Down Daisy Street (46 page)
She had hoped to fall asleep immediately, worn out by the events of the day, but two hours later she was still lying awake in the dark, staring wide-eyed at the lighter patch of window. The sky had cleared, partially at least, but the wind still howled round the old building.
Lying there in the dark, Kathy faced up to things for the first time since she had seen the letter. Jane and Alec had both behaved badly but they had not injured her by so doing. She suspected that Jimmy had been a one for the girls – Jane had said so – so perhaps you could not altogether blame Jane for following suit, even though Kathy still thought it a dirty trick for a girl to have an affair with her young man’s best friend.
But you only found out, Kathy Kelling, by reading a letter which wasn’t addressed to you and you were never meant to see, she reminded herself sternly. And would you have felt as bad if it had been someone else Alec had slept with and not Jane? If you ask me, you’ve always been jealous of Jane . . . well, no; jealous was not really the word. She had envied Jane her pretty looks, her lovely, bouncy golden hair, and her total ease with the opposite sex. Jane flirted deliciously whilst Kathy’s relationships had been plodding and pedestrian in comparison.
And as for Alec – oh, poor Alec! She had told him that it was all over but she knew now that this was not true. She loved him and knew he loved her and though his affair with Jane had hurt and deeply upset her, he had only spoken the truth when he had said that it had all been over a long time ago. What was more, she knew, none better, how very important it was that men on active duty were not anxious or upset over their personal lives. Many a tale was told about pilots whose wives sent them ‘Dear John’ letters and who subsequently flew their aeroplanes into tall buildings or were too preoccupied to take proper precautions and crashed on landing.
The thought made Kathy sit up in bed, sweat prickling out all over her. She threw back the covers and went to the window. She must get in touch with him! She would go down to the office and telephone Waddington, never mind the rules; then she would tell him it was all a horrible mistake, that she hadn’t meant what she said, that she was sure their love could transcend one little fall from grace. She had grabbed her boiler suit off its hook and was scrambling into it, telling herself that it was only ten o’clock, that he was probably still sitting miserably in the mess, when she heard feet flying up the stairs and someone banged on the door, then threw it open. ‘Corp, a call just came from the centre to bring all balloons down to storm bedding. The Met Office has said that the atrocious weather will actually worsen towards dawn and they want all the balloons storm bedded as soon as poss. Oh, I see you’ve guessed. Right, I’ll go and wake the rest.’
It was ACW Ellis, one of the two girls on guard duty. Kathy struggled into her oilskins and in a couple of minutes she was out on the site and climbing aboard the winch. The rain was driving into her face and she had no time now to think about her own troubles. She was even glad to see Jane, wearing her heavy duty oilskins with her woolly cap pulled well down over her curls, ordering the girls into position. She did not look at Kathy so Kathy kept her own eyes averted, but presently, when the balloon was down to a hundred feet, Kathy called ACW Gibbons, a large and placid girl who could be relied upon not to act hastily, to take over the winch.
It had been hard work getting the balloon down to a hundred feet, but lower than that it became next to impossible. The wind was so gusty that the balloon yawed and ducked and tugged towards the sea one minute and the hills the next, like a mad thing.
Kathy fought her way across to the balloon bed where the girls were preparing for the most difficult part of the descent.
The balloon was almost on the deck and the last and worst stage of hauling it down had arrived. Because of the violence of the wind, the girls had great difficulty in attaching the concrete blocks, and even when they were attached the blimp refused to be bedded but continued to yaw and heave, lifting the blocks two or three feet off the ground and crashing them down unexpectedly hard so that the girls were constantly having to change position. Kathy got four girls to go to the tail-guy, leaving only a couple to watch the blocks. Jane was No. 1, which meant that she should go under the balloon, now a bare four or five feet from the ground. She would take in the straw mattress that would be thrown over the wires to stop the blimp rubbing itself into holes. This was the trickiest of all the very dangerous jobs connected with storm bedding and Kathy usually did it herself since she was small and light and therefore had a better chance of getting in under the blimp’s belly – and out again – without being hurt.
In normal circumstances, Jane would have handed her the mattress, taking it for granted that the smaller girl would do the honours; indeed, Jane did give her a fleeting glance, but when Kathy made no move to respond she squared her shoulders, doubled up and disappeared amongst the tangle of ropes, cables and wires which were the chief impediment to her escape.
As soon as Jane had disappeared, Kathy felt absolutely awful. Had she deliberately let the other girl take on a dangerous job because of what had happened earlier? Anxiously, she dragged her big torch out of the pocket of her oilskins and began to play it around the balloon, searching for a safe path so that Jane could get out again without having to cross the many moving wires and ropes with which the blimp was surrounded. It was difficult to see through the pouring rain, now driving sideways and obscuring what was happening, but she found the best place at last and steadied her torch, shining the beam in under the blimp’s bloated form. It seemed an age and there was still no sign of Jane, so Kathy went forward, picking her way delicately amongst the stretched and twisting ropes and wires, and peered at the balloon bed. Jane was lying in a puddle of mud, her arms flung out and her golden hair spilling across her shoulders, and Kathy remembered, belatedly, that Jane had not been wearing a tin hat. Her first impulse was to dive under the balloon, but she was in charge and must not act in any way which might endanger the rest of her crew. She stepped back and grabbed the nearest girl, who was trying to control one of the concrete blocks. ‘O’Brien’s hurt,’ she screamed above the roar of the wind. ‘I’m going in, so you’ll have to take charge and light me out.’ She handed her the torch and then, doubled up, Kathy crawled under the balloon. Once there, it was too dark to see much but she managed to assure herself that the mattress was in position as the girl who was lighting her out flashed her torch a couple of times. She knew the most important thing now was to drag Jane to safety; it was useless trying to discover what had happened to her friend, or if moving her could do more harm than good, for move her she must. Kathy seized Jane’s wrists and began to pull, wishing devoutly that the other girl had been a good deal slimmer and the mud a good deal less clingy.
As she began to haul, Jane’s eyes flickered open. Kathy stopped pulling for a second to get her breath and, to her great relief, Jane sat up. ‘Is that you Kathy? I’m awful sorry, queen, but something whacked me on the head. I dunno what.’
‘Yes, it’s me; it should have been me who went under in the first place,’ Kathy said grimly. ‘Head for the light, Jane – you go first and I’ll come after you.’
Halfway out, Kathy began to giggle. There were the two of them, both on all fours, plodding along like a couple of elephants in a circus, with their long oilskins hampering their movements and the mud clinging to everything. If I had a trunk and Jane had a tail, then I’d grab hold of her and we really would look a right stupid pair, Kathy thought, still giggling. But as they emerged, following the beam of the torch, she was infinitely relieved when Jane stood upright and began to walk, slowly but carefully.
Kathy was about to follow her example when something struck her a hefty blow. She heard screams and a sound as of sticks snapping, then felt a terrible pain in her legs, and plunged into darkness.
Chapter SixteenKathy was unconscious for two days, during which time Jane spent every available minute by her friend’s bed, all unpleasantness and arguments forgotten. But because she was now the only NCO on No. 7 Balloon Site she could not take a great deal of time off, so it was Sarah Kelling who was sitting by Kathy’s bed when her daughter eventually regained consciousness. Kathy’s eyelids fluttered open and she gazed about her in a bemused fashion for several moments whilst Sarah watched, her heart in her mouth. She had seen Kathy appear to wake before and then sink once more into unconsciousness without a word, but this time was different, for presently Kathy’s head moved ever so slightly on the pillow and, as Sarah leaned forward, a tiny smile touched the pale lips.
‘Mam,’ she whispered huskily, ’oh, Mam, where am I? What’s happened? I feel ever so weird, as if I was going to float away. Am I still on the site? Only my arm’s that tired of holding the cable . . . and my mouth’s ever so dry.’
Sarah looked pityingly down at the small figure between the crisp white sheets. Her head was heavily bandaged and one arm was strapped to a board with tubes leading out of the strapping. Sarah gently stroked the damp hair off her daughter’s brow and lifted a cup from the bedside locker, pouring some water into it. ‘Of course your mouth is dry; you’ve been unconscious for two whole days so you haven’t been able to eat or drink anything. Now let me give you a sip or two of water – will it hurt if I pull you up the bed a little?’
‘I don’t know,’ Kathy said doubtfully. ‘But it might be better not to try. I hurt all over, Mam, as if I’ve been run over by a bus. And me legs are just agony if I even move them the tiniest bit.’ She glanced sideways at her mother. ‘
Was
I? Run over by a bus I mean.’
Was
I? Run over by a bus I mean.’
Sarah tried to give a reassuring chuckle but it was a poor effort. ‘No, nothing like that; don’t you remember anything, queen?’
Kathy frowned doubtfully, then winced and closed her eyes. ‘I think I remember working the winch in a fearful gale,’ she said. ‘But – but I thought it was Jane who was hurt. She was lying on the ground in a pool of mud, her hair was all straggly, and – and . . .’ She heaved a sigh and fell silent. Sarah looked wildly around the ward. If only the nurse would come!
But one of the other patients, who had been listening interestedly, leaned out of bed and said comfortably: ‘I’ve gorra feedin’ cup, missus. I doesn’t’ need it no more, so you’re welcome to it for that poor gal.’ She held out a small beaker-like object with a spout. ‘It’s been cleaned so you needn’t fear I’ll pass me broken hip on to your kid,’ she added, grinning broadly as Sarah took the cup.
Kathy was able to take a couple of sips of water but her eyes were so anxious that Sarah decided it would be better to tell her what had happened rather than wait for her memory to return. Besides, the doctor had already warned her that it was quite possible the memory would not return and Kathy would never know exactly what had happened on that fearful and stormy night. ‘It were Jane who were hurt to start with; she’d gorra bump on the head from that there balloon of yours. It knocked her out for a moment, but o’ course you didn’t know how badly she’d been hurt. So you went in under the balloon to fish her out. You did that all right because Jane came round and was able to crawl out ahead of you. The trouble came, Jane telled me, when she stood upright and someone called out: “Thank God, they’re OK, now we can storm bed the blimp.” Apparently, the young woman on the winch started to lower the balloon again, the wind caught it and it caught you a terrific thump, knocking you to the ground. Before anyone knew what was happening, the balloon gave a great jerk and one of the concrete bollards, which Jane tells me anchored the thing to the deck, was pulled several feet off the ground and – and . . .’
‘Did it get me on the head?’ Kathy asked fearfully. ‘If so, I’m perishin’ lucky not to have been killed.’
‘No, no, it didn’t hit your head. It was the balloon what banged you on the head. The concrete block fell across your legs. Oh, Kathy, my love, I know it could have been worse, we could have lost you, Billy and me, but it ain’t too good, queen. The doctors reckon it’ll be a – a long while before you’re able to get around.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Kathy said quietly. ‘But – but I will walk again, won’t I, Mam? I’ll go back to the site in a few weeks and do my normal work, won’t I?’
Sarah sighed. Perhaps, in this case, truth was better than fiction. ‘I don’t know as they’ll let you fly balloons again,’ she said. ‘It’s a hard physical job, me love, and there’s plenty of girls who have not suffered the way you have who can do work like that. But the WAAF won’t let you down; they’ll find you a good job somewhere, I’m sure of it.’ She waited a moment and then asked, tentatively: ‘Is there anyone I should write to, queen? You’ve gorra feller, haven’t you? Alec? He’s air force, isn’t he? Wouldn’t it be a kindness to drop him a line, or is Jane letting him know?’
Kathy sighed again and closed her eyes. ‘We had a quarrel the night I was knocked down,’ she said wearily. ‘But I’ll let him know somehow, don’t worry, Mam.’ And very soon Sarah tiptoed away from the bed. Her daughter needed all the sleep she could get and she wanted to find the sister and tell her that Kathy had come round.
Two weeks after Kathy had been sent to hospital, Jane was having her breakfast with the rest of the crew when the post was delivered. Norah had dished out the porridge and she was now piling scrambled eggs – dried, of course – on to toasted slices of her own homemade bread when an airman from Balloon Centre came into the kitchen. ‘Letters, ladies,’ he bawled cheerfully, slinging a dozen envelopes on to the table. ‘I say, is there a cup o’ tea goin’ for a poor feller what’s already cycled ten miles this mornin’?’
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