Chapter 6
Charlie’s short period of leave soon passed.
He returned to camp to complete preparations for his departure the following day, and Bobby found herself on the dark bus back towards Silverdale.
It was too late for Bert the coalman to be out and about, ferrying folk from the bus stop to the village, which meant a two-mile walk home at the other end.
Bobby wasn’t much looking forward to that in the blackout, invisible patches of ice making the road treacherous, but she wouldn’t have missed seeing Charlie tonight for the world.
Not that she felt any more settled for it. She had been hoping he would be able to make everything right for her, somehow. Settle the qualms of conscience and give her a clear path out of her dilemma. But if anything, she felt more ill at ease than when she had left Silverdale.
When she thought of what Charlie had said about duty, the way forward seemed clear.
She would have to go. She owed it to her country, and to Charlie too – to all those who were fighting.
But then memories always arose of her father, as he was at his worst. Half-dead in a hospital bed.
Wild-eyed and helpless after another nightmare.
Confused and far away as his brain sought refuge in the past, forgetting even who she was.
Bloated, shamefaced and hopeless the morning after a drinking spree.
Did she not have a duty to him as well? It was easy for others to tell her to look at the bigger picture, when it wasn’t their loved one who suffered.
A war had done that too. Now she had to live with the consequences, as it was so often the lot of women to do.
Thinking of her father made Bobby shiver.
War had changed him so utterly and terribly, in a way she had never fully comprehended while her mother had been alive to shield her from it.
After her mam’s death, it had been she and Lilian who had had to deal with the consequences of his wartime experiences.
Too many times, Bobby had looked into eyes made mad with remembered horrors and thought how very far they were from the twinkling-eyed boy in the only photo she had of her father in uniform, before he had served in the trenches.
Would Charlie, too, return to her so beaten and broken?
Already his moods were taking him to dark places where it was impossible for her to follow, just as her father’s nightmares so often did.
Suppose she did decide it was her duty to go.
Might she, too, be changed irrevocably by this war?
Women didn’t fight but that didn’t mean they didn’t see horrors of their own while serving.
Men they befriended – even loved – being lost to them over and over.
Pain and grief and fear. War was war, however you were called on to face it.
But then, suppose she chose her duty to her family over her duty to her country and fought tooth and nail against her call-up?
Where would that leave her and Charlie? He clearly felt strongly that every man and woman ought to do whatever was asked of them to win this thing.
Would it drive a wedge between them after they were married?
Would he always hold anger in his heart, and resent her for what he saw as a failure to do her duty at a time when he had been risking his life?
The snatched time they were able to spend together these days so often felt bittersweet.
In many ways, her fiancé was the same old Charlie Atherton.
He still teased and joked, although sometimes Bobby felt that it seemed forced – she had noticed it more and more when he had been on leave over Christmas.
He seemed to love her as much as he always had, however, and was eager for their wedding.
But then there were the shadow times. Sometimes he only seemed irritable or nervy, but the worst times were when he fell quiet, or spoke in that strange, flat, un-Charlie-like tone.
She felt so far away from him, then. Every night when she looked at his photograph before turning out the light, Bobby fought to suppress a fear that, one way or another, the war might rip the man she had fallen in love with away from her for good.
The bus was nearing her stop now. She stood to get off.
‘Slacks?’ A Canadian accent cut through glum thoughts, and a heavy hand materialised on her shoulder. ‘Hey, is that you? It’s so darn dark I never saw you.’
She blinked. ‘Ernie?’
Bobby turned around, and there he was: Ernie King, as large as life in his RCAF uniform. One greatcoat sleeve hung empty, suggesting his arm was in a sling, and he was badly in need of a shave, but otherwise he was no different than when she had seen him last.
Bobby couldn’t help laughing, she was so relieved to see him safe, and scandalised an older lady sitting nearby when she threw herself at her friend for a hug.
‘Whoa.’ He laughed as he wrapped his good arm around her. ‘Mind the war wounds, OK? Injured hero here.’
‘Oh, you… Ernie, I could kiss you! Or slap you. We’ve all been worried sick.’
He laughed again: a deep, unrestrained, joyful sound. ‘The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated, as a great man once said. I’m right as rain, Slacks.’
‘Where on earth have you been?’
‘Field hospital, with the rest of my crew. Our Wimpey had a spot of trouble and I had to bring her down on the coast. You might say it was a bumpy landing.’ He nodded to the door as the bus started to slow. ‘This is us. Come on, kid, you can walk me home.’
Bobby noticed as she followed him off that her friend grimaced when he descended.
‘You’re hurting,’ she said as the bus pulled away. ‘What was injured, Ernie?’
‘Dislocated shoulder, arm broken in two places and a chunk of shrapnel got into my gut. The quacks fixed me up, but it’ll take me a while to heal fully, they tell me. Here, take a look.’
Bobby switched on her blackout torch as Ernie unfastened his greatcoat, fumbling one-handed with the buttons. He shrugged the coat off to reveal the sling that cradled his left arm, then unbuttoned part of his tunic so she could see the bandages wrapped thickly around his stomach.
‘Impressed?’ he asked, grinning.
Bobby smiled. ‘I’m not sure that’s quite the word I’d choose, but I’m glad to hear there’ll be no permanent damage.’
‘Put this on.’ He passed her the greatcoat. ‘No arguments. You might as well take it or I’ll be all night doing up the buttons one-handed.’
Bobby did as she was told, knowing it was useless to argue with Ernie King’s stubbornly chivalrous streak.
She couldn’t help feeling a little guilty, though, as she fastened the heavy woollen coat.
It had been not more than an hour ago that she’d been wrapped in Charlie’s RAF greatcoat, and in his arms. Ernie was only being a gentleman, but something about wrapping herself in a coat still warm from the heat of his body felt…
intimate. As silly as she knew it was, it felt like a tiny betrayal.
‘You’re sure you can walk?’ she asked, putting aside the foolish feeling. ‘There’s a telephone in the pub. I could ring Topsy and ask if her car could make it over this ice.’
‘Don’t you dare. I’ll not be made an invalid of.’ He glanced at her. ‘Besides, when I’ve got a pretty girl to walk with in the blackout, a ride home is the last thing I want.’
‘Now don’t start,’ she said, laughing. ‘I’ve no patience with that sort of teasing. Save it for—’ She stopped.
‘For what?’
‘For Topsy, I was going to say.’ She was quiet a moment. ‘It’s so strange that she’s to be married in a few months. Of course I’m thrilled for her and Teddy, but…’ She sighed. ‘It does feel like everything’s changing.’
He frowned. ‘You OK, Slacks? You don’t sound yourself.’
‘I’m just feeling a little wistful tonight. Older than I ever have before.’ She summoned a smile. ‘Sorry. It’s been a funny couple of days.’
‘Here, give me your arm while we get across the street.’
He took hold of her elbow. Ice puddles glittered silver under the faint light of Bobby’s torch, while the stars that shone on the fells from a clear black sky made the frosty landscape twinkle.
There was no moon that night, which she was grateful for.
These days, a clear night and a full moon nearly always meant trouble for some poor town.
‘So how was your date?’ Ernie asked.
She blinked. ‘How did you know I had a date?’
‘Because you smell of cheap smokes and aftershave lotion. Your lipstick’s smudged, and so’s your mascara.’ He glanced sideways at her. ‘And you’ve got that look on your face.’
‘What look?’
‘Half sad, half besotted. Every time I saw you during your Christmas vacation, you were wearing it. Had a falling out with your dream boy, have you?’
She yelped as she slipped on a patch of ice, and Ernie grabbed her hand to stop her going over.
‘Here,’ he said, tucking it into the crook of his good arm. ‘Any more of that and we’ll both be going home with our arms in slings. So what was the bust-up about?’
‘There was no bust-up. Not exactly.’ She sighed. ‘Charlie can just seem so distant these days. Not all the time. But when he talks about the war and how he feels about it, it seems a world away from his life with me. I’m worried we’ll start to drift apart now he’s being posted.’
‘Sorry to hear that. Hope it works out.’ He turned to look at her. ‘I’m glad I saw you tonight. I’ve actually come back to say goodbye.’
She frowned. ‘You’re not going home to Canada?’
‘No such luck. I’ve been grounded for four months. Not safe to fly ops until I’m all healed, apparently. I’ve got a week’s leave, then they’re sending me to teach schoolgirls how to bake soufflés until I’m allowed back in my own cockpit.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘I’m being given an instructor post with your boys – the RAF, I mean, showing sprog pilots how to handle their bombers.’ He grinned at her. ‘Will you miss me?’
Bobby chose not to answer that.
‘How do you feel about it?’ she asked.