“Goodnight,” she whispered, lifting her head. But everybody seemed to have left already. Someone had pulled the blackout curtains and the night light was glowing.
Edie closed her eyes, but as soon as she did she saw an image of the burning plane spiralling towards the ground.
“Wait!” she shouted – or at least she thought she did – but nobody came. “I need to get up.”
Edie remembered that Fliss was coming. For the beat-up. She was going to fly over Three Chimneys.
She tried to swing her legs out of bed, but she couldn’t. “Fliss?” she mumbled. But the shadow that came to the door was Aunt Roberta.
“Shh!” she whispered, and she pressed a cool flannel against Edie’s burning forehead. “Try to get some sleep.”
… The Twiglets were flying a Spitfire. It was low. Too low. Then suddenly it wasn’t the Twiglets at all. It was the German, her German… He was waving a white flag.
Edie tossed and turned in her sleep as images of roaring trains and burning planes filled her dreams. Len Snigson yapped like a terrier and Colonel Crowther, for no reason at all, had turned into an old grey wolf.
Then it was morning. Or, Edie guessed it must be. The blackout curtains were open a crack as if someone had lifted them and peeped out. A beam of sunlight danced across the floor.
Edie stretched.
“About time!” said a small, impatient-sounding voice.
Edie pulled herself up and saw Greta standing over her with her arms crossed.
“Hello.” She blinked. “Have I been asleep long?”
“Very long,” said Greta. She uncrossed her arms and began to count on her chubby little fingers. “One, two, three whole days.”
“Three days?” Edie’s throat felt dry and sandy, but the stiffness in her body was gone and her head wasn’t burning any more. Suddenly she was wide awake. “I can’t have been asleep for all that time,” she gasped. “I need to see Fliss. Did she come?”
Greta padded over to the little fireplace that was never lit. She picked up a thin blue envelope which was propped up on the mantelpiece and padded back again. “This came for you.”
Edie recognized Fliss’s curly writing at once. She turned the envelope over and tore it open. There was a big red kiss on the back. Inside was a single sheet of writing paper:
Darling E
So sorry I could not come. All plans changed and rota shifted.
Rather beastly here, actually. Poor BBW had a terrible prang. She was killed, flying into a cliff near …
The name of the place had been blacked out and Edie couldn’t read it. But she’d understood enough. BBW was Belinda Barton-Withers – and she had died flying a plane. Edie remembered how loud and jolly the young ATA pilot had been – so full of life, like the older girls at school when they were setting off for a hockey match. Edie had to catch her breath before she could look back at Fliss’s letter.
The funeral is tomorrow. I know I shall weep buckets.
So sorry to miss you again. I love you, my darling
More soon.
F xoxo
P.S: Love to Pete and Roberta (I hope she isn’t being TOO strict!)
P.P.S: Sorry so glum. Will send more news next time. And maybe even a birthday visit if I can get leave – but promise not to hold your breath, sweetheart.
xoxo
Edie folded the letter into a tiny, tight little square, no bigger than a postage stamp. The sad note had made her feel so helpless. She was cross and miserable and tired. She wanted to scream and punch the wall.
“This bloody war! I hate it,” she said. “This bloody, bloody war!”
She had been so wrapped up in her letter, she had forgotten Greta was there. The little girl gasped and her mouth fell open in surprise.
“You said a bad word!”
“I know,” said Edie quickly. “I didn’t mean it. I’m just … tired.” She couldn’t explain how she really felt. Sort of hollow inside – and not just because she hadn’t eaten anything, but because of poor Belinda Barton-Withers and Fliss not coming and the plane crash too.
“Tired?” Greta snorted. “You can’t be tired. You’ve already slept for… ” She was holding up her fingers again and starting to count.
“Three days!” said Edie. “I know!” And she smiled. It was impossible to stay sad or cross for long with Greta around. “You don’t know what the date is, do you?” She’d been asleep for so long, she couldn’t quite work it out. Her birthday was on the twenty-third of the month; it must be only a few days now.
“Tuesday,” said Greta. “No … Wednesday, I think.”
“Not the day,” laughed Edie. “The date.”
“It’s the twentieth.” Gus appeared in the doorway, clutching a tray with toast and tea. “I thought I heard your voice. Are you feeling better?”
“Much better,” said Edie. But all thoughts of any birthday celebrations went out of her head the moment she saw Gus. All she could think about was the young German, and how they had let an enemy airman escape.
“Have they found him?” she whispered as Gus handed her the tray and perched on the edge of the bed.
“Found who?” said Greta.
“No one,” said Gus and Edie, quickly. And as Edie took a sip of the hot sweet tea, Gus bustled Greta out of the door.
“I think the Twiglets are hungry,” he said. “Colonel Crowther just delivered a whole new churn of scraps. You ought to go down and see if Uncle Peter needs help feeding them.”
“I want to stay with Edie,” Greta whined.
“I’ve got my breakfast to eat. Those poor Twiglets must be starving,” said Edie, through a mouthful of hot toast and sweet blackberry jam. It really was delicious after having an empty tummy for so long, even though there wasn’t any butter, of course. You couldn’t have butter and jam – not with the war on. Not even in the country.
“All right!” Greta hurried to the door. “I’ll go and feed my Twiglets,
