Chapter Twelve

“Ssh,” Betty urged, putting her fingers to her lips as she opened the door to Grace later that night, indicating Penny, who sat cross-legged on the floor, gripping the telephone between fingers turning white. “She’s waiting for Tom.”

Immediately catching on to the importance of the moment, Grace hurried after her host, carefully stepping around Penny, who didn’t appear to notice the disturbance. They hurried into the kitchen, shutting the door behind them as they head Penny draw a breath.

“Tom? Oh, sorry, Stan. I thought Tom was coming on the other end. He’ll be right along? Yes, I’ll wait,” she said, letting more of her annoyance than she’d intended into her voice. “Whilst I’ve got you, how are things with you? Have the burns healed?” This was something she honestly wanted to know, as she’d run into him when he was waiting outside her husband’s hospital room, deliberately putting off getting treatment for his own injuries until he knew his friend would recover.

“I’m pleased to hear that,” she told him, hoping he’d be able to hear she genuinely was. “He’s here now? Great! Look, it’s been lovely to speak to you again, Stan. I hope we’ll all be able to get together again soon. Now, please pass me over.” She took a couple of breaths to steady her nerves, which had started to jangle now she was about to speak to her husband for the first time in a couple of months.

“Hello, Tom,” she said, praying her voice didn’t break. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. My arm? Still got the two of them, so can’t complain. And you? How are you feeling? The wounds healing, I hope?” She really did, though she knew they were both dancing around the subject of her pregnancy and the loss of their unborn child. Who would be the first to broach the subject?

After a couple of minutes more of nonsense talk, which veered dangerously close to touching on what they thought of the weather, Penny snapped, “Oh, for heaven’s sake! Are we adults? Aren’t we supposed to be married? Yes, that was a rhetorical question,” Penny barked. She let out an exasperated breath. Men could be so annoying. “Look, cards on the table—do you want to remain married? That was quick! Good answer,” she told him, unable to completely keep the surprise from her voice, as she’d steeled herself for him to say no. Now she was temporarily lost for words. “Well, that is good.” She stumbled a little over her words before gathering her thoughts and telling him the idea she’d had last night.

“Let me run this by you, but don’t interrupt until I’ve finished, agreed? Good. Now, I think you’ll have to agree, we may be married, but we don’t know each other all that well. I’m coming to it, patience! I do love you—good to hear. I love you, but I don’t really know you, and I believe you know this to be true. I think what’s happened between us goes to prove that. So I think we should start over, go out, get to know each other again. I think that would be a good start.”

Penny gave Tom a few moments to mull over these words, hoping he’d think especially of when he’d accused her of not wanting children and then stalking out of her hospital room. By his reply, he’d got her point, and with no one else to bear witness, she slapped the floor in satisfaction. “Good. I’m glad you don’t think it’s a silly idea. One more thing before I go. I gather you’ve heard about Thelma? Yes, it’s fair to say everyone’s in shock. Thanks, Tom, that means a lot, and I’m sorry you couldn’t get down for the funeral too. Now, I think we should both go and mull over what we’ve discussed, for a few days. Call me soon. Yes, love you too. Keep safe, Tom. Bye!”

Reaching up, Penny just about managed to hang the phone up without dropping it, letting out a loud, heartfelt, “Mmm…” She stretched out her legs and rocked from the waist side to side a few times to draw the kinks out of her back after a long and difficult day. Finding her way to her feet, she noticed the house was unnaturally quiet. The door to the lounge was open and the room itself empty. Turning her ear toward the kitchen, she listened closely and thought she could make out some hurried, whispered voices behind the closed door. Slowly, she slipped off her shoes and in her stockinged feet, tiptoed the few paces to the kitchen door. Pushing it open, hard, she watched in undisguised glee as both Mary and Doris tumbled backward.

Chuckling, she held out a hand to each and helped them to their feet. “If you want to know what we said, it would have been less painful if you’d have waited,” she told each as they took seats at the table. “Surely you know I’d tell you.”

Mary slapped Doris none too gently on the shoulder. “See? I told you!”

Betty shook her head and leant in toward where Grace was sitting, a look of quiet bemusement upon her face. Tapping her on the shoulder to get her attention, Betty waited while the nurse turned to face her, the better so she could read Betty’s lips. “You know, I sometimes think I’m running a guest house for wayward children.”

Before she could prevent it, a snort escaped Grace, and her hands flew to her mouth. “Sorry,” she muttered, “but I do see what you mean.”

“You don’t have to nod so enthusiastically,” Doris said to Penny, who looked like the proverbial Cheshire Cat.

“So what did he say?” Grace asked before anyone else, nearly bouncing up and down on her seat and not noticing Betty shake her head in silent despair.

“I need a cup of tea first,” Penny said, holding out her hands for a nonexistent cup.

“That’s bribery,” Doris said, as she got to her feet.

“Could Mary make it?” Penny hastily asked.

Doris planted her hands upon both hips and leant over Penny. “I beg your pardon?”

Angling her head up until she was nearly nose to nose with her friend, Penny replied, quite clearly, “Doris, I love you dearly, but amongst your many talents, the ability to make a good cup of tea is not present.”

“Well,” Doris said after a few seconds, “why didn’t you say so?” and promptly retook her seat.

With a shake of her head which could well mean she didn’t know how she came to be filling up the kettle, Mary asked Doris, “Why are you looking so happy with yourself?”

Doris pasted a self-satisfied smile upon her face. “Because dear, sweet, beautiful, kind-hearted Penny here has just given me the perfect excuse never to make another cup of tea ever again!”

Mary’s mouth opened and closed a few times before she settled upon merely shaking her head. “Winter, you’ve a lot to answer for.”

“Perhaps, but not in this life.”

“Whilst we’re waiting for the superior cup of tea,” Betty said, “tell us what happened. Are you and Tom going to be all right?”

Penny mulled things over for a minute before saying, “Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?” Betty repeated, before Penny had the chance to elaborate.

“Give me a chance,” Penny said. “We talked, or rather, I mostly talked and Tom mostly listened. I suggested we begin again, go out on dates, as if we’re just getting to know each other.”

“And what did he say to that?” Betty asked.

“Well, to his credit, he didn’t argue,” Penny told them before letting her head slump to her chest. She brought it back up and looked around the room. “I’ve given things a lot of thought these last few months. I love him…or…” she confided, “I believe I do. Or will…or do—oh, I’m so confused,” she finished off, before pushing herself to her feet and taking a single spin around the kitchen before retaking her seat and looking around the room at her friends.

“Here,” Mary said, hastily pushing a steaming cup into her hands. “It may be a little weak, but I need to know where this is going, and if I wait any longer, it’ll be undrinkable.”

“Where’s mine?” Doris asked, pouting a little.

“In the pot,” Mary replied. “Seeing as you love tea so much, I thought it best that you make your own.”

“I really need some more coffee,” Doris muttered as she got to her feet. Placing a hand upon Betty’s shoulder, she bent down and said as clearly as she could, “Please, please, ask Jim if he can get me some more?”

“I’ll see what I can do, again,” Betty replied, patting the hand before telling her, “Four more cups won’t go amiss, whilst you’re up. Now, get on with it, Penny.”

Before getting on with it, Penny took a deep swallow, finally finishing, “I’ve told him to take a few days to think things through and then call me.”

Grace shot to her feet, nearly knocking a cup out of Doris’s hands. “Call me!”

“I beg your pardon?” Betty said.

“What the hell!” Doris uttered, successfully juggling the cup before setting it down.

“It completely slipped my mind! Betty, can I phone Marcus?”

“Be my guest,” Betty said. “And I promise, no one will listen in at the door this time.”

****

Tom had finally got clearance to fly again, his headaches all but gone. The medical officer at his last assessment had been honest with him. In an ideal world, he’d have stayed grounded until they had completely disappeared, only—and he’d made certain to fix Tom with his best stare as he’d said the words—they didn’t live in an ideal world, not even close to one. So he’d been cleared to fly and had wasted no time in reclaiming Stan as his navigator.

Now, walking toward his Mosquito for his first operational mission in too long, Tom was quiet, too quiet, and Stan easily picked this up.

“You okay, boss?”

Tom nodded, and they walked the few steps more which took them up to the nose of their deadly two-engine bomber. Fully fueled and bombed up, she was still nearly the fastest thing in the skies, and Tom laid a hand on the entry hatch hanging down from the fuselage.

“Happy to be back?”

With his back to his friend, Tom nodded, though he couldn’t see the look of concern on Stan’s face. “Me too. I’m sure Dashwood’s got a death wish!”

This at least, got a small laugh from Tom. “Not sure about that, but I’m glad I’ve never had to fly with him.”

Stan looked at his watch, noting they still had twenty minutes before they were due to take off. “As we’ve a few minutes, do you want to share what Penny said?”

“Her timing wasn’t great,” Tom first said, shaking his head.

“Don’t try to dodge the question, boss.”

If it had been anyone else, Tom would have told him to mind his own business, but it being the one man he’d trust his life to, he said, “She wants us to date.”

Stan stopped midway through checking his map case. “She what?”

Tom turned back and nodded. “She does. Said we didn’t really know each other, and essentially, that’s what we should do.”

When Tom didn’t elaborate, Stan could only say, “And that’s how she left it? Nothing more?”

“Only that we should think things through for the next few days.” He shrugged.

“I’m not sure what to say,” Stan managed to get out.

“Well, that makes two of us,” Tom admitted. “I guess all I can do is what she said, take some time.”

As the two began their pre-flight walk around the Mosquito, Stan said, “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but do you want her back?”

Tom straightened up and slammed a hand against the port engine cowling. “Damn right I do!”

A cold, cloying mist was gathering that evening, and Stan straightened up, his eyes scanning the sky for what he wasn’t quite certain. Tom stopped his checks as he noticed his friend’s strange behavior. “What’s up?”

“Can you hear something?” Stan asked, not looking over to him but instead now turning his head toward the sky.

As the squadron prepared for that evening’s sortie, the airfield was far from quiet, but the background noise wasn’t overbearing, and whilst all around him continued their pre-flight checks, Tom and Stan stood there, eyes and ears open. As the commander, Tom had the responsibility to get everyone off the ground on time, only in that moment keeping to schedule was pushed to the back of his mind. Not only was Stan Tom’s navigator, he also kept the best lookout of anyone he’d ever flown with, his eyes being responsible for spotting more enemy fighters looking to attack them than he cared to count. So if Stan thought something was wrong, he trusted him implicitly.

Gradually, he became aware of a buzzing-type noise coming from the direction of the east perimeter of the station. Squinting toward where he believed the sound was coming, Tom’s hand went subconsciously to clutch his breast. “I don’t like this, Stan,” he said.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a hurricane of noise and white light erupted from the direction they were looking. By now, Tom and Stan were aware they weren’t the only ones who’d stopped their pre-flight and had been trying to find the source of the strange noise. A flash of orange in the sky made him blink, followed a moment later by a tremendous crash as the initial orange ball died down in a moment and was replaced by the sight of a twin-engine aircraft trailing flame from one engine, licking its way down the fuselage. Before either man could comment, this plane hit the ground and somersaulted its way down the main runway, exploding and flinging burning metal out in all directions. Several whooshed between the pair and sliced the top of their Mosquito’s fin clean off.

“Down!” both men yelled at the same time, each dropping to the ground and rolling behind what protection a main wheel could provide. Around them, nobody needed to be told twice, as men dived to the ground and scattered in all directions.

With his hands over his ears and his mouth wide open, Tom found his eyes drawn toward the shot-down aircraft’s companions. Despite the risk of being hit, he couldn’t help but glance up as three more Nazi aircraft, Ju88 medium bombers, he thought, roared over the airfield. One held its course and dropped its bomb-load down the runway, whilst the two following peeled off and made for his squadron’s dispersals and his Mosquitos. All this, Tom took in and surmised in a few seconds. Realizing that if they stayed where they were, they were as likely to end up casualties as well as the aircraft, he scrambled to his feet and made a dash to Stan, who was still huddled under the other wing.

“Up! Move!” he shouted, grabbing his friend by the collar and, with the strength of desperation, hauling him to his feet.

The trust between the two came into play once more, and Stan didn’t question his superior’s behavior, simply following him and joining in Tom’s shouts of, “Run! Get to the shelters!” as they ran as fast as they could toward the nearest shelter on the other side of the dispersal. A sixth sense told both of them to dive to one side, though they were still a good five yards from the shelter. They weren’t a moment too soon, as zipping sounds like a thousand bees in their ears filled the air, and bullets loosed by the attacking bombers stitched the ground right where they would have been if they’d continued on course.

A scream from behind them told them someone hadn’t been so lucky. Without hesitation, both rolled to their feet and dashed back the way they’d come, being passed by most of their squadron mates as they did. As they reached the wounded man, the first bombs hit, and though neither was wounded, they were both thrown back the way they’d come by the concussion.

“Christ almighty!” Tom muttered, dragging himself, with much difficulty, into a sitting position. Putting his hands to his head, he rubbed, trying to get rid of the ringing, and when his left hand came away smeared with blood, he tried not to be too worried. Tentatively, he quickly patted his head with his semi-clean other hand and discovered the blood was coming from his left ear. When he couldn’t find anything else wrong, and with very little he could do anyway, he began to heave himself to his feet. A hand clamped him under the armpit, briefly causing him to jump, despite the continued explosions and bark of anti-aircraft gunfire. Looking up, he was relieved to see Stan. “You okay?” he shouted.

Stan didn’t waste breath with replying, instead nodded and finished helping Tom to his feet. Together, the two dashed toward the man who’d been shot, as the two remaining raiders disappeared into the gloom, their bombs unloaded and the airfield an artwork of destruction and flame.

When they reached the man, he was face down, though it wasn’t apparent if he was dead or alive. With no time to be gentle, they turned him over and had to stop themselves from reeling back. The man had a line of four bullet holes going diagonally from his left shoulder to the right of his groin. Flight Lieutenant Dashwood was clearly dead.