Searchlights slashed up through the darkness in front of our aircraft, G George, two questing fingers combing the night sky that moved together every now and then to form one giant cone of white light. For any aircrew pinned in its beam, all they could do was pray as the heavy guns on the ground below started firing at them; already, we had seen another Stirling ahead of us tumble to earth after it was coned and hit. Lips moving in a silent prayer behind my oxygen mask, my clothes under my flight suit stuck to my back with sweat, I crossed my fingers as Amir aimed G George for the black gulf between the searchlights. Then the Stirling began to shudder, vibrating so hard it felt as if it was trying to shake itself apart in mid-air. Shit, what’s wrong? All of a sudden I was in the pilot’s seat with no idea how I’d got there, and Amir was nowhere to be seen. I yanked at the stick, but it wouldn’t move. I heard screams through my headset and when I turned Robert was beside me, blood streaming down the left-hand side of his face. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ I yelled as I saw both searchlights swinging round towards us, moving as one in slow, perfect tandem like dancers and then coming together. We were heading straight and level towards that deadly cone of light. As I reached for G George’s controls again, Robert grabbed me by the shoulder, pushing me back in my seat as the cockpit filled with the searchlights’ glare and the world went white.
‘Sergeant Gauthier. Sergeant Gauthier.’
I jolted awake with a gasp, sitting upright. The nurse who had woken me by grasping my shoulder – the one that wasn’t broken – regarded me with a mix of sympathy and annoyance.
‘You were having a bad dream, Sergeant,’ she said quietly. ‘We mustn’t wake the rest of the ward, must we?’
Still half in the dream with Robert’s screaming, bloody face dancing in front of my eyes, I looked round wildly and saw not the cramped cockpit of the Stirling, but the quiet hospital ward with a lamp burning low at the far end, and the huddled shapes of sleeping men in the beds around me. I lay back, throwing my arm across my face. ‘Sorry,’ I murmured.
‘I shall fetch you a sleeping draught,’ she said and bustled off, her starched uniform rustling. I lowered my arm, gazing up at the ceiling as my heart rate slowly returned to normal. I had been at the RAF General Hospital at Ely for five weeks now. My left leg and right arm, both badly broken in the crash, were in plaster, and I had stitches in my forehead where the glass from the car windows had sliced me up. Three days after I got here, Jonny Grant had visited me to break the news that Robert was dead. Not knowing what to say, I’d closed my eyes and pretended to drift off to sleep, feeling like the worst sort of coward. I hadn’t seen Jonny or the rest of my crew since, but I was pretty sure they all held me responsible for what happened to Robert. And who could blame them?
The nurse returned with my sleeping draught, which I swallowed dutifully. Whatever was in it plunged me into a black, dreamless sleep, and next time I opened my eyes it was morning, sunlight streaming into the ward through the big windows that lined the outside wall.
After breakfast, I dozed for a while, still under the lingering influence of the sleeping draught. Thankfully, again there were no dreams. I was woken again sometime later by another nurse. ‘Sergeant Gauthier, you have a visitor,’ she said. She was one of the younger ones, a brisk, cheerful, rosy-cheeked girl of about eighteen called Sister Morris.
I struggled to sit upright again, wondering, without much interest, who it was. One of the crew? My Wing Commander, come to dish out my punishment at last?
‘It’s such a nice day that she decided she’d wait for you outside on the lawn,’ Sister Morris continued, before I could speak. She? ‘Let’s get you up, shall we?’
Despite her youth and slight build, Sister Morris seemed to feel no embarrassment about wrestling me into my hospital blues: the white shirt, red tie and ill-fitting jacket and trousers in itchy blue serge everyone here had to wear when they weren’t in their pyjamas. They were rumoured to be left over from the last war; I could believe it, too. About the only thing going for them was that they were spotlessly clean. Once I was dressed, Sister Morris washed my face, shaved me, combed my hair and got me into a wheelchair, all with the same brisk efficiency.
As she pushed me through the ward, I wracked my brains, trying to work out who might be here to see me. The only person I could think of was my mother, but how would she have got here all the way from Canada? Why hadn’t she written first? I’d sent her and my father a letter, letting them know I was in hospital but glossing over what had happened, and hadn’t had a reply yet. It was likely stuck on a ship somewhere halfway across the Atlantic, or – if luck hadn’t been on the crew’s side – at the bottom of the sea.
Outside, the sun was too bright, and the air felt startlingly fresh after the stale atmosphere of the ward. This was the first time I’d been out of the hospital since I came here, despite the nurses’ entreaties that some air would do me good. The light and space – the reality of it – was too much. I shrank into myself, wanting to tell Sister Morris to take me back inside, take me back to my bed, but I couldn’t find my voice. Unaware of my distress, she pushed me around the side of the long, sprawling hospital building with its tower at one end, chattering away about the fellow she was seeing – some guy on ground crew at a nearby aerodrome – and the dance they’d been to the night before. I closed my eyes and tried to remember how to breathe normally. In, out. In, out. For God’s sake, Bill, get a hold of yourself.
‘Hello, Bill,’ a familiar voice said. ‘How are you?’
I opened my eyes to see Rose Legge standing in front of me.
‘I hope you don’t mind me coming to see you,’ she said. ‘I won’t stay if you don’t want me to.’
Aware of how I must look in my crumpled, ancient blues, I managed to force myself to speak, my voice sounding rusty and thin from disuse. ‘No, it’s fine. It’s… it’s good to see you. How did you know I was here?’
‘I got a telephone call the day after we met in Bury,’ she said. ‘I thought it was you, again, but it was a doctor. He’d found the piece of paper with my number on it in your pocket and I suppose he must have thought I was your girl. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to visit – I’ve been so busy with ENSA!’
Sister Morris steered me over to a bench shaded by a tall lime tree, and Rose sat down on it, folding her hands in her lap.
‘I’ll leave you here, then,’ Sister Morris said. ‘Toodle pip!’
‘Gosh, she’s rather bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, isn’t she?’ Rose said, watching the nurse march off. I grunted in assent, and Rose looked back at me, her face a mask of concern. ‘I couldn’t believe it when the doctor told me about the accident. It must have been dreadful. I’m so sorry, Bill.’
My heart jolted again unpleasantly. Did she know what had really happened? I felt as if I was in another dream; that at any moment I would find myself back in that eerily lit cockpit with Robert bleeding and screaming beside me. But the birds kept singing and the sun kept shining from the cloudless sky, the dappled shadows cast by the lime tree shifting across the ground in the slight breeze.
‘Bill?’ Rose said. ‘Are you all right?’
I shook my head. ‘Sorry. I wasn’t…’ I cleared my throat. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you, is all.’ Realising how that might sound, I added, ‘I’m glad you came, though. Did you have to travel far?’
Rose shook her head. ‘We’re doing a series of concerts around Peterborough this week.’ One corner of her mouth twisted up. ‘But never mind me. How are you feeling?’
I tried to smile. ‘I’ve been better,’ I said thinly.
She touched my hand gently. If it had been anyone else – if it hadn’t been for the misery and self-pity laying over me like a layer of cold soup – her action and tone would have irritated me. Don’t feel sorry for me, goddamnit. I don’t deserve it. But the sensation of Rose’s fingers against mine ignited something inside me: a spark that, ever since I woke up and found out Robert was dead, I thought had been extinguished forever. She looked so vital, so alive, with her shining waves of hair and dancing eyes and mouth that seemed to curve permanently at the edges in a smile.
I needed this. I needed her.
We talked for a while about what Rose was doing with ENSA; she didn’t press me for further details about the accident, which I was grateful for. Every so often, I’d remember that afternoon we’d lain on the grass in the Abbey Gardens at Bury and kissed. It gave me a strange sense of dislocation, as if it was something that had happened in a different lifetime, to a different person. I was starting to realise that that Bill – the one who flew, who went to parties and concerts, who could have a different girl on his arm every night if he wanted – was gone forever.
As for the Bill now, sitting here in this wheelchair… I had no idea who he was at all.
‘What will happen to you when you’re better?’ Rose said at last. ‘Will you return to the air base?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘The doctors aren’t sure if I’ll get the full range of movement back in my shoulder yet.’ And I still don’t know exactly what sort of trouble I’m in, I added inside my head.
I saw Sister Morris striding across the grass towards us. ‘Visiting hours are over, I’m afraid!’ she said, grinning at me and Rose.
Rose stood, picking up her handbag. ‘Thank you, Sister,’ she said.
As the nurse grasped the handles of my wheelchair, I touched Rose’s arm. She turned, looking surprised, and I swallowed. ‘Would you… would you come and see me again?’
At first, she still looked a little startled; then her face cleared. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘If you’d like me to.’
‘I would,’ I said. ‘I’d like that very much indeed.’
She smiled. ‘Then I don’t see why not.’
‘Thank you.’
Rose bent down, clasping my good hand, and touched her lips to mine in a chaste, feather-light kiss. ‘See you again soon, Bill,’ she said.
As Sister Morris wheeled me back across the grass, I twisted my head to watch Rose go, her head high, her step confident and light; it was as if she was on the stage, all the world looking at her. ‘You’re a dark horse, you are, Sergeant,’ Sister Morris giggled. ‘Never mentioned you’d got a girl.’
‘I – I didn’t think I did,’ I said.
Sister Morris giggled again. ‘Could’ve fooled me.’
We went inside.
*
Before long, the doctors at Ely decided they’d done everything they could for me and I was moved to a convalescent home for injured servicemen nearby. It was some stately pile that had been requisitioned by the government at the start of the war, surrounded by fields and woodland with acres of landscaped lawns and rose beds. Despite our proximity to London, if it hadn’t been for the Spitfires and Hurricanes buzzing overhead every now and then, and the air raids that saw all the patients who could leave their beds being hustled down to the cellars, you’d have been forgiven for thinking there wasn’t a war on any more. I’d had the plaster on my shoulder removed and was doing exercises to help regain the strength I’d lost. ‘You’ll be as good as new before you know it!’ the physiotherapist said cheerfully as I submitted to my daily dose of torture one Tuesday afternoon. ‘That leg’ll be out of plaster soon too!’
As he stretched and pulled at my arm, trying to coax my stiffened shoulder into moving properly again, I gritted my teeth against the pain and fixed my thoughts on Rose. She was in the area again and due to drop in later. We were going steady now and she came as often as she could; her letters and visits were the only thing I looked forward to. When she was here, I didn’t think about what had happened to me and Robert; I could forget, briefly, the nightmares that still left me gasping for air as I woke, drowning in a snarl of memories and guilt.
Today, when she arrived, I was sitting on the veranda, a blanket across my knees against the slight chill in the air and re-reading a letter from home that had finally arrived that morning. Except for a guy at the other end of the veranda who appeared to be dozing, I was alone.
‘Bad news?’ Rose said as she kissed me and dropped lightly into the chair beside me. ‘You look rather preoccupied, darling.’
I smiled wearily at her and shook my head, folding the letter up and jamming it in my jacket pocket. ‘Just a letter from my mother. I didn’t exactly go into detail about what happened, but she still worries – you know.’
‘Gosh, tell me about it. I’m due to go to Edinburgh with the group next week and mine’s terrified I’ll get mugged or bombed.’ Rose rolled her eyes. ‘For someone who’s lived in London all her life, she’s got a dreadfully warped idea about what other cities are like.’
We fell, as always, into quick, easy conversation, chatting about Rose’s latest concert and a party she’d attended with her mother where, apparently, she’d been subjected to a parade of suitable young men. I felt a lurch in my stomach at that, which I tried to ignore.
‘Is there any other news?’ Rose said at last. I knew immediately what she was referring to.
A week ago, I’d finally told her the full story of the accident, and that I was waiting to find out what was going to happen to me once I was well enough to leave the convalescent home. I’d thought she’d be horrified, but she hadn’t really reacted at all, except to say, ‘Oh, Bill, that must have been dreadful.’
I shook my head.
She worried her lower lip between her teeth. ‘Do you think they’ll send you back to Canada?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. The thought had crossed my mind too, although I knew it was unlikely, as Bomber Command needed every pair of hands it could get. Most likely, I’d be reassigned to ground crew somewhere.
‘I’ll miss you awfully if they do, you know.’
My heart gave a funny little lurch. ‘Will you?’
A dimple appeared in her left cheek. ‘Won’t you miss me too?’
‘Sure – I mean, of course I will.’ My heart was beating faster now.
She slid her eyes away from mine. ‘Or perhaps I’ve got the wrong idea – perhaps you only see me as a short-term fling…’
‘No – no – that is, not unless that’s how you see me…’
She looked up again, gazing at me through her eyelashes. ‘Oh, Bill, you must know how I feel about you by now.’
I glanced round at the guy at the other end of the veranda. Still asleep. I lifted one corner of my mouth in a smile. ‘So that’s how it is, eh?’ I said with a confidence I didn’t altogether feel.
‘Oh, Bill,’ Rose said, a crease appearing between her eyebrows. ‘Must you tease so?’
God, she was beautiful. I leaned over and kissed her, taking her hands in mine. ‘That answer your question?’ I said when we broke apart again.
She smiled at me, dabbing at her smudged lipstick, her cheeks flushed prettily.
I wanted to grab hold of her, kiss her again and never let her go.
‘Marry me.’ I hadn’t known I was going to say it until I did: the words seemed to tumble out of their own accord. Even as I spoke, I knew it was crazy – what had happened to the guy who didn’t want to get attached to anyone? And why the hell would someone like Rose want to marry someone like me? We’d only met a couple of months ago; I was good for nothing, with a smashed-up leg and shoulder. I braced myself, waiting for her expression to falter, and for her to paste on a kind smile to cover it up. Oh, Bill, it’s simply wonderful of you to ask me, but when I said I had feelings for you I didn’t mean it like that…
Instead, her smile deepened. ‘Bill…’
A tiny spark of hope kindled inside me. ‘I’ll organise everything,’ I rushed on. ‘I have some savings. And if I get shipped out to another air base somewhere you’ll be able to come with me – we can live in married quarters. You won’t want for a thing.’
‘Bill, yes. I’ll marry you,’ she said, still smiling. She placed one hand over mine. Slowly, a grin spread across my face too.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course.’
‘I mean, we haven’t known each other long – I know that…’
‘But let’s not rush,’ Rose said seriously. ‘If you were going to fly again then it would make sense, perhaps, but if you’re likely to have a desk job you’ll be safe enough. I want us to have a proper wedding, not some one-in, one-out job at a registry office.’
‘Whatever you want, honey,’ I said.
Nearby, someone cleared their throat. I jumped, looked round and saw a nurse standing at the door that led out to the veranda. I’d been so absorbed in asking Rose to marry me I hadn’t heard her come out. ‘Sergeant Gauthier, you have another visitor,’ she said. I saw someone move in the deep shadows of the corridor behind her; caught a glimpse of uniform. ‘They insist on seeing you immediately.’
‘Forgive me,’ Rose said, turning that brilliant smile on her. ‘My fiancé and I were just discussing our wedding. I won’t keep you any longer, Bill.’ Gathering her handbag and cardigan, she stood, and leaned down to kiss me one more time. ‘I’ll come and see you again tomorrow, darling.’
The nurse stood to one side to let her pass. Then, nodding at my new visitor, she left too, and Wing Commander Gray, the commanding officer in charge of my squadron, stepped out onto the terrace.
I saluted him. ‘Sir. Forgive me for not getting out of this chair,’ I said, indicating my plastered leg stretched out in front of me.
‘That’s quite all right, Sergeant,’ he said gravely. I wondered if he would sit, but he remained standing. ‘I gather congratulations are in order?’
He meant Rose. How much had he overheard? ‘Thank you, Sir.’
‘I won’t beat about the bush,’ Wing Commander Gray said. ‘We’ve had quite the time deciding what to do with you.’
I waited, silent. The atmosphere was so tense I could almost feel it buzzing. Had I really, less than ten minutes ago, asked Rose to marry me?
‘However, the doctors tell me they expect to discharge you in a few weeks, and as your injuries will prevent you from flying again for the time being, we have decided you will complete your current tour early.’
Oh. I was expecting it, of course, but it still came as a blow.
‘You’ll face a court martial, of course – that goes without saying,’ Wing Commander Gray went on.
‘Yes, Sir,’ I mumbled.
Wing Commander Gray cleared his throat. ‘As for what happens after that… assuming they don’t decide to make an example of you, a position has come up we feel you’d be suited to, working as an operator at one of our radar stations in Scotland. You’ll receive the necessary training, of course – as soon as you’re well enough we’ll send you on a month’s course at the radar school in Yatesbury.’
Scotland. I felt my stomach sink a little. The court martial was no surprise; I’d been expecting that, and all I could do was keep my fingers crossed that, as Commander Gray said, they didn’t decide to make an example of me and send me to the glasshouse. But although I’d known deep down that I wouldn’t be staying at Chedburgh, there’d been a small part of me that hoped that, if I couldn’t fly, I might be transferred to ground crew at one of other the aerodromes around here or perhaps take up a role as an instructor.
I kept my expression neutral, reminding myself Scotland was better than prison.
‘Thank you, Sir,’ I said. ‘Do you mind me asking whereabouts in Scotland?’ I had visited Dundee a couple of years ago when I was still training, to see a distant, elderly relative of my mother. My overwhelming memory was of driving, sideways rain and a view from the sitting room window of the Tay estuary, steel-coloured and choppy, while I drank tea the colour of dishwater and made polite conversation.
‘It’s in Shetland,’ Wing Commander Gray said. ‘RAF Svarta Ness, on an island called Fiskersay. The full site went into commission in the spring. It’s a Chain Home station, one of several in Shetland, a tiny place, but busy – the men there run a tight ship. They often get Canadians from the RCAF there too. We think you’d fit right in.’
I stared at him. Shetland? That was halfway to goddamn Norway. And he’d said the men there… didn’t the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force – the WAAFs – usually run the radar stations? Perhaps they thought it was too remote to send women there.
I must have remained silent for a moment too long, because Wing Commander Gray cleared his throat. ‘You need to understand, Sergeant, that you’re not being offered a choice here. While, of course, Cauldwell’s death was a tragedy, this… incident has been a source of great embarrassment for the Royal Air Force. We must be seen to be giving the right message.’
I nodded, swallowing hard. ‘Yes, Sir. Of course.’
‘It’s rotten timing, but I’m sure your young lady will understand. All being well with the court martial, you have a fortnight until you leave for Yatesbury.’
I swallowed again. ‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Very good.’
As soon as the door had closed behind the Wing Commander, I slumped in my chair, my hand across my face.
Shetland.
What was I going to tell Rose?