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. Lo
oks 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.
Tempted as I am to take it – he’s a lot fitter than Harry after all – I hold up my hands and step back. ‘You really don’t have to dance with me, Jock,’ I say. ‘I’m a terrible dancer. I’ll probably step on your toes.’
‘That’s all right,’ he says. ‘We all have to start somewhere. May used to be diabolical. I had to give her lessons.’
‘Really?’ I’m so surprised I let him take me in his arms. Ooh, nice! Before I know it he’s leading me round the dance floor in what I think is a waltz. It’s not exactly Strictly, but it’s not as hard as I thought, and it feels nice being close to Jock like this. ‘So, you and May, eh? What hasn’t she been telling me?’
Jock laughs, a rich, warm sound. Couples around us turn to look, smiling at his amusement. ‘Nah. Me and May go back a long way – my nan lives over the road from her place. I think I’m the brother she never had.’ The slight twist of his mouth as he smiles tells me how he feels about that. Ahh, so that’s how it is. Poor Jock. I know what that’s like.
I think about Simon, and how I was always pretending not to care, especially when he was with other girls. I feel really sorry for Jock. I wish I could make him feel better, but what can I say, it’s hopeless. Gran married a guy called Billy, not Jock. I don’t know when she met him or anything. At least it won’t be Harry; I’d hate to think of that slimeball being my Grandpa.
I look up at Jock and smile. He’s very tall, making me feel tiny, even in these high heels (I’m getting the hang of them – haven’t fallen over yet). He’s got a nice face, with lovely brown eyes. There’s something about him that looks familiar. Who does he remind me of?
‘Why the frown?’ he asks.
I feel myself blushing. ‘Sorry, Jock, I just … you remind me of someone, and I can’t figure out who.’
He shrugs. ‘I reckon I’ve got one of them faces. Ordinary. Look like everyone, me.’
‘No, you’re not ordinary. It … you’ve got a nice face, Jock.’
He grins. ‘Nice? Not handsome?’
I swat at his shoulder. ‘Don’t push your luck, mister,’ I laugh. ‘I was just saying you look like someone I know. But I can’t for the life of me think who it is.’
‘I’ve got loads of cousins round here. Maybe you’re thinking of one of them.’
‘I haven’t been here long enough to know many people, so I don’t think it’s that.’
He raises an eyebrow – and suddenly I realise who he reminds me of.
‘Jock?’
‘Yea?’
‘You haven’t got a cousin called Bill, have you?’
He stops, right there in the middle of the dance floor. ‘You’re joking, right?’
‘Er, no.’
‘Did May put you up to this?’
‘No, why would she? I don’t understand.’
‘It must have been May, or Nell. They both know.’
‘Know what?’ Couples are starting to bump into us now. ‘Look, why don’t we get out of everyone’s way?’
He nods and with a warm hand on my back guides me off the dance floor. ‘Want a drink?’ he asks.
‘I’d really prefer some fresh air,’ I say. My eyes are stinging from the cigarette smoke and I suddenly go dizzy. For a minute I think I’m going back to the future, everything’s going all wavy and weird. I panic. I mean, what if I end up in the same place? Is this building going to be there in the twenty-first century? Or will I find myself in a strange house, or office, or shop? Or the middle of a bloody great traffic junction?
‘You all right, love?’ Jock asks, peering at my face. ‘You’re as white as a sheet.’
Everything comes back into focus. I don’t know whether to be pleased or cry my eyes out. ‘Uh, yeah. Thought I was going to get sucked into a wormhole there. Just need some air.’ I leave Jock standing there and head for the door. I can’t believe I just said that. How stupid did that sound?
Outside on the dark street, I take deep breaths of the frosty air, blowing out clouds of vapour as I try to calm down.
Jock has followed me out. ‘Do you want me to get the girls?’
‘No, honestly, I’m all right. I just went a bit dizzy, that’s all. I’m OK now.’ I smile at him. ‘But thanks anyway.’
‘If you’re sure,’ he looks doubtful.
‘It’s cool.’
He takes his jacket off. ‘Yeah, bleeding freezing,’ he says. ‘You’ll catch your death. Here, put this round you.’
‘No, I meant …’ I start to giggle. ‘I didn’t mean it literally.’ His jacket is warm from his body. It’s so sweet of him. He’ll get cold now, standing there in his shirt.
‘I don’t know what you’re on about, Queenie. You’re a funny girl, ain’t you?’
‘Rosie,’ I say.
‘Eh?’
‘My name’s Rosie. May and Nelly call me Queenie because they know loads of Roses already.’
‘So how did they come up with Queenie?’
I smile. ‘On account of me being so posh, innit?’
Jock laughs. ‘Yeah, you’re a right Queenie. So, nice to meet you, Rosie. I’m Bill.’
‘Sorry?’
‘You didn’t think Jock was me real name, did you? You’re not the only one who has to put up with a nickname.’
‘Bill? Really? But …’
‘Yeah, just like me old dad and granddad, God rest ’em. All Bill McAllisters. They decided I needed a nickname, so as not to get me confused with the old fellas. I thought Nell or May had told you, and you were teasing me.’
Whoa, hold on! ‘Did you say Bill McAllister?’
‘Yeah,’ he nods. ‘That’s why they call me Jock – on account of me having a Scotch name. Mind you, as far as I know all my family come from London. Always have done.’
I put a hand to my forehead. It can’t be!
‘Hey, are you sure you’re all right?’ he asks. ‘I reckon I’d better get the girls for you.’
‘No. No don’t. It’s just …’ I can’t stop staring at him.
Bill McAllister … Oh. My. God. I’ve just been dancing with my grandfather!
I don’t remember my Grandpa Bill, he died when I was a baby. But I’ve seen pictures, and everyone says Dad is the spitting image of him. It was that eyebrow-raising thing that reminded me so much of Dad. He does it exactly like that. And his eyes are the same, except Dad has some wrinkles and lines round them these days. But hey, Dad is old – at least fifty-five. Bill’s not much older than me.
‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,’ I say. ‘I don’t believe it myself. This is seriously awesome.’ I hug myself, the itchy wool of his soldier’s jacket making my skin tingle. Bill looks at me as if I’m mad and I start to laugh, really laugh, so hard that I have to clutch my belly and tears are streaming down my face.
Bill stands there watching me. The poor guy doesn’t know what to do. People are coming in and out of the Palais, some of them calling out to Bill, most of them thinking I’m drunk or something. I can’t help it. If only they knew. I’m standing here with my grandpa. No one else in the whole wide world knows. He definitely reminds me of my dad, so I suppose that’s what dad looked like when he was younger. I never realised he was quite fanciable, I always wondered what Mum saw in him. Now here I am, trying not to fancy my own grandpa! What am I like?
‘What the hell’s wrong with her?’ It’s Nelly, looking all disapproving, like Great-aunt Eleanor. If only she knew.
‘God knows. She just went off on one,’ says Bill, smiling despite himself. ‘She ain’t drunk, but something’s tickled her funny bone.’
Nelly tuts. ‘I swear she’s a bleeding nutcase, that one.’
‘She’s all right, Nell. At least she’s happy.’
Before she can reply the air-raid siren goes off. Everyone stops and looks up. Straight away the searchlights are beaming into the darkness. I take a deep breath, tryin
g to calm down. This is serious stuff now, so I’d better sort myself out. Bill hands me a clean white hankie and I wipe my face and blow my nose.
‘Feeling better?’ he asks.
‘Yes, thanks.’ I go to give it back to him, but realise he won’t want my snot in his pocket. ‘I’ll, er, wash it and let you have it back.’
‘Fair enough. Now, we’d better get down the shelter. You coming, Nell?’
People are pouring out of the Palais, and heading off in different directions.
‘I’ll find May. You all right with her?’ She points at me. ‘She’s still ain’t used to raids. I can hang on to her if you like.’
‘Na, don’t worry. I’ll look after her. You get May, and we’ll see you later.’
‘Thanks, Jock.’ She glares at me. ‘You behave yourself. This ain’t no time for hysterics, my girl.’
I try to look serious, but the effect is spoiled by a hiccup. Bill laughs as Nelly rolls her eyes and turns back into the Palais to find May.
‘Shouldn’t we wait for them?’ I ask.
‘Don’t worry. They’ll be all right. Come on, or the nearest shelters will be full up.’ He grabs my hand and pulls me along the street just as we hear the heavy drone of the bombers overhead.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The first shelter we get to is full, so we keep walking. The anti-aircraft guns have started up now, and somewhere in the distance I can hear bombs landing with a whoomph. Bill quickens his pace, almost dragging me along. I do my best to keep up with him. The only lights are the beams searching the sky and the traces of the bullets aimed at the bombers.
A woman trips over a kerb and cries out as she falls. A couple step over her, they’re not stopping for anyone. I pull on Bill’s hand and he turns round. Between us we help her to her feet.
‘Are you all right?’ I ask. ‘I can’t believe how rude that couple were.’ The woman leans on me, still a bit shaken. Her knees are bloody.
‘Oh my goodness, look at the state of my nylons,’ she cries.
I can’t believe she’s more bothered by the holes in her stockings than the horrible grazes she’s got, but there is a war on, I suppose. Nylons are like gold-dust according to May.
Rosie Goes to War Page 9