Rosie Goes to War (11 page)

Pants! I suppose I'd better get up then. I throw back the covers as May clatters down the stairs. Brrrrr! It's sooo cold! How do they stand it? How did I ever not notice central heating before?

I just about manage to drink half a lukewarm cup of tea and eat a slice of bread with a thin scraping of my precious butter ration before following the girls to the bus stop. I take a bit more notice of where we're going today, just in case I have to find my own way anytime. Not that I want to wander around in the dark on my own, but you never know. I'm scared that if I let May and Nelly out of my sight I'll get lost, and if I can't find my way back to the house I'll never find my way back to Gran. It makes me feel sick, just thinking about it.

We're at the bus-stop early in the end. I stand here shivering, thinking that I could have had a few more minutes in bed. But I don't say anything because Nelly will only have something sarcastic to say about it, and I'm not in the mood for another row with her. So I stamp my feet, trying to get warm and pull my collar up so that I can keep the icy wind off my neck. It was so bright and warm when I got to Gran's last week, it's even harder to accept this awful weather. Like walking from the sunshine into a giant fridge. Brrrrrr! I stuff my hands in my pockets and wish the bus would hurry up.

Just along the street is a newsagents. A bell tinkles as someone opens the door. I look round just as a tall soldier comes out with a newspaper tucked under his arm. He's lighting a cigarette, cupping hands to shelter the flame from his lighter. Ugh! Filthy habit! I've never understood why anyone would want to take up smoking. Some of the kids at school have, and they stink.

I'm just about to turn away when the soldier straightens up, taking a long drag from his cigarette. For a moment I think it's my dad and I nearly call out. But then I realise it can't be. Dad's safe in the twenty-first century, somewhere in France, fixing a computer system. Anyway, this guy is much younger than my dad. I feel even more miserable now. I wish it was Dad, come to rescue me. But he can't, can he? He probably doesn't even know I'm missing yet.

‘Hello there.' I look up to see the soldier smiling at me. He definitely looks familiar.

‘All right, Jock?' says May. Ah, of course. Now I remember him. Disappointment coils tight in my stomach. Just a friend of the girls, that's all. He still looks fit.

‘Yeah, May. How about you?'

‘Not bad. You going to the Palais tonight, or are you on duty?'

He grins at her. ‘Got a couple of nights off, so I reckon I'll see you there.'

‘Good,' says Nelly. ‘You can stop her making a fool of herself. She's only trying to get Flash Harry to be her partner for the dance competition.'

Jock frowns. ‘Bloody hell, May. You don't want to be seen with him. You'll get yourself a bad name.'

‘Oh, don't you start n'all,' says May. ‘I only want to dance with him. We'd be a shoe-in to win that prize, and it's well worth having.'

Jock shakes his head. ‘You better watch yourself with him. I reckon your dad won't be none too happy about you stepping out with the likes of that toe-rag.'

May sticks her nose in the air. ‘Well he ain't here and he didn't make you me uncle, so if you want to stay mates with me you'd better mind your own business, thanks very much.'

‘He's only saying what we're all thinking, May,' says Nelly. ‘That fella's bad news.'

‘Oh, shut up, for Christ's sake! I'm sick of hearing it. It's only a dance. I can look after myself.'

Whoa! I've never seen May so bad-tempered. Even Nelly looks a bit shocked.

‘Well, see you do,' she says.

Jock looks like he wants to say something else, but Nell shakes her head and he gives up. I shift my feet, cold and fed up. The movement catches his attention and he looks at me surprised, like he's forgotten I'm here. Nice. Make me feel better, why don't you?

Nelly sees him looking. ‘This is Queenie,' she says. ‘We didn't have time to introduce you yesterday.'

‘Oh yeah, you're billeted with the girls, ain't you?' I nod. ‘Nice to meet you.'

He holds out a hand and I reluctantly take mine out my warm pocket. Even though he's not wearing gloves, his large grip is warm as we shake hands. I get the weirdest feeling – like electricity has flowed between us, or does that sound too Mills and Boon? It's true though. I feel a tingling all the way up my arm and my heart starts to pump like I'm running, but I just stand there like an idiot. He must feel it too, because he drops my hand really quickly and steps back. Oh no, this isn't good. This sort of thing shouldn't be happening. I can't fancy a guy who was born decades before me. That's just not right. I take a deep breath, trying to think of something intelligent to say, but my mind is blank. I open my mouth and shut it again, and look at Nelly. She's got a smirk on her face.

‘Well, it was nice to meet you, Queenie,' says Jock. ‘I'll maybe see you girls at the Palais tonight then?' He's looking at May as he says it, but she ignores him, so Nelly says ‘Yeah, all right, Jock. We'll see you later. Say hello to your nan for us.'

‘Will do, Nell.' He takes another puff of his cigarette, then drops it. He grounds it out under his boot, then with a last quick nod he's marching off down the road just as the bus pulls up.

I can't tell you how many times in my life Gran has gone on about ‘the good old days'. I stopped listening when I was about five. How was I to know that one day I'd actually end up here? I really wish I'd listened to her now. I definitely didn't believe all those stories about how great the dances were. I'm still not completely convinced. I mean, how can you have a good time in the middle of a war?

But here I am at the Palais, standing on the edge of a dance floor, wearing a borrowed dress from May, my hair pinned up, feeling really sophisticated, and at last I can see what Gran meant. The place is full of people – loads of them in uniform, and the rest are in gorgeous dresses and sharp suits. There's a fog of cigarette smoke in the air, giving the effect like a dry ice machine at a rave, only smellier. Not that I've been to any raves.

A big band is playing on the stage and couples are doing some amazing dancing, just like on
Strictly.
They're jitterbugging and jiving, and oh my God, May is out there with some guy and she is absolutely awesome!

I always thought that dancers on the telly all exaggerate the moves for effect, but now I know, the real thing is fantastic. The guys are picking the girls up and swinging them over their heads. The girls land on their feet and carry on dancing without missing a beat. Everyone's having a great laugh, even Nelly. I can't believe how much she's laughed since we got here, and she's not a bad dancer either. But May – well, all I can say is my gran didn't exaggerate and she is amazing.

At the end of the song some of the couples take a break, including Nell and the soldier she's been dancing with. He goes off towards the bar and she comes over to check on me. She's seen guys ask me to dance and I've turned them all down. Well, I don't how to do this stuff, do I? I'd look a right idiot. So I'm staying off the dance floor and just enjoying watching it all. The trouble is I'd really like to have a go. I love dancing. Maybe I'll get May to show me some of the moves at home.

‘This is sick,' I say to Nell.

‘You ain't one of them Bible bashers who don't hold with dancing, are you?'

‘Of course not! I'd love to have a go, but I'd probably land on my backside.'

‘Well, why did you call it sick, then?'

‘Because it's fantastic,' I laugh, realising that ‘sick' doesn't mean the same thing here. ‘Sick is good.' That's another one for my list of words that mean different things in 1940. Like ‘gay' – here it means happy, nothing to do with sexual orientation. I found that out when Daisy at work was talking about her son being gay and I asked if there were a lot of gays around. It took me ages to realise she was talking about something else completely.

Nell shakes her head. ‘We might both be talking English, Queenie, but you make it sound like another language sometimes. If it weren't such a daft idea, I'd think you must be a Nazi spy, 'cause you don't talk like no Englishwoman I ever met.'

‘I am not a spy,' I say. I wish she'd stop this. I could end up getting arrested if someone hears her. ‘Don't you dare say things like that about me. I'm British, and proud of it!' I'm not sure where that came from, but surprisingly, I mean it. Before I came here, I hadn't been bothered. But after everything I've seen over the last couple of days, how much everyone is suffering to beat Hitler, I really am very glad I'm British.

‘All right, keep your hair on. I suppose it's just the funny way you talk in the country.'

Yeah, like she really believes that. With a sigh, I turn back to the dancers. Another song comes to an end and the crowd claps and whistles. I join in, ‘Woohoo!' feeling the excitement and sheer happiness of the crowd. It's infectious, I can't help laughing out loud. ‘This is amazing. Do you do this every week?'

‘When there ain't a raid on,' Nell nods.

‘What happens if the sirens go now? We won't be able to hear them.'

‘Someone'll come in and make an announcement and we all pile into the nearest shelters or down the underground. A couple of weeks ago we ended up in the same shelter as most of the band, and they kept on playing. We had quite a party.'

‘Well, I hope there isn't a raid tonight.'

‘Too bloody right. Here, hold my drink. I've just spotted a fella who promised me a dance last week.' She hands over her glass of shandy and waves at someone on the other side of the dance floor. A man in the grey-blue uniform of the Air Force sees her and waves back. Nell dodges through the dancers and he meets her in the middle of the floor. They chat for a few seconds, oblivious to the people dancing around them. Nell's eyes are sparkling as the guy takes her in his arms and they start jiving. Wow! She looks so different, laughing and dancing like she doesn't have a care in the world. Nell takes everything so seriously: it's good to see her having a good time.

‘Hallo, darlin'. You all on your own?'

I jump as someone speaks in my ear, his hot breath far too close. I nearly drop Nell's drink, but manage to keep it upright – just.

‘Sorry, love. I didn't mean to scare you. I just thought you looked a bit lonely all on your own. It's Queenie, ain't it? How about a dance?' Harry, his black hair slicked back, his suit shiny, puts his clammy hand on my shoulder.

I twist a bit, pretending to be turning round so I can talk to him, but really I just want to get his paws off me. Hasn't he ever heard of personal space? Apparently not, because he doesn't take the hint. He moves closer. I might just have to pour Nell's drink over him.

‘No thanks. We only do Morris dancing where I come from.'

That was completely lost on him. He gives me a slimy smile. His teeth are yellow, just like his fingertips. God, he really doesn't realise how repulsive I find him. ‘Come on, Queenie, it'll be a laugh.'

I shake my head; I'm not going to argue with him.

‘Queenie, eh? You look like a princess to me.'

Ewww! This is sooo embarrassing. I hope no one I know can see me. Oh, hang on, all my friends haven't been born yet.

‘So, your majesty, are we going to have a dance?'

‘No, seriously, I'm looking after my friend's drink.'

‘Aw, come on, darlin'. It'll be all right on the table there.' He takes the glass from me and puts it on a table. ‘There you go,' he says. ‘Now we can dance.'

‘But I can't,' I say, pulling back when he takes my hand and leads me into the crowd. ‘Honestly, I've never done this before. You're going to regret it, trust me.'

The music changed to a slower beat just as Harry spins round and pulls me close. I lose my balance and land against him. ‘Umph! Sorry.' I try to step back, but he holds me tighter. The wiry little twit is stronger than he looks. And I think he must have had a bath in his aftershave. I try not to gag. Mind you, if I throw up all over him it will make my point, won't it? I hold my head away from him, trying to find some fresh air. I don't want to get any of his greasy hair product on me either. I wriggle, trying to get loose.

‘That's it, darlin', shake it for Harry boy,' he says. Can he really be so thick? ‘You're lovely, you are.'

I don't feel lovely. I feel stupid. And he is starting to really annoy me now. ‘I can't dance,' I say. ‘And I don't want to, so bloody let me go.'

‘Don't worry, darling, no need to be shy. I'll lead, you follow. It's easy,' he says, smirking and letting his hand wander down my back towards my bottom.

That does it, I'm going to kick him in the –

‘Excuse me, mate, I think May wants a dance.' A soldier taps him on the shoulder. Next to him is May, who winks at me.

‘Come on, Harry, you keep telling me what a twinkle-toes you are. Well, now you can show me. Queenie, Jock'll look after you.'

At first, I think Harry is going to argue, but May isn't having any of that. She grabs his hand and peels him off me.

‘Those hands of yours are going to get you into trouble one of these days, Harry, me lad.' says May, taking my place. ‘Now keep 'em to yourself, or you'll be explaining a black eye to your mum.'

They dance off, looking very impressive. The two of them are obviously good at that sort of thing, they make it look so effortless, though I'm definitely going to have a talk to May if she thinks Harry's all right. I give Jock an apologetic smile, but he didn't notice because he's watching them. Mmm. Looks like he doesn't trust Harry either. Good. After a bit he remembers I'm here. He looks a bit sheepish and offers me his hand.