Wish Me Luck (22 page)

‘Have you got any shoe polish?’ Fleur called.

‘Only a tiny bit, but you can have it. I’ve done mine.’

‘Have you got any Brassó? My buttons look a bit dull . . .’

And then, from Ruth, a mournful, ‘I’m down to my last pair of silk stockings. Do you think it’s worth risking them getting ruined?’

‘That’s up to you, but don’t let Brown catch you or you’ll be on a charge. Silk stockings aren’t exactly classed as regulation uniform, y’know. I’m saving mine for a rather special occasion . . .’ Fleur smiled at the thought. ‘So I’ve only got my be-ootiful lisle ones.’

‘Right then. Silk, it is. Even if only to show you up.’

‘Thanks,
friend!’

‘Don’t mention it,’ Ruth called back gaily. A pause and then, ‘Do you want this lipstick? It doesn’t suit me. I’m better with paler colours, but it might suit you.’

Fleur trotted across the landing. ‘Let’s see. Ooh, yes. That’s lovely.’

‘You can keep it . . .’

Fleur grinned. ‘No, tell you what. I’ll borrow it. And I’ll borrow it on my wedding day. That can be my “something borrowed”.’

They went down the stairs, laughing and chattering, their spirits high at the thought of being able to forget the war for a few hours and into the kitchen for Mrs Jackson’s inspection.

‘It was just like listening to my girls getting ready when they were going out on a date. Now, have a good time, my dears, won’t you?’

Impulsively, they both kissed her on her cheek. It was like having a loving granny watching out for them.

‘Oh, she is an old duck,’ Ruth said as they walked through the darkness back to camp.

‘She is,’ Fleur agreed readily, ‘but with her arthritis so bad, I just don’t know how we’re going to get her to the wedding.’

‘Oh, she’ll get there. By hook or by crook. You’ll see. She was only saying the other day that she’ll manage it somehow, if she has to get all the village lads together to carry her.’

Ruth couldn’t know how much her remark touched Fleur. To think, she mused, that an old lady who had only known her a few weeks was prepared to make the painful effort to get to her wedding, when her own mother was flatly refusing to attend.

‘Here we are,’ Ruth said, interrupting Fleur’s troublesome thoughts as they walked into the large hall, where the tables and chairs had been cleared away. The air was filled with cigarette smoke and the smell of beer. Chatter, laughter and music shook the rafters. Already couples crowded the floor, dancing to the band.

Robbie, standing near the bar, had been watching for them and at once threaded his way around the edge of the dance floor, Johnny following in his wake.

‘May I have the pleasure . . . ?’ they chorused as Robbie held out his arms to Fleur and Johnny bowed courteously to Ruth.

‘It was so nice,’ Fleur commented as she and Ruth walked home through the darkness, their arms linked as they followed the tiny beam of Ruth’s torch, ‘to be just RAF personnel and weren’t the band fantastic?’

An RAF band had been formed on camp – the girls had often heard the lads practising in a hangar, the music echoing around the silent aircraft.

‘Mmm,’ Ruth murmured. ‘A pity though.’

‘A pity? Why d’you say that?’

‘There was a very good-looking lad on the drums, but of course he couldn’t come and dance.’

Fleur spluttered with laughter. Ruth had been as good as her word. She’d not danced with the same man twice all the evening, yet had never been short of partners.

‘What were you trying to do? Dance with every man there?’

‘Something like that,’ Ruth chuckled.

‘Well, I was happy with just the one.’

‘We noticed!’

Fleur smiled to herself in the darkness. It really had been a lovely evening. She’d been able to spend the whole time in Robbie’s arms quite openly. The rumours of their engagement were already flying around the room. There’d been slaps on the back for Robbie and chaste kisses for Fleur.

Strangely, only Bob Watson had been disapproving. Fleur had tackled him about it at once. ‘Do you mean I won’t be able to carry on as an R/T operator after I’m married?’

He’d shaken his head. ‘No, it’s not that. I just don’t hold with wartime marriages. ‘Specially not with fliers. When he goes missing, it’ll be the rest of us who have to mop up your tears.’

Fleur had been dismayed by his bluntness. And the worst of it was he had said ‘when’ not ‘if’. That, more than anything, had shocked her. He was as bad as -worse than – Ruth. At least her friend was no longer disapproving, or if she was, then she was hiding it very successfully.

‘Well, I’ll tell you something, Flight, here and now.
If
it does happen,’ Fleur had replied heatedly, emphasizing the word deliberately, ‘then I promise you, you’ll never see me cry.’ And with that, she’d turned on her heel and gone in search of Robbie, who was at the bar getting drinks for them. By the time he returned to her, she’d calmed down and was able to smile and enjoy the rest of the evening.

But climbing into bed that night, Bob Watson’s words came back to haunt her. Ruth seemed to have come round to the idea. She was her friend and, if the worst did happen, Fleur knew she could count on her, but there were still others who viewed a wartime wedding with scepticism and disapproval.

Including her mother. But that, of course, was for a very different reason. Whatever that reason was. Fleur only wished she knew the answer.

‘I’ve got a darky,’ Kay said calmly.

Fleur’s heart skipped a beat. An aircraft in trouble. Bob sprang into action, issuing orders for the landing lights to be switched on and the crash crew to be alerted.

‘Better let sick quarters know too,’ he instructed Peggy, whilst Fleur threw aside her sewing and took her seat beside Kay.

Kay was speaking reassuringly to the aircraft in trouble. ‘Hello, B-Beer. This is Wickerton Wood. You are cleared to land. Runway two-zero. QFE one zero two zero. Switch to channel B. Over.’

Faintly, everyone in the control room heard the intermittent noise of an engine.

‘He’s in real trouble,’ Bob murmured, as Kay continued to talk the aircraft down. The spluttering noise came closer and closer and the crash crew, fire tender and ambulance were already moving as close as they dared to the runway. The black shape appeared suddenly, low over the perimeter hedge.

‘God – he’s only just missed it,’ Bob muttered, straining his eyes through the darkness and pulling nervously at his moustache. ‘I hope he doesn’t block the runway just before all our lads are due back.’

Fleetingly, Fleur thought Bob was being callous, but then she realized the tough realism behind his remark. With the runway blocked by a crash, their own returning aircraft would be endangered. Low on fuel, they might not be able to make it to another airfield.

Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, whilst Kay kept up a serene conversation with the stricken aircraft.

Lower and lower the plane came until, with a squeal of rubber, it touched the runway, bounced once and then stayed down, trundling past the control room where every head turned to follow its progress. When the aircraft slowed and came to a halt at the far end, there was a unanimous sigh of relief as the crash crew and fire tender raced after the plane.

‘I think he’s OK,’ Bob said, still watching. ‘Well done, Fullerton. Couldn’t have handled it better myself.’

‘Now there’s a compliment,’ Kay drawled. ‘Could I have that in writing, Flight?’

As the crippled aircraft was towed away, the first call came from Wickerton Wood’s own squadron and the control team swung into their practised routine.

‘Coming to the pub tonight?’

It had been a busy week. The weather had been good and there had been flying almost every night. With one R/T operator off sick, Fleur and Kay had been required to work extra shifts and it wasn’t until the Saturday, when there was no flying, that the friends had an evening off.

Fleur stared at Kay in surprise. ‘Do you think we should?’

Kay, with a little smile on her mouth, shrugged. ‘Why ever not? It’s a free country.’

They glanced at each other, aware that that was the very reason they were all here. Fighting to keep that freedom.

‘What about the locals? I mean we . . . we don’t want to antagonize them any more. We might not get away with it next time.’

There had been no repercussions from the fracas outside the White Swan – much to the surprise of everyone involved.

Kay’s little smile became a smirk. ‘Johnny’s planning something.’

Fleur’s eyes widened in fear. ‘Oh no! He’s not planning to round up a . . . a posse, is he?’

Kay laughed, her dark violet eyes twinkling with mischief. ‘Johnny? The responsible navigator of a Hampden? Really, Fleur. The very idea!’

‘Then – then . . . ?’

‘Ah, now that would be telling. If you want to find out, you’ll just have to come along, won’t you?’ She swung back in her chair to face her desk, adding, with a touch of sarcasm, ‘Or are you chicken?’

‘Is Robbie going?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then so am I.’

As she heard Kay’s soft chuckle, she swung round and marched out of the room. There was half an hour before she needed to be at her desk to complete her morning shift. She wanted to find Ruth.

‘What do you think Johnny’s planning? Trouble?’

Ruth screwed up her face thoughtfully. ‘Shouldn’t think so. He doesn’t seem the type to me.’

‘Doesn’t he?’ Fleur was not so sure. Johnny had had no compunction in flirting with a local girl and causing her boyfriend to be jealous.

‘Well, I’ll come along too. Tell you what though. At the first sign of trouble we’re out of there and I don’t care if they do think we’re chicken. I’m not incurring the wrath of the owd beezum for anyone else.’

Fleur laughed. She knew Ruth was referring to Flight Sergeant Brown rather than the Squadron Officer Davidson, who was the most senior WAAF officer on the station. Ruth was Lincolnshire born and bred, and though her dialect was not broad there were times when it came out strongly.

‘What on earth is an “owd beezum”?’

‘An old hag.’

Fleur laughed louder. ‘Oh, that’s priceless. I must remember that.’

‘Well, don’t let her hear you calling her it. You’d be on a charge for sure.’

Chuckling, Fleur returned to the control room. Only a few more hours, she was thinking, and she’d be with Robbie.

Later, as Fleur brushed her uniform and polished the buttons on her jacket until they sparkled, she felt butterflies of apprehension begin to flutter in her stomach. Downstairs she found Ruth and Mary Jackson listening to the wireless. Fleur stood quietly for a moment, holding her breath. Was it more bad war news? Then she let out her breath with relief. It was only one of Mrs Jackson’s favourite programmes,
In Town Tonight.

‘Oh, sorry.’ Catching sight of her, Ruth jumped up. ‘Ready?’

‘When you are.’ Though Fleur was anxious to meet Robbie, part of her would have liked to stay here safely in the cottage, listening to Mrs Jackson’s wireless.

‘Now, you promise to go to the shelter if the sirens start, don’t you, Mrs Jackson?’ Ruth said.

‘I don’t think I could manage the path in the dark, my dears.’

‘Harry’s said he’ll come and fetch you. Now I want your promise. Please.’ Suddenly, Ruth bent down and kissed the old lady’s wrinkled cheek. ‘We don’t want anything happening to you, you know.’

Tears filled Mary Jackson’s eyes. ‘You’re such dear girls. All right, I promise I’ll try.’

As the two girls walked down the dark lane, arms linked and following the thin beam of Ruth’s torch, she murmured, ‘I suppose that’s the best we can hope for. That she’ll try. But I very much doubt she’ll venture down that path in the dark on her own.’

‘But you said Harry had promised to go round.’

‘Oh, he will, he will.’ Ruth laughed wryly. ‘He’ll go round all right. But I bet they’ll just sit there listening to Mrs J’s wireless and gossiping while the bombs fall around them.’

‘So all that digging was a waste of time, was it?’

‘Not at all. We’ve tried. At least it’s there.’ She sighed. ‘Now it’s up to them. But we can’t make ’em go in it if they really don’t want to.’

They walked on in silence until they saw the blacked-out shape of the pub looming up in front of them.

‘Now then, girls,’ was Bill Moore’s friendly greeting. ‘The lads are already in the corner over there.’

Fleur glanced round and her heart skipped a beat as she saw Robbie, but it was Johnny who rose to his feet from his place beside Peggy and came towards them. Draping his arms around their shoulders, he said, ‘Now, girls, what are you drinking? I’m in the chair.’

As Johnny ordered the drinks, Fleur looked around her trying hard not to make it obvious that she was looking for someone. Then she let out a sigh of relief. There was no sign of Alfie Fish and his cronies. Fleur carried her drink across the room to sit beside Robbie.

‘Hello, darling. All right?’