‘The waffs? What on earth’s that?’

‘The Women’s Auxiliary Air Force. It’s just been announced.’

‘You really think they’d have me?’

‘As a WAAF, yes. You’re clever and have a strong personality. But it’d more likely be support work. Driving trucks, that sort of thing.’

‘I can’t drive.’

‘Doesn’t matter, they’d train you.’

‘Doesn’t really appeal,’ she said.

‘I suppose you might even get involved in the kind of work I’m doing. The boss, Watson-Watt, says women are better operators than men.’

He had her full attention now. ‘Better at what?’

‘I can’t tell you much, but if it comes to war what we’ve been developing will help our pilots find their targets more efficiently and save us from air attacks.’

She thought of Mark. ‘Will it make it safer for them, too?’

‘Almost certainly,’ he said.

‘Then I’d definitely be up for that. But wouldn’t I need qualifications?’

‘Did you study physics and geometry at school?’

‘Up to Leaving Cert.’

‘Then sign up, and if they give you the chance to apply for RDF operator, or “special duties”, then go for it.’

‘I could work here?’

‘Not necessarily. You could be posted anywhere all over the country.’ This was a blow. She couldn’t imagine Ma being very happy about her leaving home, too.

‘How old do you have to be?’ she asked.

‘I expect they’ll issue some kind of information soon enough. If I find out, I’ll let you know.’

Later, she would wonder what had come over her. Gratitude, perhaps, for believing she was clever enough to get involved in his kind of work; for the notion that she could really do something useful? For loving her carrot cake, and calling her a genius? For his quiet, thoughtful presence? His sweet, shy smile? Whatever it was, she felt a sudden wave of affection, and leaned in to plant a kiss on his cheek.

16

That night Vic relived the moment over and over, feeling the touch of her lips on his cheek, the flush that had spread hotly up his neck and over his face.

If only he’d had the courage to put his arm around her, perhaps even to kiss her on the lips, but he’d been so confused, consumed with his own discomfiture, that he hadn’t had a clue what to do next. How were you supposed to sense whether a girl was interested? It was all such a mystery.

News got round, of course. You can’t go walking in the gardens with a girl, twice, without expecting someone to notice. Work secrets might be watertight, but everything else was fair game.

‘Got a new girlfriend, have we?’ Frank whispered in the lunch queue the following day.

‘She’s not a . . .’

‘Pretty little thing, nice curls. Bit young for you, perhaps?’

Vic said nothing, moving forward to collect his plate. Best not to fuel the fire.