The match was in full swing when Jim and Reenie arrived at the field, and a sizeable crowd stood around the pitch. Craning his neck, Jimmy looked over the heads of the spectators.
‘Rodney’s here.’ He grabbed Reenie’s hand and pushed through to the front where his eldest brother stood, wearing a dark blue coat over his immaculate naval officer’s uniform. Reenie hadn’t seen him since Gladys’s funeral in January, and Marianne had confided to her that she was worried he was staying away because he was ashamed of them. Having his family associated with treason and murder couldn’t be good for a man in his position. But the Castle siblings had always been close, and Reenie knew that no matter what, Rodney would be there for them if they needed him.
So different from her and June, she thought regretfully. They’d fought like cat and dog throughout their childhood. It was one of the reasons she’d spent so much time with Wilf –anything to get away from her sister’s nasty remarks. June had always been the pretty one, the one all the boys chased. Whereas she . . . well, she’d believed what her sister had told her. That she was fat and stupid and would end her days behind the counter at the grocery store because no one would want her.
She wondered if things would have been different if their parents had lived. But they’d died during the Spanish flu epidemic when Reenie was eight. Being orphaned so young should have made them closer, but no matter how hard she’d tried, her sister had seemed to hate her. Why else would she have stolen Wilf from her?
Although, Wilf had never been hers to steal, she reminded herself. But he had been her friend. Until he’d married June and everything had changed.
A cheer made Reenie switch her attention to the pitch, and she smiled at the sight of Bert being hoisted aloft on the shoulders of his teammates.
‘What’s the score?’ she asked.
‘Three–nil. Bert’s scored a hat-trick,’ Rodney replied, his eyes wandering over to the other side of the field. Reenie followed his gaze. Ah. She waved, hoping to catch Marge’s attention, but her friend was too intent on yelling abuse at the navy’s defence.
‘If this is how you defend a goal, how do you expect to defend the bloomin’ country!’ she railed.
Reenie giggled. ‘Maybe if Marge was in charge, the navy wouldn’t be losing,’ she said.
‘If Marge was in charge, they wouldn’t have made it to the match – they’d all be in the pub!’ Rodney drawled.
Reenie glared at him. ‘You didn’t seem to mind her at Christmas when you were kissing her under the mistletoe.’
Rodney scowled. ‘Whatever you’re thinking, you couldn’t be more wrong,’ he responded pompously.
‘For God’s sake, Rod!’ Jimmy pushed his shoulder. ‘What the hell’s wrong with you?’
Rodney flushed. ‘Sorry, Reenie. I didn’t mean to be rude.’ He looked over at Marge again. This time, she looked back at them, all trace of her earlier passion gone.
It was Rodney who broke the long stare first when he turned his attention back to the game.
Marge put her hands around her mouth and shouted, ‘Come on, Phil! Give us four!’
A slim man with brown hair looked over at her and saluted.
Reenie examined him. So that was the famous Padre Philip. Marge had told her about him, but she hadn’t actually met him yet. He didn’t look like a padre. With his navy-blue socks around his ankles, baggy blue shorts and a white top, his brown hair falling into his face, he looked more like an eighteen-year-old boy, and she’d lay money on him being at least as young as Jimmy. But she’d also bet that Marge didn’t give a fig for that, or for what anyone else had to say about it.
Just then, Philip managed to get the ball off one of the soldiers, and set off for the goal, nimbly dodging a couple of tackles and whacking it into the top corner of the army’s net. He let out a cry of triumph and, ignoring the congratulations of his teammates, made a beeline for Marge. Grabbing her round the waist, he lifted her up and twirled her round, before lowering her to the ground and kissing her soundly on the lips. The cheering died away as Marge’s arms went around his neck and the kiss deepened.
‘Bloody hell,’ Jimmy whispered. ‘Are you sure he’s a chaplain?’
Reenie giggled. ‘Don’t look like it, does it?’
Finally the kiss broke and Phil whispered something in Marge’s ear, before jogging back to the middle to restart the game, leaving Marge standing stock-still, her mouth hanging open.
‘I’ve got work to do,’ Rodney said suddenly, turning to walk away, his head high and his shoulders stiff.
‘Will we see you later?’ Jimmy shouted after him.
‘No,’ Rodney called brusquely over his shoulder.
‘God, he’s a moody bugger,’ Jimmy grumbled. ‘I’m gonna check he’s all right. Back in a tick.’
Reenie glanced over towards Marge, noticing the way her friend’s eyes followed Rodney to the edge of the field before he disappeared round the corner of the garage.
She was just about to make her way over to her, when a familiar sound made her heart sink. She looked up, but all she could see were clouds. Planes raced over Dover all the time, Reenie tried to reassure herself, but even so, she felt unsettled. As the noise grew louder, she looked up again.
Suddenly, as though parting a thick grey curtain, a plane burst through the cloud, its yellow nose bright against the dull sky.
‘Christ!’ The man next to her started to sprint across the pitch waving his arms. ‘Get down! Everyone down!’
It took a moment for his words to register, and then like skittles, players and spectators alike dropped to the ground, arms curled protectively over their heads, as gouts of earth flew up around them, the sound of gunfire drowning out their terrified screams.