‘In fact, I do. And you might as well know that I’m seriously reconsidering my feelings about you.’
‘You need this,’ she’d told him. ‘All of you need this.’
She’d really thought they had.
That it would do them good.
But Tim as well as Robbie had written to her whilst they’d been gone, saying what torture it was, being reminded what safety felt like, knowing the life he must return to.I know you meant well, Iris, but I wish you hadn’t done it.And although he, Robbie, and everyone, had returned from that restful fortnight looking younger, healthier,refreshed(‘Iris, darling, can you please talk to Tim’s mum about me?’ Lewis, in his tartan slippers, had said), they’d been put straight on to battle duty, sent once more to Essen, and come home ten years older again.
Then, in no time at all, they’d been made into master bombers and sent off to learn how to do even more perilous work.
Time hadn’t raced, only dragged, whilst they’d been away, and although the summer days had mostly shone bright and warm, like this one promised to be, Doverley had felt relentlessly bleak without Robbie in it. To make matters worse, at the end of July, the house had started to fall apart, causing devastation in the administrative offices, many of which had lost their ceilings. Now, there were workmen all over the place, their relentless hammering putting paid to any chance those of them on nights might have of catching up on sleep (‘I’ve finally discovered some sympathy for Prim,’ said Clare), whilst Ambrose had become even more bad-tempered, shouting at everyone, poor Beth most of all, who was in enough of a state as it was, with Jacob gone so long.
She’d seen him in London too, the same weekend Iris hadspent in The Savoy with Robbie. Jacob hadn’t reserved a room at any hotel though. Instead, he’d taken Beth to stay with his parents at their home in Barnes.
‘I know where I’d rather be,’ Iris had said to Robbie, as, unlocking their door, he’d swept her up, carrying her into their room, making her dissolve into laughter.
‘I know where I’d rather you were, too,’ he’d replied, kicking their door shut.
‘It was all very proper,’ Beth had told Iris as, together, they’d caught the train back north. ‘Separate rooms, whist after dinner, all that. But they were lovely. And really, it’s terribly optimistic of Jacob, isn’t it, taking me there?’
‘Any talk of a proposal?’ Iris had asked, thinking of Prim, who was expecting American Clint to pop the question,any day now, and talked constantly of the exciting new life waiting for her in Denver, just as soon as the war was over. (Assuming it did ever end.)
‘No,’ Beth had replied, biting her lip on a smile. ‘Not yet. And you?’
‘No.’ Iris had shaken her head. ‘I’ve told him he’s not to.’
Don’t, she’d said, back in the Savoy, when, rolling over sleepily on the pillows, he’d pulled her warm body to his, and told her that he had something he needed to ask her.Not until this is all over. It’s just tempting fate, otherwise.
It’s not tempting anything, he’d protested.
Please, she’d insisted.Let’s wait until the end of your tour.
That’s a very long wait, he’d said.
And it was.
Grounded for all these weeks, he and the crew were still barely halfway through. Plenty of 96 were further along, and had knocked off a quick series of operations through August, when the truncated summer nights had made for shorter raids, mostly into Italy, who everyone hoped would soon surrenderafter the toppling of Mussolini back in July. Lewis and hisBucks Boyshad only to fly three more times, including tonight, before they’d be done.
‘Here’s to lucky three,’ Lewis had said the night before in The Heaton Arms, taking a swig from his watered-down beer.
‘Where are they?’ said Clare now, moving to the window, her arms folded tight. ‘Where?’
‘They’ll be coming,’ said Browning stoutly. ‘They’re on their way.’
The squadron had sent a full quota of crews up the night before. Browning had the code names of all twenty-four of them on his chalkboard, blank space beside them, awaiting the time of their return.
It was another seventeen agonising minutes before the first descending plane flickered into view, and the call of their operator ended the control room’s terrible silence.
‘Hello, Tower, Percy here. It’s good to see you.’
‘Hello, Percy, it’s very good to see you,’ said Clare. ‘Absolutely pancake, over.’
‘All right,’ said Browning, marking them,Harlow’s Heroes, off on his board. ‘One down, twenty-three to go.’
And, over the following half hour, plenty of those twenty-three did come back.
To Iris’s quaking relief,Mabel’s Furycame back, at two minutes before six: intact, smoke-free, its lumbering weight touching effortlessly down on the runway.
