Whisper on the Wind (56 page)

There was no sound; no bathtub singing, no splashing of water. The bathroom door was shut. Roz hadn’t heard.

Tomorrow, she would tell her. Tonight, Roz must sleep; why tell her tonight? Tomorrow would be soon enough and maybe by morning something could have happened; something wonderful and miraculous and Paul would ring and –

But it wasn’t a mistake, she thought dully. It was true; tragically true. She clenched her hands to stop their shaking as anger took her. It blazed inside her and she wanted to open doors then slam them shut with all her strength; she wanted to hit out, to hurt someone, everyone.

The world had gone mad. She, Kath Allen, had gone mad and she wanted to cry. She wanted to close her eyes, wail and scream; to go down on her knees and beat the floor with her fists in a fury.

What had Roz done that was so wicked? What awful thing from her past was she paying for? Had she been too happy, loved too much? And what was to become of her now?

Dear, sweet heaven – Paul dead and Skip and Flight. All of them dead. What went wrong, Juney? Didn’t you count tonight? Why wasn’t Grace here, and Polly? They would know what to do, what to say. And Jonty. Where was Jonty when Roz needed him so? Did nobody care?

The lifting of the kitchen door latch made such a noise that Kath spun round, startled.

‘My, but I feel better for that.’

Roz stood there, her wet hair wrapped in a towel. She was wearing her pale green dressing gown and faded pink slippers. ‘The water was lovely and hot. There’s enough left for another bath. Why don’t you have one? You can use my soap.’

‘Yes. Think I will. Y-yes …’

‘Kath – what is it? Are you all right?’

‘All right? Well – no, I’m not. Got a bit of a headache and I suppose I’m missing sleep, too. Look, love – why don’t you get into bed now whilst you’re nice and relaxed? I’ll check the blackouts before I run a bath.’

‘Would you mind if I did, Kath – got into bed now, I mean? I
am
tired and I know I could sleep. I’ll do the milk with you in the morning – give me a shout, will you, if I’m not awake?’

‘Okay. Now off you go. Close your eyes and don’t think about – about
anything.
’

‘I won’t. I think I could sleep the clock round.’ Smiling she kissed Kath’s cheek. ‘Goodnight, love – and thanks.’

Thanks, Roz? For what? For knowing about Paul, and not telling you? For letting you go to bed knowing that in the morning I’m going to shatter your lovely world for ever? Thanks? Oh, Roz, tomorrow you’ll hate me
…

Kath did not sleep. Her mind was a turmoil of panic and bitterness. She would never, ever, forget this night; would never forget the slowness of its passing nor the worry of what the morning held and how she was to find the words and the courage to tell Roz.

She had tried counting sheep; she had spun splendid, brave fantasies about none of it having happened; that she was asleep, dreaming, and soon her alarm would awaken her and she could count the bombers home with Roz as they delivered the milk.

She thumped and turned her pillow yet again. She had tried to think about Barney and why a nurse had written his last letter. She had thought about Marco; that soon it would be her birthday and her third wedding anniversary and, poignantly, that Roz might have been married by then, too.

But now Roz and Paul would not be married and her own marriage was over because she was in love with Marco Roselli. Her eyes hurt. If only she could close them and sleep; block out this awful night.

Sleep had not come and she had been glad to open the curtains and draw aside the blackout; look out on to another bright morning, the clouds tipped gold from a rising sun. Tomorrow had become today and today she must tell Roz.

Carefully she dressed, then picking up her shoes, walking quietly past the door of Roz’s bedroom, she went downstairs.

Half-past five. She checked her watch with the kitchen clock. Too early yet for work, but Jonty would be up. Maybe already he was bringing in the herd for milking. Jonty would know what to do; he would help her.

She found him as she’d hoped she would, at the gate of the cow pasture. He looked up as she called his name, then glanced down, smiling, pointing to his watch.

‘You’re early, Kath. Couldn’t you sleep?’

‘No, I couldn’t. I lay there worrying and in the end I couldn’t stand it. Last night, Jonty – the bomber …’

‘Bad do, that. Is Roz worrying about it?’

‘She was, but she went to bed and she’s still asleep – or I hope she is. But Jonty – oh, God.’ She gave a shuddering sigh, covering her face with her hands, holding back the words so awful to say.

‘Kath! What is it? What happened?’

‘Paul’s dead.’ There was no other way to say it. ‘The bomber that crashed was his. The padre rang last night, but Roz was in the bath and I said I’d tell her, but I couldn’t. I just let her go to bed thinking it was all right, that it had happened to some other crew. And I can’t face it. I can’t. Not without you, Jonty. Be there, when I tell her?’

‘Oh, God – you’re sure?’

‘I’m sure. I wish I’d dreamed it, but I haven’t. The padre wouldn’t get it wrong. I don’t know what to do. What’s going to happen to her? Monday her gran; today, Paul. Two terrible shocks, one after the other. It’s too much.’

‘Let me think, Kath.’ Jonty ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Look – give me a hand with this lot. Help me get the milking started and when Dad comes out I’ll tell him. He’ll be here in a minute, then I’ll do the milk-round and you can get back to her. Best be there, Kath, when she wakes up …’

‘No, Jonty. Not without you.’ She set her mouth stubbornly. She wasn’t brave enough to do it on her own; wouldn’t know how to cope with Roz’s grief. ‘Please? I’ll make it up to you, Jonty – only I can’t do it. Not alone.’

‘All right – but give me a minute? Can’t think straight. Does Polly know?’

‘No one knows but you and me. Polly will be there about ten; she’ll know soon enough – unless you think she should be told …’

‘I don’t know, Kath. I just don’t know. But it seems to me that no matter who’s there it isn’t going to make any difference to Roz. And she’s the one who matters. It’s Roz we must think about.’

‘Right. So let’s get the milking started and maybe Mat will think of something. I’m sorry about all this. I know I’m asking a lot and I know that farms don’t run themselves, but all I can think about is how I’m to tell Roz. How am I to stand by and see her misery and not be able to do anything about it?’

‘You won’t be on your own, Kath. There’ll be Polly and Mum and me. We’ll help all we can. And you know the way it is with me, although I’d give anything for this not to have happened. You know that, don’t you?’

‘I know, Jonty. But let’s not just stand here. Why don’t I get on with the milk on my own? Nobody’s going to complain if it’s half an hour early, are they? On my way back I’ll call in and tell Polly and maybe Grace can do the dairy work – just for this morning.’

‘Okay. Harness Daisy up and give me a shout when you’re ready; I’ll heave the crates for you. As soon as I’ve told Dad I’ll get down to the village and help you out. And let’s not forget Marco. He’ll be here at eight.’

Marco? She hadn’t forgotten Marco. All through the night he’d been in and out of her thoughts. Since Monday she had hardly seen him yet there was so much to tell him. About Barney, and now about Paul. He would listen and he would understand. Once she had told Marco she might not feel so alone, so afraid.

‘Yes,’ she said, out loud. ‘We mustn’t forget Marco.’ Nor how good it felt with his arms around her, how safe. She longed to be with him, loved him so much and knew, now, that she always would. ‘I’ll make a start. I’m sorry about all this and I’m sorry I panicked, but I didn’t know how I’d cope on my own.’

‘Well, you don’t have to, now. We’ll all pitch in. Don’t worry, Kath.’

‘I’ll try not to. Jonty, remember that I once asked you to be there if ever Roz should need you? Well, she needs you now. She won’t know it, but she’ll need you as she’s never needed anyone in her life before.’

‘I remember. Kath – if you were thinking about going back to the hostel, can you ask Flora for a little more time? Roz can’t be left alone. Do you think they’ll let you?’

‘I don’t see why not. I’ll ring Peacock. Afterwards …’

It was a little before eight o’clock when Kath and Jonty crossed the yard at Ridings.

‘Look!’ Kath pointed. ‘She’s up. The back door’s open, and I left it shut.’

The sound of early morning music could be clearly heard. Roz had switched on for the breakfast-time news. Everything appeared normal, which meant that Roz didn’t know; that no one had telephoned.

‘Hi!’ Roz’s smile was bright. ‘You said you’d give me a call, and you didn’t. But the bombers woke me up. Why are you back so soon, and Jonty –’ She saw their faces clearly for the first time; saw the set of their mouths, the apprehension in their eyes, and the smile left her lips.

‘Jonty – what is it? Why are you here?’

‘Sit down, Roz?’ He took her arm, guiding her to a chair, easing her into it as if she were not capable of doing so simple a thing unaided. ‘The padre rang …’

‘Last night, Roz.’ Kath ran her tongue round lips gone dry. ‘Only I didn’t – couldn’t – tell you …’

‘Tell me? Tell me what?’ She was on her feet again. ‘Not Paul? Oh, God, not Paul …’ Her lips formed the words, but no sound came.

‘The padre told Kath that the pilot’s name was John Wright. Roz, I’m sorry …’

‘No. Not Sugar. I won’t listen. I won’t!’ Her face was drained of colour, her eyes wide and wild with fear. She clasped her arms tightly around herself but it did nothing to stop the jerking of her limbs.

‘A glass of water, Kath.’ Jonty took a step nearer, wanting to gather Roz to him yet fearing to touch her.

In a daze, Kath filled a glass, carrying it clumsily, splashing water on the floor.

She offered it to Roz, but she turned away, putting out her hands, reaching for the fireguard but not quite making it because the floor was tilting beneath her.

‘No!’ Her cry was harsh. ‘Paul! Help me!’

Jonty caught her as she fell then scooped her into his arms, lifting her as if she were no weight at all.

‘Open the door.’

Kath ran ahead of him, up the stairs and into the bedroom, smoothing the rumpled bed sheets with agitated hands, shaking the pillow.

‘There, now.’ Gently he laid her down. ‘Stay with her, Kath. She needs help. I’ll get the doctor …’

‘The number’s on the pad, beside the phone …’

‘Right, then. Cover her up. Hold her hands, talk to her. I won’t be a minute.’

‘Roz?’ Furiously Kath rubbed the limp, cold hands. ‘Roz, love – please? Roz, say something?’ She gathered her into her arms, holding her tightly, rocking her. ‘Don’t look at me like that? I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’

‘All right, Kath. Go downstairs now, put the kettle on. Tea, she needs, with plenty of sugar. And fill a hot-water bottle.’ Jonty’s voice was low and firm. ‘The doctor’s coming. I’ll stay with her.’

She could not strike the match. She broke three in her shaking, useless fingers before she heard the plop of igniting gas.

Tea with sugar, and a hot-water bottle. Shock, that’s what. Sugar for shock.

She closed her eyes, and began to pray.

The doctor was tall, his face thin but his eyes kind. Kath was glad his eyes were kind. ‘Can I come in?’

He walked into the kitchen with a swinging limp. Kath had heard about that limp. He’d been wounded in Norway. He’d lain for two days and nights in the cold, his leg shattered. They’d invalided him out …

‘She’s upstairs,’ Kath whispered. ‘She just keeled over. Shock, I think. She’s shaking dreadfully. First her gran, and then Paul, last night.’

‘Her boyfriend? On the bomber that crashed?’

‘We only just told her. Up here, doctor …’

‘And you are?’

‘Kath. Kath Allen.’ She pushed open the bedroom door.

‘Hullo, Rosalind.’ The doctor knew her name and his smile was gentle. ‘Well, now, let me have a look at you.’

Jonty nodded briefly, then walked to the door, closing it behind him.

‘He’ll see to her, now. They say he’s a decent sort. Let’s make that tea, shall we? I think the hot-water bottles are in the big cupboard in the back lobby. And get yourself a cup, Kath. You look as if you need one.’

‘Yes, Jonty. Thanks.’ He was so good, so kind, and kindness always made her want to weep. ‘What a mess. What a terrible, terrible mess it all is.’ She covered her face with her hands. ‘She’ll never get over this.
Never.
’

Roz lay still in the half-dark room. She wanted to move her head, look at the bedside clock, but if she opened her eyes Polly would notice and she didn’t want to talk. Not to anyone. She just wanted to lie here, cocooned against the world and never have to speak nor eat nor laugh again. She wanted to drift up and away; wallow in time forgotten.

She ached all over. Every part of her hurt. There was a pain in her chest and a cold, gnawing ache at the place where her heart should be. Could you die of a broken heart? People did. They just faded into small, sad wraiths and people said, ‘Nothing wrong, really. Only heartbreak. A terrible thing, heartbreak …’