‘And don’t say it’s because he’s not your type, either,’ said Marjorie. ‘He is absolutely your type.’
‘I told you,’ said Fitz. ‘I’m not the settling down sort. I want to have fun, especially when this war is over. I refuse to clip my flying wings and I refuse to clip my social wings either.’
Sitting on a bus on her way to the ferry pool wasn’t quite the place she imagined having a heart to heart with the girls. Fortunately, the bus wasn’t too busy and most people seemed engrossed either in their own conversations or reading a newspaper.
‘You can still be in love without clipping any wings,’ said Marjorie.
‘Look, this fling with Sam, was purely that. A fling. It was never anything serious. Not on my part, anyway.’
‘Are you sure about that?’ asked Elsie.
‘Poppycock,’ declared Marjorie, folding her arms as if to underline her utter disbelief.
Fitz let out a long sigh. ‘If you must know,’ she said quietly. ‘I can’t love him. I don’t want to love him. Not now. It’s the wrong time. Maybe if I was to meet him in ten years’ time when the damn war is over, then maybe things would be different. But not now.’
Fitz turned to face the front, not able to look at her friends in case they saw the tears in her eyes. She was grateful neither of her friends pushed for any further explanation. She didn’t want to talk about Sam, even after a couple of weeks, it still felt as raw as it had that day back at Tangmere.
The bus rattled on towards the ferry pool. Marjorie and Elsie talked about the cake Mrs Temple had promised to make for Elsie’s birthday later that month. Food restrictions were very much in effect now and with butter being rationed since the beginning of the year, Mrs Temple said she was keeping some back each week. She was also going to barter with her neighbour with the eggs her two hens produced each day.
‘Exchange is no robbery,’ Mrs Temple was fond of saying.
Soon enough the bus pulled up around the corner from the ferry pool. Fitz paused to fix the strap on her gas mask box that had worked itself loose. Marjorie and Elsie were ahead of her and she broke into a little run to catch up with them. As they turned to walk into the airfield, Fitz stopped in her tracks.
Sam Carter was sitting on his Brough motorbike just like he had been that time at Westhampnett.
Marjorie and Elsie had also stopped. The former turned to Fitz. ‘Give the poor man a chance,’ she said. ‘He’s desperate to speak to you.’
‘Did you know about this?’ demanded Fitz.
‘Of course not,’ said Elsie.
Fitz wasn’t sure whether she believed her friend or not. She hung back as Marjorie and Elsie went on through the gates to the airfield, then slowly she walked over to Sam, trying to work out how she was ever going to cope with speaking to him. He looked as handsome as ever but there was such sadness in his eyes. The very same eyes she had seen in her dreams every night.
‘Hello, Sam,’ she managed to say, rather more cheery than necessary.
‘Hey, Fitz.’ He hooked his leg over the fuel tank and stood in front of her.
‘You shouldn’t be here,’ she said after a few seconds.
‘Why? Because it makes it difficult for you?’
Wow. He wasn’t going to tackle this gently. She looked up at him and plastered on a smile, followed by a chuckle. ‘Whatever makes you say that? It’s jolly nice to see you. How have you been keeping?’
Sam frowned. ‘Not too good as it happens.’ He sighed and looked away before looking back at her. ‘I’ve missed you.’
Her heart was thudding and she was sure he could hear it but she forced herself to keep up the nonchalant stance. ‘Oh, that’s sweet. I would have thought you’d have been too busy fighting the Germans or got yourself another girl by now.’
‘Why the hell would I want to do that?’
‘I’m sure you could have your pick of the Attagirls,’ continued Fitz. ‘Whisking them off on your bike.’ She nodded at the machine. ‘I’m surprised you’ve had time to even think about me. Anyway, it’s been awfully nice to see you, but I really have to get to work. Got a plane to fly.’
She went to walk around him, but he stepped into her path. ‘Why are you being like this?’
She blinked hard as if she were perplexed by the question. ‘Being like what?’
‘Jesus, Fitz. You’re acting like you don’t care about me. About us.’
‘Sam, I thought I made it clear before,’ she said. ‘There is no us.’ She wanted to cut her own tongue out of her mouth.
