7
Lizzie woke with a start and sat up in bed, her heart pounding. She had been dreaming about Fergus; she struggled to steady her breathing and quieten herself. As she peered out into the gloomy room, she tried to work out where she was. Where was the sloping ceiling, the daisy-patterned curtains being sucked in and out by the night air? This room was square and had a vaguely antiseptic smell. It was then that she recognized where she was, as she focused on the blackout curtains at the window. It had taken her a moment to acclimatize her vision, but now she could see more clearly. Just a few feet to her right was Diana, her back turned to her as she slept in the large room they shared with the other recruits. She was in West Drayton, just outside London, in the WAAF training barracks.
Clutching at her nightdress she realized sweat was dripping down her chest, and her hair was matted around her face and neck. She needed to get out of bed and go somewhere where there was some cooler air.
Lizzie slid her legs out of bed and into her slippers and, grabbing her dressing gown, stepped into the hallway. Attempting to inhale gulps of the thin, dry air, she ran her hand through her damp hair and tiptoed to the tiny kitchen, which they shared among the four rooms that were her small group. Her hands were still shaking and her palms sweating as she placed the kettle on the stove and, tentatively peeling aside the blackout curtains, she cracked open the window in hope of some fresh air. Outside, the first pink blush of morning was smeared across the blue velvet sky. All was unusually still around the barracks and Lizzie closed her eyes to enjoy it. Somewhere, far off, birds began to welcome the day and just the familiarity of the rise and fall of gentle birdsong took her home to Scotland and calmed her instantly. She took a long slow moment to inhale deep, ragged breaths of the cool morning air until her breath was even, her heart rate returned to normal and the clock in the kitchen, ticking merrily, informed her it was five o’clock. Feeling her equilibrium return she shuffled to the stove and dropped a teaspoon of tea into the pot, and only then did Lizzie consider the dream again.
She had been back in the barn just as it had happened five years before. When the two of them had started kissing, and their heavy petting had shifted into something else, something more sinister. Lizzie remembered with a shiver the sound of his breath roaring in and out of her ears as he panted, his hair matted with sweat, his hands groping her body, his clammy cheek next to hers, as he’d clumsily kissed her neck. Lizzie had stared up at him, confused about the intense emotion that was causing his face to contort in a way that made her fearful. They had kissed many times before but nothing had felt like this time. Lizzie shuddered, remembering her naivety as she continued to recall the way he had pressed down upon her with the whole weight of his body, stealing the air from her lungs. In the kitchen Lizzie drew in a deep breath, needing to feel that freedom now as she remembered. Back then she hadn’t enjoyed the experience, and had tried to push him off. ‘Come on, Fergus, I need to get home. You know Father is strict about my curfew.’
But instead of his usual jovial response, he had tightened his grip on her arms, narrowed his eyes and appeared not to hear her as he attempted to quiet her with an intense kiss on the lips.
Eventually, she had thrust him back harder, and red-faced, he had looked desperate.
‘You can’t do that, Lizzy. You can’t just lead a boy on like this,’ he had spat out at her. ‘There is a name for girls like you, and it isn’t nice.’
Lizzie had been shaken. He had never spoken to her in that way before, and her cheeks had reddened, too. She suddenly felt guilty, responsible for his angry mood. She hadn’t meant to lead him on. This wasn’t the first time they’d ever kissed. Why was this so different?
‘Oh, get away with you,’ she’d responded, trying to sound cheerful and keep the tremble from her voice. ‘You know that isn’t the case.’ Once again, she’d attempted to raise herself, pushing up from her elbows. Eventually, frustrated, he’d let go of her arms, thrusting them away from him and had rolled over and lay next to her on the straw. He was furious.
‘It’s not right, Lizzie. We can’t go on like this,’ he said, unable to keep the frustration from his tone.
Now angry herself with the pressure she was feeling from him, Lizzie had jumped to her feet, and attempted to leave when he’d grabbed her arm again.
His voice dropped to a whisper as he started to plead with her. ‘Lizzie, I’m sorry. Please don’t leave like this, please!’ he’d whined, pulling her back down onto the hay next to him. ‘Please just stay a little while longer. I love you, I don’t want us to part like this.’
She’d sat back down but a million thoughts had whirred through her mind, as she’d measured what he’d said. Had she been leading him on? She hadn’t intended to, she knew how babies were made and just didn’t want to get pregnant. She had to admit she’d been more than curious about what all that meant, but something about this evening just didn’t feel right to her. Fergus had become intense and brooding.
‘It’s just I love you so much,’ he whispered into her neck, trying to reassure her. ‘People who really love each other want to take it further. And everyone knows, you can’t get pregnant the first time, any rate. And I’ve tried to be so patient because I love you, Lizzie, but if you really loved me too, you’d want to do this. Don’t you feel anything? Don’t you love me?’
‘You know I do,’ she insisted, confused by her conflicting feelings. She did love Fergus, didn’t she? Why didn’t she want to take it further if she loved him?
Lizzie had started to doubt her own conviction. Was Fergus right? Was there something wrong with her? As she’d contemplated all this he’d carried on coaxing and reminding her they were in love and one day would be married and besides he would stand by her whatever happened. Interspersed with his cajoling he’d continued kissing her neck, her face, stroking her hair and telling her how beautiful she was.
And finally, concerned about the time and not wanting them to fall out, he’d worn her down with his persistence, assuring her he promised to stop if she wasn’t enjoying it. It had still felt wrong and she hadn’t enjoyed it at all. In fact, it had been really uncomfortable, though she had just wanted to get it over with at that point.
After he’d finished, she’d laid back on the straw, tears pricking her eyes, feeling completely confused and a deep sadness as Fergus had lain catching his breath, smiling contentedly by her side. Surely that wasn’t what love was supposed to feel like, was it? The love she had read about in books and seen on the films once a month in the church hall.
After they’d parted that night, things had been different. She found she couldn’t trust him any more; they had gone into the barn that afternoon as lifelong friends and left as strangers.
Lizzie had felt thoroughly ashamed of herself. The whole incident would have been terrible enough. It would have been the unfortunate end of a friendship. But when she had found out she was pregnant, the whole thing had taken on a whole new seriousness.
The kettle whistled and jarred her from her memory. Pouring the water over the tea, she noticed that her hand was shaking again. Now she was older, Lizzie saw it for what it was: Fergus had manipulated her, making her feel guilty as though, somehow, she’d caused how he was feeling; but with age and hindsight she felt nothing but anger at him and self-loathing for not standing up for her own convictions: that would never happen again.