Wish Me Luck (31 page)

Robbie laughed. ‘I will and thanks, Kenny, for today. I know it hasn’t been easy for you.’

Kenny pulled a face. There was no need to pretend he didn’t know what Robbie meant. ‘It’s Dad I feel sorry for. It’s not long before I can join up and, believe me, I’m off the moment I can. But Dad’ll be left there on his own with her.’ He shook his head. ‘I really don’t know what’s got into her. She never used to be like this. But maybe once this is all over, she’ll settle down a bit. Come to terms with it, you know.’

‘I hope so,’ Robbie said, but as he turned away to go towards where Jake and his mother were still standing engrossed in each other, he thought,
but I doubt it.

Meg and Jake broke apart, almost guiltily, as Robbie and Fleur arrived beside them at the same moment.

‘You off now?’ Jake said heartily. He held out his hand to Robbie. There had been no official speeches by the father of the bride or the best man. Only Robbie had stood up and thanked everyone present for the marvellous surprise reception. So now was the moment for Jake to say, ‘I’m proud to have you as my son-in-law. Take care of each other . . .’ He seemed about to say more, but his voice cracked and he swallowed as if having difficulty in holding back the tears.

Meg broke the moment by kissing Fleur on both cheeks and saying, ‘And I already love you, my darling daughter-in-law. And I can’t wait for you to make me into a granny.’

The tension was broken by Robbie saying, ‘Hey, steady on, Mum.’ But he enveloped Meg into his arms, giving her a bear hug. ‘Look after Pops and we’ll see you as soon as we get back.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘Now that’s a secret. Even Fleur doesn’t know. But I’ll ring Mr Tomkins when we get there. I promise.’

After a lot more handshaking and hugs, Fleur and Robbie finally made their escape, running hand in hand down the lane, laughing together.

‘I thought we’d never get away,’ Robbie said.

‘I know, but wasn’t it a lovely surprise? How sweet of everyone.’

‘It was. The perfect send off.’

Back at the cottage, Fleur changed quickly into her best outfit and Robbie loosened his tie and flung his cap into the back of the borrowed sports car as he stowed Fleur’s battered suitcase in the boot space. He opened the passenger door for her to climb in and then he vaulted over the door on the driver’s side.

‘Ready?’ He grinned at her and Fleur giggled, deliciously anticipating the week ahead. A whole seven days alone and away from the war.

As they passed the pub, a shower of confetti cascaded over them, thrown by the villagers who lined the lane. With shouts of ‘Good Luck’ ringing in their ears, they roared out of the village.

It was strangely quiet after the sound of their car had faded away, an anti-climax after all the frivolity. The villagers began to drift away back to their own homes, carefully carrying some of the food that had been left. It was too precious to waste. Jake and Meg stood awkwardly together, knowing the moment of parting had come. As Kenny came bounding towards them, Meg held out her hand.

‘Goodbye, Jake. It’s been lovely to see you, and Robbie will look after her, I can promise you that.’

Jake nodded. ‘I know,’ he said huskily. ‘And . . . and you take care of yourself, Meggie.’

‘Ruth’s had to rush off. She’s on duty later. So—’ Kenny glanced from one to the other. ‘Are you ready, Dad?’

‘Just coming, just coming, lad,’ Jake replied, yet he made no move.

It was Meg who turned to Kenny, held out her hand and said, ‘It’s been good to meet you, Kenny. Take care.’

‘Can we give you a lift anywhere, Mrs Rodwell?’ the young man asked.

‘That’s very kind of you.’ Meg smiled. ‘But I’ll be fine.’

Then, before either of them could stop her, she turned and walked away from them without looking back. Jake stood a moment watching her until Kenny touched his arm and said gently, ‘Come on, Dad. Time we were going home.’

‘What’s this, I’d like to know?’

Betsy thrust Jake’s large white handkerchief towards him, shaking it under his nose. Even before he could look at it properly, she shrieked, ‘Make-up, that’s what it is. A woman’s make-up. Whose is it, might I ask? As if I didn’t know.’

Jake blinked and stared at the smear of pink on the white cotton. Keeping his face expressionless, he said mildly, ‘It’s Fleur’s. Whose do you think it is?’ He stared her straight in the eyes. ‘She had a few tears, the lass did. And why do you think that was, eh?’

For a moment, Betsy was disconcerted. ‘Over me, you mean?’

‘Of course over you, Betsy. Doesn’t every girl want her mother with her on her wedding day?’

‘How would
I
know?’ Betsy said bitterly. ‘I never had a mother. At least, not one I can remember very well.’

‘Then all the more reason why you should’ve swallowed your own resentment and thought of her – for once. But you’ll just have to live with it now, Betsy, won’t you? That you didn’t go to your only daughter’s wedding.’

Jake turned on his heel and slammed out of the house, leaving Betsy – for the first time – feeling a twinge of guilt.

They drove to the east coast, to Skegness, where they walked along the sea front and viewed with sadness the lovely scene scarred with rolls of barbed wire. Areas of the wide expanse of sandy beach were mined. Even there, the war could not be forgotten entirely.

‘There’s a lot of RAF chaps about. I wonder why?’ Robbie mused. In the bar of the guesthouse where they were staying, they found out.

‘It’s a training centre,’ the landlord, Jim Spriggs, explained and winked. ‘Good place for square bashing, ain’t it? All that drill along Grand Parade and Tower Esplanade. They’re even using some of the quieter streets, an’ all. It’s a sight to see.’

‘We saw them this morning,’ Robbie said. ‘We were trying to get on the pier, but couldn’t. I wanted to see it from the ground.’ He smiled. ‘We often come over this way when we’re setting off across the North Sea and Johnny – that’s our navigator – uses your pier as a guide. Reckons he knows what course to set then.’

‘Aye, I’ve heard that said afore,’ Jim nodded. ‘They’ve built an assault course near the pier and another in an overgrown area at the end of North Parade that the locals have always called “The Jungle”. The RAF lads are billeted in the empty hotels on the sea front and their officers’ mess is in one of the bigger hotels, the NAAFI in another.’ He pulled a face. ‘But I reckon a lot of the hotels are closed for the duration – to holidaymakers that is. Oh, we get a few, like yourselves, but not like we used to afore the war. The kiddies can’t play on a mined beach, can they? There’s even a gun position in the Fairy Dell.’ His mouth tightened. The fact seemed to hurt him personally. ‘But it’s not the RAF being here we mind,’ he said, as if fearful he might have given offence to his guests. ‘We like having ’em, and, of course, we’ve got the Royal Navy just up the road. Taken over Billy Butlin’s holiday camp. HMS Royal Arthur, they call it. Oh, there’s a lot going on in Skeggy, I can tell you, but it’s just this bloody war’s altered everyone’s lives, hasn’t it?’ He eyed them curiously. ‘What about you two . . . ?’ Then, guessing correctly, a broad smile spread across his face. ‘Ah, honeymooners, eh? A wartime wedding?’

Robbie grinned back at him. ‘That’s right.’

‘Oi, missis,’ the man raised his voice. ‘We’ve got a couple of honeymooners here, love.’

His wife appeared from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. ‘Oh, how lovely. I’ll cook you something special tonight, my dears . . .’ And with a smile and a nod, his ‘missis’ disappeared back into her kitchen.

‘Now, mebbe I shouldn’t be telling you this,’ Jim said with a teasing smile, ‘seeing as you’re honeymooners, but there is a very good show on this week at the local theatre.’ He reached under the bar and pulled out the local paper. Opening it up, he jabbed his finger. ‘Aye, here it is. “All Clear” they call it. Some clever acts, so I’ve been told. And then there’s two very good cinemas in the town.’ He sniffed with annoyance. ‘Used to have three we did until the Luftwaffe decided to bomb one of ’em last January. The Central and then there’s the Parade on the sea front.’

‘We saw it this morning. It was advertising a Henry Fonda film, I think.’

‘That’s right.
Chad Hanna.
It’s got Dorothy Lamour in, an’ all. I like her. Bit of all right, she is.’ He glanced archly at Robbie. ‘Mind you, you’ll not be noticing, will ya, lad?’

‘Of course not,’ Robbie said gallantly.

Fleur grinned saucily and said, ‘Well, I don’t mind you looking, as long as you don’t touch.’ To which remark the two men laughed heartily.

‘Then there’s
Pygmalion
on at the Central with Leslie Howard and Wendy Hiller . . .’ Jim went on.

‘I’ve seen that,’ Fleur said.

‘So’ – Robbie grinned – ‘Dorothy Lamour it is, then.’

The variety show they saw at the Arcadia Theatre later in the week was slick and professional, with a silent comedy routine, a witty comedian, and a clever dancing act. To top it all, the female singer, Elsie, each night picked a serviceman from the audience to assist her in her song ‘Arm in Arm Together’.

Robbie, sitting three rows back, in his smart RAF uniform, the silver buttons sparkling in the lights, was a sitting duck. He cast a rueful grin at Fleur, who dissolved into helpless laughter to see him taken up on stage to be greeted by rapturous applause from the audience. At the end of the song, Elsie brought him back to his seat and planted a kiss on his cheek, leaving a perfect impression of her mouth in lipstick.

‘I thought I told you you couldn’t touch,’ Fleur spluttered and Robbie spread his hands in mock helplessness.

They had a blissful week before they had to return and be plunged once more into the middle of the war.

‘I’ve missed you so much.’ Ruth hugged her the moment she walked through the door. ‘The girl they brought in to work in the watch office whilst you’ve been away is thick as pig whatsit. Kay’s never stopped grumbling about her and can’t wait for you to get back.’ She pulled a comical face. ‘Eh, hark at me getting all countrified. And you’ll never guess what?’

Laughing, Fleur shook her head. ‘Go on, tell me.’

‘Harry’s even had me gardening out there.’ She nodded towards the back garden. ‘Said I’d got to keep it in shape for you and that stuff needed gathering and it’d go to waste otherwise and then all your hard work’d be wasted.’ She held out her hands, palms upward, fingers spread. ‘Just
look
at my hands.’

‘I just hope you’ve not pulled out all the plants and left the weeds.’

‘Oh no. Harry was there, leaning over the fence, telling me what was what. Actually,’ she added, self-consciously, as if she was quite surprised at herself, ‘I’ve quite enjoyed it.’ For a moment her eyes were haunted. ‘It . . . it gets your mind off this bloody war for an hour or two.’

‘Has . . . has it been bad?’

Ruth bit her lower lip as she nodded. ‘Mm. We’ve lost eight planes during the last week.’

Fleur gasped. ‘And the crews?’

Ruth lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug.

And suddenly, the war with all its catastrophes was back with a vengeance.

Ruth linked her arm through Fleur’s. ‘Now, come and see what else I’ve been up to – with Mrs Jackson’s permission of course.’

Fleur stared at her. ‘What . . . what do you mean?’

‘Come upstairs. I’ll show you.’

Mystified, Fleur followed her up the narrow stairs.

Instead of turning to the small back bedroom where Fleur normally slept, Ruth flung open the door of the large front room that had once been Mrs Jackson’s and her husband’s but was now Ruth’s room.

‘This is your room from now on. Yours and Robbie’s, when he can get away from camp.’

‘But . . . but it’s your room.’

‘Not any more, it isn’t. I’ve moved into your room at the back. I’ – she let out a wistful little sigh – ‘have no need of a double bed.’

‘But you might. You might meet someone and—’

Now Ruth pursed her mouth and shook her head vehemently. ‘No, I’ve told you. I made the mistake once of getting fond of someone and he got killed. I’m not putting myself through that pain again.’ She glanced ruefully at Fleur. ‘Sorry, love, I don’t mean to put a damper on things for you. It’s . . . it’s just how I feel for myself, that’s all. Maybe it’s me that’s being stupid.’

‘No,’ Fleur said gently and touched her friend’s arm. ‘I can only guess how you must have felt, but I do know that if anything happened to Robbie, I wouldn’t want to take up with anyone else. So, if you’d really fallen for this chap, then . . . then . . . I do understand.’

‘Oh, it was only early days with Billy. Nothing serious. We weren’t engaged or anything. Hadn’t even got as far as discussing marriage before he – before he . . .’

‘But you had the feeling that that’s where it might have led?’

Again Ruth bit her lip as tears filled her eyes and she nodded. But then she wiped her eyes and smiled. ‘Come on in and see what I’ve done.’

They stepped into the bedroom and Fleur gazed around her. ‘I don’t remember it being like this.’

‘It wasn’t.’ Ruth laughed now. ‘I’ve painted it. Or rather, Kenny did.’