A Lasting Gift

'He's here, you know...'

'Grandma, who's here? What do you mean?'

'It's my sweet John, your granddad, he's always here when I need him. He's just over there, at the end of my bed. I know you can't see him. But he's smiling that smile I used to love so much'.

Eloise looked up at her brother Jamie and gave him the slightest shake of her head. Jamie rolled his eyes and checked his phone.

'Oh, I can see those looks of yours, don't think I can't. I know what you think, you think I'm a mad old woman. Well yes, I'm a hundred and one years old, but I'm not mad. Not yet.'

'Grandma, we're sorry, we just worry when you talk like that'.

'Well, let me tell you something else. You're both grown adults now. You both have your own children. It's something I've never told anyone before. I really think it's time I did. I've always meant to, so often. But you know, John and Katz over there are getting clearer to me everyday now. I think they're telling me something'.

'Cats? You see cats Grandma?'

'No! Not cats! Katz!. With a K. And a Z at the end. It's a German name. His name is Katz'.

'Oh, I see...'

“No, I don't think you do. Let me explain. Well, this is what I want to tell you about. You see, Katz over there, well, Katz was my very first love... before me and your granddad fell in love. It was because of Katz that I met your granddad, my sweet John'.

Eloise and Jamie exchanged looks. Eloise was the first to find her voice. 'Grandma, what are you saying?'

'It was during the war, such a long time ago, and life was... well, it was uncertain. I was very young, not yet twenty you know. We didn't know, none of us knew really, if we would have a life beyond the next day. A bomb might fall, you just never knew. I lost so many friends... so suddenly.'

Eloise reached out and took hold of her Grandmothers hand. Jamie stopped checking his texts, waiting for her to continue.

'Let me tell you how we met, how we then lost each other, and how I found your granddad. Things are so different now. I hid all away, all this time, because, well because of society, you know, how everyone would have judged me. Judged us both. It's too late to worry about all that nonsense now. You need to know'.

'Let me see... It all began, on a late summer's evening, back in 1942...'

Katz sighed. He found, once again, that he had all the time in the world. Just like in combat, time slowed. He wondered if the two women ahead of him, staring back from the centre of the road, holding hands in a kind of tug-o-war as each tried to pull the other out of his path and danger, experienced the same effect.

The corner had surprised him when it tightened hard. He'd leaned further, trying to compensate. His motorbike's foot-pegs then touched ground, flashing fire as they gouged into the tarmac. The rear tyre slipped sideways, then caught, found traction and in an instant, Katz was catapulted, high-sided from his seat.

With the bike tumbling away, disintegrating, Katz flew high into the air, windmilling in a dance of arms and legs, falling directly towards them. Bursting through their panicked grip, he hit the tarmac hard. Air exploded from his lungs as if he’d been punched, something cracked and a stab of pain drilled deep through his nose and into his forehead.

Now motionless and eye level with the road, unable to breath, Katz groaned and concentrated on the pretty foot next to his squashed and bloody nose. It helped that the ankle above the foot was attached to a particularly shapely leg.

‘'Dice legs,’ he announced to himself, as if agreeing with his thoughts.

‘What? Are you alright?’

A concerned face replaced the leg. Two in fact. The second one looked annoyed.

‘He’s drunk. And a pervert. See? He’s looking up your skirt!’

‘Jane, he’s just dazed and hurt. C'mon, give me a hand.’

Katz felt himself lifted into a sitting position.

'Dank you. Shorry 'bout that, didn’t mean to …’

‘What, sorry for looking up her dress?’ Jane said, finishing his apology.

‘Erm, well, yes, I mean, dow, owww … ‘

‘Oh Jane, can’t you see he’s hurt?’

‘Oh, puleeease! So he’s broke his nose. Sally, we could have been killed! Another hot-shot fly-boy. They all make me sick.’

‘Now then. It’s alright ladies, I’ll see to 'im,’ an unmistakable voice boomed.

Staff Sergeant John McKay, resplendent in starched, crease-perfect uniform, swagger stick clamped beneath one arm, marched towards the scene of the accident like a tidal wave. Beneath the shadow formed by the peak of his cap, pinpoints of fire glinted menacingly.

‘Stand up, Sir, there’s a good officer, there are ladies present ... and still alive, no thanks to you.’

Katz noted that while Jane stepped away, Sally remained holding his arm. Despite this, he keeled over. Searching for support, he found her leg.

‘He’s at it again!’ Her friend Jane screeched.

‘That’ll be enough of that, Sir. Now, up you get,’ McKay growled, grasping him by the scuff of his coat collar and hauling him to his feet.

‘My apologies, Miss. This Officer Katz here is a very new young flying officer - one of best I’ve seen, and I’ve seen a few, but I think this time he’s had one too many today. Don’t you worry; I’ll see he gets patched up and has a nice warm cell for the night. Come along now, there’s a good Sir.’

The next evening and the face in the mirror behind the bar of the local pub, scowled. Katz's nose hurt, his head hurt - everything hurt. The CO had called him a blithering idiot but at least hadn’t grounded him. But what really hurt was that the bike was trashed - which meant he’d had to walk to the pub.

‘Hello, feeling better?’

Katz turned to see Sally standing by his side, her head tilted on one side in mocking concern.

‘Oh, hello, yes, a bit I suppose,’ Katz said. ‘Sally, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, so you remember my name?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Katz said, his face burning.

‘You, know, I didn’t mean to …’

‘Crash?’

‘Yes, well, that of course, but …’

Sally laughed. ‘It’s OK. My friend Jane is a bit paranoid; she’s had some bad experiences with pilots. I’m sure you weren’t really looking up my skirt. Were you?’

Katz held up his arms in surrender. ‘Well, I might be guilty there.’ Then he stuck out a hand awkwardly, and added, ‘I’m Katz, spelt the German way because it annoys the hell out of people, since we’re at war. Can I buy you a drink to apologise?’

‘Honesty in a pilot, I like that,’ Sally said. ‘So yes, you can. A Bloody Mary please.’

‘Fighter pilot, if you don’t mind, and we’re always honest, as well as brave and true.’

‘And modest.’

‘Oh, that’s our best trait.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. That why you didn’t add fearless to your list of qualities?’

‘No, not fearless,' he said, his face darkening. 'How’d you like to know something? I'll tell you a secret. Do you know I can’t stop shaking because I’m so fucking fearless up there?’

Sally’s smile faded. Katz turned away. She placed her hand on his.

‘I’m sorry, I can’t imagine what it’s like …’

‘No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come out and say that. I'm an idiot.’

‘Are you flying tomorrow?’

‘If they come, we fly. And they come every day …’

‘And it’s late. You could do with a coffee. I don’t live too far from here …’

Sally took his hand.

Once outside, in the empty countryside, the sounds from the pub fading behind them, the cold and darkness served only to accentuate their desire. Drawing Sally to him, Katz kissed her softly with the barest of touches as if the spell might break. Bathed in colours washed to silver by the moonlight, he held her face in his hands and kissed her again.

She tried to pull away.

‘Katz … We've just met, I don't do this sort of thing, slow down ...’

‘Sally...’

It was wartime, who knew what might happen tomorrow?

The next morning, in her bedroom, the soft dawn light allowed Katz to watch Sally dress.

‘What are doing?’ Katz asked as she drew a dark line along the back of her legs.

‘I’m putting on a stocking seam … it’s a little trick to make it look like I’m wearing silk stockings. Silly, I know, but all the silk goes to the war effort, making parachutes and things these days, real stockings can’t be had for life nor money.’

‘Ah, I see...’ Katz said, thoughtfully.

‘The lengths we go to please you men.’ Sally laughed.

An air raid siren wailed and Katz leapt from the bed, pulled on his clothes, and then swept Sally into his arms.

‘See you tonight?’

‘I’ll be here, you be safe up there…’

For Katz, the next two weeks became a blurred mixture of aerial dogfights interspersed with hours with Sally. The last evening was different. Safe in their bed, Katz lay beside Sally, motionless.

‘What’s the matter, Katz? Talk to me.’

‘I have a present for you.’

‘What this?’ Sally quickly tore open the package Katz gave her. ‘Stockings? You got me silk stockings! But where? How?’

Katz tapped his nose with his forefinger.

‘Don’t ask, my secret, put them on …’

‘What do you think?’

‘They’ll never be as perfect with clothes on, come here …’

Later, Katz lay staring at the ceiling.

‘Something's troubling you Katz, what’s wrong?’

‘I killed a man today, Sally.’ Katz turned, willing her to understand. ‘In my head I always imagine I kill planes - not men. It's something most of us try not to think about. Some of the guys are born killers. I'm not one of them. But today was different. I bagged a plane, the engine was on fire. So far so normal. But then the pilot climbed half-way out, right into the flames - and he stuck there.’

Katz sighed as Sally wrapped her arms around him. He continued in a whisper.

‘He must have been in that blowtorch of flame a damned minute. An eternity. I practically saw him melt. I was shouting at him to get free. When he eventually fell out, he was burning like a Roman Candle, screaming. I mean, I couldn't hear him, but it was clear … when his 'chute opened it left him dangling there, writhing, on fire. I turned my Spitfire around, lined up and shot him. Sally … the guns blew him in half.’

Sally said nothing, cradling his head.

‘It’s the flames that really scare me. Being burnt. Ending up like that guy. I don’t want to go that way, anything but that. I'll shoot myself first.’

The next morning, when the air-raid siren wailed, drowning the dawn chorus with its call to war, Sally wrapped herself around him, willing him to stay with her. Katz firmly untangled himself and kissed her cheek.

‘Wave to me from the hill, won’t you?’ He said as he left.

Sally headed out to the hill by the end of the runway to watch each fighter take off. As Katz’s Spitfire roared over her, he dipped his wings and was gone.

With Sally’s picture between the dials and full power to the Spitfire’s engine, Katz smiled as he saw Sally waving furiously. Within fifteen minutes there was no more time to think. Plunging his aircraft into the dogfight, Katz sighted a target and loosed off a three second burst of fire.

The enemy aircraft exploded, burning shards of debris flew towards Katz. His plane shook violently. Holes stitched themselves across his cockpit window and down and along his engine cowling. The engine immediately coughed and spluttered. He’d taken a hit. Smoke and orange flame came licking its way towards him, over the shattered oil covered windscreen and through the bulkhead by his feet. His boots began to melt. Heat scorched his face. Panic took hold. He had to get out. Hauling the cockpit canopy back, he watched as the skin on his hands blackened and melted, the skin falling from his bones. Then a blast of icy air told him he was free.

Tumbling, falling, he fought the pain while remembering Sally's warmth. Those stockings would now cost him dear. He had no regrets.

Seared by flames, half-dead, he desperately searched for his hand gun and release. It was nowhere. He couldn't find it. With nothing left to do but dream and fall, he was back within her arms. His useless parachute above, silk fluttering and tearing, seemed to be inconsequential. Below him his other mistress, his Spitfire, consumed by smoke and flame as if in a jealous rage, led the way down to the sea.

Sally sat on the hill till dusk, but Katz never returned. Instead, the familiar figure of Sergeant McKay came striding towards her.

‘They’ve found your young officer, Miss,’ McKay said as softly as he could.

Sally couldn’t face McKay let alone answer him.

‘He’s alive,’ McKay added, gently.

Sally turned, staring hard at McKay.

‘But?’

‘He fell close to a small boat,' McKay said softly. ‘He received multiple injuries, Miss. His parachute failed, he landed very heavily. He hasn't much time left.’

'What do you mean, failed?'

‘Partially failed, part of it tore, and he came down faster, harder than normal.’

‘Made of silk, aren’t they?’ Sally said, hollowly.

‘Yes, these things sometime happen, but he's alive…’

'Tell me he's not burnt ...'

'Badly, I'm afraid.'

'Oh my God ...'

'Come on, I’ll take you to the hospital.’

They drove in silence. When Sally saw Katz, she almost fainted. What remained of the skin on his face was blackened, cracked by deep red-raw fissures. His lips were just thin lines of bleeding, charcoaled meat.

‘I’m here, Katz, don’t try and talk, they’ll fix you up in no time, you’ll see, don’t you dare leave me, do you hear? Don’t you dare leave me.’

Katz stared at Sally. A single tear ran fell from the corner of an eye. Sally scooped it up, brought it to her lips and then touched his. When she looked up into his eyes again, they were dull and unfocused. She watched as the light within then faded.

Sergeant John McKay watched Sally taken away, her heels clacking mournfully on the hard lino, her stocking-clad legs silken smooth. He pulled the curtains around Katz’s bed and privately saluted him. He’d heard the rumours, but never believed them until now.

‘Your secrets safe, young Sir, don’t you worry.’

He knew he would not survive. But he survived just long enough.

No one saw the single tear form in the dark shadow beneath the peaked cap as he marched forcefully down the corridor, heading back to his other young charges waiting by their planes. Every parachute would be double-checked in future. There would be no more silken gifts.

'It was John, Sergeant McKay, your grandfather, that took care of me after that. After Katz died. He organised everything. Including Katz's funeral. We became close. John and I were married three months later. It was called back then, a marriage of convenience. Jamie, Eloise, your dad was born six months after we were married.

Both Jamie and Eloise were open mouthed.

Jamie had forgotten his phone as the words sank in.

'So that's why...'

'Yes my dear. I'm sorry, but you both had to know. And that's why Katz, and of course John, are now waiting for me. Just over there, standing behind you both. I can see them so very clearly now. They're smiling. Waiting. Just for me.