“To be expected! Tear up the place like a pack of wild dogs—it’s to be expected?” I cried. “Shaness, nothing’s to be expected! I didn’t expect Louisa to talk so posh! We didn’t expect the Luftwaffe to fly in waving white flags! No one expected we’d win the Battle of Britain! If everybody went on doing what people expected, I’d be selling pins and willow baskets door to door instead of hauling this lot about between their battles! And you, Miss Morag Torrie, you’d be looking down your neb at me for being a Traveller lass, instead of mooning over my ATS driver’s badge and wishing you were old enough to join up! Everybody shoves their sixpences into that bar expecting to come back for another drink and look at how many of them never come back!”

I saw the shiver go through them all.

Morag’s mouth hung open. Nancy Campbell pushed hair out of her eyes and whispered, “Whisht, Ellen, lass, don’t say such things.”

“Every other body says whatever they think!”

“And you’re no’ a tinker.”

“Aye, so I am,” I said. “Your bonny English WAAF shares her room with a filthy tinker.”

Phyllis grabbed my hand and squeezed. “She’s very clean, Mrs. Campbell,” she said.

I pulled away from her in fury. “Nan knows that.”

Nancy turned about and armed herself with a heather broom, probably made and sold to her by a relative of mine, and a pan and a cardboard box.

“I hope you lads are all ashamed of yourselves,” she said bitterly.

They looked as if they mostly were.

Jamie croaked, “Pass those here, Mrs. Campbell, and we’ll tidy up for you.”

He got to his feet and gave orders in a low voice. “Sort the mess and get back to base. The moon is full and we’re flying tonight. None of you will drink another drop the day, and you’ll not set foot in this place again until I’ve worked out how we’ll make it up to Mrs. C. You’re all banned.”

Derfel helped Ignacy to get up. “I’ll manage him,” he said to Jamie.

Suddenly B-Flight were working together again. I suppose that wasn’t to be expected, either.

Harry Morrow and Gavin Hamilton set to with the broom and the dustpan. David Silvermont and Adam Stedman picked up the table; Dougie Kerr and Bill Yorke squatted collecting broken glass. Now and then the English lads threw me curious glances, looking at me in a new way.

Chip Wingate got stiffly to his feet. He put a chair right and sat on it.

“Tex, get a move on. Help out or get out,” Jamie barked.

Chip leaned over his knees in silence.

“Come back for him later,” suggested Silver.

“Volunteer McEwen will drive you if you’re too puffed to walk,” said Jamie.