Chapter 14

An Awakening

S tella leaned her bicycle against the wall of the Hardwicke Arms. She had been taken aback to receive a call from Vera so early that morning, especially since her friend hadn’t seemed her usual, effervescent self. Still, it would be something and nothing. With a sigh, Stella reflected on the silence from Mac; she had half expected to find him waiting at the station for her, but the platform had been empty save for the guard. Lord, she’d made a mess of everything.

Inside, the quaint village pub was dimly lit, with a low, beamed ceiling that gave it a cosy, albeit slightly claustrophobic atmosphere. She spotted Vera sitting at a table by the window, near the open fireplace. As she headed towards her friend, two American airmen leaning against the bar paused their conversation with the locals to exchange glances at her, their interest apparent.

‘Hello, Vera. It seems busy in here today.’

‘I got you a drink, love. So, how was Devon?’

‘It was all right.’ Stella sipped her port and lemonade, feeling the weight of her friend’s scrutinising eyes.

‘Really? I’d never have guessed.’ Vera raised her eyebrows and then continued to light her cigarette.

Stella sighed and looked out of the window. ‘It was awful. Let’s just say Alex isn’t who he seems. Still, I’m glad to be back.’ She forced a smile. ‘So, what can we have for lunch?’

‘Don’t get too excited. There’s a choice of pickled egg sandwiches or tongue. As the landlord said when I pulled a face, ‘There’s a blooming war on, you know.’ Stuffy old beggar. I told him, ‘You could have fooled me.’’

Stella laughed, but her friend wasn’t laughing at all; in fact, her eyes were serious, and she fiddled nervously with a ring on her finger.

‘What’s wrong? Has something happened?’ Perhaps she’d broken up with Sam.

Vera took a long drag on her cigarette, then exhaled, watching as a group of GIs strode in through the door. ‘Well, the thing is, while you were away, Mac had an accident.’

Stella froze. ‘Oh, God. Is he all right?’ A wave of fear surged through her, and the breath caught in her throat.

‘Yes, he’ll be okay. Don’t worry.’ Vera reached across the table and squeezed Stella’s hand. She took a deep breath before continuing. ‘Sam said it was a rough mission.’

Stella’s eyes widened, her heart pounding in her chest.

‘Mac crash-landed,’ Vera added, her voice softening. ‘A fire broke out. He went back inside for his tail gunner.’

Stella sat silently, numb with shock. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out, and tears clouded her eyes. ‘When did it happen?’

‘Saturday afternoon. He’s not that bad, I promise you. It’s not serious, just a few burns.’

The hairs at the nape of her neck stood on end, and an icy prickle spread down her back. On Saturday night, as she’d thought of Mac, that awful, oppressive feeling had shrouded her. She swallowed. ‘Burns are always serious. Don’t you remember that night? Where is he now?’

Stella recalled those young men after the crash—the blackened arm hanging limp from the stretcher and the screams and cries of the remaining crew trapped in the inferno. Cries that the fire deftly smothered. She shivered, and her chin trembled as Mac’s image slipped into those flames.

‘He’s at the base hospital.’

‘I have to see him.’ A single teardrop bounced over her lashes, and she swiped it away with her fingers. ‘What about the other man?’

‘He died. He got hit during the mission.’

‘Poor Mac.’ Stella shook her head. Thank God he was alive. She plucked the cigarette from the pack in Vera’s outstretched hand, lit it with trembling hands, and took a drag.

‘He’s a hero. Sam reckons he’ll get a special medal for this.’ Vera flashed a reassuring smile. ‘Come on, love, he’ll be all right.’

Stella didn’t care for bravery or for medals. She wanted Mac to be well and in one piece, but he had burns, and she knew what that entailed. ‘Oh God. You’ve seen them, afterward. Those young men.’ Tears ran down to her mouth, and she licked her lips and sniffed, the bitter salt reminiscent of seawater. No, she couldn’t bear to lose him, so it didn’t matter how injured he was. She didn’t care as long as he recovered.

‘Come on, Stell. Sam’s seen him, and he said it’s mainly his hands.’ Vera put her arm around her. ‘He’s in the best place, love. You’ll see, they’ll fix him up, and he’ll be back in no time.’

Stella wiped her tears away. As she glanced up, the GIs at the bar stared at her, concerned looks on their faces as they muttered between them.

‘Don’t mind them, they’re friends of Sam’s from the base.’ Vera finished her drink.

Stella felt an icy chill wrap around her. They knew it was serious, she could tell.

Later, when she returned home, she almost trampled Mrs. Brown, who was in the hall by the front door unbuttoning her coat.

‘I’m glad I caught you. I need to make an urgent telephone call,’ Stella gasped, trying to get her breath back having cycled like fury all the way home from the pub.

‘Well, yes, dear. Is this anything to do with that young man of yours? I don’t know, the youth of today.’ She shook her head. ‘Are you okay? You look very flushed.’ She put her basket down on the hall table, but Stella breezed straight past without a word and picked up the telephone. It didn’t take long to get through to the base, however, the doctor had been reluctant to tell her anything.

Stella found Mrs. Brown busy making a pot of tea. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Mac is in hospital, and the doctor says he can’t have visitors as they’re moving him to Addenbrooke’s. I need to find out when I can see him.’ Her eyes misted over, and her lower lip quivered as she fought hard not to cry.

‘Oh, now, I’m sure he’ll be all right.’ Mrs. Brown smiled. ‘Sit down and we’ll have a nice cup of tea, and you can tell me all about it, dear.’

Stella gave her the news of Mac and told her all about Alex and how stupid she felt, stopping here and there to blow her nose. ‘I told Mac to leave, and he did.’ Her face crumpled as her chest heaved and tears flowed. ‘I have to see him.’ She sniffed and dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.

‘Well, you try telephoning Addenbrooke’s tomorrow. Now, drink your tea. I’ve put half a sugar lump in yours, dear, seeing as you’ve had a shock. Happen you need it.’

With a sad smile, Mrs. Brown left the room, returning a minute later with the photograph of the soldier from the living room. She passed it to Stella. ‘I’ve seen you looking at him, but I suppose you’ve been too polite to ask. His name was Captain James Allyson. He joined the Grenadier Guards in 1913.’ Her face lit up, radiant. ‘We were engaged.’ She sat down and closed her eyes for a moment. ‘And then the war came. Oh, I can see him now as I waved him off at the station. The platform heaved with soldiers, with kitbags and rifles and all us women clutching our hankies. He was so excited to be going, well, they all were in the beginning. He was so handsome and young. Goodness, we both were.’ She smiled and chuckled, yet Stella guessed her smile masked something more.

She returned the photograph.

‘He had his own company of men, and he was only twenty-one. I still have all the letters he sent. Everyone said it would be over by Christmas that first year, but we didn’t realise how bad it would be. It dragged on for four years and in that time, boys became men, hardened, or destroyed by what they’d gone through. James changed. He was so jumpy and quiet.’

She looked away as her blue eyes glazed over, pressing his face close to her chest as if she could make him a part of her for eternity. ‘Oh, how I looked forward to his leave. One time he was due home for a whole week. But then his sister called at our house, something she’d never done before. I still remember how my tummy lurched when I saw her standing there, white as a sheet. I knew before I even opened the door.’ Her voice quavered, and she glanced at Stella, her brow furrowed, her eyes red. ‘He was killed in France, at the Battle of Arras on the twenty-eighth of March 1918. We would have been married in July that year. Of course, we wanted to marry sooner, only my parents decided we should wait until the war ended. Then, as it dragged on, Father gave in, and we set the date. But it was too late.’ She sniffed as she gazed down at the photograph, tracing his outline with her fingertip in a smooth, gentle caress.

Stella blinked fresh tears away. ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs. B. That’s so sad.’ It was times like this when words were so inadequate, so futile and yet so necessary.

‘I vowed never to marry, and then years later I met my husband. He was a kind soul, and I came to love him in time, but not a day goes by when I don’t think of James and what might have been. I had a good marriage, though it was too late for any children by then.’

She’d have made a lovely mum, Stella reflected as she wiped a tear away.

‘So, you visit your young man. Don’t be afraid and grab the chances life throws you with open arms. Ride through the challenges and you’ll come out the other side stronger and happier. That way you’ll never miss an opportunity. Pay no attention to the things people say. He’s decent, and I’d know if he wasn’t. So, when you see him, tell him how you feel. Don’t waste a minute of time, it’s too precious.’ Mrs. Brown returned the picture to its rightful place on the mantelpiece and smiled, brushing her finger softly over his mouth. ‘You must follow your heart, and sometimes you must take a leap of faith.’

***

In Cambridge, a honeyed sun shone through acres of blue as people hurried along pavements and vehicles trundled through the town. As the bus crossed the River Cam, Stella glanced down, mesmerized by the light that danced on the ripples of water. She strolled through the grand gated entrance of the hospital and along the tree-lined drive, stepping into the entrance of the main foyer, which was flanked on either side with sandbags.

Inside, Addenbrooke’s bustled with people and medical staff, and the clinical smell hit her at once, intense and unsettling. Memories of her father flooded back, and a lump swelled in her throat. She swallowed and took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm and carry on. When she reached the ward, it was impossible to pick Mac out from a sea of men and bandages, but a helpful nurse pointed to his bed.

Stella wondered why it was screened off and she hesitated, wild thoughts rushing through her mind as she wondered how badly injured he might be. She swallowed; her palms were moist with sweat, and her heart pounded. Gingerly, she pulled the screen aside. Her heart sank as she gazed at him lying there with his eyes screwed shut and beads of sweat shimmering on his brow. He thrashed around as if he was dreaming, turning his head from side to side, and then he muttered something she couldn’t quite hear. Bandages covered his hands and lower arms, and he had dressings on the right side of his face and across his chest. He looked so vulnerable, smaller, somehow. Quietly, she sat down in the chair next to him.

‘No! Birdie, get out of there,’ he called out.

‘Mac, it’s all right. You’re dreaming.’ She touched his arm, gently. ‘It’s me, Stella.’

He stopped muttering and reached across with his other hand, placing it on hers. The bandage was already soiled, and she turned away, trying not to dwell on the state of his hands beneath. His face was rosy, and rivulets of sweat rolled down his temples. A bowl of clean water sat on the bedside cabinet with a cloth, which she soaked and then dabbed his face and brow. His eyes flickered open, and he gazed at her and mumbled something before closing them. Oh, why did she tell him to leave? She’d been such a fool. It was Mac who had needed her, and now more than ever. She longed to hold him, but how could she? He winced, and she saw pain in his contorted face, and her whole being ached. She stroked his shoulder and placed her hand gently on his chest. Somehow, the rise and fall and warmth of it comforted her. When the nurse bustled in and made a point of glancing at her watch, Stella knew it was time to leave.

‘He’s very restless.’

‘Yes, he’s in a lot of pain at the moment, and we’ve had to give him morphine. He’s rather groggy right now so I doubt he’s making much sense.’ She wrote something on the chart and replaced it at the foot of the bed.

‘How bad is he?’

‘Well, he has burns on his hands which will need surgery. The burns on his chest are more superficial, but he’ll need surgery for the face. It’s early days. Shall I tell him you came by?’

‘Yes, please. Just say that Stella was here. Thank you.’ She leaned forward and whispered in his ear. ‘I’m going now, but I’ll be back soon, I promise.’ She looked at him one last time and kissed him on the forehead, and he wrapped his arms around her, pinning her to his chest.

‘Stella,’ he whispered, and then fell silent, and his arms relaxed, releasing her.

On her way out, she passed a man in a grey chalk suit, sitting on the side of a patient’s bed. He adjusted his black horn-rimmed spectacles, and Stella clearly heard him say, ‘You boys are all the same. Always taking your goggles and gloves off when you’re flying. Well, not to worry. I’ll fix you up.’

He must have been a doctor, and his accent was unusual. Was it Australian? Perhaps, she wasn’t sure, but he sounded jolly. His tone was soft, gentle, and reassuring, and Stella saw how the patient grinned, even though his eyes were bandaged, and he was obviously in a bad way. Suddenly, her chest grew tight, and she could barely breathe. She hurried along the corridor, half-running as her heart raced. Outside, she embraced the rush of fresh air cool on her face and the warmth of the sun, sucking in deep breaths and gradually her heart slowed, and her chest eased. He’d whispered her name despite being in excruciating pain. That had to mean something. Then, when he’d held her, his firm hold had reassured her, but now he needed the reassurance.