ELSPETH ROSE EARLY, packed her case in the grey light while the other girls slept. She stepped out into the morning, cool air on her aching face, and went into Duncan’s hut.
‘Look at me.’
He was behind his desk, filling in a report, and put down his pen, lifted his scratched and bruised face. ‘I’m not looking so good myself.’
‘You think I care about that? Look what you’ve done to me.’
He turned away and muttered he was sorry.
‘Don’t say sorry. Sorry is nothing to me. I need to get away. I can’t let anybody see me like this.’
‘Didn’t the girls see you last night?’
‘The hut was dark. They only saw me in the half-light. I said I’d fallen off my bike.’
He nodded. ‘What do you want?’
‘I want to go to my cottage till the bruising fades. I want you to give me the money for the fare. And I want you to drive me to the bus stop.’
‘What if I say no?’
‘But you won’t say no, will you? I won’t just tell everyone what you did to me, punching me, biting me. I’ll tell them that in the end you couldn’t manage. You couldn’t get it up. You’re useless. So give me the money.’
‘You’d humiliate me?’
‘Just as you tried to humiliate me. Yes, of course I would.’
He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet and threw two pounds onto his desk. Elspeth looked at it, shook her head and stared at him. He put another three pounds on top of the two already there. ‘Blackmail,’ he said.
‘You bet,’ said Elspeth. ‘What are you going to do about it? Tell the police? Now drive me to the bus stop. I’m going to my cottage. I’ll be back when my bruises have gone down.’
He reached into a drawer and threw a letter on to the desk beside the small pile of notes. ‘Arrived for you yesterday.’
They drove in thick, vile silence to the village. Red flares of morning flickered through passing trees. Elspeth looked out the side window; Duncan stared ahead at the road. At the bus stop, Elspeth climbed out.
‘The bus isn’t due till nine,’ said Duncan.
‘The wait might calm me down,’ Elspeth told him.
He put the van into gear, turned to her and said, ‘It was the drink.’
‘Oh, that’s all right, then. It was the drink. You’re not to blame at all. There’s not one iota of shame in you, is there?’ She slammed the door.
Duncan drove off. Yes, he was ashamed. He was ill with shame. He’d just long forgotten how to show it.
The bus got into Fortham at noon. Elspeth walked, collar turned up, head down, watching her feet move over the pavement – familiar ground, same old cracks. She didn’t meet anyone, but curtains moved. Her return had been noted.
She walked up the path to her front door, noted the scrambling weeds in her front garden and the overgrown hedge. The lock was stiff; she had to bang the door with her hip to open in. But, at last, she was inside, alone and safe.
She walked down the hall, put her case in the bedroom and, in the living room, sat on her sofa and wept. When she stopped, when she’d no tears left, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hands, sniffed and looked round. God, the place was dusty. It smelled of stale air and damp. The curtains were drawn. It was gloomy.
She got up, pulled back the curtains and opened the windows. In the kitchen, she filled the kettle to boil water for a pot of tea. She fetched coal from the cellar and lit a fire in the living-room hearth. She fetched sheets from the linen cupboard and made up her bed. She dusted, wiped, polished and swept the kitchen floor. The activity made her feel better, hungry even.
Her cupboard, however, was bare, save for a packet of tea. ‘Shop or starve,’ she said. ‘Better shop.’ She combed her hair, powdered her nose, put on her jacket and stepped out. The shops were only a few minutes’ walk from the cottage. If she walked quickly, she might manage to avoid meeting anyone and having to explain her bruises.
She had her story ready, and had to use it in every shop she visited. She had the same conversation in every shop. ‘Miss Moon,’ said the butcher, the woman in the fruit shop and Jean at the grocer’s, ‘you’re back. Long time no see.’ They’d peer at her and declare, ‘What’s happened to you? You’ve been in the wars.’
Elspeth always answered that she’d fallen off her bike. ‘It was dark, couldn’t see the road properly. I took a bit of a tumble.’
The shopkeepers told her she’d have to be more careful in future. Elspeth headed for home with a basket of treasures – a lamb chop, two ounces of bacon, potatoes, bread, onions and an egg. ‘Treats,’ she said.
As she walked home, she planned her days ahead. She’d laze in bed, read by the fire, bathe in hot water, she wouldn’t go out much – she’d pamper herself. She hurried up the hill to her house, eager to get home, lock the door and shut out the world. She wanted to be alone.
‘Elspeth,’ came a voice behind her. ‘Good heavens, Elspeth.’
She turned. Izzy’s father was striding towards her. Her heart sank. She had never liked this man.
‘How’s our little lumberjill? How is life in the forest?’ he asked.
She stopped, smiled a thin smile and told him she was fine and life in the forest was hard, ‘but healthy’.
‘That’s the spirit,’ he said. ‘Doing your bit for the country.’
Elspeth said, ‘Yes.’
‘It’s man’s work, though.’
‘I manage,’ said Elspeth. ‘All the girls manage.’
He asked how long she was home for.
‘Just a few days.’
‘But we can expect to see you in church on Sunday?’
‘If I’m still here.’
‘That’s the spirit,’ he said and put an enthusiastic hand on her shoulder. She flinched. Pretending not to notice, he asked if she’d heard from Izzy recently.
‘No, not for a while. I expect she’s busy.’
Elspeth remembered the letter Duncan had given her that morning. She’d recognised the writing on the envelope. It was from Izzy – bloody Izzy leading her bloody glamorous life.
‘We haven’t had a letter in a while, either,’ said Hamish. ‘She usually writes once a week. Keeps in touch.’
Elspeth said, ‘Yes.’
He looked at her, putting his face close to hers. ‘Are you all right? You’re looking a bit bruised. Accident in the forest? I expect it’s dangerous work.’
‘It can be,’ said Elspeth. ‘But this wasn’t a forestry accident. I fell off my bike.’
He said, ‘Ah, can’t be too careful.’
It wasn’t a good moment for her. She was tired. She hurt. She longed to get inside her cottage, to be safe and on her own. Here she was talking to a man she disliked, at a time when she wasn’t feeling kindly to men, all men.
This man standing before her, hands in pockets, talking too loudly, seemed arrogant, overly buoyant.
‘Of course,’ he said, ‘Izzy’s bound to be busy right now with all that’s going on. It’s a big responsibility being an ops officer, directing planes all over the place, checking the weather, keeping in touch with other bases. Hard work, but at least she’s desk-bound. Thank goodness we don’t have to worry about her having any nasty accidents.’
Elspeth snapped. ‘Don’t you?’
‘No. It’s not as if she’s flying the damn planes.’
‘Isn’t she?’ said Elspeth. ‘Well, that’s just fine. Everything in the world is rosy. God’s in his heaven and Izzy isn’t flying planes. That’ll be right.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Hamish.
‘You work out what I mean by that,’ said Elspeth. ‘You think what you want to think. Or at least, you think what Izzy wants you to think.’ She walked away.
At home, she dumped her shopping in the kitchen. She took off her jacket, draped it over the back of a chair, reached down and pulled Izzy’s letter from her pocket. She opened it and sat at the table to read it.
Dear Elspeth,
I’m so sorry I haven’t written in ages. I’ve been in the most awful accident. A plane I was in burst into flames. I got out. Well, I was dragged out. But my friend Diane was burned to death.
Elspeth said, ‘Oh, God.’
The smell, I’ll never forget the smell. I was off work for a while. But now I’ve been passed fit to fly. But, Elspeth, I get horrible nightmares. And sometimes, I can’t stop shaking.
Elspeth said, ‘Oh, God. Oh, God.’
I think of you all the time. I wish you were here. I wish I could talk to you. You were always such a friend to me.
Elspeth put down the letter. She put her hand over her mouth. She was a terrible person. A few moments ago, she had betrayed her best friend. ‘Oh, God,’ she said again, ‘what have I done?’