Wish Me Luck Read online

  Margaret Dickinson

  Wish Me Luck

  PAN BOOKS

  CONTENTS

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Forty-Three

  Forty-Four

  Forty-Five

  Forty-Six

  Forty-Seven

  Forty-Eight

  One

  APRIL 1941

  Fleur Bosley stepped down from the train, hitching her kitbag onto her back. The platform was in darkness, the blackout complete. She moved forward carefully. It was like stepping into the unknown. Behind her someone else jumped down from the train and cannoned into her, knocking her forward onto her knees. She let out a cry, startled rather than injured. At once, a man’s voice came out of the darkness. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t see you.’

  His hands were reaching out, feeling for her to help her up, but she pushed him away. ‘I’m all right,’ she said, feeling foolish.

  A thin beam of torchlight shone in her face. She blinked and put up her hand to shield her eyes. ‘D’you have to do that?’ she asked testily, but the only answer coming out of the darkness was a low chuckle. ‘I just wanted to see if whoever I knocked over was worth picking up.’ A young man’s voice, deep with a jovial, teasing note in it.

  ‘Well, you needn’t bother trying to pick me up.’ She emphasized the words, making sure he knew she understood his double meaning.

  His only answer was to laugh out loud. ‘Come on, the least I can do is buy you a nice cuppa. Let’s see if there’s a cafe or a canteen open somewhere nearby.’

  ‘Shouldn’t think so at this time of night,’ she said, slightly mollified by his offer as she bent to feel around for her kitbag. Fleur hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since midday and her throat was parched. Travelling from the south of the country had taken all day. There’d been delays all along the line because of air raid warnings and now she was stranded in Nottingham with no promise of further transport for the last leg of her journey. Fleur was hungry, thirsty – and cross!

  ‘Here, let me . . .’ The man shone his torch and picked up her bag, then ran the beam of light up and down her.

  ‘Snap!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re a WAAF.’ He turned the light on himself and she saw he was wearing RAF uniform. ‘Come on, you can’t refuse a cup of tea with me now, can you?’

  In the darkness, she smiled. ‘Oh, go on then.’

  Minutes later, as she was sitting at a table whilst he went to the counter to fetch two teas, she was able to study him. Tall, with fair, curly hair; bright, mischievous blue eyes; a firm, square jaw and the cheekiest grin she’d ever seen. As he came back, set the tea on the table and sat down opposite her, she knew that he, in turn, was appraising her.

  She took off her cap and laid it on the chair beside her. Shaking out her soft brown curls, she returned his gaze steadily with a saucy sparkle in her dark brown eyes. ‘Will I do then?’

  He took in her smooth skin, her small, neat nose and perfectly shaped mouth that was delicately enhanced with just a touch of pale pink lipstick. ‘Oh, you’ll do very well, miss. It’s usually little grey-haired old ladies I knock over, not pretty young ones. My luck must be changing.’ He held out his hand across the table. ‘Robert Rodwell, at your service. But my friends call me Robbie.’

  She was about to answer tartly, ‘How do you do, Mr Rodwell.’ But something in his open face made her put her hand into his warm grasp and say instead, ‘Fleur Bosley. Pleased to meet you – Robbie.’

  As they drank their tea, he asked, ‘So, where are you heading? Here in Nottingham?’

  ‘No. South Monkford. It’s a small town not far from Newark.’

  Robbie nodded. ‘Yes, I know it.’ A slight frown line deepened between his eyebrows. ‘I think we used to live there years ago, but my mother never talks about it much and we came to live in the city when I was little. But I seem to think my father – he died before I was born – ran a tailor’s shop there.’

  Fleur wrinkled her forehead. ‘Can’t think of a tailor’s shop there now. There’s old Miss Pinkerton’s; she’s a dressmaker and—’

  ‘That’s it. That’ll be the one. Mother said once that a woman who was a dressmaker had taken it over.’

  ‘Her and her sister run it. They sell women’s clothes.’ She giggled. ‘They call it “Pinkertons’ Emporium”, would you believe? They’re sweet old dears, but they’re both a bit doddery now. And their shop is so old-fashioned. It’s like stepping back in time when you walk in.’

  ‘All corsets, wool vests and big knickers, eh?’

  Fleur laughed and pretended to be coy. ‘Really, sir, saying such things to a lady. And when we’ve only just met too. I do declare!’

  They laughed together, feeling already as if they had known each other far longer than a few minutes.

  ‘So – were you hoping to get to South Monkford tonight?’ Robbie asked.

  Fleur pulled a face. ‘I was, but it’s doubtful – there won’t be a train out of here now. I could ring up and get my dad to fetch me, but I don’t like to ask him to come all this way at this time of night. And using his precious petrol.’

  ‘You’ve got a car? And a telephone?’

  Fleur grinned. ‘Yes. The car’s called Bertha. It’s a 1923 Ford and it’s seen more “active service” down dirt tracks and across fields than many a tank. As for the phone – we live on a farm in the middle of nowhere. My mum insisted it was essential.’ Her brown eyes twinkled. ‘But I think it’s just so that we’ve no excuse for not letting her know exactly where we are and what we’re doing.’

  ‘And do you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Let her know exactly where you are and what you’re doing?’

  Fleur laughed. ‘Not likely!’

  Trying to sound casual, but failing, Robbie asked, ‘Er – who’s “we”?’

  ‘My brother, Kenny, and me. And Dad too. She likes to keep us all close.’ There was an edge of resentment in her tone as she added, ‘ “Tied to her apron strings” is the phrase, I think.’ Her face clouded and a small frown puckered her smooth forehead. She didn’t know why, but for some reason she felt she could confide in him. The words were out before she’d even thought to stop them. ‘She . . . she didn’t want me to volunteer. It . . . it’s caused a lot of rows at home.’

  ‘That’s a shame,’ he said gently. ‘How long have you been in?’

  ‘Oh, right from the start. I volunteered as soon as I could.’

  His blue eyes twinkled. ‘Me too. The day after Mr Chamberlain’s “we are at war” broadcast.’

  They stared at each other and then smiled, amazed that they’d both felt the same.

  ‘Are they calling up women yet?’

  ‘
Don’t know,’ Fleur replied cheerfully. ‘I didn’t wait to find out.’

  ‘And you live on a farm? You could’ve applied to be classed as a reserved occupation, couldn’t you?’

  Fleur grimaced. ‘I know. That’s why my mother was so put out. I could quite legitimately have stayed at home for one reason or another, but I didn’t want to. I . . . I wanted to “do my bit” as they say.’

  ‘But you’re not regretting it, are you?’

  ‘Not for a minute.’ Her reply was swift and genuine. ‘But it’s still – well – difficult when I go home.’ She sighed. ‘But I’ll have to go. I’ve just been posted and I’ve got three days’ leave before I have to report there. It might be a while before I get any more.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  She opened her mouth to reply and then hesitated, her smile causing two deep dimples in her cheeks as she said impishly, ‘I’m not sure I should be telling you. Careless talk and all that.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be terribly careless and tell you exactly where I’m going. Wickerton Wood just south of Lincoln. It’s a new airfield. Parts of it are still being built, so they say, but it’s ready enough to start flying.’

  Fleur’s eyes widened and she couldn’t prevent a little gasp of surprise. Chuckling, he leant forward to say softly, ‘Don’t ever volunteer for special operations, will you? Your face gives you away. That’s where you’re headed too, isn’t it? Wickerton?’

  Feeling reprimanded, she nodded and murmured, ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Your secret’s safe with me.’

  ‘Is . . . is that where you’re going now?’

  ‘Yes, the day after tomorrow, but first I’m going home to see Ma.’

  ‘What are you going to do at Wickerton Wood?’

  ‘Ah, now that would be telling.’

  ‘You’re right. I’m sorry,’ she said at once.

  He laughed with a deep chuckle that was infectious and somehow endearing too. Don’t be silly, Fleur, she told herself firmly, you’ve only just met him. He could be anybody. But already, she realized he wasn’t just anybody. He was someone she’d like to get to know so much better. The thought surprised and shocked her.

  Fleur regarded herself as a no-nonsense type of girl: down to earth and with no foolish romantic notions, especially now that they were plunged into war and all its uncertainties.

  ‘I was only teasing.’ The sound of his voice brought her back and she saw that his eyes were suddenly serious. ‘You know,’ he went on and now there was a note of surprise in his tone. ‘It might sound daft, but I feel I could tell you anything.’ Then, as if fearing he was sounding soppy, the mischievous twinkle was back and he leant towards her again. ‘You’re not a spy, are you?’

  Now Fleur laughed. ‘No. Like you say, I’d give the game away all too easily. Too honest for my own good, that’s me.’

  ‘Mm, me too.’

  She hesitated, but then asked, ‘Where’ve you been up till now?’

  His face clouded. ‘Down south. It’s been pretty rough for the past few months, especially between July and October last year. The Battle of Britain, as Churchill called it.’

  ‘Is that what you are?’ she asked, filled with a sudden dread. ‘A fighter pilot?’ She knew all too well the average number of ops a fighter pilot was expected to survive and then . . .

  But Robbie was shaking his head. ‘No – no. I’m on bombers.’ His smile crinkled his eyes. ‘I’m a wireless operator.’

  But Fleur wasn’t comforted. She shuddered. ‘Don’t . . . don’t wireless operators have to – have to fill in for other crewmembers if . . .’ Her voice trailed away.

  He was looking at her keenly. ‘If one of them gets injured?’

  Wordlessly, she nodded.

  ‘I’m trained as an air gunner too. And yes, sometimes it happens, but not often.’ He paused and then asked, ‘How do you know so much?’

  She took a deep breath. He’d know soon anyway if they were both going to be working on the same station. ‘I’ve just finished training as an R/T operator. That’s what I’m coming to Wickerton to do.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said, understanding. ‘A radio telephone operator? Yes, I’d heard a lot of WAAFs are being trained for that. One of the chaps was saying he thinks it’s because a woman’s voice is more high-pitched. Comes across the airwaves better.’

  Fleur pulled a comical face. ‘At least you know what we do. Most people just look blank when I tell them.’

  ‘Will you be in Control?’

  ‘I . . . I don’t know yet. Maybe.’

  He smiled. ‘It’ll make a nice change to have a lovely girl to talk us down when we come back from a raid . . .’ He paused a moment and then added softly, ‘Or who waits up all night for us if . . . if we’re late?’

  A lump came into her throat as she remembered how they’d all been warned during their training that that was exactly what they’d be expected to do. Wait and wait into the small hours until there was no more hope. ‘Are you fixed up with a crew?’

  ‘Oh yes. We met up at Operational Training Unit. They put us all together in a huge briefing room and left us to sort ourselves out. It’s a very informal way, but it seems to work.’ He laughed. ‘That way, it’s unlikely you end up flying with a chap you can’t stand the sight of.’

  Fleur nodded. ‘I’d heard that’s what happens at OTU, but .. . but doesn’t it make it more difficult? Flying with people who become your friends?’

  Robbie’s face sobered as he shook his head. ‘Strangely, no. I expect it’s a bit like the “pals’ regiments” they had in the last war. There’s just something about going into battle with a “brother” at your side.’ He paused and then added, ‘I’ve been lucky. Tommy Laughton, the skipper, is a great bloke. You can’t help but like him and the rest of the crew – well – I’ll soon be getting to know them a lot better. But they seemed OK. We’ll be flying Hampdens, we’ve been told. With a crew of four.’ Robbie grinned, trying to lift the mood that was getting all too serious for his liking. ‘We shouldn’t be talking like this.’

  ‘No.’ She forced herself to return his smile. ‘There’s more than likely a policeman hiding behind the counter over there ready to spring out and arrest us for careless talk.’

  As the cafe was now otherwise deserted – even the girl behind the counter had disappeared – they laughed together at the likelihood of anyone overhearing them. That they perhaps should not trust each other never occurred to either of them for a moment.

  ‘What did you do? Before the war, I mean.’

  ‘Worked in a bank.’

  ‘Oh, very posh!’ she teased.

  He grimaced. ‘It was a good job, I have to admit, but it was a bit too staid for me. I was always getting told off for cracking jokes or laughing with the customers. We’re supposed to be very polite and formal. I agree with the polite bit, but—’ He cast his eyes to the ceiling in mock despair. ‘The formality got to me in the end. I couldn’t wait to get out.’

  ‘But there’s lots of rules and regulations in the RAF surely. It can be very “formal”. All that saluting officers and calling them “sir”.’

  ‘True, but most of them have earned the right to be treated with that degree of respect.’ He leant forward. ‘And there’s always the compensation of nights out with the lads, and – best of all – flirting with a pretty WAAF.’

  Fleur arched her eyebrows sardonically, but smiled nonetheless.

  ‘So? What are you doing for the night then?’ he asked.

  ‘Bed down in the station waiting room,’ she replied promptly. ‘It won’t be the first time I’ve done it.’

  ‘Oh no, I won’t hear of it. You’re coming home with me. You can have my bed. I’ll sleep on the sofa.’

  Fleur suddenly remembered just how short a time she had known this rather nice young man. Her face sobered, but he read her thoughts at once. ‘Of course, I’ve got an ulterior motive.’ He pretended to leer at her, but then a
dded, ‘But there’s not much a chap can do with his mother in the next bedroom. And my grandfather lives with us too. We’ll be well chaperoned.’ He pulled a comical expression, displaying mock disappointment. ‘More’s the pity.’

  ‘But it’s an awful imposition on your mother. Bringing a strange girl home in the middle of the night.’ Impishly, she added, ‘Or is she used to it?’

  ‘Sort of. One or two of the lads have bunked down at our place when they’ve been stranded, but this’ U be the first time I’ve taken a girl home. She’ll not mind a bit, though. She helps out at the WVS and she’s always picking up waifs and strays from the forces, taking them home and feeding them.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure . . . ?’

  ‘I am,’ he said firmly as he got up and picked up her kitbag as well as his own. ‘We’ve got a bit of a walk, though. Hope you’re up for it?’

  ‘Now if my drill sergeant could hear you even asking me that – I’d be on a charge!’

  Laughing together, they stepped into the blacked-out street.

  Two

  ‘Let’s get inside quickly,’ Robbie said as he unlocked the front door of the terraced house. ‘Our warden has got eyes like a hawk and if he sees the tiniest chink of light, he’s down on us like a ton of bricks.’

  Fleur giggled. ‘That’s an unfortunate turn of phrase, isn’t it?’

  Through the darkness, she heard his chuckle. ‘Yes, I see what you mean. We might get a ton of bricks on top of us literally if Jerry sees a light when he’s flying over.’

  They were still laughing, his hand cupping her elbow as he guided her into the strange house in the darkness. ‘This is Ma’s best front room.’ The door from the street had opened directly into it. ‘Be careful, because she—’ he began when the inner door opened and a light streamed in.

  ‘Robbie? Is that you?’

  ‘Hope so, Ma,’ he called out cheerily, ‘else you’ve got burglars.’

  ‘Oh, you rogue! Come on in and let me see who you’ve brought home this time.’

  Fleur drew in breath sharply and was about to kick his shins for having lied to her, but as he led her into the light of the next room, she saw the surprise on his mother’s face and knew it was genuine.