Bluebirds (83 page)

He beamed at her and looked suddenly exactly the same old Speedy. ‘All the better for seeing you, my dear, as the Wolf said to Red Riding Hood. And how is life treating you in your exalted station at Bomber HQ?'

‘I'm not very exalted. It's mostly routine admin. Quite dull, really. I feel quite remote from the reality of what's going on up in the skies, sometimes. Though that was a blessing at first, I must say.' She put down her wine glass. ‘What have
you
been up to since I last saw you?'

He waved a hand airily. ‘This and that. The odd sweep here and there. Spot of escort duty playing little friend to the Yanks as they set forth on their kamikaze raids. We try to swot the Jerries away from them only we can't go with them all the way – that's the big snag. Not enough juice. After that they're on their own, poor blighters. The Huns give 'em hell when we've scarpered. I wouldn't be in their shoes for all the tea in China.'

He had turned up unexpectedly, as he usually did, and swept her off to dinner. The restaurant was a rather dreary place and the waitress ancient and very slow, but she smiled at Speedy as she set the plates in front of them and he winked at her in return. When she had waddled away he prodded doubtfully at his food. ‘I say, I hope this isn't horse, or something.'

‘I don't know how you'd tell. It probably tastes just like anything else.'

He chewed hard for a moment, considering. ‘Definitely an old nag, I'd say. Well past its prime. Lucky you had the fish, Titania. A very wise choice. Thank God the war will soon be over. First thing to be done when we've popped
over the Channel is to liberate Paris so we can get a decent meal again. I bet if the French are eating horses as well as frogs, they're making sure they're not nags like this one. I'll take you out to dinner in Gay Paree, Titania. It beats High Wycombe any day.'

She laughed. ‘I think it's going to be quite a while before you can do that.'

‘Well, thanks to the Yanks the writing's on the wall for Adolf. Say another six months, or a year, and he'll be cashing in his chips.'

‘I hope you're right, Speedy. Will you stay in the RAF after the war?'

‘Hard to say at the moment. Depends what Civvy Street holds for the likes of me. Can't do much else besides fly a kite.'

‘You once told me that you were going to sell encyclopedias to housewives and then buy a thirty-foot yacht and sail round the world.'

‘Did I really say that? Jolly good idea, in a way, but somehow it's lost its appeal.' He put down his knife and fork. ‘The fact is, I was rather hoping that you might be part of the future.'

Her heart sank at his words and at the earnest look on his face. ‘Oh, Speedy . . .'

‘You know how I feel about you – never made any bones about it. No point. The thing is, there comes a time when even a chap like me wants to settle down . . . Any chance you might marry me one fine day, do you think? I'm not such a bad bloke, when you get to know me properly.'

She looked down at the dry little piece of white fish on her plate, wishing that he hadn't spoken. She was so fond of Speedy and enjoyed his company so much – he was like a tonic. If she married him perhaps she might come to love him too, quite easily – there was so much that was lovable about him. But she wasn't sure that it could ever be the love he deserved and needed. It wouldn't be fair on him, or fair of her to be tempted just
because she was often lonely and miserable – to risk his happiness, as well as hers. One day he would meet the girl who would be right for him.

‘I'm sorry, Speedy. Truly sorry.'

His face fell. And then he grinned at her cheerfully. ‘Well, no harm in asking. Faint heart ne'er won fair lady, or whatever the saying is.'

‘Your heart's never been faint, Speedy. You're one of the best and bravest people I know.'

He looked pleased. ‘Really? I say . . .' He twirled the stem of his wineglass. ‘Shouldn't pry, of course. Nothing to do with me, but is there someone else? Pretty well bound to be with a girl like you.'

‘There is someone,' she said slowly. ‘But it can never come to anything.'

‘How so?'

She looked down at her plate again. ‘Because he's married.'

‘Oh. Well, that's a bit of a snag, it must be said.' He looked at her hopefully. ‘You don't think you'll get over him – eventually.'

‘I don't seem to have done yet, and it's been a long time.'

‘Do you mind my asking, do I know the chap?'

‘Yes, as a matter of fact.'

‘Wouldn't be old Palmer, would it? Our CO at Colston? By any chance?'

She could feel the colour rushing into her face. ‘I can't say.'

‘Wouldn't be surprised if it was. Always thought he was rather keen on you. Can't blame him. Tricky situation, though.'

‘Don't ask me any more.'

‘Wouldn't dream of it.' He put his hand on hers and squeezed it gently. ‘I want what will make
you
happy, Titania. That's all. Just remember that. And if I can ever help in anyway, you've only to give the old word.'

She lifted her head and smiled at him mistily. ‘Oh Speedy, you're an angel. An absolute angel.'

‘Funny thing but no-one's ever called me that before. Lots of other things, but never that.' He let go of her hand abruptly. ‘Now eat up your fish and I'll finish my horse, then we'll call Desdemona over and see what she's got for pudding.'

‘Spam,' said Virgil. ‘Soap, coffee, tomato juice, peas, bacon, sugar, gum, Life-Savers, Hershey bars.' He produced them with a flourish from his canvas bag and set them on the kitchen table. ‘Luckies for you, ma'am.' He gave them to Gran who was waiting expectantly. ‘Couldn't get scotch this time so I've brought bourbon. Think your Dad'll mind?'

Winnie shook her head. She didn't think Dad would care as long as it could be drunk. She had watched Virgil with the same embarrassment that she always felt when he brought things for them. He was reaching into the bag again and held aloft a fistful of something filmy. ‘Nylon stockings! Three pairs. One for you ma'am.' He presented them to Gran who examined them with deep suspicion. Winter and summer alike she wore thick black wool stockings that wrinkled round her ankles.

‘Doan't look decent tew me.'

‘And for you, ma'am.' Virgil gave the second pair to Winnie's mother who drew one on over her hand and exclaimed at its sheerness. The third pair he gave to Winnie.

‘For next time you come dancin' with me.'

He winked at her and she went pink and looked at the stockings. They were so thin she couldn't imagine how they'd be strong enough to wear at all. But the girl in mauve at the dance had been wearing ones like this. Perhaps he'd given them to her as well.

When he'd found out that she was home on leave, Virgil had biked over from the base with the canvas bag slung across the handlebars. Ruth and Laura had
scampered down to the gate to meet him and he'd swung them both up high in turn and then carried Laura on his shoulders up the path, while holding Ruth by the hand. At tea they sat on each side of him, clamouring for his attention. They love him, Winnie thought, watching. How sad they'll be when he has to go home. Or if anything should happen to him . . . But she wouldn't let herself think about that at all.

After tea she and Virgil went out to the barn to look at the ewes waiting to lamb. There were still some bruises on his face and a strip of sticking plaster at the corner of his temple.

‘I'm very sorry about what happened at the Fox an' Grapes,' she said. ‘It was all my fault. I hope you didn't get into a lot of trouble over it.'

‘Shucks, no . . . weren't nothin'. Long as you ain't mad at me.'

‘Mad at you?' She didn't quite understand his meaning.

‘Angry. I figured maybe I'd got it all wrong an' you was really with that guy –'

‘I wasn't with him at all,' she said vehemently. ‘He's just someone who was at the same station as me a long time ago. He's always botherin' me.'

‘He that pesky Welsh guy your grandma was talkin' about once?'

She nodded.

He gave her a sideways grin. ‘Well, I guess he won't be botherin' you again no more. An' if he does, you just let me know.'

She wanted to thank him for what he'd done – for the way he'd stood firm and rescued her from Taffy. He'd acted just like one of those cowboys in films who were on the good side, and he'd fought for her just like they did. It gave her a funny sort of feeling to think about it: grateful and glad and shy. But she didn't know how to begin to say any of this.

She opened the small door in the end of the barn.
‘Maisie's due to lamb,' she told him. ‘An' it's her first time, so things might not go so well. I've been worryin' a bit for her.'

There were some ewes standing about in the straw, munching hay. They swung their heads round to stare, but without any pause in the rhythmical working of their jaws. Their bodies bulged with unborn lambs.

‘Hi girls!' Virgil said breezily. ‘Howya all doin'?'

Maisie, lying in the far corner didn't look as though she was doing at all well. Her sides were heaving and she lifted her head and bleated piteously as they approached. Winnie knelt in the straw and Virgil crouched on his haunches beside her.

‘Everythin' OK?'

She shook her head. ‘I should've come sooner and not left her so long . . .'

‘What's wrong?'

‘I think the lamb's stuck. Look, you can see. Its head's out an' so's one foot, but the other one's still inside.'

He looked and saw the dark head of the lamb protruding wetly from the ewe's body. Its eyes were closed and beneath the chin he could make out the pointed black tip of one little cloven hoof. He whistled softly.

‘Gee, my folks don't have sheep back home. I ain't never had nothin' to do with 'em. What the heck do we do now?'

Winnie was rinsing her hands in a bucket of water. ‘I'll have to push the head back in and try to get hold of the other leg an' bring it forward. When a lamb's born it ought to come out with both feet forward together, like it was divin'. That way there's enough room. An' bein' Maisie's first makes it harder. Could you hold her still and talk to her a bit while I try?'

‘Sure.' He gripped hold of the ewe's shoulders, his fingers sinking deep into the oily wool. She bleated loudly again and threshed her stick-like legs about. He was amazed at their thinness. They seemed much too frail to support the weight of her body.

‘OK, Maisie, girl, take it easy now. You're doin' great. Easy . . . easy.'

The ewe looked up at him trustingly. She had strange pale eyes, he noticed, with pupils in a black horizontal bar.

‘Makin' sheeps' eyes at me, huh, Maisie? Don't be fooled, sister. My flyin' jacket's made of someone like you.'

She gave another pathetic, pain-filled bleat. Winnie, he saw, had her hand deep inside her. The lamb's head had disappeared; he wondered how the hell it could breathe.

‘How's it comin'?'

Her brow was furrowed in concentration, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. ‘I think I've got it . . . the other leg. If I can just get it forward . . .'

‘Maisie's doin' OK this end, ain't you, Beautiful? Atta girl!'

The ewe groaned and bleated helplessly. Jeez, he thought, what happens if Winnie can't shift it? This one's gonna be in big trouble, an' junior too. He stroked one of Maisie's ears, not knowing how else to comfort her. She groaned again and struggled hard and he had to use all his strength to pin her down. The other ewes were munching away, watching indifferently. Callous broads, he thought. Wait 'til it's your turn.

Winnie said suddenly: ‘I've got it, Virgil! I've got it! It's goin' to be all right. Look, it's comin' . . .'

He turned his head in time to see the lamb slither out into the world. It slid down onto the straw and lay there, bloody and glistening with membrane. He thought at first that it was dead and then, to his huge relief, he saw its flank flutter. Steam rose from the small, wet body and Winnie wiped it gently with a wisp of straw.

‘It's a ewe lamb.'

He swallowed. ‘Congratulations.'

He looked across the lamb at Winnie, kneeling there. Her hands and arms were bloodstained and there was
more blood on the bib of her dungarees and a long smear of it across her cheek. She smiled at him happily and he thought that he had never seen her look so lovely.

‘We've got to get Maisie up,' she said. ‘She's got to look after her. Can you help me?'

‘Sure.'

They hauled the ewe to her feet. Maisie nosed at her newborn lamb and began licking it. She seemed to be recovering fast from her ordeal and Virgil saw that the lamb was already starting to make feeble, jerky little efforts to struggle up.

‘How come it's black when Mom's white?'

‘All Suffolks are born that colour. She'll turn white later, 'cept her face. She'll look just like Maisie.'

Winnie started rinsing her hands in the bucket and then dried them with some straw. The lamb was on its feet now, wobbling unsteadily. The ewe butted gently with her nose, guiding it. It staggered and lurched against her and then, with another butt in the right direction, found the teat and began sucking.

Winnie watched them. ‘I think they're goin' to be all right now. We don't need to worry.'

‘You did great,' he said. ‘Just
great
.'

She turned her head to smile at him again and saw the way he was looking at her. Her smile faded. He took a couple of steps forward and stopped. He waited, arms hanging loose at his sides, his eyes fixed on her face. The ewes watched them both, chomping.

It was up to her, and she knew it. She took a small step towards him. Virgil stayed quite still where he was. She took another step. And then another. And then several more all at once, in a rush. He caught her tightly in his arms.