She wrapped her arms around him and held him close. ‘I won’t. I’ve got the only RAF type I want. And I’ll come as often as I can. Are you staying here until your leg’s healed?’
‘I think so. They couldn’t wait to ship me out of hospital as soon as they could. They needed the bed. Oh, darling.’ His face sobered. ‘I’m so sorry you’ve been worried. I can’t understand why word didn’t get through from Bournemouth.’
‘Is that where you were? Bournemouth? Isn’t that odd?’ she murmured. ‘Kenny’s down south somewhere now.’
‘Is he? Is he all right?’
‘I hope so. He’ll have started his flying training by now. He was so excited. Couldn’t wait to start flying. Can’t wait to get into the thick of it.’
‘I hope he’ll be all right,’ Robbie said.
‘I don’t expect it’s so bad for the fighter boys, is it? Not now? I mean – they did their bit in the Battle of Britain.’
Robbie smiled thinly and nodded. He couldn’t bring himself to disillusion her. That every day the fighter boys were in the air attacking incoming enemy bombers, trying to stop them reaching their targets.
Maybe Fleur hadn’t heard the latest news and he didn’t want to be the one to tell her. Hitler had issued orders for his air force to begin a series of attacks upon British cities. Exeter, Bath, Norwich and York had been targeted already and Robbie feared the German leader would turn his attention to the industrial cities of the Midlands next. But he said nothing of this to Fleur. Instead he said, ‘I still can’t understand why word didn’t get through to you that we were all safe. I mean, I wrote to you from there myself, let alone the fact that the War Office should have let them know at Wickerton that all the crew were safe. I can’t understand it at all. I think it must be something to do with the telephone lines being down. I tried to phone Mr Tomkins at the shop to let Ma know as soon as I could hop around again.’ He tapped his leg again. ‘And I tried ringing camp. But I couldn’t get through to either of you.’
‘Well, the lines are certainly all down now – since the raid. That is a fact.’
‘And there I was thinking you were safe and sound.’ He held her close. ‘Oh, darling, do be careful.’
‘I will,’ she promised as she kissed him again and again, loathe to leave him. ‘But I must go. I must go to Middleditch Farm. Dad will be so pleased to hear you’re safe. And I must get back to camp first thing tomorrow morning.’
‘Oh, I don’t want to let you go,’ he said, hugging her tightly to him as they stood at the front door saying their goodbyes. She laughed as she prised herself free and, planting a last kiss on his nose, began to run up the street, turning to wave once more before she turned the corner.
The house at Middleditch Farm was strangely quiet as she entered by the back door. The scullery was deserted, but as she stepped into the kitchen she saw her mother sitting motionless in the chair by the range, her head resting on her hand.
‘Mum?’
Slowly, Betsy raised her head and stared for a moment at her daughter. Then with a low sound in her throat that sounded almost like a growl, she said, ‘Get out! Get out of this house and don’t ever come back.’ Then she grasped the arms of the chair and pushed herself up. ‘Don’t ever show your face here again.’
‘Mum—’
‘Don’t “Mum” me. You’re no daughter of mine. I have no daughter. It’s all your fault. He’s gone because of you. My Kenny’s gone. And it’s your fault. All your fault.’
‘Mum – I know he’s gone. But he’ll be all right. It’s not like before when the fighter boys—’
‘What d’you mean “He’ll be all right”? He’s gone, I tell you. Dead. Killed. His plane crashed when he was training. In training! He didn’t even get to fly a Spitfire like he wanted.’ Betsy shook her fist in Fleur’s face. ‘He’s dead – and all because of you.’
For the second time that day, Fleur felt her legs give way beneath her. She felt as if the breath had been knocked from her body. The room swirled around her and she staggered forward towards her father’s chair. She sank down weakly, blinking and taking short, panting breaths, trying desperately not to pass out again.
‘Oh no – no, you can’t mean it. Not Kenny. Not my . . . little . . . brother.’ The heartrending sobs came then, flooding out of her. She was shaking, feeling cold, so very cold.
Yes, her mother was right. It was all her fault. Kenny had only joined the forces because she had done so. He hadn’t wanted to be outdone by his sister. But there was worse than that. Much worse than even her mother knew. Fleur had tried to bargain with God. What was it she had said? ‘I’ll give anything, if only You’ll let him be alive.’ So now, Kenny had been taken in his place.
Fleur was beside herself with anguish. From the heights of joy that Robbie was alive, she was plunged once more into the depths of despair. Her grief was a physical pain. She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked to and fro in the chair, sobbing in agony.
‘Oh aye, you can shed tears now, can’t you? Why didn’t you think of that before? Why didn’t you stop him going? Why did you ever—?’
‘I did. I tried. I begged him not to go,’ Fleur screamed. ‘He’d’ve gone anyway, whatever I’d said or done.’
Neither of them heard the back door open and close, but suddenly Jake was in the room and hurrying towards Fleur. He knelt beside her chair and put his arms about her. Fleur hid her face against his shoulder, the sobs still racking her body.
‘That’s right. You comfort her. You comfort each other. But who’s going to comfort me?’
Jake looked up at his wife, his own eyes bleak with suffering, his face ravaged with loss. ‘Fleur’s had a double loss, Betsy love,’ he said gently. ‘First Robbie and now this. Can’t you – just for once – feel for her?’
Betsy stared at them both for a moment, but instead of turning and running up the stairs as she usually did, she sank back wearily into her chair as if utterly defeated, without the will or the strength to argue any more.
Fleur raised her head slowly and whispered, ‘No, Dad. That’s . . . that’s what I came home to tell you. Robbie’s turned up. He’s alive. The pilot managed to ditch the plane in the sea, just off our coast and . . . and they all got out. He’s got a broken leg but—’
Betsy lay back in her chair and began to laugh and cry hysterically. ‘Oh, that’s good, that is. Her son is saved. It’d have to be her son that was saved, wouldn’t it?’
Jake and Fleur stared at her, helpless to do or say anything.
Forty-Three
Early the following morning, before either of her parents were up, Fleur slipped away from Middleditch Farm. She hitched a lift into the town with an early milk lorry, but before going to the station Fleur slipped into the church in South Monkford. She sat down in a pew near the front and laid her cap, gas mask and bag on the seat beside her. She sat for a long time, just staring ahead at the altar. The tears ran silently down her face and she didn’t even bother to wipe them away. She didn’t pray. She didn’t know how to now. She couldn’t even bring herself to give thanks for Robbie’s safe return. She didn’t know what to say. Not now.
A man came out of the vestry. He crossed to the centre of the chancel, bowed to the altar and then turned and came down the steps towards her. He was dressed in a lounge suit, but in place of a shirt and tie he was wearing the collar of a clergyman. He wasn’t the vicar she’d known since childhood: this man was a stranger. Old Revd Pennyfeather must have retired, she thought vaguely, but her mind was too numbed to even want to ask. The man hovered for a moment at the end of the pew where she was sitting. Then he sat down beside her, following the line of her gaze for a moment and staring, too, at the brass cross on the altar.
‘You know it’s a terrible thing to admit, but I really don’t know what to say to people any more.’
Fleur said nothing.
He turned his head slightly to glance at her. ‘But the good Lord will—’
Fleur held
up her hand to silence him, but still she did not speak.
‘Would you . . . like to tell me what’s troubling you?’
She let her hand sink back down to rest on her lap, but she just continued to stare at the cross on the altar. Still she did not answer him.
‘Would you like us to pray together?’
Still, there was silence until, haltingly, Fleur spoke in a hoarse whisper. ‘I have no right to pray.’
She held her breath, expecting him to come out with some trite remark. To her surprise, he just said, ‘Why?’
Another long silence before she dragged out the words. ‘Because . . . I tried . . . to bargain with God. And lost.’
‘Ah.’ The sound held a wealth of understanding and sympathy. Fleur turned her head slowly and looked at the man for the first time.
He was small and white haired with a kind face. She could imagine that normally his face would be wreathed in smiles, that he would have a lively, almost saucy sense of humour, but at the moment, the lines on his face drooped with sadness. ‘Would you like to tell me about it, my dear? Perhaps I can help.’
‘No offence, Vicar, but I doubt it.’
‘Try me anyway.’
Several minutes passed before Fleur could bring herself to speak. At first the words came slowly and then faster and finally in a flood as she poured out her anguish.
‘My husband – we’d only been married a few months – was posted missing, presumed killed.’
‘Oh, my dear, I’m sorry—’
‘No – no – he’s come back. That’s the trouble, you see.’
The man was naturally puzzled. Fleur rushed on trying to explain in short, staccato phrases. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not explaining this very well. We met by accident. On a railway station. In the blackout. We didn’t know it then, but our parents – well, my parents and his mother – had known each other years ago. There were – well – complications, and when my mother found out who he was she refused to meet him. Refused to let him come to our home. She . . . she didn’t even come to our wedding. And then . . . and then there was my brother, Kenny.’
Fresh tears welled in her eyes. ‘He was younger than me. When I joined the WAAFs, he made up his mind he was going to volunteer too. As soon as he was old enough. And . . . and he did.’
‘Why do you say “volunteer”? He’d’ve been called up sooner or later.’
Fleur shook her head. ‘We live on a farm.’
‘Ah,’ the vicar said, understanding at once. There was no need for her to say more.
For a moment, Fleur covered her face with her hands. Then she straightened up, brushed away her tears, sniffed and went on. ‘When my husband was posted missing, I prayed. Oh, how I prayed. And . . . and that’s where I made my mistake. You see, I said, “I’ll give anything if only You’ll let him be alive.” And now . . . now He’s given Robbie back to me but . . . but He . . . He’s taken my brother in Robbie’s place. Kenny’s plane crashed while he was training. He never even got to fight the enemy. And that was what he wanted to do most of all. He wanted to help save his country.’
The older man laid his hand gently on her shoulder and said softly, ‘That’s not how the good Lord works, my dear. We’ve all, in our time, been guilty of doing exactly what you’ve done. Promising anything so that we get what we want. God hears, He listens – but do you really think He’s going to take a scrap of notice of our – well, as you put it – “bargaining” with Him? I think not.’
‘I feel as if I’m being punished.’
‘No, no, you shouldn’t feel that. You really shouldn’t. God has His reasons.’
‘What reasons? How can there be a God when all this is happening? How can He let it happen? All these young men – a whole generation – being wiped out. Again. Just like the last terrible war. Why?’
‘Don’t you think we all ask that? But I see it as a test. A test of our faith.’
‘Huh! Some test!’
‘I know, I know. That’s why it’s called “faith”. We have to believe without question, without being given answers or reasons why things happen. We just have to put our trust in God. And you see, to God, your brother isn’t dead. None of these brave young men are. They’re in a far better place than we are right now. In the arms of Jesus.’ He paused a moment, before asking quietly, ‘Do you believe that?’
‘I . . . I’d like to, but it’s hard.’
‘Oh yes.’ The vicar gave a wry laugh. ‘It’s hard. I’ll grant you that. I have to admit, I sometimes feel weighed down with all the suffering and heartache I see every day. I’ve railed against Him, but somehow He keeps sending me the strength to carry on giving comfort where I can.’
‘My mother blames me for Kenny joining up,’ Fleur burst out. ‘She’ll never forgive me. She . . . she says she doesn’t want to see me ever again.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he said and Fleur marvelled that, yet again, he didn’t make any kind of trite remark, saying that given time she would come round. Slowly, Fleur turned to face him. ‘You’ve been very kind and understanding,’ she said and added simply, ‘thank you.’
‘Would you like to pray with me now?’
Fleur nodded and together they slipped to their knees. The vicar began to speak in a soft, deep tone, making up the words of a prayer to suit. He asked for forgiveness and understanding for Fleur in her sorrow and for reassurance that she bore no blame. He prayed, too, for Fleur’s parents in their grief and especially for her mother who found her loss so hard to bear. He ended by inviting Fleur to join him in saying the Lord’s prayer.
As she left the church a little later, Fleur was surprised to find she felt a great sense of calm settle on her. It would be some time before she would be able to forgive herself, but with the help of the kindly clergyman she had made a start.
‘Come back and see me any time, my dear. I’m always here.’
‘Thank you,’ she said and, as she walked away from him down the path, she was already giving thanks in her mind that she had met him.
As she entered the main gate, Ruth came rushing towards her. ‘I’ve been watching out for you. We’ve only just heard. Isn’t it wonderful? Everyone’s so delighted for you. And Kay. You must go and see her. She’s almost back to her old self. I think they’ll be letting her out of the hospital tomorrow. Have you seen him? How is he?’ Her face was wreathed in smiles, but then she became aware that Fleur’s face was not so joyous. ‘What is it? Is he badly hurt?’
Fleur shook her head. Flatly, with no hint of the turmoil of emotion inside her that she was trying, desperately, to hold in, she said, ‘No. Only a broken leg. Once that’s mended, he – he’ll be back.’
Ruth blinked, staring at her friend’s face. Then, slowly, thinking she understood, she nodded. ‘Oh, I see. Once he’s well, he’ll be flying again. Is that it?’
Fleur lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug. ‘Partly, I suppose.’
Ruth stepped closer and put her arm around Fleur’s shoulder. ‘It’s more than that. I can see it is. Fleur, tell me what’s wrong?’
Slowly, Fleur looked up into her friend’s eyes. Hesitantly, she dragged out the words she had prayed never to have to speak. ‘It . . . it’s Kenny.’
Close to her, she heard Ruth’s sharp intake of breath, saw her eyes widen in shock and fear. ‘Kenny? Oh no!’ She shook her head, refusing to believe it. ‘Oh no! Not Kenny.’
‘He crashed while training. In training, Ruth. How unfair is that?’
‘Silly bugger!’ Ruth muttered, but her eyes filled with tears. ‘The stupid, stupid bugger.’
Her arm dropped from around Fleur. Her head lowered and she covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking. Now it was Fleur who comforted Ruth.
‘I knew I shouldn’t do it,’ Ruth wailed.
‘Do what?’ Fleur asked gently.
‘Let myself like him. I put a jinx on people.’ She let her hands fall away and raised her head. Her face was wet with tears. ‘Oh, Fleur,’ she w
hispered. ‘I’m so sorry. It . . . it’s all my fault.’
Despite her misery, Fleur smiled a little. ‘Darling Ruth, if anyone’s to blame, it’s me. He joined up because I had. That’s what my mother thinks. And, of course, I blame myself too.’
Ruth wiped her face with a quick, fierce action. ‘It’s this bloody war that’s to blame. Nothing – and no one – else. Not you, not me. Just the war.’
‘You’re right. It’s not our fault.’ Fleur sighed and murmured, ‘But I can’t help feeling so guilty.’
Ruth, a little more in control of herself, said, ‘You ought to ask for compassionate leave. You ought to go home to be with your mam and dad.’
Fleur shook her head sadly. ‘I’ve been. Mum’s more or less told me not to bother going home again. Besides, I reckon I’ve used up all my leave on compassionate grounds. Ma’am’s been very good, but just about everyone on camp has a good reason for asking for leave. I can’t expect any more for a while now.’
‘But what about Robbie? Won’t they let you go and see him?’
‘I doubt it. But d’you know something, Ruth? I don’t mind going weeks without seeing him, if it means keeping him out of this war for a while longer.’
Ruth pursed her lips and nodded. ‘Well, I’m with you there.’
They walked slowly towards the WAAF quarters. ‘Tell me what happened to Robbie,’ Ruth asked. ‘All we know is that they were picked up by the lifeboat and all the crew are safe, though there are a few injuries between them.’
Swiftly, Fleur told her all that Robbie knew. ‘He said it was all down to the skill of their skipper. But for Tommy, none of them would be here.’
Ruth smiled. ‘Yeah. Tommy’s a great bloke. All of them are. I’m so glad they’re all safe.’ Her voice petered out and they were silent, both with their own thoughts of Kenny, the one they had both cared for. The one who hadn’t come back.
Forty-Four
Fleur was wrong about having used up her entitlement to compassionate leave. Two days after her return to camp, she was summoned to see the WAAF commanding officer.
Wish Me Luck Page 32
