‘Do I get any time off?’ I asked her. ‘I still have things to take care of.’
‘Ask me next week; I’ll think about it. That’s all for now.’ She put her head down and began to find a file on her desk of obsessive interest. Dismissed. She hadn’t even told me her bloody name. As I about turned she said, still looking down at her papers, ‘Mr Baxter will have told you a woman naval officer was in command here. You expected someone else, didn’t you?’
I stopped in the doorway and turned to face her.
‘How did you know that?’
‘She warned me to look out for you. She’s a friend of mine; out of the Service now – she has a couple of sprogs.’
I said the first thing that came into my mind – never a good thing. ‘Neither of them is mine.’
‘I know that too.’
‘She never wanted children either; she told me that.’
She took pity on me, smiled her little smile – but it was as if it was intended for someone else – and said, ‘Never believe a woman who says that, Pilot Officer; they’re only testing you.’
‘How is she?’
‘. . . a bit heavier than when you last saw her.’ Fat, she meant. Women are cruel about each other’s looks.
‘I didn’t mean that. Is she well? Happy?’
This little woman had eyes that could be as black as coal; or the muzzles of gun barrels. This time her stage directions obviously read softly, and with feeling.
‘I’m glad you asked that. If you hadn’t I would have given you the hardest time here you’ve ever had anywhere in your life . . . and then made sure they sent you to the Arctic Circle for three years!’ I made no response. Dumb insolence had always been my speciality. She added, ‘From what she’s told me I’d say she was as well as could be expected, having experienced you. I would also say that it was none of your damned business.’ Frozen moment in time. I waited for the music but it never came, and she said, ‘You can go now.’
I didn’t trust myself to say anything, nodded, turned and left as smartly as I could. Stuffed. I felt as if I’d had the biggest roasting of my service career, and she’d done it all without raising her voice, or swearing directly at me.
Six hours later I lay on a flock mattress on a concrete shelf in the four-bedded bunk room I’d been allocated, trying to get some sleep. It stank of farts and sweat, and a dull warehouse light, without a switch to extinguish it, glowed on the ceiling. The guy beneath me was snoring, and a civvy technician on the opposite bunk had his nose buried in a Mickey Spillane book. The woman my new CO had spoken of earlier had been named Gloria, and I’d loved her more than I ever let on. I was always falling in love with the wrong types, but I suppose that I began to look at Gloria in a new light that evening. I’d thought of her as a hard-hearted bitch who’d nearly wrecked my mind; it hadn’t occurred to me before that maybe I’d hurt her as well. I was still hoping that I hadn’t when I fell asleep. How stupid was that?
The work wasn’t difficult. We just listened to the vibes in the air until we heard a bandit, and then listened more closely. I was surprised to see we were still using some of the kit I’d been brought up on. In a curtained alcove, at one side of the concrete box we worked in, was a set of radios straight out of a Lancaster or a Hallibag, back to back with the smaller sets out of a B-17. I’d worked with both, and could still dismantle most of their vitals and reassemble them in my sleep. That’s what one of my Army trainers made me do to begin with; I spent a day stripping them down, and putting them back together. He followed my every move and made copious notes in a notebook, but he said nothing. How can you know how you’re doing if the buggers won’t speak to you? I did two four-hour stints with him back to back, and when I finished with the Yankee job and tested it he said, ‘I’ve always wanted to know how to do that.’
‘What?’
‘Strip the American set. I’ve never done it.’
‘Now you know then. Anyway, I thought you were supposed to be teaching me.’
‘Where’d you get that idea? Lucy?’
‘Lucy?’
‘The CO. It’s what the girls call her, and they can be a bit nasty. Juicy Lucy or sometimes “Mother”. She’s worse than a mother hen. I’m a tankie, by the way – Royal Armoured Corps. Call me Rob. You?’
‘Charlie. RAF. Seems a long time ago, though. What next?’
‘I thought we’d get in your wee car and go and find a pub. Lucy said you could have a night off once you’d fixed the spare radios. They haven’t worked for weeks.’
‘What kind of show is this?’
‘A very poor one at times, but refreshingly informal.’
‘That’s what the CO said.’
‘She can get some things right, can’t she? You get yourself a wash, while I round up a couple of the girls.’
‘Which girls?’
‘We have a few mysterious civvies from the electronics factories. Philips Electrical I think, or Mallards. They’re likely to be a bit stir-crazy, so watch yourself.’
I even polished my shoes. Rob sat in the back with one of the girls, his arm quickly looped around her shoulders. It was dark back there. I heard her giggle and say Stop it; it’s too early for that! The girl alongside me had a starched white blouse, below-the-knee-length dark, wide skirt, and white socks above her dancing pumps. She had short dark hair, a nice smile and a sad
