‘A family,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen the children playing.’
‘That’s nice,’ she said, liking that it hadn’t been left empty. ‘DidLord Heaton sell it?’
‘He must have. I don’t think he held on to anything. He’s back in uniform, apparently, running a barracks in Preston.’
‘Poor Preston.’
He smiled. ‘What was it your gran used to call him?’
‘A silly show colonel,’ Iris said, smiling too. Then, she bit her lip. ‘What about my gran and mum’s graves?’ The question, which she’d taunted herself with ever since they’d died, was hard to ask. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve … ’
‘I’ve been, Iris,’ he said, softly. ‘I looked after them when you went. Don’t worry. I’ve looked after them since I got back.’
‘You’ve looked after them?’ she said, and the words tremored.
‘Of course I have.’
‘So … ’ She swallowed. ‘They’re not all overgrown?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘No.’
And she flung her arms around him again, in so much relief, and gratitude, andlove.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
‘You don’t need to thank me,’ he said, holding her fast. ‘You never need to do that.’
When the fire dwindled, they went outside to fetch more kindling, and filled each other in on their wars, learning that they’d both been with the RAF from the off.
Robbie, who never had gone to Cambridge, had been with them since before the war even started. He’d only intended to defer his degree for a year after his mother’s fall, but early in 1938, Tim had returned from his travels around Europe, and – appalled by what he’d seen of the Nazi’s growing power – had talked Robbie into applying for pilot training with him.
‘He didn’t actually last that long,’ Robbie said. ‘The night flying got him.’
‘Poor Tim,’ said Iris, who’d heard the same story from plenty of others. It was meant to be terrifying at first, flying purely by instruments. She could well imagine it. The idea of whizzing through a void of blackness, trusting entirely what a rickety dashboard was telling you, and not looking out, or down, because the dark was too huge, too empty, was, to her, the stuff of nightmares. ‘Did he panic?’
‘He nearly killed himself,’ said Robbie. ‘He refused to go up again, and transferred to navigation instead.’
‘But you carried on, obviously.’
‘I couldn’t have stopped. It gets addictive, very fast.’
‘Yes,’ said Iris, who’d heard all about that, too.
She’d yet to encounter a pilot who didn’t love to fly. However much they feared what they flew into.
‘Tim can’t wait to see you, by the way,’ Robbie said.
‘I can’t wait to see him either.’ She pictured him, with his socks around his ankles, and that picture of his father, held tight in his fist. ‘Does he still have all his tufty hair?’
Robbie gave her a bemused look. ‘Tufty hair?’
‘Yes, those blond locks.His mother never liked cutting it.’
‘Didn’t she?’
‘No. You must remember … ’
‘I don’t remember thinking about his hair at all. Unlike you, apparently.’ He kept his expression level, but there was amusement in his voice.
