‘Oh no. I’ve told him a million times that I’m not available, that I’m married.’
‘Happen he thinks that what the eye doesn’t see, the heart won’t grieve over.’
‘That’s a horrible thought.’
‘Not unusual in these times.’
‘I shall go out this minute and tell him to fling his hook. He’s getting to be a pain in the rear end.’
Despite her Lancashire bluntness, nothing Lou said made the slightest difference. Luc was infuriatingly persistent. The story of his ardour soon became common gossip and wherever she went in the village, people would nod and wink, exchanging a few mumbled words behind their hands. Lou was quite sure they were saying, ‘That’s the girl who is having an affair with one of the refugees.’
‘Everyone’s talking about me, and I haven’t done anything wrong,’ Lou would complain, stricken by the unfairness of it. ‘How can I convince him to leave me alone? How can I convince
anyone
that I’m trying my best to do just that?’
‘It’ll blow over,’ was Irma’s advice.
‘But I don’t want it to blow over. I mean - I want them to see the truth. I want them to believe me, that I‘m not, in any respect, encouraging him.’
‘Just by being female and looking as you do, is encouragement enough,’ laughed their incorrigible landlady. ‘Would that I still had such a figure.’
Gracie was no help at all on the matter. All she ever did when the subject was raised, was to burst into laughter, assuring Lou that she didn’t, for one minute, believe Gordon would hear anything of Luc’s infatuation. Whenever he did arrive for that much longed for reunion, he’d be far too pleased to see his wife again to listen to malicious gossip. But having been reminded of her beloved husband, this would only reduce Lou to tears of anxiety and concern for his safety, so that Gracie learned to hold her tongue and say nothing at all.
Arrangements were well in hand for the coming dance, and excitement was running high. Adam had been duly persuaded by his mother to accompany both girls. It seemed he had no wish to single one out, which was a great relief to Gracie, for all she suffered yet more teasing from Lou.
‘What a pity. I felt sure this could be the start of a real pash.’
‘If you don’t stop plaguing me, you’ll be going on your own. And you know I always do what I say.’ Gracie warned. ‘Remember the lorries and Matron.’
Lou groaned. ‘Don’t remind me.
Preparations began the night before as the pair washed their hair in Lifebuoy soap, twisting it up in pipe cleaners to get a bit of a curl, and then lay about on the rag rug, trying to dry it in front of the fire.
‘What a carry on. I’m either scorched or freezing,’ Lou complained, ‘depending which part of me is nearest or furthest from the blaze. And is it even worth it? The dance will be full of gossipy old women looking forward to a good feed, and farmers who have only come for the whist drive and dominoes. Besides which, it’ll be freezing cold, nobody will ask us to dance and the band will play out of tune.’
‘Oh no, you’re entirely wrong,’ Gracie demurred. ‘It will, I’m sure, be quite perfect. It has to be. Irma is organising it. But even if it isn’t, it really doesn’t matter. For me, the anticipation and whole process of getting ready is almost more fun than the actual event.’
Lou snorted her derision. ‘Speak for yourself. I want to have a good time, war or no war.’ Turning around and sticking her head half way up the chimney, she continued, ‘Though I’m not sure how I can manage to do that without my Gordon, not with the irrepressible Luc chasing after me every second.’
Gracie smoothed a huge dollop of Pond’s cream all over her hot face. ‘You’ll have to give him a dance at least. He’ll expect it.’
Lou sat up and looked at her askance. ‘
A dance
?’
They regarded each other in silence for a moment and then as they became aware of how comical they both looked with their faces all hot and red, covered in cream and with pipe cleaner curlers stuck out all over their heads like porcupines, they collapsed with laughter at the idea of anybody wanting to dance with either one of them. When they’d calmed down again, Gracie said, ‘It wouldn’t be polite not to.’
Lou considered her outstretched fingers as she applied a few precious drops of a scarlet nail polish that she’d managed to acquire. ‘Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.’
‘Just one dance. There can be no harm in that, surely?’
Lou rolled her eyes. ‘Let’s hope not. We could devise a signal. If he gets a bit too fresh, I’ll put my hand up to my hair and start to tidy my bangs. When you see me do that, you come right over to rescue me. Agreed?’
Gracie giggled. ‘Only if you agree to protect me from Irma’s unconscionable matchmaking.’
‘What are you worried about? Adam’s rather dishy, and you’re free and single. He’ll make someone a good husband, and that someone could be you.’
‘Lou.’ There was a warning note in her voice. ‘I’m not ready to be anybody’s good little wife. Not yet.’
Lou sighed. ‘Oh, all right. If you insist.’
‘I do. Otherwise I shall leave you to the tender, loving arms, and garlic-scented breath, of hot Luc.’
‘God forbid. All right then. Pact.’ And the two friends shook hands and hugged on it, though Lou seemed far from convinced that Gracie was adopting the right attitude. She tried one more time to say as much, but caught that familiar fierce expression in her friend’s eye and abandoned the attempt.
On the day of the dance the two girls trotted downstairs and, at Irma’s insistence, twirled a little pirouette on the rag rug to show off their finery. Adam stood awkwardly by in his best tweed jacket and tie, making a shy attempt to be appreciative, politely admiring each one of them in turn. His irrepressibly curly hair had been slicked down with Brylcreem and his shoes polished as bright as a pair of chestnuts.
‘Well, what do you think, Adam old son?’ Lou demanded, posing decoratively in a red crepe dress that fit where it touched, moulding itself tantalisingly to her voluptuous curves.
Adam cleared his throat, already constricted by the starched collar and tie. ‘Very nice. You look - bright and lively. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of partners.’
‘And what about Gracie? Doesn’t she look sweet and pretty?’ Irma urged, half dragging the poor girl forward for her son to admire.
Gracie kept her gaze fixed floorward as she felt his gaze studying her, acutely aware of her burning cheeks and wishing she’d found something more exciting to wear than a simple blue print with a white trim at collar and cuffs. Even the blue ribbon Lou had insisted on tying about her straight blonde hair, Alice band style, must make her look like some silly schoolgirl.
‘Oh yes indeed,’ agreed the ever gallant Adam. ‘Very pretty indeed.’
'There you are, dear,’ Irma whispered, ‘Didn’t I say he’d be smitten?’
Gracie fled and buried herself in the safety of her greatcoat, making a private vow to find some corner and hide herself away so that Adam couldn’t find her, let alone feel obliged to dance with her.
They all set off together, a slightly subdued and silent trio, though for different reasons, Adam as enigmatic as ever. Lou was thinking nostalgically of Gordon, last heard of in a letter she’d received nearly two weeks ago when he’d claimed to be sailing homeward, though where his tour of duty had taken him, he naturally didn’t say. Lou didn’t greatly care. She just desperately hoped that he might get a bit of leave soon. How he would ever be able to find her up here in the wilds of the north, she couldn’t imagine.
Gracie felt acutely embarrassed at having been procured a ‘date’ and she began to see what Madge meant. Irma was becoming quite a problem in this respect. At least she wasn’t standing on the doorstep waving them off, which would have been excruciating. She’d left before them, driven away in Arthur Rigg’s old bread van bearing a huge enamel dish of tatie-pie, a tray of plain scones and threatening blue murder if Millie Conroy had forgotten to do the jellies.
The evening began with the traditional whist drive, followed by the hot supper which Irma and her band of stalwart helpers had prepared. Their efforts were greatly appreciated as there had been times during the seemingly endless years of war when good food had been less easy to come by here in Grizedale and the Rusland Valley. It’s very remoteness meant that roads were often impassable if winter weather was bad, and locals still spoke of the resentment they’d felt in the early days when local supplies of poultry and eggs had been commandeered for the Prisoner of War Camp at Grizedale Hall, which didn’t seem right. There still was ill feeling that the POWs were fed the same rations as an active British serviceman, far better than any civilian. So Irma’s tatie pie was more than welcome.
After the supper had been cleared away there developed a general air of eager expectation and much giggling. The village girls waited excitedly for the band to arrive and the dancing to begin; each of them covertly eyeing up the enticing array of partners. As well as the refugees, foresters, and members of the Territorial Army, there were some soldiers from a nearby Transport Maintenance Unit and a small group of airmen who’d come over specially from Millom.
‘Not a bad turn out,’ Lou whispered softly in Grace’s ear. ‘Maybe I should slip me ring off and test the wares.’
‘Behave! One of these days, you’ll land yourself in deep water with your teasing. Some bloke will take you seriously, then what would Gordon have to say?’
‘Ooh, I wish he would walk in right this minute. I'd give him a welcome he’d never forget,’ and Lou’s eyes filled with ready tears.
The music was to be provided by Bert, a local farmer who played the accordion, or ‘squeezebox’ as he called it, ably assisted by his mate Tom, who was slightly deaf and scraped a bow over his fiddle in a manner which might be considered musical. They tuned up precisely on the stroke of nine, starting off with a lively waltz, quickly followed by the valeta, the Boston Two-step and an eightsome reel. And if a few notes were misplaced, at least the music was energetic and well received. The floor had been sprinkled with soap flakes to make it slippy, and every window and door covered with blackout curtains or blinds, to ensure that the evening was in no danger of being spoiled by a complaint from the local bobby. Nobody expected to get home much before midnight.
Already breathless from the exertion of these first dances, Gracie found, to her great surprise, that far from being able to hide away, she was never short of partners and again jumped eagerly to her feet, with one of the airmen when the band struck up the Buzz-off fox-trot. She was thoroughly enjoying herself, and then came the moment everybody had been waiting for. The Cushion waltz.
The band was playing
Moonlight Serenade
and a cushion was placed in the centre of the floor, to much giggling and urgent whisperings from the local village girls. Upon this knelt an eager young man who was expected to kiss the girl of his choice before dancing with her. One by one the young airmen, foresters and smiling refugees took their turn. Lou was chosen by Luc of course and, rolling her eyes in comic reluctance, she sashayed across the floor and gave him a smacker. Everyone whooped with delight.
Eventually Irma pushed the bashful Adam on to the floor and one of the local girls shouted. ‘Pick me, Adam lad.’
Another protested, ‘No, pick me. Pick me. I’ll give you a hearty kiss any time.’
To her complete horror Gracie found herself being thrust out on to the floor after him. By Irma, of course, and she heard a groan of disappointment ripple through the watching crowd. The village girls were always a bit jealous of the newcomers and this wasn’t going to help relations one bit. Adam was a catch any girl would welcome. Anyone, that is, except Gracie. At least, not like this. She quite liked him but she needed to be chosen for herself, not because Irma had decreed it. The pair knelt awkwardly upon the cushion.
‘I’m s -sorry about this,’ Gracie stammered, flushed with embarrassment. ‘I never meant...’
‘That’s my mum all over. Never takes no for an answer, not once she’s got an idea fixed in her head. Let’s just get on with it, shall we?’ This hadn’t been quite the response Gracie had hoped for, though it was not unexpected. Who would willingly wish to kiss her, plain and thin as she was, with not a sign of Lou’s luscious curves?
They dutifully kissed, the barest touching of lips. Gracie closed her eyes and waited for the bolt of lightening to strike, the one which Lou spoke of so frequently. Nothing of the sort happened. Although Adam’s mouth was soft, and his kiss pleasant enough, she was aware only of an overpowering scent of Brylcreem and new wool, and the jeering, laughing crowd all around them. She couldn’t help wondering if perhaps this first kiss might have felt different had they been somewhere more private. Filled with acute embarrassment, the pair stumbled to their feet, Adam took her stiffly in his arms and they began to dance. Gracie could feel the hot stickiness of his hand through her thin cotton dress. It was not encouraging. From the corner of her eye she could see Irma standing watching them, hands clasped at her trim waist, scarlet mouth beaming with delight. Gracie didn’t dare even to glance at Adam as they shuffled awkwardly about the floor, and neither spoke a word. They stayed on the floor for the expected two dances, then Adam gave a little bow and escorted her back to his mother. It was the most excruciatingly embarrassing episode that Gracie could ever remember.