going. And a car meant that you could – you know. Do things. Do things she’d never done before, and that
she wouldn’t dare tell her friends about, not likely. If her mum or dad were ever to find out . . . it didn’t bear thinking about. They’d throw her out, bag and baggage.
She introduced James to her parents in the little terraced house she had lived in all her life. They’d both been in absolute awe of him, with his officer’s uniform and wings on his
tunic and his stories about flying. James had been so sweet to them. She’d seen an expression on her dad’s face she’d never seen before. She couldn’t think how to describe
it, not until she came across the right words in a soppy magazine story the next day. ‘Hero worship’. That was it. James was a hero, and everyone worshipped him, including her.
She’d do anything and everything he asked of her. In fact, she already had. And that had been lovely too.
Now she was putting on her hat and coat ready to walk home for her lunch, when the shop door opened and the little bell above it jingled. She turned to see James, wrapped in his thick RAF
greatcoat, coming in from the pavement outside.
‘James! What are you doing here? What a nice surprise!’
‘Hello, Jane.’ He stepped forward and kissed her on the mouth. ‘I’m glad I caught you before you went home. I’d rather tell you this here, and not with your mother
around. Are we alone?’
She nodded. ‘Yes. Mrs Purbright had to pop out and she left me in charge, didn’t she? I was just going to lock up for an hour or so . . . Sorry, tell me what?’
He was expressionless. ‘I’ll get straight to it. We’re finished, I’m afraid. I don’t wish to see you any more and I have no plans to do so. I’ve met someone
else and we’re to be married, probably in the summer. That’s all there is to it.’
She stood frozen. Then a crooked smile appeared. ‘What? This is a joke, ain’t it, James? You’re having me on.’
‘Of course I’m not. Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll say it again: we’re finished. There’s someone else.’
He glanced at his watch.
‘Come on, Jane, I’m an officer and you’re – well, you’re a shopgirl. Surely you didn’t tell yourself you had any kind of future with me?’ He saw her
eyes widen. ‘Ah, you did. Well, more fool you. I never promised you anything, did I? We’ve had some good times together, but it’s over now.’
He looked at his watch again, more impatiently. ‘Look – I have a long way to drive and I think it might snow. I should get started. This is goodbye, Jane.’
Perhaps she’d closed her eyes in shock, just for a moment, but when she opened them again, he’d gone. She was reminded of a magic trick she’d seen at the theatre, last
Christmas. One minute the magician was standing right there in front of them all; the next, he’d vanished in a puff of smoke, just like that.
James had disappeared as quickly as the magician. She couldn’t believe it. After a few moments, she found she was able to move. She rushed to the door, opened it and looked up and down the
street. James was nowhere to be seen.
She closed the door again. A high-pitched tone began to hum inside her head.
Alone in the shop, she swayed slightly and then, very slowly, crumpled to the floor.
17
James Blackwell never acted on impulse. He always thought things through before coming to a decision. Afterwards, he rarely analysed what he’d done. He couldn’t see
the point, unless it was to congratulate himself, as he did now.
He’d timed it and reckoned the whole business of dumping the girl had taken no more than forty-five seconds, if that. A personal best; had to be.
He dismissed the scene from his mind as he looked out for signs to the A11, the road that would take him straight up to Cambridge, and Diana. She was expecting him. With luck he’d be there
before dark. One headlight wasn’t working; it never bloody had – but if the RAF’s Met boys
she wouldn’t dare tell her friends about, not likely. If her mum or dad were ever to find out . . . it didn’t bear thinking about. They’d throw her out, bag and baggage.
She introduced James to her parents in the little terraced house she had lived in all her life. They’d both been in absolute awe of him, with his officer’s uniform and wings on his
tunic and his stories about flying. James had been so sweet to them. She’d seen an expression on her dad’s face she’d never seen before. She couldn’t think how to describe
it, not until she came across the right words in a soppy magazine story the next day. ‘Hero worship’. That was it. James was a hero, and everyone worshipped him, including her.
She’d do anything and everything he asked of her. In fact, she already had. And that had been lovely too.
Now she was putting on her hat and coat ready to walk home for her lunch, when the shop door opened and the little bell above it jingled. She turned to see James, wrapped in his thick RAF
greatcoat, coming in from the pavement outside.
‘James! What are you doing here? What a nice surprise!’
‘Hello, Jane.’ He stepped forward and kissed her on the mouth. ‘I’m glad I caught you before you went home. I’d rather tell you this here, and not with your mother
around. Are we alone?’
She nodded. ‘Yes. Mrs Purbright had to pop out and she left me in charge, didn’t she? I was just going to lock up for an hour or so . . . Sorry, tell me what?’
He was expressionless. ‘I’ll get straight to it. We’re finished, I’m afraid. I don’t wish to see you any more and I have no plans to do so. I’ve met someone
else and we’re to be married, probably in the summer. That’s all there is to it.’
She stood frozen. Then a crooked smile appeared. ‘What? This is a joke, ain’t it, James? You’re having me on.’
‘Of course I’m not. Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll say it again: we’re finished. There’s someone else.’
He glanced at his watch.
‘Come on, Jane, I’m an officer and you’re – well, you’re a shopgirl. Surely you didn’t tell yourself you had any kind of future with me?’ He saw her
eyes widen. ‘Ah, you did. Well, more fool you. I never promised you anything, did I? We’ve had some good times together, but it’s over now.’
He looked at his watch again, more impatiently. ‘Look – I have a long way to drive and I think it might snow. I should get started. This is goodbye, Jane.’
Perhaps she’d closed her eyes in shock, just for a moment, but when she opened them again, he’d gone. She was reminded of a magic trick she’d seen at the theatre, last
Christmas. One minute the magician was standing right there in front of them all; the next, he’d vanished in a puff of smoke, just like that.
James had disappeared as quickly as the magician. She couldn’t believe it. After a few moments, she found she was able to move. She rushed to the door, opened it and looked up and down the
street. James was nowhere to be seen.
She closed the door again. A high-pitched tone began to hum inside her head.
Alone in the shop, she swayed slightly and then, very slowly, crumpled to the floor.
17
James Blackwell never acted on impulse. He always thought things through before coming to a decision. Afterwards, he rarely analysed what he’d done. He couldn’t see
the point, unless it was to congratulate himself, as he did now.
He’d timed it and reckoned the whole business of dumping the girl had taken no more than forty-five seconds, if that. A personal best; had to be.
He dismissed the scene from his mind as he looked out for signs to the A11, the road that would take him straight up to Cambridge, and Diana. She was expecting him. With luck he’d be there
before dark. One headlight wasn’t working; it never bloody had – but if the RAF’s Met boys
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