by Diane Moody
“The most fun I’ve ever had in my entire life,” Sybil said. “Especially when we had live bands playing. Glenn Miller and Cab Calloway were by far the most favorite. When those horns would start playing and the drums pounding, and everyone singing along and dancing … it felt like electricity crackling through the air. Honestly, most of the time you couldn’t hear yourself think in the ballroom for all the music and chatter. It was wonderful!”
She led Anya to another staircase. “Let’s head downstairs to Dunker’s Den and get something to drink. Have you ever had a Coca-Cola?”
“No. What is it?”
“It’s a bubbly beverage they call a soda. You’ll love it.”
A few moments later as they descended the basement stairs, Anya couldn’t believe the vastness of the room coming into view. Obviously designed like a restaurant, yet completely different.
“Why do they call it Dunker’s Den?”
“I have no idea, but if I had to guess, I’d say it’s the strange way they dip their doughnuts in their coffee.”
“What is a doughnut?”
“It’s a pastry. A round confection with a hole in the middle that’s deep fried. Really quite good, especially if you have a hankering for sweets like I do.”
“We have something like that in The Netherlands called oliebollen. They’re round, like fritters, and we serve them sprinkled with powdered sugar.”
“Sounds heavenly. You’ll have to try one of our doughnuts. I’ll show you how the Yanks dip them in their coffee.”
Anya looked around at the enormous room filled with tables and chairs and booths. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
“It’s a re-creation of the corner drug stores they have back home. Quite popular amongst the younger crowd in America. They serve hamburgers and French fries, which are potatoes similar to our chips. And they drink lots and lots of Coca-Cola. Let’s take a seat over there at the counter.”
As they made their way through the room, Anya marveled at the shiny chrome and red vinyl booths, some filled with uniformed Americans and English girls, tables covered with plates and cups and ashtrays, the air hazy with cigarette smoke. They passed a group of soldiers gathered around a strange piece of furniture that played another big band tune.
“It’s called a jukebox,” Sybil said. “Ever seen one before?”
Anya shook her head. “What is it?”
“It’s like a gramophone that plays different records. You select the songs you want to hear by punching a few buttons. The Americans adore them.”
Soldiers greeted Sybil warmly by name, and she laughed and teased with them as Anya followed her to the long counter. Following her lead, she took a seat on one of the round red stools tucked alongside the counter. A young woman wearing a white apron over her gray Red Cross uniform stood at a tap filling a chilled glass mug.
She looked over her shoulder and smiled. “Sybil? I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”
“Just popped in for a bite with my friend Anya. This is her first time at the Rainbow. She’s a war bride too. Anya, this is my friend Kate Miller. ”
Anya blinked as the young woman turned to face them, her abdomen easily twice the size of Sybil’s. “Oh my goodness, when is your baby due?”
“Not soon enough,” she groaned, “but one more month according to the doctor. Nice to meet you, Anya.” She placed the mugs on a tray which another volunteer picked up and carried away.
“Nice to meet you too, Kate.”
“Anya’s from Holland,” Sybil explained, “but her husband was stationed with the 390th in Framlingham up in Suffolk.”
“Well, then. Welcome to Rainbow Corner. Give me just a moment then I’ll join you. It’s time for my break. Let’s sit at that table over there so I can put my feet up. What do you fancy this evening?”
“You sit down, Kate,” Sybil insisted. “I’ll pour some Cokes for us.”
“Oh, thank you, dear.” Kate eased herself onto a chair with a grateful sigh and propped her feet up on an empty chair.
Sybil returned with a tray and set three chilled mugs on the table along with a paper-lined basket of fried potato strips, then took her seat. “I don’t understand why you’re still working, Kate. We have plenty of help and not that many Yanks about tonight. Why don’t you go home and get some rest?”
“Because being home alone is ever so much worse. At least here, the time passes a lot faster. It’s too depressing at home and makes the waiting all the harder. Plus, the old man who lives in the flat next to mine plays music all hours of the night and day and refuses to turn down the volume. Might as well be here and doing something worthwhile. But enough about me. Tell me about yourself, Anya. How did you and your husband meet?”
“AAACK!” Anya blinked and sputtered after taking a sip of the fizzy beverage, her hand flying to the bridge of her nose.
Sybil and Kate laughed. “We forgot to warn you!”
Anya’s eyes watered. “It’s prickling up my nose. What’s in this? And why is it so cold?”
“Carbonated syrup,” Kate answered. “The carbon is what makes it bubble. As for the cold, the Yanks want all their drinks icy cold. Which I find extremely odd, don’t you?”
She nodded, dashing the corners of her eyes with her fingertips.
“But it’s actually very good, don’t you think?” Sybil took a sip from her straw.
Anya smiled with a nod. “Well, yes, I think so. Very sweet, but good.”
Sybil handed her the small basket of fried potatoes. “Now try one of these.”
Anya took a tentative bite of the narrow potato slice. Salty and crisp on the outside, soft on the inside. “This reminds me of our friets.”
“All right,” Kate began, “now that you’ve had your first Coca-Cola and a taste of American snack food, tell me how you and your husband met.”
Anya gave an abbreviated version of the long history she and Danny shared. The three chatted amicably, noting many of the same feelings about their long wait to go to America and the idea of moving to a country so different from their own.
“I must say it’s helped having a chance to work here, surrounded by all these Yanks and their strange ways,” Sybil added. “Might’ve been too much of a shock finding ourselves uprooted to a land where everyone talks with such peculiar accents and eats all this fried food.”
Kate fanned herself with a menu. “Anya, where does Danny live in America?”
“He lives with his family in Chicago. Have you heard of it?”
“Yes, sure I have. My Joe lives in Long Island, same as Sybil’s Jack. I expect we’ll all be neighbors, though I don’t know how far Long Island is from Chicago. Surely not that far?”
“I have no idea,” Anya said. “I was told the ship will pull into the harbor in New York City, then I’ll have to take a train from there to Chicago.”
They’d been talking about fifteen minutes when another of their friends approached their table. Anya couldn’t help staring at the pretty blonde with big blue eyes beneath thick black lashes; her lips painted with bold red lipstick so many of the English girls wore.
“Just the girls I’ve been looking for!”
“Gigi, meet my friend Anya,” Sybil said. “She’s a war bride just like us.”
“And fancy if you aren’t a pretty little thing. Pleased to meet you, Anya.”
“Nice to meet you, too.”
“Well then, with that accent you’re obviously not a Brit like us. Where do you call home?”
“I’m from The Netherlands. Utrecht.”
Gigi grimaced as she pulled up a chair and joined them, asking about Anya and her American husband. Anya couldn’t help envying Gigi’s confidence and bubbly personality. Her natural beauty most likely made her quite popular with the Americans.
“And you’re living here in London now?” she asked, snatching one of the fries.
“No, not yet. I’m staying in Framlingham with—”
“You don’t want to be all the way
up in Framlingham when the Yanks finally send us sailing, do you? Which brings me to the reason I was looking for your two friends here today. I’ve found us the perfect flat to rent while we wait. It’s in Covent Garden, and it’s available whenever we want it, for however long we need it, and with the four of us sharing the cost, it’s a steal of a deal.”
Kate patted her bulging tummy. “Just tell me the bedrooms are all downstairs. I can’t keep lugging the two of us up and down the stairs, especially when I have to go to the privy in the middle of the night.”
“All downstairs, and four bedrooms, so we’ll each have our own privacy.”
“What do you say, Anya?” Sybil asked. “Now will you come?”
“Yes, just think how much fun we’ll have together!” Kate added.
Gigi grabbed Anya’s hands. “That’s three to one, so how about it, love? Say you’ll come too?”
Anya wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to these English girls with their chummy ways and free spirits. And she wasn’t sure she was ready to move just yet. Her heart ached at the thought of leaving Sophie and Charlie and dear Patrick. Even so, all she really wanted was to be with Danny. And if living in London would speed the process, then perhaps it was time to move here. Or at least think about it.
“Would you still have a room for me if I don’t move quite yet?”
“What are you thinking?” Sybil asked.
“Perhaps a few weeks? A month at most?”
Gigi made eye contact with Sybil and Kate, placing her palms down on the table. “What do you say, girls? Shall we save her a room?”
Sybil then Kate slapped their hands on top of Gigi’s.
“Then it’s settled! We’ll all be flatmates!”
24
27 September 1945
Framlingham, England
The pub was busier than usual on Thursday night. Weekends were always crowded, but week nights could go either way. Right around dusk, a thunderstorm rumbled into Framlingham, and with it a truckload of British soldiers whose lorry had broken down on the outskirts of town. A rowdy bunch, Anya surmised from the kitchen, as their voices grew louder with each round of pints.
“And aren’t we glad Charlie’s here to lend Da a hand?” Sophie offered as she swung through the kitchen doors. “Reminds me of the good old days when the Americans from the 390th would stuff our little pub and fill it with laughter.”
“That seems a lifetime ago, doesn’t it? To think, it’s only been a few months.” Anya retied the kerchief wrapped around her head. “Shall I warm more bread? We’ve only a few loaves left.”
“Yes, I suppose so. What about the pasties? How many are left?”
“One more tray about ready to come out of the oven.”
“Coming through,” Charlie called with the keg of beer hoisted on his shoulder. “And I thought we Yanks drank a lot. I’m pretty sure these guys could drink us all under the table, as they say.”
“Ah, but think of the muscles you’re building,” Sophie teased. “You’ll be a regular Johnny Weissmuller before you know it.”
“Me Tarzan, you Jane?”
“Out you go, Tarzan. Thirsty patrons are waiting out front.”
Charlie laughed as the swinging doors slapped behind him.
“I remember Danny talking about the Tarzan movies,” Anya said, “but I never saw any of them. They sounded rather silly to me.”
“Oh, that they are. Absolutely ridiculous. More of a fellow’s cuppa, I suppose. Speaking of Danny, I forgot to ask. Any letters today?”
Anya gave the remaining stew a stir. “Yes, actually. The post was later than usual today, but there was a letter Danny had written way back on the fourteenth. I can’t understand why it takes his letters so much longer to get to me than mine to him. It’s really quite frustrating.”
“Better late than never.” Sophie stood at the sink beside her, plunging dishes and steins into the soapy water to wash before rinsing. “Any news? Is he still threatening to commandeer a plane and fly back here to get you?”
Anya kept her focus on the stew. “No, not really.”
Sophie rinsed her hands and dried them on a dish towel. “Not to worry. I bet he thinks about it every day. Wouldn’t be surprised if he showed up in one of those Forts and dipped his wing as he passed over us here.” She tucked a strand of hair back in her snood and glanced over at her friend. “Anya?”
“Yes?” she answered without looking up.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
Anya bit the inside of her lip. “Nothing you haven’t heard before. Honestly, Sophie, I’m so tired of waiting and whining about it. I can’t help wishing it was all over so I could stop having these stupid thoughts.”
Sophie nudged some wisps of hair off her forehead then folded her arms across her chest. “What is it? What’s got you so upset? Did something in Danny’s letter—”
“Yes, actually. Something he wrote.” She set the wooden spoon down then stretched out the kinks in her neck. “It’s absurd, of course. I’m just reacting like a silly schoolgirl, but—”
“Just tell me. What did he say?”
Anya pulled the letter from her trouser pocket and read aloud the section where Danny mentioned seeing his college sweetheart again. Hearing the words out loud made her feel even more childish. She stopped mid-sentence. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have read this to you.”
Sophie squeezed Anya’s forearm. “Of course you should, and I can see why you might jump to conclusions, Anya. But you have nothing to worry about. Danny loves you! Anyone who’s ever seen the two of you together knows that.”
“But that’s just it, don’t you see? We’re not together. I’m still here, and he’s back there in Chicago, America with all his family and friends, and now this Beverly person. It’s hard enough to be apart for so long. Now I have to worry about some stupid old girlfriend who’s obviously turning to Danny in her grief. And you know as well as I do that Danny would never just turn his back on someone who’s suffering. He has such a good heart, so who knows what he’ll—”
“You and I both know what he’ll do. He’ll be a perfect gentleman because that’s who he is. Anya, he’s your husband now. He’s off the market, and for the record, he has been for a long, long time. Look, I know how news like this can intensify the stress you’re already feeling. All these months apart and the sheer distance between you? Why, it’s positively brutal. But the one thing I do know—because Charlie talks about it all the time—is that Danny McClain is a good and decent man who is utterly smitten with you.
“Oh Anya, I know it’s hard, but you have to trust Danny. So you must promise me you won’t worry about this Beverly person anymore.” She leaned over to look into Anya’s face. “Say it.”
“I’ll try not—”
“No, promise me you won’t worry.”
Anya huffed and rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll say it. I won’t worry about this Beverly person.”
“Good. Now that we settled that, we best fill some orders before all those boys come storming back here looking for their food.”
As the evening wore on, they had little time for more conversation. Another lorry of soldiers squeezed into the pub, friends of the first bunch who were clearly more inebriated. Anya worked in the kitchen, while Patrick stayed busy at the bar. Sophie and Charlie took orders and replenished pints.
Later, Patrick pushed his way into the kitchen. “Anya, have you seen my glasses anywhere? I must have laid them down somewhere, and I must confess, I can’t see a thing without them.” He turned to face her, patting his pockets with a sense of urgency.
Anya wiped her hands on a dish towel. “I think I might know where they are.” She smiled as she approached him, then removed the glasses from their usual spot on the top of his head and handed them to him.
“Goodness me, that’s a rummon. I must be losing my marbles!” He dug a handkerchief out of his pocket and started wiping the lenses. “Are you all right,
Anya? You look a bit tired, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“I’m fine, Patrick. It’s about time to close, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is. Time for last call.” He stuffed his handkerchief back in his pocket, put on his glasses, and headed back through the swinging door.
Anya was grateful for the solitude, preferring not to deal with customers, or even make small talk with Sophie, for that matter. Even though she promised she wouldn’t worry, the familiar pressure on her chest registered another wave of concern.
Yes, she knew she could trust Danny.
Yes, she was glad he was safe, living at home with his family.
Yes, she would surely sail for America in a few weeks and never again be apart from him.
But that didn’t stop the images traipsing through her mind and hovering around her heart. Images of a beautiful college girl who’d once been the love of Danny’s life. Images of that same girl, now a grieving young widow in search of solace, perhaps hoping to find it in the arms of her former sweetheart.
“STOP!” she growled. “Stop it! Stop it, stop it!”
Sophie walked in on Anya’s outburst. “Stop what? Are you all right?”
Anya whipped around. “Yes, I’m fine. Really.”
Sophie lowered a tray of dirty dishes. “You sure about that?”
“I’m just tired, that’s all. Aren’t you?” She grabbed the tray from Sophie and dumped the dishes into the sink of soapy water.
“Yes, terribly. And I’ve had a time of it with those fellas out there tonight. Da should have tossed them out hours ago. But it’s last round now, and they’ll all be gone soon. Let me collect the rest of the empty pints, and I’ll help you with those.”
Charlie came in and out, helping Patrick close the pub for the night. He sent the last of the drunken stragglers on their way, then started wiping down the tables. Sophie and Anya finished the dishes and tidied the kitchen.
“All right then,” Sophie said. “I’ll just take this rubbish out to the alley, then we’ll be done. Go on up to bed, if you like. And thank you for your help tonight. We couldn’t have managed without you.”
“Of course you could.” Anya lifted the apron over her head and hung it on the peg, then poured herself a glass of water to take upstairs. She pulled the scarf off her head and let her hair loose as she took a final look around the kitchen. Noticing the pile she’d left after sweeping the floor, she got the dustpan and brush out of the closet again to finish the task, wondering what her mother would think to see her now. Oh, how they’d fought whenever Mother asked for help cleaning the house. Yet here she was, compelled to leave the kitchen spotless.