The Final Flight by James Blatch (books to read in your 30s .TXT) 📗

Georgina handed him a tissue.

“I have plenty of these!”

Rob took a moment to steady himself.

“Was there anything else, Georgina? Just something he may have mentioned in passing that sounded odd?”

Georgina put her hand to her chin and stroked it for a moment before shaking her head. “I can’t think of anything. I mean, he was wrestling with some maths problem at one point, but I can’t see that’s got anything to do with anything.”

“Maths? Tell me exactly what he said.”

“Well, I don’t remember much. He just said he had a maths problem. We laughed a bit about Charlie having all the maths brains in the family.”

Rob stood up and took a few steps around the area of grass that had been cut enough for a couple of chairs and a table. “But he didn’t ask Charlie? Unless Charlie was lying. Maybe he asked Charlie to lie?”

“I’m sure he would have told me by now, but let’s ask him. Charlie!”

He appeared at the back door.

Rob faced him. “Charlie, do you remember our conversation at your mother’s?”

“About me seeing Dad in Oxford?”

“Yes. I want to check that you’re not covering up for him. That he didn’t ask you not to say anything. I promise you I’m on his side. I’m not here for TFU or the police. I’m here to clear his name.”

Charlie shook his head. “I would tell you, Mr May, I promise. But I never saw him. God, I wish I had. But he didn’t visit me.”

“Or call you?”

“No. Nothing. I last saw Daddy at Easter.”

“Thank you, Charlie.”

“Will you clear his name?” Charlie asked, glancing across to his mother.

“I’m doing everything I can, I promise.”

Georgina stood up. “We’re so alone here, Rob. This means everything to us. Thank you.”

She showed him to the front door.

“God, I miss Mary. How is that gorgeous wife of yours?”

“She’s fine.”

“Well, send her my love from Siberia.”

Rob smiled. “We’ll see you on Friday. After that, you won’t be able to get rid of us.”

30

Wednesday 6th July

In their final chat on Tuesday evening, Susie had dubbed it ‘Normal Wednesday’, urging Rob to play the part of the TFU lackey. Toe the line. Head down.

“Throw Kilton off the scent. He’ll be writing up your special commendation for delivering the project rather than worrying what you’ll do next.”

At the tea bar, he was nervous. He couldn’t believe that his colleagues didn’t know Mary had walked out.

But he drank tea, laughed when he could, and threw himself into the planning for two more Guiding Light trips.

According to the truncated project timetable, they had nine hours and twelve minutes left to log. Kilton wanted the jet in the air morning and afternoon. Log four hours today and four tomorrow, leaving the ceremonial final flight with around sixty minutes to complete the minimum requirement.

After an uneventful morning trip to Yorkshire and back, Rob took himself off to the mess for lunch.

JR was at a table by himself. It would be too out of the ordinary for Rob to join him, so he loitered by his side for just a moment as he passed with his drink in hand.

“All ready?” He kept his voice low.

JR looked up and nodded.

“She’s fixed and waiting for you, Flight Lieutenant. I’ll pick you up at 7.30AM.”

Rob nodded.

He avoided the bar after work and went home, remembering to casually mention to Red and Jock that he wasn’t feeling one hundred per cent.

Twice he picked up the phone and dialled the Laverstocks’. On both occasions he hung up before the line connected.

It was unbearable, not speaking to Mary. But Susie had warned that any contact might upset him. Throw a spanner in the works at the wrong time.

The light faded. He finished a bottle of wine as a distraction from the silence. At 10.30PM he went to bed, praying for a good night’s sleep, although he knew it was unlikely to come.

He turned onto his side and closed his eyes, imagining Millie sitting next to JR in the cockpit of the Anson. Holdall behind him.

Alone on a mission to save lives.

31

Thursday 7th July

The alarm unleashed its urgent clanging. Rob’s eyes flickered open.

His first thought was surprise. He’d slept.

He turned over and faced the space where his wife should be. He rested a hand on the undisturbed pillow, before rolling out of bed.

He put on his uniform and packed a civilian change of clothes in a holdall.

It was just after 7AM.

He walked downstairs, picked up the telephone receiver, and, with nervous fingers, dialled the switchboard at West Porton.

“Commanding officer, Test Flight Unit, please.”

A short pause.

“Kilton.”

“Sir, it’s Rob May. I’m afraid I’ve been rather unwell in the night and I’m not fit for work or flying today.”

“You can come in, though?”

“No. I’m unwell.”

“This is very inconvenient, May. You have two trips today. Important ones. I’m about to reassure the government we’ll sign off tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Fine. I’ll take your place.”

Rob said goodbye but found himself speaking to a dead line. Kilton was gone.

Ten minutes later, Rob slipped out of the house and walked at a brisk pace into the village.

He didn’t look left or right, but just prayed his fellow TFU colleagues were too busy dressing or eating breakfast to glance out of the window.

As he entered the village, he spotted an old Hillman Minx outside the shop. JR was cramped into the front seat, his head tilted forward to avoid the low roof.

He gave Rob a wave.

As he approached the passenger door, a man in RAF uniform swept out of the newsagent, paper tucked under his arm. He nodded at Rob, smiling.

Rob forced a smile back and studied the man’s stripes; a squadron leader with a medal ribbon.

He climbed in next to JR.

“Do you recognise that officer?”

JR nodded.

“Deputy on Handling Squadron at Boscombe. Worry not.”

The car pulled out and Rob sunk lower in his seat.

He felt exposed, but short of hiding in the footwell, he had no choice but to remain on view to anyone who cared to look.

They entered West Porton through the