about it if it helps.’

  ‘It won’t.’ I suppose that neither of us spoke for three or four minutes, and then she said, almost as if there had been no pause: ‘The first thing was that the car turned over onto its side quite gently, as if a giant had just reached out and pushed it over. None of the windows were even cracked. I simply opened the door, which was now above my head, stood up and climbed out. Everything happened in slow motion. It took a great effort to move my arms and legs, even though I was completely unharmed.’

  ‘I think that was the blast affecting you. I’ve heard that it does odd things.’

  ‘I’ve heard that too.’ Again, she didn’t speak for several minutes, then: ‘The air was filled with dust, like a pea-souper of a fog, and all around me I could hear bricks falling as walls collapsed. They rumbled down for ever. Then a little girl walked towards me out of the dust. She was very pretty – hair in pigtails – she was carrying something, which she held out to me. It was a child’s arm. A very little arm. Then she gave me a dazzling smile and said, “My little sister.”’ Grace whispered it again: ‘“My little sister.” Then I looked around, and saw that there were pieces of children everywhere.’

  I hugged her as tightly as I could. All I could say was, ‘Oh, Grace.’

  ‘I took the arm in one hand, and her hand in another, and we walked out through the dust to the end of the road, where I found an ARP man crying. I took him with me as well. All that time, it seemed, inside the dust the bricks kept falling.’

  ‘What did the girl you rescued look like?’ It was one of those questions that as soon as you’ve asked it you wonder why.

  ‘She was about eight, I suppose. Lovely dark hair in pigtails – I told you that. Her face was smeared with dirt, with streaks where she had cried. Her clothes were a bit ragged. She had a cut on her head. Why did you ask?’

  ‘I saw someone like that. Not long ago.’

  There was another one of Grace’s pauses. Then she sighed, and said, ‘I know. I don’t seem to be able to leave her behind.’

  I left Grace upstairs. A man with a huge moustache sat at the other end of the kitchen table and glared at me. I almost recognized him. When I was on the squadron huge moustaches were all the thing: you saw less of them these days. Mainly poets and artists who borrowed the mantle of the warrior, now that the real fighting was over. I wondered whether to thump him before or after my first cup of tea. I don’t know why I felt so feisty that morning; I’m not usually a morning person.

  ‘What have I done to him?’ I asked Harry.

  ‘He’s Edward Morney – the poet. You’ve bedded at least one of his birds in the last couple of days. Last night’s was mine as well, come to that.’

  I cast around in my mind for the name that Grace was using, and found it after a while.

  ‘Carla isn’t anybody’s bird: she’s an owner-driver. If you worry about who she’s sleeping with now, you shouldn’t have done it in the first place.’

  ‘Happens that I agree with you . . .’ He handed me a mug of tea.

  ‘Ta.’

  ‘And you already know that “Carla” isn’t her real name – it’s all over your face.’

  ‘Yeah. I knew her before, from when I was in the RAF. How did you find out?’

  ‘I recognized her from a photo that was in the papers just before the war. She’d flown solo to some godforsaken Middle Eastern country or other, and back: something heroic, I suppose. When I said I knew, she told me that she was trying to get away from her old life.’

  ‘Anybody else know that?’

  ‘Not unless she’s told anyone. Shall we keep it between ourselves for the minute?’

  ‘Why not? I’ll have to go away again, anyway. I have to follow my business – I’ll take my stock with me, don’t worry.’

  I finished the tea and then poured another mug to take up to Grace. I carried it in my left hand as I walked out of the kitchen. The poet had big feet, and stuck one out in front of me as I approached. He’d intended to trip me up, but moved too quickly and telegraphed it. All I had to do was step on the inside of his ankle to turn his foot over before I put my weight on it. He screamed like a girl as I walked away from him. Upstairs again, I sat on the edge of the mattress, enjoying the sight of naked Grace drinking the tea I’d brought her. Wendy went past the open door on her way back to her room, and called, ‘Hi, Charlie,’ held back a half step and added, ‘Oh. Hi, Carla.’

  We grinned back at her. When I told Grace that I was off again she asked, ‘Off to report? Can I stay here while you are away?’

  ‘No: you’d only bring somebody else in here. Mess up your own place until I get back.’

  ‘Spoilsport.’ She carefully put down the mug, and just as carefully pulled me over onto her. All she had in mind was a kiss. As we pulled apart she said, ‘Don’t turn me in, Charlie. Not yet.’

  ‘If you don’t turn me in either.’

  We both thought about it. Grace said, ‘OK’ first. Then so did I.

  The smiles we fired at each other seemed genuine enough. I presume I
was aware of something like love, and yet no longer wanted to spend my life with her. I suppose that it had been like that for Grace from the start. She watched me put my few possessions into the pack, and was still naked under my blankets as I turned to leave. I asked her, ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘That I need a bath. I’ll get up once you’ve gone.’

  ‘Don’t bathe too often or they’ll rumble you.’

  I fished in my pack until I could feel the ring with the green stone and held it out to her. ‘Here; have this. It will look very good on you.’

  Her fist closed around it, and she turned away from me so that I couldn’t see her face. She didn’t speak to me or look up as I left . . . and I knew that I’d got to her for the very first time since I’d met her: I was sure of it.

  Harry James was at the door to see me off. He asked me, ‘Can I contact you if the cops are sniffing about asking? I wouldn’t put it past that Edward to rat on you.’

  ‘No. I don’t do calls in; only calls out. I’ll be careful.’

  ‘Just make sure you are, for all our sakes.’

  ‘Is there anything you’d like me to bring back?’

  ‘Any spare radio valves you come across . . .’ Then he caught himself and grinned: ‘Fuck off, Charlie.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I told him. ‘Time to go.’

  The flat was empty, but I had a key now – remember? I stripped off, stashed my old clothes and lay in a hot bath. It was a proper man-sized bath; in fact, you could have shared it. The soap was trademarked Paris, and smelled of brothels. I towelled myself down vigorously to get rid of the scent – I didn’t want to give the wrong impression.

  Piers wasn’t at his office. The person who answered the phone didn’t know him, but told me that a message could be delivered. That was an improvement, I suppose. I asked her to tell him to call me. I called Cheltenham and told Boulder that I was on my way back. She didn’t sound exactly thrilled by it. Stephen turned up, and offered me a lift to Paddington in a bright orange two-seat Ulster Austin Seven that he threw around like a racer. When I think about it almost everyone I drove with in the Forties threw cars around like racers: it must have been the war. Unfortunately Stephen wasn’t a professional; he was a poor amateur. We mounted the pavement twice, once narrowly missing one Chelsea pensioner pushing another in an ancient wheelchair. Their fading cries of alarm were drowned out by Stephen’s cackles. He was either a quite terrible driver, or already drunk.

  Paddington station is a shite-hole with but one saving grace: it is within walking distance of a pub named the Fountains Abbey which I already knew from my aircrew days. I had time for a couple of pints before my train. I had travelled up to town in a suit that Piers had chosen for me, and Miller’s raincoat. They must have worked, because when the ticket collector looked at the return part of my rail warrant he invited me to occupy a First Class compartment. I realized that I would be expected to tip him as I disembarked: little Charlie was in a new world.

  I changed trains at Oxford and got the clunker to the edge of the known world. What surprised me was that Miller was there to meet me. She was wearing a smile that made her mouth look twice its real size. I didn’t ask why, I asked, ‘How did you know what train I’d be on?’

  ‘Deduction, intelligence work and the railway timetables. We have them in the office, you know. How was the signals manual?’

  ‘What manual?’

  ‘The one you went to London to help write.’

  ‘Oh. That one.’

  ‘I think you left your brain behind on the platform, Charlie. Shall we pop over to Lost Property and ask?’

  We were in her car by now, side by side; I slung my bag on the back seat. Miller laughed and said, ‘I love you, Charlie,’ while she was still laughing: as if it was the most natural thing in the world to say. I spoilt it by saying nothing back, leaving a silence that stretched like elastic. Miller said, ‘Sorry. That just popped out. I don’t know why.’

  ‘Did you mean it?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. I’m just pleased to see you back, but don’t actually know why.’

  We were still in the station car park, which was now empty. Miller looked around to make sure that no one was looking and hit me with a kiss like a limpet mine. After my breathing got back to normal I asked her, ‘Did that just pop out too?’

  ‘No. I’ve wanted to do it for days. It’s not my fault; it’s the way you look.’

  ‘How do I look?’

  ‘As if I should kiss you. You’re the first new man I’ve kissed since Christmas; do you know that?’

  ‘Do you want to kiss me again?’

  ‘Almost.’

  I was leaning facing her anyway, and didn’t give her another chance. I put my hand between her knees as I kissed her: no further. She squeezed gently. I had never wanted a woman more, but I didn’t push it. When we pulled apart I asked, ‘Can you have a drink with me before you take me home?’

  She glanced at her wristwatch. ‘Just one; is that all right?’

  ‘Nothing was ever righter.’

  Her smile told me that I’d thrown a six again. I was making a habit of it. Almost. There was a small place up a side street called the Star Bar. It was empty except for us. The barmaid was big and bouncy and happy. Miller was happy. I was happy. I found that I’d missed the taste of freshly brewed cider, and that I’d missed her. Halfway through my pint I had a thought that I had to share with her.

  ‘It’s just occurred to me,’ I told her.

  ‘What has?’

  ‘My Christmas came early this year.’

  Miller looked away. Her face wore a smile. Good-oh.

  18. Big Butter and Egg Man

  By the middle of the next week I’d interdicted four Jedburgh calls. Halfway through they tired of the game and switched their profiles, but because they were a hundred miles apart they had to send a new key, and because I was listening I knew it as quickly as they did. They should have worked that one out, but were beginning to sound seriously pissed off with me anyway.

  It was fun until everything stopped for Tommo’s inquest.

  Piers knew its date and locus before anyone else, and called me after he’d spoken to Tommo. That irked me and I’m not sure why. We had an anxious ten-minute wait on the steps of the small courthouse they held it in, but Tommo rolled up with another ten to spare. He wore his laundered and pressed, but old, Master Sergeant’s olive drabs. With his big round sad face and rolling gait, he looked every inch the innocent US farm boy caught in the net of English law. When we went in and took places reserved for us at the front, I saw some of the women in the place turn to stare at him. I think they liked what they saw.

  A local magistrate sat as coroner. He looked a thousand years old and gaga with it. He heard Tommo’s evidence, and that of the police witnesses. They hadn’t measured the skid marks because they couldn’t find any. A local doctor told us what a body looks like after it has been hit by a truck. Not nice.

  Then they heard me. I don’t suppose that I would have bothered to attend if I hadn’t been cited as Tommo’s character witness. What I can remember of the exchange between the coroner and myself went like this. I told him that Tommo and I had had a professional meeting the night before the accident, but declined to tell him anything about it. It was the first time I played the official-secrets card. The coroner simply didn’t like that. He looked at me, glared, leaned forward and asked, ‘Good character?’ He had a voice that sounded like gravel being shaken in an enamelled bucket.

  ‘I’ve had good reports so far, sir.’

  ‘Not you, ninny. The accused.’

  The clerk coughed and intervened. ‘There is no accused, sir. This is your coroner’s court.’

  ‘Really? Why didn’t somebody tell me?’

  The audience howled. Miller giggled every time she met my eye. It was a fucking circus.

  After an hour of it there was a verdict that precisely reproduced the wording that Piers had quoted to me
earlier. I believed him now: he’d actually written it himself. Tommo had driven over a blind summit and killed a Blind Summit. Damn shame, really.

  The three stooges who went to the Star Bar: Tommo, Miller and I. It was doing a roaring trade because there were already at least two people there before us, propping up the bar. We took our glasses to the table that Miller and I had sat at the week before. It will surprise you that neither of us had spoken about what had happened that night. And I had kept my hands off her. I’d done that because I thought that she was edgy around me, and it made me feel uncomfortable. I said, ‘It’s OK, Tommo. You can come back now. Be your devious old self. That’s your bit over.’

  ‘I’m off the hook?’

  ‘What hook?’ Miller asked him, and squeezed his knee. ‘I didn’t see one.’

  ‘That wasn’t a trial,’ I explained. ‘It was just an inquiry to establish why he died. If the coroner had decided that you’d acted unlawfully, then there would have been a trial.’ Something had been troubling me for a while. ‘Did you slow down at all when you saw him in the road in front of you?’

  ‘How could I? I had all four wheels off the ground. I was still in the air when we made contact.’

  I was glad that no one else had asked him that.

  Miller stood up and said, ‘My round. Same again?’

  You can fall seriously in love with women who know when to ask that question.

  Bella dragged Ming over to our table in the Star. She said, ‘Introduce us to your friend, Charlie.’ They’d been cheering in the audience, but I hadn’t seen them. I did, and they joined us. It was the signal for Miller to jump up. ‘Must go now.’ I was disappointed, but I couldn’t show it. Tommo winked at me: he was draining pints of cider as if it was water. I felt a decent night coming on.