I told Cliff, ‘I think I know this aircraft.’
Cliff looked up, and then there was something funny. He looked rattled. That was a first. He said, ‘No you don’t. Can’t do: it’s been here for months.’
‘You’re wrong, Cliff. I’ve flown in it. I was given a lift in it up to Ringway, just after my tour ended.’
‘No, Charlie. That must have been another one.’
‘Don’t be an arse, Cliff. I know that I’ve been on this plane. I’m in the RAF too, remember. I was on this one and Glenn Miller was snoozing just behind me.’
He pushed me out of the way, and hurriedly started to drag the tarp over it again.
‘Charlie, I know that if you say that again, I’ll have to take out my revolver, push its barrel into your mouth, and pull the trigger.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Want to try me?’
It was such a stupid thing to get steamed up over, but there was a vein pounding on Cliff’s temple, and his cheekbones had gone white. I nearly said it, but then Major England’s voice cut in calmly.
‘Leave the boy alone, Cliff: you’ll scare him.’
He had ghosted in again. Cliff relaxed. Had he been prepared to do it? I asked him, ‘Have you got the twitch?’
He gave me a very thin smile, which went with his moustache. Then he said, ‘Yes,’ and laughed. ‘All the time. Sorry.’
The Major told him, ‘I’ll sort Charlie out, OK?’, put his arm around Cliff’s shoulder, and shepherded us both back towards the caravan.
An Army Humber saloon was rumbling up: it bore an Army Service Corps flash on its wings. It looked low on its springs and very second-hand. On the narrow area of scuttle between the passenger cabin and the engine, the name Kate was painted in army stencil white. The Major told me, ‘You’d better get acquainted with Raffles’s mistress: you’re going to be inside her for a few weeks.’ He laughed as if he had said something amusing.
Cliff walked away, and climbed back inside the caravan. When Les climbed out and opened the boot there appeared to be another half car in pieces inside it. Also the contents of a small bar, and a corner grocery shop before rationing. We squeezed our bags around the machinery parts. The Major told me, ‘It was something he learned in the desert. There’s nothing much on this old bus he can’t replace if he has to.’
Raffles had both wings of the bonnet up. I asked England, ‘Is there much to do before we leave?’
‘Buggered if I know, old son. I don’t think that he trusts anyone else to work on her. If I was you I’d stretch out on that groundsheet and get the last of the sun, while you can.’
‘What about Cliff?’
‘I’ll sort him out, OK?’
‘That’s what you told him about me.’
‘Exactly. Toddle along now. We’ll call you when we’re ready to move: won’t leave without you.’
I picked a spot that put the caravan between me and a gentle breeze. The sun was getting some iron into it again. I must have dozed, until I sensed a movement, and Wendy’s soft American voice.
‘Shove over, bud.’ I did, and she sat on the edge of the groundsheet just not touching me. ‘Mother Wendy’s medicine . . . here, I brought you this.’ This was an opened bottle of red wine. She said, ‘I’ve dozens of them.’
I propped myself up on an elbow to drink. We took alternate draughts from the bottle until it was half emptied. We watched Raffles working on the car. She held the bottle up to the light and asked me, ‘Tell me, Charlie Nobody, is it half empty, or half full?’
‘Half full. Definitely.’
She rested her head on her drawn-up knees, and moodily watched the Humber coming to life.
‘I was your age once,’ she told me; then got up and walked less steadily back to the caravan, taking the bottle with her.
Sitting in the car with Raffles, with the galloping Major behind me writing spells in his little notebook, felt better than being shouted at by Cliff. I asked our driver, ‘How far are we from Paris?’
‘About a hundred and thirty miles as the crow flies; about a hundred and eighty, two hundred, the way we’ll go.’
‘Say five hours then.’
‘Say two days’ – that was the Major – ‘if we’re lucky. You should see what you blue buggers did to the roads.’
‘I think it serves you right, sir,’ Raffles told me. ‘Your lot made the holes; now you get to drive round them.’
‘Thanks a bunch.’
‘Don’t mensh.’
‘Will there be somewhere to stay?’
‘ ’course there will, Mr Bassett. We came this way before.’
‘Would you mind keeping it down lads.’ That was the Major again. ‘Man in the back trying to get his sums right.’
Raffles and I grinned at each other. I was happier when he was looking at the road.
The first roadblock was after about six miles. A Redcap in battle gear waved us down at a pole across half the road. He had a stick with a white wood circle on the end; traffic, for the directing of. Raffles drove with his Sten in his lap. He pulled up a few feet short, and the hairs on my neck stood up as I saw him flick the Sten’s safety before the copper reached us. The Major didn’t even look up. Raffles wound down the window. I sensed that he was smiling at the man.
‘Wotcha cock. What’s up?’
‘UXB. That field down there, about twenty feet from the road.’ He turned and pointed away from us, and to the right. ‘Some Sappers are looking for it.’
‘One of ours or one of theirs?’
‘Theirs. The Sapper Sergeant said it was a five-hundred-kilo job, from the entry hole it’s made in the ground.’
‘What were they bombing, French cows?’ Raffles gave his little relaxed laugh, and asked, ‘Wanna fag?’ He took off his beret, and offered the copper a roll-up from about thirty ready made he kept in
