The Rainbow Years (40 page)
Authors: Rita Bradshaw
‘No, don’t say that.’ He cut her off abruptly. ‘It doesn’t make it any the less painful for you.’
Her eyes were unblinking as she looked at him and it seemed a long time before she said, ‘I suppose not.’
‘Look, do you want to go back in there?’ And then in case she got the wrong idea he added quickly, ‘I thought we could talk out here a bit, just talk. It’s peaceful.’ Peaceful! She was looking at him strangely, she probably thought he was stark staring mad or trying to make a pass at her. ‘Of course if you want to go in, if they’re waiting for you . . .’ He was making a pig’s ear of this.
‘Yes. No. I mean . . .’
He watched her take a breath as his stomach turned right over. Why on earth had he said that? Why hadn’t he simply escorted her inside? That way he would have at least got to sit with her for a while.
‘No, I’m in no rush to go in but yes, they are expecting me. If you want to wait a minute I’ll go and let them know I’m going for a walk. If you want to walk, that is?’
Walk? He wanted to run and shout and dance and sing. He smiled. ‘Yes, I want to walk.’
When she came back out of the building she was a little flushed and he wondered what had been said inside. Should he have gone with her? He hadn’t thought she’d wanted him to.
As she made her way towards him, she said, ‘It’s a lovely evening, isn’t it? The war seems far away.’
‘An eternity.’
‘Evening is my favourite time of day, especially summer ones. Most folk like the morning best, a new day and all that, but I love the twilight and hearing the birds get ready for bed.’
He laughed out loud as she reached his side and they began to walk. ‘You make it sound like they brush their teeth and have a bath.’
‘Oh, they do. Well, not brush their teeth, of course, but haven’t you noticed how often birds bathe and spruce themselves up? Winnie, my friend, always said they could teach some humans a thing or two about cleanliness.’
He knew from the way her voice had changed that this must be the woman Bruce had spoken of. ‘I’m sorry about your friend,’ he said softly. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘I don’t think I can.’ Her voice wobbled a little and she kept her head down.
He had an overpowering urge to take her into his arms and comfort her. Not make love to her, not even kiss her, just comfort her. But she’d made it plain on a number of occasions she considered him the camp Don Juan, and he couldn’t deny he’d sown his fair share of wild oats here. She would likely tell him it was the oldest line in the book if he said she was different, but it would be the truth. He thrust his hands deeper into his pockets. ‘The shrinks would say it’s best to talk but personally I can’t say I agree with them. Not for some people anyway. I lost two brothers in the Battle of Britain and I had to deal with that by myself.’
‘Were you close?’
He did not immediately reply; his eyes narrowed and he flexed his shoulders before he said, ‘They were younger than me by four and six years, but yes, we were close. Being the older brother I suppose you could say they hero-worshipped me to some extent, and because I was in the RAF when the war started they wanted to be fighter pilots too. Spitfires, of course.’ He gave a kind of twisted smile that wasn’t a smile at all. ‘I used to play the big man when I went home, you see, strut about in my uniform and all that.’
His voice was bitter and Amy blinked. She didn’t know what to say. This was a side of him which was new to her.
‘John was killed in the first week of the Battle of Britain. He was twenty-four years old. David bought it when his air station, Biggin Hill, was razed to the ground. The courier despatched from Kenley to re-establish communication described the place as a slaughterhouse. Some big brother, eh?’
Amy stopped dead so he was forced to turn and face her. ‘You don’t blame yourself, do you?’
His face was grim as, staring back at her, he said, ‘They wouldn’t have gone in the RAF but for me.’
‘But you can’t say that, Nick.’ And then she flapped her hand. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I’m being presumptuous, but if you wanted to be an airman and you’re their brother it’s probably in your blood, all three of you. And they sound like young men who would have wanted to do their bit regardless of you. Would they have sat at home twiddling their thumbs while Hitler marched?’
‘Of course not.’
‘So if it hadn’t been the RAF it would have been one of the other services.’
‘Amy -’ He stopped abruptly. ‘Look, I appreciate you’re trying to be kind but it’s something I’ve got to live with. OK?’
He felt guilty because he was alive and his brothers were dead. She knew it was a common feeling among men and women who had been involved in violent combat, the ‘why was I spared?’ self-condemnation, but she couldn’t say that now. It would sound too patronising. Instead she nodded, trying to inject a note of lightness into what had become an emotionally loaded moment when she said, ‘This probably just bears out your idea that the shrinks have got it wrong, doesn’t it? About talking it out, I mean.’
‘Probably.’ And then he breathed deeply before he said, ‘I’ve messed this up, haven’t I.’ It was a statement, not a question.
‘This?’
‘Us going for a walk together.’
She could hardly believe it but the blasé Nick Johnson was red with embarrassment. It was probably an inappropriate moment to acknowledge that she was fiercely attracted to this man and had been fighting the feeling almost from the first time they had met. ‘Why do you think that?’ she asked carefully. ‘I feel privileged that you’ve talked about your brothers to me.’
The green eyes were rueful.‘Now you’re being kind again.’
‘No, truthful.’ And then she smiled. ‘But kind as well. I’ll have you know I’m a kind person on the whole.’ Was she flirting with him? she asked herself. But then everyone flirted all the time. It didn’t mean anything, it was just part and parcel of service life. Besides, Nick was a confirmed ladies’ man and the last person to take any banter seriously.
‘Does your kindness extend to doing this again?’
‘Walking with you? I don’t see why not.’ She hoped he had taken the hint that that was all he could expect.
‘Thank you.’ He spoke so seriously she wondered if he was making fun of her for a moment, but when she looked into his eyes she saw he was not. Her eyes moved to focus on his mouth. It was a nice shaped mouth, everything about Nick’s face was nice.The word mocked her in its inadequacy.
The shadows were long in the grass now, dying streaks of sunshine making their surroundings almost beautiful. They continued to walk and talk for some time and Nick didn’t even try to hold her hand. He told her about his boyhood in Kent and some of the high jinks he and his brothers had got up to, making her laugh, and Amy spoke a little of Bruce and the way it had been with her aunt and Eva. She did not mention Perce at all.
‘So that was the reason you left the north and went to stay with your friend in London?’ Nick asked. ‘To get away from your aunt?’
‘Partly.’ She did not elaborate and he did not press her.
By the time he slowly walked her back to the airwomen’s accommodation, Amy realised the Nick she had seen tonight was worlds away from the charming rogue she’d first met. She had almost been expecting to sense some secret side to him that wasn’t very nice, she admitted to herself, but although his personality was more complex than she had first thought, Nick seemed to have no dark hidden side. Suddenly the night air smelled sweeter.
They stopped a short distance from the women’s quarters to one side of the guardroom. Amy found herself wondering if he would try to kiss her. Instead he said, ‘I’ve enjoyed tonight more than you will ever know.’
If she had replied truthfully she would have said she felt exactly the same. ‘Bad day?’ she prevaricated.
‘Not particularly.’ He grinned. ‘But the usual round of snooker in a crowded NAAFI or going into town to get drunk only to avoid vomiting airmen in the squadron bus afterwards didn’t appeal.’
‘I’ve heard tales that that’s not all you pilots do in town.’ Immediately Amy said it she wished she hadn’t. It implied she minded for a start, and secondly she didn’t want to put him in the position of having to deny it.
If either of these things occurred to Nick he gave no sign of it. ‘Believe me, Amy,’ he said very solemnly, ‘you haven’t lived till you’ve heard me sing “The Muffin Man” with a tankard full of ale balanced on my head.’
‘Surprisingly, that’s not high on my agenda for a good night out.’
‘Pity. I can bob up and down while singing, if that makes any difference.’
‘None,’ said Amy, giggling.
‘Then how about an olde worlde tea shop I know, run by two old dears who have grandsons in the RAF and therefore look after anyone in Air Force blue extremely well?’
‘It’s an improvement.’
‘But is it a date?’ Suddenly he was deadly serious.
There were probably a dozen reasons why she should say no. ‘Yes, please,’ she said, and then blushed scarlet when his whoop of triumph brought the corporal on duty in the guardroom hurrying out to see what all the fuss was about.
Later on, tucked up in her bed, Amy found herself dissecting the time with Nick bit by bit, sleep a million miles away. She liked him and he liked her, so what was wrong in indulging in a little light romance for a while? she asked herself. Nick knew she wasn’t the type of girl to fall into bed with a man at the drop of a hat, she’d made that perfectly plain in the last weeks. She’d had loads of offers of dates from hopeful airmen, all of which she had refused, and Bruce had told her she’d acquired the nickname of the Untouchable among the men. In the nicest possible way, he’d been quick to reassure her when she’d said she didn’t know if she liked that or not.
So Nick knew the score if he wanted to take her out now and again. He knew she wasn’t likely to finish the evening with more than a cuddle and a goodnight kiss. If he got fed up with that - and she didn’t expect he wouldn’t - then everything would just fizzle out. No harm done.
She turned over in bed, causing it to creak in protest. Everyone knew Nick wasn’t into romance for the long term and that suited her just fine, but she would love to feel like a woman again, being spoiled, looked after, if only for a little while. There was nothing wrong with that, was there? No. There wasn’t.
She turned over onto her stomach again, pulling her pillow over her head to dull the snores wafting about the room and went to sleep.
PART SEVEN
1942 Decisions
Chapter 20
‘I don’t mind, you know.’ Kitty’s smile was soft as she reached out and took Ronald’s hand across the dirty breakfast dishes. ‘I consider myself your wife and I am in everything that matters. What difference would a scrap of paper make to the way we feel?’
‘It’s not about that.’
‘I know, I know, but as far as the folk round these parts are concerned I’m Mrs Shawe.’
‘Aye, that’s all very well but I want it legal and proper. There’s the bairn to consider now, don’t forget. I don’t want him being born without a right to me name.’
‘Ron, after this war there’s going to be umpteen bairns who don’t even know who their da is, let alone have a right to his name. And who says it’s going to be a boy anyway? It might be a little lassie.’
‘A lassie’s all right with me, pet. As long as you and it are all right, I don’t give a monkey’s what it is.’
‘Now don’t start whittling again. I’ve told you I’ve never felt better and it’s the truth.’
That was as maybe but he could have slapped that stupid midwife round the lugholes when she’d said Kitty was a bit old at forty-four to be having her first bairn.Thought herself the cat’s whiskers, that one had, with her Government forms and the rest of it. ‘Mrs Shawe is able to claim concentrated orange juice and cod liver oil from the Welfare Clinic, along with priority milk. Please make sure she drinks this all herself.’ What had she expected? That he was going to snatch it out of Kitty’s hands and guzzle it himself? He was worried sick about his lass and he wouldn’t eat or drink until the bairn was born if it would help Kitty.
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