Isabella’s Airman

by Sofia Grey

  I hovered behind them while they settled Maisie’s mum in the ambulance. I had to say something to Davy, but what? I couldn’t walk away from here without speaking to him.

  Marc turned on his heel, his eyes searching the crowd until he found me. He shook his head when he met my gaze. He must know. They must have swapped names while they worked together in the bus.

  When Marc strode toward me and threw his arm around my shoulder, it wasn’t an affectionate gesture. He spoke into my ear. “You know who that is, and so do I. And we are going to walk away.”

  I dug my heels into the road. “No. I can’t.”

  “You can, Isabella, and you will.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. If you speak to him now, you might change the timeline even further. You might lose him forever.”

  I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

  “Walk away with me. You’ll see him again soon.”

  A tear squeezed from my eye and rolled down my cheek. Marc made sense, but it tore at me that I wouldn’t even get to speak to Davy.

  I hung my head, exhaustion and defeat taking hold. “Okay.” I don’t know if Marc even heard me over all the background noise. Fire had taken hold in the surrounding buildings. Bells rang and people shouted. The bombers still droned overhead, and the anti-aircraft guns continued to fire. The world continued as it had, but mine had changed. Again.

  A clatter of footsteps behind us snagged our attention. “Hi, you left your bag.”

  It was Davy. He jogged up to us, Marc’s bag in his arms. I’d been carrying it and had put it down earlier.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off him, my lover. His uniform was filthy, and dirt caked his beautiful face, but his teeth gleamed white when he smiled. “Here you are.” He held out the leather satchel.

  Marc took it after flashing a warning frown at me. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you for your help in there. Which service are you in?”

  “I work in Intelligence,” lied Marc, but maybe it wasn’t such a lie after all.

  It seemed to satisfy Davy’s curiosity. He turned to me now. “Your husband helped to save lives tonight. You should be proud of him.”

  Husband? Was that what Marc had said? My cousin nudged me. Davy waited for my reply.

  I know if Marc hadn’t been holding me, I might have hurled myself into Davy’s arms. Every cell of my body called to him, the longing to touch him excruciating when it was denied. Even as I reacquainted myself with his features, my heart wept.

  Be strong. He will be my husband one day soon.

  “Yes,” I choked out. “I am very proud of him. Of you both.”

  Davy ducked his head and rubbed at the back of his neck in a move so familiar it made my chest hurt. “Be careful. It’s not safe out here.” Glancing up, he held out a hand to me. “Sergeant Davy Porteous.”

  God. Could I do this? Even thinking I was married, did he feel the same pull toward me?

  As I teetered on the verge of shaking his hand, desperate for his touch, and fearing I wouldn’t be able to pull away, Marc pre-empted me. He took Davy’s hand instead, shook it, and then smiled. “My wife is distressed. Please excuse us.”

  I couldn’t have turned my back on Davy and walked away if Marc hadn’t been leading me. My eyes were too blurry to see where we were going, and I stumbled along, my head down, trying to hold myself together.

  At some point, Marc tugged me down to sit next to him in a cramped space on the underground platform. I lifted tear-filled eyes to his, but I couldn’t speak. The horrors of the evening finally smashed into me. The fires. The bus. Seeing Davy. Leaving Davy. It was like losing him all over again. I felt raw, as though I’d lost the top layer of my skin. Everything hurt.

  Marc wrapped his arms around me, my face against his chest, and he let me weep. Great, earth-shaking sobs erupted, and I fell apart. I don’t know how long I sat there, my heart breaking, while he held me.

  When the worst had subsided, Marc spoke, his voice close to my ear. “You probably don’t believe me, but I know how you feel.”

  His words sank in. “What do you mean?”

  He sighed. “I walked away from someone. And it was the hardest thing I ever had to do.” His heart thumped steadily beneath my ear, the rhythm soothing. “He’s a good man. You have a future together, Isabella. Hold onto that thought.”

  I would have to. It was all I had left.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  We were exhausted the next morning after a restless and uncomfortable night, and I swore I would never try to sleep on a station platform again. My back ached, and my head thumped, but the pain in my chest hurt the most. I’d spent the night watching out for Davy, hoping he might take shelter near us, but I didn’t see him.

  Over a shared cup of tea bought on the platform, Marc admitted he was worried for my safety. He wanted me out of London today, and as far from the stricken capital as possible.

  We emerged from the underground to find that London had changed even more. The firestorm, followed by hours of relentless heavy bombing, had devastated the city center. Entire streets had been reduced to rubble. Craters pockmarked every street. Some fires still burned, the overstretched firemen leaving them to burn out on their own. Everywhere we looked, covered bodies lay on the pavements.

  Rescue workers dug at a collapsed air raid shelter, pausing every few minutes to listen. Someone was still alive under the bricks and dust. I clutched at Marc’s arm. “We have to help.”

  He was already taking off his coat. I knew he was tired too, but he couldn’t stand by and let them struggle. There was so much I was only just learning about my cousin. I helped with the people that were pulled out, giving them water, wiping their faces, and tending to their wounds. Talking to them, and noting their names and who they’d been with.

  There was still a chance that Davy might be here somewhere, but even though we toiled on the street until well into the afternoon, I didn’t see him again.

  •●•

  Marc secured me a ticket on a night train out of London, heading for Yorkshire, hundreds of miles from the capital. The day had passed in a blur, but in my head the hours were counting down. Marc took me to the railway station and made sure I found my seat on the crowded train. He had to stay behind and wait for the portal to reopen.

  He was the last link to my old life, and this time, I knew it was forever.

  When he wrapped an arm around my shoulder, it held comfort. “You really have everything ahead of you, Isabella. Live quietly and have an unremarkable life. I don’t want to read about you in the history books.”

  There were many things I wanted to say. I didn’t have enough words to thank him. I wanted to beg him to stay safe, to avoid detection, and to find his own happiness. He deserved it. In the end, I hugged him and pressed a kiss onto his cheek. “Good-bye, Marc. Be happy.”

  The next few days blurred into a mess of interrupted sleep and constant movement. I churned through my plans endlessly. The jobs I could try for. The safe places I could live, and then next May, how I’d travel to Wales and find Davy’s family.

  I was employed the week I arrived in the Yorkshire Dales as a teaching assistant in a quiet countryside school. The child population had doubled in recent months with evacuees from London, and they needed extra staff. The children were mostly bewildered and homesick, missing everything and everyone familiar to them, and I could relate perfectly. The job even came with a room in a shared house. I couldn’t have asked for more.

  After that, it was all about waiting, this time for the other man in my life.

  •●•

  Five months later, I hitched my bag higher on my shoulder and climbed off the train at Holyhead, the quiet Welsh town where Davy had grown up. His family still lived here. His father was the local G.P., and this was where I’d start my search.

  Walking down the street past the gray stone buildings, I paused. That one looked familiar. It was a church, but one I recognized, even though I’d nev
er been here before. I smiled when I realized.

  It was the backdrop for one of the photographs of me.

  I found the doctor’s surgery easily and walked in to see a familiar man standing behind the counter. The breath caught in my throat. As in the photograph, he was the exact image of Davy, just older. His thick hair was lined with silver at the temples, and he had grooves in his forehead, but otherwise he was the same.

  “You’re Davy’s father.”

  Familiar dark gray eyes assessed me, and he gave me a polite smile. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.”

  Now I was here, I wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m Isabella. Davy was my,” I hesitated. Boyfriend? Lover? “Fiancé. He asked me to marry him.”

  “Isabella Gillman?”

  “Yes.”

  Davy’s father held out a hand and shook mine firmly. “My dear, I’m so very pleased to meet you. Davy wrote a letter to you, which we had to keep. Nobody knew where to find you.” He released me and turned to a wall safe behind him. “I keep it here with my other important documents. Please, take a seat while you read it.”

  The letter. The same letter that had set me on this trail in the first place. Tears filled my eyes when I took the envelope. This time I handled the actual paper. Opened the envelope with my fingernail. Unfolded the sheet inside, and cried some more tears at the words.

  I gave Davy’s father a wobbly smile. “Thing is, Mr. Porteous, I don’t believe he’s gone. I think—I know—he’ll come back.” I blew out a shaky breath. “I’d know inside if he was dead.” I touched my aching chest. “I wanted to come here to wait for him.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Another village, another school, and another set of evacuees. I’d been in Holyhead for two months and felt as though I’d lived here forever. Some days I didn’t even think of my old life. Davy was the first person I thought of every morning and the last one before I drifted asleep at the end of the day.

  His parents had been lovely. Kind, honest, and stoic, they hoped to see their son again, and like me, they continued to believe he would return.

  The last day of the summer term was bright and sunny. The children, all inky-fingered and dusty with chalk, were itching to finish for the day. It was different for me. Without the structure of going to work every morning, I wasn’t sure what I’d do with myself for the next six weeks.

  I was sitting on the floor of the storeroom, counting pencils and ink bottles, ready to place an order to replenish the supplies, when one of the London children ran up to me. He skidded to a halt, red-cheeked and breathless. “Miss. You ’ave to come. I think there’s a phone call.”

  A thousand scenarios flashed through my head. The one thing that had sustained me through these long, dark months was the hope Davy would come home safely. What if Marc had been right and the timeline changed again? I usually managed to quash this nagging fear, but today it roared forward unchecked.

  With a giant lump in my throat, I ran out of the storeroom and down the corridor, my feet clattering on the wooden floorboards and my heart pounding the same erratic rhythm.

  I didn’t believe in God, but I sent up some silent prayers anyway.

  Rounding the corner, the headmaster’s office up ahead, I stopped. A man stood in the doorway, at once familiar and yet different.

  Davy.

  His hair was longer, brushing the back of his neck, and he sported a rough, dark beard. The uniform had been replaced with heavy trousers, rubber boots, and a thick sweater. He looked like the fishermen that worked out of the harbor. I noted all these details in the fraction of a second before he smiled.

  “Belle.”

  “Davy.”

  I’m not sure who spoke first, who moved first, but we were in each other’s arms, holding so tightly I didn’t think I’d ever let him go.

  When he swept his lips over mine, I knew I’d found my home.

  “Davy. How are you here?”

  My garbled words didn’t make much sense to me, but he must have understood. “The French Resistance got us to Ireland, and we’ve just come in on a fishing smack. I haven’t even reported to Bomber Command yet. I came straight here.”

  “But how did you know where I was?”

  “I knew you’d wait for me. And I hoped you’d be here, in Holyhead, to make it easy for me to find you. When my dad told me you were at the school, I had to see you.”

  He traced the shape of my lips with his finger. “I’ll always find you, cariad. I love you too much to lose you.”

  I burrowed deeper into his embrace and pressed my face into his throat. “At first, I thought you were lost. I was so frightened for you. But then, I knew you were still alive.”

  “How?”

  That was a story I’d never reveal, but there was something I could tell him. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone else, as though without you, a part of me is missing. I decided I wasn’t giving up, that wherever you were, you’d keep on fighting to get back, and so I did as well. I found a way back to you, Davy, and then I just had to wait for you to catch me up.”

  “And here I am.” The kiss this time was deep and hungry, a man starved. “I had lots of time to think on my way here. Do you know the first thing I want to do?”

  “Tell me.”

  “Put a ring on your finger. I want us to be married, Belle, and the sooner the better. I don’t want to be apart from you for a minute longer than necessary.”

  I didn’t want that, either. There were so many things we would talk about. His miraculous escape, Teddy and Jock, and what happened now. Would he be transferring to Coastal Command? Where would we live?

  There was no rush to work it all out. We finally had all the time in the world.

  EPILOGUE

  Marc—New Oxford, 2450

  My data pad gave a discreet chime, and instantly alert, I swiped at the screen to check.

  I’d embedded a series of control tags on certain records in the archive. When anyone accessed them, I’d be notified. Anything relating to Isabella or Davy would show up instantly.

  Someone had uncovered the record of their marriage certificate. I’d hidden it well, which meant whoever viewed it either stumbled upon it by accident while seeking a different record altogether, or they had been diligent in their search.

  They were not so good at covering their tracks, and a familiar name flashed up at me.

  Juliet Delafield—Student

  Although, from what I’d seen of Isabella’s friend, it was entirely possible she’d left her digital fingerprint for me to find. I contemplated what to do next. I was setting off for my new assignment in a few days, and I didn’t want to leave any loose ends.

  After checking her class schedule, the lecture hall seemed like a good place to start. As before, I sat in the back row, only this time I scanned through the rows of students until I located a distinctive blonde plait. The class was almost over, and I didn’t have to wait long.

  As she filed out of the hall, I fell into step beside her. She started at my presence, her eyes wide and shocked. I’d managed to surprise her for a change.

  “Student Delafield. Walk with me.”

  She followed my lead, outwardly calm and confident, but her fingers tightened on the bag she carried. We’d strolled to a secluded and private area before she spoke. “I was hoping to see you, Lieutenant. May I speak frankly?” She stopped and gathered her bag to her chest, as though it were a piece of armor. Her blue eyes looked guileless.

  “Please do.”

  “Isabella was my closest friend, more like family. I know how upset she was after our jump, and I felt guilty for a long time that I hadn’t done enough to help her.” Her breath hitched, and she moved closer, her voice dropping in volume. “I hoped for a long time that the record of her death was a mistake and that she might still be alive somewhere.”

  She stood so close I could smell her shampoo again. Sweet, light, and floral. It suited her. I blinked. “We should continue walking.” After anoth
er step, I cleared my throat. “You were saying?”

  “I wanted to let you know that I’ve stopped looking for traces of Isabella. I’m ready to accept that whatever happened to her, it was for the best.”

  There wasn’t much I could say to that, and even though Student Delafield had shown herself to be a skilled liar, I was inclined to believe her this time. I didn’t think she’d expose her friend.

  I’d checked on the stolen photographs on my return, and they’d changed again. In the first image, Davy now held hands with Isabella while they talked to the older man. In the second picture, Davy stood behind her, his arms draped around her swollen belly, while she peeked back over her shoulder at him.

  His smile was bursting with pride and utter devotion. How must that feel? I would never know, but at least I knew we’d been successful.

  As long as the photographs stayed hidden, Isabella’s secrets were safe, and so were mine.

  I walked a little farther with Juliet. It was a beautiful day, and once again I was tempted to simply walk with the intriguing student and enjoy her company. With a new mission just days away, it wasn’t possible, and perhaps that was for the best. There would never be room in my life for anything more.

  “Thank you for coming to find me today.” Juliet glanced at me, a smile teasing on her lips. “I’ve been selected for another field trip, and I leave in a few days.”

  “Same period?”

  “No. This one is quite different.” She blew out a breath. “Late twentieth century.”

  There were only a limited number of jumps made at any time. Surely she wasn’t… I stopped walking, and she paused beside me. “Don’t tell me. Manchester, nineteen ninety-six?”

  “Yes. How did you know?” Her eyes were innocent, but her cheeks held a telling flush of color.

  I didn’t know whether to feel amused or concerned. “I’m jumping with you. That’s my next assignment.”

  Reference Notes

  The film Target For Tonight exists: Description of a Bomber Command raid on Germany, showing the general preparations beforehand, the raid itself from the viewpoint of "F For Freddie", and the mounting anxiety at the station when the plane, a Wellington, fails to return on time. It can be found on YouTube: https://youtu.be/PDTLeFl8cXU