Starlight (15 page)

On the following two days, he made a point of not suggesting they go anywhere for a drink, and she began to feel guilty that she'd even thought he might need one. Probably it was true, she'd been worrying about nothing. And they were so happy together, why would he need anything more?

Next day, however, they went walking out of town, stopping off at a little inn in Swanston, where, of course, it was only natural that they'd have to have a drink or two before and with their meal. All the time Rusty was drinking, his gaze on Jess was so clear, so direct, she told him not to worry, she wasn't being critical. She felt herself that this was true, and that her imagination had been overworking. After all, when they'd gone out together before the war, there'd never been the slightest hint of his drinking to excess. If he'd learned to enjoy going out with his friends on the course, who could blame him? Everyone knew that servicemen – even trainees – would need to relax.

‘I'm glad you understand,' Rusty said softly, as though he'd been reading her mind, and his hand covered hers on the table. ‘Believe me, you've no need to worry.'

‘Except about you coming back in one piece from those “ops” you talk about.'

‘I'm still only on the course, remember?'

‘I wish the course could last for ever.'

‘Hell, it feels like it's doing just that!' he said laughing.

But however long Rusty's course might seem to be, his leave was only too short, and before they could even brace themselves, the last farewells were upon them. Hugs, kisses, tears – everywhere along the station platform, couples were, like Jess and Rusty, making final desperate embraces, eyes on the clock, on the guard's flag, until it was all over. Those leaving had boarded the train; those staying were waiting, to watch and wave, as the flag went down and the train began to move.

‘Be back soon!' Rusty cried above the shriek of the engine's whistle. ‘And, remember, I'm only on the course!'

Jess, trying to smile, felt her eyes prick with tears, but she waved and waved until the train had disappeared, then, with the others around her, finally turned and left the platform.

What to do now? Go back to the empty flat? No, might as well look in at the Princes, just across the road. See what was on her desk. Probably a pile of things for her attention. Her eyes still smarting, she walked slowly from the station, then fast across the road, and back to work.

Twenty-Six

Although Addie and Jess had tried more than once to see Derry's wife, Moyra, in hospital, they'd had no luck. She was not well enough, they were told, to receive visits, except from her husband.

‘Oh, Derry, this is sad news,' Addie had said to him. ‘Can they do nothing for her, then?'

‘They're trying an operation,' he told her, his face taking on its crumbling look that followed any talk of his wife. ‘Maybe, after that, she'll pick up.'

‘She will, Derry, she will!'

‘Aye. Well, we'll have to wait and see.'

It was on a day in late June that Jess and her mother finally got permission to visit Moyra for a short time. The operation had not been described as a success, but had made things easier for her and it seemed she was feeling a little better. Just the two of them would go, in the afternoon, it was decided, as Derry always made his visits in the evening after the shop had closed. And there would be no need to take anything, he told them, as flowers weren't permitted and Moyra's diet was strictly controlled.

‘Oh dear, I'm no' looking forward to this,' Addie murmured to Jess, as they arrived at the Jubilee, an old hospital on the north side of the city, set in large grounds. ‘I'm no' one for sick visiting.'

‘Nor me, but we do want to see Moyra. What must it be like for her, stuck in bed all day? Derry says the patients aren't allowed to do anything.'

‘Cure sounds as bad as the disease, eh?'

If only it was a cure, Jess thought, approaching the nurse at reception for details of Moyra's ward.

Her bed was one of only four in a small, bare room overlooking the gardens. Everything – floor, walls, paintwork – smelled of disinfectant. Beds were made with what seemed to be military precision, the covers starkly white, the bedside lockers empty of all but glass water jugs and tumblers. There were no curtains, no photographs and no flowers, but there were, at least, the four patients to provide a reminder of humanity, still, quiet figures though they were. But Moyra, nearest to the window, was managing to smile.

‘Addie?' she whispered. ‘And Jess? Oh, it's good to see you!'

‘Please don't stay long,' a nurse said, placing two chairs, one at either side of Moyra's bed. ‘No more than half an hour. Mrs Beattie has to rest.'

Oh, yes, Moyra had to rest, Addie and Jess silently agreed, for the way she looked, lying in her white bed, any movement would have been too much for her. Yet her cheeks were flushed, and her large shadowed eyes showed brightness, as she lifted her hands to take theirs.

‘Moyra, pet, how are you?' Addie asked, as Jess sat, glancing briefly at the other patients in the ward. They had no visitors themselves and were showing little interest in Moyra's. But how must she and her mother seem to them, anyway? Two beings from another world? A world the patients had once known, but might never inhabit again?

No, no, Moyra, at least, was said to be feeling better. She would come back to the world. She must.

‘They never say,' Moyra was answering Addie now. ‘We never ask.'

‘But how do you feel?'

‘I'm . . . I'm no' too bad. But tell me about you folks, eh? Tell me what you're doing – tell me about Marguerite . . . and everybody.'

For a short time, they talked of that outside world. Of Jess's husband up in Kenlin, and Marguerite's husband in the Borders. Of Marguerite herself and how she was enjoying being in the WAAFs. Of Addie and her camouflage work, and of Jess and her cinema work. Of the films that were being shown –
The Wizard of Oz
and
Goodbye Mr Chips
, war films and musicals. Laurel and Hardy, the Crazy Gang.

‘People will watch anything to keep their minds off their worries,' Jess said, smiling, and Moyra smiled too, and said, ‘I bet.'

But she was growing tired, her features drooping, her flush not fading but deepening, until Addie knocked Jess's arm and nodded her head towards the door.

‘We'd better go,' she whispered to Moyra. ‘We'll come again, though – very soon.'

But Moyra, with surprising strength, suddenly caught at Addie's hand and held it.

‘Addie, will you promise me something?'

‘Anything, pet. Just ask.'

‘Will you . . . look after my Derry?'

‘Look after him?' Addie repeated, glancing in a puzzled way at Jess, who was sitting without moving. ‘You mean, do some cooking for him, Moyra? I do already. I often take him a bit of stew or something I've made . . .'

‘No, no, I don't mean cooking. Just, after I'm gone, will you see he's all right? Take care of him, because he's no good on his own.'

‘Moyra, what are you talking about? You're going to get better. You'll be looking after Derry yourself.' Addie's face was as flushed as Moyra's own, her eyes as bright. ‘Now, don't let's hear any more talk about going. That's an absolute piece of nonsense!'

‘Just promise me,' Moyra said, still clinging to Addie's hand. ‘Set my mind at rest.'

‘She will,' Jess leaned over to say quietly. ‘She'll do what you want, Moyra.'

‘That's good,' Moyra whispered, letting Addie's hand fall. ‘That makes me feel better. Thank you, Addie. Thank you.'

While Addie was still staring in astonishment, the nurse returned.

‘Time for your nap, Mrs Beattie,' she said briskly. ‘Goodbye, ladies, thanks for not overstaying your time.'

And as Moyra obediently closed her eyes, Jess and her mother quietly slipped away.

‘Well, what do you make of that?' Addie cried, when they were away from the ward. ‘Why on earth should Moyra ask me to look after Derry? I'm just a customer!'

‘You're a friend, Ma,' Jess told her. ‘Moyra knows that.'

And it was true, she was thinking, Moyra knew. Perhaps more than Addie herself. A wife's eyes could be sharp.

‘All right, I suppose you could say I was a friend. Doesn't mean I'd have to look after him!' Addie pulled out a hankie and wiped her eyes. ‘Oh, that poor lassie, then, thinking she's going to die! She's getting better, eh? She said she felt better.'

‘Ma, why don't we have a cup of tea? I saw a notice – there's a canteen here that visitors can use.'

‘No, no, Jess, I don't fancy anything here. Let's go to that nice wee cafe near Stockbridge library. Then I'll just go home.

‘And I'll go back to the Princes. I've a few things to do.'

They didn't talk much over the tea, each feeling too depressed, and parted soon afterwards to go their separate ways, with Jess promising to see her mother again soon.

‘Aye, I'd be glad if you would,' Addie said in a low voice. ‘I could do with company.'

‘Just don't go worrying about Derry, Ma.'

‘It was you who made a promise for me, Jess. Now, what am I supposed to do?'

‘Just carry on as usual.'

‘And if Moyra dies?'

‘She's going to get better, you said.'

‘As though I'd know!' Addie cried, hurriedly walking away towards a bus stop, while Jess turned her steps towards the town, so deep in thought she didn't see Ben Daniel approaching until he called her name.

Twenty-Seven

It took her a moment or two to recognize the tall man in air force uniform standing in her path and putting out his hand.

‘Jess, don't you know me?' he asked, as she stood blinking in the sunlight. ‘Don't tell me I've changed already. It's Ben. Ben Daniel.'

‘Ben!' She was blushing with embarrassment. ‘Of course I know you! It's just the sun – your face was in shadow.'

‘Oh, God, now I'm only a shadow? Oh, but it's grand to see you, Jess. Haven't set eyes on you since I joined up.'

‘It's lovely to see you too, Ben. But what are you doing here? Are you on leave?'

‘Had a couple of days owing – came over to see Dad. He's got his chest trouble again, but don't worry, he's not too bad. I've got him a couple of library books and I'll do a bit of shopping for him later.'

‘Don't you want to do the shopping now?'

‘No, I want to take you for a cup of tea and have a good old chat.'

‘Oh, Ben, I'm sorry, I've just had some tea with Ma. I'm going back to the Princes now.'

‘OK, I'll walk back with you.' He smiled as they fell into step together. ‘It's such a hot day, you'll be ready for another drink at the Princes cafe, won't you? Marguerite tells me its pretty terrible these days but I expect they can still do a lemonade?'

‘A lemonade would be grand,' Jess said, trying not to find anything remarkable in Ben walking beside her, trying not to be pleased, even, that he should want to spend time with her. All she'd once felt for him was dead and buried, that was for sure, but then he was her brother-in-law. Maybe it was right she should be glad to see him.

Over the lemonade in the crowded cinema cafe, she covertly studied him in a way she had not been able to do for some time. The long, handsome face was unchanged, except perhaps that there were tiny lines beside the sensitive mouth; lines she hadn't noticed before and thought might be the result of his recent disappointment.

Should she mention that? Say she was sorry that something wrong had been found with his eyes? Those fine brown eyes, so nearly black, resting on her now? No, it would be a mistake. Ben was a proud man. He'd hate to be reminded that he had any defect, especially as it had prevented his being aircrew.

‘I know what you're thinking,' he said quietly. ‘I expect Marguerite told you about my eyes, didn't she? Now you're wondering why they look just the same and I'm not carrying a white stick?'

‘Ben, no! How can you talk like that?'

‘Sorry, I'm just rather bitter, that's all. It's not as if I can't see perfectly well, you know. They turned me down just over night vision – but I swear it was OK anyway.' He finished his lemonade and banged the glass down. ‘So, unlike Rusty, I'm not going to be allowed to do what I want to do.'

‘It's a shame, Ben. A real shame.'

‘Yes, well, let's say no more about it. How is Rusty, anyway? Living it up in Kenlin?'

‘He's doing well. Or at least, he was when he came over in May. I haven't seen him since then.'

‘And I haven't seen Marguerite.' When Jess shook her head over his case, Ben took out a cigarette and lit it. ‘We're like Box and Cox, aren't we? When one gets leave, the other doesn't. What it is, then, to have a wife who's in the air force too?'

Jess was silent, not sure what he wanted her to say. That Marguerite should have stayed at home, waiting for him? She had a right to join the forces if she wanted to.

‘I worry about her, you know,' Ben was saying, keeping his voice down, though only Joan Baxter would have remembered him at the cafe, and she was not in evidence. ‘Can't help it.'

‘Marguerite's in danger?' Jess cried.

‘No, no, when I say I worry about her, I'm really worrying for myself.' He drew on his cigarette. ‘Come, on, Jess, you know how Marguerite attracts people. Attracts men. So, who's at Drem?' Hs dark eyes burned. ‘Men, Jess. Marguerite is surrounded by men. Don't you think I should be worried?'

‘No! That's ridiculous! Why, you're newly-weds, like Rusty and me. Marguerite would never get interested in someone else. She loves you!'

‘Oh, I know. I know she does. But I'm not at Drem and other men are. That's the problem. Propinquity. That's the thing.'