Bluebirds (62 page)

‘I hoped we were more 'n that. A whole lot more. I wasn't goin' to say a thing yet, but I'm scared now that if I don't maybe I'll go and lose you for some crazy reason to do with your mum. I love you, Ginny. Have done ever since I first saw you that day on the bike when I came harin' round that corner . . . First of all I didn't think I had a chance with you, but lately I've begun to think different. But I knew I had to take it real slow. See, I want us to get engaged, Ginny. To get married, soon as we can. To go back and live in Canada one day, when the war's over. I'll take good care of you, I swear it. An' my folks'll love you. What d'you say?'

The tears began again, trickling down her cheeks.

‘Gee, Ginny, if it's that bad an idea . . .'

‘No, no.' She shook her head. ‘I'm crying because I'm so happy.'

He laughed and caught her against him. It was the first time she had ever been kissed. Presently he said:

‘I'll speak to your mum as soon as we go back.'

She pulled away from in alarm. ‘No, not yet, Neil. Let's keep it to ourselves for a little while longer. Please.'

‘All right,' he said reluctantly. ‘If that's what you want. But we'll have to tell her in the end.'

He put his arm around her and drew her close against him. The little boy and his mother had gone and the ducks were paddling quietly on the lake. The sunlight shimmered across the surface of the water. I don't want anything to spoil this for us, she thought. Not yet. She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes tiredly. Not yet.

‘Kookaburras and wattle?' Digger said, leaning against the bar in the Black Bull.

Anne shook her head. ‘What on earth are those?'

‘First one's an Aussie bird. Second's a yellow flower. Grows everywhere.'

‘I've heard of the Outback,' she said. ‘You've got a lot of that.'

‘Too right. How about dingoes. Heard of those?'

‘They're wild dogs, aren't they?
Up jumped dingo, yellow dog dingo
 . . . that's from some poem or other.'

Digger lifted his beer mug. ‘Don't know about the poem, but you're right there too. Nasty, savage creatures you wouldn't want to meet.' He took a long swallow.

‘Bondi beach,' she said, suddenly inspired. ‘Surfing.'

He looked over the mug admiringly. ‘My word, you're getting better all the time.'

‘Sheep. Gold. Opals. Pineapples. Sugar cane.'

He whistled. ‘You've been cheating. Looking things up.'

‘No, I haven't. I swear it. I just remembered what we learned at school. Tasmania and apples.'

‘Good on you! What about wine?'

‘Wine? You mean you have vineyards? I don't remember learning about that.'

‘Oh, my word, yes. It's good wine, too. Good as German or French any day. I'll bet you thought we drank Fosters all the time.'

‘Fosters?'

He groaned in mock despair. ‘You mean to say you've never heard of Fosters? That's terrible! Best beer there is.' He took another swig. ‘Better than this Pommy muck. Heard of The Wet?'

‘Is that another beer?'

He laughed. ‘Strewth, no! It's the rainy season in Australia. Comes down in bloody torrents.'

‘We have that all the year round.'

‘All right, try these. King's Cross and Paddington.'

‘They're in London.'

‘They're in Sydney, too.'

‘Couldn't you think of your own names?'

‘Yeah. Woollamaloo, Wagga Wagga, Wollongong.'

‘I like those. They sound lovely.'

‘Matter of fact, we pinched those from the Abos.'

Digger drained his mug and pushed it across the counter towards the landlord. ‘Same again, sport.' He winked at Anne over his shoulder. ‘Have to keep it filled up 'case they run out.'

‘Stuttgart,' Sunshine snapped, making it sound like a bad sneeze. ‘That is our target for tonight, gentlemen.'

‘
Our
target, you mean,' someone in the row behind Anne whispered resentfully. ‘
You
don't have to bloody go. All that bloody way.'

She looked at the red tape stretched across the map on the wall behind the Group Captain – representing something like five hundred long miles there and five hundred long miles back.

Sunshine was glowering round the briefing room. ‘Industrial area . . . diesel-engine and ignition factories . . . penetration into Southern Germany . . . impose ARP measures over a wide area . . . high morale value . . . maximum effort expected.'

She listened to him giving his usual harangue. All available aircraft on the station were being bombed up. It was going to be a big one.

Digger and his crew were sitting near the front, to her left. Digger was looking carefully unconcerned, smoking a cigarette and leaning back in his chair. Twenty-nine ops behind him and only this one to go, and it had to be a snorter.

When the briefing was over he passed close to her as he left the room.

‘Didgeridoo,' she said.

‘Stone the crows!' He grinned. ‘Never thought of that. That one deserves a gong.' He tugged a button off his tunic and pressed it into her palm. ‘Here you are. The Wollongong. Aussie medal for the best Pommy sheila I ever knew.'

The long wait began. She lay on her bed, sleeping in short bouts, listening for the distant sound of engines that would herald the bombers' return. This was the
hardest part. Sunshine, no doubt, would be peacefully asleep and dreaming of promotion and medals (his own), but many on his station and under his command would be watching, listening and waiting as the hours of darkness dragged by.

After dawn they began to come back, the faint drone of the first arrivals swelling gradually to a roar when they circled above the aerodrome. One, she could hear, was in bad trouble, flying on a single faltering engine. She held her breath as it passed over very low; after a few moments a horrible thudding whoomph shook the building. As the first crews stumbled into the de-briefing room she saw without asking a single question that it had been a very shaky do. Their faces told the story before they began to talk of murderous flak, marauding night fighters and kites going down in flames.

Six of them failed to return, among them Digger and his crew. She waited for a long while with the squadron CO, sitting in the empty room with the sound of the clock ticking away hope. There were no late stragglers and there was no news.

She skipped breakfast and went outside, still hoping against all likelihood for the sight of A-Apple or any of the others in the sky. She fingered the black Australian Air Force button in her pocket.

Oh, Digger, I've thought of a whole lot more that I was going to tell you . . . swagmen, billabongs, tuckerbags, billies, coolibah trees and Waltzing Matilda.

Virginia watched the ladybird crawling slowly across the back of her hand and wondered if insects had any feelings at all. Or did they go through their short lives in a state of blissful ignorance of such things – feeling and caring nothing, driven only by conditioned reflex and blind instinct. Sometimes she wished that she had none. That she could live without always dreading this and fearing that and being so nervous about the other. It spoiled everything. Now, at this moment, sitting in
the shade in a corner of the field, the bikes propped against the tree, she was happy – happier perhaps than she had ever been in her life. But that happiness was still tinged with a gnawing fear that it might not last. That Neil could not really love her as much as he said, that he might not really want to marry her, that something somehow would go wrong . . . She looked at him lying on his back on the grass close by, his hands behind his head, his eyes shut, and could not trust her good fortune. It had taken a long while for her to overcome her shyness with him and she could remember the very instant when it had finally dawned on her that she was in love with him. He had taken her to watch him play in an ice hockey match in Brighton between Canadian and British servicemen. Two teams had been scratched together and somehow equipped. She had watched from the edge of her seat as the players tore round the rink at breakneck speed chasing the tiny puck. There had been horrifying collisions, spills and thrills and the best thrill had been when Neil had scored one of the goals. He had swept down the side of the rink, flicking the puck before him and veered across to shoot straight past the keeper into the goal mouth. She had been on her feet with the rest of the Canadians in the crowd, yelling and clapping, though she knew she should have been supporting the other side. The match had ended in victory for the Canadian team, after a fierce struggle, and to her relief, Neil had come off the ice unscathed. He had looked up to where she was sitting, laughing and waving. As she waved back she had realized suddenly how she felt about him and the knowledge had filled her with both happiness and trepidation.

‘Penny for your thoughts, Ginny.'

He had opened his eyes and was watching her.

‘Nothing really . . . I was just remembering the match in Brighton.'

‘That was great.'

‘You scored that goal.'

‘Yeah.' He propped himself up on one elbow. ‘Wish we could spend more time together, Ginny – have more days like that one, and today . . . Don't know when our next chance'll be. Looks like somethin's up. I reckon things're goin' to be busy for a while.'

Her stomach fluttered in fright. ‘How do you mean?'

He tugged at the grass by his hand, frowning. ‘Couldn't tell you even if I knew, which I don't. But somethin's cookin' all right. We're doin' all these manoeuvres an' exercises an' all that stuff the whole time. It's gotta be for somethin' special.'

She stared at him in dismay. ‘Will it be dangerous?'

‘Now, don't you go worryin'. I wouldn't've said anythin' only you might've started wonderin' if you didn't hear from me for a bit.' He smiled at her. ‘Might get to thinkin' I'd gone off with some other girl.'

It was just what she probably would have thought, in her fatalistic way. He saw the look on her face and put his hand on her arm.

‘Don't ever think like that, Ginny. It'll never be true. You'll always be my girl. Don't worry about a thing. We're goin' to get married and when this war's over we're goin' to settle down in Canada and be happy for the rest of our lives.'

He leaned over and kissed her cheek and then her mouth. He went on kissing her longer and more fiercely than he had ever done before, pressing her down onto the grass. She clasped him tightly in her arms.

This can't be wrong, she thought dazedly, because we love each other. The air felt cool against her skin and Neil's mouth was warm. It's the war, she thought, the ghastly, horrible war. Even if it
is
wrong, I simply don't care.

‘He's off his feed,' Mrs Parsons said. ‘Something's the matter with him.'

She was standing by the budgerigar's cage as Virginia and Madge came in, peering anxiously at the bird. The
black cat sat watching from a chair with his yellow eyes. Madge took a brisk look.

‘Seems all right to me.'

Mrs Parsons shook her head. ‘He's not. I can tell. Look at the way his feathers are all droopy. And he's not touched his seed.'

Virginia said: ‘Perhaps he's just feeling down in the dumps today.'

‘Maybe he heard the news.' Mrs Parsons made little kissing noises through the bars. ‘Enough to put anyone out of sorts.'

‘What news?'

‘Haven't you heard, dear? It was on the wireless. We landed a whole lot of troops over the other side of the Channel, at some French port. They were mostly Canadians, it said.'

‘Canadians?'

‘Well, some of them speak French, don't they? I expect that's why they sent them. Ever so many of them got killed, though, by the sound of it. Poor boys. I don't know what good they thought it would do . . .' She bent towards the cage again. ‘If he's not better by tomorrow, I think I'll definitely take him to the vet.'

Virginia stood quite still, hands hanging at her sides. The room went dark around her and there was a singing sort of sound in her ears, then it went light again. Mrs Parsons was blowing more kisses through the birdcage bars, making little popping noises with her mouth. Madge was looking across at her anxiously and with pity in her eyes. Madge knew, just as she knew.
Somethin's up . . . we're doin' all these manoeuvres an' exercises . . . it's gotta be for somethin' special
.

She turned and stumbled blindly from the room.

THE WOMAN SITTING
on the other side of Felicity's desk was dressed all in grey – grey felt hat, grey coat, grey gloves clutching the large handbag on her lap. Her hair was grey too, blending almost invisibly with the shapeless hat. The expression on her pale face was uncomprehending.

‘I was told Gwynneth was seriously ill . . . now you say she isn't, and I've come all this way.'

‘Your daughter
was
very ill, Mrs Morgan, and we were very concerned about her. I'm very relieved to be able to tell you that the doctor has taken her off the critical list as of this morning. I am sorry to have alarmed you like this.'

‘Well, I may as well see her since I'm here. Where is she then?'

‘She's in our sick quarters at present. We'll be moving her to a civilian hospital as soon as she's strong enough.'

‘
Civilian
hospital? Why can't the RAF look after her? She must have caught whatever it is from someone in the Service.'

Felicity looked down at the pen she was holding in her fingers. She turned it round several times before replying.

‘Your daughter asked me to have a word with you before you saw her, Mrs Morgan. To explain the situation to you.'