All the Sweet Promises. Elizabeth Elgin
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him, knowing what he meant. ‘I had a fright this morning, though. There was a long buff envelope in the post with OHMS on it and I thought, “Oh, my God.” But it was only something for Dad.’
‘They’ve forgotten you. How long is it now since your medical?’
‘Oh, ages.’ She didn’t want to talk about it or even think about it. Before they met she had accepted her call-up into the armed forces because it was one of the things that happened in wartime; accepted it because it was a moral necessity. There was a war on, so you didn’t question anything; and if she was completely honest, there had even been times when she had looked forward to leaving home with a kind of guilty relief. But not any longer. Now there was Rob, and even to think of being parted from him left her sick inside.
She turned to him and closed her eyes, reaching for the back of his head, pulling his face closer.
‘Forget it.’ She shivered, without knowing why, and he took off his tunic and wrapped it around her shoulders. Longing flamed in her again at the smell and feel of it.
She was not ashamed of the need that screamed inside her. Sometimes she wanted to shout, ‘Listen, world, Rob and I are lovers!’ But their loving was a secret thing and their meetings furtive because of her parents.
‘How was it, last night?’
‘Like it always is,’ he said quietly.
She felt the shrugging of his shoulders as if he were trying to forget for a little while the fear that never seemed quite to leave him. Fear of a bad take-off, of night fighters, of flak and searchlights. Fear of cracking up; fear of fear itself. Rob did not subscribe to the popular image of a bomber pilot, didn’t talk about wizard prangs or pieces of cake, or sport a handlebar moustache. Rob flew with calculated care, mindful of the lives of his crew and the need to get them back to the safety of the debriefing room and steaming mugs of rum-laced tea.
‘Rob, let’s go to York on Saturday and stay the night.’
The words came out in a rush and she felt her face flame. But she had no pride now where Rob was concerned, and what had pride to do with loving?
‘The night?’ He asked it quietly but she felt a tensing of his body. ‘Could you make it?’
‘I know I could.’ She nodded confidently. ‘My cousin will say I was with her. You want us to, don’t you?’
‘I love you, Jenny.’ His voice was rough and his arms tightened around her. ‘Remember that, always.’
Always. She recalled the time of their first coupling. It had been gentle, a sweet, surprised discovering, and they had looked at each other shyly afterwards, unable to speak. But now her need of him was desperate and unashamed, and their clandestine meetings were not enough. She wanted something to keep secret inside her; something to balance the loneliness of life without him if one night he shouldn’t come back.
‘If I start a baby, will you marry me?’
‘You won’t.’ He kissed her harshly, as if to add strength to his denial.
‘But I might. I could easily –’
‘You won’t, Jenny.’ He drew deeply on his cigarette then sent it spinning away with a flick of his fingers. ‘And we’ll talk about York tomorrow, sweetheart.’
‘All right, then.’ She shivered again. ‘If you’re flying tonight, Rob, what time will take-off be?’
‘I don’t know. They haven’t told us anything, but if something doesn’t happen by nine, I reckon they’ll stand us down.’ He was looking at his watch, again. ‘Sorry, Jenny. You’ll be all right?’
‘I’ll be fine. Just fine.’
She wasn’t fine. She was angry they had wasted the precious minutes on stupid small talk. Then she took off his tunic and gave it back, helping him into it, fastening the buttons possessively. ‘Take care, Rob. Promise to be careful.’
‘I will.’
‘And promise never to stop loving me.’
‘Never. I promise.’
The same dear words, each time they parted. The same sweet promises, part of the ritual of their loving.
‘Goodnight, Rob MacDonald,’ she whispered, and he reached for her and kissed her gently, the sadness in his eyes making her suddenly afraid.
‘Goodnight, Jenny.’
He went abruptly and she stood there, eyes on his back, willing him to turn, knowing he would not.
She watched as he broke into a run along the perimeter track; the same track his bomber would lumber round tonight if standby became reality.
Despair shook her, her body screaming silently at the pain of leaving him, choosing not to think of the risk he had taken to be with her.
Damn this war, she thought. Damn it, damn it!
She turned then, tugging at the wire-mesh fence, squeezing through. Head down, she ran through the wood, past the beech tree and the stile, not stopping until she came to Dormer Cottage.
‘Hi!’ she called to no one in particular. ‘I’m home.’
She took the stairs at a run, up and up to the attic she slept in. Breathlessly she flung herself down on the window seat.
She liked this large, low room at the top of the house. From its windows she could see for miles, across fields and trees to the aerodrome beyond. From here she could watch and wait for take-off, count the bombers out, bless them on their way.
There was nothing to see, yet. Toy trucks moved between hangars; a minute tractor drove slowly down the main runway. Maybe they wouldn’t go tonight. Maybe it would be all right.
She pulled her knees up to her chin, hugging them for comfort, thinking about Saturday and York, and Julia, who had reluctantly agreed to alibi her.
She closed her eyes. On Saturday night she would be Jenny MacDonald. No one else called her Jenny. She was Jane, except to Rob; and now no one else would ever be allowed to use that diminutive. Jenny and Rob. Mrs Robert MacDonald, of Glasgow, though where in Glasgow she wasn’t at all sure. What she did know was that he lived with his mother and two brothers, and that after the war he would go back to work in an insurance office.
Frowning, she made a mental note to ask his address, though where a man lived was not important. What really mattered was that he loved you and that tomorrow he would be waiting by the beech tree, at seven. Everything else was a triviality.
She rested her chin on her knees, preparing herself for the long wait. Her parents were down there in the garden, Missy, her labrador bitch, at their heels.
She was sorry about the tension between them. It had started when they discovered she was meeting Rob, and they had asked for her promise that she would never see him again. It was the start of the lies and deceit, but she didn’t care. Only Rob mattered now.
She closed her eyes, easing into her favourite fantasy. She did it all the time when Rob was not with her, recalling words they had spoken, hearing music and shared laughter.
Tonight the air was gentle and the earth green with tender things growing, but when first she met Rob a bitter wind blew from the north-east and the bombers were grounded, standing shrouded against the frost and snow like great wounded birds. Candlemas, and there was a dance in the sergeants’ mess. Often, now, she thought with wonder that she almost hadn’t gone …
Her mother was against it. Aerodromes were dangerous places, she fretted, the recent air raid and the death of two young Waafs still fresh in her mind. Her parents didn’t want her to become involved with Fenton Bishop’s aircrews. They were a wild lot, her mother said. They had rowdy parties at the Black Bull and sang dubious songs. She only gave in when she learned that the vicar’s niece would be going to the dance and that the Air Force would be providing transport.
Jane