Into The Unknown

by Lorna Peel

  “Letter for you, Kate,” Jean Doherty called. “I think it’s from your boyfriend.”

  “Oh, good.” The handwriting on the envelope was Charlie’s. “It is. Thanks, Jean.”

  “I’ll leave you to it, then. See you later.”

  “Yes, I’ll see you at seven.”

  She sat down on her bed with the letter. It had been so long since she had heard from Charlie, she had started to worry.

  Dear Kate,

  Thanks for your letter. Sorry that I haven’t written sooner, but a few things came up.

  Kate laughed. Typical Charlie.

  How are you? Safe, I hope? I worry about you and I miss you, too.

  I have some bad news, I’m afraid, about Angela Buxton. Her husband, Jack, is missing, presumed dead.

  Kate clapped a hand to her mouth. Oh, poor Angela.

  I asked to be the one to break the news to her, something I never want to do again, but I felt I had to. He, Billy, and I joined the RAF together and it was a terrible shock. People used to call us the ‘Three Bs’ – Buxton, Benson and Butler – and now we’re down to two.

  Tears stung her eyes. She would have to write a very jolly letter to cheer him up.

  I know this must be an awful letter for you to read, but I must moan to someone. I’m sorry, Kate.

  Don’t be, she thought. I’m glad you can feel you can moan to me.

  Apart from Billy, the Station Commander, the Adjutant and my Squadron Leader I’m the oldest man here. The others are starting to call me granddad; I’m only twenty-eight for God’s sake! Most of the replacement pilots are eighteen, nineteen at the most. Mind you, I do feel as if I’ve aged fifty years in the last couple of months.

  Sorry about the moaning. I love you, Kate. Whatever the ‘little boys’ may say about my age, they haven’t got such a beautiful girlfriend, and they never will.

  Write soon.

  Love you.

  Charlie

  XXX

  Kate put the letter down and stared into space. Poor Charlie and poor, poor Angela.

  She went to the Sector Station’s canteen, known as the NAAFI, as it was run by the Navy, Army and Air Force Institutes, at seven o’clock as planned, but wasn’t in the mood for the fun the girls had planned to let off steam.

  “Come on, Kate.” Jean began to pull her out of her chair. “Sing an Irish song. I’ve done a Scottish one and we’ve just had Men of Harlech for the millionth time from the Welsh contingent. It’s your turn.”

  Kate groaned. The only Irish song she could think of was Danny Boy and it always made her cry. She racked her brains for a happy, jolly song, then sang The Irish Rover as it seemed quite apt.

  When she finished everyone roared their approval. Hearing whistles, she glanced towards the door and a young pilot ran to her.

  “You’re Irish?” he asked her in a Dublin accent.

  “Yes, you’re new?” she said and put out a hand.

  “Yes, I am. I’m Daniel Connelly.” He shook her hand. “But I’m Paddy to everyone already. I arrived this afternoon.”

  “I’m Kate Sheridan. I’ve been here quite a while now, at least it feels like I have. I’m from Ballycarn.”

  “Jesus, are you?” he replied as if she had just said the moon. “Ballycarn. Is that why you looked so down in the dumps a few minutes ago?”

  She curled her lip. There was nothing wrong with coming from Ballycarn.

  “No,” she replied coolly. “I had a letter from my boyfriend with bad news; a friend of his and the husband of a friend of mine was killed.”

  “I’m sorry about that. Is your boyfriend a pilot, too?”

  “Yes. He’s a Flight Lieutenant,” she said proudly.

  “Oh?” He smiled. “Been in the RAF long enough to start up the ladder?”

  “He’s twenty-eight and complaining everyone thinks he’s old.”

  “Well, he is, to be honest. I’m twenty.” He laughed. “Do you know She Moved Through the Fair?” She nodded. “Duet then?”

  “All right,” she agreed, hoping she could then curl up in her chair with a drink.

  “He likes you,” Jean whispered when Kate sat down after the song. “Look at his face.”

  Kate did, Daniel grinned at her and she turned away. “Well, I’m sorry he does because I love Charlie.”

  “You’d better tell him, then. Before he gets any ideas.”

  “But I’ve said I have a boyfriend.”

  Jean’s eyebrows rose. “Well, he doesn’t seem to have taken the hint.”

  Kate scowled, got up to get a cup of tea and Daniel joined her at the counter as she ordered it.

  “I’d give anything for a decent cuppa.”

  “Oh, the tea here isn’t that bad.”

  “I’ve tasted better pi…” He tailed off and took a hip flask from his pocket. “Want a drop of brandy in yours?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Ah, you will?”

  “I said no.”

  “Oh?” He pretended to be offended then grinned. “I didn’t know you girls from the west were so prickly.”

  “Oh, go away,” she snapped and he laughed.

  “You love me really, I can tell.”

  She glared at him. He wasn’t even drunk. “I have a boyfriend. I love him. He loves me. Get the message?”

  “Perfectly, and I happen to have a wife, but it doesn’t mean you and I can’t have a bit of fun together.”

  “It does to me,” she spat. “God help your poor wife.”

  “Ah, she knows what I’m like. A poor pilot who thinks every day could be his last. Why shouldn’t I look for a bit of fun with a pretty WAAF?”

  “Because I’m not interested. Find someone else.”

  He shook his head dismissively, then grabbed her shoulders and kissed her on the lips. Kate gasped in anger, clenched her right fist and punched him. He staggered backwards, clutching his jaw and the NAAFI fell silent.

  “Now, I’m going to tell you one last time,” she shouted. “I am not interested. I have a boyfriend. He is a gentleman – unlike you. So leave me alone.” She shook with anger and, behind her, someone guffawed.

  “Good Lord, do you Irish never stop fighting?”

  She spun around, fuming. “I didn’t have to join up, you know! But I did. So shut up.”

  She stormed outside, slamming the door. Bastard. She got enough stick about being Irish as it was, she didn’t need a thicko like him underlining their sneers about stupid Irish people.

  “Kate?” She heard Jean’s voice. “Whatever’s the matter with you?”

  “Didn’t you see?” she demanded. “The bastard. He’s married, too.”

  “Oh. You gave him quite a wallop.”

  “Did I? Good.”

  “But why?” Jean took her arm and they sat down on a pile of sandbags. “I’ve never seen you so angry.”

  “Someone like him got me drunk and tried to take advantage of me. It’s not going to happen again. I spent the night with Charlie because I wanted to. He didn’t force me, get me drunk, or anything. He has more respect for me than,” she pointed to the NAAFI, “than that idiot ever will.”

  Jean stared at her in surprise. “I had no idea. Good on you for walloping him.”

  The elation didn’t last long. Straight after breakfast the following morning she was summoned by the CO.

  “That was quite a punch by all accounts, Sheridan. You just missed his eye. If you had injured his eye, he wouldn’t have been able to fly.”

  “He won’t be able to fly for a few days anyway, sir. The Meteorological Reports are bad.”

  “That’s no excuse.” The CO sat back in his chair. “I know he insulted you, Sheridan, but to hit him..?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”

  “No, it won’t.” The CO stared at her for a moment and Kate cringed. “Maybe a few hours away from here will help. Take the rest of the day as leave, Sheridan. Calm down, go shopping. I’ll speak to the Adjutant. Report back to hi
m at 18:00 hours.”

  Kate’s heart leapt and she ignored the remark about shopping. “I will. Thank you, sir.”

  She headed to her hut for her gas mask before running to the NAAFI to find Jean. “I’ve been given the rest of the day as leave.”

  Jean was incredulous. “Did you threaten to hit the CO, too? What are you going to do?”

  “Go to Charlie’s base and see if he can be given some leave, too. The weather’s awful, so he can’t be flying.”

  “No. Well, good luck.”

  As Kate hurried away from the Sector Station it began to drizzle. Fourteen and a half miles. She’d better look for a lift, but that was easier said than done since petrol rationing had been introduced. She walked the two miles to the nearest village and went into the shop to inquire about buses. There was one in half an hour, which would take her to within half a mile of Charlie’s base.

  Getting off the bus, she was given directions. She set off along the country road and reached the gates in five minutes. She was showing her papers to the sentry when she heard a shout.

  “Kate?” She turned and saw Charlie, grinning widely. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I was granted a day’s leave so I thought I’d come and see if they could spare you.”

  He roared with laughter and kissed her. “I’ve forty-eight hours leave, I was just on my way to see if they could spare you. Five more minutes and you’d have missed me.”

  “How are you?” she asked, reaching up to touch his cheek. It was badly bruised.

  “I landed with a bit of a bump the other day.” Taking her hand, he led her to an Austin 7. “But I’m fine.”

  “This is a different car,” she commented as she got in.

  “Yes. The base has taken a battering over the last few weeks and the poor old MG got blown to pieces. I got this car the other day.”

  “I’m sorry. We’ve had it quite bad, too.”

  He got in and nodded. “Let’s not talk about it, or the car. When do you have to be back?”

  “18:00 hours.”

  “So we’ve all of seven hours. We’ll go to the village, there’s a lovely old inn there. We can have lunch and talk.”

  She laughed at the way he said ‘talk’ as the car sped out of the gates and along country roads for about a mile before he stopped and reversed into a gateway.

  “What’s this?” She smiled.

  “The landlord is a nosy old git and I don’t think he’d appreciate me doing this in a corner of the lounge.”

  He leaned over and kissed her. She instinctively moved towards him and banged a knee against the steering wheel. Wincing, she broke away.

  “Another bruise.”

  “Another?”

  She showed him her right fist. Her knuckles were yellow and he stared in amazement.

  “You’ve been in a fight?”

  “A stupid Irish pilot thought he could have some fun with me.”

  “And you hit him? God, it’s a wonder you haven’t hit me before this. You’ve had enough reason to.”

  She shook her head and kissed his bruised cheek. “He deserved it, Charlie, and he hasn’t come near me since.”

  “I’m not surprised. The WAAF has certainly toughened you up.”

  “Not really, I think I always have been quite tough. It was just the nerve of the man.” She clenched her fists, but her anger softened when Charlie kissed her again. “Have you… you know… since we..?”

  “No,” he replied. “God, no, and I won’t. I love you, Kate. You don’t think I’d sleep with you, only to go off and then sleep with someone else? Not after you. Never after you.”

  “I’m sorry. I worry about you.” Tears stung her eyes and she rested her forehead on his shoulder.

  “I don’t think you’re quite as tough as you make out,” he whispered. “Are you all right?”

  She raised her head and nodded. “I love you.”

  “And I love you. Thanks for coming to see me.”

  “I knew you’d be pleased. Have you heard from home lately?”

  “When did I get a letter?” he mused. “It must be a month ago. They’re all fine. You?”

  “I got two recently; one from Bob, Helen and Granny Barbara, and one from my parents and Granny Norah.”

  “Has your father got used to you being in the WAAF yet?”

  “I don’t know.” She grimaced. “But there’s not much he can do about it now. I sent them a picture of myself in uniform, but whether it still exists, I don’t know.”

  “You mean he’d rip it up?” Charlie sounded horrified.

  “My mother’s probably hidden it. My father is very set in his ways.”

  “But surely he wouldn’t rip up a picture of his beautiful daughter?”

  “It’s the uniform, Charlie. A British uniform.”

  “Oh.” By the way he frowned at his hands, she knew he didn’t understand. “Does he know about me?”

  “Yes, I’ve told him all he needs to know.”

  “What did you tell him?” he asked.

  “I said I had a boyfriend, he lives across the street, he is an RAF pilot and I love him.”

  “But not about…” He tailed off and she blushed.

  “There are some things daughters don’t tell their fathers for fear of being skinned alive. That was between you and me.”

  “And Angela Buxton and my father,” he finished.

  “What?”

  “Mrs Buxton told me she advised you to sleep with me. I couldn’t be angry because of what I had to do and because what we did was so unbelievable—”

  “I didn’t have to take her advice, Charlie,” she interrupted. “I wanted to sleep with you. I made the decision. What about your father?”

  “He can read me like a book, unfortunately.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He was,” Charlie spoke slowly, “surprised, I suppose. Not at me, though, but at you. Not surprised-angry, though; he just wants us to be happy.”

  Kate gave him a relieved nod. Thank goodness Dr Butler was so broad-minded. She could only begin to imagine what her own father would say or do.

  “Hungry?” Charlie smiled at her. “Shall we see what culinary delights we can partake of in the village? Mrs Hobson’s latest experiments with powdered egg?”

  “Yuck, I hope not.”

  He gave her a grin and drove into the village, parking outside the inn. It started to rain and they had to run inside. The inn was a lovely old Tudor-style building and smelt of a mixture of stale ale, tobacco and wood smoke. They sat at a private corner table, only to have the landlord hurry to them.

  “So, Charlie, this is Kate?” He grinned at her. “You were right to boast – prettiest WAAF I’ve ever seen.”

  Kate reddened as everyone turned to look at her. She dug Charlie in the ribs but he just laughed.

  “What’s on the menu today?” he asked the landlord.

  “Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.”

  “Beef?” Kate and Charlie spoke at the same time.

  “Only the best.”

  “Then two plates of your finest,” Charlie said.

  The landlord turned to a woman behind the bar, held up two fingers and Kate sighed, he wasn’t going to go away.

  “I see you’ve been in a bit of a scrape.” He nodded at Charlie’s cheek. “I hope you gave them hell?”

  “Yes,” Charlie replied but didn’t elaborate.

  “I’d say London’s going to get it soon,” the landlord continued and Kate rolled her eyes. The authorities didn’t put up ‘Careless Talk Costs Lives’ posters for nothing, but it seemed as if this fool hadn’t seen any of them. When there were no further comments, the landlord shrugged and left them.

  “It’s true, isn’t it?” Charlie asked in a whisper. She didn’t know, but he took her silence for confirmation. “I knew it. Christ.”

  “Charlie, can we talk about this later, please?”

  He looked angrily around the lounge at the other din
ers and sighed. “All right.”

  The meal was delicious but they ate it in near-silence. They returned to the car and he drove out of the village. Finding another gateway, he pulled in and turned the engine off.

  “Well?” he asked and she bit back a groan.

  “Charlie, I honestly don’t know.”

  “Don’t you care about your aunt and uncle, your grandmother, my parents?” he demanded.

  “Of course I do, I just don’t know anything.”

  “You do, tell me.” He was getting very angry and she clenched her fists.

  “I’m not going to let you bully me, Charlie.”

  He glared at her with his dark eyes blazing and all his face muscles taut with fury. “Christ, you—”

  “You what?” she challenged. “You Irish. Is that what you were going to say?” She reached out to open the car door. She wasn’t going to put up with any of this.

  “Kate.” He reached across her, grabbing the door handle.

  “Let me get out, Charlie.”

  “No. Kate, I’m sorry.”

  “How dare you.” She tried to pull his fingers off the handle, but he was too strong for her. “Let me out.”

  “No. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m terribly sorry.”

  They sat silently in the car. She was trembling with anger and Charlie bent his head over the steering wheel and groaned.

  “I never expected you of all people to say something like that,” she told him.

  “I was angry, I’m so sorry. I say stupid things, I am stupid. I’m sorry.”

  “Could you take me back to the Sector Station, please?” she asked, blinking back tears.

  “You want to go back?”

  “No, but I don’t want us to row either.”

  “Neither do I. Please stay; it’s only three o’clock. Please?”

  “Do you wish I wasn’t Irish, Charlie? I know your mother does and I know Helen would never have spent all that money on clothes, hair and makeup for me out of the kindness of her heart. She wanted to get rid of my Irish scarecrow look.”

  “No, Kate,” he said, taking her face in his hands. “I’m not ashamed of you. I love you and I love your accent. Never mind my mother or Helen. Maybe they were a bit… in the beginning, but not now. I should never have even thought of saying it. Can you forgive me? Please?”