Iris Gower - Bombers’ Moon

The door was opened by a lady driver. She stared at me and I stared back, wondering what the heck was going on now; Herr Euler had no time for lady drivers.

And then my mouth split from ear to ear as Michael came hopping into the room on crutches. He looked well in spite of the bandaged foot and his smile matched mine when he saw me.

‘Liebling!’ I went forward to meet him, elbowing aside the pretty lady driver jealously. ‘Thank you for your help but I will take charge of my husband from now on,’ I said pointedly.

‘Give the lady a cup of tea,’ Michael said, making an eye gesture at me, showing he’d read my feelings well. ‘She’s to meet her fiancé later but she surely has time for some refreshment.’

Fuming, I made the tea and then I sat as close to Michael as I could get in view of the fact his crutches were poking into my legs. ‘What’s happened my love?’ I touched his hair with wifely concern. He grinned, well aware of my jealousy.

‘I crash-landed; luckily I made it back to the airport but the Focke’s undercarriage came off and a bit of twisted metal caught my ankle. It’s nothing; a couple of stitches fixed it up and the plane’s not too badly damaged.’

‘A nasty gash though,’ the driver said knowingly. I gave her a piercing glance. ‘Well, thank you for driving my husband home I expect you’ll want to be on your way.’

She hastily finished her tea and smiled at Michael. ‘Take care sir, and good luck.’ She glanced at me defiantly as she rested her hand on Michael’s shoulder. I resisted the urge to kick her out of the house.

‘Goodbye.’ I shut the door before she got to her car. ‘Lights,’ I said to Michael, and he laughed.

‘Green ones in your eyes?’

‘Are you saying I’m jealous?’

‘I am.’

‘Well, what do you expect arriving home with a fluffy blonde? She was very familiar with you considering she has a fiancé.’

‘War has a strange effect on people.’

‘Not strange enough for you to flirt with her.’

He caught me in his arms and placed me on his knee. ‘Mind my ankle,’ he said and kissed me.

It was wonderful to wake in the morning and see Michael asleep beside me. He was so dear, so handsome, so mine—at least for now.

He opened his blue eyes fringed by long lashes and smiled his sweet smile. I turned into his warm body and he put his arms around me. ‘I do love you,’ I said softly. He said nothing though he planted a kiss on my forehead. ‘At least I’ve got you for a little while,’ I said, hoping he would say something like ‘forever’ but he did not speak at all and I wondered if I would ever know the truth of his feeling for me. Did he still love Hari or did he love me more now? I was too afraid to ask.

At first he did not make love to me and I was afraid it was over, that his conscience had stricken him when he thought of betraying my sister. But being together in a bed every night breaks down barriers and one night, I clung to him and deliberately pressed my full breasts against him.

I felt him respond; he groaned and then he was kissing my shoulders, my breasts, taking my hard nipple into his hot mouth. Was it just the lust of a man too long without a woman, facing death every time he took to the skies? I didn’t care, he was here and for now we were together, really together and nothing else mattered.

Hari found herself with a house full of people: Jessie took charge of the kitchen and of Hari’s father—who liked the attention—and tried her best with George Dixon, who sat around like a lost soul. Hari’s small house seemed to bulge at the seams and yet soon, the disparate group of people became like a family.

Hari went into the small kitchen that was filled with the warmth of the fire and steamy with pots of vegetables boiling on the gas stove. ‘Jessie, how are you managing with all this work?’

‘It’s the breath of life to me.’ Jessie was serious. ‘I was dying a slow death in that farmhouse with no one to look after.’

She did look better, more alive, there was a light back in her pale blue eyes and her mouth turned up in a smile. ‘I feel in my gut that Michael is safe and you know Meryl is alive. She’s a fine, honest girl, whatever she’s doing it will be for the good of her country, mark my words.’

‘I know.’ Hari touched Jessie’s arm. ‘But why did they marry, Jessie? Michael said he loved me, he…’ Embarrassed, she stopped speaking.

‘They are meant for each other,’ Jessie said. ‘From the moment I saw them together I knew that much about them. They’re like two sides of the same coin. As for love—’ she shrugged—‘I’m afraid you’ll learn that a man says he’s in love, perhaps even believes he’s in love, when he wants to bed a woman. They don’t mean it, Hari, it’s just their way. I’m sorry but you might as well learn that now as later.’

It was a long speech for Jessie to make and Hari knew she meant well but Michael was not the type to be ruled by the urges of his body. He was an honourable man. And yet he’d married her sister, hadn’t he?

Her mind kept running round the problem, eating away at it, trying to make sense of it. He’d meant it when he said he loved her, she was sure of it. Wasn’t she? And yet she woke each morning to a sense of foreboding, as if some tragedy had occurred, and then she realized it had. Michael was lost to her forever, there was no hope for her, he was married to Meryl and even if they all survived this awful war, what future was there for them?

Spring came and turned into summer and Hari had a few small messages from ‘Black Opal’. Nothing really of note but each was like a knife wound, fear tangled her entrails each time a message came because she might read that Michael was dead. Hari was never able to respond and the signal was soon lost, possibly swept away by the Bletchley Park’s impressive might. Worse, she could imagine Meryl packing everything quickly away in danger of being shot. Every time she sent a message she was risking discovery by the Germans.

After the death of the colonel Hari was put in charge of the small radio section at the munitions factory. She was sometimes lonely without the gruff presence of the old man and heavy with the responsibility that had settled upon her shoulders, but all she could do was her best, or so she told herself.

‘I’m in late tonight,’ she said out loud. She interrupted her father, who was reading something from the paper to Jessie who, face alight, was listening to him intently.

He looked up and blew Hari a kiss. ‘Try and get your head down if only for an hour or two, you’re looking tired these days, darling girl.’ He paused. ‘I’ll be off your hands Monday, I have to get back to London. I have work to do after all.’

Jessie’s face stiffened, but she said nothing. Hari said it for her.

‘Oh Dad, we’re all going to miss you very much.’ Jessie looked silently down at her hands.

That night, Hari drove to Bridgend through the darkened roads and looked up at the sky wondering what on earth was going on in the moonlight beauty of the night. Was Michael coming over to bomb Wales and England tonight? Could he possibly be a traitor to his country as well as to her? The questions raced mercilessly through her mind.

She sat in her office with hardly anything to do. The radio tapped intermittently but nothing important came through. It was about twelve midnight when she heard the sound of German planes overhead. She went outside and looked up at the sky but she could see nothing through the low cloud that always hung in the dip of Bridgend.

She saw one of the girls from the factory come out on to the roof; Hari knew it was the usual practice for one of the girls to look out for planes overhead and caution the workers to stop all activities though no one took any notice anyway.

Hari put her hand over her brows and tried to see through the darkness but it was just the hum of engines she heard. She caught a flash of light at the corner of her eye and saw that the girl on the roof was holding a torch that sent a pool of light over herself and the roof. Hari hurried upstairs to the roof.

‘Doreen, put that light out, you fool!’ It was the girl who’d tried to get Kate to abort her baby. ‘Doreen, stop shining that light! Put it out!’

A bomber swooped low over the buildings and, with a cry, Doreen dropped the torch, teetered on the edge of the roof and slowly, like a rag doll fell into the darkness. At the sound of the screams, shadowy figures rushed from the buildings. The planes roared away as if intent on other business and Hari surmised the airmen had not seen anything of the small light from Doreen’s torch.

She hurried back down the stairs; outside a crowd had gathered round the crumpled girl.

‘Hari—’ blood trickled from her mouth—‘I’m dying. Come closer to me.’

Hari was on her knees in an instant, regardless of the hard earth scratching her legs.

‘In my house, top drawer, bedroom cabinet, money.’ Doreen coughed on her own blood. ‘My ill-gotten gains.’ She drew a ragged breath and a gush of blood poured down her chin.

‘Use it, Hari, to bury me, decent, mind, and may God forgive me for my sins.’ Doreen fell back against the ground, her eyes staring unseeing up at the skies.

‘Bloody war!’ one of the girls cried, ‘and bloody, bloody Germans.’ Violet waved her fists at the cloudy sky but there was no sound except for the crying of Doreen’s friends.

It was sunny when I woke, the spring breeze wafting gently into the bedroom. I sighed and snuggled down under the blankets again. It was the weekend—no work—and I had two whole days free to myself. I indulged in sweet memories of Michael holding me close, loving me, possessing me, and the moment’s dreaming was delicious.