Margot & Me

by Juno Dawson

  I didn’t know precisely what that meant, but I got the picture. ‘This is perfect. Just perfect,’ I told him.

  ‘Next time there’s a dance, I’m hoping you’ll agree to be my date,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, I’m not much of a dancer. In fact I have two left feet.’

  ‘I don’t believe that for a second!’

  ‘It’s true!’

  ‘Well, then maybe I’ll just have to give you a couple of lessons, if you’d permit it.’

  I smiled up at him. ‘You can dance? Even with your back?’

  ‘I sure can. Mom always said, “Boys, how you gonna get a pretty girl to dance with you if you can’t even dance yourself?” and so she taught all of us in the kitchen at the farm.’

  ‘Well, aren’t you just full of surprises! In that case, I’d absolutely love a dance lesson.’

  ‘Deal!’

  He’d brought along a bottle of port too. I had often had a tipple at Mummy’s dinner parties and I thought a little couldn’t hurt. I can’t deny it warmed my throat as it went down too.

  For a time we were content to watch the hypnotic flames and the column of silver smoke billow aloft. The night sky was vast and I felt there were a great many more stars here than there were over London. Being pressed together like sardines felt so right, not wicked in the slightest. I let myself lean against him, head resting on his shoulder. The fire rippled on the surface of the lake and we were entirely ensconced in its glow. A little bubble filled with love.

  I think there was love there. I could feel it between us – the air was thicker and richer than it had any right to be.

  We talked and talked. I told him all about Mummy and Daddy, about my schooling. He asked what I wanted to do after the war. ‘I honestly don’t know,’ I said. ‘Everything’s going to change, isn’t it, whether we win or lose.’

  ‘Oh, we’ll win,’ he said with certainty. I think the alternative is too simply terrible to dignify. ‘You want a family or are you one of those career girls?’

  ‘I want both,’ I said, and the prompt nature of the answer took me by surprise. ‘I’m so enjoying working with Glynis and the girls. It’s keeping my brain busy. I think it’s good to keep a busy brain, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ He gave my gloved hand a squeeze. ‘All I can see is this war, you know? Get better and get back to the base so I can do my part. If there’s a future beyond that, I don’t know what it is.’

  ‘It’s not such a terrible thing, I think, to invest oneself only in the present. It means you won’t miss anything.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more, Margot. Right now, you, me and this fire are the whole world.’ How I’ve balked in the past at the mere idea of ‘love at first sight’, but I had no concept of how fast these things can seed and put down roots. ‘Margot Stanford, I find you fascinating.’

  I laughed. ‘I think that’s a compliment.’

  ‘It is! It is. I think about you a lot, you know.’

  It was everything I wanted to hear. I’m sure there are rules about these sorts of things, but in the moment I couldn’t remember any of them. ‘I think about you too. All the time, in fact. Rick, you’ll think me awfully naive, but I’ve never felt like this before. I’m scared of it.’

  ‘I know what you mean … When I came to Llanmarion I wasn’t expecting to … Don’t worry, it’s all going to be OK.’ He pulled me close, enveloping me, and I believed him. As long as we are together, I can keep this golden feeling alive.

  I wonder if it’s about belonging.

  I want to be his. I want him to be mine.

  Chapter 16

  I honestly consider throwing a sicky (‘milching’ as Danny calls it) to stay home and read more of the diary. Margot is a big fat liar if she says she doesn’t believe in love – well, romance at least. I can feel the love radiating from every written word. I don’t pretend to be ill though, because if I do I won’t be allowed to go to Danny’s sleepover. His mum and dad are going to Dublin for the weekend for their anniversary, so we have a free house.

  Danny lives next door but one to his family’s Chinese takeaway, the China Garden. It’s open even with his parents away. They serve Chinese cuisine and, oddly, fish and chips. A neon sign flickers in the window and there’s a fish tank in the waiting area, alongside posters for a travelling fair and a dubious-looking ‘Puppies for Sale’ sign. Above the shop is the now derelict dance studio: a sign above the side door saying ‘STEPZ – CONTEMPORARY DANCE, JAZZ AND TAP’. Box-step hell. I can only imagine the sequinned Lycra horrors that must haunt that space.

  Danny beckons me in and Bronwyn is already in the lounge. I think if I had free access to a Chinese takeaway I’d weigh about three tonnes, but Danny assures me that the novelty wears off. Nonetheless I order chicken and cashew nuts with egg fried rice. Prawn crackers come with everything, even the fish and chips.

  We sit around the coffee table with I Know What You Did Last Summer playing in the background. I’m not a big fan of horror films, but this one is pretty mild and has both Ryan Phillippe and Freddie Prinze Jr to look at. ‘This film sucks,’ Bronwyn says through mouthfuls of bean curd. ‘I mean, she’s literally running towards the killer.’

  ‘Girl,’ Danny says in all seriousness, ‘don’t be talking shit about Buffy.’

  ‘Can we watch the Sandra Bullock one after this?’ I ask.

  ‘Sure,’ Danny says. ‘So. I have news.’ He pauses for dramatic effect.

  ‘Go on …’ I say.

  ‘I’ve met someone!’

  ‘What?’ Bronwyn explodes. ‘Who? In Llanmarion?’

  ‘No, are you mad? He lives in Newcastle. I met him in a chat room.’

  I rest my chopsticks. Danny was very impressed with my chopstick skills – Bronwyn had to ask for a fork. ‘Dan – he could be anyone. He could be a hundred years old.’

  ‘She’s right,’ Bronwyn added. ‘It’s probably that guy.’ She points her fork at the guy with the hook presently killing Sarah Michelle Gellar.

  ‘It’s not! He showed me pictures! And he’s gorgeous.’

  ‘Oh, come on. I could show you pictures of a hot guy and I’d still be a weird Welsh ginger girl.’

  ‘We spoke on the phone too.’ I dreaded to think how those conversations went. ‘And I’d know if he was a dirty old man. He’s called James and he’s at sixth-form college.’ He looks a little hurt that we aren’t taking him seriously.

  I relent. ‘Well, if you’re happy, I’m happy. And I want to see the pictures. But don’t do anything crazy like booking train tickets to Newcastle just yet.’

  ‘I won’t. Although we’re both desperate to see Les Mis in London so maybe …’

  ‘Danny, be careful.’

  ‘I will, I promise. Your concern is touching.’

  I smile and feel very peaceful. Perhaps the most peaceful I’d felt since I moved. There’s a definite unclenching in my jaw and shoulders, like I’ve found my niche. ‘I don’t want to get all mushy, but I just want to say thank you both for adopting me.’

  ‘Any time!’ Danny says with a grin. ‘I know we’re not your fancy London friends with Louis and Gucci …’

  I had plenty of sleepovers back home, but none quite like this. They were always oddly political, like if Dee came, Aria wouldn’t, but then if we invited Aria but not Dee, Marina wouldn’t come in support of Dee. Even if we could agree a guest list, they usually ended in tears, with someone smuggling in illicit vodka or some terrible secret coming to light. It’s refreshing to just sit around a coffee table with Chinese food and a horror film. I haven’t even bothered to put make-up on. ‘This is better without the Gucci and Louis, believe me.’

  After the film finishes, Danny suggests Truth or Dare. Bronwyn and I protest, but I’m learning that Danny usually gets his own way. ‘OK, I’ll go first,’ I say. ‘If you had to make out with someone from school, who would it be?’

  ‘Oh, gross,’ Danny says. ‘They’re all mutants.’

  ‘Well
, you know who I’d pick,’ Bronwyn says, forlorn.

  ‘Who?’ I ask.

  Danny rolls his eyes. ‘Bronwyn has a major thing for Robin.’

  ‘Robin in the chess club?’ He’s there every day, mostly reading comic books or Doctor Who Magazine. I had no idea Bronwyn was into him.

  ‘I’ve loved him since we were about three,’ she admits sadly. ‘I don’t think he even knows I exist.’

  ‘We wondered if he was gay for a while, but he has the biggest crush on Seven of Nine in Voyager.’

  ‘He seems pretty shy,’ I offer. ‘I think you’d have to make the first move.’

  ‘No way! Every time I talk to him, this noise just comes out: “Flobadobadobadob!”’

  We laugh. ‘What about you, Fliss? Who would you snog?’ Danny asks.

  ‘I don’t have to answer; it was my question.’

  ‘That’s not the Wales rules, hon.’

  ‘Well, I do have a teeny little crush.’ Understatement.

  ‘Dewi Allen?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘I’d cwtch Dewi,’ Danny says. ‘You’ve seen his hands, and you know what they say about men with big hands …’

  ‘Big gloves,’ Bronwyn and I say in perfect unison.

  ‘Dewi’s cute. He is adorable, but I’m not sure I see him like that, you know what I mean?’

  ‘So who’s your “teeny little crush” on?’ Bronwyn asks.

  ‘If I tell you, you can’t say a word. Swear.’

  ‘We swear.’

  I take a deep breath. ‘OK. I like Thom. Mr Deacon.’

  Bronwyn and Danny share a meaningful glance. ‘I knew it!’ Danny exclaims with glee.

  ‘Oh God, was it that obvious?’

  ‘No. But we’re intuitive like that,’ Bronwyn says.

  ‘You can’t tell anyone.’

  ‘We won’t.’

  ‘And I think he likes me back …’

  This elicits another meaningful glance. ‘Are you sure? Did something happen?’ Danny says, his tone low and gossip-thirsty.

  I don’t know why, but I fib before I can stop myself. ‘Yeah. Kind of.’

  ‘Oh my God! What?’

  ‘We sort of … hugged a little in the library. And he told me I was beautiful.’ This is a total lie, but the scandal in their eyes is surprisingly addictive. I can’t stop.

  ‘Does he have a wife, or a girlfriend?’ Bronwyn asks, and I realise I haven’t even thought of that.

  ‘No,’ I say defensively. ‘He doesn’t wear a wedding ring, does he?’

  ‘I did a little snooping once,’ Danny says. ‘I mean, he is hot in a weird ginger way, so I wondered if he was gay. I asked if he had a girlfriend and he just said that teachers don’t have private lives and sleep in Tupperware tubs in their stock cupboards.’

  ‘There’s nothing weird about being a hot ginger,’ Bronwyn adds.

  ‘I’m sure he’s single,’ I say, and it’s a wish as much as anything. ‘He must be. I think he really likes me.’

  ‘This is the most exciting thing that has ever happened ever,’ Danny says. ‘What are you going to do? If he does anything, he’ll lose his job.’

  ‘Will he? He’s not actually a teacher, is he? But this is exactly why you can’t breathe a word. We should take a blood oath or something.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ Bronwyn says. ‘I’m not willing to swear on hepatitis.’

  ‘But you have to promise. This is serious.’ I’ve said too much already. If rumours start drifting around the corridors at school, Thom will run a mile.

  ‘Babes, who else do you think even talks to us at school?’

  ‘Excellent point.’ I smile. ‘OK, whose turn is it?’

  ‘Danny,’ Bronwyn says, ‘truth or dare?’

  ‘Dare!’

  Exactly two minutes later, Danny calls down to the takeaway and, in a strange Chinese accent, orders a portion of Cream of Sum Yung Gy.

  Wednesday 26th February, 1941

  Once more my correspondence has been inconsistent. I suppose that’s testament to how much fun I’ve been having, too busy living life to write about it. Good writing comes from pain, and happy people have none. I wonder if, in generations to come, we’ll all look back at our tear-soaked, heartbroken diaries and doubt we were ever happy at all.

  It seems insipid when written down, but I’ve spent every day since my last entry with Rick. He’ll get better, and we both know it’s only a matter of time until he’s fit enough to return to duty. With a sand timer emptying over us, it feels like there isn’t a second to waste.

  Yesterday morning I received an invitation from him. It was most mysterious – a handwritten card asking if I’d be able to meet him at the hospital today. I telephoned the hospital at once and left a message to accept.

  This morning I cycled out to the old asylum and saw what Doreen meant. It is an imposing redbrick building, hidden from the road by weeping willows and a high, spiked fence. I imagine it’s quite nightmarish after dark. I left my bicycle outside and hurried up the stone stairs to the grand front door.

  Inside was bustling, overcrowded by soldiers, doctors and nurses. Every room and corridor was in use. Some men looked to be in bad way, lying on stretchers, their faces burned and bandaged.

  I felt terrible. I almost forget there was a war on. Now I was reminded – and for every man wounded, there were sure to be more dead.

  Not wanting to be a nuisance, I asked the receptionist where I could find Rick. She told me to take the grand staircase, go all the way along the corridor and find the old ballroom. I did as instructed, weaving through soldiers on crutches and officious, starched nurses with bedpans and clipboards.

  Before it was a hospital, and before it was an asylum, it must have been an opulent home, but now it has fallen into disrepair. The paint is peeling and whole chunks are missing out of the cornices.

  I found the old ballroom and slipped in through the double doors. Once upon a time the room must have been quite breathtaking, but the chandeliers and drapes have long-since been replaced with beams and benches and exercise bikes. At the centre of it all was Rick, lifting some weights under a doctor’s supervision. ‘Oh, I’m sorry for bursting in,’ I said.

  ‘We were just finishing up,’ Rick said.

  The doctor handed him a towel to mop his brow. ‘Ah, this must be the Margot we’ve been hearing about incessantly.’ He was a moley little man with thick, round jam-jar glasses.

  ‘I haven’t been that bad,’ Rick said with a grin. ‘Come on in.’

  ‘I’ll leave you young lovebirds to it,’ the doctor said, exiting the way I’d just come in. That remark left us both shy.

  ‘Look at this room,’ I said, making small talk. ‘That light …’ Radiant yellow sunlight positively poured through the three vast windows spaced along the back wall, as thick as custard.

  ‘It’s something, isn’t it?’ He looked splendid, even in his plain white T-shirt, shorts and plimsolls.

  ‘Is this what you wanted to show me?’

  ‘No,’ he said with a grin. ‘I thought it was time for that dance lesson, what with the St David’s Day fair next week.’ He bounded to the corner of the room, where there was a record player.

  ‘Rick, I’m not sure I’m dressed for dancing …’

  ‘You can dance in your pyjamas if the mood takes you!’ He lifted the arm and placed the needle on a record. There was a hiss and a crackle before ‘Jeepers Creepers’ by Louis starts to play.

  Rick returned to me and I’m not so backward that I didn’t know where my hands were meant to go. I gave him my left hand and placed the right loosely on his shoulder. One shouldn’t have to grip for dear life. ‘Mom always said that when you’re dancing, you listen to two things: the first is the music and the second is your partner’s body. Just follow the mood and see where it takes you.’

  We started to dance. Rick was light on his feet and I just followed, letting him do all the thinking. He smiled. ‘Ready for a spin?’

  ‘
I think I can manage that.’ He gave me a gentle turn and I spun too fast, colliding with his chest. ‘See, I told you I was clumsy.’

  ‘Don’t look at your feet, look in my eyes. There you go.’ He twirled me out again, and this time I coiled back into his arms perfectly. ‘We’ll make a dancer of you yet.’ It sounds barmy, but I felt more girlish than I think I ever have before – as carefree and light as a feather on a breeze.

  We laughed and spun until ‘Jeepers Creepers’ ended. Rick flipped the record and a slower song followed it. He returned and held me closer. ‘Just listen to the music.’ I felt his breath on my forehead.

  All of a sudden I couldn’t swallow. I knew what would happen if I looked into his eyes. I didn’t know if I was ready – kissing, like dancing, is something else I didn’t know how to do – but I listened to the music, and I listened to Rick and I knew it was the right thing to do. I tilted my head up and Rick caught my eye. He seemed to pause for a moment before leaning in.

  Just as his lips were to touch mine, there was a commotion from the hallway as a soldier on crutches clattered into the ballroom. ‘Oh sorry, Rick old chum. I didn’t realise there was anyone in here.’

  We pulled apart at once. Rick cleared his throat. ‘Hey, that’s OK, Clive. Come on in.’ He went to help his friend, and I took that to be the end of our lesson. I absent-mindedly touched my fingertips to my lips.

  Sitting here now in the rose garden, I’m still gaily humming the tune we danced to, and I still feel as light as a feather.

  Underneath this entry, there’s line after line of the same three words, written time and time again in different ways …

  Margot Sawyer

  Mrs Richard Sawyer

  Mrs Sawyer

  Mrs Margot Stanford-Sawyer

  Mrs Margot Sawyer-Stanford

  Mrs M. Stanford-Sawyer

  I smile to myself and shake my head. The girl had it bad.

  Although, now you mention it, Mrs Felicity Deacon doesn’t sound too shabby.

  Thursday 27th February, 1941

  Oh poor, sweet Bess. I’m so angry my hand is shaking and I can hardly hold the pen. I feel red and hot all over, like a boiling pot of lobsters. Oh, I could spit! Heavens to Betsy, where to start? Everything is such a mess.