“Ladies and gentlemen, please take your partners for ‘The Blue Danube Waltz.’”
As the opening bars rose, Lorna’s heart gave a jolt. All of a sudden she was back in the barn with Paul, his long cool fingers entwined with hers and his sweet breath on her cheek.
But this wasn’t Paul sliding a heavy arm around her, pulling her against the rough, moist fabric of his uniform.
Lorna’s stomach lurched, sickly chocolate in the back of her throat, the image of Ed’s slick pink tongue licking his iced finger clean. She tried to take a step back, but Ed spun her into a waltz turn, and again she had no choice but to follow.
Lorna’s head swam, and she pushed herself away from him. Suddenly Ed was absolutely enormous, horribly sweaty, and, as he pressed his stubbly cheek against hers, very, very threatening.
“I must go to the ladies’, I’m sorry.”
Lorna’s hand flew to her mouth, and she ran for the door.
Dodging around people dancing or chatting, Lorna threw herself into the darkened hallway, then into the bright ladies’ room. She dashed to the sink and clung to its cool porcelain. Then she turned on the faucet with shaking fingers and let the cold water run over her wrists.
She looked into the cracked mirror above the sink. A sheen of perspiration covered her flushed face, but even as she watched, the color drained. She was going to throw up. Running into one of the cubicles, she vomited into the toilet bowl, retching once, twice, before slumping to her knees on the cool tiled floor.
Resting her spinning head against the partition, Lorna burst into tears.
Fourteen
It took Lorna fifteen minutes to regain her sense of balance, to wash her face and hands, and to sponge the few staining spots off her dress. Several women offered their help, but Lorna was so embarrassed that she refused. She’d be fine, thank you.
Her reflection in the mirror looked ghastly, gray skin and red eyes. The lipstick had smudged and stained her chin pink. The blue-and-silver butterfly at her throat was the only thing sparkling about her now. She rinsed her mouth out again and again to get rid of the vile, sweet taste of the American lemonade and chocolate vomit. How could something so delicious going down taste so dreadful coming back up?
Lorna needed to go home. Retrieving her coat from the cloakroom, she went to find Nellie. Ed was waiting in the darkened hallway, a shadowed figure lit at random moments by the light escaping through the swing doors every time someone came and went. He was leaning casually against the wall, his hands in his pockets and a cigarette dangling from his mouth, its orange tip glowing in the gloom.
She gave him as strong a smile as she could muster.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, “but I need to find Nellie and go home. I’ve had a lovely evening, though.”
She took a gulp of air, not sure if she was lying or not, for she had been enjoying herself. So why did she feel so guilty and so unwell?
Ed didn’t move.
“I think Miss Nellie left already,” he drawled, without removing the cigarette from his mouth. “But why don’t you c’mon with me and have another of those delicious lemonades, and we can talk some more?”
He patted the pants pocket from which he had taken his hip flask earlier in the evening and winked.
Oh God! Had he been putting spirits into her lemonade? Why hadn’t she realized?
Lorna was horrified. The only alcohol she’d ever had before had been a sip of her dad’s beer, but the taste was quite foul, so she’d never asked for it again. She had no idea it could taste so sweet.
Someone pushed through the doors, and Lorna tried to spot Nellie or Chuck, but she couldn’t see either of them.
Was Ed right? Had Nellie gone home already, forgetting she was with Lorna?
Then Lorna’s head swam again. Nellie hadn’t gone home, had she? She had gone off with Chuck, leaving Lorna alone. Or rather, not alone. Worse. She had left Lorna with Ed, whose predatory gaze now roved all over Lorna’s body.
“Don’t you worry, Miss Lorna,” he drawled—no, he slurred—as he dropped his cigarette to the floor and ground it out with his heel. “Why don’t you and me find somewhere more comfortable to carry on this fine evening?”
Ed pushed himself off the wall and came to stand right beside her, swaying slightly. Licking spit off his dark red lips, he looked as if he wanted to eat her.
Lorna gave an involuntary shudder.
“No, no, I’m fine, really,” she said, stepping back from Ed’s smirking face. “Thank you for a very nice evening, it was lovely meeting—”
Ed lunged toward her, his mouth searching for hers. He caught hold of the soft skin at the top of her arm and tugged her toward him. It felt like the flesh would tear off the bone, and Lorna instinctively pulled back. Ed went with her, pushing his body hard into hers instead, shoving her up against the wall and forcing his leg between her knees. A sharp pain stabbed between Lorna’s shoulders, and she gasped.
Ed groaned.
“Oh, yeah, you want this too.”
Had he thought she was gasping with pleasure? Lorna’s guts roiled, and she knew she would vomit again from the stench of his breath and the pain in her back.
As she slid along the wall to get away from the cause of the pain, the electric light in the hallway suddenly came on. She realized fleetingly that she must have been stabbed by the light switch, which stuck out from the wall by half an inch or more. In the sudden glare, she could see Ed’s face, flushed and sweaty and leering as he pinned her with his body, trapping her arm behind her back with his weight. His hand wrapped around the back of her neck, and his mouth finally found hers. Lorna wrenched her head sideways, feeling a slicing pain across her throat just as she felt his lips sucking at her chin and cheek.
She tried to cry out, but her voice betrayed her. Another sickening groan of pleasure rumbled in Ed’s chest.
His free hand pulled her skirt up her thigh. His fingers scraped her skin as he fought to lift her skirt even higher. The fine material tore under his force, and anger surged inside Lorna.
This could not happen! He was not going to destroy her beautiful dress!
Lorna’s fury burst. Enough! She’d grown up with two older brothers. She knew how to fight dirty.
She managed to free one hand and drove one fist hard onto Ed’s nose. His head shot back and, as he overbalanced, Lorna brought up a swift knee into his groin, pushing against his chest with the flat of her hand as she did so, sending him sprawling back with a grunt. So much for the matinee idol.
Lorna grabbed her coat from where it had fallen, tore the blackout curtains aside, and threw open the door to the outside.
The light spilled out onto the darkened drill square as she tripped over the threshold and fell to her knees in the gravel.
“Hey! Get the damn light off!”
The voice of a patrolling guard was close by, but Lorna didn’t make any effort to close the door behind her. She scrambled shakily to her feet, ignoring the stinging of her knees, and ran sobbing from the nightmare behind her.
No footsteps followed her, only the muffled band music coming from the hangar, so she slowed to a walk and concentrated on her breathing. The frigid night air was clearing her befuddled brain, and she gratefully gulped lungful after lungful. The shaking was now shivering, and she took a moment to put her coat on.
The top half of her body felt warmer immediately, but not her legs, and Lorna realized that her skirt was hoisted up around her hips. As she desperately tugged it back down, something dropped onto her shoe and landed with a tinkle on the gravel in front of her. She bent to pick it up and realized, as it caught the moonlight, that it was her silver butterfly. Lorna touched her throat gingerly with her fingertips, following the raw gash where the silver chain had sliced the skin, then snapped, when Ed had grabbed her. With a sob, she thrust the butterfly and broken chain into her coat pocket and headed for where she thought the gatehouse should be.
The moon was shimmering low in the sky, lig
hting the Flying Fortresses lined up in ranks as if ready for her inspection. Thankfully the hangar was close to the entrance of the air base, and she soon found the guard post at the front gate. Lorna wiped the tears from her face with her coat collar, pulling it high around her chin. The soldier on duty shone his flashlight at her face, then touched his cap.
“G’night, miss. Sure you’ll be all right to get home?”
“Yes, fine, thanks,” Lorna lied, and walked briskly past him.
Once she was out of his sight, Lorna hesitated, trying to work out the best way back to Aberlady. She kicked herself for not asking Nellie for the exact time of the night buses that ran from the base to Haddington, where she could change to a bus that took her to Craigielaw. Well, she would have to walk in that direction and hope that if a bus came past, the driver would stop for her.
She wished she had her flashlight, but she hadn’t thought she’d need it at a dance. So, alone, and with no light but the moon’s silver dust, Lorna set off in the hope of home. Her tears had stopped, but the pain and shame still tore at her insides and questions whirled around her mind. What time was it? How long would it take to get home? Dad would be furious if she got back late, and worse, if she came home without Nellie. And there it was, the biggest question of all. Where was Nellie?
As Lorna walked, for the first time glad to have on her comfortable school shoes, she thrust her hands into her pockets. The delicate wings of the butterfly grew warm as she fingered them gently, but then her fingers found something else, something smooth and cool. She brushed it with her fingers, trying to work out what it could be.
She pulled the thing out of her pocket and laid it in the palm of her hand. It was the pebble she’d picked up by the shore, and in the bright silver moonlight, it looked even more gray than blue. The exact color of a certain pair of eyes, she realized with a jolt. She found the thought strangely comforting, as if someone was looking out for her in the dark of that night after all.
When she eventually arrived at the main street of Haddington, Lorna was relieved both to see one of the old green buses waiting at the stop, and to find her return bus ticket in her other pocket. The bus took forever to get to Aberlady, but the driver was kind enough to drop her right at the end of the lane to Craigielaw, so her last bit of the walk home wasn’t too long on aching feet.
She paused outside the kitchen door, wiping her eyes one last time and trying to summon the courage to face her father, Nellie-less as she was.
There was a flicker of movement in the barn’s upstairs window. She waited a while longer but saw nothing more. It must have just been the reflection of a high cloud floating across the moon. Suddenly sadness overcame her. How could such a perfect evening go so badly wrong?
Lorna cracked open the kitchen door, and slipping off her shoes, she crept inside. The fire had burned down to almost nothing, and her father was asleep in his chair. His head lolled, a heavy book balanced precariously on his knee.
According to the mantel clock, she hadn’t missed her curfew. It was only just approaching midnight. The relief of knowing she wouldn’t have to deal with a telling off from her father about being late almost made her start crying again.
Lorna hung her coat on its hook and picked up her shoes. They were scratched and muddy, so she would have to wash them off before breakfast to save tricky questions about her journey home. Quietly, she poured herself a glass of water and walked behind her father’s chair. She lightly kissed the top of his head.
“Dad, I’m back,” she said softly.
Her father stirred slightly, and then jerked awake as if shocked to find that he had been asleep at all. He sat up and shook his head to clear the fog of sleep.
Before he could turn around, Lorna gave him a pat on the shoulder.
“It’s been a big night, Dad,” she said. “I’m off to my bed now. See you in the morning.”
Lorna fled through the door and up the stairs.
“Did you have a good time?” he called just as she closed her bedroom door.
Lorna couldn’t bring herself to reply.
Fifteen
The next morning, Lorna had risen early so that she and Nellie could do the milking as they’d promised, only to find that Nellie’s bed had not been slept in and her father had already gone out to do it after all.
So now she sat at the kitchen table, playing with her porridge instead. At first the comfort of the warm and creamy oats had made her feel better, but after two mouthfuls she’d realized she wouldn’t be able to keep much more down, so she’d given up. Her head was splitting, but she knew that it was neither a hangover, nor lack of sleep, making her feel so unbearably wretched.
Lorna was still staring into her bowl when the door creaked open. Nellie slunk in, high heels dangling from her hand. She was still wearing her red dress, but it was creased and crumpled. Her hair was all over the place and her makeup, so pristine the night before, was now smudged into dark rings halfway down her cheeks. She looked like she had barely slept. And she probably hadn’t.
Nellie carefully closed the door with a soft click, and it was only as she tiptoed toward the stairs that she spotted Lorna and straightened up, flashing a self-satisfied grin.
“Morning, duckie. What’s for breakfast then?”
She walked over and peered into the pot on the stove.
“Ooh, porridge, yum! I could eat a bloody horse!”
Noticing Lorna’s glare, Nellie looked sheepish, like a child caught stealing cake from the pantry.
“Sorr-eeeee! But I knew you’d get home fine, clever girl that you are.”
Nellie set her shoes down. Lifting the porridge ladle toward a bowl, she glanced down at her clothes.
“Oops! Now that would let the cat out of the bag, wouldn’t it? Back in a tick!”
A few minutes later, Nellie had changed into floaty pink pajamas and a thick cardigan, her hair pulled up with a silk scarf. She cut a wide slice of bread, smeared it with two days’ rations worth of butter, and bit into it with relish. As she chewed, she filled her bowl with porridge and poured herself a cup of tea, all the while humming, and waggling her backside to her own musical accompaniment.
Lorna was speechless. Nellie was acting as though nothing were wrong, as though last night had been the most wonderful evening. As Nellie continued to eat and hum and dance, it became clear that, for Nellie, it had been.
“Oh my poor feet.” Nellie sat and propped her feet onto another chair. “I love those shoes for dancing, but my word, they’re no good for walking. Not that I had to walk far. Charlie nabbed one of them Jeeps—you know, the ones with no top—and drove me all the way home.”
She took another enormous bite.
“Well, not straight home, of course. We did take, em . . . a little detour.”
This set her giggling. Was Nellie still drunk?
After a while, Nellie gave a big sigh.
“Oh, he’s just lovely, my Charming Charlie,” she said. “And what a dancer! Swept me off my toes all evening, he did.”
She laughed throatily and gave Lorna a long, loaded wink with a black-ringed eye.
“And not just dancing either!”
The innuendo made Lorna feel queasy again, and she contemplated smacking Nellie in that very eye to shut her up, but it was taking all her energy to keep her stomach in place.
Nellie scratched her hair, finding something stuck in the tangled mop. She extracted a short piece of straw, almost as golden as her hair, and hooted again.
“Oops! No feather pillows on our detour last night!”
Nellie continued to chuckle as she ate, oblivious to the fact that Lorna had contributed nothing to the conversation so far. Eventually she looked up.
“So, what about you, luvvie? Did you have fun? Wasn’t your Eddie simply luscious?” She pressed forward conspiratorially. “Did you get your first kiss then?”
Suddenly all the fury and shame erupted inside Lorna’s skull. She crashed back her chair and stood glaring at
Nellie.
“No, no, and NO!”
Then she ran, out the door, across the yard, and down toward the beach. Her stockings snagged on the grazes on her knees, tugging at the torn skin. She ached all over.
Lorna wanted to run and run, down to the water, into the Forth. She’d take her chance with the barbed wire and mines. But before Lorna reached the sand, she slipped on a tuft of damp grass and collapsed onto a sandy hillock. Once down, she couldn’t bring herself to get up again, but buried her face in the grass and wept, the furious fire inside her chilling to loathsome despair.
How long she lay there, she wasn’t sure, but soon she heard footsteps, soft thuds on the muddy path, and long grass brushing against moving legs.
Instinctively, Lorna sat up, tugging at the high neck of her sweater to make sure the fine red cut around her throat remained hidden. Then she dug into her skirt pocket and pulled out a wrinkled white handkerchief. She wiped her tears and runny nose so she didn’t have to explain them to her father. She had been lucky the night before, and she knew she wouldn’t evade his questions again if he found her in this state. Looking up, however, she saw that it wasn’t her father. It was Paul.
He was ten yards away, leaning slightly on a shepherd’s crook she recognized as her grandfather’s. The red cherrywood staff, topped with the curving ram’s-horn handle, had been cleaned and polished after years of dusty neglect.
Paul seemed to be waiting for her to speak. His face was inscrutable, but the expectant silence revived Lorna’s anxiety.
Could she tell him that she had had a good evening? Would he spot the lie, or did he already know it had been a nightmare? How? Anyway, she didn’t owe him an explanation, did she? It wasn’t like they were even friends. Not really.
And what was he doing standing there in silence? She didn’t need his scorn or his sympathy, whichever he was about to offer, and she certainly didn’t need his judgment.
“Go away!” she muttered. Hugging her legs to her chest, she laid her forehead on her knees. “Please leave me alone!”
Wait for Me Page 12