Bluebirds (61 page)

She said wistfully: ‘I wish I could go up.'

‘You want to get one of the instructors to take you in a trainer. Why don't you ask them?'

But she didn't think she'd ever have the nerve. Instructors seemed like gods to her. They had never even spoken to her, scarcely glanced in her direction.

She munched her smoky toast and drank some more of the cocoa. ‘Do you think we'll win the war, Ginger?'

‘'Course we will. Mind you, back in '40 I wasn't quite so sure for a bit, but now we've got the Yanks in it too we'll be all right.'

‘They're buildin' a big bomber station near where I live in Suffolk – the Americans.'

‘You'll want to watch out for them when you go on leave then. From what I hear they'll be after all the girls.'

‘I've never seen an American – except at the pictures.'

‘You will. Bound to. So just you remember what I said and watch out.'

Winnie drained her mug. ‘What're you goin' to do when the war's over, Ginger?'

He had the answer ready to that one. ‘Run my own garage, that's what and make a pile of brass. An' you can 'ave a job in it any time you like, love.'

‘Chiefy wouldn't give me a job anywhere. He jumped down my throat again this morning. I don't know what I'd done wrong.'

‘You don't want to take any notice of him, Winnie. 'is bark's worse than 'is bite. 'e can't 'elp this thing 'e's got against women. The wife ran off with a sailor, or somethin', so now 'e 'ates them all. Bit stupid, I reckon. I mean, women are all different, aren't they? Same as blokes are all different.'

He fished in his pocket, pulled out a packet of Woodbines and shook it dolefully. ‘Only one left. Swop me some more of your fag coupons for sweet ones?'

‘'Course I will.'

‘Thanks, love.' Ginger lit the last cigarette and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. ‘I keep tellin' you, you want to go and see Chiefy an' 'ave it out. Stand up for yourself, like. Tell 'im straight out you want to do proper jobs, like you was trained for, same as the rest of us. He's no right to keep you down. From what I've seen, you'd be just as good as any of us, 'cept for liftin' the 'eavy stuff.'

‘Thanks, Ginger.'

He grinned at her. ‘I'm only tellin' the truth, love. That's all.'

Somehow she found the courage to go and see the Flight Sergeant. He looked up from some forms.

‘What do you want, then?'

She took a deep breath. ‘I want to do some proper work on the engines, please, Flight. Like I've been trained to do. Will you let me try at least? Give me a chance to show you that I can do it?'

He stared at her for a moment with his cold blue eyes; she met them bravely. There was silence in the office
while they looked at each other. Then he threw down his pencil.

‘All right then, I'll give you a chance. But only one, mind. You can try taking a cylinder head off.'

‘I can do that all right, Flight.'

‘Mebbe. Mebbe not. We'll soon see.'

A fitter was detailed to stand over her while she worked, checking every step as she removed the cylinder head and replaced it with a new one. When she had finished he said surprised:

‘You did that well, Winnie. Nice and quick and neat. I thought you'd take all day.'

Flight Sergeant McFarlane came over. ‘All right. So far, so good,' he grunted. ‘Now let's see what a mess you make of a DI.'

She carried out her part of the Daily Inspection on the Hurricane with meticulous care, just as she had been taught on the training course. First, she checked the propeller blades for damage and inspected the aircraft outside for any sign of oil or coolant leaks. Then she removed the cowling and examined all pipe fittings, joints and clips and went over all the electrical leads, control rods and couplings. She checked the flexible drive and all the nuts and bolts, and the engine mounting bolts and bearers, and looked over the cowling frames for cracks. When that was done she checked oil, fuel and coolant levels and topped up the air compressor with castor oil.

The Hurricane's rigger, responsible for the airframe, watched her and chuckled. ‘You don't want to take it too serious, love.' He walked casually round the aircraft and aimed a kick at one of the tyres. ‘Nothing wrong with this kite, see.'

Next she ran up the engine and checked the dial temperatures and pressures and the mag-drop. Replacing the cowling afterwards might have defeated her if Ginger hadn't shown her the trick of it and how to bang home the fasteners with the flat of her hand. When she had finally finished she made sure the chocks were placed correctly
in front of the wheels, with the string neatly round the front, as Ginger had once shown her. ‘So's you can pull 'em away nice 'n easy.'

She went into the office to sign the Form 700. Chiefy McFarlane looked at her through narrowed eyes.

‘You're saying that aircraft's serviceable, then?'

‘Yes, Flight.'

‘You've checked
everything
?'

She nodded.

‘What about the air intake?'

She went bright red, realizing that she had forgotten it. How could she have been so stupid? So careless? Chiefy must have been watching her through the window. She hurried back to inspect that the intake was free from any obstruction and returned to the office.

He glowered at her as she signed the form. ‘If I find anything's wrong I'll eat you alive.'

As she reached the door he yelled after her suddenly, jabbing a finger at the form.

‘Come back here, woman! You've signed in the wrong bloody place!'

When the day's work was done the fitter who had watched her change the cylinder head stopped by her.

‘We're off down the Lamb and Flag tonight, Winnie. Want to come along?'

It was the first time they had asked her to join them. She blushed.

‘Thanks, Bob. I'd like that.'

She bicycled the four miles to the pub with them and drank half a pint of bitter.

Ginger nudged her. ‘You're one of the gang now,' he said.

‘Mother, this is Neil Mackenzie.'

Virginia watched her mother anxiously as she extended a hand. She was looking at Neil with the same expression she wore when the butcher gave her an unsatisfactory piece of meat.

‘How do you do, Mr Mackenzie.'

‘Pleased to meet you, ma'am.'

As Neil sat down he nearly knocked over a small table. He looked uneasy and out of place in the genteel sitting-room. Mother, seated straight-backed in her chair, went on looking at him in the same way.

‘I hear you come from
Canada
, Mr Mackenzie.'

She made it sound as though it were some very remote and uncivilized part of the world.

‘Call me Neil, please . . . That's right, Mrs Stratton. I'm from Hamilton, near Toronto.'

‘I'm afraid I'm not acquainted with your country.'

‘Well, I guess it's a long way away.'

‘It is indeed. And you are in the Canadian army?'

‘Sure thing. Came over in the summer of '40.'

‘I see. May I ask how you came to meet my daughter?'

He grinned. ‘Oh, we bumped into each other on a bike ride . . . Matter of fact, I nearly rode right into her goin' round a corner too fast. I guess it was fate.'

‘Fate?'

‘That we met. Though we didn't see each other again for a while – not 'til we sat opposite in a Salvation Army canteen in town. Fate again! Then we went 'n bumped into each other again on another bike ride.' He turned his head to smile at Virginia. ‘Since then we've been meetin' whenever we can.'

‘Really?'

Virginia watched and listened helplessly. She knew already that it had been a terrible mistake to bring Neil home – a vain and foolish hope that her mother might take to him and make him welcome. Instead it was going to be like the dreadful time when she had invited Molly from school home to tea – only worse. Far worse. Neil seemed unaware of it. He was sitting back easily in his chair, one leg crossed over the other and resting on his knee – slouching her mother would no doubt be thinking. She had drawn herself up regally. With a sinking heart Virginia saw that the table was elaborately
laid with the best white tablecloth, silver cutlery and damask napkins.

Her mother rose to her feet. ‘Luncheon is ready, Virginia. I expected you some time ago. Perhaps you will help me carry the dishes through. Mr Mackenzie can wait here.'

In the kitchen her mother did not trouble to lower her voice.

‘I expected an officer at least, Virginia. And a gentleman. Not a sergeant and a
Colonial!
That speech! Those casual manners! What
can
you be thinking of?'

‘Please, Mother! He'll hear you.'

‘Just as well if he does. He has quite a nerve, in my opinion. You should never have encouraged someone of his type. I hope you're not taking him seriously in any way.'

‘He's just a friend.'

‘Well, I don't know why you insisted on bringing him home. There's no room for him here.'

‘He had nowhere to go on leave. He'll sleep on the sofa, if that's all right. We've only got forty-eight hours. And I wanted you to meet him.'

‘I can't imagine why. However, since he's here, I suppose I shall just have to make the best of it.'

Lunch was torture for Virginia. She saw her mother staring pointedly at the way Neil used his knife and fork, and at the gravy stain that appeared on the tablecloth beside his plate. The stew was grey and tasteless but Neil ate heartily and finished before either of them. He wiped his mouth on his napkin.

‘I hope you have had sufficient, Mr Mackenzie.' Her mother dabbed at the corner of her mouth with hers. ‘I'm afraid our rations in this country are rather meagre. I dare say you are more fortunate in the Colonies.'

‘My folks send me food parcels, and we do pretty well at the camp. I guess we're lucky compared to you British. I brought some canned ham and fruit with me for you, Mrs Stratton. Hope you'll accept it.'

‘We have learned how to make do with the little we have, thank you, Mr Mackenzie. In this country we prefer not to take handouts.'

‘Sure. I understand. I didn't mean any offence.'

The pudding was awful – a pallid blancmange that hadn't set properly. Again, Neil seemed to enjoy every mouthful, though Virginia could hardly eat hers.

‘You should visit Canada one day, Mrs Stratton. It's a great country. You'd like it.'

‘I hardly think it likely that I shall ever go there, Mr Mackenzie. And I don't think it would appeal to me.'

‘You never know 'til you try. When I first got here I was real homesick. Now, I've gotten over it . . .'

Her mother's face was frozen.

After lunch Virginia took Neil for a walk in the park down the road. They sat for a while by the lake in the sunshine, watching a mother and her small boy feeding the ducks with stale bread. Neil twisted his cap round in his hands.

‘I guess your mum thinks I'm a real backwoodsman, Ginny.'

She said miserably: ‘I'm so sorry about the way she is. She's never met a Canadian before. She doesn't really mean it.'

‘I think she
does
mean it. It don't matter to me, though. Only I can see it hurts you, an' that makes me mad. I heard how she spoke to you when you were out in the kitchen.'

‘I'm sorry,' she said again, close to tears. ‘I hoped you wouldn't hear.'

‘I don't care what she said about me. As a mother, I guess she's got every right to be concerned . . . but is she always like that with you? Treatin' you that bad?'

She lifted her shoulders. ‘She's been awfully bitter about everything ever since my father left her, I think. She can't seem to help the way she is.'

‘Why did he go?'

‘For another woman, she says. I don't really know. I've never seen or heard from him since. But Mother doesn't seem to have got over it, even though it was a long time ago. And she's never really got used to living in a small flat. We had a big house near the Common once, but it all had to go when Father's company failed. He was made bankrupt and that's when he left – or soon after. You can understand why Mother's bitter.'

‘Sure. But it wasn't your fault, Ginny. It wasn't anything to do with you. Just you remember that. You've got your own life. Say, look at that little guy! He's real cute.'

She looked at the small boy feeding the ducks, but through a blurred mist of tears. He was throwing little pieces of crust haphazardly into the water with funny, jerky movements, and the ducks were flapping and splashing and quacking about after them. She had so wanted Neil's visit to go right, but everything had gone wrong. Now, he would probably never want to see her again. He would probably believe that she felt like Mother, when what she felt was quite the opposite.

She wiped her eyes quickly with the back of her hand. ‘Neil, you don't believe I think like Mother, do you?'

He turned back from watching the boy and smiled at her. ‘About me being only a sergeant and a Colonial? No, Ginny, I know you don't. You're not made like that. But I guess she's right that I'm not good enough for you.'

She stared at him in anguish. ‘Don't say that, Neil! Please don't.'

They looked at each other and his smile faded. He took hold of her hand and said earnestly: ‘Trouble is, Ginny, I don't know for sure how you
do
feel about me. I mean, we've been seein' each other all these months, off 'n on, but you've never given me a clue . . . never let on what you're thinkin' . . . never let me get close in any way . . . You told your mum I was just a friend – I heard that too, couldn't help it. Is that the way you feel?'

She turned her head away. ‘That's what we are, aren't we – friends?'