Wish Me Luck (42 page)

‘Aye well, there’s plenty to do in yon garden.’ He jabbed towards the window with his pipe. ‘There’s a lot of planting to do and there’s always hoeing needed. Weeds grow as fast as the plants, ya know.’

‘Faster, if you ask me.’ Fleur managed to raise a smile. ‘But I’ll be here.’ Already she was looking forward to the peace and quiet of working alone in the garden. Of sitting under the apple tree – her quiet time to think about Robbie.

Fleur hesitated outside the door, not really wanting to come face to face with Robbie’s mother. Meg had seemed so strong when she’d seen her immediately after it had happened. But she’d seen now at first hand how easy it was for a seemingly strong person to crack. Who’d have thought Kay would be the one to end up a quivering wreck? Thankfully, she was already beginning to recover and, much to Fleur’s embarrassment, was telling everyone how Fleur had saved her life.

Fleur took a deep breath and raised her hand, but before she could knock the door flew open and Meg was standing there, her face wreathed in smiles.

‘Fleur! How lovely to see you. Come in, come in.’ Meg reached out, grasped her arm and almost hauled her inside.

Fleur stared at her, anger welling up inside her. Well, she thought, it hasn’t taken you long to get over your son’s death. How can you be so cheerful? How can you be carrying on with your life as though nothing has happened?

‘You got my message then?’ Meg said as Fleur stepped into the cluttered front room and followed Meg’s trim figure through to the back.

‘Message? What message? No, I didn’t get any message. All the lines have been down. We had an air raid the day before yesterday. No, I just came because . . .’

But Meg didn’t seem to be listening. She was flinging open the door leading from the front room into the kitchen and announcing Fleur’s arrival with a flourish and a beaming smile. ‘Just look who’s here . . .’

Perhaps she thinks I’m going to help raise the old man’s spirits, Fleur thought. That’s what all her cheerfulness is for. To try and buoy the old man up. Fleur tried to force a tremulous smile onto her mouth as she took a step forward past Meg and into the room.

The old man was indeed sitting in his usual chair, but there was someone else sitting in the chair on the opposite side of the hearth. Suddenly, the whole room seemed to spin. She swayed and clutched at the door-jamb. She felt the colour drain from her face and her legs felt as if they would no longer support her.

‘Catch her, Ma. She’s going to pass out. Damn this bloody leg . . .’

Fleur felt Meg’s strong arms about her as she helped her to a chair near the fire. ‘I’ll get her some water . . .’ were the last words Fleur heard Meg saying before everything went black.

Someone was bending over her and holding a glass to her lips. She opened her eyes and tried to focus on the beloved face close to her.

‘She’s coming round.’

Fleur felt clammy and cold and still dizzy, but she murmured, ‘I’m all right now. It was just such a shock. I thought . . . I thought—’ She reached up and touched Robbie’s face, still unable to believe that he was really here. Her prayers had been answered. Robbie was alive and smiling down at her. ‘I mean, I was told your plane went down in the sea.’

‘It did.’ Robbie was grinning at her. ‘Hence this.’ He tapped the plaster cast on his right leg.

‘But no one saw a parachute.’

‘No time. We were too near the water. But thanks to a brilliant bit of flying by our skipper, who managed some sort of belly flop with the plane – God knows how he did it – we all got out. We were picked up by the local lifeboat and here I am.’

‘Yes,’ Fleur said, grinning stupidly up at him. ‘Here you are.’

Then she promptly burst into tears and clung to him, burying her face against him.

The rest of the afternoon was spent with laughter and tears, hugs and kisses. Tactfully, Meg left them alone with the excuse that she had a dress hem to finish.

‘Now, come along, Dad. You can sit in the front room with me for a while. Let’s leave these two young ones alone.’

Fleur watched as Meg helped her father to his feet and steadied him as he shuffled into the next room. ‘Don’t go without saying ta-ta to me, will you, lass?’ he said in a quavering voice.

‘I won’t,’ Fleur promised, a lump in her throat as she watched Meg’s patient tenderness with the frail old man. Then she turned back to Robbie, still unable to believe the miracle that had really happened. ‘Are you really all safe? Tommy too?’

‘Yes, all of us. But, like I said, without Tommy’s brilliant flying, we probably wouldn’t be.’

‘Oh, I can’t wait to tell Kay.’ Then she told him all about the air raid and Kay, and then for the rest of the afternoon they thought about no one else but themselves . . .

At five o’clock Fleur said reluctantly, ‘I must go.’

‘Darling, I wish I could come with you.’ He grinned. ‘But I really can’t hop as far as the station and back – even on my crutches.’

‘I’ll be all right.’

‘Just so long’ – he tapped her playfully on the nose – ‘as you don’t let any strange young RAF types pick you up. Just remember, you’re a married woman now.’

She wrapped her arms around him and held him close. ‘I won’t. I’ve got the only RAF type I want. And I’ll come as often as I can. Are you staying here until your leg’s healed?’

‘I think so. They couldn’t wait to ship me out of hospital as soon as they could. They needed the bed. Oh, darling.’ His face sobered. ‘I’m so sorry you’ve been worried. I can’t understand why word didn’t get through from Bournemouth.’

‘Is that where you were? Bournemouth? Isn’t that odd?’ she murmured. ‘Kenny’s down south somewhere now.’

‘Is he? Is he all right?’

‘I hope so. He’ll have started his flying training by now. He was so excited. Couldn’t wait to start flying. Can’t wait to get into the thick of it.’

‘I hope he’ll be all right,’ Robbie said.

‘I don’t expect it’s so bad for the fighter boys, is it? Not now? I mean – they did their bit in the Battle of Britain.’

Robbie smiled thinly and nodded. He couldn’t bring himself to disillusion her. That every day the fighter boys were in the air attacking incoming enemy bombers, trying to stop them reaching their targets.

Maybe Fleur hadn’t heard the latest news and he didn’t want to be the one to tell her. Hitler had issued orders for his air force to begin a series of attacks upon British cities. Exeter, Bath, Norwich and York had been targeted already and Robbie feared the German leader would turn his attention to the industrial cities of the Midlands next. But he said nothing of this to Fleur. Instead he said, ‘I still can’t understand why word didn’t get through to you that we were all safe. I mean, I wrote to you from there myself, let alone the fact that the War Office should have let them know at Wickerton that all the crew were safe. I can’t understand it at all. I think it must be something to do with the telephone lines being down. I tried to phone Mr Tomkins at the shop to let Ma know as soon as I could hop around again.’ He tapped his leg again. ‘And I tried ringing camp. But I couldn’t get through to either of you.’

‘Well, the lines are certainly all down now – since the raid. That is a fact.’

‘And there I was thinking you were safe and sound.’ He held her close. ‘Oh, darling, do be careful.’

‘I will,’ she promised as she kissed him again and again, loathe to leave him. ‘But I must go. I must go to Middleditch Farm. Dad will be so pleased to hear you’re safe. And I must get back to camp first thing tomorrow morning.’

‘Oh, I don’t want to let you go,’ he said, hugging her tightly to him as they stood at the front door saying their goodbyes. She laughed as she prised herself free and, planting a last kiss on his nose, began to run up the street, turning to wave once more before she turned the corner.

The house at Middleditch Farm was strangely quiet as she entered by the back door. The scullery was deserted, but as she stepped into the kitchen she saw her mother sitting motionless in the chair by the range, her head resting on her hand.

‘Mum?’

Slowly, Betsy raised her head and stared for a moment at her daughter. Then with a low sound in her throat that sounded almost like a growl, she said, ‘Get out! Get out of this house and don’t ever come back.’ Then she grasped the arms of the chair and pushed herself up. ‘Don’t ever show your face here again.’

‘Mum—’

‘Don’t “Mum” me. You’re no daughter of mine. I have no daughter. It’s all your fault. He’s gone because of you. My Kenny’s gone. And it’s your fault. All your fault.’

‘Mum – I know he’s gone. But he’ll be all right. It’s not like before when the fighter boys—’

‘What d’you mean “He’ll be all right”? He’s gone, I tell you. Dead. Killed. His plane crashed when he was training. In
training
! He didn’t even get to fly a Spitfire like he wanted.’ Betsy shook her fist in Fleur’s face. ‘He’s dead – and all because of you.’

For the second time that day, Fleur felt her legs give way beneath her. She felt as if the breath had been knocked from her body. The room swirled around her and she staggered forward towards her father’s chair. She sank down weakly, blinking and taking short, panting breaths, trying desperately not to pass out again.

‘Oh no – no, you can’t mean it. Not Kenny. Not my . . . little . . . brother.’ The heartrending sobs came then, flooding out of her. She was shaking, feeling cold, so very cold.

Yes, her mother was right. It was all her fault. Kenny had only joined the forces because she had done so. He hadn’t wanted to be outdone by his sister. But there was worse than that. Much worse than even her mother knew. Fleur had tried to bargain with God. What was it she had said? ‘I’ll give anything, if only You’ll let him be alive.’ So now, Kenny had been taken in his place.

Fleur was beside herself with anguish. From the heights of joy that Robbie was alive, she was plunged once more into the depths of despair. Her grief was a physical pain. She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked to and fro in the chair, sobbing in agony.

‘Oh aye, you can shed tears now, can’t you? Why didn’t you think of that before? Why didn’t you stop him going? Why did you ever—?’

‘I did. I tried. I begged him not to go,’ Fleur screamed. ‘He’d’ve gone anyway, whatever I’d said or done.’

Neither of them heard the back door open and close, but suddenly Jake was in the room and hurrying towards Fleur. He knelt beside her chair and put his arms about her. Fleur hid her face against his shoulder, the sobs still racking her body.

‘That’s right. You comfort her. You comfort each other. But who’s going to comfort me?’

Jake looked up at his wife, his own eyes bleak with suffering, his face ravaged with loss. ‘Fleur’s had a double loss, Betsy love,’ he said gently. ‘First Robbie and now this. Can’t you – just for once – feel for her?’

Betsy stared at them both for a moment, but instead of turning and running up the stairs as she usually did, she sank back wearily into her chair as if utterly defeated, without the will or the strength to argue any more.

Fleur raised her head slowly and whispered, ‘No, Dad. That’s . . . that’s what I came home to tell you. Robbie’s turned up. He’s alive. The pilot managed to ditch the plane in the sea, just off our coast and . . . and they all got out. He’s got a broken leg but—’

Betsy lay back in her chair and began to laugh and cry hysterically. ‘Oh, that’s good, that is. Her son is saved. It’d have to be
her
son that was saved, wouldn’t it?’

Jake and Fleur stared at her, helpless to do or say anything.

Early the following morning, before either of her parents were up, Fleur slipped away from Middleditch Farm. She hitched a lift into the town with an early milk lorry, but before going to the station Fleur slipped into the church in South Monkford. She sat down in a pew near the front and laid her cap, gas mask and bag on the seat beside her. She sat for a long time, just staring ahead at the altar. The tears ran silently down her face and she didn’t even bother to wipe them away. She didn’t pray. She didn’t know how to now. She couldn’t even bring herself to give thanks for Robbie’s safe return. She didn’t know what to say. Not now.

A man came out of the vestry. He crossed to the centre of the chancel, bowed to the altar and then turned and came down the steps towards her. He was dressed in a lounge suit, but in place of a shirt and tie he was wearing the collar of a clergyman. He wasn’t the vicar she’d known since childhood: this man was a stranger. Old Revd Pennyfeather must have retired, she thought vaguely, but her mind was too numbed to even want to ask. The man hovered for a moment at the end of the pew where she was sitting. Then he sat down beside her, following the line of her gaze for a moment and staring, too, at the brass cross on the altar.

‘You know it’s a terrible thing to admit, but I really don’t know what to say to people any more.’

Fleur said nothing.

He turned his head slightly to glance at her. ‘But the good Lord will—’

Fleur held up her hand to silence him, but still she did not speak.

‘Would you . . . like to tell me what’s troubling you?’