‘I’m not his girl,’ said Iris, sounding, if such a thing were possible, more strangled yet. But Robbie didn’t have a girl. He didn’t have awife.‘We grew up together.’
‘Ah, just friends, then?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thank goodness,’ said the officer, placing his hand theatrically to his heart. His fingers jittered, just perceptibly, belying his carefree act. ‘In that case, I don’t mind telling you he’s definitely not inside.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘I am. I suspect he’s catching some shut-eye. That’s whatI should be doing.’ Another smile. ‘But then I wouldn’t have met you.’
‘Imagine that.’
‘Quite.’ He cocked his head. ‘You’re new, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, distractedly.
‘My name’s Lewis.’
‘Hello, Lewis.’
‘And you’re … ?’
‘Iris.’
‘What a pretty name. But I’m concerned you’re about to run away, Iris.’
‘I’m afraid I am.’
‘Damn.’ He sighed. ‘Well, so you at least run in the right direction, Robbie’s in billet 4B. You can have a drink with me later to say thank you.’
‘I’ll say thank you now,’ Iris told him, hastening for the stairs.Billet 4B.‘Thank you so much.’
But Robbie wasn’t in Billet 4B.
‘I’m not sure where he’s got to,’ saidMabel’s Fury’s bomb aimer, Jacob, who Iris met when she arrived at the hut. He was sitting outside, despite the bleak weather, slumped in a deckchair at the foot of the hut’s stairs. He wore a dressing robe over his uniform, and had a newspaper on his lap. He didn’t seem interested in reading it. Rather, he’d been lost in thought when Iris had come upon him just now, staring into the icy mist.
A Border collie lay at his feet.
‘Her name’s Piper,’ said Jacob, seeing Iris looking. ‘She keeps coming to call.’
‘She looks like she should be chasing sheep,’ said Iris, thinking of the farms, all around. She could barely see the flocks grazing in the neighbouring fields, the fog was so thick, but she could smell them: still there, just as they’d always been, in the midst of this madness. She might almost have smiled, recollecting how she, Robbie and Tim had used to renumber their coats, had she not been so deflated by Robbie’s absence.
‘We think she’s probably retired,’ said Jacob, leaning down to ruffle Piper’s head. ‘One assumes she’s got an owner, but who knows.’ He shrugged. ‘She likes the bacon we give her, anyway.’
‘Maybe that’s why she keeps coming back,’ said Iris.
‘Possibly,’ Jacob concurred.
‘Do you know where Tim is?’ she asked.
‘Sleeping,’ said Jacob, looking not at the curtained hut behind them, but once again into the swirling fog.
Iris turned, following the direction of his gaze, and saw that it was the Lancasters he was staring at, pulled up at their distant dispersal points. There were groundcrew working on some of them, melding flak holes and patching up bullet-tears. Iris could smell that too: the scent of molten metal.
‘Were you hit last night?’ she asked Jacob, chest tightening on her suspicion that they must have been, for him to be fixating on the planes’ repairs like this.
But, ‘No,’ said Jacob, frowning. ‘That never seems to happen to us.’
