ROB AWOKE.
He entered a twilight between sleep and consciousness, where yesterday’s events were neither real nor unreal. As if it was a story he’d been told in the mess the night before.
As he fully awoke, the reality set in and the weight of grief settled on him again.
He lay still, facing the open window.
The birds tweeted merrily, reminding him of the few minutes spent on the Welsh hillside.
He closed his eyes and saw Millie in his kitchen eating breakfast with Georgina.
Planning their Saturday, looking forward to dinner with the Brunsons.
Millie faded from view. Now he saw Georgina, sitting alone.
Robbed of the love of her life.
“Are you awake?”
Mary’s hand appeared on his shoulder. He turned over but kept his eyes closed, curling up against her.
“It’s OK. It’s OK.” He felt her breath as she spoke.
“It’s not OK.”
“We’ll get through this and we’ll help Georgina get through it.”
IT WAS breezy on the small dock, as it was every year.
Professor Belkin inhaled a lungful of air and let it out slowly.
He looked across the Bristol Channel to the faint outline of his destination.
Ahead, the small Lundy ferry approached, the bow rising and falling in the gentle swell.
“Leonard!”
He turned around to the sound of a familiar voice.
“Callum! How the heavens are you?”
“Aye, still alive. And you, I see.”
Belkin smiled and held out his hand. “The Lord has spared me for at least one more Lundy fortnight.”
“Aye, well, here’s your ham and a few other provisions.”
The bearded Scotsman, exiled in Devon, handed him a brown bag. Belkin opened it and sniffed.
“Smells excellent.”
“And there’s a wee present from Mrs MacPherson and me when you get to the cottage.”
“Really, Callum, you shouldn’t have.” Belkin thought for a moment. “Is it Ruth’s sloe gin?”
“Indeed. Careful, though. It’s a strong one. If you don’t like it, take it home as paint stripper.”
Belkin laughed. “I’m sure it will be quite delicious. I also have a couple of bottles liberated from the college cellar, so I think I’ll survive.”
The ferry gingerly approached the dockside. Callum held out a set of keys.
“It’s not locked, but just in case you want them. I’m afraid we still have no telephone and the electricity is very patchy. Best light a candle in the evening before it goes off. There’s plenty of firewood.”
A young man in a thick sweater jumped from the ferry onto the dock and caught a rope as it was thrown from the boat. The diesel engine chugged and spewed black smoke that wafted across, causing Belkin to cough.
The Scot took a step closer and put a hand on Belkin’s arm. “How long’s it been now?”
Belkin smiled. “Twenty-four years.”
“Aye, well, we remember Winifred like it was yesterday. I hope you have a pleasant fortnight, Leonard.”
He helped Belkin down the steps toward the small passenger craft. “Oh, I’ve put the paper in there as well, in case you fancy a read.”
Belkin peered into the bag to see a copy of The Daily Telegraph wedged between the side of ham and a large loaf of bread.
“Now, that would spoil my splendid isolation. But I might use it to light the fire.”
Callum laughed. “So be it, Leonard, so be it.”
A couple of families with day bags traipsed past them.
The ferry tooted its horn.
“Thank you again, Callum. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”
Belkin turned and made his way along the short boardwalk until the young man in the sweater took him by his arm and helped him onto the ferry.
Minutes later, he sat at the front of the open deck, the wind in his face, headed across the twelve miles of water for two perfect weeks of solitude.
ROB HELD Mary’s hand as they walked the short distance to Georgina’s.
Inside, Georgina took Rob’s hands and gazed into his eyes.
“Was it the same for you, waking up this morning and hoping it was all a nightmare?”
He nodded.
“He adored you, Robert. I know you had your difficulties recently, but that doesn’t matter.”
She looked around the room, apparently to make sure their son Charlie was out of earshot. “He loved Charlie, of course, but he would have loved to see him join the Air Force. I think that’s why he liked you so much.”
Rob screwed up his eyes and willed the tears to stop.
“I’m sorry, Georgina.”
Georgina hugged him. “It’s OK to cry, whatever they tell you.” She kissed him tenderly on his forehead.
Rob sat on the sofa. He took some deep breaths and regained his composure.
A strong shaft of sunlight streamed through the front window; again, he found himself mesmerised by the swirling particles of dust.
He was once told that dust in a house is discarded skin cells.
So, in a way, Millie was with them in the room.
The image of the outstretched arm pushed its way back into his mind.
Why had he gone to look?
He wondered if the fire had consumed the bodies after he’d left.
Mary sat down next to him.
“You alright?”
He shook his head.
Across the room, Georgina laughed.
“How does she do it? She’s stronger than me.”
“Nonsense, she’s just better at putting on a show. Plus, it’s different for her, isn’t it? You were there. It must have been awful, Rob.”
He turned to her and whispered. “It’s worse than anything you imagine. And there’s something else. Something truly awful about it all.”
“What?” Mary asked, her face etched with anxiety.
He bowed his head and whispered. “I’ve got this awful feeling, like I’ve been handed a life sentence to carry out in secret.”
“What do you mean?”
“Everyone else is dead, but I know the truth.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Mr May?”
A wiry, ginger haired twenty-year-old stood over them.
“Charlie.” Rob stood up and offered his hand to Millie’s son. “I’m so sorry, Charlie. You must be devastated.”
“Thank you, Mr May. Yes, it was a terrible shock. If you don’t mind, I’d like to know what happened. My mother has warned me not to ask.” He glanced over nervously toward Georgina.
Rob smiled. “Let’s go somewhere quiet.”
In the small dining room, they sat close to each other at one corner of the polished oak table.
"We were at low-level. A routine trial flight, I suppose, but in our business, your father’s business, there really is no such thing as routine.
“We were about ten minutes into a run through central Wales, the hills higher than us both sides.” Charlie looked alarmed. “I’m making it sound more daredevil than it really is. Much of the RAF’s flying is at low-level now, even lower than the three hundred feet we go down to in the Vulcan.
“Anyway, something went wrong. A glancing blow from an outcrop, we think. It damaged the left side of the aircraft, left us with no ability to control it.” He paused, picking his way through the most delicate part. “It happened quickly. The aircraft dived. We had no option, we had to eject or stay with the aircraft.”
“And father?”
Rob looked down at his shoes.
“The Vulcan. The emergency egress for the rear crew was designed by men who believed it would be used at high level. If something went wrong at thirty thousand feet, they would have minutes to release the hatch and bale out. But at low-level… I’m sorry, Charlie. Your father and Steve Bright, they had no chance. No chance at all. At least it would have been instant.”