The Swallow and the Hummingbird(25)

The summer passed. A new Labour government came in. The war in Japan ended. Rations continued as Britain struggled to get back on her feet again. George lost himself in Rita, in the farm, in the White Hart with his friends. But he couldn’t ignore his restless soul for ever.

Faye awoke with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She turned over and lay staring into the darkness for a while, thinking about George and his future, worrying about Rita and hers. She sighed heavily and tried to go back to sleep but she could not. Something was chewing on her gut, telling her to get up and go down to the kitchen. It wasn’t the first time that she had awoken with this feeling. When her children were young she’d sense when one had suffered a nightmare, or felt unwell, unhappy or simply couldn’t sleep. She was used to padding along the creaking corridors, feeling her way in the dark.

She crept downstairs and turned on the light in the kitchen. She opened the ice chest and helped herself to a glass of cold milk and a slice of bread. She nibbled at it in silence, wondering what to do next. Then something drew her attention outside. She walked onto the terrace to find George sitting alone, smoking. He looked forlorn there in the dark and she could feel his unhappiness reach out to her with leaden arms and pull her down too.

‘Do you mind if I join you?’ she asked in a soft voice, hovering in the doorframe. He looked up, not at all surprised to see her.

‘I’d like you to,’ he replied, exhaling the smoke into the fresh autumnal air. She wrapped her dressing gown about her and sat down beside him on the bench.

‘Are you all right, darling?’

‘Just couldn’t sleep,’ he replied, recalling his nightmare with a shiver.

‘Me neither. Perhaps it’s the cheese. They say cheese gives you nightmares.’

He chuckled cynically. ‘I don’t think so. My mind doesn’t give me any peace.’

‘Darling, don’t be disappointed.’

He took a hard look at her for a moment and the corners of his mouth twitched with misery. ‘But I am,’ he said finally and his voice was little more than a deep groan.

She put a gentle hand on his arm. ‘You were a boy when you left, George. You can’t get him back, or his life. You have to try to adapt to your changed circumstances.’

‘But it’s too quick. I come home and everything seems the same. Rita’s the same, you and Pa, even the old vicar. Nothing has changed. The sea is the same, the beach, the birds, the sky. Only rations, coupons and empty shops are different – and me.’ He dropped his head and stared at the flagstones. Then he continued in a very quiet voice. ‘You don’t know what it’s like to lose so many friends. The best, the brightest. Like brothers they were. I miss them. You don’t know what it’s like to see the whites of your enemy’s eyes, knowing that he’s just doing his job like you, he’s not much more than a boy, with a mother and a girl at home, to shoot him down and watch his plane spiral to the ground. Black smoke, knowing he’s suffering like hell. You can’t feel pity because if it’s not him, it’s you.

‘Every time that telephone rang, ordering us to scramble, I wondered whether I’d ever hear it again. But somehow I survived to do it again – and again and again and again. You see, Ma, when I close my eyes at night that is what I see. That is what I dream of: fighting for my life and feeling fear. That terrible fear. And feeling afraid of feeling fear. You see, I’m a coward really.’

‘You’re not a coward, darling. You’re human,’ said Faye, blinking through her tears. Not wanting him to see. He shook his head and took another drag of his cigarette.

‘In a funny way I miss it. I miss the camaraderie, the sense of purpose. I feel like a drifting kite. My string’s been cut.’

‘Why don’t you become a flight instructor or something? Surely there’s a place for you in the Air Force?’

He chuckled cynically. ‘Of course. But I can’t . . .’ His voice trailed off. She stroked his hand. ‘I want to settle down, work the land like Pa, marry Rita and raise my children. But I just can’t. Not yet. I feel my life has peaked and I’m only twenty-three. There’s got to be more for me out there.’ He wanted to tell her how he hated what the war had done to him, the level of depravity to which he had sunk. How could he feel comfortable in his own skin when it was stained with the blood of German youth?

‘What is it you want to do?’ Faye asked, wanting so desperately to chase away his shadows.

‘I don’t know,’ he groaned.

‘You’re not worrying that you’ll disappoint your father and me, are you? Because whatever you do we will support you. We’re proud of you, but we’re not your keepers.’