Chapter 20

A Different Country Club

A s Mac sat reading his letter from home, a twinge tugged at his heart. Montana might as well have been a million miles away. His folks had been relieved to hear he was safe and in a hospital. His hands were healing well, and the grafts had taken without a trace of infection. Now he had another mission to complete. Therapy. The therapist had given him a small rubber ball to practise with to improve his grip and dexterity. All he had to do was squeeze and crush it tight in each hand as he curled his fingers around it, except it turned out to be a lot tougher than he’d envisaged.

The thick bandages on his hands were gone, replaced by thin dressings. At least now he could use them again. Eating and dressing himself were a relief, though his hands were stiff and clumsy. Tying his shoes earlier had taken almost ten minutes. His legs had healed with only mild scars, and the graft on his face had taken well, though the doctor reminded him the disfigurement was permanent. They could do more, but he’d never be the same.

The doors to the ward swung open and in waltzed Stella. Mac heaved himself upright on his bed as she strode over towards him, tucking a loose curl behind her ear, her head held high. So, the Maestro was telling the truth. His heart jumped and hammered against his ribs. What was he going to say to her after the last time? He’d been harsh, and man did she look cute today. She wasn’t wearing her uniform, and that thin, pale blue summer dress skimmed her curves just right, accentuating the sway of her hips as she moved. There was something different about her too, something in her eyes. A fire flickered there that hadn’t flared before. When Archie had told him she’d be coming back, Mac had seen red, but now, he shrank a little inside as his previous bitter words hurtled around in his head. He swallowed.

‘Hello, Mac. How are you?’

‘Not bad, thanks. I didn’t know you were coming.’ He couldn’t suppress the grin that was tugging at the corners of his mouth. ‘Take a seat.’ He gestured to the chair next to him.

‘Thank you.’ Stella sat down, crossing her slim smooth legs.

Mac swung around and sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Stella, I want to apologise for what I said last time.’

‘There’s no need, really.’ She smiled and glanced around the ward.

Mac dragged a hand through his wavy hair. ‘There’s every need.’ Hell, he longed to pull her into his arms, but the fear gnawed at him. Seeing her again had really thrown him off course. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, but how could he let her in when he could barely stand to face himself? Why did the doc have to ask her to help out here? It didn’t make much sense, and now it was going to crush him having her so close. That sweet lavender scent she wore drifted in the air, so he inhaled deeply, savouring the rush.

‘You look much better. It’s good to see you up and about.’

He guessed she was a little uncomfortable too, but before he could reply, one of the men called out.

‘Hello, nurse.’ He winked.

‘Don’t mind those guys. I guess they’re still hung over from last night.’ Mac shook his head.

‘Why does he think I’m a nurse?’

‘Well, they figured you did a great job last time.’

Stella blushed, and her mouth curved up into a radiant smile. ‘Well, I did come here to help, after all.’

‘Nurse, can you help me with this, please?’ A patient held up a piece of paper and waved it around.

‘Oh, yes, all right.’ Stella glanced at Mac and stood up. ‘Duty calls.’

He looked on as she perched on the end of the guy’s bed, smiling, and chatting away as he passed her a pen and paper. Mac didn’t quite know what to make of her. Why did she come if not to see him? Maybe it was to show him what he was missing. Well, mission accomplished. He got up and stormed off outside, bursting through the doors as his heart thudded and a rage stirred inside him. He embraced the rush of fresh air and found a bench to slouch on, turning his gaze to the sky.

The blue siren stretched out like one vast ocean, streaked, and feathered with wispy clouds, so tranquil, until the veil slipped, revealing acres of black which dragged swarms of wolves and cannon fire overhead as aircraft rained down. The sky was soiled with death and maiming. His breathing quickened, beads of sweat formed on his brow, and he snapped his eyes shut as he fought to banish the bad memories.

When he returned to the ward, he heard sobs coming from the sluice room; the door was ajar. He hovered there for a moment when a voice spoke.

‘It’s not right. He can’t touch me like that. If my father hears about this, he’ll go mad.’

Mac recognised the voice. It was the new VAD nurse. She was just some kid, only seventeen, she’d said.

‘The trouble is, there are no boundaries here. Mr McIndoe has done away with all that. This ward isn’t like any other, and it’s that way for a reason. Dry your eyes and I’ll do my best to keep you out of his way for today. And whatever happens, you mustn’t say a word to Mr McIndoe. It won’t do any good. These boys are war heroes, and we all have to do our bit for the war.’ Bea’s voice.

He sauntered over to his bed to find Stella leaning against the piano with a few of the guys for company. He sat down and flicked through his copy of Stars and Stripes , but he couldn’t concentrate, and he looked up to see Bea shepherding the VAD out of the sluice. It was obvious what that was about. There was more than one guy here with wandering hands. He gazed over at Stella.

‘What do you want me to play next, Stella? Name a tune, anything you like,’ Dickie said.

‘I don’t know. Let’s think. How about Vera Lynn’s ‘White Cliffs’?’

‘Bonzer.’ Dickie struck a chord. ‘Everyone ready? Here we go, and you all have to sing.’

Mac had never heard Stella sing before. He glanced over as they all huddled around the piano. Dickie shuffled across on the stool, and Stella sat next to him, real close. Mac clenched his teeth, and a hot poker stabbed him in the chest. Dickie sure had an eye for the ladies. Mac flicked a steely glance at him. As they sang, Stella’s voice rose above the others, soft and pure, and Mac lay back on his bed as melodic words flowed from her lips like rippled satin, his skin tingling with every note. He closed his eyes as the longing to hold her grew, and he rubbed his temples as if he could massage it away, all the while willing her to turn round, except she didn’t. She was intent on helping out, all right, and ignoring him in the process. It was probably just as well. If he were allowed to fly again, it wouldn’t make any sense to be involved with a girl, but his heart ached as he watched her. She wasn’t just some girl. He was in love with her, and inside he was breaking. He wanted her so badly, only she’d been hurt enough.

At that moment, the ward doors creaked open, and Archie appeared and strode into Sister’s office. After a few minutes, he reappeared and headed over to Mac.

‘Hey, doc.’

‘How are you today?’ Archie pulled up a chair. ‘The hands are looking superb, Sister says. Healing well. I’ll take a look tomorrow when the dressings are next removed. How’s the pain?’

‘It’s getting better.’

Archie glanced at the group by the piano. ‘I see your visitor is helping out. If only she could leave the WAAF and come here.’ Archie paused, watching them wistfully, and then slapped Mac on the back. ‘She’s doing a grand job.’

‘Yeah, real swell.’ Mac sighed heavily.

‘Oh well, I did ask her to help us out. I didn’t think you’d mind too much.’ Archie flicked a gaze at the others as music flowed from the radio and his eyes bubbled with mischief.

Man, he could really shoot a line. ‘Doc, you could at least try to be subtle.’

‘I don’t know what you mean. Besides, subtle isn’t my style, not when you want results.’ Archie raised his eyebrows and winked.

‘I told you how it is. Nothing’s changed.’ Mac glanced over his shoulder. She was dancing now with Dickie, and he huffed out a breath and lowered his gaze to the floor.

‘Hasn’t it? That’s a shame. I think she’s good for you.’ Archie sat down in the chair.

There was a definite jovial tone to his voice, and Mac swore he was enjoying this.

‘Right, let’s see what you can do with this.’ He passed him the small, exercise ball, which Mac held in each hand in turn. His grip was almost back to normal on the right, and somewhat reduced on the left, but there was evidence of improvement over the last week, Mac was sure of it. He winced as he squeezed the ball, and he opened and closed his fingers and then demonstrated the pincer grip. The more he worked, the more his hands ached and throbbed, but he gritted his teeth and continued.

‘Okay, now squeeze my hands.’ Archie held them out for Mac to grip. ‘Steady on,’ he chuckled, his face turning puce. ‘You’ve got some strength there. Well, I’m impressed. I wasn’t sure you would do this well. Jolly good work. Keep practising with the ball and stretching out the fingers. Excellent improvement. The more therapy you do, the better the results.’

‘Thanks, Maestro, will do. I’ll squeeze the heck out of this thing if it gets me back in the air.’ He glanced at Stella. Still dancing and laughing. The way Dickie held her so close sent a torrent of rage coursing through his veins. His hand on her back had better not slip any lower.

Archie’s face creased into a faint smile. ‘Have you told Stella your plans?’

‘Not in so many words. Trust me, doc, she’s better off without me. If anything happens, well, I couldn’t forgive myself.’ Mac looked over his shoulder and finally caught her eye. She flashed that warm, sweet smile of hers and the blood fizzed through his veins.

Archie pursed his lips. ‘Well, there’s not much keeping you here for now, but I don’t want to send you back to your base just yet. I’ll need to see you in another week, and you might need one more operation. Will you agree to a short stay at Dutton Homestall? The place belongs to a good friend of mine who allows us to use it as a convalescent home. It might be a refreshing change and a rest for you. Besides, it’ll do you good to escape for a while.’

‘Sure, if you think so doc.’ Mac nodded. So, Archie thought he might have a chance to get back in the air? At least he could get away from here. He glanced at Stella.

‘I wouldn’t worry about Dickie. He’s not her type.’ Archie was about to walk away, and he hesitated. ‘Just one more thing. A friend is throwing a party for us in town next month at the end of July. Everyone who’s well enough can go.’

‘Sure, sounds great.’

Archie’s eyes twinkled as he grinned. ‘And feel free to bring a certain pretty blonde along.’ He turned and walked away with a shrug of his shoulders.

For all his charm, his dancing eyes and his boyish grin, Archie held a commanding presence, and there was no doubt of who was in charge here. And British humour was one thing, but his New Zealand style was something else. Mac could see what he was trying to do, except he was wasting his time. The trouble was, she sure was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. How was he going to get her out of his head?

***

Dutton Homestall resided between East Grinstead and the Ashdown Forest in twenty-eight acres of grounds. Blackie had offered to drive Mac as there were a couple of airmen staying there who he wished to see. As they turned into the drive, Mac whistled in surprise. Mature trees flanked the road and just around the next corner, the drive gave way to gravel bordered by neatly manicured lawns, and the house sprung into view.

‘It’s a grand sight, a Tudor mansion,’ Blackie said. ‘Belonged to Lord Tommy Dewar, the whisky distiller from Scotland, and when he died his nephew inherited the place. They mainly stay in London, but this was their weekend retreat until war broke out. All right for some, eh?’ Blackie raised his eyebrows.

‘What a place! Man, this sure beats the ward. I’m starting to feel like I’m on vacation.’

‘Wait until you see inside. Actually, you’ll meet a few faces you know. Now, the rules are simple. Treat the place with respect. No returning late at night wasted , as you Americans say, and no foul language inside the house. All bad behaviour is reported back, and the Maestro will come down on you like a tonne of bricks. Other than that, you’re free to do as you please.’ Blackie clambered out of the car.

Mac turned his face up to endless blue, soaking up the sun’s rays which pricked his scars. The nurse had finally removed his facial dressings yesterday. He’d dreaded it, and had felt naked at first, yet strangely free. It was the first step to the rest of his life, and he had to embrace it.

The scent of cut grass hung sweet in the air, drifting in the warm breeze. Mac grabbed his bag from the back of the car and almost dropped it as a sharp pain radiated through his hand, but he adjusted his grip and followed Blackie inside.

‘G’day, Mac. I see they’ve finally kicked you out.’ Dickie slapped him on the back.

‘It looks that way.’

‘I’ll leave you boys to it. Enjoy yourself.’

‘Yeah, sure will, and thanks again for the ride.’ Mac gazed around. The hall was dark with oak panelling, though refreshingly cool with a stone-flagged floor. Dickie gave him the grand tour, including the dorm where a number of beds lay in regimented rows, the bathrooms, and the dining room where they all gathered for meals. As they passed another room, Mac spotted a group of guys standing by a bar while another played the piano. The stale odour of cigarette smoke was thick and mingled with beer.

‘Just the other month the Boss arranged for Clark Gable to drop by. He stayed here as well, imagine that? Apparently, he gave a lecture about his own plastic surgery on his ears, without which he’d never have had a Hollywood career. The boys said it was hilarious, a riot.’

Dickie looked vibrant, and his face glowed. The change had obviously been beneficial for him. ‘Just one other thing you should know.’ He took out a cigarette and gestured with the pack. ‘We’re not the only ones staying here. The place is brimming with bats. It’s all right during the day when the furry critters are sleeping, but at night, watch out. I don’t know where they come from, but they whizz along these corridors with more flying prowess than a fighter pilot. They frighten the living daylights out of some of the lads.’ He grinned. ‘Honestly, I swear they’d rather face Jerry.’

Later, alone in the bathroom, Mac stepped closer to the mirror on the wall and studied his face. The skin on his right cheek looked smoother. The doc had done a great job, though the joins were ugly. Archie said the redness would fade in time, but Mac’s gaze sailed over the patchwork of scars and varying skin tones, and he wasn’t convinced. A flap of skin from the underside of his arm now thrived, stretched taut across his cheek. Maybe some Montana sun would fix him up—if he ever made it back.

He swallowed. A mask of skin and scars reflected the familiar and the foreign and his chest tightened as he stared, torn between the man he once knew and the stranger in the mirror. As he focused on the abnormal side, he barely recognised the person staring back and he didn’t like him much either. That guy had pushed Stella away. He gazed into the dark, narrow eyes of the monster who consumed him, while dreading the future and a lifetime of horrific stares and pointing fingers. Some of the guys had far worse injuries than him, and he knew he’d been lucky, but it wasn’t enough.

Birdie’s death would be on his conscience forever, ingrained into his soul, worn in his scars. Fear rooted and grew faster than anything he knew and right now it was paralysing. A lump swelled in his throat. The number of times the scene had unfolded in his mind. Maybe if he’d altered course at the right moment that cannon fire would have missed. He rubbed his jaw and longed to drown out the thoughts, the images. He had to fly again, to absolve himself. It was the only way. He clenched his fist as best he could and gritted his teeth as a searing, burning pain jabbed his hand. Damn it all .

That wasn’t him in the glass, and this wasn’t happening. He turned away, stomped back to his bed, and sank down, holding his head in his hands. His chest heaved and tears slid silently down his face. A familiar odour rushed into his nostrils and stirred the threat of nausea in his stomach. Would it ever leave? Day after day, night after night, the stench of charred, roasted pork had leached out into the air they all breathed, ingraining its festering, rank mark. A weight constricted his chest, and he gasped, sucking in ragged breaths.

Stella. He might not be able to make it with her, but equally he knew he couldn’t make it without her.