Elizabeth Elgin - All the Sweet Promises

‘… and three of our aircraft have failed to return ,’ the man who read the news would intone on the midday bulletin. Were they just words he was reading, or did he realize that three aircraft meant twenty-one crew, and countless women waiting anxiously for the phone call that would tell them their man was safe – or the letter that would tell them he was not?

She began to dress, cold clumsy fingers fumbling with buttons. How soon before she could phone the aerodrome? Not quite yet. Crews had to be debriefed and they would have to eat, too. Yesterday morning it had been all right. Eleven bombers had taken off; eleven came home. But three crews not back yet – oh, please not Rob !

Long before the sun was making shadows, she was standing beside the phone box at the crossroads outside the village, willing the minutes away. Soon it would be half-past seven, and exactly at half-past seven she would ring the aerodrome.

She always used the public box when she phoned Rob. Police telephones were not to be used for private calls, said her mother. It was better that way, she supposed, though if things had been normal at home Rob could have phoned her there. Just a quick ‘Hullo, Jenny. Everything’s fine.’ And perhaps a whispered ‘I love you.’

But things weren’t normal at home because her parents had said she must not meet Rob. Her parents were old and had forgotten, if ever they had known, what it was like to love someone as she loved Rob. And she wasn’t waiting any longer, damn it.

Impatiently she wrenched open the door and, taking the pennies from her pocket, picked up the receiver with a hand that shook.

‘Number, please?’ The switchboard answered quickly and it seemed like a good omen.

‘Can I have 220, please?’ She arranged her pennies in front of her.

‘Just a minute, Jane.’ This morning it must be Ruth on duty. Ruth knew everybody’s voice, even when they had a cold. ‘Have two pennies ready.’ The coins clinked into the slot. ‘Press button A. There you are, now …’

Jane pressed hard, the pennies fell with a clatter and a voice said, ‘Fenton Bishop 220.’ It was a Scottish voice and it gave her comfort.

‘Can I have the aircrew mess?’ she whispered, stiff-lipped. Her hand was wet and she gripped the receiver tightly, thinking back to the night of the February dance and how the telephone was fixed to the wall beside the door.

She took a deep breath. In just a few seconds Rob would be talking to her and it would be all right. It would .

When she asked for Sergeant MacDonald there was a pause, then the man on the other end of the line told her to wait. She had thought she would hear him calling Rob’s name but instead he hissed, ‘It’s Mac’s girl.’

The background noises stopped and she knew he had put his hand over the mouthpiece. She closed her eyes tightly. She felt very sick. She wanted to put the phone down and pretend it wasn’t happening but the noises came back and a different voice said, ‘Sergeant MacDonald isn’t here at the moment. Could you phone back later?’

‘Has he gone out?’ Panic had her now; ice-cold, screaming panic. ‘Has he left the camp?’

‘Well – no.’

‘Then where is he?’

‘I’m not sure.’ He was prevaricating but his voice was kind; too kind. She took another breath then let it go before she asked, ‘When shall I phone?’ She was shaking and her mouth had filled with saliva.

‘Look, do you think you could leave it until tomorrow? Or maybe you could get in touch with the Adjutant’s office, or the padre?’

She knew what he was trying to tell her, and tomorrow wouldn’t do. ‘He was flying last night, wasn’t he?’ she made herself ask it.

‘Yes, love, he was.’

He seemed reluctant to talk to her, but probably this man was aircrew, too. Perhaps talking to her about Rob made him feel that someone was dancing on his own grave. She whispered, ‘Please tell me.’

‘Sergeant MacDonald isn’t back yet.’ The words came in a rush. ‘He’s – he’s overdue, but don’t get upset. He could have ditched or landed down south somewhere. Try not to worry.’

A sudden hatred came over her; a cold, bitter hating of everything that lived and breathed. She wanted to hurt the man who had told her Rob hadn’t come back, but he had tried to be kind and anyway she couldn’t think clearly. There was a noise in her head that was making her dizzy so she whispered, ‘Thank you,’ and put the receiver down. Imagine, she’d thanked him for telling her Rob was missing! Clasping her arms over her stomach, she tried to stop the writhing inside her. O God, God, God! Why did you let this happen?

She did not remember going home. She’d pushed her bicycle most of the way before she collected enough sense to get on and ride it.

When she walked into the kitchen her mother looked up and said, ‘Where on earth have you been at this hour?’

Jane looked at her and at her father and hated them, too. They were old. They had been married for more years than she and Rob had lived. Why weren’t they dead, like Rob? He wasn’t coming back; she knew it.

Her father put down his paper. ‘Is anything wrong, Jane?’

Wrong? Something had just kicked the breath out of her body but no, nothing was wrong.

She needed to weep, but there was a pain in her throat and it was stopping the tears, so she laughed instead. She stood there and laughed until she shook. There wasn’t anything else to do but laugh.

She heard her mother say, ‘Stop her, Richard. She’s hysterical,’ and her father shouted ‘Jane!’ and took hold of her shoulders, but she went on laughing.

His hand on her cheek hurt. He slapped her hard and it made her head jerk back. She stopped in the middle of a scream and the breath left her body with a groan. It was the first time her father had hit her and he looked upset, but suddenly she was very calm and her voice was steady as she said, ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, but the man I’ve been going out with is missing. He was on ops last night and he hasn’t come back.’

It didn’t sound like her voice. It was as if the words were coming from inside her and someone else was speaking them.

Her mother covered her mouth with her hand and her face went pale. Jane was glad about that. She wanted her to be hurt, and her father too. If only because they were alive, she wanted it.

‘You used to pretend he didn’t exist, didn’t you?’ came the voice from inside her. ‘Well, he probably doesn’t now. Are you satisfied?’

She wouldn’t cry. Not in front of them. She closed the door behind her and walked upstairs to her room. Her face was chalk-white in the mirror and her eyes were large and wild. She said, ‘He’s dead. Overdue means missing and missing means dead. They don’t come back.’

She took his photograph from beneath the lining paper in her drawer and looked at it and tried again to cry. She would have given anything to weep until she was sick, but the pain was still there to stop her. She slumped down on to the bed. She didn’t know if she was rocking or if it was the room.

The door latch clicked and her father stood there. He looked so utterly miserable that she tried to feel sorry for him but she could not. She needed the whole world to be miserable.

‘Would it help to talk about it?’ he said.

When she was little, she always talked to him. Once, she had loved her father very much.

‘His name was Rob.’ The real Jane was speaking now and every word was a stab of pain. ‘I never told you that, did I? I don’t know a lot about him either, but it doesn’t matter now, does it? He lived in Glasgow but I’m not sure where. His father’s been dead a long time and he has – had – two brothers.’ Her father put out his hand but she pulled away. ‘I loved him very much. He was so young and it wasn’t his war. It’s your fault, yours and Mother’s. It’s your generation should be getting killed, not ours!’