Wartime Brides Read Online Free Page B

bulk was slamming the breath out of her and he was breathing heavily in her ear. Even if she got pregnant it wouldn’t matter because Al was going to marry her and she was going to live in Kansas.
    But Al got shot down. One of his friends swore he saw his parachute open. Another wasn’t so sure.
    Her dream stayed with her, but it was six months before she got serious again. That was when she’d met Gavin.
    Her legs were getting cold so she rubbed one against the other in an effort to keep her circulation going. She glanced at the clock then looked towards the end of the platform , willing the train to arrive and for Gavin to be on it.
    Suddenly a shout went up. ‘The train’s coming! The train’s coming!’
    An engine whistle screamed and a cloud of smoke appeared just beyond the link that crossed over the bridge which, in turn, crossed the river.
    Under pressure from the pushing crowd, the barriers were hastily removed. People surged like a wind-driven tide towards the edge of the platform, expectant, excited, and willing to risk falling onto the rails rather than lose their place at the front of the milling throng.
    ‘Keep back! Keep back!’
    The shouts of the railway guards and inspectors fell on deaf ears. They were like Canute before the tide, only this sea of people was far more determined than the North Sea could ever be. The winds of war had at last blown themselves out and people were tired, glad it was over, and hopeful for the future.
    Piles of khaki, navy and airforce-blue uniforms, interspersed with the grey pinstripe of demobilisation suits, hung from carriage windows and doors, jostled by more men behind them jammed into the packed carriages.
    As the train slowed, the men’s eyes searched the crowds of turbans, feathered hats, and hair curled especially for the occasion with the aid of heated irons and water reinforced with a precious spoonful of sugar.
    Eager hands like tentacles sought the smooth metal of handles, doors swung open, and men piled out onto the platforms to outstretched arms welcoming them home. The noise was thunderous, far too powerful to be drowned out by the crackling loudspeaker that attempted to announce the train’s arrival.
    Polly, her eyes searching the windows as the men burst out from gaping doors, started to walk briskly along the edge of the platform, uncaring that she pushed embracing couples aside, her tears blinding her to how they might be feeling, how much they might have been missing each other.
    ‘Gavin! Do you know Gavin?’ she said, grabbing what she recognised as a shoulder adorned with the insignia of the Royal Canadian Airforce. The surprised-looking Canadian shook his head briefly before being engulfed by a pair of feminine arms clothed in the sleeves of a leopard-skin jacket.
    Polly pushed on determinedly, oblivious to bumps from shoving arms, angry glares and shouts of protest.
    She tried to gain more height by jumping in an effort to look over the heads of the crowd just in case she had missed him. People were like a sea around her, pushing, shoving. Shouts of recognition eddied around her from those on the platform, from those on the train.
    There were other shouts too.
    ‘Stop pushing!’ she heard someone shout.
    ‘The handle’s stuck!’
    ‘Watch it!’ shouted someone else.
    The shouts were ignored. Although those in front told those behind not to push, the urge to get off the train and as far away from war as possible was too strong.
    The door sprang open across her path. She screamed as the bottom part hit her solidly in the stomach sending her flying against the side of the carriage. One leg slid away from her and plugged the gap between the carriage and the platform. She felt her shoe slide off her foot.
    ‘My shoe! Where’s my bloody shoe!’
    A bevy of voices commented on her plight. ‘Oh God!’
    ‘Is she all right?’
    Faces, legs and uniforms formed a barrier around her. Hands reached to help her to her feet.
    ‘Make room,’ someone