The Gunner Girl (42 page)

What about you, then? A little voice nagged inside her head. Bea's going to get her dream and Joan still has a chance. What about Edie? Is there a happy ending for Edie, too? Edie sighed,
looking at the noisy, messy bundle of Bea's family over by the waiting room. No. What mattered now was to move forward, somehow. Maybe happy endings were for other people.

Suddenly, Baby Val slipped out of the knot of siblings and toddled over towards her. ‘Little minx,' Edie said, catching her and scooping her up.

‘Don't you go running off, girl, it's not safe!' yelled Bea, untangling herself from her brothers and sisters.

‘It's all right, I've got her,' called Edie, lodging Baby Val on one hip. She smelled of chips and carbolic soap and warm babyness. I let them kill mine, thought Edie,
kissing the nest of curls on the top of Baby Val's head. I let them push me and shove me and suck it out of me. Edie clenched her jaws tight and swallowed hard and looked over Baby's
head to where the two train tracks merged into one and told herself to buck up.

There was a droning hum overhead and, looking up, she saw the V-formation of Lancasters heading out east, away from the train tracks, across the English Channel. Joan was stood alone at the far
end of the platform, watching silently as they passed. She looked and looked, until the planes were out of sight and all that was left was a vibration of disappearing sound. Poor Joan, thought
Edie.

Baby Val slapped Edie's cheek with her soft little paw. ‘Ma, Ma,' she said, pointing. Edie looked. She was pointing at Bea, who was picking her way along the platform, past a
mass of kit bags and towards a group of soldiers. Did Baby know already? Edie wondered. Had she already been told that Bea was her ma? Or was this just baby speak? No matter, it would only be a
matter of weeks, maybe less; Jock's ship could dock any day now. Edie watched Bea treading carefully over bags and piles of discarded coats.

‘I know you – it's Bill Franks, isn't it? Corporal Bill Franks of 32 Armoured?' she heard Bea saying. A gangly looking soldier stood up, grinning and said it was
Sergeant Bill Franks these days and they began chatting and gesticulating and Edie heard something about ‘my fiancé' and ‘my baby girl' and pointed across to where
Edie stood holding Baby Val, and the train tooted, coming through the tunnel.

Edie looked along the platform and people were starting to pick up their bags and say their final goodbyes and the group of soldiers were all getting to their feet, and, way up at the end of the
platform, Joan was still staring away at the empty sky, and Edie thought she really should go and get Joan because if they missed this train, they'd really be in hot water when they got
back.

Baby Val was wriggling and saying ‘Ma' and Edie didn't mean to, but she was looking at Joan and not taking enough notice and Baby Val wriggled free. Edie tried to run after
her, but there was a tangle of soldiers with kit bags in front of them and Baby Val tottered between their legs and away. Edie shouted, ‘Val!' after her, but she didn't stop.
There was the sound of everyone talking, saying goodbye, and the rushing growl of the train getting closer. Again, Edie shouted, ‘Val!' Tried to push past the throng and catch her, and
this time Bea looked round, and saw. Edie shoved through the cluster of soldiers, shouting again, but Baby Val didn't stop or turn and her little legs moved surprisingly quickly. Bea looked
round and saw her little daughter running, running, and the train was pulling in. Heads turned in idle curiosity at the kerfuffle. At last, Edie found enough space between passengers and ran after
Baby Val, yelling at the top of her voice. And Bea was there in front of her, yelling Val's name, catching up with her little girl, arms outstretched, grabbing, right at the edge of the
platform as the train was screaming in. And Bea had almost caught her baby girl, when someone shouted, ‘Mind your step!' and Bea tripped and was over, down on the tracks and someone
else snatched up Baby and the train screeched to a halt, but Bea was down and the train didn't stop in time and the station went quiet as they heard a dislocated screech and then silence.

Edie stopped running. There was the hiss of steam and the train doors began to swing open and Edie shouted, ‘Stop! Everyone, just stay where you are!' She caught sight of the guard,
white-faced, on the platform edge. ‘For God's sake, man, don't just stand there, call an ambulance!' she shouted. She shouted even though she knew, they all knew, that there
was no point.

And Baby Val, held tight by a stranger in uniform, pointed down by the edge of the platform and said, ‘Ma?'

‘Come!' said the voice. One RMP opened the door and the other yelled at them to quick-march inside. The RMP yelled ‘Halt!' and
‘'Shun!' when they were in and they stood, shoulder to shoulder, waiting for the inevitable.

Joan could feel Edie, rigid and trembling beside her. She held her breath. They were really for it, now. AWOL: absent without leave. They'd be court martialled, surely? The CO was sitting
behind his desk and a young woman was standing beside him. It must be the new junior commander the other girls were talking about, she thought. She could hear Edie's breath coming in little
bursts.

‘Thank you, I'll take it from here,' said the CO. ‘You can wait outside.' The RMPs left. The CO's chair scraped on the lino as he stood up. The junior
commander looked at them. She had mousy hair and a pale doughy face, like – she suddenly remembered that newsreel, that day, before it all started – like the Prime Minister's
daughter. She had a faint squinty frown on her wide brow. Outside, a sudden gust of wind made the tree branches patter against the window like someone trying to get in. The CO glowered. He cleared
his throat, and they waited.

‘Well, I hardly need to tell you the severity of your offence,' he began. The phone rang, trembling through the dead air. The CO nodded at the junior commander, who picked it up.

‘Hyde Park Battery, Junior Commander Churchill speaking,' she said. So it
was
her. There was the muffled scratchy sound of the voice at the other end of the line. ‘Is
that something I can help with?' said Junior Commander Churchill. The CO tutted. There was more muffled chat from the phone. ‘Perhaps he could call you back?' said Mary Churchill.
The sounds from the telephone were louder this time, but she couldn't make out the words. Mary Churchill nodded and put her hand over the mouthpiece. ‘He says it's urgent,'
she whispered to the CO.

‘They always say that. Just get rid,' the CO hissed back. She took her hand off the mouthpiece

‘I can take a message. May I ask who's calling?' she said and then almost immediately pulled the phone away from her ear. There were the sounds of tinny shouts from the
receiver.

‘He says he wants to talk to the organ grinder, not the monkey,' she said, no longer bothering to whisper or cover the mouthpiece. ‘It's Lord Mountbatten, by the
way.'

The CO immediately took the phone from her. Joan watched his expression change from irritation to panic as he answered the call. ‘Hello, yes, sorry about that . . . I see. I'm in the
middle of . . . yes, I understand, but . . . right away? Of course. I'm on my way.' He hung up and shook his head. ‘I say, it never rains but it bloody well pours.' He
picked up his cap and his fountain pen from the desk. ‘You'll have to carry on, Commander. You know my views on this incident.'

Mary Churchill said, ‘Yes, sir' as the CO stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

‘At ease,' said Mary Churchill as soon as the door closed. She and Edie moved their right legs wider and shifted their hands behind their backs, their chins lowered half an inch.
Mary Churchill walked out from behind the desk and stood squarely in front of them. ‘Well, this is a terribly bad business. You have jeopardised the reputation of the battery, if not the
entire ATS,' she said severely, her small teeth like pearls in her soft mouth. She stopped talking for a bit, then, and paced up and down in front of them. Eventually, she stopped, and
sighed. ‘Oh, stand easy, for heaven's sakes,' she said, and they unclasped their hands and relaxed their legs.

Mary Churchill pushed herself up so that she was sitting on the edge of the CO's desk, legs dangling like a schoolgirl's. Her hair was honey-edged in the sunshine, just like
Bea's. Just like Bea's used to be. The wind in the trees was louder than the traffic on the Bayswater Road and the twigs tapped and tapped and they waited and waited. Would they be sent
to military prison? How long for? Lord, what a mess.

At last, Mary Churchill spoke again: ‘I understand you have both just lost a colleague and a very dear friend.' They both nodded. ‘Nevertheless, this is a very awkward
business.' She sighed again, loudly, like a horse. ‘You should never have been there, and you certainly should have at least contacted your unit immediately after the incident and
returned to work.'

‘But the family needed us,' said Edie. ‘There wasn't anyone else there to help—'

‘I know you, don't I?' Mary Churchill interrupted Edie, who nodded. ‘Queen's College?' Edie nodded again. ‘I seem to remember you did French with Madame
Cavelle, too?' She turned and picked the charge sheet off the desk and checked the name. ‘Edith Lightwater. Oh, yes, Neville's girl, now I can place you.' She put the sheet
down. There was another pause, and Joan watched as Mary Churchill's eyes flicked up above their heads and she pursed her lips.

Afterwards, the two RMPs marched them to their hut: confined to barracks pending a preliminary hearing scheduled for the afternoon. Passing faces stared. The air smelled clean, rain-washed, a
bit like gin. The wind whipped a stray strand of hair into her mouth and she spat it out.

Inside, the hut was empty, half dark, despite the uncurtained windows. Joan sat down on the bed next to Edie. The bedsprings creaked underneath them. Edie's Bible lay untouched on the
locker top. The air was musty and thick with things unspoken. But there was nothing to say. They were guilty as charged.

She remembered a Sunday afternoon, before it all started. Dad would've been at the allotments, Mum in the kitchen, her big sister out with Fred. And she'd sat alone in the still air
of the front room, carefully balancing a deck of cards, gently up-up. Then the desolation when Mum opened the door, and a gust sent the whole house toppling over the tabletop, and she knew
she'd never be able to build a house of cards like that, not ever again.

She sighed, patted Edie's thigh, next to her on the hard bed, remembering everything that had happened over the last few days. It was Vi's voice that stayed with her. ‘My
sister,' she'd howled. ‘My big sister.'

‘It wasn't your fault, you know,' Joan said aloud. And she wasn't sure if she was talking to Edie, or to herself.

There was some muttering from outside the hut and Staff Farr came in. They both stood up as she entered. Staff Farr opened her mouth as if to say something, paused, closed her lips, took another
step forward, and then began. ‘I've just received a call,' she said. ‘From the deceased's sister.' For a moment, it was impossible to understand what Staff Farr
was saying. Who was ‘the deceased'? Bea – she was talking about Bea. Bea wasn't a person any more. She wasn't the smiling, ever-hungry, comforting presence in the next
bunk; she was merely ‘the deceased'. ‘Violet Smith,' Staff Farr continued. ‘She asked me to let you both know that Jock arrived safely and he's taken the baby to
his mother's, for now, while he convalesces. She said she thought you'd want to know.'

They thanked Staff Farr, expecting her to leave immediately, but she didn't. She took one more step forward. The staff sergeant's face had a different look from usual, the frowning
brow replaced by something else. Her lips were pressed shut, and they peeled slowly open to speak, like someone steaming open an envelope. ‘I don't blame you, girls,' she said in
a low voice. ‘I don't blame you, and I'm prepared to say as much in a court martial.' She took a step back and said, in a louder voice: ‘The Junior Commander has also
asked me to inform you that you may get yourselves something to eat, and you are then to ablute and smarten yourselves up in preparation for the preliminary hearing. You will be in works dress, of
course.' Then Staff Farr turned on her heel and left. There was muttering again outside the door, and the sound of footfalls moving away.

Joan turned to look at Edie, who'd sat back down on the bed, head in her hands. ‘At least Baby Val's with her dad now,' she said to Edie. But Edie didn't answer,
because she was silently weeping. Joan sat back down next to Edie and stroked her back, the cloth of her uniform rough against her fingertips. She was thinking that in the last war people had been
shot for desertion. They were hardly likely to get off scott-free, were they? They'd been told to get some food from the cookhouse before the hearing. Who knew what the food would be like in
military prison? she then said to Edie, tugging her to her feet. Edie replied that she wasn't hungry, blowing her nose on a lace-edged handkerchief and muttering that she didn't think
she'd be able to keep anything down.

‘Tea then, just a cup of tea?' she said, pulling Edie towards the hut door. She pushed it open. Staff Farr must have sent the RMPs off on a break. They were nowhere to be seen. The
wind was beginning to die down, and the mid-morning sunshine slapped full into their faces as they walked down the cinder path towards the cookhouse. There was the distant clatter-splash of
breakfast cutlery being rinsed under the outside tap, and someone's reedy whistling of ‘A Nightingale Sang in Berkley Square' carried on the breeze. Sheila Carter was puffing up
the path towards them, lugging a crate of tools.

‘That fella's back,' she panted, squinting at them as she drew level.