Wish Me Luck

by Dickinson, Margaret

  ‘And he’s lived with you ever since?’

  ‘Yup.’ She felt his searching gaze on her face. ‘Why all the interest?’

  He’d seen through her. She laughed self-consciously. ‘I can’t hide anything from you, can I?’

  ‘Nope.’ His wide smile was back.

  ‘It was just – well – when I mentioned him at home, my dad seemed flabbergasted.’

  ‘Oh? I wonder why.’

  ‘Mm. So do I.’

  They sat in thoughtful silence drinking their tea, until Robbie, leaning forward, whispered, ‘Don’t look now, but there’s a woman over there who can’t seem to take her eyes off me.’

  Fleur giggled. ‘Must be the uniform. There are some women who’ll do anything for a man in uniform.’ She held up her hand, palm outwards. ‘And before you say it, I’m not one of them.’

  Laughter crinkled his face and his bright blue eyes danced with merriment. ‘Shame,’ he murmured and his glance caressed her. She felt as if she were wrapped in his arms even though the table separated them. A pink tinge coloured her cheeks but she returned his gaze boldly. Fleur was no shrinking violet who simpered and tittered under a man’s admiring eyes. She’d been a WAAF long enough to fend off ardent advances, but she had no wish to fend off Robbie Rodwell.

  If only . . .

  ‘Look out,’ Robbie muttered suddenly, ‘she’s coming over.’

  As the woman approached, Fleur looked up and then she smiled. ‘Why, it’s Aunt Louisa.’ She jumped up and kissed the woman’s cheek before pulling out a chair and inviting her to join them.

  As she introduced her to Robbie, the young man stood up and held out his hand. Louisa gazed up at him as if mesmerized, allowing him to take her limp hand in his broad grasp. ‘I’m pleased to meet you.’

  ‘She’s not really my aunt but I’ve always called her that. She’s Mrs Dr Collins.’ Fleur laughed. ‘That’s what folk call her, isn’t it, Aunt Louisa?’

  ‘Yes,’ Louisa mumbled weakly, still unable to drag her gaze away from Robbie’s face.

  ‘And this is Robbie Rodwell. We only met last ni . . .’ Her voice faded away as she watched Louisa’s face turn pale. The older woman seemed to sway and sink down into the chair Fleur had placed for her. But, still, she was staring up at Robbie.

  ‘Aunt Louisa – what is it? Whatever’s the matter?’

  ‘Rodwell,’ Louisa murmured. ‘You’re – you’re Meg’s boy, aren’t you?’

  Robbie, too, sat down. ‘Yes, I am, and I’m very sorry if meeting me is distressing you in some way. It seems—’ he glanced up at Fleur, seeking her permission to say more. Fleur gave a tiny nod and he turned back to face Louisa. ‘It seems there are a lot of things that Fleur and I don’t know about.’

  Louisa was regaining her colour now and some of her composure, though her hands still trembled. ‘Oh yes,’ she said, a bitter edge to her tone. ‘There are a lot of things you don’t know. But I’m not the one to tell you.’ She struggled to her feet and, automatically, Robbie and Fleur rose too. Robbie put his hand out to steady her, but she snatched her arm away as if she couldn’t bear him to touch her. She stared at him for a moment and then said, ‘You ask your mother, if you want to know. Yes, you ask her. Ask her . . .’ She made a gulping noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob. ‘Ask her about your . . . your father.’’ Then she swung round towards Fleur. ‘But don’t you go asking your dad anything – and certainly not your mother. Don’t you go hurting my little Betsy. Not again.’

  With that, Louisa turned and hurried from the cafe, her shoulders hunched and holding a handkerchief to her face. The young couple stared after her, concerned by the woman’s obvious distress yet still mystified.

  ‘Seems everyone knows what this is all about – except us,’ Robbie said.

  ‘Yes,’ Fleur agreed slowly. ‘It does, doesn’t it?’

  Robbie caught hold of her hand. She turned to face him and he put his hands on her shoulders. Looking down into her face, his expression was serious. ‘You . . . you won’t let this come between us, will you? Whatever it is?’

  Fleur was anxious too, but she said firmly, ‘No, I won’t. We won’t.’

  And there, in the cafe, oblivious to onlookers, he bent and kissed her. Those around them who noticed merely smiled and turned away a little sadly. So many partings, they were thinking. So many young couples snatching brief moments together before the war tore them apart again. Not so long ago, such a public display of affection would have been frowned upon, but now no one said a word.

  They walked back to the railway station, their arms around each other. It felt quite natural, even though they had only known each other such a short time. They were living in strange times – times when happiness had to be grabbed whenever and wherever it happened.

  ‘There’s only one thing I can think of.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘It must be that your father and my mother were in love.’ Robbie was the one to voice aloud what they were both thinking. ‘Or at least that your dad was in love with my mother and your mum was . .. well. . .’ He didn’t like to say the word, but Fleur finished the sentence for him. ‘Jealous.’ She was quiet for a moment before whispering, ‘Do you think they had an affair?’

  Robbie wrinkled his forehead and blew out his cheeks. ‘Who knows? Let’s face it, they lived through the last lot, didn’t they? Maybe they met in the last war and . . . and felt just like we do now.’ He turned and brushed his lips against her hair. ‘Oh, Fleur, Fleur. I’m so glad I met you.’

  ‘But my parents were married then. I was born just after the war ended.’

  ‘So was I. Well – in the following June to be precise.’

  Now they stopped and turned to face each other.

  ‘You don’t suppose—’ Robbie began, as an appalling thought crept its way into his mind. So in tune with each other were they that Fleur ended the sentence yet again.

  ‘That we’re half-brother and sister?’

  They stared at each other, stricken. They had promised each other that nothing would keep them apart. Nothing that had happened in the past was going to come between them. But now, with growing horror, they realized that there was something that could do just that.

  ‘But my mother would’ve said if it had been that.’ She paused and then asked doubtfully, ‘Wouldn’t she?’

  ‘I don’t think so. You said she was hysterical – like you’ve never seen her before?’

  ‘Yes.’ Fleur’s voice was low.

  ‘And she forbade you to see me again?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And that woman in the cafe. She knows something.

  She reacted just the same as my mother and your mother did.’

  ‘But surely my dad would have said—’

  Robbie shook his head. ‘I bet your dad idolizes you, doesn’t he?’

  Fleur nodded.

  ‘Then do you really think he’d want you to find out something like that about him?’

  Mutely, Fleur shook her head.

  ‘And there’s something else too,’ Robbie said solemnly. ‘Something I should have realized before.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your dad’s name? It’s Jake, isn’t it?’

  Fleur nodded.

  ‘That’s my middle name. I’m Robert Jake Rodwell.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Fleur whispered.

  He put his arms around her and held her close, trying to lessen the pain his words would bring. ‘I really think we’d better find out what all these secrets are, don’t you?’

  Against his chest, he heard her muffled ‘Yes.’ Then she raised her head. ‘But how are we going to find out?’

  Robbie’s face was grim. ‘We’ll have to ask them. I shall tell my mother that we’ve fallen in love.’ For a moment he stroked her hair tenderly and kissed the end of her nose. ‘And that we need to know. We have a right to know.’

  ‘Would it be best if I asked my dad?’

  He pondered for a moment. ‘No, I�
��ll ask my mother first. We’ve always been close. I think she’ll tell me the truth. Your dad might . . .’ He hesitated, not wanting to say what was in his mind, but uncannily she knew.

  ‘You mean, he might not tell me the truth for fear of hurting my mum?’

  Robbie nodded.

  ‘Yes, you’re right.’

  ‘So I’ll ask my mother. Don’t worry, darling. I’m sure there’s a simple explanation.’

  But when they parted they were still both anxious and the kiss they shared was tentative, as if they were each holding back. Just in case . . .

  Six

  Louisa Collins sat in the darkness of her sitting room in the big, double-fronted house that was both their home and her husband’s medical practice. The room to the right of the central front door was their private sitting room, whilst across the hall was Philip’s surgery and dispensing room. Patients waited in the spacious hallway and Louisa, acting as her husband’s receptionist, welcomed them with words of comfort and reassurance and ushered them into his room when their turn came.

  The blackout curtains were drawn and the only light in the room came from the fire in the grate of the ornate fireplace, the flickering flames casting eerie shadows around the room, glinting on the heavy, old-fashioned but lovingly polished furniture. The light settled for a brief moment on the oil paintings on the wall and the delicate china in the glass cabinet and then flitted away again.

  She sat perfectly still, yet her mind was busy with darting thoughts and fleeting memories and dark suspicions that refused to be buried any longer. She hadn’t thought about all that for years. Only now and again when she saw Jake and Betsy was she reminded, but even then, as the years had passed, she had managed to stop her thoughts dwelling on those times they had all shared but never spoke of now.

  She had loved Philip, body and soul, ever since she had first met him. There had never been anyone else for her but him. Her only regret was that she had never been able to give him children. The sob rose in her throat and she pressed her fingers to her lips to stop the sound escaping, even though there was no one else in the house to hear. She had shed many tears over it through the years, mostly alone, but sometimes against her husband’s shoulder whilst he held her and patted her and told her it didn’t matter. They were happy, weren’t they? Just the two of them? They had each other and more than likely it was all his fault anyway. Being gassed in the Great War had left its mark on him and he was sure that could be the reason. But Louisa knew that he was trying to be kind, trying to spare her the dreadful burden of being barren – of not being able to give him a child.

  And now, today, she’d seen Meg’s son. And – of all people – he’d been with Fleur. She’d seen the way they’d looked at each other and she shuddered. If ever she’d seen two people on the brink of falling in love, it had been those two. Then, stupidly, oh so foolishly, she had lost control of her emotions. She’d said far too much to them, far more than she should have done. A fresh panic swept through her. They would be sure to ask questions after the way she’d acted. He would ask Meg and – despite her plea – she was sure that Fleur would ask her parents too.

  Now she groaned aloud to the empty room and dropped her head into her hands.

  ‘Oh, what have I done?’ she whispered. ‘What have I done?’

  At Middleditch Farm, Betsy, too, was sitting in the dusk beside her bedroom window. There was no light in the room behind her so the blackout blinds were not drawn. She looked down into the yard, watching Jake finishing the evening milking and driving the cows out of the byre, through the gate and down the lane back to the field.

  She should have been helping him. With Fleur gone, he was always short-handed nowadays, even though Kenny lent a hand whenever he could. And that was another worry. Where was Kenny? He should have been home from school hours ago. They had persuaded their son to stay on at school into the sixth form, with the hope that he might go on to university afterwards. Anything to try to keep him out of the war for as long as possible.

  Betsy craned her neck, trying to see further up and down the lane through the gathering gloom. She opened the window and leant out, straining to hear the sound of his whistling. Kenny was always whistling as he rattled homewards on his bicycle. She’d hear him long before she saw him … But the evening air was still, the only sounds the occasional bark of their dog as he helped herd the cows along the lane.

  And Fleur – where was she? She’d not come back since going out to meet that boy. Meg’s boy. Betsy had watched her go from this very window – had seen her walk down the lane. Watched her turn the corner until she was out of sight.

  The very lane that Meg had walked down all those years ago as she left with her baby. The day that Jake had said ‘goodbye’ to her for ever. The day he had chosen to stay with Betsy and their daughter, and they had stood together in the yard and watched Meg walk away.

  Betsy sank back into the chair, her arms resting on the sill, and dropped her head onto her arms. It was as if the intervening years had never happened. As if all the love and care Jake had lavished on his children and, yes, on her too, she had to admit, had never happened.

  It seemed like only yesterday that she’d stood beside him as he’d waved goodbye to Meg.

  ‘I’ll drop you at the main gate for you to book in at the guardroom,’ the driver of the RAF lorry that had met them at Lincoln railway station told them, as he drove through Wickerton village and turned into the gateway of the RAF station. Robbie and Fleur had met up on the Nottingham to Lincoln train as they had planned and travelled the last few miles together.

  ‘Here we are, then,’ the driver said as he slowed the vehicle to a halt just in front of the barrier. Whilst they waited for the sentry to approach them, he added, ‘You’ll need to report in at the main guardroom here first, but all the living quarters are set well away from the actual airfield itself. The Waafery’s that way, miss.’ He pointed along the road to the left. Fleur giggled inwardly at the nickname given to the WAAF buildings.

  ‘That’s where you need to go and they’ll tell you where to go from there, but you, sunshine’ – he nodded at Robbie – ‘will have a bit of a walk.’ His grin widened as he added, ‘I reckon they’ve built the fellers’ quarters as far away from the lasses as they can.’

  Robbie laughed. ‘I shouldn’t wonder!’

  ‘Over there, see.’ The driver jerked his thumb to the right, towards several buildings of all shapes and sizes, scattered across a vast area some distance away. ‘That’s the men’s quarters. There’s the CO’s quarters, officers’ mess, sergeants’ mess, airmen’s mess, NAAFI, gym, chapel and the sick quarters. Let’s hope you don’t see much of that place, though.’ He winked at Robbie. ‘I wouldn’t mind meself. There’s a couple of nice nurses there, so I’ve heard.’

  Robbie jumped down and held out his hand to help Fleur. ‘Home for the next few months at least.’

  As the lorry drove off further into the camp with a series of splutters and bangs, they looked about them.

  Fleur shaded her eyes against the setting sun beyond the distant airfield, its huge, camouflaged hangars black silhouettes against the golden glow. A little nearer several aircraft stood in a silent row.

  ‘What are those?’ Fleur asked. Though she’d studied pictures of various aircraft, she’d never been so close to one.

  ‘Hampdens,’ Robbie murmured. ‘I wonder if one of them’s ours.’

  Fleur gazed at the planes and shuddered. Soon Robbie might be flying night after night in one of them. And she would be left watching and listening and waiting.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, picking up his belongings and Fleur’s kitbag too. ‘We’d better do as we’ve been told and then I suppose we’ll have to go our separate ways.’ The regret in his tone mirrored her feelings.

  ‘But we’ll see each other, won’t we? About camp, I mean?’

  He grinned at her through the gathering dusk. ‘Just let ’em try to stop us.’ But his hearty tone was forced now.
The worry was still in both their minds. Should they even be meeting at all?

  When they’d reported in, they stood together for another few minutes, in the middle of the road, both reluctant to make the final move to part.

  ‘There doesn’t seem to be anyone about,’ Fleur said. ‘I thought the place’d be teeming with activity.’

  ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? Maybe it’s supper-time or something.’

  ‘That’d explain it.’

  ‘Or maybe they’re flying …’

  Again, a silence, but neither of them moved.

  Robbie nodded towards the WAAF buildings. A few were obviously still under construction. ‘I’d heard this was a newish station. Looks like it’s not finished yet.’

  Fleur looked about her and then said reluctantly, ‘We … we’d better go, hadn’t we?’

  Robbie grinned. ‘Trying to get rid of me already, are you?’

  ‘Course not.’ Fleur pretended indignation that he could even think such a thing. ‘I just don’t want you in trouble on your first day. I … I’m not quite sure how they’ll view the men and women mixing, especially different ranks. You know … ?’

  Robbie laughed aloud. ‘Shouldn’t think they’ll be able to stop it even if they try.’ His blue eyes twinkled at her through the gathering dusk. ‘Not with us they won’t. Will they?’

  ‘Not likely,’ Fleur grinned, then she sighed. ‘I’d better report in at the Waafery.’

  ‘And I’d better go and find the rest of the chaps, I suppose,’ Robbie said and handed over her kitbag. ‘So – this is it then?’