‘Yes,’ Bobby said. ‘She was tough on me too.’
Carol glanced at her as they clambered up the tailboard into the back of the lorry. ‘I thought you were going to get out of it. Didn’t you say you were needed to make tea for your dad or summat?’
‘I decided against applying for postponement in the end.’
There were benches in the lorry and several of the women made themselves comfortable. It was rather crowded, however, and Bobby opted to remain standing. Carol stood by her.
‘How come?’ Carol asked, taking out a cigarette.
‘I just felt it wouldn’t be right. That I ought to do my duty for the war effort, the same as others are.’
Carol laughed. ‘Do your duty? Blimey, get you.’
‘Isn’t that why you joined up?’ Bobby asked.
‘You must be joking. Show me the way to the officers, love. That’s what I’m here for.’
‘Oh, yes. I remember you said you hoped you might meet someone.’
‘Well, eventually, but I’m not in any hurry. The WAAF sounds a right laugh, the way our Trish tells it. You can have a different boyfriend every night if you want.’ Carol tapped her arm. ‘Relax and enjoy yourself, Bobby. We’ll have a great time.’
‘Um, I’m engaged though.’
A woman nearby – the slightly older one with the dyed blonde hair who Bobby had heard comparing uniforms earlier – turned to join in.
‘Oh, there’s no need to worry aboutthat,’ she said. ‘In the forces, is he, your chap?’
‘Yes, the RAF. He did part of his training at Ryland Moor too.’
‘Bus driver?’
Bobby blinked. Did they have buses in RAF Motor Transport?
‘No, he’s a pilot,’ she said.
The woman let out a peal of laughter. ‘Oh Lord, you are green. I mean, does he fly bombers? Bus drivers are what the fighter pilots call the bomber pilots.’
‘Oh. Yes. He just started flying ops a few months ago.’
The woman turned to Carol. ‘Here, can I scrounge one of your ciggies?’
‘Sure, Mike. Here you go.’ Carol handed one over. ‘You want one, Bobby?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘Your man’ll have a girl on the side wherever he is, so don’t you feel guilty about enjoying yourself,’ the woman called Mike told Bobby, cigarette wobbling in her mouth as she lit it. She examined the gold band on her wedding finger complacently. ‘Everyone’s got a girl within easy reach in the Air Force, David says.’
‘That’s what I heard too,’ another woman chimed in. ‘The last boy I walked out with was a soldier. He told me the lads in his barracks joked that RAF really stood for Running After Fluff. Randy buggers, these airmen, he said. Suppose the job does that to them, never knowing if they’ll buy it next time out. Makes them want to live in the moment.’
‘Huh. That or being men,’ another girl said with a roll of her eyes. ‘One thing on their minds, the lot of them.’
‘My David’s got two doe-eyed young WAAFs googly about him at his base, neither with any idea the other exists – or that I do, of course,’ the woman called Mike said, drawing lazily on her cigarette as all eyes turned to her. She clocked Bobby’s blank look. ‘Oh, David’s my husband. He’s a pilot too – fighter squadron. We made an agreement for as long as there’s a war on: he has his little dalliances, I have mine. It’s the only way we can bear being so far apart.’
‘You mean you have affairs with other men?’ Bobby said, blinking.
She heard one of the women titter, and wondered if she really sounded so naive. Was this the way the world worked in wartime – this free and easy attitude to love?
‘But of course I do,’ Mike said. Bobby wondered fleetingly what the name might be short for. ‘We adore one another, naturally, but we have to get through this damn war. Seems tome it would be the bloodiest thing in the world if we couldn’t have a little fun while we can’t be together.’ She cast an unimpressed glance over Bobby, in her frumpy old coat with hair shoved into a bun. ‘You think that’s terribly wrong, I suppose.’
