‘Nick told him he should. He laid it on actually, saying how much you’ve been through, and that it will mean everything to you if he agrees.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah.’
I sigh, aching over him doing that for me.
And, however inadvertently, for them.
He’s trying to make things right, Claude.
‘What did Tim say?’ I ask.
‘Nothing. He fell asleep, like last time. But I’d keep an eye on your phone if I were you. Nick was pretty persuasive. Your letter obviously packed a punch too. I think between the two of you, you might have convinced him.’
I do keep an eye on my phone.
I keep an eye on it all day long, checking it between takes as we decamp to the fields, filming Clare’s send-off: Joshua bugling another last post, the rest of us toasting Clare with brandy, just as Emma and I toasted her last night.
I leave it on loud when I return to my room for a nap before nightfall, but don’t nap, because I’m waiting for it to ring.
I’m still waiting for it to do that when I’m sitting back in make-up, ahead of the night’s shooting.
But it’s not until I’m down at the base, getting into position with Nick and the others for our first take, that it lights up with Roger’s name. We’re atMabel’s Fury’s dispersal point, by the plane’s model replica, and about to film Iris and Robbie’s final goodbye, seventy-five-years – almost to the minute, in linear time at least – after they uttered it.
They were surrounded then by the rest ofMabel’s Fury’s crew, just as Nick and I are surrounded now.
Tim was there.
They were all of them still there.
The runway flares would have been burning.
Effects have them burning here: too uniform, too orderly, but nonetheless glowing with smoky, mesmerising heat.
The dark sky above is moonless.
And although the starlit night is a still one, a strong, icy wind is blowing, care of huge, industrial fans.
Rusty, held on a leash by her wrangler, is barking.
Trucks are motoring all around, full of extras: groundcrew, servicing the other model planes.
It all feels devastatingly familiar to me.
Not real, but real enough.
Apologies for the late message,Roger’s said in his.Please do come by at 9 tomorrow. Tim’s told me he’ll extinguish your lanterns, if that makes any more sense to you than it does to me.
‘Thank you,’ I say to Nick, joining him under the vast shadow ofMabel’s Fury’s wing. ‘He’s said he’ll see me. Felix told me you helped.’
‘Not really. All I did was tell Tim I can’t stand to see you crushed again.’ He gives a short shrug. ‘I guess he can’t stand the thought of that either.’
I nod, and feel my hand tense with the urge to reach for his.
I don’t give into it.
He doesn’t reach out to me either.
