Wish Me Luck

by Dickinson, Margaret

  Fleur had been working for a couple of hours under the warm sun. She straightened up, mopped her forehead, wet with sweat, and decided to take a breather. She dropped her fork and went to sit on the seat under the apple tree. Leaning her back against the trunk of the tree, she gazed out across the flat expanse of the airfield. It was silent today and she hoped it would stay that way. There hadn’t been an air raid for a while now. They’d been lucky but there was an ominous kind of tension in the air as if any day they expected to see the Luftwaffe in the skies overhead again.

  In the cottage, Ruth saw Fleur sitting beneath the tree. ‘Breaks ya heart, doesn’t it? To see her sitting there looking so lost and lonely.’

  ‘It does,’ Mrs Jackson agreed. ‘And there’s nothing any of us can do, is there?’

  Sadly, Ruth shook her head. ‘Not a thing. I’d go out and join her, but I think she’d rather be alone.’

  ‘There are times when you just want to be by yourself,’ the older woman said softly. ‘Just to let go for a little while.’

  ‘I know,’ Ruth said, remembering only too well how she’d felt at Billy’s loss and she hadn’t even been married to him. She ached for the pain her friend must be feeling, yet she was helpless to comfort her. There was nothing she could say or do that would bring Robbie back and, right now, that was the only thing that would put a permanent smile back on Fleur’s face. The only thing.

  The days dragged interminably. Fleur couldn’t believe that it was only just over a week since she had had news that Robbie was missing. And there was Kenny to worry about too. Now, he would be up there in the clouds, doing his training, hoping to be good enough to become a fighter pilot. Fleur sighed as she clattered down the steps from the control tower after another shift on duty.

  I ought to go home again as soon as I can, she thought, but she shuddered at the thought of facing her mother. Betsy would be worried sick about Kenny and would turn her anger on her daughter. Yet Fleur knew her father would be feeling it keenly too. And she knew too that Jake would be sorrowful for Meg – a feeling he could never talk about with his wife. And I ought to go and see Robbie’s mother again. See how the old man is too. It’s what Robbie would have wanted me to do. But she shied away from the thought. Seeing Meg’s grief only heightened her own.

  As she was walking away from the control tower, she heard the dreaded sound of an air raid warning. Automatically, she turned to run to the nearest shelter, but then she remembered. She’d left Kay in the control room finishing off. She glanced back, hoping to see the girl emerging from the tower and running across the grass towards her. But there was no sign of the slim, dark-haired figure.

  Fleur bit her lip. She was anxious about Kay. Since the loss of Tommy’s plane, Kay had changed. She’d seemed very strong at first, but since she’d come back from leave, she’d been the one to sink into an abyss of misery. Fleur was constantly having to watch her at work to make sure she didn’t make any mistakes, for Bob Watson had eyes like a hawk now and his disapproval of wartime romances was still evident every day.

  Fleur turned and began to run back towards the watch office. She reached the foot of the steps as the first aircraft came swooping in, dropping incendiaries on the runway only a few feet from the control room.

  ‘Kay! Kay!’ Fleur shouted, but knew the girl wouldn’t hear her above the noise. She almost fell into the room and then stopped in shock. Kay was standing in front of the long window overlooking the airfield, her arms outstretched, her head thrown back. She was laughing and crying hysterically and shouting, ‘Come on. Get me! Get me! You’ve got him, now get me. Here I am . . .’

  At that moment another plane screamed by, so low that Fleur fancied she saw the pilot sitting in the cockpit, could fancy she saw him press the button and pepper the ground with gunshot.

  ‘Kay,’ she screamed. ‘For God’s sake! Get down!’ And she launched at the girl, bringing her to the floor and pushing her beneath the desk just as another aircraft dived towards them. The bomb landed just outside the tower, rocking its foundations, blowing all the windows into the room and showering the whole room with deadly shards of glass.

  ‘Where’s Fullerton and Bosley – I mean, Rodwell? Have you seen them?’

  The raid was over, the all-clear wailing out and staff were emerging from their bolt holes. Bob Watson was first out, demanding of anyone nearby if they had seen ‘his girls’. Bluff and disapproving though he might be of their private lives, nevertheless he secretly held them in high regard. Both were excellent in their work, and even though Fullerton had been a little preoccupied these last few days he’d found it in his heart to overlook it. Besides, he assuaged his duty-bound conscience, the other girl – Rodwell, as he must remember to call her – was emerging as the stronger of the two. He had noticed her keeping a keen eye on her colleague and leaping in to avert what could – in the hectic, tense atmosphere of Control – have been a disaster. Twice, to his certain knowledge, Fleur had prevented two aircraft being told to land at the same moment. Strange, Bob Watson couldn’t help thinking to himself, how things turned out the way you didn’t expect. He’d’ve laid money on it that the Rodwell girl would have cracked first, been a weeping wreck, whilst the outspoken Fullerton would have shrugged her shoulders, muttered, ‘Well, that’s war for you,’ and moved on to the next handsome airman.

  But it seemed, Bob was man enough to admit if only to himself, he’d been wrong.

  Now, he was on the verge of panic himself as he realized suddenly just how fond he had become of those two girls, however much he tried to keep himself their aloof superior.

  Ruth came running across the grass, shaking her fist in the direction the aircraft had disappeared.

  ‘Bastards! Bastards! We’ll get you. You wait till our fighter boys catch up with you . . .’

  ‘Morrison,’ Bob roared at the outraged girl. ‘Have you seen Fullerton and Rodwell? Are they with you?’

  Ruth stopped at once, her arm still in the air, her fist clenched. Slowly she let it fall to her side and turned to face him.

  ‘Flight?’ she asked stupidly and Bob repeated his question, watching her eyes widen in fear.

  ‘No. I was in the shelter near debriefing. I thought – I mean – aren’t they with you?’

  ‘No.’ Grimly, his glance went towards the tower. ‘I left them in the watch office.’

  The tower itself was still standing, but even from here they could both see that not a window was left whole in the building.

  ‘Oh no!’ Ruth began to run towards the tower, Bob Watson pounding close behind her. She flew up the steps and thrust open the door, the broken glass crunching beneath her feet, bracing herself for what she might find.

  ‘Fleur! Kay!’

  ‘Here. We’re here – under the desk. Can you help me, Ruth? Kay’s . . .’

  She said no more but as Ruth bent down and offered her hand, she saw that Kay was as white as a sheet and shaking from head to foot. Tears were running down her face. Ruth’s mouth dropped open. ‘Kay?’ she said in disbelief and again, ‘Kay?’

  ‘It’s all right now, Kay,’ Fleur was saying soothingly as Bob too arrived, panting heavily.

  ‘Are they all right? Oh, good thinking,’ he added as he saw they had taken shelter beneath the sturdy desk. ‘Out you both come then. They’ve gone. Can’t you hear the “all-clear”? But mind the glass, it’s all over the bloody place.’ He glanced round at the debris around him. Not only had the windows been damaged but radios and telephones. The blackboards hung drunkenly off the wall and papers had been scattered everywhere. ‘Bloody ’ell,’ he muttered. ‘It’ll take a month of Sundays to clear this lot up. And the runway’s damaged. I reckon there won’t be flying from here for a few days. Come on, you two, what are you mucking about at?’

  ‘It . . . it’s Kay. I think she’s badly shocked,’ Fleur said, crawling carefully out from under the desk. ‘I can’t get her to move.’

  Kay was crouched beneath the desk, rocking backwards and fo
rwards. ‘Saved my life. She saved my life. Fleur saved my life,’ she was muttering.

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m sure she did, but come on out now,’ Bob snapped. Now he’d found they were safe, his patience was soon wearing thin.

  ‘We’ll sort her out, Flight,’ Ruth suggested, standing up. ‘Leave it with us. And we’ll start and clear up here, if you like.’

  ‘Ah well, yes. I ought to – er – yes, well. I’ll leave you to it then.’

  He left the room, and when they heard his footsteps clattering down the steps, Ruth breathed more easily. ‘Right. Now he’s out the way, we can sort her out.’ She squatted down again and her tone softened, became cajoling, as she said, ‘Come on, love. All over now. Give me your hand. Take her other hand, Fleur. Don’t let her kneel else she’ll cut her legs. God, what a mess!’

  Whether Ruth was referring to the state of the control room or the state of their friend, Fleur could not have said.

  ‘We’d best get her across to the doc’s pronto,’ Ruth muttered to Fleur and then again turned to Kay. ‘Come on, love, that’s it. There you go. Safe and sound.’

  ‘Saved my life, she did.’

  Kay emerged slowly from the makeshift shelter but she was still shaking visibly.

  ‘It’s the doc for you, Corp,’ Ruth said, taking control. ‘And you’d better come too, Fleur. You’ve had a shock an’ all.’

  ‘I’m fine. Honestly, but I’ll help you take her across and then come back here.’

  ‘Right-o. I’ll come back and help you.’

  The doctor – as they’d feared – was in great demand, but thankfully only for cuts and bruises. No one, it seemed, had been killed or even seriously injured. The worst casualty seemed to be Kay and that was shock more than physical harm. She hadn’t even a scratch though Fleur had cut the palm of her hand on some glass and had bumped her head as she’d dived for cover pushing Kay in front of her.

  At last Kay was admitted to the sick quarters for observation. Ruth and Fleur, the cut on her hand bathed and dressed, returned to the control room to help tidy up. Already, there were plenty of willing hands sweeping up the glass, picking up pieces of paper and testing the radios. It would not take as long as Bob had feared to have the control room operational once more.

  Fleur was very much afraid that it would take far longer for Kay to heal.

  With the airfield out of action for a day or two, Fleur grabbed the chance of a couple of days’ leave whilst repairs were carried out. Enough time to go home and to Nottingham.

  For some reason she couldn’t explain, this second visit to both places seemed more difficult than the first, but she couldn’t put the moment off any longer. She ought to go to see Meg again and then she would have to go home. It was easier to get back to camp from her home than from Nottingham because if, for some reason, there was no train running at the time she needed one, her father would always bring her back.

  But first she cycled down the road to make sure Mrs Jackson and old Harry were safe and unharmed. A few stray bombs had fallen in the village and she was anxious about the old couple.

  But the two cottages looked unscathed and to her relief Harry was sitting drinking tea in Mary Jackson’s kitchen.

  ‘Now then, lass. All right?’

  Although Harry’s greeting was casual, Fleur could see her own relief mirrored in his eyes and Mrs Jackson said outright, ‘Oh, love, I’m so glad to see you. We’ve been that worried. And Ruth? Is she all right?’

  ‘She’s fine. She’ll be down to see you later, but I’ve got a forty-eight, so I’m . . . I’m going to see Robbie’s mother and then going home.’

  The old couple exchanged a glance and nodded. There was a pause before Harry, deliberately changing the subject, said, ‘That there shelter in the garden you built for us came in handy.’ He jabbed his finger towards Mary, teasing. ‘And I got her in it, an’ all. First time I’ve managed it on me own. But they was coming a bit too close for comfort yesterday. Don’t mind admitting it.’

  ‘We heard one or two had landed in the village. Was anybody hurt?’

  Now Harry’s face sobered and again he glanced at Mary Jackson. ‘A couple of young lads playing down near the stream were killed. Fishing, I expect they were. Always been a favourite place for youngsters. Too busy to think of taking shelter, I dare say. Thought it would be just the airfield being targeted. Y’know?’

  Fleur nodded. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said.

  ‘Three of Mr Clegg’s cows were killed an’ all. But that’s nothing compared to the loss of a human life . . .’ Old Harry’s voice trailed away.

  ‘No, of course it isn’t,’ Fleur agreed sadly. There was a pause and then she said, ‘Well, if you’re sure you’re both all right, I’ll be off. I’ll come again as soon as I can.’

  ‘Aye well, there’s plenty to do in yon garden.’ He jabbed towards the window with his pipe. ‘There’s a lot of planting to do and there’s always hoeing needed. Weeds grow as fast as the plants, ya know.’

  ‘Faster, if you ask me.’ Fleur managed to raise a smile. ‘But I’ll be here.’ Already she was looking forward to the peace and quiet of working alone in the garden. Of sitting under the apple tree – her quiet time to think about Robbie.

  Forty-Two

  Fleur hesitated outside the door, not really wanting to come face to face with Robbie’s mother. Meg had seemed so strong when she’d seen her immediately after it had happened. But she’d seen now at first hand how easy it was for a seemingly strong person to crack. Who’d have thought Kay would be the one to end up a quivering wreck? Thankfully, she was already beginning to recover and, much to Fleur’s embarrassment, was telling everyone how Fleur had saved her life.

  Fleur took a deep breath and raised her hand, but before she could knock the door flew open and Meg was standing there, her face wreathed in smiles.

  ‘Fleur! How lovely to see you. Come in, come in.’ Meg reached out, grasped her arm and almost hauled her inside.

  Fleur stared at her, anger welling up inside her. Well, she thought, it hasn’t taken you long to get over your son’s death. How can you be so cheerful? How can you be carrying on with your life as though nothing has happened?

  ‘You got my message then?’ Meg said as Fleur stepped into the cluttered front room and followed Meg’s trim figure through to the back.

  ‘Message? What message? No, I didn’t get any message. All the lines have been down. We had an air raid the day before yesterday. No, I just came because . . .’

  But Meg didn’t seem to be listening. She was flinging open the door leading from the front room into the kitchen and announcing Fleur’s arrival with a flourish and a beaming smile. ‘Just look who’s here . . .’

  Perhaps she thinks I’m going to help raise the old man’s spirits, Fleur thought. That’s what all her cheerfulness is for. To try and buoy the old man up. Fleur tried to force a tremulous smile onto her mouth as she took a step forward past Meg and into the room.

  The old man was indeed sitting in his usual chair, but there was someone else sitting in the chair on the opposite side of the hearth. Suddenly, the whole room seemed to spin. She swayed and clutched at the door-jamb. She felt the colour drain from her face and her legs felt as if they would no longer support her.

  ‘Catch her, Ma. She’s going to pass out. Damn this bloody leg . . .’

  Fleur felt Meg’s strong arms about her as she helped her to a chair near the fire. ‘I’ll get her some water . . .’ were the last words Fleur heard Meg saying before everything went black.

  Someone was bending over her and holding a glass to her lips. She opened her eyes and tried to focus on the beloved face close to her.

  ‘She’s coming round.’

  Fleur felt clammy and cold and still dizzy, but she murmured, ‘I’m all right now. It was just such a shock. I thought . . . I thought—’ She reached up and touched Robbie’s face, still unable to believe that he was really here. Her prayers had been answered. Robbie was alive and smiling do
wn at her. ‘I mean, I was told your plane went down in the sea.’

  ‘It did.’ Robbie was grinning at her. ‘Hence this.’ He tapped the plaster cast on his right leg.

  ‘But no one saw a parachute.’

  ‘No time. We were too near the water. But thanks to a brilliant bit of flying by our skipper, who managed some sort of belly flop with the plane – God knows how he did it – we all got out. We were picked up by the local lifeboat and here I am.’

  ‘Yes,’ Fleur said, grinning stupidly up at him. ‘Here you are.’

  Then she promptly burst into tears and clung to him, burying her face against him.

  The rest of the afternoon was spent with laughter and tears, hugs and kisses. Tactfully, Meg left them alone with the excuse that she had a dress hem to finish.

  ‘Now, come along, Dad. You can sit in the front room with me for a while. Let’s leave these two young ones alone.’

  Fleur watched as Meg helped her father to his feet and steadied him as he shuffled into the next room. ‘Don’t go without saying ta-ta to me, will you, lass?’ he said in a quavering voice.

  ‘I won’t,’ Fleur promised, a lump in her throat as she watched Meg’s patient tenderness with the frail old man. Then she turned back to Robbie, still unable to believe the miracle that had really happened. ‘Are you really all safe? Tommy too?’

  ‘Yes, all of us. But, like I said, without Tommy’s brilliant flying, we probably wouldn’t be.’

  ‘Oh, I can’t wait to tell Kay.’ Then she told him all about the air raid and Kay, and then for the rest of the afternoon they thought about no one else but themselves . . .

  At five o’clock Fleur said reluctantly, ‘I must go.’

  ‘Darling, I wish I could come with you.’ He grinned. ‘But I really can’t hop as far as the station and back – even on my crutches.’

  ‘I’ll be all right.’

  ‘Just so long’ – he tapped her playfully on the nose – ‘as you don’t let any strange young RAF types pick you up. Just remember, you’re a married woman now.’