Return Flight

"And a hell of a sense of loss," June finished sadly.

"These things happen, either way - in peacetime or in war - either way."

"No. If there hadn't been a war, Michael wouldn't be a prisoner and you wouldn't be here."

"So it's not our fault."

"That doesn't make it any easier for Michael to bear," she said wearily.

"Ok then. Tomorrow you go back to London and that's the last we see of each other. It's been swell knowing you, kid."

He kissed her lightly, almost jokingly, on the cheek, but June pulled him to her and burst into tears.

Joe held her tightly. "I guess that's not the way it's going to be, huh?"

June shook her head. "I can't let you go."

Their lips met in a long and passionate kiss.

It was a difficult letter to write and the bedroom was littered with several attempts screwed up into little tight balls. No matter how hard she tried, June couldn't find a kind way to tell the imprisoned Michael that it was all over; that when he came home she wouldn't be there to greet him.

She read through the latest attempt, heaved a sigh and carefully folded it. There was no better way of breaking the news; it would have to do.

June rode her bicycle down to the village shop, which also served as a Post Office. It was a beautiful, sunny day and the birds were singing. The war seemed a million miles away in another world, perhaps another age. But the letter, burning a hole in her pocket, testified to the reality of the conflict engulfing the world.

"Hello, my dear." Mrs Reid, behind the Post Office counter, was warm and friendly. "Sending a letter to poor Michael?" She was also inquisitive and a notorious gossip.

"Er...yes."

"How is the poor dear?"

"Oh, he...he seems to be bearing up all right."

"How are they treating him?" Mrs Reid went on, not wanting the conversation to end at that.

"Very well, as far as I can gather."

"You never know with that lot, do you?"

"Er...no." June presumed 'that lot' meant the Germans.

"Next time you write don't forget to send my regards."

"No. I won't."

Next time.

There wouldn't be a next time. The letter dismissing Michael from her life had been posted. It was out of her hands. No matter how deep the hurt might be, she couldn't stop it now.

The affair with Joe proceeded by fits and starts. They kept in touch by writing a few letters, making an occasional phone call and arranging a few brief meetings. The longest - three days - was after a raid on Germany when Joe's plane was badly damaged and had to be grounded until repairs could be effected. He turned up in London with a grin as broad as the Cheshire Cat and waving a piece of paper.

"A three day pass. All thanks to Jerry."

June looked concerned. "Was anybody hurt?"

"Not one. A few scratches here and there, but nothing to speak of, which is pretty damned miraculous when you look at Susie."

June smiled. It was a constant source of amusement to her that all the planes were given a name - female - and were regarded with great affection by the crew. Joe had explained that it was all part of the bonding experience that was a necessary part of life.

"We have to look out for each other, see. The pilot doesn't have full view all round, so he relies on us to give him the word about enemy fighters or flak. Giving the plane a name makes her one of us. Sounds crazy, I suppose."

"Not a bit. It sounds sweet." She drew him to her. "And I adore you."

It was on that occasion Joe proposed. She had no hesitation in accepting, even though she realised that it meant leaving her family and country.

"But I have to confess something."

"What's that?"

"I'm...I'm not a virgin."

Joe looked shocked. "Gee! That's a helluva confession. I never thought that a sweet English rose like you would....well, goddam it!"

"Does that mean you withdraw your proposal?"

"Hell no!" Joe grinned. "I was only kidding. You think I haven't had a woman or two in my time?"

"It seems to be different for a man."

"How so?"

"I'm not sure, really, but virginity is a womanly thing. Maybe because her body is invaded by the man and her hymen is broken. Nothing much happens to a man to mark it down as the first time."

"Well, it's no big deal. Michael, I suppose."

June nodded. "Yes. Before he went away. I felt - we both felt - that time was precious and we may not get another chance."

"True enough." There was a short silence. "You feel the same way now?" Joe asked.

"Yes," replied June without hesitation.

Permission was sought for the marriage, but in the interim, they managed to get together for two days. They went into the country, booked into a small hotel - as Mr and Mrs - and promptly went to bed.

There was not much finesse, romance or tenderness about their first coupling. They tore off their clothes and grabbed each other. Joe was already hard and wasted no time in pushing June down onto the bed. She spread her legs and he entered her, thrusting deep into her vagina, which was already wet with her desire. He ignored the pain from her nails digging into him as she gripped his shoulder, but pushed the full length of his cock into her.

June gasped and raised herself slightly, altering the angle of their joined bodies and allowing him to penetrate even further. They lay still and she could feel every throb of his engorged cock inside her. Suddenly he began to pump her in and out, building up a fast rhythm that brought both of them to a quick climax. He pulled out of her just before his semen burst from his penis and all over her stomach.

Joe collapsed onto his back and June leaned forward, taking his penis into her mouth. She licked the glans and then up and down the length until it was clean of his sperm and her juices. They lay side by side, holding hands for a few minutes, neither speaking, but both savouring the afterglow of their urgent coupling.

The second time was slower and gentler, though still passionate. He came over her breasts and she rubbed his sperm into them, her actions making the nipples little hard buds. At one point, between their bouts of love-making, the drone of planes overhead brought the war back into their lives. They were reminded of the briefness of their intimate sojourn and the uncertainty of the future.

June clutched Joe to her breast. "Don't let anything happen to you. I don't think I could stand it."

"I'll tell the skipper to make sure he stays away from enemy fighters and flak."

"Does he always do what you tell him?"

"Always."

They kissed.

Permission to marry came remarkably quickly and within a month they were officially Mr and Mrs. It was only just in time.

"My tour of duty is over," Joe announced. "They're sending me Stateside."

"Can I come with you?"

He shook his head. "Not with me. It'll take some time for all the necessary paperwork to be done. The military are not known for their speed in these things. I'm not sure when you'll get across, but I'll do my best to push things."

He was right. A war bride was not a high priority and nobody was keen to find time to organise them onto ships across the Atlantic. It took forever for the papers to come through and the war in Europe had been over for several months before she sailed from Southampton. No letter had been received from Michael in response to her 'Dear John', which was probably just as well. Despite her best efforts, she found it hard to dismiss him completely from her mind. She wondered if she ever would.

*****

"You OK, honey?" Joe paused in the middle of his unpacking and looked anxiously at his wife.

"Yes. A bit tired, that's all."

"Lie down for a while. I'll put everything away."

"Don't be silly. I'm not an old woman who has to be put to bed and cosseted."

"Gee, did I say you were?"

"That seemed to be the idea."

"Well, old lady..." Joe put his arms round her. "You still seem mighty pretty to me." He kissed her tenderly.

"Joe."

"Huh?"

"We've got a hectic schedule in front of us. We seem to be chasing from one end of the country to the other."

"We've gotta keep on the move all right."

"Maybe...." June hesitated.

"Maybe what?" Joe asked, knowing this might be the reason for his wife's strange behaviour.

"Maybe we should miss out some place."

"Like where?"

"Little Dunsford."

"So that's what's eating you."

"There's nothing to go back there for except memories," said June pleadingly.

"Isn't that enough?"

"Now my parents are dead we won't know anybody there."

"Sure we will.A lot of the folks I knew were only our age. I was stationed there for two and a half years remember. It was a good time, in spite of the war. I made friends."

"But you haven't kept in touch with anyone. There's no need to go and see them."

Joe frowned. "It's Michael, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"You can't face him."

"Oh Joe, you know me so well, don't you?" June gripped his hand.

"Hell, I ought to after all these years."

"What can I say to him? What can I do? Smile? Shake his hand? Kiss his cheek?"

"Behave naturally. Do whatever the moment calls for. Hey, this is no big deal, you know. The guy might not even live there any more. And, if he does, he's probably married with a whole brood of kids. What happened between you two - it's ancient history, June; forty years ago. No one's going to bear a grudge or mope around for that length of time."

"You think not?" She didn't seem convinced. After all, Joe hadn't known Michael.

"I'm sure of it."

"All the same...."

"All the same nothing! We're going to Little Dunsford."

So that was that. When he wanted to be, Joe Cirillo was a masterful man who wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. This was just such an occasion.

Two days later they were standing by the fence at the side of an overgrown field. Some concrete could be seen peeping through the long grass and at the far side were the broken remains of several Nissen huts.

"Just like 'Twelve O'Clock High'," Joe said.

"Um?" June was too preoccupied to get Joe's meaning.

"Don't you remember the beginning of the movie? Gregory Peck standing in the middle of this tall grass. It begins to wave in the breeze, there's the roar of an engine, a bomber goes past and bingo! We're back in the war."

June shuddered. "It's a bit creepy. As if it was full of ghosts."

"Maybe it is. Plenty of guys took off from here and never made it back."

June squeezed his hand. "I'm glad you did."

"So am I. Come on, let's go into the village."

They returned to their hired car and drove into Little Dunsford. To their surprise and delight it was just as they remembered it despite the motorways that came dangerously near. Pretty, unspoiled and reasonably peaceful, it seemed to welcome them back as old friends.

"Say, there's the hall where they held the dances," Joe cried. "That's where we met."

"I remember," June dryly responded.

"And there's the drug store your father used to own."

"You're in England now; it's a chemist shop."

"Yeah, I know. And there's the Post Office. They've modernised the front."

The Post Office

This was where she had posted the last letter to Michael. The thought of him made June's heart beat faster. Maybe that was him walking down the street; no - too young. Perhaps over there on the bench by the green; no - too small. Or could it be...?

"Stop the car!"

The suddenness of her cry brought an instant reaction from Joe and the car made an emergency stop. Luckily there was nothing behind them.

"What the hell is it?"

"I've got to find out!" June cried, as she burst out of the car.

She ran into the shop, flinging the door wide, much as she had done when she was a little girl. The tinkle of the bell and the startled look on the face of the woman behind the counter brought June to a halt.

A short, breathless silence, then...

"Can I help you?"

It wasn't Mrs Reid.

June felt foolish. Here she was, an elderly American tourist - yes, she might as well admit to being both elderly and American - dashing about acting like an excited schoolgirl. Confronted by the questioning, bemused look of a complete stranger, she gasped for air and remained speechless.

"Yes?" There was an edge of hostility in the woman's voice.

"I'm...I'm sorry. I expected..." June stopped. Expected what? She didn't know. "I'm sorry."

She left the shop quickly, closing the door, her cheeks hot with embarrassment.

"All right?" It was Joe standing by her side, a look of concern on his face.

"I don't know what that poor woman must think of me."

"Never mind her. What about you? What's wrong?"

June hesitated only fractionally before taking hold of Joe's hands.

"I don't want you to get upset, but he's been on my mind ever since I wrote that letter."

"Michael?" Joe queried, even though, in his heart, he knew the answer. "But that was forty years ago!"

"Um." June nodded. "I know it's silly, but I've felt so guilty. Oh, not all the time, but just now and then in the stillness of the night. I treated him so badly."

"I guess we both did if it comes to that."

"No, it was my fault. It was up to me to be faithful to him."

"Are you sorry you married me?" Joe's voice was soft and serious.

"Good heavens, of course not!"

"I'm glad to hear it."

"But I do regret what I did to Michael."

"Hell, he probably forgot all about it after a year or two."

"Thanks."

"I don't mean he'd forget you, but the pain he felt when he received your letter. Sure, he'd brood about it for a while, but once he got back home he'd pick up the pieces of his life, meet another girl and marry her."

"You think so?" June was unconvinced. She'd known Michael; would he have taken it so lightly?

"That's what I'd have done."

"But you're not like him."

"What's that crack supposed to mean? I'm not as sensitive or something?" There was a touch of annoyance in Joe's normally even tone.

"Oh darling, please don't get angry. You know I love you and I wouldn't have you any different."

"But I'm not as sensitive."

"Exactly."

They looked at each other and laughed, the bond between them secured still further.

"Ok," Joe said, "so you want to finally exorcise the guy from your life. I'll tell you what to do."

"I knew I could rely on you," June responded, her mood lighter.

"We'll go along to the church and see who we can find to talk to there. My intimate knowledge of English village life - or small town America, come to that - tells me the church is not only a place to worship, but a great place of information."

Firmly holding June's hand, Joe pulled her along the street and round the corner. In front of them stood the small parish church, its appearance hardly changed since Norman times. To one side lay a neat, well-tended graveyard.

June felt an infinite sadness. This was where her parents were buried. At the time of their deaths two years apart, she had been unable to get across for their funerals. Although they had corresponded regularly, they hadn't seen each other since the day she'd left for America as a GI bride.

"Just a minute."

She pulled Joe to a halt, then led him through a small gate into the graveyard. It took only a few moments to find her parents' graves, in adjoining plots. They stood in silence for a short while, lost in their memories of people and times long since gone.

When they turned away and proceeded down the path towards the gate, Jane's attention was caught by the name inscribed on a stone: MICHAEL.

She stopped and looked more closely. Sure enough. It was his grave. It looked quite fresh, but the inscription put the date of his death four years earlier.

"This him?" Joe already knew, but his need to say something, to hide his discomfort, was great.

June nodded, too full of emotion to speak.

"So it looks as though he came back here after the war and stayed. No mention of a wife or family on the inscription."

"No," June murmured in a tiny voice.

"That doesn't signify anything in particular," Joe said encouragingly.

"No?"

"For God's sake, June, don't blow this thing up into something it's not."

"Worshipping at the shrine?"

The soft voice behind them made them both whirl round. A tall, grey-haired man wearing a dog-collar stood there, a slight smile on his face.

"Shrine?" June was puzzled.

"He is Little Dunsford's sole claim to fame. The birthplace of the highly successful author, Michael Donovan."

"But his name was Prentice." June pointed to the inscription.

"In reality, yes. He used a pen name for his books."

June looked astounded. "You don't mean 'The Gilded Angel' and...and 'Wings of Sorrow'?"

"Etcetera, etcetera, ad infinitum. Yes, indeed. A most prolific writer. That's the man in the grave."

"But I've read nearly all his books!" June cried. "I love them."

"So did a few million other people. He made a fortune, but he remained a modest, private man. His money has gone to charity and to providing bursaries for youngsters to go to college or university."

"He wasn't married?" Joe asked.

"No. I believe there was a girl once, before the war, but something went wrong. You know how it is in times of stress."

"Yes - I know," said June softly.

"Of course, he wrote about it in his first book, 'The Leaves of Time'. It was a work of fiction, but came very much from his own experiences as a prisoner of war. The passage where the leading character receives a letter from home telling him his girl has married an American airman is most moving. It brings tears to my eyes every time."

"Does it?" June said dully. She was numb with misery. After reading the blurb she had decided to give 'The Leaves of Time' a miss, thinking it was too close to her own story. Now she knew the reason.

"What happened to him?" Joe asked, hoping to hear something that might ease his wife's mind. "The man in the book, I mean."

"Oh, he gradually comes to terms with his life as it has to be led. When he's released he goes back home and feels no resentment or pain...."

"Or betrayal?" June put in quickly.

"Oh no, certainly not that. He looks forward to a new beginning, a new life."

"What about the author?" June asked. "Did he seem happy and content with his new life?"

"Can one be certain of anything? But as far as I could tell - yes, he was."

June gripped his hand tightly. "Thank you. Thank you," she gasped, then ran off down the path.

"I'm glad she could still spare a thought for him," the vicar said softly.

"You remember her?" Joe asked.

"No, I wasn't here at the time."

"Then how?"

"I guessed. Her intensity told me everything. Also, Michael showed me a photograph. She hasn't changed much - a little older and heavier, that's all. I hope I've eased her mind."

"You did just great." They shook hands. "So long."

Joe went down the path and out of the graveyard leaving the vicar looking at the stone in front of him.

"You see, Michael," he said. "She didn't completely forget you."

*****

June lay back in the comfortable seat with her eyes closed. The gentle purr of the plane's engines were sending her to sleep. Her husband squeezed her hand.

"Penny for them, Mrs Cirillo."

"Oh, I was just thinking what a great trip it's been."

"Glad you made it?"

"Of course. But, do you know something?"

"What?"

"I'll be glad to get home."

"Home?"

"New Jersey."

There was a smile of contentment on her lips as she drifted off to sleep.