In The Mood

            “Betty darling,” he persisted, patting my hand, “you’re cold.”

            We stopped and he pulled his arm clear from between us, unbuttoning his RAF overcoat as he did. Bringing his arm and open jacket around at the same time, he wrapped both around my shoulders so that we were as close bodily as we could be. For a brief instant I felt safe. Safer than I had been since the war began with all the physical and mental torture that it had brought. But how could I ever be safe again? John was returning to duty after an all-too brief spell of leave. Strangely, he had been unwell during his stay at home taking to his bed for a day at one point. Oh how I prayed that it would be something that would keep him with me longer. That was the selfish side of me. Seldom seen, but very much at the fore about 2 days ago. Why shouldn’t I want my husband by my side as we had always planned when we took our marriage vows? Then I would see the propaganda messages about the war effort, radio bulletins from the BBC, individual acts of heroism, food rationing and it wasn’t long before those selfish thoughts were cast aside. I hated that maniac, Hitler.  I hated him with a passion, like thousands of other women, wives and mothers, frustrated by the futility of war and sheer loss of life.          

            The teardrop was involuntary, yet hardly unexpected. From his limited line of sight, John couldn’t see the tiny droplet and of course I knew that he must not. He needed all his resolve now. I blinked in a vain attempt to stem the flow.

            “Oh Betty darling,” John stopped squaring up to me so that we were facing each other; my head was still bowed to try and hide my blurred vision.

            “Gosh,” I managed finally, staring up at him apprehensively. “The wind coming out of that tunnel is freezing. It brings tears to your eyes.”

            The fact that my lips were trembling and my voice was warbling did nothing to support my attempt to hide my true feelings. My Clark Gable look alike, more so since the real Gable had himself recently become an air force pilot, pushed back the peek of his hat so that it perched on the crown of his thick black wavy hair. Even in the subdued light afforded by platform gaslights the twinkle in his eyes remained, that same twinkle that had melted my heart from an early age. His chiselled jaw slowly turned into a wide grin. He placed both his hands beneath my arms and gently, effortlessly, he picked me up until he could look directly into my eyes and I could look into his. The boy I had fallen in love with was still there underneath this raw masculinity, although the grin was a little more strained than usual. Pulling me forward those few inches, my feet dangling in mid-air like a puppet, he kissed me full on the lips. My arms quickly wrapped themselves around his broad shoulders, closing my eyes wishing that we were somewhere else, another time another place. Pulling us apart he smiled again, that strain still there now and in his eyes as well, a slight frown.

            “I love you darling, I always have and I always will”. He kissed my cheek and lowered me back down on to the station platform. His term of endearment almost had a past tense feel to it, a final connotation that I objected to inside my head even though I knew I was being silly. I pulled at his waist until we were close again, burying my face into his chest.

            “Why do you have to go John,” I blubbered, the tears now becoming uncontrollable.

            “Oh darling,” he uttered reassuringly. “I need to do my bit just like all the rest. You know that?”

            He pulled us apart, putting a finger under my chin, lifting my head as he did so that we were looking into each other’s eyes once more. The wind howled again pulling ringlets of blond hair from beneath my headscarf.