Chapter 6
An hour later, Bobby was resting her head on Charlie’s bare chest in a state of complete contentment.
His heart thudded against her, making her body shake slightly with each rhythmic beat.
It was comforting to feel his heartbeat rippling through her, like…
well, like life, she supposed. It seemed to soothe Marmaduke too.
Charlie’s attempts to make love to his wife weren’t always successful.
Sometimes the excitement brought on one of his nervous attacks, curtailing bedroom activities.
As long as she could be close to him, though, Bobby was content – and if his struggle with impotence in the wake of the crash that had killed two of his crew had taught Charlie anything, it was a slow and thorough enjoyment of his wife’s body that she felt privileged to experience.
There hadn’t been any problems today, however, and they lay naked, satiated and happy in each other’s embrace.
‘We ought to get up,’ Bobby murmured, pressing kisses into the dusting of hair on Charlie’s chest.
‘Why? There’s nowhere I’d rather be than here.’
‘I’ve got to make the tea before we meet my sister and Tony in the pub. Besides, I’m sure the neighbours must be whispering about us, drawing the curtains every Saturday afternoon and never emerging until it’s time for church next day.’
‘Let them talk.’ Charlie rolled on top of her and started kissing her neck. ‘They’re just jealous.’
‘You think old Mrs Barraclough next door wants you for herself?’
‘Of course she does. The woman’s only human, even if she is seventy-four.’
Bobby smiled as he started nibbling her earlobe. ‘Leave off that a minute.’
‘I thought you liked that.’
‘I do, but give up. I want to look at you.’
Charlie detached himself from her ear to look into her face.
‘What’s up, love?’ he asked gently.
‘Nothing.’ She drew her fingers over the deep white flak scar on his cheek, a permanent reminder of his last fateful mission. ‘I just want to remember how you look right now. I do love you, Charlie.’
He smiled. ‘I know you do. What’s got you talking soft?’
‘I suppose I was thinking… will it always be like this?’
‘I might not be quite so sprightly in the bedroom in another sixty years, but other than that, I don’t see why not.’
‘I just worry about how things will change when Marmaduke arrives. I mean I can’t wait to be a mam and dad together, but…’ She looked into Charlie’s dark brown eyes, which always looked a little sad these days even when he was smiling. ‘It won’t change anything between us, will it?’ she whispered.
He stroked back her hair. The puckered, leathery skin of his burnt arm felt rough against her cheek.
‘Of course it won’t, except for the better. Why should it?’
‘Only I see Lil so washed out all the time, forever worrying about money, and I wonder how I’m going to cope. I rely on my job to give my brain something to do, and to have to replace that with—’ She bit her lip.
‘With what? Motherhood?’
The word that had actually risen to Bobby’s tongue had been ‘drudgery’, but she didn’t say this to Charlie.
‘Things are so nice now, just the two of us, loving each other,’ she said. ‘I want it to always be that way, even with a baby to share it. I don’t want to become a cross, tired, frumpy wife who you’ll find it hard to stay in love with.’
He smiled. ‘Do you ever stop worrying about what might happen and try to enjoy what you’ve got?’
‘I try, but I’m a worrier by nature. As soon as one problem’s solved, my brain throws up another.’
‘Well now it’s throwing up problems that won’t exist, if you’re talking about me finding it hard to love you.’ He tapped her temple. ‘I’d have a stern word with that overworked old brain of yours if I were you. You’re not doing yourself or Marmaduke any favours worrying about what-ifs.’
‘You’re right. I’m being daft.’ She tilted her head. ‘You can take my mind off it by kissing my ear again if you like.’
‘I do,’ Charlie said, burrowing into her hair. ‘Tell me about your day while I do it. I want to see how long it’ll take me to distract you.’
Bobby shivered as his lips tickled her skin.
‘Well, it began with your brother saying he wanted to talk to me and Tony, which put the fear of God into me for a start. I was worried one of us was for the chop. But he just wanted to tell me I was being promoted, and we were to have a new office in George Parry’s shed. ’
‘A shed?’ Charlie murmured, trailing his fingertips delicately over her lightly rounded stomach. ‘That doesn’t sound comfortable.’
‘It’s a very nice shed,’ Bobby said, somewhat defensively. If she was to be a deputy editor, she didn’t want anyone casting aspersions on the workplace she’d be in charge of. ‘It’s an old shepherd’s hut, quite big. Reg has had it done up for us.’
‘You went to see it, then?’
‘Yes, Tony and I went over after work.’ She experienced a pleasant shiver as his lips moved to her shoulder. ‘How was your day?’
‘Oh, thrilling. I black-leaded the fireplace, did the ironing, polished the brasses and then – and this was the really exciting bit – I got the Vim out and scrubbed the lav.’
‘You don’t need to do all that,’ Bobby said, with a twinge of guilt. ‘I could have done the lav tomorrow. I know it must hurt your arm.’
‘It’s fine, Bobby. No worse than being on fatigues.’
‘Still, remember what Dr Minchin told you. You need rest to heal.’
‘It’s you who needs rest, not me.’ He was kissing her collarbone now. ‘You know, I’m rather offended that my kisses aren’t distracting you from this endless stream of small talk. I mean, as brimming with sex appeal as the image of me scrubbing the outhouse in my pinny undoubtedly is.’
Bobby laughed. ‘You’re doing splendidly, I swear. I’m just a little too parched to enjoy it properly. Do you think you can bear the separation if I fetch a glass of water?’
He glanced up. ‘Only if you give me your solemn promise that you’ll come back immediately, and there’ll be none of this “making the tea” nonsense until I’ve kissed all the bits of you I’m minded to.’
She tilted his chin up to kiss him. ‘I promise.’
‘Then you have my permission to depart, Aircraftwoman.’
Smiling, Bobby put on her dressing gown before going to the kitchen to get a glass of water.
Her throat was very dry, and she gulped the water rather too quickly. She was pouring herself a second tumbler when she spotted a torn-up envelope in the salvage bin. The letters ‘OHMS’ caught her eye.
What could that be doing in the bin? It must be military with those initials.
The envelope was addressed to Charlie, and the postmark showed it had probably come that morning. Yet he had told her there’d been no post except her letter from Scarlet. Why would he tear up an official letter?
Too curious to mind her own business, Bobby fished the thing out of the bin, extracted the two halves of the letter and pieced them together.
It was from the Air Ministry.
Sir,
I am directed to inform you that His Majesty the King has graciously approved the award of the Distinguished Flying Cross in recognition of your gallant conduct during aerial action on the night of 30th August, 1942.
The announcement of this award will appear in an early issue of the London Gazette.
Details of the investiture ceremony at Buckingham Palace will follow in a future correspondence…
Bobby stared at it. The DFC!
She remembered that Wing Commander Butler, Charlie’s commanding officer at Wykeness, had talked of recommending him for the honour.
Since nothing more had been said, however, she had assumed the CO hadn’t gone ahead – perhaps because of the circumstances under which Charlie had been invalided out, with what his doctors called ‘shattered nerves’.
That could so easily have led to the ignominious classification of LMF – lack of moral fibre – if it hadn’t been for the intervention of a sympathetic RAF medical officer.
But it looked as though Butler had recommended Charlie for the gong after all.
One of the most prestigious awards in the military, and more than deserved given Charlie had saved the lives of four men at great personal risk. And he had torn up the letter! Why on earth would he do that?
Bobby jumped at a knock on the door. She stuffed the fragments of Charlie’s letter into her pocket.
Who was calling? She could hardly answer the door wearing nothing but her dressing gown.
Bobby was sure the neighbours were already gossiping about ‘those newlyweds at Number 4, who always put their blackouts up early every Saturday, if you take my meaning’.
She and Charlie would just have to pretend to be out.
She was curious about who it was, though, and tiptoed to the parlour window to peep behind the blackout curtains.
This she quickly regretted when she found a face on the other side, trying to peep in just as Bobby was trying to peep out. It was her friend Topsy Nowak, who waved enthusiastically.
Oh well, so much for pretending to be out. Bobby raised her voice to speak to Charlie.
‘You’d better put some clothes on, darling. We have visitors.’
‘Damn all visitors to hell,’ he called back cheerfully. ‘Tell them we’re busy and come back to bed.’
‘I can’t, it’s Topsy – with Jolka, I think.’ Bobby had caught a glimpse of someone with silky black hair behind Topsy, and assumed it must be her Polish friend. ‘It would be rude when they’ve walked all the way here.’
‘Is a man never to have a moment’s peace to enjoy an afternoon in bed with his wife?’ He sighed. ‘Oh, all right.’
Bobby heard him swearing to himself as he got up.
She went to answer the door, trying to hide behind it as she ushered in the visitors. Of course, Topsy started smirking as soon as she saw what her friend was wearing – or rather what she wasn’t wearing.
‘Oh Lor,’ she said. ‘What on earth did we interrupt, Birdy?’
‘I was… having a lie-down,’ Bobby said, feeling her cheeks heat. ‘I had a headache.’
‘Tops, I hope you won’t take it personally if I tell you to make this a quick visit and beggar off home,’ Charlie called from the bedroom.
Jolka shook her head solemnly. ‘And your poor husband suffers with a headache too, Bobby. I see he also has been in need of a lie-down.’
The three women looked at each other, then broke into laughter.
‘Oh, Birdy, I am sorry,’ Topsy said. ‘I should have known better than to drop in on newlyweds unannounced.’
Bobby smiled, her embarrassment dissolving in their laughter.
‘I’m not sure we count as newlyweds any more,’ she said. ‘We’ve been eight months married now. But we were forced to spend so much of our early married life apart that, um…’ She blushed. ‘Well, it does rather feel as if we’re still on our honeymoon.’
‘This is most natural,’ Jolka said in her rolling Polish lilt. ‘Piotr and I are the same whenever he has leave.’
‘Are you really?’ Topsy said, regarding her with interest. ‘I can’t imagine you as a giddy, giggling bride, Jolka. You’re always so sensible and grown-up.’
‘Well, perhaps I do not giggle,’ Jolka said, smiling. ‘But Piotrek says it is good for me sometimes to be giddy.’
‘I’ll make tea, if you can allow me five minutes to make myself respectable,’ Bobby said. ‘Please, sit down.’
‘There is no need to hurry,’ Jolka said. ‘I am sure between us, Topsy and I can locate the tea caddy.’
‘We’ll send Charlie to the Golden Hart so we can have a jolly girls’ gossip,’ Topsy said. ‘We’ve got such a lot of news, and one piece is going to make Charlie just green with jealousy, Birdy.’
Charlie emerged fully dressed from the bedroom. With none of the shyness that Bobby struggled with, he pulled his wife to him for a deep kiss. This gave every indication of going on for some time, but Bobby pushed him away.
‘We’ve got guests, Charlie,’ she said, laughing. ‘Behave yourself.’
‘I’m just staking my claim, before these wicked women take you away from me. I did hear that threat to evict me.’ He greeted both ladies with a peck on the cheek before turning to Topsy. ‘What’s going to make me green with jealousy, Tops?’
‘Only that there’s an old friend of ours come back to the village,’ Topsy said, managing to look both cryptic and smug. ‘But I shan’t tell you who. It’s for Birdy’s ears only, then she can tease you about it later.’
‘Well, I suppose I can make myself scarce for a little while so you girls can chat about knitting patterns and Robert Taylor’s swoon-inducing eyes.
’ Charlie put on his macintosh and extracted his walking stick from the umbrella stand.
‘I’ve been meaning to call on Gil Capstick and congratulate him on his engagement. ’
Bobby gave him a kiss. ‘Thanks, love. Give Gil my congratulations as well.’
The news of the cheery sub-postmaster’s engagement to Mabs Jessop, long the object of his unrequited affection, had been announced a week ago.
It was bittersweet news, coming as it did on the back of a tragedy for the Jessop family: the death of Bobby’s old friend Andy, Mabs’s grandfather, at the age of eighty-three.
Bobby had discovered Andy confined to his bed after her discharge from the WAAF, in the throes of his final illness.
She had been heartbroken to say goodbye to one of the first friends she had made in Silverdale, but Andy himself had been sanguine.
He had lost so many people he loved at a young age that he considered it a privilege to have seen so many years, and to have enjoyed so much happiness.
But one good thing had come of Andy’s death.
Mabs, a flighty young lady of nineteen with an eye for a man in uniform, had grieved heartily for the grandfather she adored.
The support and comfort Gil had offered her at this difficult time had finally given Mabs perspective.
She had at last learned to value the caring, steady young man who loved her over and above a handsome face.
Andy would be glad to think his death had helped his young granddaughter find happiness.
When Charlie had left to visit Gil, Bobby went into the bedroom to dress, put on some lipstick and arrange her dishevelled hair.
It was when she was hanging up her dressing gown that she remembered the torn letter in the pocket. She took it out and frowned at it.
There must be some reason Charlie had torn it up. But why conceal it like something shameful when it was such an honour?
There was no time to worry about it now, however. Bobby thrust the pieces into a drawer and went out to her guests.