Wish Me Luck (34 page)

‘You know, you really ought to go home, Fleur. For a visit. Try to make it up with your mother,’ Robbie murmured as they lay in each other’s arms in the pale light of dawn after a blissful night of love. He kissed her hair. ‘I don’t like being the cause of a rift between you.’

It was February already and neither of them had been able to get home over Christmas or at New Year or since. Robbie because of the training course and Fleur because heavy falls of snow had given her the perfect excuse to stay at Wickerton. It was surprising that the crews had managed to complete enough flying hours on the course, but somehow they had.

Despite her father’s plea, Fleur was still putting off the moment. ‘I suppose you’re right.’ She sighed. ‘But I don’t want to miss any time with you.’

‘Well, we’re not always off duty at the same time,’ Robbie pointed out reasonably.

‘Mostly we are. Because . . . because when you’re flying, I’m usually in the watch office.’ There was a pause before Fleur suggested, ‘We could go together.’

‘No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Rather fuelling the flame, don’t you think?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Tell you what, next time we get a decent leave I’ll go and see Ma and Pops and you go to Middleditch Farm.’

‘All right.’ Fleur sighed again, knowing he was right, but feeling she would much rather visit the tiny terraced house in Nottingham with him. She would receive a warmer welcome from Robbie’s mother than she ever would from her own.

‘Good,’ he said as he began kissing her. ‘And now, Mrs Rodwell, before we have to get up and face the day . . .’

‘Hello, Dad,’ Fleur said softly, leaning on the top of the bottom half of the cowshed door. ‘I thought I’d find you here.’

Jake straightened up from the milking stool. ‘Fleur, love.’ His smile was warm and loving. He picked up the bucket of milk and came towards her. ‘Good to see you.’ He looked into her eyes. ‘I don’t need to ask if everything’s all right. I can see it is.’

‘Oh, Dad, if only it wasn’t for this wretched war, then life would be perfect.’

‘Aye,’ Jake’s face clouded. ‘Aye, it would.’

‘But then, if it hadn’t been for the war, I might not have met Robbie.’

‘True, true,’ Jake murmured absently.

Fleur glanced behind him into the shadows of the cowshed. ‘Where’s Kenny? Isn’t he here? Helping you with the milking?’

Jake shook his head. Fleur searched his face. ‘What is it, Dad? What’s wrong?’

‘He’s gone. Kenny’s gone.’

‘Gone? Gone where?’

‘Into the RAF. Seems he volunteered a while back and he got his papers the day before yesterday and off he went.’

‘But . . . but . . . he’s not old enough. He’s not even eighteen yet.’

Jake shrugged. ‘He is next month. Seems it doesn’t matter. He’s in and that’s all he cares about.’

There was a pause before Fleur said, ‘He’d’ve been better in the army. Maybe they wouldn’t send him abroad straight away, but the RAF. I mean once he’s done his training he – they . . .’

‘I thought it was the army he wanted too. It was – at first. But it seems . . . it seems as if he was influenced by – by . . .’ His voice fell away as if he couldn’t bring himself to say any more.

‘By Robbie, you mean,’ Fleur whispered.

Her father nodded. They stood awkwardly for a moment, neither knowing what to say. At last Jake said haltingly, ‘You’d best go in. See yer mother.’

‘No, no, I’ll help you finish here.’

‘You’ll get yerself mucky,’ he said, glancing at her uniform.

She pulled in a deep breath. ‘Then I’ll go in and find some old clothes. Unless, of course, Mum’s thrown them all out.’

‘No, no.’ Jake sighed. ‘Your room’s just as you left it.’

‘I won’t be a mo, then.’

‘Fleur—’ Jake began but she was gone, running across the yard towards the back door. As she stepped into the scullery, her mother looked up from the sink.

‘Oh, it’s you. Well, I hope you’re satisfied. He’s gone. Joined the wonderful RAF.’

‘Mum – I’m sorry. But it’s not all my fault. He was determined to join up somehow.’

‘It’s your fault he’s joined the RAF, though. Yours and – and
his.’

Stung to retort, Fleur snapped. ‘His name’s Robbie.’

‘Oh yes, I know what his name is all right. And his bloody mother’s. Oh, I know
her
name all right. As if I could ever forget it. I wish to God I could.’ Betsy slammed down the plate she was washing onto the wooden draining board with such force that it cracked in two. ‘Now look what you’ve made me do. I’ve broken one of me best plates.’

‘Mum,’ Fleur said tiredly. ‘Won’t you tell me what all this is about? Don’t you think we have a right to know? What has Robbie done for you to hate him so? You don’t even know him.’

Betsy didn’t answer but picked up the shattered pieces and dropped them into a bin at the side of the sink. ‘It’s not him. It’s his mother.’

‘Then why take it out on Robbie if it’s not his fault?’

Betsy glared at her and avoided answering. Instead, she asked another question. ‘Were they together at the wedding?’

Fleur frowned. ‘Who? Robbie and his mother?’

Betsy gave a tut of exasperation. ‘Your dad and her?’

Fleur blinked. ‘Well – yes – they talked.’

Betsy held Fleur’s gaze, as if daring her to look away. Fleur stared back boldly but her heart was thumping madly. She didn’t want to lie to her mother, but neither did she want to admit that her father and Robbie’s mother had stood close together holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes.

‘Did they – did they go off together?’

Her heart rate slowed a little. ‘Go off together? Of course not.’

‘Hm.’ Betsy sounded doubtful. She folded her arms in front of her and stepped closer to Fleur. ‘Tell me – and I want the truth mind – did your father wipe your face with his handkerchief?’

Fleur gaped. ‘Wipe my face? I don’t know what you mean.’

‘There was a woman’s make-up on his handkerchief. He said it was yours. That . . . that you’d shed a few tears and he’d mopped your face. Is that true?’

Fleur’s gaze didn’t flicker, but she felt her heart begin to pound again. Slowly, she nodded. ‘Yes, yes, he did. When he first got to the house. He was late and I thought he wasn’t coming . . .’ Her voice trailed away and she held her breath. Was her mother going to believe her? It was true she’d cried. It was true that someone had dabbed her face with a hanky. But that someone had been Ruth – not Jake.

After a moment, Betsy nodded. ‘Very well then. But they did meet and they did talk?’

Fleur forced a laugh. ‘Well, yes, of course they did. They could hardly avoid each other, now could they? But it was only at the pub afterwards and—’

‘But you weren’t there all the time, were you? You went off on your honeymoon. You don’t know what happened after that, do you?’

‘Well, no, but Kenny was still there.’

‘Oh yes, Kenny. But he was so taken up with this . . . this Ruth that he wouldn’t see what was going on under his nose.’

‘Ruth had to go back to camp straight after we left. Kenny wouldn’t have wanted to stay on then.’

‘Oh.’ Betsy was thoughtful for a moment then she turned away. ‘Anyway, what have you come for?’

‘I came to see if I could put matters right between you and me, Mum.’

‘Well, I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted journey. While you’re married to that lad and seeing his mother, I don’t want owt to do with you. And now Kenny’s gone . . .’ She left the accusation hanging in the air.

‘Then I’m sorry, Mum, very sorry. But I love Robbie and he loves me and if no one will tell us what this . . . this feud is all about, then there’s nothing either of us can do. And I’m sorry about Kenny too. He would have gone somewhere – the army or somewhere – but yes, I agree, it is my fault he chose the RAF and I’m just going to have to live with that, aren’t I?’ Then she turned and fled upstairs, rushed into her old room and slammed the door behind her, leaning against it. She closed her eyes and groaned. Now she had two people she loved to worry about. Robbie – and Kenny too.

Ruth’s reaction to Fleur’s news that Kenny had joined the RAF was predictable.

‘Stupid little bugger,’ she railed. ‘Why on earth didn’t he stay out of it? He’d got the chance living on a farm and being in a reserved occupation. All quite above board. Why on earth does he want to play the hero?’

‘Mum says it’s all my fault. Because I joined up, he doesn’t want to be left behind and have everyone thinking him a coward.’

Ruth let out a very unladylike snort. ‘No one’s going to think that. At least, not anyone with any sense.’

There was a pause before Fleur asked gently, ‘Then why did you join the WAAF? You could have done your bit some other way – in a factory or something.’

‘ ’Cos I was just as stupid when it all began. Fighting for my country and all that tosh.’

‘So you wouldn’t mind if Hitler walked in then?’ Fleur said with deceptive mildness.

Ruth sighed heavily, her anger dying. ‘Yes, of course I would. Oh, I know we’ve got to stop him. I know we’ve got to stop him coming here and we’ve got to help all these other poor folk he’s already trampling over, but . . . but – oh, Fleur – you should understand if anyone does – what with Robbie and now Kenny too in danger every day.’

‘Oh, I do,’ Fleur said grimly, thinking of the sleepless nights she was having even when she wasn’t on duty. The only time she felt at peace was when Robbie was lying beside her. But even that was spoilt because now she had Kenny to worry about. She didn’t even know where he was or what he was doing. She didn’t know which was the worst: knowing – or not knowing.

‘I’m sorry.’ Ruth put her arms around Fleur. ‘It must be awful for you. And with your mum making it worse by blaming you. How’s your dad taking it?’

‘He’s worried. Naturally.’

‘But – but does he blame you?’

‘I don’t know. He hasn’t said except to say that Kenny had joined the RAF because of Robbie. He’d never say outright, but . . . but maybe deep down . . .’

Ruth hugged her harder. ‘Come on, girl. Chin up. Let’s just pray they’ll both stay safe, eh?’

Fleur rested her face against Ruth’s shoulders and screwed up her eyes, trying to stem the tears.

She’d pray all right. Oh, how she would pray. But it was a lot to ask.

Towards the end of March, the RAF began a round-the-clock bombing campaign against the German arms’ factories. Night after night the airmen at Wickerton Wood and their new Lancasters were involved, often escorted by Spitfires.

On a rare night off Fleur and Robbie spent the time at Mrs Jackson’s cottage. Flying was still going on, so Ruth was on duty.

Robbie lay back on the bed, still in his uniform, his tie loosened, his hair ruffled. He closed his eyes with a weary sigh. ‘Oh, Fleur, when is it all going to end and we can find our own little cottage with roses round the door and an apple tree we can sit under to watch the sunsets?’

She sat on the bed beside him, took his hand and kissed each finger. ‘I don’t know, but we’re all doing our best to end it quickly. You especially.’

‘But the end’s nowhere in sight. At least, it doesn’t seem to be. Two and a half years and we don’t seem any nearer. In fact, it just seems to have got worse. What with Japan and America in it too now. Oh, darling, I just feel so . . . so tired. I . . .’

Fleur leant forward to kiss him, but then she hesitated. Robbie was asleep. She put the eiderdown over him and then undressed quietly and slipped into the bed beside him. But sleep evaded her.

She was worried. She had never heard Robbie talk like that. With a defeated air. He was always so positive with a ‘get up and get at ’em’ attitude. But tonight he’d seemed – well – beaten.

He’s just so tired, she thought. He’ll be all right tomorrow. And tomorrow, she reminded herself, is his very last mission. The four men from the original crew would have completed a full tour of duty and deserved a well-earned break. But one worry ate away at her. With the newly formed crews, would they want to break them up? Would they make Tommy and the other three carry on? She wasn’t sure of regulations and Robbie refused to discuss it. It was as if he was superstitious about discussing the elusive thirtieth op. Only very few aircrews survived to even reach it and to mention it seemed like tempting fate . . .

The following morning, they rose late and ate a leisurely breakfast, which Fleur had gone downstairs in her dressing gown to bring up to their room.

They set the tray aside and Fleur climbed back into the bed.

‘Feel better this morning?’ she whispered.

‘Yes. I’m sorry about last night. I don’t know what got into me.’

She stroked his hair. ‘You’re tired. You’re all tired. But only one more mission tonight and then . . .’

‘I know. Maybe that’s what’s getting to me. What’ll happen then, d’you think? D’you think we might get split up? Posted, even?’