June Cirillo made an entry in her notebook: 'July 2nd 1987. On way to England.' She looked at the words critically and frowned. She really ought to say something else. 'The flight has been swift and smooth and the time has passed remarkably quickly.' That was better. Not much, perhaps, but better.
Time?
It might only take a few hours to cross the Atlantic, but in reality they were going back more than forty years. It had all gone so quickly. Was it possible that so many years had flashed by since they'd sailed away from the English coast?
Her husband squeezed her hand.
"Penny for them, Mrs Cirillo."
She smiled. I was thinking about the passage of time. It's forty years since I left home. Unbelievable."
"What do you mean - home? New Jersey is your home."
"You know what I mean."
"Sure I do. Anyway, if you're going to be accurate, it's forty-one years."
"A long time, yet it seems to have gone so quickly."
"Do you regret it?"
"Time passing quickly?"
Joe shook his head. "No; marrying me."
"Of course not. Not for one moment."
He smiled happily and lay back in his seat, his hand firmly holding hers. Not for one moment; no, that wasn't quite true. There had been a hesitation, a questioning of what was right and wrong, and of feelings. Even now there was still a lingering doubt, faint, but most decidedly present.
She put her head back and listened to the soft whoosh of the engines.
*****
The roar was deafening as the B-17 bombers took off. June Markham looked up into the sky, both her hands covering her ears. The last time she had cycled along this lane it had been so peaceful, but now the world was at war and the peace was shattered.
The last of the big planes passed overhead, so low it practically took off the top of a tree, and the mighty roar gradually died to a distant drone as the bombers headed away on a course that would take them to the heart of Germany.
June began to cycle along the lane towards the village. A village which had changed so much in such a short time. Oh, it was still small and pretty and most of the inhabitants were still there, but an airfield had been built nearby. For the first three years of the war it had been a base for RAF fighters, but early in 1943 the Americans had taken it over.
Bulldozers had torn away trees, hedges, walls and even a small hill, leaving a great patch of flat ground. Long concrete runways had been quickly built, huts erected and barbed wire strung up. In a matter of days the first B-17 had flown in, to be quickly followed by others. With them came hundreds of Yanks, both to service and fly the planes.
June had left the village at the beginning of the war, going to work in the operations room in the depths of a Whitehall cellar. She was a small cog in a large machine, but her work was important and rewarding. She was born in Little Dunsworth and might have been expected to hate the hustle and bustle of London, especially under wartime conditions. However, she had loved it from the moment she arrived. It seemed so full of life and vitality, despite the all-pervading air of danger; or, perhaps, because of it.
What little leave June had was spent with newly-acquired friends and she visited home infrequently and briefly. Her parents might have been disappointed that they saw so little of their daughter, but they always tried to hide it. She was grown up; she had her own life to lead.
Then there was Michael. They'd known each other all their lives and a relationship had developed almost without them realising. When they were old enough it had seemed natural to hold hands, kiss and speak soft words of love to one another. That they would marry had seemed inevitable, but then war came and nothing was inevitable any more.
*****
"Can I get you anything?"
"Pardon?" June was startled out of her reverie by a stewardess standing over her. "Oh - er - no, thank you." She looked at Joe. His eyes were closed. "And nothing for my husband," she added.
Husband.
She studied his face, lined and heavy-jowled, his eyebrows greying, as was his hair. It was a kind face; he was a kid and gentle man. It seemed strange to think there was a time when she didn't know him; a time when another man was going to be her husband.
*****
"I have some news, darling," Michael quietly said.
June looked at him suspiciously. "What is it? Nothing bad, I hope?"
"Depends how you look at it. I've joined the RAF." He tried to sound off-hand, but he was nervous of her reaction.
"What? But you don't know anything about flying."
He laughed. "They need more than pilots, you ninny. I know about engines and they're looking for good mechanics."
"When do you go?"
"In a couple of weeks."
"Oh."
He looked at her crestfallen face and gently ran his hand down her cheek. "You don't have to worry, darling. I'll be quite safe. After all, I'm not flying. I probably won't leave the base in England. A good place for a coward to be."
"You're not a coward," June said quickly.
"Maybe not, but I don't fancy being in the middle of a scrap and I can't stand the sight of blood. I don't intend to be a hero and I'll come out of this war in one piece, no matter how long it lasts."
"They say it'll be over by Christmas."
"That's what they said last time, but maybe on this occasion the optimists will be right." He took hold of her hands. "If they are, we'll be able to get married."
"But not before?"
"I think it's simpler not to become too entangled, don't you?"
"Why not, if you're going to be perfectly safe?"
"Well...." Michael hesitated.
"Anyway," June continued, "surely we're already entangled. We love each other."
"True. But marriage gives it a permanence which doesn't seem right at the moment. Do you understand?"
"No," June said simply.
"You'll just have to take my word for it then." He smiled at her and lightly kissed her and, for some reason, she felt like a little girl who wasn't old enough to understand what life was all about.
Michael was wrong about being safe in an RAF base in England. After his basic training he was home for three days on embarkation leave.
"Not going very far," he told June. "Only across the Channel."
"Far enough," June murmured. "I'll miss you."
"At least I should be able to get home on leave without too much trouble. Nothing seems to be happening over there. Pretty peaceful, according to the papers."
"How long will that last?"
"Maybe the Germans have changed their minds about going any further. They don't fancy their chances against us and the French."
"Maybe."
There was a silence between them. It was a beautiful day with a bright sun shining out of a clear blue sky and they had brought a picnic lunch to a quiet spot by a small lake. They were lying side by side on a blanket, their hands clasped together.
"Michael..." June hesitated.
"Um?"