‘I do want to,’ she said, in as reassuring a tone as she could muster. ‘I just don’t want it to be done all in a hurry, and have you go away right after. Everything lately feels like I’m on a speeding train, never knowing where I’m going or what the stops are. Do you know what I mean?’
‘Sounds familiar.’
‘I really don’t want my wedding day to be that way. It would be nice to have a little room to breathe and get used to being married people together, don’t you think? You know, a honeymoon – even if it was only a few days at Moorside.’
‘I want that too, but I don’t intend to wait any longer than I have to. The honeymoon can always come later.’
‘Don’t you worry, Charlie? Don’t you ever think, what if there is no tomorrow?’
‘Every time I get in the cockpit,’ he said quietly. ‘That’s exactly why we ought to relish being alive and loving one another in the today. I need this, Bobby.’
He sounded so earnest, she didn’t have the heart to press the matter.
‘All right,’ she said soothingly. ‘But do try to get at least a few days’ leave, won’t you?’
‘If I can,’ Charlie said. ‘Oh, I wanted to ask. Did you have any news about your Canadian friend?’
Bobby started. ‘News about Ernie?’
‘You said he was missing.’
‘Oh. Yes,’ she said, relieved. For a moment, she had worried some gossip about the two of them might have reached his ears. ‘It was all right, thank God. He was injured and spent a few days in a field hospital, but the doctors say there won’t be permanent damage.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’
Bobby paused, that moment on the ice once again recurring in her mind – with all its associated guilt.
‘Charlie?’
‘Yes?’
The sound of raucous laughter reminded her that other men were present, probably waiting for their turn to use the telephone, and the time she and Charlie had to speak was limited. The catharsis of confession would have to wait for another day.
‘Never mind. I’ll tell you when I see you.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Any other news?’
Bobby knew they needed to be careful about what they said. The call would be monitored to make sure no sensitive military information was being passed between airmen and civilians. But it didn’t matter; Charlie understood her well enough. She wanted to know when he would start operational flying.
‘It’ll be soon,’ he told her soberly.
‘I thought there was to be four weeks’ operational training before you were assigned front-line duties.’
‘Could be half that or less, since I was flying Wellingtons during service training. There’s a desperate shortage of pilots here.’
‘Oh, Charlie.’
‘I wish I could tell you not to worry, darling,’ he said. ‘I’m worried half to death myself, so I know I can’t expect it to be any different for you. But even so…’
He fell silent. Bobby knew they hadn’t been cut off. She could hear his breathing, slightly ragged, down the line. She waited until he was ready to speak again.
‘Even so,’ he said after a while, ‘I feel… I feelready, Bobby, you know? It’s such a strange feeling, like there are two different Charlie Athertons. One is scared out of his wits that he’ll make some dreadful mistake. Naturally I’m afraid to die – I’m sure any man who says differently is a liar – but if I were to cause the deaths of people I was responsible for, if I had to live with that… I think that’s my biggest fear. But the other part of me… it’s hard to describe, but I feel almost euphoric.’ He sounded feverish, speaking low and fast. ‘I mean it’s strange, you know, to be so scared and yet have this feeling like I’m a kid at Christmas who can’t wait to open his gifts. When I think about what I’m doing and how much it matters, I feel so proud to be part of it all – proud to think I’m doing it for you and Reggie and Mary, and those two little girls. Like I’m going out there to…’ He laughed quietly. ‘To save the world.’
‘And so you are.’
Charlie laughed again. ‘Oh Lord, I’ve been gibbering like a madman, haven’t I? You could stop me, you know.’
‘I don’t want to stop you,’ Bobby said softly. ‘I’m incredibly proud of you, Charlie, and I love you so very much. Don’t ever forget that.’
‘Don’t let me forget it. I want two letters a week minimum, Bob, and I want to know absolutely everything. Don’t miss out a thing, d’you hear? I’ll cry if you don’t tell me what you had for breakfast every day, what colour knickers you’re wearing and how much sugar you put in every cup of tea.’
