Wish Me Luck (43 page)

She let her hand sink back down to rest on her lap, but she just continued to stare at the cross on the altar. Still she did not answer him.

‘Would you like us to pray together?’

Still, there was silence until, haltingly, Fleur spoke in a hoarse whisper. ‘I have no right to pray.’

She held her breath, expecting him to come out with some trite remark. To her surprise, he just said, ‘Why?’

Another long silence before she dragged out the words. ‘Because . . . I tried . . . to bargain with God. And lost.’

‘Ah.’ The sound held a wealth of understanding and sympathy. Fleur turned her head slowly and looked at the man for the first time.

He was small and white haired with a kind face. She could imagine that normally his face would be wreathed in smiles, that he would have a lively, almost saucy sense of humour, but at the moment, the lines on his face drooped with sadness. ‘Would you like to tell me about it, my dear? Perhaps I can help.’

‘No offence, Vicar, but I doubt it.’

‘Try me anyway.’

Several minutes passed before Fleur could bring herself to speak. At first the words came slowly and then faster and finally in a flood as she poured out her anguish.

‘My husband – we’d only been married a few months – was posted missing, presumed killed.’

‘Oh, my dear, I’m sorry—’

‘No – no – he’s come back. That’s the trouble, you see.’

The man was naturally puzzled. Fleur rushed on trying to explain in short, staccato phrases. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not explaining this very well. We met by accident. On a railway station. In the blackout. We didn’t know it then, but our parents – well, my parents and his mother – had known each other years ago. There were – well – complications, and when my mother found out who he was she refused to meet him. Refused to let him come to our home. She . . . she didn’t even come to our wedding. And then . . . and then there was my brother, Kenny.’

Fresh tears welled in her eyes. ‘He was younger than me. When I joined the WAAFs, he made up his mind he was going to volunteer too. As soon as he was old enough. And . . . and he did.’

‘Why do you say “volunteer”? He’d’ve been called up sooner or later.’

Fleur shook her head. ‘We live on a farm.’

‘Ah,’ the vicar said, understanding at once. There was no need for her to say more.

For a moment, Fleur covered her face with her hands. Then she straightened up, brushed away her tears, sniffed and went on. ‘When my husband was posted missing, I prayed. Oh, how I prayed. And . . . and that’s where I made my mistake. You see, I said, “I’ll give anything if only You’ll let him be alive.” And now . . . now He’s given Robbie back to me but . . . but He . . . He’s taken my brother in Robbie’s place. Kenny’s plane crashed while he was training. He never even got to fight the enemy. And that was what he wanted to do most of all. He wanted to help save his country.’

The older man laid his hand gently on her shoulder and said softly, ‘That’s not how the good Lord works, my dear. We’ve all, in our time, been guilty of doing exactly what you’ve done. Promising anything so that we get what we want. God hears, He listens – but do you really think He’s going to take a scrap of notice of our – well, as you put it – “bargaining” with Him? I think not.’

‘I feel as if I’m being punished.’

‘No, no, you shouldn’t feel that. You really shouldn’t. God has His reasons.’

‘What reasons? How can there be a God when all this is happening? How can He let it happen? All these young men – a whole generation – being wiped out. Again. Just like the last terrible war. Why?’

‘Don’t you think we all ask that? But I see it as a test. A test of our faith.’

‘Huh! Some test!’

‘I know, I know. That’s why it’s called “faith”. We have to believe without question, without being given answers or reasons why things happen. We just have to put our trust in God. And you see, to God, your brother isn’t dead. None of these brave young men are. They’re in a far better place than we are right now. In the arms of Jesus.’ He paused a moment, before asking quietly, ‘Do you believe that?’

‘I . . . I’d like to, but it’s hard.’

‘Oh yes.’ The vicar gave a wry laugh. ‘It’s hard. I’ll grant you that. I have to admit, I sometimes feel weighed down with all the suffering and heartache I see every day. I’ve railed against Him, but somehow He keeps sending me the strength to carry on giving comfort where I can.’

‘My mother blames me for Kenny joining up,’ Fleur burst out. ‘She’ll never forgive me. She . . . she says she doesn’t want to see me ever again.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he said and Fleur marvelled that, yet again, he didn’t make any kind of trite remark, saying that given time she would come round. Slowly, Fleur turned to face him. ‘You’ve been very kind and understanding,’ she said and added simply, ‘thank you.’

‘Would you like to pray with me now?’

Fleur nodded and together they slipped to their knees. The vicar began to speak in a soft, deep tone, making up the words of a prayer to suit. He asked for forgiveness and understanding for Fleur in her sorrow and for reassurance that she bore no blame. He prayed, too, for Fleur’s parents in their grief and especially for her mother who found her loss so hard to bear. He ended by inviting Fleur to join him in saying the Lord’s prayer.

As she left the church a little later, Fleur was surprised to find she felt a great sense of calm settle on her. It would be some time before she would be able to forgive herself, but with the help of the kindly clergyman she had made a start.

‘Come back and see me any time, my dear. I’m always here.’

‘Thank you,’ she said and, as she walked away from him down the path, she was already giving thanks in her mind that she had met him.

As she entered the main gate, Ruth came rushing towards her. ‘I’ve been watching out for you. We’ve only just heard. Isn’t it wonderful? Everyone’s so delighted for you. And Kay. You must go and see her. She’s almost back to her old self. I think they’ll be letting her out of the hospital tomorrow. Have you seen him? How is he?’ Her face was wreathed in smiles, but then she became aware that Fleur’s face was not so joyous. ‘What is it? Is he badly hurt?’

Fleur shook her head. Flatly, with no hint of the turmoil of emotion inside her that she was trying, desperately, to hold in, she said, ‘No. Only a broken leg. Once that’s mended, he – he’ll be back.’

Ruth blinked, staring at her friend’s face. Then, slowly, thinking she understood, she nodded. ‘Oh, I see. Once he’s well, he’ll be flying again. Is that it?’

Fleur lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug. ‘Partly, I suppose.’

Ruth stepped closer and put her arm around Fleur’s shoulder. ‘It’s more than that. I can see it is. Fleur, tell me what’s wrong?’

Slowly, Fleur looked up into her friend’s eyes. Hesitantly, she dragged out the words she had prayed never to have to speak. ‘It . . . it’s Kenny.’

Close to her, she heard Ruth’s sharp intake of breath, saw her eyes widen in shock and fear. ‘Kenny? Oh no!’ She shook her head, refusing to believe it. ‘Oh no! Not Kenny.’

‘He crashed while training. In
training,
Ruth. How unfair is that?’

‘Silly bugger!’ Ruth muttered, but her eyes filled with tears. ‘The stupid, stupid bugger.’

Her arm dropped from around Fleur. Her head lowered and she covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking. Now it was Fleur who comforted Ruth.

‘I knew I shouldn’t do it,’ Ruth wailed.

‘Do what?’ Fleur asked gently.

‘Let myself like him. I put a jinx on people.’ She let her hands fall away and raised her head. Her face was wet with tears. ‘Oh, Fleur,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so sorry. It . . . it’s all my fault.’

Despite her misery, Fleur smiled a little. ‘Darling Ruth, if anyone’s to blame, it’s me. He joined up because I had. That’s what my mother thinks. And, of course, I blame myself too.’

Ruth wiped her face with a quick, fierce action. ‘It’s this bloody war that’s to blame. Nothing – and no one – else. Not you, not me. Just the war.’

‘You’re right. It’s not our fault.’ Fleur sighed and murmured, ‘But I can’t help feeling so guilty.’

Ruth, a little more in control of herself, said, ‘You ought to ask for compassionate leave. You ought to go home to be with your mam and dad.’

Fleur shook her head sadly. ‘I’ve been. Mum’s more or less told me not to bother going home again. Besides, I reckon I’ve used up all my leave on compassionate grounds. Ma’am’s been very good, but just about everyone on camp has a good reason for asking for leave. I can’t expect any more for a while now.’

‘But what about Robbie? Won’t they let you go and see him?’

‘I doubt it. But d’you know something, Ruth? I don’t mind going weeks without seeing him, if it means keeping him out of this war for a while longer.’

Ruth pursed her lips and nodded. ‘Well, I’m with you there.’

They walked slowly towards the WAAF quarters. ‘Tell me what happened to Robbie,’ Ruth asked. ‘All we know is that they were picked up by the lifeboat and all the crew are safe, though there are a few injuries between them.’

Swiftly, Fleur told her all that Robbie knew. ‘He said it was all down to the skill of their skipper. But for Tommy, none of them would be here.’

Ruth smiled. ‘Yeah. Tommy’s a great bloke. All of them are. I’m so glad they’re all safe.’ Her voice petered out and they were silent, both with their own thoughts of Kenny, the one they had both cared for. The one who hadn’t come back.

Fleur was wrong about having used up her entitlement to compassionate leave. Two days after her return to camp, she was summoned to see the WAAF commanding officer.

‘I’m glad to hear your husband is alive, but I understand you have suffered the loss of a near relative. Your brother?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Fleur answered quietly.

‘I’m surprised you haven’t requested leave to go home.’

‘I—’ Fleur began and then faltered. She was about to admit that she believed she wasn’t wanted at home. She bit her lip and then altered what she had been about to say. ‘I thought – I mean – I didn’t think I’d be entitled to any more. Not for a while, ma’am.’

Caroline Davidson looked down at the papers on her desk, appearing to consult them. ‘Your friend, Morrison, has offered to cover your duties. She was trained in R/T work before remustering to become an intelligence officer. She feels – though she has not betrayed your confidence – that there are special circumstances in your case why a further period of compassionate leave should be granted to you.’ She looked up again, her clear blue eyes boring into Fleur’s. ‘I expect your parents would welcome your support at this time?’

Fleur licked her lips. Her heart was beating painfully. She didn’t like telling lies, yet if she agreed with her superior and was granted extra leave, she could go to see Robbie. Even if she was found out and punished, it would be worth it for a few extra precious hours with him.

Concentrating on her father’s feelings rather than her mother’s, Fleur was able to say truthfully, ‘Yes, ma’am, I’m sure they would.’

Caroline leant back in her chair and smiled, her blue eyes twinkling with a sudden mischief. ‘And, of course, if your transport arrangements should have to take you via Nottingham . . .’

Fleur stared at her for a moment, speechless. Really, she was thinking, sometimes their superior officers were capable of showing their human side.

Caroline straightened up and shuffled the papers on her desk with a brisk, businesslike movement. ‘I can’t let you go for a couple of weeks, I’m afraid. The forecasters think we’re in for a spell of good weather and you know what that means.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘So – we’ll see in a couple of weeks’ time. Come and see me then.’

‘Thank you, ma’am.’ Fleur saluted smartly and left the office, still unable to believe her luck. But, she realized, it wasn’t so much down to luck as to her friend, Ruth. She went to find her to tell her what had transpired. Ruth listened with a wide grin on her face, particularly when Fleur reached the part about the transport arrangements.

‘She’s a nice old stick, really, though she can be a tartar if you kick over the traces.’

‘Old stick!’ Fleur laughed. ‘She can’t be much older than us.’

Ruth wrinkled her brow. ‘No, I suppose not when you think about it. I expect it’s just her rank that makes you think she must be as old as the hills.’

They laughed together and then Ruth’s smile faded. She eyed her friend keenly as she said, ‘Er, we’re not on duty until six. I – um – reckon we ought to cycle out to Mrs Jackson’s . . .’

Before she had finished speaking, Fleur was shaking her head. ‘Oh no, I can’t face her. Not yet. She was ever so fond of Kenny . . .’

‘I know,’ Ruth said softly and touched Fleur’s arm. ‘All the more reason why we should go and see her. And old Harry. If they’ve heard, they’ll wonder why we haven’t been to see them. And if they haven’t been told, then . . . then it’s us that ought to tell them.’

Fleur sighed deeply. ‘You’re right. I know you’re right. It’s just – just . . .’

‘I know, I know,’ Ruth said softly. ‘But we’ll go together. I’ll be with you.’