Starlight (19 page)

Thank God she hadn't known about this at the time, Jess was thinking. Thank God they'd all survived. But Rusty was no longer thinking of giving thanks.

‘From that day onwards, I've never wanted to fly again,' he told her, his voice so low she could hardly catch it. ‘Every time I get in the plane, I see the earth coming to meet me, I see the fields and hedges, just like before, I feel the plane falling. At the same time, I'm doing my job. Plotting the course, concentrating with all I've got. But all I'm feeling, Jess, is fear. And that's the way it will always be. I know that now.'

‘No, no, it needn't be like that, Rusty! You could get help!'

‘I've got help, remember? Didn't you find it in my bag?'

‘Whisky's no help. No help at all. What happens when they find out? What happens if you can't do your work?'

‘My work? I don't drink on duty, Jess! I'm not completely mad. No, I drink when I'm free, in my own room in my billet, and I get by. Don't go on about it, there's no point.'

‘I thought you said once that the pleasure of drinking was being sociable – convivial was the word, wasn't it? But now you drink on your own.'

‘That's the way it's got to be. I wish to God it could be different, but it's not possible.'

‘Well, you know what I think, then?' She had left the bed and was tying on her cotton wrapper. ‘I think you must go to the CO and tell him you can't fly any more. You must ask for ground duties. It's the only thing to do!'

‘It's the last thing I'll do!' he cried, flinging back the sheet that had been their only covering. ‘You have no idea how I'd be thought of if I asked for ground duties, if I told the CO I was scared of going up. Can you not see how that would make me seem?'

‘It must often have happened before. People get stressed . . .'

‘Before they've even been in combat? I'd never tell the CO how I feel. Don't ask me. Just don't ask me.'

‘Let's go in the kitchen,' she said, after a long pause. ‘Make some tea. And you could have another cigarette.'

‘Thank God for that.'

It was better in the kitchen in the artificial light, the two of them sitting at the table, wearing their old dressing gowns, both drinking tea and Rusty smoking. Marginally better, anyway.

‘I've been thinking,' Jess said, shaking the teapot and pouring herself more tea. ‘What happened to you on that flight, Rusty, was a bit like what happened to George. Trauma, the doctor called it, and George hasn't got over it yet. But he will, that's the point. And so will you.'

She looked at him hopefully, but he only smoked in silence.

‘Don't you think so?' she pressed.

‘No,' he answered at last. ‘It's different for me.'

‘Why? Why is it different?'

‘Because George isn't going to be among bombs again – at least, I hope not. He's got the chance to get over what happened to him. But there's no chance for me, it's always there.'

‘Always there?'

‘It's my job.' He stretched out his hand and took hers. ‘Ah, you see, I shouldn't have told you. I've given you my burden.'

‘Just a share. And I want it, anyway. Didn't I tell you, what happens to you, happens to me?'

‘Does that mean,' he asked carefully, ‘that you do care for me now? I mean . . . really care?'

‘Why, you know I do! We're married!

Yes, they were married, and she did truly care for him, and for the rest of the short weekend said no more about the whisky. But when Rusty returned to Kenlin, Jess couldn't find the bottle. She knew he had taken it with him.

Thirty-Four

Though no one had really expected Moyra Beattie to make a full recovery, her death when it came in August still had the power to shock. As Addie said, with the sadness of experience, that was because death was always a shock, however folk might think themselves prepared for it.

‘Look at me with your dad,' she murmured to Jess and Marguerite before the funeral. ‘I knew what lay ahead, but when it happened – that was different, eh? And it'll have been the same for poor Derry. His sister's had to make all the arrangements. No good asking him, she said.'

‘Poor Derry,' Jess echoed. She glanced at the clock. ‘Well, we'd best away to the kirk. I expect there'll be a good turn out, eh? With all Derry's customers?'

‘I daresay.' Addie was putting on a large black hat and studying herself in the mirror. ‘Women and all. Was a time when women didn't go to funerals, you ken. In fact, a lot still don't, though I suppose it's an old-fashioned idea.'

‘Why ever shouldn't they have gone?' Marguerite asked, adjusting a black armband on her uniform sleeve. ‘Seems ridiculous to me.'

‘Just the custom. Are you ready, then, girls?'

Though they told her they were ready to leave, it was Addie herself who seemed now to be hesitating at the door.

‘Think I should say that I might not be going back to the house afterwards. The sister's laying on refreshments, but I'm no' keen.'

Jess and Marguerite exchanged looks.

‘What's up, Ma?' Jess asked quietly. ‘Why don't you want to go back to Derry's house?'

‘Well – you know why.'

‘I do not. You tell me why.'

‘It's because of what Moyra said that time. About wanting me to take care of Derry when she'd gone.' A flush had risen to Addie's cheek. ‘I'd feel that embarrassed.'

‘What's all this?' Marguerite asked. ‘Have I missed something?'

‘It's just that when we sent to see Moyra in hospital, she asked Ma to look after Derry when she was gone,' Jess told her quickly. ‘She didn't mean anything – it was just she was ill and worried.

‘Aye, well, now she is gone, and I keep thinking of what she said,' Addie muttered. ‘I'm no' anxious to look Derry in the face.'

‘You look him in the face every time you buy a pound of carrots, or he gives you tomatoes!' Jess cried.

‘Aye, but after his wife's funeral, and in her house, it'd no' be the same.' Addie set her mouth firmly. ‘I'll let you girls go without me. I'll say I've to get back to work, which is true.'

Marguerite put her arm in her mother's and walked her through the door.

‘Come on, Ma, it'll look funny if you don't go to the house. You're Derry's neighbour. People will wonder about it, and you'd never want that.'

‘That's true.' Jess closed the door behind them. ‘We'll stick with you, Ma. You needn't talk to Derry on his own.'

‘All right, then,' Addie sighed. ‘But I just wish poor Moyra'd never said what she did.'

Making their way to the local kirk, as Addie walked ahead with other neighbours, Marguerite told Jess how well it had worked out for her to attend Moyra's funeral.

‘Never thought I'd get the leave, you see. But when Ben said he'd be coming home before his posting, I twisted the CO's arm. I mean, it's the first time we've ever managed to be on leave together, eh?'

‘How long's he got?'

‘A week, like me.' Marguerite's smile vanished. ‘Then he's away to the south of England. You heard he'd passed out well on his course?'

‘Never thought he wouldn't. Why England, though?'

Marguerite stared. ‘Why, you know what's happening, don't you? The Luftwaffe's attacking our planes and air stations all along the south coast. Have been since July. The phoney war's over.'

‘I've been trying to put it out of my mind,' Jess said in a low voice.

‘Because of Rusty? He'll be finishing soon, eh? And then where for him?'

‘No idea.' Jess began to quicken her pace. ‘Let's catch up with the others. Don't want to be late.'

As so often, the funeral service was an ordeal, with friends and customers remembering Moyra when she was young and fit, and thinking of her now, cut down by cruel illness while still not old, and having to leave her poor husband to mourn. But no bairns, of course, which had always been their tragedy. Och, what a miserable world it was then, and with news of what the German planes were doing, not likely to get any better!

Leaving at the end of the service, Addie managed to shake Derry's hand without raising her eyes to his ravaged face, and afterwards, going back to the house on the Links, which had been his father's, stayed close to her girls, while the cold ham and sandwiches were passed around and the tea poured.

‘You see, it was all right, Ma,' Jess told her. ‘Derry's got so many people to see, you won't have to talk to him at all.'

‘You're making something out of nothing, is what I think,' Marguerite declared. ‘Just keep on as usual and forget what Moyra said. All she meant was make him a bit of stew now and again, or a pudding or something. What else?'

Addie shrugged and said perhaps it was true she'd read things into Moyra's words that weren't there. What a relief, eh? Now, why didn't they offer to help Win, Derry's sister from Perth, who had so much to do? It was too late now to go back to work, anyway.

‘Think I'll have to get back, though,' Jess said, looking at her watch. ‘I've things to check. Marguerite, I'll see you soon, eh?'

‘Course you will. Ben and me want you to come round with Ma for your tea one evening. Dad would like that, and Ben would, too.'

‘Thanks, I'll look forward to it.' Jess took a last sandwich and thought, OK, that was a white lie, but what of it? She was always just a little uneasy, being with Ben, but she could hardly say no to meeting her brother-in-law again, and he would soon be leaving for the dangerous area of the south. Not aircrew, though, was he? Not like Rusty.

Back at the Princes, she was surprised and pleased to find someone waiting for her in Edie's office. It was George.

Thirty-Five

‘George, how grand to see you!' she cried, while Edie smiled from her desk. ‘Oh, but you're looking well!'

He didn't, in fact, look particularly well, being still very pale with a collar that was too big for his neck, and still the air of an invalid that made him seem strange. Yet, when Jess showed him into his old office, he seemed to be trying to be cheerful, walking well with his stick and taking the visitor's chair without any sign of emotion.

‘Here you are then,' Jess said, a little awkwardly. ‘Back in your old office. You should be behind the desk, you know.'

‘No, no.' He shook his head. ‘That's your desk now.'

‘I'm only filling in for you, George, and you're on the mend. You'll soon be back with us.'

Again, he shook his head. ‘Fact is, Jess, I'm not coming back.'

She took her own seat behind the desk and, fiddling with a pen, stared into his serious eyes.

‘I don't understand – why don't you want to come back? This is your job, it's what you want to do.'

‘Did want to do. Now . . . I don't feel up to it.'

‘You still . . . hear the bombs?' she asked delicately.

‘No, the doctor was right, they've gone. And the rocking floor. But that doesn't mean I'm the same as I was. I know now that I'll never be the same. I have to take too much care. I have to worry all the time what I can do.'

‘Have the doctors told you that?'

He shrugged. ‘They don't understand how I feel. Every heart case is different, that's the point.'

‘So, you'll no' be working at all?'

‘Oh, I'll still have to work, though maybe only part-time. I've Daisy to think about, you see, though she'd keep me at home, if she could.'

‘What are you going to do, then?'

‘It's all fixed. Daisy's brother has a small business making parts for various engines. He needs an admin assistant to keep an eye on the paperwork side of things, and he's offered me the job. It'll be less stressful than here, and I can do my own hours.' George leaned his bony hands on his stick and gazed appealingly at Jess. ‘It's sad, I know, to say goodbye to the Princes. Don't think I don't feel it.'

‘I'd never think that, George.'

‘But it's time for me to hand over the baton. I'm just glad it's to you.'

Jess continued to roll her pen between her fingers.

‘Can't be certain it will be to me, though. No' for a permanent job. I was always told I was just temporary.'

‘You'll be permanent. I've already spoken to John Syme and he said straight away, there'd be no question of asking you to stand down.' George rose slowly to his feet. ‘He'll be getting in touch, so don't worry about it. Where on earth would they find anybody better than you, anyway?'

‘I just can't imagine this place without you, George, that's the thing.'

‘You know what they say – everybody can be done without. Now, what about a cup of coffee in the cafe? And then a complimentary cinema ticket for me, if you can spare one? You're showing a Spencer Tracy film I wouldn't mind seeing.'

‘
North-West Passage
?' Jess nodded. ‘George, you know you can have all the complimentary tickets you want.'

‘Because I might actually get to watch a film or two nowadays, you mean? I'll bet you don't.'

‘Remember Edna Angus? One of the usherettes? She said to me once that if you worked in a cinema, you never got to see a film right through. So, you're right, George. These days I hardly get to see one at all.'

They laughed together, but after they'd had their cup of coffee and Jess had shown George into the circle for his Spencer Tracy film, she had to return quickly to her own office to try to come to terms with George's news.

Of course, she could have been on top of the world, she told herself. Wasn't she now to be permanent manager of her beloved Princes, as soon as she received confirmation from John Syme? That should have been something to celebrate, surely?