Bluebirds (20 page)

One evening Pearl told their fortunes in the tea leaves. They had brewed up, as usual, boiling the kettle over the open lid of the hut stove. Pearl picked up Anne's mug when she had finished, swished the dregs round, turned it upside down to drain over her own, and then peered into it.

‘I see a dark stranger.'

‘What?'

‘A dark stranger, love. There, in your tea leaves. Plain as the nose on your face.'

Anne laughed. ‘Don't be silly, Pearl. You're just making it up.'

Pearl looked injured. ‘I'm bloody well not. I always used to read the leaves for people when I worked in the caff. An old gypsy woman taught me. She came in once out of the cold with that lucky white heather they sell, and I gave her a cup of char and a wad for nothing. She was a smelly old thing but I hadn't the heart to turf her out. She read my leaves and then showed me how it's done. As a sort of thank you.' Pearl tilted the mug a bit more and squinted at it. ‘He's definitely dark, duckie. And he'll come from across the seas. Fancy that! P'raps he's a Frenchman . . . all Latin passion and lovely manners.'

Sandra had been listening, intrigued. She held out her mug. ‘Gosh, Pearl, will you read mine too?'

They all crowded round. Pearl took her time. She swished the dregs in Sandra's mug round three times, drained them over her own and then stared solemnly at the leaves. Sandra hopped from one foot to the other.

‘What can you see, Pearl?
Do
tell me.'

‘I see money.'

Maureen snorted.

‘Golly! How much?'

‘Don't know, but you'll be getting some very soon.'

‘How super! I've only got sixpence left. Anything else, Pearl?'

‘And you'll be getting some good news too. Something that'll make you happy.'

‘Gosh . . .'

Others queued up with their mugs. Pearl read each one in turn, intoning gravely.

‘I see a journey, Vera.'

‘D-do you, Pearl? Where'll I be going?'

‘Somewhere in England. And I see a reunion with loved ones soon.'

‘That'll be when we get leave. Is there a dark stranger, like Anne's?'

Pearl shook her head. ‘Sorry, love . . . wait a mo, though, what's this here? There
is
someone . . . I can see him now. He's not dark, though. More a sort of middling brown . . . That's all I can tell you.'

To Susan she said wickedly, ‘I see a pilot.'

‘A pilot?'

‘A sergeant pilot, Duchess, not an officer. I can see the three stripes. He'll come from the north –'

Susan leaned forward and snatched her mug away.

Pearl took a long time with Winnie's mug. She tipped it this way and that, frowning. ‘It's all a bit murky, this one. Bit of a muddle. I think I can see two blokes – one's dark – like your Ken is, isn't he, but there's this other one that I can't quite make out. Looks like he's a long way away . . . overseas, I s'pose . . . don't really know, but he's there all right . . . Hang on, this bit here's clearer. Yes . . . I can see long life and happiness for you, Winnie, love. There's a journey – a long one – and I think that's four kids there, or maybe even five . . .'

Winnie blushed.

Enid was last. ‘Hurry up, Pearl. You're taking ever so long with mine. What can you see?'

Pearl said slowly: ‘I see someone on the high seas.'

‘Oh, that's just Terry. What else?'

‘I'm not sure . . . it's not clear at all. I don't think I can see anything else.'

Enid looked disappointed. ‘There must be
something
. Everyone else had things.'

But Pearl held out her mug, unsmiling. ‘Sorry, love,
that's all. It's like that sometimes. I'll have another go one day.'

Two days later Sandra had a letter from her mother, enclosing a ten shilling note with the news that her pet dog had had six puppies. Pearl looked modest.

‘It was in the leaves, just like I said.'

Anne tackled her later on when they were alone. ‘Come on, Pearl, tell the truth. You made it all up, didn't you? The whole jolly lot.'

‘How did I get Sandra's so right, then?'

‘Her mother's always sending her money and she's been talking about that dog of hers having puppies for weeks. And Vera's journey was a pretty safe bet considering we'll be due for leave eventually and she'll be reunited with loved ones because she'll be going home.'

‘I told Gloria she'd be having some good news too and she got a letter from her mum today telling her that her dad's gone and walked out. She says it's the best news she's had for years.'

Anne laughed. ‘Well, what about Susan's sergeant pilot? Don't tell me you didn't invent
him
.'

‘I've got to admit I made that one up. Just to annoy her ladyship. Pity it won't come true. It'd do her a lot of good.'

‘Couldn't you have made up something nice for poor old Enid? She looked so disappointed.'

‘I couldn't think of anything quick enough – not when I'd seen what I did in her leaves. Never seen it before and it gave me a bit of a turn.'

‘Seen what? What're you talking about, Pearl?'

‘Death. I saw death in Enid's leaves, that's what. I wish I hadn't, but I did. That old gypsy woman showed me and I tell you, I saw it.'

Anne fell silent for a moment as they walked along, making their way across the station to the new WAAF Mess. Since the fresh intake of WAAFS had arrived, they now had their own cookhouse, with a larger mess, as well as a much bigger recreation hut. In addition to the piano,
the gramophone and the wireless, there were more easy chairs and a brand new ping pong table.

‘I don't really believe in it, Pearl. Sorry. I mean, I'm sure you do see things . . . shapes in the leaves, or whatever, but I don't believe there's any truth in it.'

‘Well, I hope you're right for Enid's sake. Hope it's not Terry. I don't think I'll do it again.'

A lorry passed by, tyres making a crackling sound on the icy road. Two airmen, elbows stuck on the tailgate, whistled and yelled at them. The WAAFS ignored them. They turned into the mess hut and queued up at the counter. Pearl picked up a plate.

‘I never finished reading your mug, did I? You watch out for that dark stranger of yours. I saw
him
as clear as anything. He's real all right. Oh, my God, rissoles again!'

There was a mock gas attack. The station siren went suddenly with its frightening banshee wailing, accompanied by warning rattles that sounded like machine-gun fire. They put on their respirators dutifully and carried on working, as ordered, feeling acutely uncomfortable and looking ridiculous. Anne discovered one bonus – it made peeling onions a lot easier. She still spent most of her time in the dark little scullery, with the vegetables and the stacks of washing up, but sometimes Corporal Fowler singled her out for a new task.

‘'ere you – Lady Muck! Want to learn somethin'? You can come'n make the batter for the toad. Flour, eggs, milk 'n salt. There you are. Mix all that lot up in that thing.'

She looked at the bucket. ‘Where do I find a whisk?'

‘Whisk? You use yer bleedin' arms.'

She made a face behind his back, rolled up her sleeves and plunged them into the sloppy mess in the bucket.

One of the Hurricanes crash-landed out on the grass and burst into flames. The pilot, trapped in the cockpit, died before anyone could reach him. A pall of black smoke from the wreckage reached high into the air and could
be seen and smelled all over the station.

Anne remembered him. He was new to his squadron and had come into the kitchens for a cup of tea early one morning with other pilots from a dawn patrol. They had stood around in their thick fleece-lined jackets, stamping their cold feet in their flying boots and warming their hands round mugs of steaming tea. Like a new boy in school, he had been quieter than the rest – speaking only when spoken to, not pushing himself forward. He had thanked her for the tea very politely, handing her his empty mug with a smile. The thing she remembered most about him, though, was his hair. It had been the colour of ripe corn and was ruffled from wearing his flying helmet, like a small boy's. He had looked about nineteen or twenty – about the same as Jimmy and rather like him. She tried not to think about that corn-coloured hair being burned black like the stubble she had once seen that had caught light in a field. Jimmy had once told her that most pilots dreaded fire above all else. They had been sitting in the bus on their way into town to go to the cinema just before Christmas and he had talked about someone he'd known when he was learning to fly.

‘We were doing circuits and bumps one day and he got it wrong. I don't know what happened exactly but he cartwheeled and burst into flames . . . I went to see him in hospital and I didn't recognize him. I went up and down the beds in the ward, looking for him, and one of the nurses had to point him out. He was just a mass of bandages. I sat there and I didn't know what to say . . . The awful thing was that he could speak perfectly well, under all the bandages, and kept asking me what he looked like, and was it very bad? Of course, I said it was fine . . . nothing to worry about. He was there for months. I used to visit him quite often. They wouldn't let him have a mirror to see himself, but one time I went he'd somehow got to one and he was crying and crying . . . he said he just wanted to die. I didn't blame him. I think I'd've felt that way myself. He'd really got no proper features left . . .'

Anne had felt rather sick. ‘What happened to him?'

‘I don't know. I was posted away in the end and I lost touch. Of course they were doing everything to keep him alive and I suppose they did what they could for his face. His hands were in a terrible mess, too. He kept on having operations but they didn't seem to do much good that I could see. I should think he was invalided out eventually.'

Jimmy had stared out of the bus window for a while in silence. Then he had said suddenly: ‘Lucky my parents don't know I'm flying, they'd worry themselves sick.'

‘What do you mean – don't know you're flying?'

‘I've never told them. They didn't want me to join the RAF in the first place, in case I did any flying. I've never let them know. They think I'm doing some sort of ground job.'

‘Won't they find out in the end?'

‘I hope not. When I go home on leave I take the wings off my uniform. It sounds pretty stupid, I know, but it's just better that way. I'm an only child, you see. No brothers or sisters, so they count on me a lot.'

She knew so little about him. He so rarely talked of himself.

‘Where do you come from, Jimmy? You've never said.'

‘Croydon. I've lived there all my life – same house, same street, the local school. Very dull, I'm afraid. To tell you the truth I was rather glad to get away. I feel a bit guilty about that sometimes because I know how much they miss me – specially my mother.'

‘I expect you're the apple of her eye.'

He had blushed a little. ‘I don't know about that. But it gets a bit much when she fusses . . .'

Anne pictured the Shaw home in Croydon. It would be one of a row of similar houses in a quiet suburban street – pin neat inside and out and very clean. There would be net curtains at the windows, antimacassars on the armchairs, polished linoleum and very prominently
displayed, framed photographs of Jimmy – the only child. Mrs Shaw would be thin and nervous, Mr Shaw a silent, withdrawn figure, perhaps with a pipe.

On the day when his squadron had left for France, Jimmy had come to say goodbye. He had managed to get a message to her in the scullery and she had sneaked out to the back of the Officers' Mess to meet him.

‘I wanted to see you, Anne, to say goodbye . . . and to ask if you'd do something for me.'

‘Of course I will. What is it?'

He had taken an envelope out of his pocket and held it out to her, looking embarrassed. ‘It's for my mother. I've written her a letter – just in case anything happens to me. They'd find out then, of course, about me flying and I wanted to try and explain things to her . . . so she'd understand.'

She had said firmly: ‘Nothing's going to happen to you, Jimmy.'

‘No, I know, but just the same . . . If it does, would you take this to her and give it to her yourself? The address is on there. I wouldn't want it to come through the post for her.'

She had been wearing her work apron and her hands were still wet from the sink. She had wiped them dry and taken the envelope from him, feeling a slight bump beneath her fingers.

‘I promise I'll do that . . . but I won't need to. You'll be back safely.'

‘Yes, of course.' He had put his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet a little, kicking at a dead leaf. ‘I put my wings in there, for her. The ones off my best blue. Well, she'd know all about my flying by then and I wanted her to have them. It might help.'

That had explained the bump. She had put the envelope carefully away in her skirt pocket. ‘I'll have to get back now, Jimmy. If the foul Fowler finds out I'm missing on duty it'll be yet another charge and they'll clap me in irons next time.'

‘I'm sorry, I wouldn't want to get you into trouble.' He had looked at her earnestly. ‘I wanted to thank you, too, for coming out with me those times and being so . . . so,
decent
. I think you're a wonderful girl . . . one of the best I've ever met.'

‘Golly! No-one's ever said that to me before. Aren't you talking about someone else?'

She had laughed, making a joke of it, but he had remained very serious.

‘No, I'm talking about you, Anne. And I meant every word of it. Take care of yourself, won't you? And thanks . . . for everything.'