The Victory Garden(5)

“Station?”

“What we call our farms. Sheep station.”

“I see.” She nodded.

“So my mum took it hard when I was sent to school. And she took it even harder when I enlisted and sailed for Europe. Then I was at Gallipoli with the Anzacs.”

“I hear that was frightful,” Emily said.

“My word. It was a massacre,” he said. “I was one of the few lucky ones, and I decided it was a mug’s game being a sitting duck on a beach, so I signed up for the Royal Flying Corps. Well, that’s what it was called when I joined it. Now we’re the Royal Air Force, so I’m told.”

“Did you know how to fly?”

“Actually, no, I didn’t, but I can drive pretty much any vehicle, and I figured I’d take to it quite easily. They were desperate for any bloke who was mug enough to try, and I took to it like a duck to water.”

“What’s it like to fly in an aeroplane?” Emily asked.

“Oh, it’s amazing. You feel so free and light—just like a bird. And you look down on the land below you and it looks like toy farms and houses.” He gave a chuckle. “Only you don’t look down much because you never know which direction the enemy is coming from. And when they do come, it’s a fight like no other. You swoop, you bank, you dive, and all the time shooting at each other until one goes down in flames.”

“How horrible.” Emily shivered.

“Oh no. If it has to be war, then this is about as good as it gets. At least it’s a gentleman’s war in the air. Warrior against warrior. If you go down, you go down with honour after a good fight.”

Emily didn’t know what to say to this.

“Look,” he said, “I can’t go on talking to you if I don’t know your name.”

“It’s Emily. Emily Bryce. What is your name, Lieutenant?”

“My name is Robbie Kerr, although at home most people call me Blue.”

“Blue?”

“On account of my red hair.”

“Now you’re making fun of me,” she said, feeling herself flushing.

“Oh no. In Australia, blokes with red hair are always called Blue.”

“Then it sounds like a silly place.”

“Oh no.” He shook his head this time. “It’s a bonzer place. Plenty of land and sunshine, and nobody cares if you’re a duke or a chimney sweep. But out where we live, it’s no place for a woman, really. No hat shops or beauty parlours or even other women to talk to. That’s why I wanted to see this garden . . . to finally have something positive to write to my mum about. All she’s heard is bad news so far. Gallipoli, and then being shot down in France . . .” He was staring out past her, across the lawns. “So I thought I’d describe these flowers. She’d like that.”

“You’re a good son.”

“I try to be,” he said, giving her a mischievous grin.

“But should you be up and walking around?”

“Probably not. They’re worried about my burns getting infected. The plane caught on fire, see. Oh, and I broke my leg.”

“Then you definitely shouldn’t be walking around. Aren’t you on crutches?”

“Yeah, but I left them on the other side of the hedge.”

“Robbie, you should go back at once. You’re supposed to be resting.”

“No, I’m supposed to be using that leg. They’ve given me exercises to do. Just not squeezing through hedges. So can I see you again?” he asked. “You’re the first good thing that’s happened to me in a while. All I’m faced with is dreadful old battleaxes like that Nurse Hammond.”

“You called her an old cow.”

He grinned. “So I did. Sorry about that. The pain makes me forget my manners sometimes.”

“It was nothing to do with pain. You enjoyed needling her.”

He gave a sheepish smile. “Aw yes, well . . . I have to do something to cheer myself up, don’t I? Been lying in a bloody hospital bed for too long.”

“Please go back before you’re found to be missing, Robbie.” She reached out and touched his arm. “I don’t want you to get into trouble, and I certainly don’t want you to re-injure that leg.”

He stood looking down at her. She hadn’t realized until now how tall he was. “So when can I meet you again?”

Emily made a face. “My mother would have a fit if she saw us here. She’s very prim and proper. And we haven’t been introduced.”

“Introduced?” He looked amused.

“Oh yes. In polite society, I’m not supposed to talk to anyone unless we’re properly introduced.”

“And you thought Australia was a silly country?” He chuckled. “At least we can talk to anyone we want to. The prime minister or a swagman.”

“I agree, it is rather silly,” Emily said. “We have so many rules here—which fork to use and where to seat people at the dinner table, but all that stuff matters to people like my mother.”

“Not to you?”

“I haven’t had a chance to escape yet and try out the real world beyond home. I’ve been cooped up here for the whole war, dying of frustration, dying to do something—volunteer, do my bit.”