Nameless dance music wafted from the radio and Josie swayed
slightly in time as the waitress took their orders. Apart from the two of them, the restaurant
was deserted.
“You certainly like your music. Do you like dancing?” he asked.
“Love it. Why do you
ask?”
“Oh, no reason.” He
polished his knife on his napkin, clearly embarrassed. “You move like a dancer, that’s all.”
“Do you think so?” She was pleased. “I’ve actually won a couple of trophies.”
“I’m not surprised.
You must dance a lot then.”
“Not now. My dance
partner got called up. It’s not the
same, dancing with the other girls.”
“But you must get lots of invitations.” He flushed again.
She looked at him for a moment. “You’re not very good at this chat thing, are
you?”
He returned to polishing his knife, his head down. “I suppose not. I’m really not trying to chat you,
though. I mean, someone like you wouldn’t…”
He stammered to a halt.
“Wouldn’t what? Look
at someone like you?” He looked up,
surprised by her frankness.
She smiled,
softening her voice. “If I go to a dance
on my own I can guarantee I’ll get propositioned by some reserved-occupation
lounge lizard with a sharp suit and bad breath.
Believe me, you’re a breath of fresh air.”
His flush deepened still further. “Oh!
Well, thank you! In that case, I
wondered…”
He was interrupted by the arrival of the soup. As the waitress placed the bowls in front of
them, the music changed again. The slow
opening tones resolved into the voice from the Milk Bar singing “J’Attendrai”.
“It’s that song again.
What was it you called it?” she asked.
“Oh, ‘Tornerai’. It’s
Italian for ‘You Will Return’”
“Sing the Italian words for me.”
“No, I can’t.”
“I thought you said you’d learned them.”
“I have. I meant I
can’t sing.”
“You did in the Milk Bar.”
She grinned over her soup spoon, teasing him.
“Oh, well, not really.
I, er…” His colour was deepening again.
“You know, I’ve never seen anyone blush as easy as you do,”
she laughed. “OK, tell me what you
wondered, then.”
“What I wondered?”
“Just before the soup arrived. You said, ‘I wonder…’”
“Oh, that.” He was quiet for several seconds. “It’s just that… well, I know we said just
lunch, but…”
“But…?” she prompted.
“But there’s a farewell tea dance at the Training
School. Would you like to come?”
“We did say just lunch, didn’t we?”
He sagged. “Yes, we
did.”
“But you hadn’t mentioned a tea dance then. Eat up, I want to go dancing in my new
frock.”
The severe formality of the Castle Bromwich Training School was
softened by tri-coloured bunting and a banner wishing Good Luck to 44
Squadron. A six-piece band played
subdued dance standards from a small stage.
Josie slipped into the Ladies as they arrived, emerging triumphantly in
the new dress, her hair combed and shining coppery in the harsh lights.
Tony met her at the door.
“Wow! You look, um… nice.” He
held out a glass of pinkish liquid.
“It’s only fruit cup, I’m afraid.”
“You’re such a silver-tongued flatterer,” she laughed,
taking the glass and sipping. “Flipping
heck! Fruit cup? Are you sure?”
He tested his own drink.
“Ah. I think someone’s
accidentally spilt gin into the bowl.”
“I think everyone in the room has.” She drank experimentally, trying not to
grimace at the unaccustomed bitterness.
The conclusion will be up in a few days' time
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