‘Would you really?’ He gave me a beaming smile that made my stomach turn over in a rather pleasing way. ‘Promise?’
‘What’s your name?’ I asked.
‘Harry.’
‘I promise, Harry.’
‘What about me?’ Across the hut, another man was looking concerned. ‘Could I write something?’
‘Well, of course you can. That’s nothing to do with me,’ I said. He was one of the less injured men, with just cuts and bruises as far as I could see.
‘I know. But I’ll be going back before I know it, won’t I?’
‘And?’
‘And when the bomb hit, I thought about all the stuff I’d not said. All the things I wanted to tell my wife, and my dad. Even my sister. I had so much I wanted to say to her. I just thought maybe I could write it down for you and I don’t know, perhaps you could keep it safe. Just in case …’ He rubbed his nose. ‘Nah forget it. I’m just being sentimental, that’s all.’
I sat down on the edge of the cheeky airman’s bed, clutching a bundle of sheets. Nearby Nelly stood, watching me carefully. ‘No, you’re not,’ I said in a slightly shaky voice. ‘I think that’s a lovely idea.’
Suddenly there was a clamour of voices.
‘My house was bombed and I don’t know where my wife is. Can you get a message to her?’
‘I want to write down what happened before I forget everything. For my kids to read later.’
‘Can you get a letter to my girl?’
And then the sentimental chap spoke up, his voice clear over the hubbub. ‘Will you help us?’
‘What’s your name?’ Nelly said to him.
‘Davey.’
‘Davey, we’re really busy as you can imagine. But I promise, Elsie and I will do whatever we can.’
‘We will,’ I agreed. ‘Honestly.’
I met her glance over the bed and she smiled at me. ‘It’s important,’ she said.
*
I didn’t have a chance to think about the messages during my shift because it was another awful night of raids but when I was walking home from the station – alone because poor Nelly had been held back to aid in the operating theatre and very slowlybecause my legs were aching after another night on my feet – I wondered if it was even possible to help these men. I popped the letter to the children into the pillar box and walked on. They all wanted different things, I thought. Messages to their wives or their girlfriends, memories recorded, final thoughts before they went back to fight. It just didn’t seem like something we could do. I shook my head, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. I was so tired the pavement was swimming in front of my eyes and I was desperate to get to bed. I couldn’t think about this now. Once I’d had some sleep and some food, I’d be in a better position to come up with a plan. Perhaps.
I turned the corner into our street and almost cried to see Jackson sitting on the wall outside our house. I didn’t want to see him now. Didn’t want to deal with his inane chat when all I could think about was climbing into bed.
I wondered wearily if I could avoid him somehow, but my legs were still carrying me towards him and I couldn’t stop.
‘Elsie,’ he said, spotting me and jumping to his feet. ‘I’ve been so worried about you. I didn’t see you leaving yesterday, so I knocked on your door and you didn’t answer.’
I looked at him through drooping eyes. ‘I was at work.’
‘I know that, silly. Did you change your shifts?’
I shook my head, feeling my hair coming loose from its pins. I must look a right state, I thought. Dusty smudges on my face and arms, mucky uniform, a ladder in my stocking. But Jackson was looking at me fondly.
‘You look so tired,’ he said. ‘Are you getting enough rest?’ He reached out and tucked the loose strand of hair behind my ear, letting his fingers brush my cheek as he did. I froze. I didn’t want him to touch me. I didn’t want him near me. But how could I say that? He was just looking out for me.
‘You’re so pretty, Elsie,’ he cooed. ‘You’d be even prettier if you smiled more.’
