The Fleethaven Trilogy

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘Take me back to my office, would you, Kate? I’ll try to get an hour or so shut-eye.’

  As she pulled up outside the door of the building housing the CO’s office and was about to open her car door, she felt his hand on her arm.

  ‘Kate . . .’ he began, strangely hesitant. ‘Would it – would it compromise you too much if I were to ask you to come in and have a drink with me?’

  She looked at him through the gloom. ‘No – of course not.’

  She saw the gleam of his teeth as he smiled. ‘Come on, then,’ he whispered, gleefully conspiratorial.

  ‘Sit down,’ he invited, closing the door of his office and moving to the cabinet where he had a bottle and glasses stowed away. ‘I hate these hours when they’re away,’ he murmured. ‘And yet, it’s almost worse when they come back and you’re counting the aircraft, willing them all back safely and yet knowing . . .’

  He left the rest of his sentence unsaid. Placing a drink before her, he sat down in his chair, taking off his cap and running his hand across his forehead, up and through his hair. He let out a deep sigh. ‘Oh, Kate, my dear girl, don’t get too involved with any of them, will you?’

  Kate looked up, a sharp reply on her lips. What business was it of his what she did in her off-duty time? What right had he to give her such advice?

  Her mouth set in a rebellious line, she said shortly, ‘I won’t.’

  He sat twirling the glass, watching the swirling liquid. She heard him sigh deeply and then, deliberately changing the subject, he began to ask her about her home, the farm, her family; anything to steer their thoughts away from the squadron at this moment facing flak as they crossed the enemy coast. But not once during the hours they sat together through the long night did he mention his own life or family.

  As a pale, watery dawn stretched itself across the flat fields, they went back to the control tower to await the returning aircraft.

  ‘I’ll be on the roof, Kate,’ he told her, ‘but do you mind taking one of the buses out to meet the crews? One of the other drivers has gone off sick.’

  ‘Of course,’ she agreed.

  She had often driven the airmen out to their aircraft, but this was the first time she had met their return. When the first plane landed and she drove the bus as near as she could to pick up the crew she was shocked by the sight of them. The laughing, joking boys who had departed now returned exhausted, dirty and silent. Their faces were streaked with grime, their eyes wide with tiredness and they climbed unsteadily into the bus as if every bone in their bodies ached to lie down and rest. Now there was no laughter, no joking, no flirting. They didn’t speak to her, didn’t even look at her.

  Silently she drove them straight to de-briefing and returned to meet another aircraft. By the time the day was fully light, the sky was silent. All the aircraft were back; all, except one.

  T-Tommy did not return.

  Later that day she drove Philip to Group HQ. As they pulled up outside, he leaned forward from the back seat.

  ‘Kate, I’m sorry about Sandy. I know I have no right to tell you how to run your life but . . .’

  ‘No, you haven’t . . .’ she began and then, turning to look at him, she saw the tender expression in his eyes, his forehead furrowed with anxiety for her, and her retort died.

  His voice was low and hoarse as he added, ‘I just don’t want to see you get hurt, Kate.’

  His concern for her brought a lump to her throat. All she could do was nod.

  ‘Was – was there anything between you and Sandy? I – I overheard him ask you out.’

  She shook her head and said flatly, ‘No, no there wasn’t.’ Silently, in her own mind she added sadly, ‘There wasn’t time.’

  She was surprised to see the look of relief that crossed her Commanding Officer’s face at her denial of an involvement with the young airman. Thoughtfully, she watched him stride into the building with almost a spring in his step.

  Weeks had gone by and she had heard nothing from Danny. Since the loss of Sandy Petersen’s aircraft, Kate had become even more aware of just how vulnerable Danny was. Their own aircraft were on ops night after night; East Markham would be no different.

  ‘I’m going to ring East Markham and find out if he’s all right!’

  Mavis gasped. ‘You can’t do that, Kate.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘They won’t like it,’ Isobel put in. ‘They don’t like girls ringing about their boyfriends and if they find out you’re a WAAF, they’ll take a very dim view.’

  ‘Shan’t tell ’em who I am.’

  ‘I doubt they’ll tell you anything then.’

  ‘You’re allowed to ring the Mess, aren’t you?’

  Mavis and Isobel exchanged a glance, then Mavis shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me. If he’s on ops they’ll tell you absolutely nothing. You can bet your life on it.’

  ‘If that’s the case, then I’ll know, won’t I?’ she said reasonably.

  ‘You can’t ring from here, you know. It means walking down to the village.’

  ‘Well then, I’ll go down to the pub when I’m off duty and ring from there.’

  That evening she cajoled the telephone number out of the Adjutant and rang the Airmen’s Mess at East Markham. As the receiver was lifted and a voice said ‘Hello,’ she could hear noisy singing and laughter in the background.

  ‘Is Danny Eland there?’

  ‘Who?’ She repeated his name and gave his rank. ‘Sorry, I’ve never heard of him.’ He covered the mouthpiece with his hand, but she could still plainly hear him shouting above the racket. ‘Anyone know a Danny Eland?’

  She heard an answering shout but could not distinguish the words. The man on the other end spoke into the receiver again. ‘Seems he’s on leave. Got a seventy-two to go home.’

  ‘Home?’ Her voice was a strangulated squeak. ‘But he – he can’t have.’

  ‘Oh – er – sorry. Have I let the cat out of the bag? You mean he’s not come home?’

  ‘No – yes – no – oh, never mind,’ Kate said, and rang off.

  She was seething as she walked back to the huts. How dare he go home – again – and not let her know? Was he taking it for granted that she could never get leave to coincide with his? He hadn’t even written to her to give her the chance to try.

  Just wait till she saw him again; she wouldn’t half give him what-for!

  ‘There’s someone to see you.’ Mavis cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled at Kate across the stretch of grass between the control tower to which she was headed, and the MT yard where Kate was washing down the staff car.

  Kate looked up to see Mavis gesticulating towards the guard-room near the gate. ‘Get a move on. It’s Danny.’

  ‘Danny!’ Kate dropped her cloth into the bucket, hardly noticing the water that splashed on to her foot, for already she was racing towards the gate.

  ‘Danny. What are you doing here?’ In her joy at seeing him her anger with him was swiftly forgotten. But in the next moment her delight turned to apprehension. He looked very solemn and somehow strangely ill at ease. ‘Kate,’ he said, taking her arm. ‘There’s something I have to tell you.’

  Fear stabbed her. ‘Is something wrong at home?’

  He hesitated a fraction of a second, but then shook his head. ‘Come on, let’s go somewhere quiet.’

  Having booked in at the guard-room, Danny took her arm and together they walked round the edge of the airfield. It was sultry; the only sound in the stillness was a bee buzzing along the hedgerow.

  ‘Kate – Rosie and I – we’re going to get married.’

  She stood still, her mouth slightly open. The sun beat down mercilessly, so hot upon her head, that she felt dizzy.

  ‘What? You’re not serious, Danny?’

  ‘We’ve spent a lot of time together lately – when I’ve been home on leave.’

  She thrust her face close to his. ‘Yes – when you’ve been home without me! Now I see why.’

  ‘It’s
not like that, Kate. Be reasonable.’

  ‘Reasonable, reasonable? You ask me to be reasonable when you’re – you’re going to get married and to – to her? Why are you doing it, Danny? To keep her away from the soldiers? Think she’ll be safe, married to you? “Oh, I’ll sort her out,” you said,’ she mimicked bitterly. ‘Well, ya’ve certainly done that, bain’t ya?’ The dialect was strong now; she was angry. She prodded his shoulder with her forefinger. ‘Ya don’t have to marry the little bitch to stop her getting ’ersen into trouble, Danny.’ She saw him wince and look away from her with a look of disgust on his face. A stab of fear shot through her. She was losing him.

  ‘It’s not like that, Kate,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m – very fond of Rosie. I want to marry her.’

  ‘You wanted to marry me. Remember?’ Her voice rose and she jabbed her finger into her own chest. ‘Me!’

  Soberly, he nodded, his voice scarcely above a whisper. ‘I remember.’

  They stared at each other; she, hurt and resentful, he, determined yet with an air of sorrow. In his deep brown eyes there was still a sadness for what might have been, but could never be.

  ‘Don’t pity me,’ Kate spat at him.

  He shook his head. ‘Oh, Kate, Kate. Why are you acting like this? I thought you’d be pleased. I thought you loved Rosie . . .’

  ‘I did,’ she almost screamed. ‘That’s what makes it worse. She was my friend – and she’s betrayed me. If you had to get married then I’d rather it be anyone else rather than Rosie. Anyone but Rosie.’

  ‘But – but why? She’s still your friend, she loves you dearly. She’s going to be so hurt that you . . .’

  ‘I’ll never speak to her again, not as long as I live, I won’t. I don’t even want to see her – not ever.’

  ‘Oh Kate, don’t. Please don’t say that.’ His brown eyes were dark pools of suffering. ‘We want you to come to the wedding – you must come . . .’

  Kate broke into hysterical laughter. Go to their wedding? How could he be so cruel, she thought, or so stupid? Didn’t he understand what this was doing to her? Didn’t he know how she felt about him; how much she loved him and always would?

  At this precise moment, she wanted to kill Rosie Maine.

  Twenty-Eight

  Chiefy found her, sloshing water all over the Humber and soaking her feet and legs as well.

  ‘Whatever’s got into you, Hilton . . .?’ he began, then, coming closer, he realized that she could hardly see what she was doing for the tears streaming down her face.

  Kate felt him touch her arm. ‘Leave it, love. Come on . . .’

  ‘I can’t – I must finish – the car,’ she sobbed.

  ‘It’s okay. I’ll get one of the lads to do it. Come with me.’ There was a gentle firmness in his tone that forbade further argument. With a heavy sigh, Kate dropped the cloth into the bucket and turned away.

  As they walked back towards the office, Chiefy asked gently, ‘Anything I can do to help?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, no thanks. I’ll be fine,’ she replied and wondered how she could tell such a lie. She couldn’t believe she would ever be ‘fine’ again.

  ‘Well, go and get a lie-down in your quarters.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I can give you an hour, but no more. All right?’

  Grateful for his understanding, even though he didn’t know what was causing her misery, Kate nodded.

  It was almost as bad as before, she thought, as she lay flat on her back on her bed, gazing up at the rafters of the hut, when they had found they were half-brother and sister and that they could never marry.

  Now Danny was going to marry Rosie. How could he? How could he do this to her, Kate? Obviously, he no longer felt the same way about her, or else he wouldn’t – couldn’t – marry someone else. And Rosie! Why, oh why did it have to be Rosie?

  The hut was hot and stuffy and now she had a blinding headache. How she longed for the cool, blissful tranquillity at the end of the Spit . . .

  ‘What’s up with you? I thought you were out with lover-boy?’

  Kate groaned as she rolled over. She had not realized she had fallen asleep. ‘Just let me die!’ she moaned.

  Mavis was bending over her bed in the half-light of evening. ‘You ill, Kate?’

  She laid her hand against Kate’s forehead. ‘You do feel a bit hot. Have you reported sick?’

  Kate rolled her head from side to side on the pillow.

  ‘Well, come on then . . .’

  ‘Just – leave me alone!’ she whimpered.

  ‘Oh sorry, I’m sure.’

  The door opened and Isobel marched down towards them, coming to stand beside Mavis to stare down at Kate. ‘Oh, you’ve found her then?’

  Mavis turned questioning eyes upon Isobel, who said, ‘One of the lads from MT said some bloke came to see her . . .’

  ‘Yes, it was Danny,’ Mavis put in. ‘You know, the famous Danny we’re always hearing about . . .’

  ‘Well, she came back and began throwing water all over the Humber,’ Isobel went on. ‘To coin his phrase, not mine, she was “bawling her eyes out and making a right pig’s ear of it”, until Chiefy sent her off duty.’

  ‘Eh?’ Mavis stared aghast. ‘Oh, heavens! Me putting my great size sevens right in it.’

  ‘As usual,’ Isobel murmured, but now they both looked down again at Kate, then they sat either side of her on the bed.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Isobel asked.

  ‘Come on, Kate,’ Mavis coaxed. ‘You can tell us.’

  ‘He’s – he’s . . .’ Fresh tears spurted and Mavis pushed a handkerchief into her hands. ‘Getting married!’ Kate wailed.

  ‘Married? You – you mean – not to you?’

  ‘Of course she means not to her, idiot, or she wouldn’t be blubbering like this, would she?’ Isobel snapped.

  ‘Then – who?’

  ‘My – best – friend.’

  ‘Oh hell! That is rough,’ Isobel muttered, and for once there was real sympathy in her voice.

  ‘You don’t understand . . .’ Kate began, then stopped. How could she explain it all to them? It would sound very odd. She was in love with her own half-brother. No – no, she couldn’t tell them; certainly not Isobel, even though they were friends now, and not even the easy-going Mavis. It would sound decidedly odd to them.

  She made a determined effort and pulled herself upright. ‘I’ll be – okay, honest,’ she sniffed and blew hard into the handkerchief. ‘It was just a – a shock. But really, I’d rather not talk about it. Best to try to forget, you know.’

  They regarded her seriously for a moment, then, taking their cue from her, Mavis said, ‘That’s the spirit, girl. Tell you what, we’re off duty tonight. If his nibs doesn’t want you, we’re off down to the pub in the village. All right?’

  Kate nodded. Anything, she thought, to blot out her own thoughts right now.

  Of course, she couldn’t avoid going home – not for ever. She missed seeing her grandad, who wasn’t too well now, and her mother and stepfather; even, to her surprise, Lilian. Since she had been away from home, she had begun to feel strangely sorry for Lilian. Detached from home, Kate could see things a little more objectively. Her young sister was a strange girl. She had proved to be clever, academically clever, and Esther’s pride in her younger daughter knew no bounds. Two years before war had broken out she had passed the scholarship to go to the local Grammar School.

  ‘University, that’s where our Lilian’s going when this stupid war’s over,’ Esther vowed.

  ‘What’s the use of a woman going to university?’ Will Benson would growl. ‘Ya don’t need book learning to care for a husband and family?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t she go?’ Esther would bristle. ‘Women ought to have the same chance as men.’ And under her breath she would mutter, ‘Would have saved me a lot of trouble if Squire’d have thought that years ago and given me the tenancy of the farm straight off! And what about our Kate then? Doin’ her bit for the
war, ain’t she, alongside the fellers?’

  ‘Huh!’ Beaten in the same old argument, Will would stamp off to his room slamming the door as he went, leaving Esther triumphant.

  But Kate was no longer jealous of her younger sister. In fact, she felt rather sorry for her. It was difficult to live up to the high expectations of proud parents.

  ‘Oh, Kate, it’s good to have you home,’ Esther said, hugging her. ‘Come on in. I’ve a rabbit pie in the oven and ya grandad’s feeling better today. We’ll all sit down to dinner together. How’ve ya been?’

  ‘Not bad, Mam.’

  There was a moment’s pause as Esther held her at arm’s length and studied her face. Then she sighed gently. ‘I can see you’ve heard the news, then.’

  Kate nodded and bit her lip. ‘He came to the camp to – to tell me himself.’

  ‘That must have taken a bit o’ doing,’ Esther murmured, and Kate saw the truth in her words.

  ‘I suppose so.’ She sat down in the Windsor chair by the range which still warmed the kitchen and cooked the food. Nothing had changed here at Brumbys’ Farm, and in her present state of unhappiness Kate found a reassuring security in that fact. She leaned her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes. ‘Oh Mam, what am I going to do?’

  When she opened her eyes, it was to see her mother standing in front of her, hands on her hips. ‘Do, lass? What d’ya mean, do?’ And then in answer to her own question, she added. ‘Ya going to get on with ya life, lass, that’s what ya going to do. Meet a nice feller, get married and give me a barrow-load of grand-bairns.’

  Kate smiled. Oh, how good it was to be home!

  Feigning the submissiveness of childhood, she said, ‘Yes, Mam.’

  She didn’t see Rosie or Beth Eland. She didn’t want to see Rosie, not ever. And she couldn’t even face Beth – not yet.

  ‘Ya will come home for the wedding, though, Kate, won’t ya?’ her mother asked.