The Rainbow Years (39 page)
Authors: Rita Bradshaw
Clods of grass flew into the air as the bullets tore into the ground, and then the buildings were spattered as the aircraft made for its prime target, the stationary Spitfires. Quite what happened then wasn’t clear to Amy, but instead of the aircraft swooping up into the sky it seemed to nose-dive straight into the ground almost on the perimeter of the airfield. There was an almighty crash; smoke and sheets of flame leaped into the air and enveloped the plane completely. Even from where she was standing she could feel the heat, and she watched as airfield personnel appeared from every direction and ran towards the blaze, the camp’s rescue vehicles following.
It was obvious the heat was too great to get anywhere near the burning plane and that the pilot hadn’t stood a chance, but it wasn’t this that had brought Amy’s heart into her mouth. It was the knowledge that the scene which had just unfolded in front of her could be happening elsewhere to
their
pilots, to Nick. It made her blood run cold.
their
pilots, to Nick. It made her blood run cold.
And then Bruce was running towards her, shouting, ‘Are you all right? Have you been hit?’ and it jolted her out of her frozen state.
‘I’m fine.’ As he reached her she forced a shaky smile.
He took her into his arms, his voice rueful above her head as he said, ‘Trust you to be in the thick of it,’ but she could tell he had been shaken up by her near miss. She rested against him for a moment, the unsettling feeling coming over her again. He was so constant, so reliable, so good. There would be no hidden secrets with Bruce, no surprises. Life would be calm, peaceful. One halcyon day following another.
‘There’s no chance for the pilot, I presume,’ she said.
‘None, but don’t feel too sorry for him. He missed you by inches.’
They both looked at the chewed-up grass at the side of her. ‘I wasn’t feeling sorry for him,’ she said truthfully. ‘Seeing it happen brought home how our pilots are facing the same sort of thing, I suppose.’ She brushed a trembling hand across her face. It had all been so shocking.
Bruce nodded, taking her arm and beginning to lead her towards the van. ‘The lucky ones get blown into eternity,’ he said grimly. ‘It’s the poor blighters who end up maimed, burned or blinded that have it rough. You sure you don’t want to come and have a cup of tea or something before you go back?’ he added.
She opened her mouth to reply but the words never got voiced. Instead she came to an abrupt halt, her hand going over her mouth as she took in the bullet holes in the windscreen and the slumped man lying over the steering wheel.
She heard Bruce swear before he said, ‘Stay here. Don’t move.’ As she watched him climb into the vehicle and check the inert figure she knew the driver was dead. When Bruce shook his head at her and jumped down from the van, she found she had to sit down on the grass.
‘He called for me to get into the van,’ she said faintly. ‘If I could have moved, I would have.’
‘But you didn’t.’ His voice was soft.
‘No, I didn’t. He has a wife and four bairns.’ She stared up at him. ‘His wife’s due to have the fifth in two weeks’ time. He was going home on leave the day before she was due. Regular as clockwork, he said she was, in having the babies. Never a day before or a day after the due date.’
The smell of the burning aircraft was acrid and Bruce’s voice was even softer when he said, ‘Come and have a cup of tea while I see about getting you back.’ He pulled her to her feet, keeping a supporting arm round her waist as they walked away.
‘I’m sorry for being such a weakling,’ she said shakily.
‘Don’t be so daft.You’re the last person that term applies to.’
She wasn’t so sure about that. She glanced round to look at the van again.When Nick came back - she wouldn’t allow herself to consider if - she wouldn’t give him the cold shoulder any more. He probably hadn’t cared one way or the other apart from feeling a little peeved, but nevertheless she would be the same with him as she was with everyone else. She didn’t know why she had allowed him to catch her on the raw in the first place if she came to think about it, and she had been silly to keep up the antagonism. If nothing else, it gave him the impression she was bothered by him in some way, and of course she wasn’t.
Incendiaries were exploding on the German plane now and she could hear Monty’s excited barking as he ran hither and thither in the throng standing at a safe distance. It really was an inferno.
She drew in a deep breath in order to calm the racing of her heart. No one was black or white but made up of all shades of grey, and from what she’d seen of Nick over the last weeks he wasn’t quite the Romeo she’d taken him for. She’d got things out of proportion, but as Winnie would say, pride makes a sparse meal, and perhaps it was time to eat a slice of humble pie.
Winnie.
Oh, Winnie, Winnie, Winnie.
Winnie.
Oh, Winnie, Winnie, Winnie.
She felt better once she had had a cup of tea. Bruce sat with her, talking about everything under the sun, and she knew he was doing it to take her mind off things.
It was as they were walking towards the lorry which was going to take her back to camp that Bruce said, ‘I’ve been wanting to see you on the quiet, Amy. It’s about Gertie.’
‘Gertie?’ She looked at him in surprise and he flushed slightly.
‘Aye. We get on well, very well. She’s a nice lass. I just wondered if she talks about me at all. You know.’
Amy was poleaxed.
Bruce and Gertie?
But why not Bruce and Gertie? she asked herself in the next moment. She stared at him, feeling as though she had had the ground taken from under her feet. ‘Aye, yes, she does,’ she said in the next moment, several little things Gertie had mentioned lately suddenly falling into place. She hadn’t realised her friend liked Bruce in that way but now it was as if her eyes had been opened.
Bruce and Gertie?
But why not Bruce and Gertie? she asked herself in the next moment. She stared at him, feeling as though she had had the ground taken from under her feet. ‘Aye, yes, she does,’ she said in the next moment, several little things Gertie had mentioned lately suddenly falling into place. She hadn’t realised her friend liked Bruce in that way but now it was as if her eyes had been opened.
Bruce nodded. ‘I just wondered,’ he said, obviously trying to be casual. ‘I wouldn’t want to spoil a beautiful friendship by putting my foot in it and embarrassing her if she didn’t feel the same way.’
‘I think she likes you, Bruce,’ said Amy, ‘but you would have to ask her to be sure.’
He nodded. ‘I intend to do that anyway but I guess I just wanted to see if I was on the right track. She’s still quite young, after all.’ Gertie had confided in him she was only seventeen.
‘In some ways.’ But in others Gertie’s harsh treatment by her mother had made her grow up very quickly indeed.
They had reached the lorry now and as Bruce helped her up into the seat beside the driver, Amy smiled down at him and said goodbye.
They would be perfect together, Bruce and Gertie, she thought as the lorry trundled its way back to the camp. And suddenly she found she was pleased for them. She hoped Gertie responded as Bruce wanted her to but that was between them. Whatever, something had been settled in her as Bruce had talked. Bruce wasn’t for her and she wasn’t for him, it had been madness to even consider such a notion. He was and would always be a big brother to her and that’s the way it should be.
Chapter 19
When Nick walked into the NAAFI just after eight o’clock he admitted to feeling tired, bone tired. If it hadn’t been for the attack on the airfield earlier that day he doubted he’d have made the effort to turn out tonight, but after Bruce had told him Amy had had a near escape, he needed to see her. Stupid. He acknowledged the self-admonition grimly. More than stupid, because she had made it clear by word and action a hundred times or more that she didn’t give a damn about him. Unfortunately that didn’t seem to make the slightest bit of difference to what more than one woman had told him they were sure he didn’t possess - his heart.
He stood just inside the doorway and scanned the room. It was full of airmen and WAAFs and the atmosphere was almost partyish. Everyone had returned to base safe and sound although a couple of the Spitfires were shot up. A casual observer might be forgiven for thinking they’d all forgotten about the driver who’d been killed that day, but Nick knew he would have been toasted by more than one glass. It was part of the fight against Hitler that everyone kept their spirits up. He noticed Bruce and Gertie standing together but Amy wasn’t with them. Damn it, perhaps she wasn’t coming tonight.
Irritation rose hot and strong but his expression remained relaxed and easy; he rarely showed his feelings, he considered it a weakness. He saw Bruce raise his hand and answered in like before making his way to the two girls serving behind the counter who met him with wide smiles. He’d have a beer and then disappear; he’d had enough for one day and making conversation wasn’t high on his agenda.
He took a long pull at the beer before turning from the counter and walking across the room again. He would drink the rest outside; it was a warm balmy night and after the hours in the cramped cockpit, the need to be out in the open was strong.
The air was still heavy with the scent of white clover and he walked a few yards and sat down on sun-warmed grass. He stretched out, his glass of beer beside him, and as always happened after a recent action, details which had passed unnoticed at the time came into clear focus. It had been a tumbling tangle of individual duels and jinking tail chases that day, every pilot dependent on his own skill and determination. Fighter versus fighter combat was always swift and savage, necessitating constant vigilance and instinctive reactions but today had been particularly hard. Or perhaps he was getting stale.
He put his hands behind his head and stared up into the sky, hazy with approaching twilight. If he was getting stale he’d better snap out of it damn quick or his next operation could be his last. Certainly on the flight home today, as his eyes watched the fuel gauge and he checked for damage, it had taken him a time to wind down. He had been conscious of rivulets of sweat soaking his shirt and running down his chest and arms but he’d felt detached somehow, tense and edgy. For the last couple of years it had been enough that he was still alive at the end of an action, that his will to conquer and survive had won through again, but lately it had been different and he didn’t know why.
Who was he kidding? His eyes narrowed in self-deprecation. He knew exactly what was wrong with him.
He sat up and finished his beer in several swallows, staring into the distance. It was peaceful out here, he couldn’t hear anything from the NAAFI and the quiet English evening was utterly divorced from the life-and-death struggle he’d just survived yet again. He had actually seen the face of that German pilot he’d shot down today and he’d barely looked old enough to wipe his own backside. The memory of the aircraft shrouded in flame and trailing a thick plume of smoke as it had turned in its death throes tightened his mouth, but he felt no real pity. It had been the enemy or him and that was the end of it.
‘Nick? What are you doing out here all by yourself ?’ He hadn’t heard Amy approach and for a moment he just stared at her stupidly. Then he pulled himself together. He rose to his feet and smiled as he said, ‘I could ask the same of you.’
‘Me? Oh, I’ve just taken one of the girls back to our hut, she was feeling poorly. The others are all in there. Shall we join them?’
She was different. He stared at her, feeling he only had to say one wrong word and the old prickly Amy would be back.
Whether she read his mind he didn’t know, but after a moment’s silence, she gave a little grimace. ‘Actually I was hoping I might see you by yourself.’
‘You were?’ He was probably dreaming this. Either that or she was setting him up for a monumental putdown.
‘Aye, yes.’
The warm northern accent was part of her and always had the power to stir him. He wasn’t smiling now but waiting quietly, eyebrows raised in silent enquiry.
‘I . . . I haven’t been very nice to you, I know that, and I wanted to say . . . well, sorry.’
‘It’s all right.’ For crying out loud, he could do better than this, couldn’t he? He tried to think of a casual throwaway line, something to bring a smile to her face and ease the embarrassment that was almost tangible between them, but his mind seemed to have gone blank. For once Nick Johnson of the glib tongue had nothing to say and wouldn’t his pals just love it if they knew, he thought desperately.
‘Yes, well, I just wanted you to know.’
She had actually turned away when he said, ‘Amy? I heard about what happened today, and Bruce said something about you hearing bad news from home too. You must be feeling pretty shaken up.’
She nodded. ‘It hasn’t been the best of days but compared to what you and the others deal with all the time—’
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