‘Sure, although it is not my war. Il Duce has the good sense to stay out of it.’
‘Mussolini’s a complete buffoon, from what I’ve heard.’
He frowned. ‘Buffo? You’re saying he is a clown?’
‘Well, as I said, it’s what I’ve heard, but let’s not get bogged down with all that now. Drink up, I’ve got work to do.’
He glanced towards the door, lowering his voice. ‘Tonight, Jennifer, I would like to take you to the dance. Would you make me very happy by saying yes?’
‘At the community hall, you mean?’
‘Sì, that is the one. Please say you’ll come.’
She gazed down at her jam jar, swirling the contents then running her finger around the rim. She longed to accept but she couldn’t do that to Lorcan. She’d given him her word and she’d not go back on it even though every cell was screaming at her to say yes to Nico.
‘Jennifer?’
She looked up, registering his incredulous gaze, as though he could hardly believe she was taking so long to answer such a straightforward question. ‘I’m already going, Nico.’
‘Well that is good then. I’ll—’
‘Lorcan has already asked me to go with him.’
Nico froze, his expressive hands halted in mid-air, his mouth agape.
‘He asked me earlier and I said yes.’
‘You’re going to the dance with Lorcan?’ he said, as though this was just too ridiculous to contemplate.
She nodded. ‘Yes, I am.’
He pressed his fingers into his eyes and inhaled sharply. ‘I am so stupid. It is all my fault. Oh, why did I wait?’ He held out his hand. ‘Look at you, as if you wouldn’t already have a date for the dance.’
‘I can’t go back on my word, Nico.’
‘I wouldn’t hear of it.’ He touched her arm. ‘You must go with Lorcan.’
He retrieved his bike and swung his leg over the saddle. ‘I just hope he knows how lucky he is.’
She had almost forgotten how good it felt to stare into the mirror and see a perfectly coiffured hairstyle instead of the loose curls that fell about her shoulders. She hardly recognised herself. She’d brought with her a stubby eyebrow pencil and a flaky block of mascara, and Delyth had given her a pot of her home-made rouge, which consisted of the end of a lipstick melted into some cold cream. She sucked in her cheeks and rubbed some along her cheekbones, turning her face left then right to admire the effect. She leaned closer to the mirror and applied the pillar-box-red lipstick that had once belonged to her mother, shaping her lips into the hunter’s bow favoured by Joan Crawford and her ilk. Then she sat back and looked at herself, nodding. Not everybody could carry off this look.
As she applied a thin smear of petroleum jelly over the lipstick, she heard a knock on the door. ‘Come in.’
Delyth bobbed her head round. ‘My oh my, Jenny, there’s beautiful if ever I saw it.’ She took a step into the room as Jenny stood and smoothed down her brown and white polka-dot dress.
‘Did you make that?’
‘Yes, I did. It’s one of my favourites. I’ve made it for lots of my customers.’
Delyth rubbed the fabric between her fingers. ‘You’re so clever, bach. I can just about manage to sew a button on.’
‘I’ll make one for you if you like.’
‘Oh no. I’ve already told you, I’ve got a dress. Where on earth would I wear something like that? Anyway, I thought you might like a splash of this.’ She handed Jenny a dark blue glass perfume bottle.
‘Thanks, that’s really kind of you.’
‘Well, I’ve had it for years. Can’t even remember what’s inside,’ she laughed. ‘Might take your skin off, that’s if it hasn’t evaporated altogether.’
Jenny removed the stopper and took a sniff, her eyes watering. ‘It’s still quite . . . erm . . . potent.’ She dotted some behind her ears. ‘That should keep the flies away.’
‘Lorcan’s ready downstairs. Are you coming?’
Jenny picked up her cane and nodded towards the door. ‘Lead on, I’m right behind you.’
Lorcan had undergone a similar transformation. Gone were his overalls, his unruly curly hair and his grime-suffused face. Instead, he wore a bulky brown suit, only one size too big for him, the trousers held up with a pair of black braces. His hair had been tamed with the aid of some Brylcreem, and there was no trace of the agricultural smells that normally followed him around.
He stood open-mouthed as she came into the kitchen. ‘Jenny, you look wonderful, so pretty.’
‘You too,’ she replied. ‘Well, not pretty, but you know what I mean.’
He offered her his elbow. ‘Shall we?’
She slipped her arm through his. ‘I think we should.’
The community hall had been transformed from functional to gorgeously indulgent. Ropes of frivolous Union Jack bunting were strung along the walls, and each table sported a vase of velvety pansies in purple, yellow and mauve. The kitchen, which usually served the Women’s Institute teas, was decked out with bottles of spirits and cheap glasses, and in the corner, an unwieldy gramophone churned out the latest dance tunes.
Lorcan slipped his arm around Jenny’s waist and guided her to a table. ‘What would you like to drink?’
She turned towards the hatch, surveying the array of bottles. She wasn’t used to alcohol. With her leg, it wasn’t a good idea to add anything destabilising into the equation.
‘I’ll just have something soft, please.’
‘Really? Are you sure?’
‘Honestly. I need to be careful. I’ll perhaps have a proper drink later.’
He returned a few moments later with an elderflower cordial for her and a bottle of beer for himself. ‘Cheers,’ he said, clinking the bottle against her glass.
She gazed around the room. A few couples had already taken to the dance floor, limbs entwined as they moved in time to the music. Lorcan reached across the table and took hold of her hand. ‘Do you want to?’
She propped her cane against the chair. ‘Dance, you mean? I’d love to, but you might have to hold me up.’
He held her at a respectful distance, his back stiff and his arms straight as he glided her around the room in an approximation of a waltz. His hand felt surprisingly soft in hers, probably due to all the udder cream. That and the lanolin. Farmers who worked with sheep always had soft hands, Del had told her. She smiled to herself, relaxing her body and giving him the confidence to draw her a little closer.
‘You’re a good dancer,’ she said when they’d taken their seats again.
‘Give over. I’m just a shuffler. I’ve no idea what I’m doing.’
‘Well you could’ve fooled me.’
The door opened and a shaft of early-evening sunlight slanted over the floorboards, illuminating an excited cluster of girls in their sticky-out skirts and gravy-browned legs who had gathered round the entrance. It was a few moments before he emerged from the throng, nodding to each girl, kissing some on the hand, the epitome of red-blooded Italian virility. His double-breasted blue suit fitted him perfectly, the white pin stripes elongating his figure. His blue-black hair shone like a raven’s head and he’d left a barely visible smattering of stubble on his face. He took a long drag on his cigarette, his eyes narrowing as the nicotine hit the spot. Jenny could feel her heart racing and the sweat moistening her neck.
‘What’s the matter, Jenny?’ asked Lorcan.
She bowed her head and fiddled with the vase of pansies. ‘Nothing.’
‘Buonasera, Jennifer,’ said Nico, striding over. ‘Ciao, Lorcan.’
Lorcan swivelled in his chair and returned the greeting with a curt nod.
Nico held out both his hands. ‘You look sensational, Jennifer.’ He clamped a hand on Lorcan’s shoulder. ‘I hope you know how fortunate you are, Lorcan.’
Lorcan gave an irritable shrug. ‘Bugger off, Nico.’
‘Ha, charming.’ He half bowed as he backed away. ‘Save a dance for me, Jennif
er.’
‘Lorcan,’ Jenny hissed. ‘Did you have to be so rude?’
She watched as Nico pulled a giggling girl to her feet and took her in his arms. She felt her face flush as she tried to ignore the tidal wave of jealousy that threatened to engulf her.
12
2019
My eyes are closed, even though sleep could not be further away. Candice gently shakes my shoulder. ‘Jenny? Jenny, are you still with us?’
I force myself to look at her. ‘I’ve not thought about that night in an awfully long time, Candice.’
‘God,’ she says, in wide-eyed wonder. ‘Nico sounds so irresistible. And exotic,’ she adds with a glint in her eye. ‘A bit like my Beau.’
I shake my head. That pillock sounds nothing like Nico.
‘From the second he walked into that hall, Candice, the atmosphere shifted, crackling like the air before a thunderstorm. He had this effortlessly magnetic aura about him.’
‘And he clearly adored you, Jenny.’
‘Colpo di fulmine, the Italians call it. A lightning strike. Love at first sight.’
‘How poetic,’ she gushes.
‘I suppose I have to take some of the blame for what happened next, because we were both culpable to a degree. I’ll accept ten per cent of it – there’s nobody to argue now.’
‘What did happen?’ she asks eagerly. ‘I bet there was a punch-up between him and Lorcan.’
I pat her arm to silence her. ‘Let me tell the story, Candice.’
‘Sorry, go on.’
‘Nico had kept his distance all evening, but I’d seen him looking my way numerous times, his dark eyes crinkling as he peered at me through the haze of blue smoke. I could feel my lungs protesting and knew I had to get some fresh air. I looked around for Lorcan and saw him talking to somebody about some prize heifer or other. I signalled that I was going outside, and he mouthed that he would be out in a minute.’ I sneak a look at Candice and am pleased to see she’s still enthralled. ‘I don’t know how anybody can talk about heifers, prize or otherwise, for so long, but I waited for a good fifteen minutes. I was rubbing my arms in an effort to ward off the descending chill when I heard footsteps. I know you’re probably ahead of me here, Candice, so I’ll skip to it and tell you it was Nico.’
Her mouth forms a perfect O, even though she must have been expecting it.
‘He handed me a drink, a port and lemon as I recall. I thought it would be churlish to refuse and I’ll never forget how that first swallow burned my throat. I wasn’t used to it then, so it only took a few sips for the liquor to go to my head – not that that’s an excuse, mind; I was still in control. He ground out his cigarette under his foot, then removed his jacket and slipped it round my shoulders. I didn’t ask him to do it. He just instinctively knew, I suppose, and took charge. The sky was clear and without the cloud cover there was more than a nip in the air. He stood in front of me, so close that our breath mingled in front of our faces. I can only think I must’ve been in some sort of catatonic state, because even though I knew it wasn’t a good idea for so many reasons, I was powerless to resist.’
‘Did you?’ asks Candice, sliding to the edge of the bench in anticipation.
I shake my head. ‘Without a word, Nico slipped his hand around the back of my neck and worked his fingers into my hair.’
Candice blows out a short breath. ‘Woo. What happened then?’
I close my eyes around the memory, long-forgotten feelings beginning to surface. ‘He kissed me, Candice.’ I pause to gather myself. ‘And as his lips met mine, my head screamed no, no, no, but my heart never wanted the perfect moment to end.’
‘That’s so romantic,’ sighs Candice. ‘Two guys fighting over you, eh? After seeing that photo of you, I can well believe it an’ all.’ She nudges my arm. ‘Carry on then, don’t keep me in suspense.’
13
1940
She could have stopped him the second he leaned in, but the intoxicating smell of his woody cologne, the unfamiliar smokiness on his breath and the feel of his warm hand on the back of her neck rendered her incapable of any meaningful protest. She had never been kissed that way before.
At the sound of footsteps scuffing along the path, he pulled away, fixed his gaze on hers and dragged his finger along her jawbone before disappearing into the night without another word.
‘Jenny?’ Lorcan called.
She took a few calming breaths, running her finger round her lips to remove any tell tale smudges. ‘Here, Lorcan,’ she breathed, her casual tone forced.
‘There you are,’ he said. ‘Where’ve you been?’
She immediately felt the need to defend herself. ‘Here. I’ve just been here, obviously.’
‘Oh, right. It’s just that there’s a bench at the front. I assumed you’d be sitting on that.’
‘A bench? No, I came round the back. I wanted to . . . um . . . hear the river.’
‘The river?’
‘Yes, the river.’ She absently pulled the lapels of Nico’s jacket together and sipped the port and lemon.
Lorcan took hold of the glass and sniffed the contents, his brow corrugating as he tried to work everything out. ‘I thought you didn’t want any alcohol – and whose is the jacket?’
She knew there was no point in lying. She let her shoulders drop. ‘Nico was out here having a fag; he saw that I was cold and lent me his jacket.’ She kept her tone light. ‘He gave me a sip of his drink, saying it would warm me up, and then he went back inside.’
‘Without his drink or his jacket?’
She lifted her chin. ‘He’s a gentleman.’
‘Mmm . . . I doubt that,’ he mumbled. ‘Eye for the main chance, that one.’
‘Do you think we can go in now? I need to return the jacket.’ The scent of his cologne still lingered on the collar.
Lorcan’s expression hardened. ‘If you want to.’
The dance floor was now full of couples pressed together, swaying in time to the tinny music.
‘I can’t see him, can you, Lorcan?’
‘Perhaps he’s gone.’ He brightened. ‘Come on, let’s have this last dance.’ He held out his hand and she had no choice but to take it. She shrugged off Nico’s jacket and laid it over a chair. Lorcan pulled her close this time, his arm wrapped confidently around her waist, his mouth only inches from her ear. ‘Have you enjoyed yourself, Jenny?’
She thought about Nico, about the kiss, about the way he had wholly possessed her, for just one brief moment. ‘I have, Lorcan, thank you.’
He smiled and tightened his grip, his fingers interlacing with hers. ‘Good.’
Back at Mynydd Farm, in spite of the late hour, she lay on her bed staring at the damp patch on the ceiling. Louis had finally agreed to move into his own little room and she relished the new-found peace and privacy her bedroom now provided. Nico’s jacket hung on the outside of the wardrobe. She hadn’t been able to find him, and after asking around, she’d learned he’d left the community hall in a hurry, wearing an angst-ridden expression.
She propped herself up when she heard the tap on the door. ‘Who is it?’ she whispered.
‘It’s me,’ said Lorcan. ‘I’ve brought you a mug of cocoa.’
‘Come in then.’ She swung her legs off the bed and perched on the edge.
‘Thought you might need warming up after our walk home.’
‘How thoughtful.’ She took the mug and blew on the foam before taking a sip. ‘Lovely, thank you.’
He sat down next to her, their thighs touching. She shuffled away a little, enough to make her feel more comfortable but not so much that he’d be hurt.
‘I really like you, Jenny.’ He examined his fingernails, his words laced with sadness.
‘And I really like you, Lorcan.’
He took a deep sigh. ‘Yes, but not in the same way.’
Stalling for time, she took another sip of cocoa. ‘We’ve only known each other, what . . . five weeks.’ Had it really only been that l
ong?
He attempted a small laugh. ‘If I don’t move quickly, you’ll be snapped up by someone else.’
She flicked him playfully on the arm. ‘Don’t be so daft.’ She paused, glancing at the jacket on the wardrobe. ‘Who’s going to snap me up?’
He stood to leave. ‘Oh, I think you know who, Jenny.’ He hesitated in the doorway. ‘Goodnight.’
14
2019
Arriving home from work that evening, Candice fished the crumpled receipts from her pocket and smoothed them out on the kitchen counter. Beau would be pleased at the savings she’d made by switching to a budget supermarket. She glanced at the clock on the wall, frowning as she stirred the pot on the stove. It wasn’t like him to go out without telling her where he was going or what time he would be back. He knew she was due to finish at Green Meadows around seven and that she’d be back in time to make a special meal to celebrate the good news about his regular booking at the Lemon Tree. Listening to Jenny’s story had only made her half an hour late, and she’d sent him a quick text to explain.
It was gone nine before he appeared in the doorway, a half-drunk bottle of champagne in one hand, a polystyrene takeaway carton in the other.
‘Where’ve you been, Beau?’ She kept her voice level, careful to ensure there was no trace of an accusatory tone.
He slapped the heel of his hand into his forehead. ‘God, babe, I’m so sorry. I forgot you were going to cook something. When you said you were running late, I assumed you’d changed your mind.’ He tossed the takeaway carton in the general direction of the bin, but it missed, and bits of shredded lettuce scattered on the floor. ‘I’ve had a kebab, but don’t worry, I can still force down some of what you’ve made.’
‘Force down? That’s good of you.’
He put down the bottle of champagne and pulled her towards him. He smelled of Paco Rabanne with a hint of cigarette smoke and an almost undetectable whiff of stale sweat. ‘Come on, don’t be like that.’ He lifted the lid on the pot and took a dramatic sniff. ‘Mmm . . . smells delicious. What is it?’ He nuzzled into her neck, making her giggle in spite of herself. She could never be mad at him for long.
The Memory Box Page 8