[Reviews - 24]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 6002 times

- Text Size +




Prologue

Time. It's a bitch isn't it? Moves like a rushing river when you're in love. Like a still lake when love's gone. When you're young and you have things to do, places to see, people to be with, it blows right past you like a bloody hurricane. But when you get old and you've got nothing to do but wait, you have to sit in the still, quiet eye of the storm and just listen to the silence.

But it's in the silence that I hear you my love. Has it been as long for you? Does time mean anything where you are? And will you be cross with me for keeping you waiting so long?

So many bloody questions.

You taught me how to say that word. Bloody. Told me how daft it sounded coming from an American. Still does really. Just like it did back then.

That day you came storming into my life, into my heart and just refused to leave. And I can still hear your voice, still remember you face, as if it was only yesterday…


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------



Chapter One

Royal Air Force Langdon Airbase, June 1940

"What the bloody hell are you doing in here? Hello, ladies' bathroom. Can't you read?"

"Need a pair of knickers, love."

"Excuse me?"

"Knickers, you know?"

"Yeah, I've heard of knickers. Panties, right?"

"It's for a bet. Come on love, England's counting on you. If I don't appear with a pair of knickers before that American bloke, then I've got to wear the bloody things all night."

"And I should help you, because---?"

"Why should...Oh yes, American right? Thought your bloody hell didn't sound right. You with one of them?"

"What the bloody hell's wrong with my bloody hell?"

"One of them your boyfriend?"

"No they bloody aren't."

"See, you can't say it properly."

"That's it. You're not getting my knickers."

"Aww, come on love. Don't do this to me. Alright, you say bloody hell beautifully. Like a proper lady in fact. Or a princess, you could be princess...What's your name?"

"Buffy, Buffy Summers."

"Okay, Princess Buffy Summers. Please could I borrow your knickers for five minutes? Promise I'll bring them back. Then, I'll...buy you a drink. How's that?"

"Might not want one. And you look as if you've had one too many already."

"Buy you one anyway."

"You've got one heck of a chat-up-line, do you know that?"

"Yes I've been told. What colour are they?"

"What colour are what?"

"Your knickers. I get extra points if they're like, purple or something."

"They're white."

"Bugger. They'll have to do."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, okay, just turn around."

"Good show Buffy. Helping the war effort, keeping up morale, and all that."

"Do you ever stop talking? No, don't answer that, here, you can turn back. Now what's wrong?"

"Wow. Haven't seen a pair like these before. They from the states?"

"Yeah, they're from the states, and will you quit waving them around, someone's gonna see. Look, I'm freezing my butt off here. Literally. Go do what you gotta do."

"Yes ma'am. England appreciates your help in the fight for freedom."

"Just bring 'em back, that's all."

"I will."

"Wait, what's your name?"

"William. Flight lieutenant William Giles, otherwise known as Spike, and the man who's going to teach you to say bloody hell properly one day."

"Well, Flight Lieutenant William Giles, otherwise known as Spike, blah, blah, blah. I want those back in five minutes, otherwise you're dead."

----------------------------------------

I'm dead already love. Been dead a long time. Such a long, long time without you.

-----------------------------------------

"Mother? Mother, are you alright?"

The frail old lady smoothed a lock of her hair back into place and looked at the man. "William?"

"Yes, mother." He crouched before her, taking her hand and looking intently at her. "I knew this would be too much for you. Come on, let's get you home."

She waved him away, staring back into the distance. "Don't fuss, William. I'm okay."

He couldn't see what she was staring at, but she was looking, fixated on one spot, and there were tears in her eyes.

"Is that where he died?"

She nodded slowly, the tears spilling over her cheeks. She made no effort to wipe them away. Just let them fall.

"Over there. Couldn't save them. The smoke and the fire. It was too much, too much."

"You should have told me, mother. Why didn't you say anything?"

She turned then, and looked fondly at him, her hand coming up to stroke his cheek. "You're so much like him."

"But you should have told me. Why did you let me think that Liam was my dad? All these years, and I never knew."

"Selfish, I suppose." She shook her head, as if she wasn't sure whether her decision had been right or not. "Wanted to keep the memory all to myself. Such a beautiful memory."

"Oh mum. I can't believe you've carried this all these years. What was he like?"

She gazed at him for a long time, a sad smile on her face. "He was like you. So like you. He was beautiful and brave and cocky, and I loved him so much..." Her voice broke as she spoke, and she gave a small sob. "I should have told you. You had a right to know."

"Here." He took a tissue from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. "It's alright mother. Liam was a good father. I never missed out on anything."

She reached for his hand and they both just stared across the deserted airfield. A light breeze whipped the grass that grew between the cracks in the concrete runway. A door banged back and forth on one of the now derelict hangars.

And in her mind she was back in nineteen forty. The Battle of Britain. What was it Winston Churchill had said? So much owed by so many to so few.

He was one of them. Flight Lieutenant William Giles. One of the few. And they all owed them so much. They'd taken to the skies in their impossibly fragile planes, pictures of their best girls painted on the sides and just done what they had to do. Without question, without hesitation. The siren would go and they'd grab their kit and scramble. That's what it was called. Getting dressed as they ran across this same runway. Cracking jokes and making arrangements for liaisons later on. When they came back.

Meet you for a drink. Your bloody turn to buy. Hold you to that.

But not all of them came back. Everyday familiar faces would be missing and another family was in mourning for their brave son who'd given his all for his country.

And the new ones would arrive. Fresh from training school, eager and so young. All so young.

But then, so had she been, then.

"Tell me about him mother. If it's not too painful. I'd like to know." Willam sat himself beside her on the concrete block and stretched out his legs, slipping his arm around her. "Tell me about my father."


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------





You must login (register) to review.