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Maddie sat down into the chair with a thump. The hot tea slopped out of her cup and over her fingers, but the warmth felt good on nearly frozen hands. Even in flying gloves, her hands never stayed warm.
“Alright if I sit down?” a voice asked, interrupting her exhausted thoughts. The owner of the voice was another ATA pilot who looked moderately familiar. Of course after six years of the war, all the ATA or RAF pilots looked moderately familiar – or they were dead. Which was a happy thought.
“Yeah, of course,” Maddie agreed. She could think of few things she wanted less than obligatory small talk, but the rudeness of refusing made her agree. “Did you just come in?”
“No, heading out at half-past,” the other girl said as she sat opposite Maddie. She took a sip of her own too hot tea. “I’m taking the Spitfire they just patched up down south. I’m Petrova Fossil by the way. Don’t believe we’ve actually met.”
“Good luck, that.” Everyone loved the flying the little fighters, and even if the ATA was more about efficiency than art, being assigned to ferry a Spitfire was a compliment to one’s skills. “I’m Maddie Brodatt.”
“Oh! You’re the one who –“
Maddie stiffened at the words, and Petrova looked so stricken that it was clear she knew what the other girl had assumed. Everyone knew about that unauthorized flight into France and some of what happened after. Very few were tactless or rude enough ask her directly, but she’d overheard enough gossip (nearly all wrong in the details) to know it was talked about.
“You took my sister to London last year. I’d hoped we’d run into each other so I could thank you.”
Incredibly grateful that Petrova hadn’t tried to say something else or make the situation more awkward by apologizing, Maddie was happy to move to another subject. She frowned a little, trying to remember. “I did?” Remembering shouldn’t be difficult. It wasn’t that often that she transported women officially, but after the years of war, everything blended together. Especially after Ormaie.
“Pauline Fossil. She was doing a tour with ENSA and the USO. Bit odd that ATA got the call for transport, but anything to anywhere, right?” She shrugged a little, unable to resist making the joke about their unofficial motto.
“The film star, you mean? She’s your sister?” The name had jogged her memory, and now Maddie vaguely remembered Miss Fossil mentioning a sister in the ATA in the few moments they had for chatting before the car had come to take her into London.
“We’re adopted. I’ve been told we don’t look at all alike,” Petrova said wryly, taking a sip of her tea.
Maddie cracked a smile, a little more comfortable now. The girl in front of her definitely didn’t look like the glamorous film star she’d ferried across the country. Never interested in films when she could be working on engines and then flying, Maddie didn’t usually go to the pictures, but everyone had seen the big movie about the American Civil War starring Pauline Fossil. “Have you managed to see your sister since then?”
“No, not since a good deal before the war,” Petrova replied. Sadness was in her eyes though she was self-possessed enough not to show much. “She went to Hollywood when we were quite young, and I wasn’t granted leave while she was back. Both my sisters are in the States now. Posy’s a dancer.”
The thought of acting - or dancing - in films was horrifying, and Maddie barely kept herself from making a face. “Didn’t you want to be in films too?”
“Never!” Petrova’s horror matched Maddie’s at the idea.
“Oh good! I thought it sounded dreadful but that seemed awfully rude.”
“It would be dreadful! We all trained in acting and dancing, but I was a terrible dunce,” she admitted. “Cars and engines were always what I wanted to do. I was allowed to help in a friend’s garage on Sundays.” The way she said the last sentence - it was obviously what she’d lived for.
“My grandfather has a motorbike garage in Manchester,” Maddie said. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had an actual conversation about more than the terrible food or the conditions of the last flight. But she was enjoying this one with a girl who also loved engines even though her accent was more BBC than a mechanic's. Not that Petrova’s accent was nearly as posh as Jul - the thought hurt too much, and Maddie couldn’t finish her sentence even in her own head.
“Oh, you do have luck!” Petrova said enviously. “Were you allowed to work on the bikes there? I haven’t been on a motorbike, but I would have loved that instead of nothing but ballet and directors saying ‘no, Petrova, we’ve gone over this. Your emphasis is all wrong! Do it again...and again and again’ until I was 14.”
Smiling at Petrova’s imitation, she nodded. “After school and on the weekend.”
“So he worked on planes too then, your grandfather? That how you ended up here?”
“No, just the bikes still. Not that there’s much petrol or rubber for tires for motorbikes. He’s in the Home Guard now. Flying came after I saw a plane come down. I knew I had to learn.” Maddie paused, realising something more was needed there. "The pilot was perfectly fine. She helped me get started learning."
“Me as well. Not about the plane, I mean, but needing to learn. And then once I get up there, it’s as though I’m meant to have wings.” Petrova made a rueful face. “Sorry, that sounds silly. Can we blame the war? I’d say exhaustion, but I had a few hours sleep last night.”
“No need. I understand.” Maddie shared a look of perfect accord with the girl across the table as something in her soul unfurled a little at this meeting of minds. Julie - and the name came to mind with just a tiny bit less heart-wrenching agony - would like Petrova who grew up a dancer and became a pilot. It was the type of contradiction she specialised in. “It’s - there’s a poem I read that said it better.”
“Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth of sun-split clouds, - and done a hundred things you have not dreamed of,” Petrova quoted.
“Yes, that!” she took a breath, the words echoing the feelings she couldn’t quite articulate. Then she smiled. “You sounded like an actress there.”
“Ugh.”
Petrova’s face expressed her displeasure too vividly, and Maddie startled herself by laughing aloud. “It’s right though. I wouldn’t have remembered the words, but it’s exactly right.”
She nodded, reaching into her flight jacket to pull out a much folded paper. “Pauline sent it to me a while back. You should have it. I’ve it memorized by now.”
“Are you certain? If your sister sent it on...”
“No, do take it,” Petrova insisted, sliding the card across the table. “It’s...” Her words were cut off as another officer called her name across the canteen. “That’s me. I hope we run into each other again?”
“Thank you. And - I hope we do.” Maddie picked up the paper, touched by the gift.
Petrova grinned and gave a mock salute. “Keep flying, Maddie. Put your name in the history books.”
A little startled by the words, she smiled back. “You too.” She took a breath as she watched Petrova go. Fly the plane, Maddie. She had, but... Still holding the poem, Maddie stood up. She’d long owed a letter to Lady Beaufort-Stuart. And one to Jamie. Perhaps she could manage to find words for them.