Blackbirds (23 page)
Sharon felt absolutely knackered
as she sagged into the wing-backed chair that took up much of the sitting room. She loosened the towel wrapped turban-like around her head and began rubbing her hair dry. She looked at the letters staring back at her from the ottoman. It was the same unnaturally hideous floral print she was sitting on. “I'd better get through these before I go to bed.” She opened Sean's letter first.
DEAR SHARON,
HONEYSUCKLE SAYS I HAVE TO WRITE YOU A LETTER EVERY DAY. SAYS IT'S PART OF MY EDUCATION.
LINDA SAYS I HAVE TO WRITE YOU EVERY DAY BECAUSE YOU'RE MY SISTER, AND WE NEED TO GET ACQUAINTED (I WAS A LITTLE FOGGY ON HOW TO SPELL THAT WORD, SO SHE SPELLED IT OUT FOR ME).
LINDA SAYS YOU CAN'T GET UP HERE VERY OFTEN BECAUSE THERE IS A MAJOR BATTLE GOING ON. WELL? IS THERE A BATTLE GOING ON?
THE BBC SAYS THE NAZIS ARE ATTACKING THE AIRFIELDS, AND THAT THE
RAF
IS SHOOTING DOWN LOADS OF JERRIES. HAVE YOU SHOT DOWN ANY MORE? I KNOW YOU PROMISED YOU'D STAY AWAY FROM THAT, BUT I THOUGHT MAYBE YOU HAD TO DEFEND YOURSELF WHEN A SWARM OF MESSERSCHMITTS ATTACKED YOU, AND YOU HAD NO OTHER CHOICE BUT TO FIGHT FOR YOUR LIFE.
LINDA AND HONEYSUCKLE ARE WORRIED ABOUT SOMETHING. THEY TELL ME NOTHING IS WRONG, BUT I CAN TELL. IT'S SOMETHING ABOUT MICHAEL, BECAUSE WHEN I ASK, THEY GET TEARS IN THEIR EYES.
THIS IS MY FIRST LETTER, SO YOU SHOULD EXPECT ONE A DAY FROM NOW ON.
YOURS TRULY,
SEAN
Sharon reached for the next letter.
Let's see what Mr. McGregor has to
say.
DEAR SHARON LACEY,
THIS LETTER IS TO INFORM YOU THAT ALL RELEVANT DOCUMENTS HAVE ARRIVED AT THIS OFFICE.
AT THIS MOMENT, THE PROCESS WILL BEGIN TO HAVE YOU DECLARED LESLIE LACEY'S LEGAL HEIR AND, THEREFORE, ENTITLED TO HER INHERITANCE.
YOU WILL BE ADVISED OF FURTHER DEVELOPMENTS AS THEY OCCUR.
YOURS SINCERELY,
WALTER MCGREGOR, QC
Sharon looked at the nightstand. Her mother's letters lay there, still neatly tied with a ribbon â the letters Honeysuckle had given Sharon. She reached over and took the packet. She held them up to her nose, hoping to catch her mother's scent. Nothing.
She flipped through the letters until she got to the most recent one. She tore open the envelope, pulled out the letter, held it close to her nose, and inhaled. There was the faintest scent of her mother's lavender perfume and the musty scent of smoke from her cigarettes.
DEAR HONEYSUCKLE,
I FEAR I AM ABOUT TO IMPOSE UPON OUR FRIENDSHIP ONCE AGAIN, AND, I BELIEVE, FOR THE LAST TIME.
I HAVE WRITTEN OFTEN AND AT GREAT LENGTH ABOUT SHARON. BY NOW, YOU MUST FEEL AS IF YOU KNOW HER ALMOST AS WELL AS IF SHE WERE YOUR DAUGHTER.
AFTER I AM DEAD, IT IS CLEAR TO ME THAT SHARON WILL TRAVEL TO ENGLAND TO VISIT MY FAMILY. SHE HAS ALSO EXPRESSED A DESIRE TO MEET HER FATHER. SHARON OFTEN SPOKE OF HER WISH THAT WE SHOULD VISIT ENGLAND BEFORE I BECAME ILL. SINCE THEN, SHE HAS NOT MENTIONED IT AGAIN. I AM CERTAIN THAT ONCE I AM GONE, THIS WISH WILL BRING HER TO ENGLAND, AND, I AM HOPING, TO YOUR DOORSTEP.
AS YOU ARE AWARE, A MOTHER'S MAIN WORRY IS FOR THE SAFETY OF HER CHILD. WE BOTH KNOW ABOUT THE PROCLIVITIES OF MY BROTHER, MARMADUKE. PLEASE KEEP A CLOSE WATCH ON SHARON SHOULD SHE APPEAR AT THE ESTATE. I FEAR THAT MY BROTHER'S RUTHLESS NATURE WILL GET THE BETTER OF HIM SHOULD HE MEET HER AND DISCOVER WHO SHE IS. IT IS WITH THIS IN MIND THAT I'VE ENCOURAGED HER TO VISIT YOU AND YOUR FAMILY. MY DAUGHTER, I'M AFRAID, IS THE TYPE OF PERSON WHO WILL TRAVEL OVERSEAS DESPITE THE WORSENING SITUATION IN EUROPE.
SHARON IS AN ACCOMPLISHED PILOT. YOU'VE OFTEN SPOKEN OF YOUR DAUGHTER, LINDA, AND HER PLANS TO BECOME AN AVIATRIX. PERHAPS THE PAIR OF THEM WILL FIND SOME COMMON GROUND AS A RESULT OF THIS SHARED INTEREST.
HONEYSUCKLE, YOU HAVE BEEN A DEAR FRIEND DURING MY LIFETIME AND ESPECIALLY DURING THE PAST TWENTY YEARS SINCE I LEFT ENGLAND. OVER THAT TIME, I HAVE COME TO APPRECIATE YOUR KINDNESS AND YOUR STRENGTH. BESIDES LEAVING MY DAUGHTER BEHIND, MY OTHER GREAT REGRET IS THAT I WILL BE UNABLE TO SEE YOU AGAIN.
BE ADVISED THAT I HAVE MADE ARRANGEMENTS FOR A PACKAGE TO BE DELIVERED TO YOU.
SINCERELY YOURS,
LESLIE LACEY
Sharon folded up the three letters, returned them to their envelopes, and set them on the ottoman.
[ FRIDAY, AUGUST 30, 1940 ]
“Sorry, Sharon, the commandant says
no leaves are possible at this time.” Mother turned the side of his mouth up as he shrugged, as if to say,
There's nothing either of us can do.
Sharon felt like she'd been shot in the gut. “Not even for a day? I need to see him.”
“The commandant told me we can't spare a pilot right now because we have to keep the squadrons supplied with aircraft. When the Luftâwaffe stops attacking, then he can start handing out leaves.” Mother held his hands out front as if they could cool her anger.
“Shit!”
Mother handed her a chit. “A Hurricane for Coltishall.”
“Where the hell is that?” Sharon grabbed the chit and walked away.
Why are you so mad at him? It's not like he's handing out leaves.
“
Northeast of London. Close to Norwich,
”
Mother said.
Sharon was still fuming when she collected the new Hurricane from the factory. Its two-hundred-mile-an-hour cruising speed made the trip to Norwich in thirty minutes.
She only smiled after the fighter settled gently onto the grass.
A mechanic waved at her as she taxied closer to the hangars. She guided the aircraft onto a concrete apron and shut it down.
Sharon stepped out onto the wing and pulled off her flying helmet.
“Oi!” the mechanic said. “Can't say I've ever seen a woman flying a Hurricane before.”
Sharon glared at him.
A horizontal crease appeared between his black eyebrows and his black close-cropped hair. “Honestly, I meant nothin' by it.”
Sharon stepped off the trailing edge of the wing. “Forget it. It's me. I'm in a foul mood.”
“Don't see why you should be after a landing like that. Bloody smooth piece of work, that was.” The mechanic went to the tail and began to lift and push.
Don't take your foul mood out on him
. She ducked under the wing and pushed the leading edge as they guided the Hurricane back into the hangar.
“Thanks.” The mechanic took a couple of deep breaths. “I'd offer to shake your hand, but mine are. . .” He displayed his oil-stained hands to her and began to wipe them with a rag he pulled out of the back pocket of his coveralls.
Sharon heard the sound of uneven footfalls and creaking leather.
“Where the hell is the other Hurricane? I told Group I needed two!”
The mechanic blanched.
Sharon turned to face a squadron leader who stumped across the floor by swinging his legs around in a close approximation of walking. He stopped and stood there, his feet apart and his fists on his hips. “Well? Where the hell is the other one?”
“Just the one so far, sir.” The mechanic stood at attention.
The Squadron leader looked at Sharon. “Who the hell are you, somebody's girlfriend?”
“The pilot.” Sharon felt her face turning red, and smiled when she sensed a fight brewing.
“What's your name?”
Enough of this
. “Who the hell are you?”
The squadron leader turned his head to one side as though looking down a gun sight and glared at her. “Douglas Bader!”
“Sharon Lacey!” Sharon glared right back.
“Well, where is the other Hurricane?” Bader asked.
“How the hell would I know?” Sharon took a step forward and crossed her arms.
Bader threw his head back and laughed. The bellow filled the inside of the hangar.
The mechanic chuckled. To Sharon's ears, it sounded like nervous relief.
“You the same Sharon Lacey who shot down five in one day?” Bader asked.
Shit, everyone at an airfield seems to have heard about it.
“That's right.”
“Bloody marvelous! News travels fast around the squadrons when it comes to pilots and their scores. Your story in particular has lots of people wagging their tongues. The best I've ever done is two in one day. Join me for a cup of tea.”
“Make it coffee,” Sharon said.
“Have it your way! Come along, then.” Bader swung around and began clumping his way out of the hangar.
Sharon had to hurry to keep up.
“I saw you land. You've got the touch. Where are you from?” Bader asked.
“Canada.”
“Where in Canada?” He huffed as he hurried along.
“Calgary.”
Bader stopped and turned. “Same town Willie McKnight is from! He's a hell of a pilot, too!” He started up again and led the way to the canteen. As he walked through the open tent flap, he said, “A cup of coffee for Sharon here and tea for me.”
Within minutes, a group of pilots had gathered around Bader's table, and he was introducing Sharon. “Go on, tell them about how you downed five in one day,” Bader said.
Sharon looked at the coffee in her cup.
How the hell did I get myself
into this situation?
“I don't think anyone would be interested in that.”
Stan, another Canadian, said, “You thought wrong.”
So she told them the story.
Eric said, “You just lined them up and let the bullets fall into their cockpits?”
“Yes.” Sharon looked around the table, trying to gauge their reactions.
Bader shrugged. “Bloody hell.”
“Bloody good shooting,” Stan said.
“How come your face isn't in all of the papers like Douglas over here?” Eric asked.
“I don't want. . .”
Let me get a word in!
“Well?” Stan faced Bader.
Bader stood up, put his right foot on a chair, and pulled up his pant leg to reveal an artificial limb. “If you had two tin legs, then the newspapers would want to talk with you, too!”
Sharon found herself joining in on the laughter.
[ SATURDAY, AUGUST 31, 1940 ]
Mother stood outside of the door to the dispersal hut.
The evening light was pink. It accented his grey hair.
Sharon sat down and loosened her tie.
Six deliveries in one day. I'm beat.
Mother said, “
RAF
losses have been heavy today. I need a pilot with night flying experience to make a delivery. Two squadrons are in desperate need of replacement aircraft before tomorrow morning.”
“Do I have to wear a bloody tie?” Sharon asked.
Mother smiled. “Leave the tie. The Anson is waiting to take you to Castle Bromwich.”
“Where am I going after that?”
“Tangmere. You'll have an overnight stay and be picked up first thing in the morning.”
The sun was down when she took off from Castle Bromwich in a brand-spanking-new Spitfire. On takeoff, she caught the familiar scent of shit rising from the sewage pond at the end of the runway.
Within minutes, she reached two thousand feet, trimmed the aircraft, and headed south for the coast.
It was a clear night, and the stars seemed brighter due to the blackout.
She checked her watch, estimating her time to Tangmere, then looked out again. She recalled a summer night swim in a lake north of her home in Canada. The fear that something was lurking in the depths, stalking her from the shadows.
This isn't much like the nights
of flying back home
.
Keep your head on a swivel, clear your tail with a
quick turn to the right or left, then get back on course
.
She knew she was west of London, but could not see it until the searchlights sent ever-widening cones of light into the darkness. The anti-aircraft guns opened up, sending blazing rounds into the sky on her left.
It looks beautiful
. Then she remembered the people on the ground being bombed, and the bombers in the shadows desperately trying to avoid detection.
