19

It was late when Roz came in. Her face was pale, and tear-stained, but she seemed calmer.

‘How are you, love?’ Kath’s tears were over. She had washed her face and combed her hair, determined not to add to Roz’s unhappiness. The news from Aunt Min, dreadful though it was, must wait.

‘Better, now. I needed to say it out loud, make myself believe it. Paul just listened, most of the time.’ He had held her tightly and safely, understanding the pain inside her and the terrible burden that was her conscience. ‘I wanted him not to go; to stay with me. But it wouldn’t have been right, would it? Not tonight, when she’s – I mean, not until after …’

‘After Thursday,’ Kath supplied gravely. ‘Until it’s – over.’

‘Thursday, yes. At two, it’ll be. Until then this is still Gran’s home and I must do things her way, keep to her rules – well, that’s how I feel about it. I wanted him with me tonight, just to be beside me; to hold me if I awoke – nothing else, Kath, but –’

But Paul had understood. He had just kissed her gently, and whispered a goodnight, promising to ring in the morning, telling her she was to try to sleep. She had watched him go, wanting him to turn and wave, knowing he would not invite ill-luck by doing so.

‘Tonight he was kind, Kath, gentle and safe, somehow, to be with. I love him so much.’

‘I know. You’re good for each other. It’ll all come right, Roz, I know it will. I’m going to put the kettle on now and you’re going to share my sandwich, that’s an order. You’ll never sleep if you don’t eat something.’

‘Yes. Think I’d better. I feel so – so drained. Did you see Flora?’

‘I saw her. She sent her love and said I was to stay as long as you needed me. She’s popping over some time tomorrow to bring me a – a ration card.’ Mustn’t mention the letter. On Thursday, when it was all over, she would tell Roz about Barney. ‘I’ve put my things in the small spare room – the one I had before. Is that all right, Roz?’

In the little room with pale green walls. Last time she’d slept there Paul had been on leave and they’d gone to the Helpsley dance. And Marco had – But she mustn’t think about Marco. Not tonight. Never again, if she had an iota of sense left in her.

‘Of course it’s all right. Paul might be flying tomorrow. The twenty-seventh, it’ll be, Kath. He said I wasn’t to wait by the wood. If they’re not on ops he’ll come here to me. Did you know Gran had asked him to Ridings tonight? He phoned me, like always, but I was at Home Farm. He had a little talk to Gran and she asked him to come and call for me. That was why he wasn’t at Peddlesbury Lane. It’s awful, isn’t it? Gran might have been on her way to tell me …’

‘Well, at least they met – if only over the phone; but you mustn’t think things like that. Your gran was probably only out for a walk. It was a lovely afternoon. Maybe she wanted to see how the haymaking was going. We’ll never know, Roz.’

‘No. But it makes it all right for Paul to be here, now. She’d asked him to come, hadn’t she, so I don’t feel I’m sneaking him in the minute – well, you know …’

‘Yes. She wanted him to come. She always did. Look, there’s no need for you to get up for the milk-round, but if you wake up and find me gone you’ll know where I am. You’ll be all right for a couple of hours, won’t you?’

‘I’ll be fine. Mr Dunston is coming and Paul will be ringing. Can you manage on your own?’

‘Of course I can. It’ll be funny without you, though.’ She sliced the large, thick sandwich into two then poured tea into the dainty china cups Hester Fairchild had always used. ‘Supper first, then straight into bed. You look all in. I’ll check the blackouts and lock up. We’ll both feel a whole lot better in the morning. Sleep. That’s what we need.’

Sleep did not come easily. Kath lay unmoving in the unfamiliar bed, thinking about Barney; wondering how he was and where he was; how seriously he had been hurt. She could not envisage Barney in a hospital bed, maybe helpless and in pain. Was he thinking about her, wanting her beside him, his pique forgotten? Soon, perhaps, he’d be coming back to England. They did that, didn’t they – brought wounded men home in hospital ships?

Then what would she do? How was she to tell a wounded soldier she was leaving him? How could she? She had intended to tell him when the war was over, when he came home. Squarely and honestly she would have asked him for her freedom, but things had changed, now. The distant day she had so dreaded was all at once very much nearer.

And what will you say to him? demanded her conscience.

Say? What was there to say? That she was desperately sorry, but –

‘But I’ve fallen in love with another man.’

No! Yes! She was in love with Marco Roselli if wanting to be near him always, needing him to touch her, kiss her, make love to her, was falling in love – all right, that’s the way it was. She was guilty.

Then what about your promises, Kath Allen? For better, for worse; in sickness and in health …

All right! So people made mistakes. She had made one and Barney, too, if he were honest – else why the long silences, the refusal to meet her half way, to even try to understand?

But it was all right until you met Marco Roselli. It was bearable.

It was not all right. It never really was. She had been so very tired of being a nobody, a foundling, a charity child that she had married the first man who asked her.

He gave you his name.

Yes, then mocked my dreams.

He gave you a home.

He took me to his mother’s house. It was never mine; never a home.

They had bought a big, double bed and he claimed his rights in that bed. Every night. Clumsily and selfishly, until he tired of it. He had never made love to her; he took her – with his mother listening on the other side of the wall, hating her.

What did you expect – you, Kath Sykes, a nobody?

I expected kindness and tenderness and understanding. Even a nobody has feelings. And here at Home Farm I’m our Kath, and Marco loves me …

Marco Roselli is your husband’s enemy; your country’s enemy.

All right! But I’m a woman and I want him. I’m sorry with all my heart that Barney has been wounded and I’d give anything for it not to have happened. But Barney will fall on his feet. He always has; he always will. And when the time is right, I’ll tell him. I will …

The moon was half-grown and rising pale; hardly to be noticed against a sky still vaguely light. Now, as the longest day approached, there seemed hardly any night; the sky was not fully dark until midnight and long before five in the morning birds sang a welcome to a new day. It was somehow unnatural, Roz thought as she thumped and turned her pillow yet again.

She wouldn’t sleep; nothing was so certain. Her mind was a seethe of thoughts and doubts, regrets and sorrow. It would help if she could weep again; if the knot of pain in her throat could dissolve into blessed tears. But her tears were spent and the pain must remain, a small part of her penance.

I love you, Gran. Are you here, still, or are you already with him, with the love you lost all those years ago? And did you know about this afternoon? Was a part of you there in April, on Mark’s Eve – you and Peg together?

You wanted to go; I know it. Lately he’s been beckoning, calling. You felt his nearness, didn’t you, Gran? You did know. And who that we don’t know about was there with you on Mark’s Eve? Who else in this parish will die before the year has run?

Paul, take care of your dear self. I want you and need you. Fifty years from now I shall still want and need you. I couldn’t live if you left me. Don’t let them part us, Paul …

The milk delivery took longer than Kath had thought. Not only was she alone, but at every house doors opened immediately and she was asked for news; news of Mrs Fairchild’s death, of the time of the funeral on Thursday and of how Roz, poor lass, was taking it. And wasn’t it shameful? Her who’d never harmed a soul, killed by them, just as surely as they’d killed her husband.

Kath carried back many messages of sympathy and love, but then Roz was loved. She was one of their own; a Fairchild. Ridings was hers, now, and she would go on belonging like the beeches and oaks on either side of the carriage drive, deep-rooted and immovable.

She backed the milk-cart into the shed then loosed Daisy from the shafts, leading her to the drinking trough. She really must hurry back to Roz.

‘Kath!’ Flora was calling her, grave-faced. ‘It came, hen; first post. Bad news travels fastest, doesn’t it? Want me to stay around, till you’ve read it?’

‘No, Flora, but thanks for bringing it.’ She pushed the letter into the deep pocket of her dungarees. ‘Later. I’ll read it later. And is it all right for me to sleep out – did you ask the Warden?’

‘I asked her. Can you call in, later on, and she’ll give you some rations, she said; save messing about with a temporary card. How’s Roz?’

‘Bearing up. Her gran’s solicitor is coming this morning. There’ll be things to talk about, to arrange. I haven’t seen her since last night, but I heard her go downstairs in the early hours. I don’t think she slept, either.’

‘Aye. It’s a terrible war, so it is. Ah, well, I’ll be away and have words with Mr Ramsden. I’ve a girl can be spared, if he’s short-handed. My, but it couldn’t have happened at a busier time …’

‘Mat’s in Ten-acre field, Flora. They’re turning the hay this morning – the top end of Beck Lane.’

‘Right, then. See you, Kath. And I hope things won’t seem so bad once you’ve read the letter. Try not to worry too much?’

‘That was Flora from the hostel,’ Kath announced, sitting down at the kitchen table. ‘She brought me a letter.’

She looked around the familiar kitchen, safe and unchanging, and let it wrap its comfort around her.

‘Flora has a girl Mat can have, if he’s pushed. She’s gone to Ten-acre, to see him.’

‘Aye. Everyone is good. Mat’ll be grateful. Normally we’d have managed.’ But yesterday and today and for the remainder of the week, things would not be normal. Come to think of it, things would never be normal again. ‘From home, was it – the letter, I mean.’

‘From Aunt Min.’ Home? Where was home? ‘Is there anything else you want me to do, Grace?’

‘No. It was good of you to do the round. Get back to Roz. I’ll do the dairy work, this morning. We’ll all have to rally round till after the – the –’

Funeral. The word no one wanted to say. On Thursday, at two. By Thursday tea-time Mrs Fairchild would be gone and it would never be the same without her. But the world had gone mad and the madness had reached out even to little hidden-away Alderby. Nowhere was safe, now; nowhere at all.

Kath opened the letter the moment she was out of sight of Home Farm and removed the long, buff envelope Aunt Min had folded into three. It bore no stamp; only the words On His Majesty’s Service, the red mark of the Censor and the date.

Inside was a single sheet of buff-coloured notepaper. It bore an address similar to the one Barney wrote at the top of his letters, and two sets of initials. Those of the officer who had dictated and signed the letter, perhaps, and the soldier who had typed it.

Allen B. T/157663. Royal Army Service Corps, the letter was headed, and it went on to tell her that Barney had been wounded in action and was now in hospital at Hafiif; that his condition was satisfactory and that she could continue to send letters to his battalion address.

Hafiif. Near Cairo, was it? Had Barney already driven an ambulance to that hospital on one of his long convoys? Why couldn’t she write directly to the hospital and when would she be told officially by the War Office?

T/157663. Barney was a number, a statistic, now. How badly had he been wounded? Had there been so many casualties that his Commanding Officer had had neither the time nor the inclination to tell her more? Allen B. Why couldn’t they call him Barney Allen? Why did the war take satisfaction from stripping men and women of their identities, making nameless numbers of them?

She thrust the letter back into her pocket. She wished Aunt Min had enclosed a note; a few lines, perhaps, to wish her well. But she’d probably been so agitated that the thought had never entered her head.

Barney wounded, and in hospital. She didn’t love him but not in her bleakest moments would she have wished him ill.

Tears filled her eyes and she brushed them away with the back of her hand. Her life was in turmoil; the whole world was in turmoil, and there was nothing she could do about it.

From the small sitting-room came the murmur of voices. Mr Dunston was here already. He and Roz would be talking about what was going to happen on Thursday and what would happen after that; things which after a death must be discussed, however distressing.

Kath walked quietly across the kitchen and closed the door that led to the passage outside. What was being said in there was no business of hers; what Roz wanted her to know she could tell her in her own good time.

She lifted the kettle. It was cold, which meant that Roz hadn’t made tea. Perhaps she should set it to boil anyway, Kath thought; she needed a cup herself. She’d had no breakfast, come to think of it. A slice of toast might take care of the muzzy feeling in her head and the strange ache in her stomach.

She sighed deeply. She didn’t understand any of this. Two days ago she and Roz had been so happy; mixed up, perhaps, but happy. Then the fighters came, and Flora had told her that Barney was wounded and in hospital. Was it like that, then, if you dared to be happy? Did happiness make the Fates jealous? Did it have its price and were she and Roz being asked to pay?

Thursday, at two. On Thursday they would have to accept that they would never see Hester Fairchild again. And when it was all over she would tell Roz about Barney; pour out her bewilderment and guilt and hope that the telling would help to ease it. Would things be back to normal again, after Thursday? Would they pick up the threads and try to carry on as if none of it had happened? Could they?

‘Now then, our Kath. Got the kettle on, I see.’

Polly had come; Polly, level-headed and unchanging. Kath had forgotten that ten o’clock was Polly’s time, always would be, no matter what.

‘I’m hungry, Polly. I don’t seem to have eaten since – since it happened. And Mr Dunston’s here, I think, in the little sitting-room.’

‘Aye.’ Polly nodded her approval. ‘Best get it over with then the lass’ll know where she stands. These things can’t be put off. Got to be done and the sooner the better.’

She put on her pinafore, and tied the strings. Then she changed her shoes as she always did and hung up her brown paper carrier-bag on the peg behind the door as she had been doing for longer than she wanted to remember. Life must go on. No one had known that better than the Mistress and on life would go, Polly vowed. ‘And if you’re making a pot, I’ll take a cup with you, a piece of toast, an’ all. Set a tray, will you – the white china cups with the blue rim and a clean traycloth, from the top drawer. And what about this fire?’ She wielded the poker vigorously. ‘Almost out, it is. Turn your back for five minutes and the place goes to pieces. Well, what are you waiting for?’ She turned abruptly away. She hadn’t meant to be sharp with Kath, but coming here and her not being there – well, it was something she would have to face for the rest of her days, for nothing would bring her back. Not if Poll Appleby wept until the crack of doom would it. And why couldn’t she weep? When would she be rid of the pain that raged something terrible inside her? Dry-eyed she turned round. ‘Sorry, Kath. But you know I don’t mean to snap. It’s just that – that –’

‘I know, Polly. Just that she isn’t here any more. It’s going to take a bit of getting used to.’

‘A lot of getting used to.’ She would never get used to it; not if she lived to be a hundred. ‘We’ll never see her like again, you know.’ Her lips moved into a small, sad smile. ‘She was a lady, you see. Ah, well …’ She threw kindling on the dying fire then carefully placed coal on it. ‘There, now. Another minute and it’d have been out. Not much milk in mine, lass, if you’re pouring.’

Why did the hours drag so? Why did Thursday at two hang over them all like a great dark cloud full of tears? And would this dratted pain never go?

‘Tea, is it? Mr Dunston wants a cup?’ she demanded sharply as Roz came in through the passage doorway.

‘No thanks, Polly. He’s just gone – left by the front.’ She pulled out a chair then sat down, chin on hands, at the table. ‘Paul rang. He won’t be coming. They’re on standby.’

‘Flying, do you suppose?’

‘Just standby, which means they might go or they mightn’t. And no tea for me, thanks. Just a glass of water.’

‘You’ll not get fat on water. A glass of milk, why don’t you?’ Polly was worried. The lass looked dreadful; pale and pinched, her eyes dark-smudged with not sleeping. ‘And what did he have to say, then,’ she demanded. ‘Everything’s all right – moneywise, I mean?’

‘I think so, Polly. Seems there’s still some of the ploughing subsidy left and I can draw on that, the bank told Mr Dunston, until everything is settled. Gran made a will, so it should be fairly straightforward. I’ll be able to keep Ridings, if I want to, but only if it goes on being a farm and earning its keep.’

‘So that’s what you’ll do? Stay here and try to make a go of it?’

‘Isn’t that what Gran would want?’

‘Aye. She’d want you to, lass, but what do you want?’

‘I want Ridings – and Paul.’

‘Then that’s all right, isn’t it? Seems you’ll have what you want. Not many of us get that.’

‘I know, and I’m grateful. And Polly – Paul and I want to be married. Did Gran tell you?’

‘She told me. She said she’d never wanted less than your complete happiness. Them was her exact words. Telling me, I reckon she was. Telling me – in case –’ She bit hard on her lip to stop its trembling. ‘So if that’s what you want, you’d best tell your young man it’s all right. Quiet, though, it’ll have to be. If there hadn’t been a war on you’d have had to keep to the mourning – you know that, don’t you? If there hadn’t been this war, you’d have to wait six months at least.’

‘I know, Polly, and thanks for letting us.’ And for understanding that time was so short; that six months could be six lifetimes, or six nevers. But it was going to be all right. Gran would have said yes, and Polly understood.

Relief washed over Roz like a blessing. Tonight, if she saw Paul, she could tell him. If she didn’t see him, then there’d be only three more ops to go and after that they would have a whole year of lovely tomorrows and that was as far as she dare imagine. For the first time in two days she smiled; a tremulous, trembly little smile. ‘Thanks, Polly love – and bless you …’

‘Right, then. I’ll be getting on with the bathroom.’ Head high, lips set tightly, Polly picked up dusters and cloths, banged the door too loudly behind her and walked upstairs where nothing had changed except that she was gone. The soap she had used on Monday morning was still there; the bed she had slept on unruffled and untouched as though she would turn back the quilt and sleep in it tonight. But for all that, she was never coming back.

‘Because I’m a minor, Kath, Mr Dunston is doing everything for me; you know – getting the death certifícate, and everything. I didn’t know there was so much to be done. I thought that death was death; that that was the end of it, but it isn’t. So many formalities …’

She sat, chin on knees, looking down over Peddlesbury. Standby had become reality, now. Paul’s squadron was operational tonight, and this would be his twenty-seventh flight over Germany. And it would be all right. It was the last one, the thirtieth, that would be so awful; for herself, for Skip and every one of Sugar’s crew. The last op. of the tour was every bit as fear-filled as the first and the thirteenth.

She reached for the binoculars they had remembered to bring and held them to her eyes. ‘Do you think it’s terrible of me to come up here and watch the take-off – disrespectful, I mean? Will people think I shouldn’t have?’

‘Shouldn’t show your face until Thursday, you mean? Rubbish! Who’s to see you, anyway, up here? And if they do, what business is it of theirs?’

‘Oh, but they’d make it their business. They’re like that, Kath, in villages. But I couldn’t have stayed in. Okay – so I could have sat in the garden and counted them out from there, but I wanted to be here.’

‘So it’s all right, then.’ Kath offered her cigarettes. ‘Want one?’

‘No, ta. Smoking on an empty stomach makes me feel queasy.’

‘Then for goodness’ sake eat something!’ Hardly a thing inside her since Monday morning, Kath brooded. Drinks of water and sips of milk. She’d be passing out soon, if she wasn’t careful. But the air tonight was cooler, and fresh; it might sharpen her appetite. ‘Can you make out who is who?’

‘Yes. When they start taxi-ing to take-off I’ll be able to see their markings. We’ll know exactly which one is Paul, then. Wish we’d thought to bring these things sooner.

‘And there’s a couple of crew-trucks going along the runway. Amazing how clear these glasses make them. They could all be up and away within half an hour …’

‘Good. Then we’re going straight home and you’ll eat something – or else! You can’t go on like this. Are you trying to punish yourself? What’s to be gained by starving yourself, will you tell me? You’re going to be married, girl. Try thinking about that for a change.’

‘I’m not starving myself. I just can’t face food. I’m glad about us being married and I’ll be all right, truly I will. It’s just that it won’t leave me, Kath – Monday, I mean. I keep telling myself it didn’t happen. I close my eyes and will her to be there when I open them. And she isn’t. I suppose that’s why it hasn’t sunk in that Polly said yes. I’m probably still waiting, inside me, for Gran to say it, too.’

‘I know, love. I know.’

‘And there’s Thursday to be lived through and after that there’s Paul’s last three. Sometimes I want to go to sleep, Kath, and not wake up till it’s all over, and all I have to worry about is getting to the church. You know I’d give anything – anything – to have Paul with me tonight. I need him so much – just to be near him; nothing else. Would you say that was selfish and heartless of me?’

‘I’d say that it’s your life,’ Kath said slowly and carefully, all the time watching the wisp of smoke that rose, trembling, from her cigarette, ‘and that it’s up to you who sleeps in your house. It’s nothing to do with what Alderby thinks. But you won’t have Paul stay the night. Not yet. You’ll do things her way for just a little while longer; you know you will. And give me the glasses, will you? There’s one of them not revved up, yet. The others all seem to be moving, but one looks like its propellers haven’t done a turn.’

‘Where?’ Roz held tightly to the binoculars, sweeping them the length of the runway.

‘Focus on the control tower, then over to your left. Got them?’

‘Yes! And it’s Sugar – I know it is! The crew are all standing around. I can see them. Take a look.’

‘Now how on earth can you tell who’s who? All crews look alike in flying kit.’

‘I know they do, but Paul and Skip are a head and shoulders taller than the rest of the crew; I just know it’s them. There’s some sort of trouble. They won’t be going, Kath. They’re not going to take off – bet you anything you like!’

‘So what’ll we do? Wait and see?’

‘No! We’ll get back home. Paul will ring me – let me know what happened. I’ve got to be there when he phones.’

She was on her feet and running down the steep slope of the hill, Kath slipping and sliding behind her, calling to her to be careful.

‘Wait for me, Roz! And watch it! The grass is slippery. You’ll break your neck!’

They waited for a long time, eyes on the telephone, willing it to ring, but it did not.

‘It was probably some other crew,’ Kath ventured, eventually. ‘You didn’t get a proper look at the markings, did you? You only saw that Lancaster head-on; it could have been any one of them.’

‘It was Sugar, I know it.’ Roz’s chin tilted stubbornly. ‘And it was Sugar’s crew standing around. Think I don’t know Paul when I see him?’

‘I still say they all look alike in –’

‘It was them.’ She would endure no contradiction. ‘And how many took off? How many did you count on the way back here?’

‘Eight.’

‘Yes, and so did I. And it’s usually nine or ten. Paul won’t be going, now.’

‘All right. It was Paul’s plane we saw – but he won’t be able to ring. You know that. There’ll be no calls in or out. And you’re shattered. Go to bed, Roz. He’ll ring in the morning just as soon as he can …’

She didn’t like saying it; didn’t like seeing the pain in Roz’s face. It was like dashing the hopes of a small, eager child, Kath thought; like taking away a promised treat. And Roz looked dreadful. Her face was pale and tight with stress; if she didn’t get some sleep soon she would make herself ill.

‘I’ll wait a little longer. You go to bed, Kath. You’re doing the milk-round in the morning and you need your rest. I’ll wait up, for the phone. I wouldn’t sleep, anyway,’ she added hastily, ‘for fear I missed him. You go on up.’

Kath had been going to refuse; had almost countered with, ‘No. If you stay up, I stay up,’ when the knocking on the back door caused them both to start.

‘It’s him! It’s Paul!’ Roz flung wide the door and was in his arms in an instant, laughing, crying, searching with her mouth for his, whispering, ‘I knew it was you, darling; I knew all the time it was Sugar …’

‘Paul,’ Kath whispered, relieved it had not been Grace, or Jonty who stood there. ‘How did you manage to get out?’

‘Oh, the luck of the Rennies.’ He grinned. ‘And how did you know we had gremlins in two engines?’

‘We were watching take-off on Tuckets Hill,’ Roz gasped, her eyes not leaving his face. ‘Stay with me tonight, Paul? Don’t go back to Peddlesbury?’

‘Sorry, sweetheart.’ Gently he kissed the tip of her nose. ‘I shouldn’t be here at all. I can’t stay too long.’

‘Stay long enough to make her eat something,’ Kath entreated. ‘If she doesn’t eat soon, she’ll be ill. She won’t listen to me. And I’m sorry, but I’m off to bed. Got to be up early for the milk-round. You’ll have to excuse me. Goodnight, both.’ She smiled, eager to leave them alone. ‘God bless.’

‘Well, now. What’s this about not eating?’ Paul demanded as the door closed.

‘Oh – I just can’t be bothered,’ Roz countered, shrugging, it tastes so – so awful in my mouth. I suppose it’s all to do with – well, with Gran. Shock, maybe. I’ll pull myself together, soon.’

‘How about a sandwich, and a glass of milk?’ Paul took off his jacket and draped it over a chair-back. ‘Where do you keep the bread? I’ll go this minute, if you don’t eat something,’ he threatened, his eyes deep with concern. ‘Kath’s right. You’ll be ill.’

Roz ate a slice of bread and drank the milk Paul poured for her then set the glass down triumphantly.

‘There now – satisfied? Let’s go outside. It’s a lovely night. Let’s sit on the staircase seat. There’s something I want to tell you – something wonderful. How long have we got?’

‘An hour. No longer than that. It’s a half-hour’s walk back. And if it’s so wonderful, tell me now.’

‘Do you still want to marry me?’ She reached up, taking his face between gentle hands. ‘Do you still feel the same – that we should get married as soon as we can?’

‘At the end of the tour.’ He took her hand in his and they walked out into the twilight. ‘Is that soon enough?’

‘How about next week? Before you finish the tour, even? Polly says I can. She’s one of my legal guardians and today she said that Gran had told her it was all right, so she said yes. We could get a licence in less than a week. Marry me, Paul? Quietly, with just two witnesses? Please, darling?’

‘They do say,’ he said gravely, ‘that a special licence only takes three days. Allowing for the weekend, we could even make it by Tuesday – if you think that’s not too soon?’

‘No. Gran would understand. I’ll have to get Polly’s official permission, I suppose. Wish I knew how it’s done.’

‘I know how it’s done. I talked to the padre at Peddles-bury. It’s the bishop who grants the licence, I believe, but your vicar’ll tell you. A bloke in the Mess got married in York the same way only last week. Shall you and I be married in York, darling?’

‘And stay at the house in Micklegate again?’

‘Would you like that?’ He draped his battledress top around her shoulders then sat down beside her, pulling her close. ‘But didn’t we once say we’d do it in style?’

‘You said that. The house in Micklegate will suit me fine,’ she smiled indulgently. ‘But I won’t speak to the vicar until – well, until after Thursday. Best not till then.’

‘I can’t believe it.’ He laid his cheek on hers. ‘We are talking about a wedding, aren’t we?’

‘We are. A quietly-in-York-by-special-licence wedding. And fifty years from now, my love, I’ll bet you anything you like we wouldn’t have done it any differently.’

‘Fifty years from now,’ he echoed, knowing that he’d settle for five years, for five weeks, even; knowing that all he wanted was to marry her for however long or little the Fates allowed. ‘Do you want children, Roz?’

‘Of course I do. I think we’d better have three.’

‘Two boys and a girl?’

‘No. I rather fancy two girls and a boy.’

‘There you are! We’re arguing already.’ Laughing, he kissed her gently, all at once seeing her pregnant with his child. It was the sanest, most certain thing he could think of in an insane, uncertain world. ‘We’re going to make it, you and me, Roz. There will be a fifty years from now for us. I know it.’

‘Mm. Remember the thirteenth op. – and Jock? Nothing still to come can ever be as bad as that, darling. Just remember that, won’t you?’

‘That I was ready to jack it in, Roz?’

‘That it was normal and natural for you – for you all – to think that way after what happened. But you all went on, and soon you’ll have made it.’

‘I’d still rather forget that night.’

‘I wouldn’t. That night you said you’d always love me. We made love for the first time.’

‘I still love you, Roz, only more. And I feel good about us; sure I’ll make it. Shall we live here, at Ridings? Fifty years from now, shall we sit here and remember tonight – the night Sugar refused to take-off?’

‘We will, Paul.’ She lifted his hand, touching his upturned palm with her lips, closing his fingers around it. ‘Keep that kiss for your next take-off, to bring you luck. Where should you have been going tonight – or can’t you tell me?’

‘I shouldn’t, but tonight would have been a piece of cake; a milk run. We were going razzling, as a matter of fact.’

‘Going what?’

‘Razzling. Dropping nasty little strips that ignite when they’ve dried out – set fire to big areas of woodland and fields of almost-ripe corn. Right out in the German countryside, away from guns and night-fighters we’d have been. Like I said, an easy one, but it would have counted.’

‘Never mind, darling. I think Someone up there knew I needed you with me tonight – and I did, Paul. I’m glad you’re here. Just think – a week from now we might even be married.’

‘We will be.’ He rose to his feet, taking her hands, drawing her close. ‘Walk with me through the orchard, Roz? Best I get back, just in case there’s a flap about Sugar. I’ll talk to the padre again, first thing tomorrow. And try to eat something. Promise me you’ll take care.’

They said goodnight at the little gate, standing close, not wanting to part.

‘I love you, Paul Rennie.’

‘And I love you, my lovely girl. Fifty years from now, I’ll still be loving you.’

She stood in the half light, watching him walk away from her, wrapping him round with her love.

Take care, my darling …