by Gloria Cook
‘Tom!’
‘I know she’s got the right to be worried about Nate, but her moods have always been ruled by her monthly cycle. You’re not at all like that.’
‘Tom! Some things are best not mentioned, thank you.’ She hid her burning face. It might be a farm they worked on, where the most intimate things of nature couldn’t be hidden, but it was shocking to have the subject of ‘the curse’ brought up.
Unrepentant, Tom reached up in the hedge and snapped off a dog rose and used it to tickle her neck. It dislodged her turban scarf and she pulled it off. It would need to be retied. Lottie would have bawled at him for the inconvenience. He closed his eyes and relaxed. The best thing about Jill was she never minded what he did. She was the best of company. He enjoyed taking her out and about. They’d gone to an ENSA concert and the pictures in Truro; the town now, like everywhere else, strangely quiet since the troops had pulled out. He walked down to the pub two or three times a week for a drink and usually asked her to join him. He traced his fingers through her hair.
Jill was happy to let him do this. She was totally at ease with Tom. Last night she had come out of her room with the intention of taking a bath. She was in her flannel dressing gown and worn-down fluffy slippers. Tom had come up the stairs, took one look at her and fell about laughing.
‘What?’ She’d frowned at her sliver of soap and flannel. ‘What’s so funny. Oh no!’ Too late, she’d realized she had three curlers in the front of her hair and cold cream making a shiny film over her face. Then she couldn’t see a reason why she should be embarrassed – it was only Tom – and she’d laughed with him. ‘Do I look like the swamp creature in that movie we saw last week?’
‘No. You’re as lovely as always. And I see you definitely as a Hedy Lamarr.’ It was good being always so comfortable with someone.
When the workers trudged back to the farm way after dark they found a guest seated at the supper table. Tom raised his brows. ‘Louisa! Been ages since you were here last. Good to see you.’ He’d meant it sincerely but felt awkward about seeing his former love. How was he to behave? He solved the problem by monopolizing Jill all the way through the meal.
‘You too, Tom. And all of you. Aunt Em rang me with the news about the new baby and she suggested I come over. It’s brilliant news, Lottie. I, um, don’t have to get back for anyone now, so I’ll share your room tonight, if that’s all right?’ Louisa was self-conscious about being here. She had changed her mind many times before setting off. The last time she’d been under this busy roof she’d been Tom’s young lady; she had been intimate with him in his room.
‘It will be really great having you here.’ Lottie wagged a playful finger at her. ‘You were naughty to stay away for so long. The family’s not complete without you.’
When Lottie went upstairs to change out of her work clothes, Louisa carried up her overnight bag. ‘Wasn’t too bad, was it?’ Lottie asked, standing sideways in front of her mirror in her underwear, pressing her hands over her flat tummy, imagining what she’d look like as the pregnancy bloomed.
‘I’m glad I’ve got that out of the way. I’ve missed coming here so much. It was easier now that Tristan and I get along.’ Louisa came over all shy. ‘The reason I’ve stayed away for so long is I’ve been wondering what everyone thinks of me for sleeping with Tom.’
‘That it’s all pretty natural probably. One wouldn’t expect Tilda to approve but she’s never sanctimonious. Don’t worry about it. No one else is.’
More at ease now, Louisa sat down on the bed. ‘It was a good thing I didn’t end up in your happy condition. I’m glad Tom seems to be getting on with his life. When we talked the day he came to the graveyard, I was shocked at how much I’d hurt him. We’ve forgiven each other and bear no grudges. That’s the main thing. I thought Jill might have come up with us. She’s your best friend. Hope she doesn’t think I’m butting in.’
‘Not at all. Jill wouldn’t think things like that. She’s very perceptive. She gave me and Nate all the space we needed. So, what have you been up to lately?’
‘Oh, just the usual. Ada and I have had to come to terms at not having Bruce with us.’
‘Do you think you’ll look again for love?’
‘Perhaps. If or when the time is right. Is… Tom seeing anyone?’
‘No. We were all expecting him to take up where he left off breaking the hearts of the local girls, but he seems happy enough to stay close to home. He and Jill go out and about together sometimes.’
‘I noticed he gets on very well with her.’
‘They’re just chums. We’d like there to be more between them. Would you mind?’
‘No, not at all. I loved Tom, and I was disappointed and confused when things went wrong, but I was devastated when I lost David. I’ve had a lot of time to think now the house is so empty. Tom and I were carried along by passion. And let’s face it, I was never cut out to be a farmer’s wife. Jill is. It’s easy to see she loves the life. Yes, you know, you’re right, now I come to think of it, they do look meant for each other. Perhaps they know it deep down.’
‘Well, if they don’t soon get on with it, I’ll do something to push them together. In fact, I’ve got an idea that might help.’ Then the amusement left Lottie and she became grave. Fear drained all her colour. She plonked down beside Louisa.
‘What is it, Lottie? Are you worried about the baby?’
‘It’s not that. Louisa, you know what it’s like to have your husband killed in action. If anything happens to Nate… if I hear… can I come to you? I mean, you know exactly what it’s like.’
‘You don’t ever have to ask for help or understanding, Lottie. I’m here for you at any time.’
‘I can’t stop imagining things.’
‘I know. People tell you to concentrate on the good times you’ve had together, or to look ahead, but all sorts go through your mind.’
‘Like is he in pain? Suffering? Hungry? Does he have a roof over his head every night? Is he afraid? He must be seeing terrible things at the very least. I hope, I pray, but I never know a minute’s peace. At least I’ve got his baby. I hope my letters will reach him and he’ll soon know about it.’
‘It’s old advice, I know, but taking one day at a time helps. If you can’t cope with a whole day, break it up into little pieces, an hour or two at a time.’
‘Thanks. Right now, this very moment, I’m glad to have you here.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
He could see water all around him. That couldn’t be right. There should be dull air and cloud. He should be up amid the dismal grey wreaths that had so often cancelled the number of sorties that could have been undertaken in the days and nights since he’d taken part in the D-Day assault. He was so cold and numb, he felt nothing. What had happened to the array of instruments in front of him?
He’d been up in French airspace. A daytime raid. Where the hell was he now? He’d been bombing a bridge, cutting out a critical route to disrupt the push of the slick, well-equipped Second Panzer division towards Cherbourg and Caen. The resilient German resistance to the invasion had been able to launch a series of minor counter-attacks, but despite the poor weather conditions hampering the overall effectiveness, especially from the air, the Allies had joined up and secured all of the French coastline.
When the thousand- and five-hundred-pound bombs were all dropped, Jonny had headed the Lancaster back across the Channel. Almost at once, the craft was hit by flak. He remembered now – a hard slap in the face from a spiteful choppy wave helped. He remembered his navigator saying with almost high-tea calmness, ‘You’ve nursed a pranged crate back more than once before, Skip.’
He had. Not with this crew. Death, injury or promotion meant none of his previous crew were flying with him today. Black smoke had billowed into the cockpit and flames had suddenly burst into a flash of evil red and orange. ‘Bail out! Bail out!’
He’d shouted until the smoke had threatened to burst his lungs. Hell! Bugger
! And words to that effect – why he should think it funny, only God knew. Well, he’d soon be having a few words with God. Still, he couldn’t grumble. He’d had a bloody good innings. Was a walking miracle to be flying and fighting at his age – well, had been… His age, the grand old age of thirty-one. Not old at all. But he’d made it a darn sight longer than those poor boys of only eighteen years. He’d waited until all the crew had thrown themselves out, praying that their parachutes would work and they wouldn’t be hit by enemy fire, before jumping out himself. He didn’t remember hitting the water. The chute was keeping him afloat but he reckoned not for much longer. He was so cold, hypothermia would get him if he didn’t drown, and he might be horrifically injured anyway. He recalled the flames that had started to lick at his body. The searing pain.
When is my life going to flash before me?
Something grabbed him by the back of the collar. He was being dragged under. It was going to be painful. How could he be drowning if he was rising up out of the sea? Must be so starved of oxygen his mind was playing tricks. His back felt as if it was being stretched to its limits – he could hardly bear the agony.
‘Here, mate, stop thrashing about! We’re trying to help you.’
He tried to speak but his teeth were chattering too much. He went limp, he had no strength left. Found himself staring into shadowy faces.
‘It’s all right. It’s Air-Sea Rescue. Your plane went down into the water as graceful as a swan. The flames coming out of her arse reminded me of myself with me heels on fire when running away from me mother-in-law,’ the sailor ruined his poetry. ‘We’ve picked up another couple of blokes. You’re the big noise, eh? Lie back and let us get you comfy. Have you up in the hospital ship and in a nice warm bunk in a mo.’
Jonny hated being tugged about as he was wrapped in a blanket. He wanted to use the worst swear words of his life but no words would come out. Finally, he was frightened. The biggest terror he’d ever known. He might be dumb and paralysed for ever.
When he came to again he was in the grip of a shuddering monster. Then he saw he was in a bunk and must be in a moving ship. ‘Help! Help me, someone!’
‘Quiet,’ a voice said, coming close. It was a medical orderly, smart and crisp, a young slim sailor, about twenty. ‘I mean, quiet, sir. You’ll wake everyone.’
‘I can speak.’ Jonny realized he was half sitting up. ‘I can move.’ He fell back on the pillows in relief. A wave of nausea hit him and it was several moments before everything cleared again. ‘You still there?’
‘Yes, sir.’ The orderly came back.
‘My throat hurts like hell. I hurt all over, but I was so afraid I was going to be a vegetable. Do you know if any of my crew made it? I think a sailor told me a couple of my chaps had been picked up.’
‘I’m afraid you’ve lost two, sir. The others are more or less fine. You’ve come off the worst.’
‘Could you get me their names? The survivors and the lost? I’m not bothered about myself.’ It took a lot of nerve to ask. ‘What is the damage?’
‘The doctors will tell you tomorrow. It’s very late. I suggest you try to sleep, sir. We’ll be back in Blighty in the morning.’
‘If you don’t tell me,’ Jonny said severely, mixing it with the foul language he’d wanted to use during his rescue, ‘I swear I’ll wake up the whole bloody ship.’
‘I don’t know all the facts, sir,’ the orderly said, completely unruffled. ‘Your lungs took in rather a lot of smoke. Not life- threatening but you’ll be uncomfortable for some time. You’ve got some burns. Superficial mostly, the immersion in the salt water would have been a help to the healing. Your face is a bit scorched. The fingers of your left hand have been fused together. You’ll be in for a few operations but you should be prepared to face that it’s unlikely they’ll ever be separated successfully. If you wanted to go out in a blaze of glory, sir, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. If the war isn’t over by the end of your recovery, you’ll not be able to fight the rest of it from a cockpit. Now, try to get some sleep, sir.’
The orderly went off to a groaning patient. Jonny lifted his heavily dressed left hand. He gingerly touched his face, it was too sore to probe much. ‘Oh bugger and blast!’ He thought about his two dead crew members. He was alive. He had much to be grateful for. He was a career airman. The powers that be had better not try chucking him out. Life behind a desk wouldn’t be too bad. Yes, it would. It wasn’t worse than death, but it came a close second.
He’d wept many secret tears for dead pals, for dead crew, for the maimed. Throwing off all façade, he wept for himself. A bomb or a bullet might still claim him before this whole wretched show was over but it was a totally humbling thing never to have to face scramble ever again.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The first thing Jill did every morning was to look out of her bedroom window and view the scene that had made her cringe before her first day’s work. While the war had blasted so many places almost out of recognition – Plymouth, just across the county border, had been mercilessly bombed – the hills and valleys here had been left comfortingly the same. It brought her peace and security to watch the changing colours of the seasons, and pride to have taken part in the relentless but steady progression of the ploughing, tilling and reaping, and animal husbandry.
Today, because of something Lottie had recently been repeating to her, she lingered and took another look out from the landing window. Tiny darts of thrill touched her all over, the sensation that told her she was being watched. She knew it was Tom. She always knew when he was near. If she didn’t see him for an hour or two she missed him. She turned to him, smiling. He was grinning and shaking his head. ‘What?’
‘You had the look of a child just then. As if it was the first time you’d seen something wonderful.’
‘It is a wonderful outlook.’ She drank it in again. ‘I’ll never tire of it.’
‘Well, you won’t ever have to,’ he replied matter-of-factly.
‘I might one day.’ Lottie had been talking about her hopes of settling down with Nate on their own farm, and her hopes that she would come with them. ‘I don’t think I could do without you,’ Lottie had stressed. ‘It’s like I’ve known you for ever.’
‘What do you mean?’ Tom’s grin vanished. He reached her in two rapid strides. ‘Mum’s told you, everyone has, that you must stay on here after the war’s over. We’re winning, it’s looking good. Uncle Tris is confident about it and he should know. There’s still a lot of hard fighting to do but our chaps are gradually gaining ground. The Allies will be marching into Paris any day now.’
Jill was so used to his good humour she missed the fact he was annoyed. ‘Oh, poor Lottie. There’s she goes again, out into the lane waiting for the postman. I hope there’s something for her and not just another lot of public information leaflets.’
‘I asked you what you meant, Jill.’ Tom loomed over her, breathing down her neck. ‘Are you planning to leave here?’
‘Not really.’
He pulled her around to get her full attention. ‘What kind of answer is that?’
It was the first confrontational remark she’d ever got from Tom. The hands on her were gripping firmly. She was at a loss over his displeasure. She detailed her conversations with Lottie. ‘I’d be one of the few women foremen in the whole of England. I like the idea of that.’
‘Do you indeed?’ he snapped sourly, letting her go. He had never thought he’d be rude to Jill or glare at her. He was hurt and offended that she could agree to such a plan. She had the right to her own life, to make her own plans. But not to up sticks and leave him.
‘What’s wrong with that?’ Jill challenged him over his high attitude.
‘There’s such a thing as loyalty, you know.’
‘I would be loyal, to Lottie, my best friend. She’ll have a young child by then. God willing, it will actually happen, and she’ll need me. I wouldn’t dream of going without discussing it first with Mrs Em, of c
ourse.’
‘Why bother? Seems to me you’ve already made up your mind. Blast Lottie! She always gets her own way.’ He stormed off, leaving Jill in stunned amazement.
She rushed after him, pattering down the back stairs, trying to catch him up. At the bottom she launched herself at him and spun him round. ‘Are you going to have this out with her? I don’t see why. She’s done nothing to upset you. Don’t you dare say anything to upset her. She’s in a fine state worrying about Nate. Tom, I swear, if you say one word to upset Lottie then you’ll have me to answer to.’
‘I’ll say what I damned well like! I’m the manager of this farm.’
‘Well, I’ll take care never to forget it.’ She would be even angrier if Tom’s behaviour wasn’t so at odds with his usual easy-going manner.
Their shouting had startled Paul in his pram, a few feet away on the other side of the wall. Emilia marched through from the kitchen, hands on her hips. ‘What on earth’s going on?’
‘Nothing,’ Tom barked, staring grimly above his mother’s head. He couldn’t look her in the eye for he knew he was the one in the wrong.
Emilia looked at Jill for an explanation. Jill shrugged. She had no idea why Tom had suddenly taken against her.
Lottie plunged through the back kitchen door, bringing a noisy wake of yapping Jack Russells with her, making such a racket herself it made her baby brother howl in fright. ‘I’ve got one at last! A letter from Nate! Oh, I’m so happy. Sorry, Mum. Sorry, Paul. I’m going up to my room to read it.’
‘Typical Lottie.’ Tom stamped off outside, slamming every door after him. ‘She creates bedlam even when she’s happy.’
Lottie sang through every moment of the milking, oblivious to the fact that her older brother and her best friend were barely on speaking terms. Over breakfast, she repeated for the numberless time the contents of Nate’s letter. ‘He couldn’t say where he is, of course. He says the countryside is very much like it is here, but a lot flatter, not as many hills. They’re getting a mixed reaction from the French, some are very friendly and grateful, eager to share anything they have with the troops; others, understandably, are upset that the battles are costing them so much more than ever before. The blue censor pencil’s done its work here and there. He got a bad nick on the cheek when he hit the shore and will have a scar, and a leg wound, but nothing serious. Tragically only he and Herv, your former supplier, Tom, survived the first day, and Herv was badly wounded. Nate hasn’t seen him since and hopes he made it back and has been shipped out. We must remember them in church on Sunday. Nate might come back soon on a hospital ship himself, with casualties. Oh, I do hope so. He’ll probably be stationed up-country but he might get some leave soon after that. I can’t wait! I hope he’s got my letter about the baby. He’ll be over the moon. Of course, there’s bits I can’t share, personal to me.’ At last she fell silent, unaware that although Tom was pleased she had received the letter, he was also quietly simmering.
