Page 23 of Never Tear Us Apart
Chapter Twenty-One
‘Not my best work,’ Alex says, looking me up and down. ‘But not my worst, either.’
‘You really must stop flattering me,’ I tell him wryly.
Smoothing down the rough material of my custom-made skirt, I vaguely wonder what time it is in my own world.
I set my alarm for nine o’clock, and though more hours have passed here than they would have done in the night, I try to picture that quiet, air-conditioned room, full of blue shadows.
If I could manage to wake myself now, would Alex and Christina be blinking at the thin air where I had stood moments before?
I know they are not real – they can’t be real – but they feel it.
Christina has cut my hair quite short. She was delighted when it sprang into its natural curls.
She then tamed it into something she considered far more fashionable.
I watched, fascinated, as she created great solid curls that she stuffed with something she called ‘rats’.
I felt considerable relief when she told me they were stuffed stockings tied off to keep the curls in place.
She has pinned the roll with as many bobby pins as she’s willing to spare and doused me with a liberal spray of something that smells a lot like beer.
‘Because it is beer, darling,’ she tells me now. ‘A girl has to improvise. And with the shortage of hops, we’ll be looking for something else to set our hair with soon, won’t we, Alex?’
‘’Fraid so,’ Alex says. ‘One dreads the day.’
‘And I think we’d better take off this ugly old bandage,’ Christina says, snipping it off with her scissors. ‘There, that’s healing nicely. Lovely, neat work from the doc.’
‘Like the bride of Frankenstein,’ Alex adds approvingly.
Christina and Alex made a great and, honestly, hysterical show of not finding any clothes between them, not even costumes, that would fit my hips and bosom, making me laugh so much that tears rolled down my face.
Christina has promised that the next time she’s at St Paul’s with her Warby, she’ll obtain some fabric for Alex to make me some frocks.
In the meantime, Alex has remade my T-shirt into more of a blouse by resetting the sleeves, adding buttons and putting in some darts under the bust. Then he ran up the skirt out of an old, thin red blanket that was burnt down one side so no longer fit for purpose.
The effect is surprisingly convincing, but I’m not at all sure it’s better.
A least now I look like I fit in – frumpy as hell, and looking ten years older, but you can’t have everything.
I suppose that feeling lumpy and itchy and trapped by my clothes with newly short hair is temporary, but I have to keep reminding myself of that.
‘Let’s give the boys a show!’ Christina says, leading me by the hand. ‘Get the RAF seal of approval.’
‘Oh, no thank you,’ I say, dragged along behind her. ‘They don’t want to look at me.’
‘Perhaps not,’ Alex says, ‘but I want an eyeful of Danny Beauchamp. He’s good for the soul, so he is.’
‘Ta-dah!’ Christina yanks me out from behind the door and into the parlour.
The card game is over, and the men are sitting back in their chairs.
Warby is smoking, and Danny seems to be writing or drawing in a notebook.
Mac has flopped back in his chair, arms hanging loosely at his sides, head tipped back as he gently snores.
Alex stands just outside the room, his arms crossed.
‘I say!’ Warby gets up as we enter the room, as does Danny. ‘Yes, scrubs up all right, doesn’t she?’
I don’t know where to look as Christina insists on twirling me.
‘Well, Champ, what do you think?’ Christina demands his opinion.
‘I think Stiches here is just about as pretty as a girl can be,’ Danny says, with a polite bow. ‘But I thought that before all the gussying up.’
A flush of heat rushes up my neck and into my cheeks.
‘Well, sit down, won’t you?’ Christina directs me. ‘I don’t have much to offer you, but I have some iced water you can partake of while we wait for the prof. Alex, will you join?’
‘None for me, love. I’ve had about as much excitement as I can stand for one day,’ Alex says. ‘Besides, I’m on night watch. Goodbye, dears!’
Danny and Warby bid him a cheerful goodbye as he takes the stairs two at a time.
‘Warby, help me with carrying the tray, will you?’ Christina beckons her boyfriend rather pointedly. Is she deliberately trying to leave me more or less alone with Danny and the sleeping Mac?
‘I’m not sure I’m fit for carrying anything,’ Warby says, but nevertheless, he gets up to follow Christina.
‘You OK, Stitches?’ Danny asks once they have departed. ‘It can be quite the whirlwind round here.’
‘I’m good,’ I say. ‘Everyone’s very kind. This whole thing is very strange, but at the same time, it is starting to feel sort of normal.’
‘Normal, huh?’ Danny smiles slightly. ‘I am pretty sure I have forgotten what normal feels like.’
There’s a sadness to him, so gossamer-fine that it’s nearly impossible to see. It’s there, though, adding a faint sheen to every smile and confident, sardonic remark.
‘Are Warby and Mac your best friends?’ I ask.
‘Warby’s a legend round these parts. Flies over territory that others don’t dare to cross.
Couldn’t do what we do without him, that’s for certain – but I’m not sure he’s anyone’s friend.
Not even his own. And Mac.’ He glances at the boy.
‘Malta is a hell of a place to end up after twelve weeks of training. I’m trying to keep him alive as long as I can. That’s about all I can do.’
Somewhere, a clock ticks, and I can hear the muted sounds of a radio.
‘Were you glad?’ I ask him on impulse. ‘To be grounded?’
Danny frowns deeply, and I think for a moment that I’ve offended him.
‘Not glad.’ He shakes his head. ‘A man doesn’t want to think that he’s not there to back up his buddies.
But truth is: I’m no use to them dead either.
Got to at least start a flight with a chance of making it back, right?
And I’m kinda glad Mac isn’t up there. Some of those young kids aren’t going to make it back today, and that might have been different if I’d been up there with them; at least he’s safe for now.
But it’s a relief to know you’re more than likely still going to be alive in the morning, if you know what I mean? ’
‘I think I do,’ I say.
‘Well, time for me to get the kid on his feet and get him back to our digs.’ Danny stands up just as there’s a knock at the door. ‘And that sounds like the prof has come to pick you up. Nice to see you again, Stitches.’
‘Nice to see you, too,’ I say.
We hesitate, as if not sure how to end this encounter.
Christina ends it for us, flinging open the door. ‘Prof, wait until you see what we’ve done!’ she calls. ‘It’s a miracle!’
Warby drops a tray of glasses, sending them clattering down the stairs. ‘Bugger!’