LITMIR.BIZ

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and knees picking up bits of paper.

      ‘Ooh look,’ he said, flinging one sheet at me from his position down on the floor. ‘This says Lilian Miles on it. Have you been doing your own family tree and got them mixed up?’

      I looked at the paper he’d given me. It was a document about the Air Transport Auxiliary.

      ‘No, it’s yours,’ I said, bristling at the suggestion that I’d get papers muddled. ‘Frank Jones is mentioned – look.’

      I pointed at the bottom of the page, where I’d highlighted Jack’s grandfather’s name.

      ‘It’s saying he’d been cleared to fly the class of planes that included four-engine bombers,’ I said.

      ‘And so had Lilian,’ Jack said, showing me the name at the top of the page. ‘No relation of yours?’

      I chewed my lip, thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps,’ I said. Then I shook my head. ‘It must just be a coincidence.’

      Which was exactly what I said to my parents about what I’d seen at our regular Friday evening family dinner.

      ‘And there, right at the top, was the name Lilian Miles,’ I said, helping myself to more pilau rice – we always got takeaway on Fridays because neither of my parents could cook and Miranda, my sister who’d done all the cooking when we were growing up, was usually knackered from work.

      ‘I thought it had to be a coincidence,’ I carried on. ‘But isn’t it strange?’

      Dad shrugged. ‘No idea,’ he said. ‘Like you say, probably just a coincidence.’

      ‘But what about Great-Aunt Lil?’ Miranda fixed Dad with a look that told me she wasn’t impressed with his response.

      Mum smiled at the mention of Lil. She was very fond of her.

      ‘Yes, what about Lil?’ she said.

      ‘What about her?’ Dad asked, snapping a poppadom in half with a crack and scattering crumbs across the table. I fought the urge to sweep them up with my hand.

      ‘Could the Lilian Miles on the list be our Lil?’ Miranda asked.

      ‘It won’t be her,’ I said. ‘There were lots of women named Lilian back then; trust me, I’ve seen a million birth certificates in my time.’

      ‘But not lots of women named Lilian Miles,’ Miranda pointed out.

      ‘Is it just a coincidence?’ Mum said. She looked thoughtful. ‘Robert, what do we know about what Lil did in the war?’

      Dad had just shovelled some more rice into his mouth but he sat up a bit straighter when Mum spoke.

      ‘Planes,’ he said eventually, once he’d swallowed. ‘Definitely something to do with planes. I remember her buying me a toy when I was a kid.’

      ‘Do you think it could be her, Nell?’ Miranda said, using my childhood nickname. ‘Maybe you could investigate?’

      Mum and Dad exchanged a glance. Just a quick one and I had no idea what it meant. But I saw it and it intrigued me.

      I shook my head. This was exactly what I’d been worried could happen.

      ‘We’re not allowed. We can’t use company time or resources to research our own families. I had to sign a thing, when I joined, saying I wouldn’t do it. And we can only access all the genealogy sites from work.’

      ‘But how would they know what you were looking up?’ Miranda said. She was like a dog with a bone when she got something in her head.

      ‘They’d know,’ I said darkly, though I thought she was probably right. Fliss could check what searches we did. In fact, we could all see everyone’s searches because we all shared a login. But we never paid much attention to what the others were researching and I supposed no one would know whether I was looking up my own family or someone else’s. ‘More naan?’

      The conversation moved on. And if it hadn’t been for that look between my parents, I’d probably have forgotten all about the mention of Lilian Miles in my research. But that little glance, and the way Dad had suddenly sat up when he remembered Lil had done something with planes, stayed with me. I wondered what it meant and why it had captured his interest so much.

       Chapter 3

      Lilian

      June 1944

      ‘That’s your brother isn’t it? And is that his wife?’

      Rose was peering over my shoulder at the photograph I kept stuck on the inside of my locker.

      ‘He looks like you, your brother.’

      I gave her a quick, half-hearted smile and reached inside my locker for my jacket.

      ‘And is that their little lad she’s holding?’ Rose went on, undeterred by my lack of responses. ‘What a sweetheart. He looks like you as well. You’ve all got that same dark hair.’

      Rose was one of the most infuriating people I’d ever met. Back when we’d been at school together my mum had told me to be nice.

      ‘She just wants to be your friend,’ Mum would say. ‘She’s not as good with people as you are.’

      Back then, I’d been one of the class leaders. Confident and a bit mouthy. Able to make anyone laugh with a quick retort, and to perform piano in front of all sorts of audiences. But that was before.

      I’d not seen Rose for a few years and I was finding her much harder to deal with now. For the thousandth time I cursed the luck that had sent my old school friend to join the Air Transport Auxiliary, and at the same airbase as me.

      I pulled my jacket out with a swift yank and slammed the locker door shut, almost taking off Rose’s nose as I did it.

      ‘Got to go,’ I said.

      I shrugged on my jacket, heaved my kitbag on to my shoulder, and headed through the double doors at the end of the corridor and out into the airfield. It was a glorious day, sunny and bright with a light wind. Perfect for flying. I paused by the door, raised my face to the sun and let it warm me for a moment.

      The airfield was a hubbub of noise and activity. To my left a group of mechanics worked on a plane, shouting instructions to one another above the noise of the propellers. Ahead of me, a larger aircraft cruised slowly towards the runway, about to take off. It was what we called a taxi plane, taking other ATA pilots to factories where they’d pick up the aircraft they had to deliver that day.

      My friend Flora was in the cockpit and she raised her arm to wave to me as she passed. I lifted my own hand and saluted her in return. A little way ahead, a truck revved its engine, and all around, people were calling to each other, shifting equipment and getting on with their tasks. I smiled. That was good. It was harder to organise things when it was quiet.

      Glancing round, I saw Annie. She was loading some tarpaulins on to the back of a van. Casually I walked over to where she stood.

      ‘Morning,’ I said.

      She nodded at me and hauled another of the folded tarpaulins up on to the van.

      ‘I’m going to Middlesbrough,’ I said, dropping my kitbag at my feet. I picked up one of the tarpaulins so if anyone looked over they’d see me helping, not chatting. ‘Finally.’

      She nodded again.

      ‘I’ve left the address in your locker with my timings,’ I went on. ‘She’s waiting to hear from you so send the telegram as soon as I take off.’

      ‘Adoption?’ Annie said.

      I nodded, my lips pinched together. ‘Older,’ I said. ‘Three kids already. Husband’s in France.’

      Annie

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