Like One of the Family (31 page)

Claire felt a pang as she wondered if Eddie had ever taken Hugh on an expedition which might have shaped his future, had he lived.

‘I've read about Hendon,' she said. ‘Don't they do a fly-past every year to commemorate D-Day?'

‘That's right,' Terry said eagerly. ‘Not even Sheena would remember that although I've told her loads of times.'

Claire had a vision of herself and Terry soaring skywards, twin souls possessed of a love like in Song of Songs that no flood could quench, no torrents drown. They were almost at her house when she remembered Jane. ‘Aren't you going for your mother?' she asked.

‘It's too early,' Terry said, slowing. ‘Say, Claire. I'm starved. What would you say to hamburger and chips?'

Claire laughed. ‘Chips maybe. I don't think I could eat a hamburger.'

‘Course you could. I'll eat it if you don't!'

She laughed and gave in. ‘Okay. Whatever you say.'

They parked in Terry's driveway and ate their midnight feast. Claire would have liked to invite him into her house for coffee but was put off by the thought of her mother lying collapsed on the couch.

Terry licked his fingers and screwed the empty bag into a ball. ‘Hadn't a thing since midday,' he admitted, ‘I was too churned up to eat much. My stomach felt like it was still upside down at thirty thousand feet. Hey, aren't you going to finish those?' He eyed her chips hopefully.

Claire laughed. He'd already eaten most of her hamburger. ‘I think I can spare you one,' she teased.

‘Mmmm. Nice.' He ate it from her fingers and waited expectantly.

She fed him another and then another.

‘Hey, don't let me take them all,' he cried remorsefully.

But Claire only laughed and continued to feed him, one chip at a time, enjoying his dependence on her. ‘All gone,' she said with regret, withdrawing her hand.

Terry thought he had never felt so relaxed with any girl as he felt with Claire. By this time with any other girl Terry McArdle would have been on the back seat, launching an assault on her virginity. Now, however, he felt content to just sit and chat. Not that he wouldn't have liked to kiss Claire and gone a lot further, he admitted, but he wasn't going to risk spoiling the intimacy of the past few hours. ‘Play it cool,' he told himself with unusual perception. ‘This is too important to ruin.'

‘I'd better go and get Mum,' he said at last, reluctant to make a move.

‘Yes,' agreed Claire guiltily, seeing the time. ‘She'll be wondering where you are.'

He packed everything tidily into the McDonald's bag and opened the window wide to let in air.

‘Let's do this again,' Terry suggested, his hand falling naturally about Claire's waist as they walked to her house. ‘We could go bowling or maybe take in a dance?'

Claire smiled up at him. ‘I'd really like that,' she said with husky sincerity. In the glow from the street lamp her eyes had a sheen like grey mother-of-pearl and her lips were rosy and full.

Terry stared down at her, his senses stirred by those sweetly parted lips. He imagined what it would be like to kiss them and go on kissing them until his ardour was satisfied. For the first time in Terry's life his will was in direct opposition to the urges of his body and, for the first time in his life, will triumphed over desire. He stepped back.

‘Be seeing you.' He gave her a little military half-salute and strode back to the car. Feeling absurdly happy, he roared past her on his way back to the clinic to pick up his mother.

In a trance Claire went into the house and walked through the living-room, where her mother was sipping whisky and watching a film. Without hearing her query as to how she had enjoyed herself, Claire went upstairs to her room.

Was this happiness? she wondered. Was this what it felt like?

She lay listening for the sound of the returning car and when she heard it crunching into the driveway across the street gave a small sigh and fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

All week the thought of his date with Claire filled Terry with delight and a strange humility, adding zest to everything he did. He couldn't get over how he had bared his soul to her

He had rung her midweek to arrange a meeting-place and had thrilled to the sound of her eager, slightly breathless replies. Since then she had completely taken over his thoughts. Normally when flying any stray thought, however pleasant, was a dangerous distraction, but this time Terry found to his surprise that he experienced an acute sense of well being, which resulted in heightened timing and perception and more skilful handling of the controls. He seemed to have an additional supply of fire in his veins.

Terry was caught napping when Captain Monahan had unexpectedly reduced speed and threw the aircraft into a bad stall. Terry struggled to regain control, putting all his newly acquired skills into action. He remembered his training - in an emergency summon full power - and managed to regain control of the Marchetti. For a few bad moments it looked as though they might end up splattered all over the Naas dual carriageway.

Terry grinned at Dinny's remark as he wiped his sweaty forehead, ‘Terry, lad, you've thrilled us enough for one afternoon. Take us back to the base.' But immediately after debriefing he found that he'd done very well, for Monahan had given him the good news that he was ready to do his familiarisation on jets.

Now added to Terry's earlier euphoria at the prospect of meeting Claire that evening was the heady knowledge that he would almost certainly be the first in his group to fly jets. He grinned from ear to ear as he thought of Con's disgusted expression when he heard, and he hurried into the mess.

‘Didn't you hear?' One of the cadets from Terry's group strolled to meet him.

Grinning, the other pilot told him how Con had failed to pull out of a spin and, on instructions from his training instructor, had bailed out over Saggart.

‘So where's Con now?'

‘Hoofing it back from Saggart, I reckon.'

‘Poor sod.' Terry grinned in sympathy. ‘He'll be like a bloody lunatic.' He strolled to the door of the mess and looked out. Suddenly he gave a great crack of laughter. ‘What do you know but here's the man himself.'

Other cadets hurried to merrily watched Con's plodding approach. Even at a distance he was a sorry sight, red-faced and sweating in his full flying kit, with his parachute untidily bundled under his arm. When he spotted them doubled over in the doorway, laughing and hooting, Con shook his fist at them and grinned sheepishly.

‘Hard luck, Con.' Terry, the first to reach him, slapped him affectionately on the back. ‘Better luck next time. Looks like you're down a fiver, old son.'

‘Oh, my sweet sainted aunt,' Con groaned in disgust. ‘Listen, McArdle. Would you ever do us a favour. Go eff yourself.'

Terry chuckled. ‘Come and drown your sorrows and be thankful you're all in one piece.' He placed his hand on Con's shoulder and turned him back towards the mess.

They sat thirstily downing pints, joking and laughing. It was good to be alive. Terry looked about him in satisfaction, at the flushed and laughing faces of his friends, savouring the moment. But the best was yet to come. In another few hours he would be meeting Claire and seeing those grey eyes light up at the sight of him.

Earlier that Thursday afternoon Jane arrived into the clinic and spent her first ten minutes opening the post which had accumulated since her last visit. She sorted through the results of smear and pregnancy tests, putting them to one side for her secretary to type up, and reached for her appointment pad.

Her first patient was due shortly. Mary McCann. Originally from South Africa and married to an Irish man. Mother of four, all under eight years and the youngest child nearly two. Jane glanced over her file. Mary was in her forties and prone to high blood pressure and she also suffered from porphyria, a rare urinary disease. The disease was extremely unusual in this part of the world - Jane had never had another patient with it - but in Mary's own country, amongst the white population, its incidence was estimated at one in four.

Jane had not seen Mary McCann in almost two years, not since her six weeks check-up after the birth of her last child. Let's hope she wasn't pregnant again! Jane went to the door and called Grainne.

‘Be a dear and bring me in a cup of coffee?' she said. To be friendly, Jane chatted about her busy morning and last minute dash to the clinic.

Grainne listened with a slightly veiled expression and murmured something.

Jane sighed and went back into her room. She hoped Grainne's moodiness of late had nothing to do with Terry. She had seen the way Grainne made a set for him whenever he visited the clinic and, knowing her son, was prepared to believe he had taken full advantage of what she had to offer. Grainne, as well as being far too old for Terry, was not at all what she had in mind for her son. But, alas, Terry had his father's passionate blood in him. He was also headstrong and too much opposition invariably spurred him to do the forbidden. Jane had refrained from outright condemnation of the friendship and hoped and prayed that the restrictions of army life would soon break up the liaison.

Grainne came in with the coffee and, a moment later, showed in Mrs McCann.

‘How are you, Mary?' Jane put aside her cup and watched the woman as she sat down.

‘My period is late, Doctor,' Mary said happily. ‘I think I'm pregnant.'

Jane regarded her soberly. Mary doted on children. Against Jane's advice, she had gone ahead and had the last two. Irresponsible, Jane considered, in view of Mary's age and medical history yet she couldn't help feeling a sneaking sympathy with her. She had so wanted more children herself.

‘Well, let's find out for sure,' Jane said. ‘Did you bring a specimen?'

The woman shook her head. ‘Sorry, Doctor. I should have known.'

‘Never mind,' Jane said kindly. ‘Lie up on the couch and I'll take a look at you,'

Jane turned away to wash her hands. ‘It's a bit early to say but there are certain changes,' she agreed.

‘I knew it,' Mary gave a joyful sigh. ‘We are hoping for a girl this time, Doctor. Wouldn't it be marvellous after four boys!'

Jane nodded and smiled, unable to remain disapproving in the face of Mary's enthusiasm. ‘Now, Mary,' she gently cautioned her, ‘save the raptures until we know for certain.'

As she reached in her drawer for a sterilised container, Jane thought that it might be no harm to have the laboratory run a few other tests at the same time. It would be helpful to know whether, in the interim, the disease had progressed.

‘Take this with you,' Jane said, handing her the container, ‘and drop me in a fasting specimen in the morning. I've a mind to have a few other tests run at the same time.'

‘I will, Doctor.'

Jane squeezed her arm sympathetically. ‘You're really taking on rather a lot at...'

‘My age!' Mary cheerfully finished for her. ‘Well, I'll take my chances.' She struggled into her blouse and buttoned her cardigan. ‘I'll bring it in first thing in the morning, Doctor. And thanks. I know you're only speaking for my own good. It won't be easy and John will be worried sick about me for the next nine months.... Oh, but we both do so want this baby.'

Jane smiled and saw her out with a lightened heart. So many times in her work she came across women, like Mary, generously struggling to cope with the burden of each successive pregnancy, despite failing health and a small income. At least in Mary's case she had a good supportive husband and was thoroughly contented with her lot.

Jane saw a dozen patients that afternoon and when the last one had departed, lay down on her couch before tackling the drive home. She had no sooner begun her breathing exercises when a knock came on her door. She was tempted to ignore it but while she was still in the clinic she was officially on duty, and padded in her stocking feet to the door.

Grainne stood outside.

‘What is it?' Jane asked, controlling her impatience. She was tired, her back ached and she was anxious to get home before the traffic built up.

The girl stood with downcast expression. ‘I need your advice, Doctor,' she said.

‘Of course, Grainne,' Jane widened the door and went to sit behind her desk.

‘I don't know what to do,' Grainne began. ‘I'm late with my period and I think I may be pregnant.'

‘When did you have it last?' Jane asked automatically.

‘Eight or nine weeks ago... I'm not sure.'

‘So you've missed twice.'

Grainne nodded.

‘Have you had a pregnancy test?'

Grainne shook her head.

‘All right,' Jane said quietly. ‘First thing is to make sure.' She reached in her desk for a sterilised container. ‘‘If it turns out to be positive what are your feelings about having the baby?'

‘Well, it wasn't planned,' Grainne admitted ruefully. She fidgeted with the belt on her coat, avoiding Jane's eyes.

‘So what are you going to do?'

‘That's what I was hoping you would tell me.'

‘My dear,' Jane said, wishing she could summon up more sympathy for the girl, ‘that's something entirely between yourself and the father.'

‘I haven't told him yet. I thought I'd better come to you first... in the circumstances.' Grainne lifted her head and looked straight at her.

Jane felt a sudden shock. Oh dear God, no! ‘ Her heart sank as the girl told her that Terry was the father of her baby and how much she loved him and wanted to do whatever was right and best for all of them. As she broke down and snivelled into a Kleenex, Jane thought that there was something not quite convincing in Grainne's manner

‘Very well,' Jane said, her mind still cloudy with shock. ‘We'll talk of this again.' She rose and Grainne looked at her in consternation.