“The reason you’re having lessons now is so you’ll be ready if and when we need to send you over to Zone V,” Miss Chambers said as she came around the corner of the garage with an athletic-looking woman, who was also dressed in a Red Cross uniform. The woman was tall, though not as tall as Miss Chambers, with blonde bobbed hair and a face my sisters would describe as handsome but not pretty.
“Well, that makes sense, then, Miss Chambers,” I said with a smile. She had to send us to Zone V at some point. Trying to fake enthusiasm, I added, “We’re really looking forward to our lesson as we definitely want to be ready for the Continent, er, Zone V.”
Viv raised her eyebrows, signaling to me that I was laying it on a little too thick.
“I wanted to introduce you to Liz Anderson,” Miss Chambers said. “She recently served with the Clubmobiles in North Africa. Liz is going to be the field captain for your newly assigned Clubmobile group, Group F. You’ll be one of eight Clubmobiles in Liz’s group.”
Viv, Dottie, and I introduced ourselves to the woman who was our new boss and talked with her about where we were from and her experiences in Africa.
“I didn’t even know we had been assigned a group yet,” I said.
“Yes, well, we’re here for a meeting to finalize the details, but we’ve almost got it figured out,” Liz said. She gave us a warm smile. “I look forward to working with you. And trust me when I say that I know these trucks look intimidating, but you’ll be fine once you get the hang of it.”
“And you better get the hang of it quick—there’s only a few days of training left,” Miss Chambers said with a laugh. “You need to get those British licenses and pass Norman’s written test, or you won’t be going anywhere.”
“Wait, there’s a written test too?” Viv asked, looking at me and Dottie.
“Just some basic maintenance questions,” Liz said, trying to reassure us, something Miss Chambers was definitely not doing. “How to check the oil and gas, how to keep the distributor clean—”
“The what?” Dottie and I both said at the same time.
“The distributor. Don’t you know what it is?”
Norman walked over with a tool kit, his fatigues already smeared with black grease. He was in his sixties and spoke with a Cockney accent. The look on his heavily lined face told me he wasn’t exactly thrilled to be teaching American girls how to drive. “See you got your fatigues on. Ready to get on with it, then?”
“Good luck, ladies.” Miss Chambers’s tone of voice said, You’ll need it.
As the two women started to walk away, Liz turned around and mouthed, “You’ll be fine,” giving us a thumbs-up.
Almost two hours later, we were finishing up our lesson on the vehicle parts under the hood, or “the bonnet” as Norman called it.
“Now, tell me what ’at is and what ’at is,” Norman said to me, pointing.
“Um . . . that is the doohickey, and those are the thingamajigs,” I said, looking at him with a serious expression. He looked so frustrated, I had to break into a grin.
“Oh, I’m only teasing you, Norman,” I said, patting his shoulder. “That’s the carburetor, and those are the spark plugs.”
Norman let out his breath and nodded. “’At’s right. You Red Cross girls are going to drive me to drink.”
Just then, another Clubmobile came barreling down the road toward us, the horn blaring and “Deep in the Heart of Texas” blasting out of the speakers.
“What in the name . . . ?” Norman said.
“Hey, girls!” Blanche and Martha were leaning out the windows of the Clubmobile, yelling and waving at us as they went by. Frankie was driving, clearly pleased with herself as she sat behind the steering wheel on the right-hand side of the car. Her instructor was sitting next to her, holding on to the dashboard, looking as though he was on the verge of a heart attack.
“See you later . . . if Frankie doesn’t kill us first!” Blanche said, cupping her hands around her mouth and yelling loud enough for us to hear over the music.
“Goin’ to have to buy ol’ Alfie a pint tonight,” Norman said, shaking his head. “I thought your lot were bad.”
“Norman, sweetheart, when are we going to actually drive?” Viv said, batting her eyelashes at him so that he blushed. The maintenance lessons were necessary, but they were tedious and boring.
“Now that you gots an idea of what’s under the bonnet, you’ve got to go under the truck next.”
“I’m sorry, did you say under the truck?” Dottie said.
“Yes, all three of youse,” Norman said. “You girls are going to be in the middle of nowhere someday in France or Germany, and you’re going to thank ol’ Norman when your truck breaks down and you ain’t got a soul in sight to help youse. You’ve got to go under the truck; you’ve got to learn to change a tire. Then I’ll let ya drive.”
“You’re right, we absolutely will. Thank you, Norman,” I said. I knew he was reaching his limit with us.
“All right, ladies, let’s get under here,” I said, kneeling down next to the GMC. Just then, a jeep full of soldiers drove up and started beeping at us. We gave our usual waves and smiles when I heard, “Hey, it’s Boston!”
Joe Brandon jumped out of the jeep and came running over. “Just wanted to say hi,” he said, and I noticed he looked Dottie in the eyes when he said it. Norman grunted his annoyance at the interruption.
“Oh, hi, Joe,” Dottie said, moving her glasses up her nose as she looked at him, the color creeping up her cheeks.
“Hey, girls, how are the lessons going?”
“’orrible,” Norman said with a huff.
“We’re not even done with maintenance,” I said. “We’re about to get under the truck before Norman here quits on us.”
“They’re about to get under the truck,” Viv said. “I’m going to stay out here and take notes for them.”
“You ain’t doin’ no such thing!” Norman said, arms crossed, but when he looked at Viv, he shook his finger at her and added, “Viviana . . . oh . . . oh, you girls need to stop the jokin’.”
“Well, I won’t keep you,” Joe said. “But I’m playing with some of my band members at the Paramount Dance Hall on Sunday night, and I’d love for you three to come.”
“Perfect,” I said. “That’s our last night in London.”
“Can we bring friends?” Viv asked.
“You ladies can bring all the friends you want,” Joe said, smiling, casting a shy glance at Dottie and kicking the dirt like a kid.
A guy from the jeep called to him that they had to get going.
“I’ll let you get back to work,” Joe said. “See you soon.”
“See you soon,” Dottie said, and Viv elbowed her as we said our good-byes.
“Oh, stop,” Dottie said, elbowing her back.
“Stop what?” Viv asked. “He only had eyes for you, Dottie.”
“She’s right, Dottie,” I said. And then I remembered that I still had to tell her about Joe’s girl waiting at home . . .
“All right, all right,” Norman said. “Under the truck now, too much to do.”
I was the first to crawl under the truck, and I immediately whacked my head against what I was pretty sure was the axle. “Ouch,” I cried, and a gob of grease fell on my face. And all I could think was, Danny Barker, if you could see me now.
Dottie and Viv joined me, and we all lay side by side under the truck as Norman yelled out the different parts we were required to grease.
“I can’t believe how much grease has dripped on my face,” Viv said. “It’s disgusting. And a disaster for our complexions.”
“I can’t believe how many parts there are under here. Aren’t we almost done?” Dottie asked.
“Dottie, while Norman is out of earshot, I need to tell you something,” I said.
“What’s that?” Dottie asked.
“Well, the night I met Joe Brandon on the boat, he told me he had a girl waiting at home,” I said. “A teacher named Mary Jane.”
“That wolf!” Viv said. “You’d never know it by the way he was looking at Dottie just now.”
“I’m sorry, that’s what he said at the time,” I said. “I meant to tell you sooner, and I forgot. Maybe he’s not with her anymore . . .”
“That’s fine, Fiona, really,” Dottie said, her voice quiet. “You girls were making something out of nothing.”
“I agree with Viv. Not that he’s a wolf, but he does seem to like you,” I said. “So maybe she broke it off.”
“Like I said, it’s nothing. We’re leaving soon, and I’ll probably never see him again after London,” Dottie said, her voice somehow hopeful and disappointed at the same time.
“Do you still want to go see his band play?” I asked.
“Why not? I’m sure they’re going to be great,” she answered.
“And we’ll make sure you look absolutely beautiful that night,” said Viv. “Blanche told me this morning that we’re actually allowed to wear civilian clothes since it’s our last night in London. It’ll probably be the last night that we’re allowed to wear a pretty dress for a long time. Joe Brandon will be eating his heart out.”
“Oh, I don’t . . .”
“Girls, ah you greasin’ or gabbin’ down there?” Norman called down to us. “I want to get some drivin’ in before it gets dark.”