A Song At Twilight (7 page)

‘It looks lovely.’ Alison thought of her own cupboards, almost empty but for a few tins and jars from the village shop. ‘I couldn’t get much fruit to bottle this year. I could still make some jam, though, if I can get the sugar.’

‘Of course you could, my dear. ’Tis too late for the soft fruits, but you can pick some blackberries, like our May here. They go best with a few apples, mind, to help the jam set. We’ll let you have a few off our tree, there’s plenty to spare. And take a pot of raspberry jam home with you.’ She took one from the cupboard and set it on the table.

Alison gazed at her helplessly. ‘You’re so kind. But I can’t take your jam. I really can’t.’

‘Bless you, my dear, ’tis only a pot of jam. Of course you can take it.’ Mrs Prettyjohn paused and looked at her seriously. ‘’Tis little enough to do, my dear, when your man’s fighting for us all. You take it, and welcome.’

‘Thank you.’ Alison felt her eyes mist with tears. She looked at the pot of jam, gleaming with ruby colour. Outside, she could hear Hughie’s piping chatter and the deeper tones of the old man. She realised suddenly how lonely she had felt for the past few days, so far away from all she knew, and leaned her head on her hand.

Mrs Prettyjohn looked at her with understanding. Her voice was as soft and warm as a buttered scone. ‘That’s all right, my dear. You’m welcome whenever you want to drop by. There’s always someone here.’ There was a sudden banging on the ceiling above their heads and she looked up. ‘That’s my hubby, that is. I dare say he wants to know who’s down here. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind popping up to say hello later on. He do love to see a visitor.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Alison said a little nervously. She hadn’t had much experience of sick people, and had no idea how ill May’s father might be. Still, she couldn’t refuse, not after May and her mother had been so kind.

‘He’m all right in himself,’ Mrs Prettyjohn said, as if reading her mind. ‘But he fell off a haycart, see, and broke his back. Paralysed from the waist down, he be, but there’s nothing wrong with his head. We’d like to get him downstairs so he can be more part of the family, like, but if we put a bed down here there won’t be any room for the rest of us! So us has to ask visitors to go upstairs to give him a bit of company.’

‘Yes, of course I’ll go,’ Alison said, feeling slightly ashamed of her reluctance. She set down her cup and made to stand up.

‘Oh, no need to go right away,’ Mrs Prettyjohn said, gesturing to her to sit down again. ‘Plenty of time to see he another day. You’ll be wanting to get home for your dinner. Do your man come home for his?’

‘No, he stays in the mess. But you’re right, I should go – you’re getting your own meal ready.’ She got up and hesitated. ‘Will you be making your jam this afternoon?’

‘We will. You come along too if you like, maid, and you can help. Then, if you like to pick some of your own fruit, our May can come and help you – that’s if you’d like her to. Us don’t want to push in.’

‘Oh, you wouldn’t be!’ Alison turned to the girl. ‘Would you do that, May? Or would it be taking up too much of your time? I know you’ve got your job as well.’

‘Oh, I can find the time,’ the dark-haired girl said, smiling. ‘But you need to make sure you can get your sugar first. And you’ll need to get it soon, because the blackberries will be over by the end of the month.’

‘I know – the Devil spits on them!’ Alison moved towards the door. ‘It’s been lovely to meet you, and thank you for the milk. I’ll be back this afternoon.’ She ducked out into the sunshine, and found Hughie with the old man, clearing leaves from the path and heaping them in a corner of the garden. ‘Come on, Hughie, we’ve got to go now. Say thank you. We’ll see you again soon, Mr Prettyjohn.’

The bent figure straightened. ‘And welcome you’ll be, whenever you like to call,’ he said. ‘We’m happy to see you, maid, and the liddle tacker, too.’ He nodded, and once again she felt the tears prick her eyes.

Walking back along the lane, she felt as if the sun had suddenly grown warmer. I hadn’t realised how lonely I felt, she thought. Even though Andrew’s home most evenings, and he often brings some of the others with him, I’ve had no friends to pass the days with. And I haven’t even been into another house here until today.

She looked at the hedgerows, with their thick clusters of black, juicy berries. I’ll go along to the shop as soon as they open after lunch, she thought, and ask about sugar. And I’ll take a basket with me when I go back to the cottage this afternoon. At the very least, I can make a blackberry pudding for Andrew’s dinner tonight.

The low thrum of an aircraft engine sounded in her ears and she looked up to see the two Typhoons coming in to land. Well, if one had been Andrew, he was safe for the moment. And as she opened the gate to her own tiny front garden, she felt a little surge of relief lift her heart.

She hoped that the other one had been Tubby.

‘Home-made jam!’ Andrew said a few days later, gazing at the little row of jars, filled with purple preserves. ‘That’s marvellous, darling. And a blackberry and apple pie as well. What a clever wife I’ve got!’

His words were cheerful enough, but there was an odd, brittle edge to his voice and Alison gave him a curious glance, aware at once that something had happened on the airfield. Briefly, she wondered whether to ask him, but dismissed the idea. Andrew would tell her in his own time, if he meant to tell her at all. She knew that there were some things that he would never tell her – things he
couldn’t
tell her – and she remembered Tubby’s words about secrets.

She’d been disappointed that so far the rotund pilot hadn’t taken up her invitation to come and see her. He’d been to the cottage once or twice, with Andrew and some of the other pilots, but she had never had a chance to be alone with him, to ask him if the nightmare was still with him or if, with the change of airfield, it might have receded. She’d tried to catch his eye the last time he’d been here, but he’d simply grinned cheerily at her, as if there had never been any conversation between them, and she’d known that she couldn’t introduce the subject. It had to be left to Tubby himself.

She picked up one of the jars of jam. ‘Next year, I’ll make more. And bottle some fruit, too. I was thinking, Andrew, we could dig up the back garden and grow our own food. It’s what we’re supposed to be doing anyway, isn’t it? Digging for Victory. D’you suppose the owners would mind?’

‘I could find out.’ He kissed her and drew her into the living room. The edge was still in his voice, and she could feel the tension in his body. ‘What are you thinking of growing? And who’s going to be doing all the digging? I can’t promise that I—’

‘No, I know you couldn’t do that,’ she said quickly. ‘You don’t get enough time at home as it is.’ Andrew was only able to come home in the evenings, and seldom even stayed all night. ‘May says her grandfather will come and dig it over for me, and after that I’ll be able to manage it for myself. He’ll tell me what to plant and when.’

‘You seem to have made some good friends there,’ Andrew observed, throwing himself into a chair and pulling her on to his lap. ‘You’ll have to take me along to meet them sometime soon.’

‘They’d like that. They really appreciate what you and the others are doing, you know, even though the airfield has made life rather noisy for them.’ She rested against him. ‘Is anyone else coming round tonight? Tubby, or the new ones?’

‘No, I thought we’d have some time to ourselves.’ His arms tightened around her. ‘I don’t get enough time with you to want to share you every evening. I just want a quiet few hours on our own, like an old married couple.’

‘That’s lovely.’ She wished he would talk to her, tell her what was wrong. There was something she needed to tell him, too, but she couldn’t do it while there was this hidden tension between them. She made her voice bright. ‘Just what I want, too. And I’ll let Hughie stay up a bit later than usual – it’s lovely for him to have his daddy at home.’ She leaned her head on his shoulder. ‘I was wondering today if we should have a party at the weekend, if there aren’t any alarms. What do you think?’

Andrew paused for a moment before answering, then nodded. ‘Yes. It’s a good idea. These new youngsters, Hazelwood and Sinclair, could do with a bit of a breather. They’ve been practising with the Typhoons till their ears drop off.’ He frowned. ‘The chaps aren’t all that keen on this new plane, you know. There’ve been a lot of problems with it – carbon monoxide in the cockpit, for a start, just as if it weren’t already too hot inside, and quite a few engine failures. They’ll get sorted out eventually, I know, but we feel a bit like guinea pigs at the moment. Still, it’s good to be flying a fighter-bomber at last. Gives us the best of both worlds.’

Alison heard this with some disquiet. Andrew usually kept problems like this to himself. Perhaps he was aware that she knew there was something wrong, and hoped to distract her with talk of difficulties with the new aircraft. She decided not to comment and asked instead, ‘Are the two new boys ready to go out with the squadron yet?’

‘Next week. That’s why it’d be a good idea to give them a bit of a shindig. Not that the chaps don’t have a brawl in the mess most evenings, but something more civilised might go down well. What are you planning?’

‘Well, I thought I might get May to come in and help me with the food. She might do some baking beforehand, if we can get the rations.’

‘That’s the stuff. They’d sell you a pat or two of butter too, wouldn’t they, and a few eggs and some cream?’

‘They might. They’d rather give it to me, though. Honestly, you’ve no idea how generous they are, Andrew. I know they have their own cow and hens but they don’t have to give it all away. I hardly dare mention a thing for fear Mrs Prettyjohn will wrap it up and press it into my hands.’

‘Well, why not come to an arrangement? Tell them that if they offer you something you’ll accept it – as long as it’s not too much – but if you actually ask for something, they’ve got to sell it to you. And then don’t give them too many opportunities to offer first!’

Alison laughed. ‘I’ll do that. And I’ll pay May for her help. How many shall we ask?’

‘Well, all the squadron, of course. Robin and Jackie, and all the rest – you know them already. But we’ve got some Poles coming soon – might ask them along, if they’re here by the weekend.’

‘Poles?’ She looked at him blankly for a moment, then her face cleared. ‘Oh, you mean Polish airmen! Oh yes, ask them as well. I just hope we’ve got room for everyone.’

‘You don’t need enough room at a party,’ he said. ‘You need not
quite
enough – much more fun! It’ll be quite a celebration. A welcome, I mean, for the new bods.’

‘Mm.’ Alison looked at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. ‘Actually, it might be more of a celebration than you think.’

‘Why?’ He twisted his neck to peer into her face. ‘What’s happening? Is someone coming to stay? Your parents – mine? You haven’t said anything before.’

Alison gave him a mysterious look. ‘Someone’s coming to stay, but it’s not my parents, or yours. Still, it’s not quite certain yet. You’ll have to wait and see.’ She kissed his nose and swung her feet to the floor. ‘And now you can go out in the garden and play with your son while I get our dinner ready and start thinking about the party. You do realise we’re on rations, don’t you. It won’t exactly be a lavish spread.’

‘Some of Mrs Prettyjohn’s bread and your home-made jam will do,’ he said, trying unsuccessfully to pull her back on to his lap. ‘And I want to know who’s coming to stay. It’s not fair, keeping me in the dark like this. I shouldn’t have to worry about things when I’m flying my new Typhoon.’ His plaintive tone had no effect on Alison, who merely ruffled his thick, dark hair.

‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ she said heartlessly. ‘You’ll be pleased, I can tell you that – and that’s all I am going to tell you. Just wait and see.’

She whisked away into the kitchen, leaving her husband lying back in the armchair, warmed by her affection. I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t come home in the evenings, he thought. I don’t know what I’d do if I hadn’t got Alison to make things bearable.

It had cost him enormous effort to come into the house that evening as if he were a normal man, coming home from a normal day’s work. As if nothing bad had happened. As if he’d enjoyed every moment, just as Alison seemed to have enjoyed every moment of her day, picking blackberries, making jam and pies, planning a party. And this surprise visitor, who was presumably going to be here in time for the party.

Well, whoever it was, she had obviously made up her mind it was to be a nice surprise, and God knew he could do with one of those at the moment. And somehow he was going to have to tell her what had happened today.

He closed his eyes, seeing it all again in his mind and trying to find the right words. He knew just what a shock it would be. Their cosy evening would evaporate into sadness; at the very least, she’d probably want to cancel the party. But Andrew knew they must go ahead with it. Nobody could be allowed to grieve for too long, or they would never take to the air again.

That afternoon, he and Tubby had been on patrol along the Channel and had been surprised by a pair of enemy Heinkels. In the ensuing fight, Tubby Marsh had shot one down into the sea. But even as his yell of exultation had sounded in Andrew’s ears, a third had dived on him, straight out of the sun.

His aircraft disintegrating in a ball of flame, Tubby had spiralled into the waves below.

‘Tubby?’ Alison said in a small, disbelieving voice. She stared at Andrew as if she suspected him of playing a cruel joke. ‘It can’t be true. Not Tubby.’

‘I’m afraid it is,’ Andrew said. She was back on his lap and he held her in his arms but she lay stiffly against him, not responding. ‘I saw him go down myself. There was no chance.’

‘But you’ve been together since you first started at Cranwell,’ she whispered. ‘He’s never even had any accidents. He’s a brilliant flyer, you’ve always said so.’

‘Not in his hearing!’ Andrew said, thinking of the insults and banter he and Tubby had shared over the years. He pulled his wife’s head gently down to his shoulder and stroked her hair. ‘Darling, I’m afraid it doesn’t make any difference how good a flyer you are, when someone comes out of the sun and shoots you down.’