The Hidden Women. Kerry Barrett
you say when that happens? Do you go?’
‘It doesn’t happen now because I’m in charge.’ Miranda allowed herself a small, self-satisfied smile. ‘But when I was starting out, I used to just do it – go and get the drinks, or hand round the biscuits.’
I winced. ‘And when you weren’t just starting out?’
‘Once,’ said Miranda coolly, ‘I asked if I was expected to take the minutes with my vagina.’
‘No, you didn’t.’
‘I did,’ she said, laughing. ‘That was one chief exec who never asked me to do that again.’
I was amazed by her bolshiness and said so. ‘You definitely share that with Lil,’ I pointed out. ‘I expect she had to be bolshie if she was flying planes all over the place, just like you had to be a bit gobby to make it in your job.’
‘She’s definitely bolshie, our Lil. But I suppose we don’t even know for sure the Lilian Miles on this list of yours is her,’ Miranda said. ‘It actually could be a coincidence, like you said.’
We both stayed quiet for a second, then Miranda spoke again.
‘We should ask her,’ she said.
‘Ask her?’
Miranda nodded. ‘Ask her.’
Lilian
June 1944
It was late when I finally landed back at base. The sunny skies that had made flying such a joy were now chilly and as I slid out of the back of the Anson, I scanned the horizon. It was a clear night, which meant a good view for German bombers, and I wondered if there would be a raid later.
Once I’d signed the plane in and reported to the officer on duty, I picked up my bag and headed off towards the entrance of the airfield. I was tired and I wanted to get back to the digs that I shared with Annie and Flora. We needed to go over all the details of April’s case, and I wanted to check if anything else had come up today.
‘What’s in your bag?’
The voice made me jump. I squinted into the lengthening shadows round the side of the mess hut.
‘Who’s there?’
‘It’s me.’ The shadows changed into the shape of a man and out from the side of the building came Will Bates – one of the RAF mechanics who worked on the base. He was funny and charming and I knew Rose was quite sweet on him.
‘Hello, Will,’ I said, gripping my bag slightly tighter. There was nothing incriminating in it; I’d given everything to April, but his level stare was making me nervous.
‘You’re always carrying a load of stuff,’ he said. ‘I just wondered what you were lugging around the whole time.’
We all carried overnight bags whenever we went on a trip because sometimes we couldn’t get back to HQ. But the way he said it made me feel uncomfortable. I raised my chin.
‘Been watching me, have you?’
To my surprise, Will looked a bit sheepish. ‘I have as it happens,’ he said.
I narrowed my eyes and stared at him. ‘Why?’
He coughed in a sort of nervous way and I relaxed my grip on the straps of my bag, just a bit.
‘Because you’re pretty,’ he muttered. ‘And you look fun. I thought you might like to go dancing one evening, when we’ve both got the same day off.’
I closed my eyes briefly, feeling relief flood my senses.
Will smiled at me. He was a good-looking chap, with dark red hair and deep brown eyes. When he smiled, I got a glimpse of the little boy he’d once been – probably thanks to the sprinkling of freckles across his nose. I couldn’t help but smile back.
‘Dancing?’ I said.
‘Dancing.’
I leaned against the rough wall of the mess hut and took a breath.
‘Will,’ I began. Oh, how to even start explaining the mess my head was in, and the difficult feelings I had about men and women and the relationships between them.
‘I’d like that,’ I said. ‘But maybe we could go as part of a group?’
Will studied me closely. ‘A group,’ he said.
‘At first, at least.’
He grinned again. ‘You’re on,’ he said. ‘See you later.’
He pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one, the flare from the match shining on the curl of his lip and the twinkle in his eye.
‘Bye, Lil,’ he said, sauntering away across the airfield.
I watched him go. ‘Bye,’ I said.
But as I turned towards the barracks, he stopped.
‘Oh, Lil,’ he said, with that boyish grin again. ‘I know you’re up to something.’
Unease gripped me, but I pretended I hadn’t heard. I shifted my bag up my shoulder and carried on walking away from him. I didn’t look back.
* * *
‘He said what?’ Annie said, when I told her about the conversation.
‘That I was up to something,’ I said. I was lying on my bed in my nightgown, even though it was still early. Missions like tonight’s always exhausted me, and Will’s appearance hadn’t helped.
‘You are up to something,’ Flora pointed out. She was on my bed too, sitting by my feet. She had a sheaf of paper on her lap.
‘That’s why I’m so nervous,’ I said. ‘Between Rose sniffing around and Will Bates lurking in the shadows, I’m worried people are starting to suspect.’
‘I am positive Will Bates knows nothing,’ Annie said. ‘He’s just teasing you. Flirting.’
I scowled at her.
‘I’m positive,’ she repeated. ‘He may be pretty …’
She paused to give Flora and me time to appreciate Will’s handsome face in our imaginations.
‘… but he’s not the sharpest tool in the box.’
I smiled at Annie’s bluntness. She certainly told it how it was and she did not suffer fools gladly. Her sharp brain made her a real asset to our little group, while Flora’s organisational skills kept the whole thing running smoothly. I’d lost count of how many times I thanked my lucky stars that they’d both joined the ATA instead of using their skills in the War Office or behind a desk somewhere.
The first time we’d helped a woman, it was just by chance. Back in 1942 when we’d been doing our training in Luton there had been a girl in our pool called Polly. One evening we’d all been out – it was fun there, and there were a lot of army regiments stationed nearby, lads doing basic training just like us. Their presence always made for a good night. But that one evening, Polly didn’t come home. She eventually arrived, much later, with her dress torn. She hadn’t told us what had happened – she didn’t have to. Quietly, me and Annie gave her a bath and cleaned her up, and tried not to wince at the bruises on her thighs.
A few weeks later, Annie caught Polly being sick in the toilet and realised she was pregnant.
‘What am I going to do?’ Polly had hissed at us in the bathroom that day, her face pale and her forehead beaded with sweat. ‘I can’t have a bloody baby.’
She’d gagged, just with the effort of speaking.
‘I