Bombers' Moon (14 page)

Hari glanced at the clock with a lifting of her heart – soon now, soon she would see him. Michael.

Kate felt her mood and turned sightless eyes towards Hari. They were still as blue as ever, with no sign they could see nothing but darkness.

‘Got a date?’ Kate said with uncanny perception.

‘Mind your own business, nosy parker,’ Hari said with a tone of mock indignation.

‘It’s love this time isn’t it, Hari?’

‘Afraid so.’

‘God! You’re as bad as Meryl!’

‘What do you mean?’ For a minute Hari thought Kate had guessed it all, the whole tangled mess about Michael, a triangle from a love story but with a huge difference, her rival was a vital, intelligent, impressionable young girl. Her sister.

‘You don’t give much away, that’s what I mean. What else should I mean? Is there a secret then?’

‘No secret.’ Hari laughed uncomfortably. ‘It’s just the war. Should I tell him there will be an enemy attack tonight? Oh, all sorts of things. It’s not the ideal time to fall in love is it, Kate?’

‘You’re lucky if love comes your way at all, any time,’ Kate said. ‘Make the most of the feeling, Hari, it will never be repeated.’ Her voice was wistful; even though she had Stephen now, she clearly still pined for her Eddie.

‘Drink your tea, girls.’ Hilda’s voice was gruff with emotion. She missed Eddie too, her only son,
his
son lying asleep in the huge washing basket her greatest consolation.

Hari glanced at her watch and pushed back her chair. ‘I’ll be off then – don’t forget, go to the shelter early, mind.’

Kate hugged her. ‘We’ll be all right. Don’t you stay out too late, it’s you taking the risks so it is.’

Hari wondered if her words had a double meaning but Kate’s face was devoid of any guile. ‘Come and see me again soon.’ Kate kissed her nose, missing her cheek by a mile. She smiled. ‘You smell good. Your chap is a lucky man and if I’m any judge you’re looking more beautiful than ever what with being in love an’ all.’

‘Go on with you.’ Hari mimicked her friend’s Irish accent and was rewarded with a flip of Kate’s hand that just managed to brush her shoulder. The baby started to wail and Kate disappeared at once. ‘Men,’ Hari murmured, ‘they’ve got you on a string from the moment they’re born.’

Michael was waiting for her near the beach. The sand was blown like sparkles of diamonds in the wind. He looked taller, bigger in his coat and muffler. He smiled as she drew nearer and, with a tug at her heart, she saw his nose was red with cold and his face was white and pinched. She guessed that the farm would be barren, the earth hard, frosty and unyielding, the animals keeping to their stalls away from the winter weather.

He took her hand and though he wore gloves she could feel the cold of his fingers as they twined in hers. She knew this moment would be brief, she must send him home to his beloved countryside before the raids began. But for the moment he was hers.

They embraced and she knew the scent of him, the strength of his arms, the way his body responded to hers, and she knew that this moment might never come again. Tomorrow might never come.

She took his hand and led him towards the town, towards her house. The streets were bright with icy clear air. No one was about, all probably huddled around the coal fires, toes toasting, backs freezing from the draughts blowing through the cracks in the buildings ravaged by bombs.

In the bedroom he looked at her doubtfully. ‘Are you sure, Hari?’

She was scarlet. ‘Are you prepared, you know?’

He shook his head. ‘I never presumed.’

Hari went to the drawer and without looking at him took out a small packet. ‘Here.’

There was an embarrassed silence as they both undressed, but once they were in the bed, the sheets like ice beneath them, they were close, skin touching silky skin. He kissed her gently, nuzzling her neck. And then a fierce fire blazed between them, wanting, needing each other with a desperation that transcended all doubts.

And then Hari cradled him, holding on to Michael’s broad shoulders, bonding him to her, knowing whatever happened now they were mates for life. In that moment she knew happiness, pure and invincible, and she held him close and tender and it was as if they would never be parted again.

Twenty-Six

When Michael came home from Swansea that night there was a glow about him and my heart sank, I knew the truth, he and Hari were lovers and he was lost to me for ever.

That night Swansea took a pounding from the enemy and Michael sat, head in his hands, in a dark corner of the farm living room close to the radio, while Jessie and I looked at each other helplessly.

When I couldn’t stand it any more, I went to him and put my arms around him like the friend he’d always thought me. ‘Hari will be all right,’ I said reassuringly, ‘she’ll be up at Bridgend, away from the worst of it.’ He looked up at me with such heartbreaking hope in his eyes that I needed to swallow hard to keep back the tears.

‘Where is Bridgend then?’

‘It’s a few miles from Swansea.’ I only had the vaguest idea myself. ‘Hari said they never get bombed because the buildings are on low land and the mists cover them. The German bombers don’t even know they are there.’ I didn’t add that there were enough shells and things in the factory to wipe the whole place out of existence.

He seemed more cheerful then. ‘I’ll make you pair a cup of tea,’ he said, ‘I know you women like your cuppa.’

I smiled. ‘That seems to have helped, Aunt Jessie,’ I said.

‘I think you can drop the “Aunt”, Meryl, you’re a woman now, you actually put the feelings of Michael and me before your own. Well done. Come and give Jessie a hug.’

We clung together in silence. I could hear Michael in the kitchen; he was even whistling now unaware my heart was breaking. Jessie and I untangled ourselves as we heard his footsteps coming towards the door. I even managed a smile as he put the tray of tea down on the table. He grinned at me.

‘This Bridgend, Hari’s safe there you think?’

‘She’s in an office, Michael, she’s working on a machine, a radio thingie.’ I knew I shouldn’t say too much as what Hari chose to tell him about her job was up to her, but it wasn’t very much judging by his attitude of complete attention.

I needed the tea, my throat was thick and I felt as if I’d swallowed a rubber ball whole. My chest hurt and I was constantly fighting tears. It was a work of art to stop my mouth from trembling. My Michael belonged to me, and Hari, with her lovely hair, her Madonna face, had taken him from me.

Only Jessie sensed my feelings; she leaned over and squeezed my hand but the sympathy made the tears brim into my eyes. I gulped my tea and the hot liquid eased my throat a bit.

‘I’ll go up early tonight,’ I said. I kissed Jessie’s cheek, which was damp, and her eyes meeting mine swam like blue fish in a pool. She was almost as anguished as I was at the turn of events.

‘Don’t go up yet, let’s go for a walk,’ Michael said easily, taking my arm. We often went for a walk but now everything had changed. I took a deep breath.

‘All right, but please don’t talk about my sister all night, it’s so boring.’ I winked at Jessie and she winked back, encouraging me to act naturally.

It was a lovely moonlit night; now and then a flash of light crossed the sky as a bomb exploded somewhere. Seconds later there was a tiny
crump
and another flare lit up the earth, just a tiny pinprick of light that was so far away but real and frightening for all that.

‘We’re having some land girls arrive tomorrow,’ Michael said, ‘they are going to help me on the farm.’

‘Lovely for you –’ my tone was sarcastic – ‘they’ll probably faint at the sight of a mouse.’

I wondered what Hari would make of that, young ladies on the farm with Michael. I . . . well, I was jealous as hell and that was daft of me as he was taken already: he loved my sister; he’d fallen all the way for her and no amount of eager women would tempt him away from Hari. I knew Michael well enough to understand he was the faithful sort.

I shivered and Michael put his arm around me. ‘Remember the night we cuddled up in the barn?’ he said, his lips against my hair. To him I would always be that small needy girl he’d humoured and comforted.

‘Oh, yes, when I ran away from the Dixons, I remember,’ I said as though it had been the furthest thing from my mind. I thought of it constantly, the way he’d held me against him, protective, loving almost. Almost but not quite.

A plane droned heavily overhead, one of the enemy had obviously lost the way to the town. I remarked on it and Michael took my hand.

‘Run!’ he said fiercely, ‘he’s going to unload the rest of his bombs here before he hits the Channel.’

My legs worked like a lamb in the spring as I leaped over hillocks and rocks and went wherever Michael was taking me. I heard the screech of a bomb and then I was flat on the ground with Michael lying on top of me. The bomb exploded in a gulley and I suppose that’s what saved our lives. But the sound of it crashed into my ears, my head, and shook through my whole body in waves of shock.

Michael had raised his head and took my face in his hands. ‘Are you all right, Meryl?’

I became aware then of him and of my own body. My nipples tingled, I felt all moist and strange. I had the urge to raise myself up against his pelvis but I restrained myself. Michael would be horrified. I knew that within the core of my being, just as I knew I had been aroused to desire by the man I loved, the man I would always love.

Twenty-Seven

Hari was very aware of Meryl standing behind her staring at the radio and her eyes narrowed. She could feel the animosity coming from her sister in waves. Meryl was clearly hurt and angry. Any moment now she would speak and, with a feeling of dread, Hari knew exactly what was on her sister’s mind. Meryl knew in that strangely intuitive way of hers that Michael and she were lovers.

For a moment Hari gloried in the thought, she felt his body taking charge of hers, felt his hands caressing, delighting her, his body bringing hers to thunderous paroxysms of pleasure.

‘You’ve . . .’ Meryl hesitated. ‘You and Michael have . . .’ She was unable to speak the words.

‘“Made love” is the phrase you’re looking for.’ Hari felt compassion but also anger that her private joy had been dragged out of her in an atmosphere of resentment. She thought Meryl might cry but she didn’t.

‘I had him first –’ Meryl’s voice held a defensive note – ‘Michael was supposed to be mine.’

‘You’ve never “had” him,’ Hari said softly. ‘Not in any way.’

‘That’s all you know!’ Meryl’s tone was harsh. ‘Did he tell you that we spent one whole night together in a barn?’

‘He did, as it happens,’ Hari said, ‘he was kind, he held you, comforted you, and to suggest anything else isn’t worthy of you or him.’

Meryl was quiet for a long time. ‘You’re right,’ she said at last. ‘He thought I was a child. He still thinks of me as a child. I’m sorry, Hari, I shouldn’t have implied there was anything else.’

Hari got up from her chair and faced her sister. Meryl was as tall now as she was; she was lovely with her silky chestnut hair tied away from her face and her eyes bright with unshed tears. She closed her arms around Meryl.

‘I love you, sis,’ she said, kissing Meryl’s cheek, ‘and I’m so sorry I’ve been the one to hurt you but I love Michael so much I just can’t help myself.’

Meryl kissed her cheek and disengaged herself. ‘You needn’t talk to me about being hurt, I know all about it.’ She said the words softly. ‘So does Jessie, she worries herself sick every time Michael comes into Swansea.’

She sat in Hari’s chair and abruptly changed the subject. ‘Right, show me how to work this machine. Let’s take our minds off Michael, shall we?’

Hari hesitated, her work was secret, the codes carefully guarded and yet, when she married Michael and had a family, perhaps Meryl could take over her job here. It would be a challenge for her and would keep her away from the war for as long as it lasted, which could be for some years yet, so Colonel Edwards predicted.

For several hours Hari tutored her sister on the working of her machine. Meryl was quick to learn, so quick deciphering the new daily codes that Hari felt slow and dull by comparison.

‘How do you learn things so quickly?’

‘I don’t know,’ Meryl said, ‘I’m just good at languages and things. I speak German almost as well as Michael does and, although my French doesn’t come so easily, I’m not bad at that either.’

‘And I know your Welsh is excellent, you should aim high Meryl, be a teacher, a linguist, aim for the top.’ She paused.

‘Maybe it will all come in useful one day.’ Meryl suddenly lost interest and, taking the hint, Hari picked up her bag and gloves.

‘Come on, let’s go home. Daddy will be arriving for the weekend later today and we’ll have to get his bed ready.’ She hesitated. ‘I’ve asked Michael to come to tea, I hope you won’t be upset.’

Meryl’s face brightened for an instant. ‘It might he dangerous but I suppose you both know what you re doing.’ She abruptly changed the subject. ‘It will be fabulous to see Daddy again but I’ll be going back to the farm on Monday, remember.’

‘I know –’ Hari held up her hand – ‘I’ve got a few days off, don’t you worry, you can return to your precious farm, no one is going to stop you.’ She heard the tone of sarcasm in her voice and took a deep breath.

‘Don’t worry,’ Meryl shot back, ‘your Michael is all yours, there’s nothing I can do to take him away from you.’ She paused. ‘I just feel at home in Carmarthen now, I like being with Jessie and, I admit it, I like being around Michael although he will never be mine.’

Silently, the girls walked out of the office along the board path that led to the sheds, past the ruined shell store that stood – a blackened ruin – alongside the other sheds, and finally out on to the road where the buses waited. Soon they would get the train home, they would make preparations for father’s weekend visit and perhaps, just perhaps, Hari’s burden of guilt would be lifted for a while.

When they arrived home their father was already there and Hari saw at once that Meryl had become her father’s favourite daughter. The way his face lit up when he saw her, the warm hug, the way he smoothed her hair and the shine in his eyes told a graphic story. She understood it: Meryl was the image of their mother; Hari’s colouring, her pale complexion, her red-gold hair, had all come from Father’s side.