“I shouldn’t be here,” he hissed at Mary. “What will they think of me?”
The only face he caught as he shuffled into the pew was Kilton’s. Two rows back, eyes staring straight ahead.
The victor picking over the bones of the vanquished.
He took his seat. Mary bowed her head and appeared to be praying.
He thought of Millie. An image came into his mind: Millie with Belkin, poring over statistics.
All that work he had completed alone.
How different would it have been if they’d collaborated?
He imagined the two of them meeting with Susie, explaining what they had found and planning the gathering of further evidence.
That is not what happened.
There had been no meeting with Susie.
There was no usable evidence.
There would be no cavalry charge from MI5. He was certain of that now.
She would be back in London; on to her next task.
He studied the order of service.
It included his name. Had Kilton tried to influence that?
But there it was: the first reading. A short section of the Bible given to him by Jean what seemed like a year ago; but it was just a matter of days.
He turned the page.
Wing Commander Mark Kilton DFC would give the eulogy.
He felt sick.
“I can’t do this,” he whispered to Mary.
She shushed him, with a strange urgency in her eyes. “Act normally.”
It must have been a show for Georgina. Mary still hadn’t forgiven him; she still believed he was having an affair, but she wanted to put on a front, just for today.
The organ stopped and the congregation stood up. Charlie supported his mother in her attempt to rise. Rob and Mary put out their hands to help.
Georgina rose, unsteady.
He wanted to sob, but he was in uniform, stifled by all those years of maintaining a stiff-upper-lip.
After a moment, the coffin appeared in his peripheral vision and Mary broke down, lifting a hanky to her eyes.
He fought back his own tears, tilting his head up to keep them from falling.
Not in uniform.
The stifling, suffocating uniform.
Nigel Woodward caught his eye. The sergeant who’d almost ended his flying career by releasing that gas bomb.
Everyone loved Millie.
Rob concentrated on the precision of the pallbearers.
Anything to stave off the tears.
The vicar appeared and, after a brief word, they launched into a hymn.
Christopher Milford and everything he stood for was writ large in every line:
Rob sang with his eyes fixed on the order of service. He kept his head bowed, humiliated by the words.
In that moment, he had an awful realisation that he would go to his own grave knowing he had failed in the only task that had truly mattered to him.
There would be no absolution.
Kilton had ensured the victory was complete by leaving him no choice but to sign Guiding Light into service.
But the real punishment was the guilt: already crushing him, and now a life sentence.
The singing stopped. He sat down, consumed with his own thoughts.
It was a moment before he realised they were waiting for him. The vicar motioned with his hands for Rob to take to the lectern that held the large bible.
He stood and shuffled along the pew. The vicar put a hand on his arm as he passed.
“The bible’s open at the right page.”
Rob stepped onto the wooden plinth at the base of the lectern and found the start of his passage in the church’s ornate King James Bible.
He took a deep breath and looked up.
Straight into the eyes of Susie Attenborough.
His mouth dropped open. He faltered, and snapped his head back down.
Had he really seen her?
She sat upright in a black dress and black-brimmed hat, next to Red and Sarah Brunson.
He looked up again. She smiled at him, looking serene.
Kilton sat directly in front of Susie, glaring at Rob.
He recovered himself and looked down at the reading. But he couldn’t stop himself from looking again.
This time, Susie had an admonishing expression on her face. She mouthed some words.
“Get on with it.”
The congregation shuffled at the awkward silence.
Clearing his throat, and hoping his voice would carry further than the front pew, he read aloud, bringing as much measure and authority as he could muster.
To his surprise, his voice sounded strong.
He reached the last word and allowed himself a proper look at the congregation. His eyes swept across the packed church.
He wasn’t sure exactly what to expect from his former colleagues.
Judgement? Disappointment?
What he saw was sympathy. Warmth, even.
Red Brunson looked directly at him, confidence in his gaze.
He returned to his seat.
They sang ‘Jerusalem’. During the second verse, Mark Kilton made his way promptly to the lectern.
He recounted tales of World War Two. Millie as an engineer who worked miracles to keep them flying day after day.
He drew laughs with his accurate descriptions of Millie’s inability to hold his beer, and his natural clumsiness. He paid a warm tribute to Millie’s patriotism and sense of duty.
Kilton’s eulogy went down well; had it not been in church, he may have received a round of applause.
After he returned to his seat, the vicar’s voice shifted. He spoke with deep solemnity, in a serious and authoritative tone. Woodward and the pallbearers reappeared. As they manoeuvred to raise Millie to their shoulders, an overwhelming sense of grief and finality swept across Rob, and he couldn’t force back the tears any longer.
Damn the bloody uniform.
As the coffin was walked past, he turned. Red Brunson also had tears streaming down his face, as did Dave Berringer, George Taffter, Henry Wiseman, Leslie Owens…
In fact, all his colleagues were weeping.
Why had he even tried to keep it in?
Georgina and Charlie followed the coffin, Millie’s widow slumped against her son. Rob and the others in the second row moved out to follow them.
Within a few minutes, the large congregation had filled one half of the graveyard. Rob and Mary stood close to Georgina, staring at the coffin which was now on the ground next to the freshly dug grave.
Rob looked around again, desperate to see her.
Eventually, he spotted Red, towering over the crowd, leaning down, talking to someone.
He wanted desperately to join them, to find out who Red thought she was.
And why was she here?
The congregation closed around the grave. A breeze flapped at the dresses and the women held one hand on their hats.
The vicar projected his voice to the furthest reaches of the graveyard.
“I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord. He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live. And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.”
Millie had been a more regular churchgoer than he or Mary. Rob could only hope this meant something more than a few stirring words.