The Spitfire Girls(17)

‘My brother is an excellent pilot,’ May replied quickly. ‘Better than I’ll ever be.’

Silence fell, and Lizzie cleared her throat. ‘The commander of her own squadron thinks a man is better than her? I expected more from you, Jones.’

When May’s gaze met hers, it was cold, the warmth completely gone. ‘I’m merely stating a fact, Elizabeth. He is a truly exceptional fighter pilot, and I give credit where credit is due.’

Lizzie held up her hands; she’d clearly hit a button. ‘And I apologise. I didn’t intend to get off so thoroughly on the wrong foot with you.’

May didn’t respond, other than to cross her knees and fix her gaze on Lizzie, who wondered exactly what nerve she’d hit. She couldn’t figure it out. She’d researched May Jones and her crew months ago, and there was little professionally that she wasn’t aware of.

‘So, tell me,’ she said, changing the subject. ‘What does this Attagirls saying mean? I understand it’s a play on words, but . . .’ She let the question hang.

‘It’s slang, something we say to encourage a young woman here. Like, that’s a girl, you can do it,’ Ruby explained, finally speaking up. ‘So it’s a play on that saying.’

Lizzie watched as May smiled up at the waiter when he arrived with their meals, seeing how warm she could be when she wanted to be.

‘There’s a bit of a joke here that ATA stands for ancient and tattered airmen,’ Ruby said, leaning in a little closer. ‘And they love nothing better than calling us the always terrified airwomen, because they know it drives us all mad.’

‘And it couldn’t be further from the bloody truth,’ May swore.

They all laughed, and Lizzie picked up her knife and fork to eat her steak. It was served with mashed potatoes and peas, covered in a dark sauce that smelt delicious, and she suddenly realized how hungry she was.

‘So what’s next, ladies?’ she asked, after a mouthful. ‘We travel to London tomorrow and then what? Will I be in the air immediately? Will you have me flying the biggest, baddest bombers on day one?’

‘We check you into the Savoy and then have you measured for uniforms at Moss Bros,’ May said in a no-nonsense tone. ‘And then it’s off to White Waltham, although your lot won’t be taking the train from Paddington like most of our girls. I have two borrowed Daimlers for you to drive up instead. Heavens, you can drive, can’t you?’

Lizzie grinned. ‘Honey, I can fly a plane. Of course I can drive an itty-bitty car. And my first flight? When will that be?’

‘You’ll have your first flight when you’ve proven yourself to me,’ May said. ‘I don’t care whether you’ve been sent by the president of the United States himself, you will have to earn your stripes, Elizabeth. So, no, there will be no first flight in one of our expensive bombers on day one.’

‘Here’s to us then,’ Lizzie said, holding her drink high and ignoring May’s curt words. ‘And all those brave girls who’ve followed the call of duty.’ The empty chairs to her left caught her eye as they clinked glasses. Her girls had embarrassed her by not attending, but being tardy wasn’t a mistake they’d make again – not on her watch, and not when she was up against a commander as straight as an arrow.

‘To us,’ May replied, with a slow smile. ‘And to seeing what you Americans are made of in the sky.’

Lizzie sipped her drink, ready for the challenge. Commander Jones was going to swallow her words when she saw her in the air. I’ll make you proud, Daddy. Just you wait and see.





CHAPTER FOUR

ENGLAND, APRIL 1942

MAY

The train rumbled out of the station and May rested her head back against the seat, the motion making her crave sleep. She felt as if she hadn’t slept properly in years: her eyes were burning, her bones aching, begging to rest for longer than a few hours at a time. She remembered thinking she was tired before the war, when she’d wake up and wish for just one more hour of slumber, but she’d never truly known what tired was, and she hoped never to know sleep deprivation like it again once the war was over.

Sleep had been hard to come by after Johnny had died; her nights had been full of horrific dreams that left her in a tangle of sheets, crying out for the brother she’d lost. Talking about him tonight, pretending he was still with them, had been stupid, but it had also been the only thing she could do to avoid falling to pieces.

‘Why do you get to fly off to war, when I’m stuck here twiddling my thumbs?’ she demanded.

‘Because I’m a boy,’ he teased. ‘And you’re supposed to be sitting at home knitting, waiting for your darling brother to return.’

‘Ugh!’ she screamed, throwing a book at him, furious when he caught it in one hand and calmly threw it back to her. ‘I hate you sometimes.’

‘The feeling’s mutual.’

‘But why? Why is it fine for you to go off and be a fancy fighter pilot, and I have to stay home? Why can’t I fly? Why is it so impossible to imagine that women could do it too? Why can’t women help to win the war if we can fly as well as men?’

‘Not women,’ Johnny said, his hands pushed into his pockets. ‘Just you. I’ve never seen another girl fly like you, May.’