by Vance Huxley
“No!” Harold sighed and reached for the tie. “I’m not dancing or going in the hat for the last dance draw.”
“Yes you will because you’re too much of a gentleman to say no when you’re asked.” Sharyn sniggered. “If you get bolshie I’ll trade for the last dance with you, though I might throw up afterwards.”
“Cripes no.” Harold took the tie. “What sort of a theme is this?”
“Lurve, because it’s Valentine’s Day. They’ll all be wearing hearts, especially the girl club. How big and how many, and what else in some cases, is keeping all the younger single men really intrigued.” Sharyn inspected Harold’s tie knot. “At least the Army taught you something. Here.”
“I don’t need my stick for a dance.” Harold looked at her expression, shrugged and took the walking stick with the big brass boss on the top. “I can use it to beat off Doll or Suzie.”
“A few of the new single female refugees have joined that competition. They’ve been warned off you for now, little brother. Come on, smile.” Sharyn hooked an arm in his. “After all you started this tradition, all the dressing up and drawing partners to walk home.”
“To cheer them all up for one New Year dance. It wasn’t just me. Liz and Casper helped.”
Sharyn laughed. “The perfect combination. A soldier, a gay giant and a woman who refers to herself as the blacksmith slut. No wonder it’s still working over a year later.” A knock on the door announced the arrival of Rob and Susan to babysit. Harold realised he’d never had a chance of refusing. They brought five year old Sukie, very excited about a sleepover.
“Cripes, Daisy will never sleep.” Daisy, Harold’s six-year old niece, might have been classed as hyper-active if anyone bothered with labels after the schools, hospitals and doctor’s surgeries were either closed or attacked and destroyed by the mobs.
“Nor will we spend all evening up there reading stories and drawing or colouring once Daisy and Sukie start playing.” Susan smirked. “Whoever walks Suzie home could get a lovely surprise tonight, providing it’s the right man, because there’s no babysitter to act as gooseberry.”
Harold glanced at Sukie and kept quiet about what sort of surprise. “Another fix?” He frowned. “Has Suzie got her eye on someone?”
Susan patted Harold on the shoulder. “It’s best if you men never know. Now shoo.”
* * *
Harold hesitated at the door to the dance house. Sharyn pushed him in, then Harold stopped again. “Cripes, Doll’s won, or lost. Was the competition to show their knickers or get closest to it without flashing?” Harold shook his head. “She’s actually only wearing knickers.”
“The competition isn’t either of those. Doll is also wearing her best approximation to chaps without any leather, cowgirl boots, a Stetson and a love heart bra but you’re right, none of the men will notice those. Anyway, how can you tell what’s under those two hearts, or the top two?” Sharyn grinned.
“There’d better be knickers and a bra or Lenny will have to brush up on his heart attack treatments.” Harold headed for the refreshments but a hand caught his arm.
“Hello Harold. May I have this dance please? You said I’d always be on your dance card.”
“But. Oh, right, of course Celine.” Harold smiled and propped the stick against the wall. He had once told Celine that any time she needed a safe dance for her version of rape therapy, he’d be available. Celine wore her long white gown as usual but had pinned little red hearts all over it. Harold carefully put a hand on her waist, just, before holding his other hand out for hers because Celine still had trouble being near men. She had decided that dancing would help to get past her nervousness because Celine refused to let one asshole ruin her life. “You haven’t managed the little green dress yet.”
“Oh no, but I’m getting there. Hand properly round my waist please Harold, and hand on shoulder like this.” Her hand came up, hooking round onto Harold’s shoulder. “A few more of these dances and I might have to branch out a bit.” She glanced down. “It would be a shame to cut this. I’ll have to look for a slightly shorter dress.” Celine sniggered. “Though I could just take it off and go for the Doll look.”
“Cripes yes, that’s extreme even for Doll.”
“Not really, that’s how it’s supposed to be. A singer called Christina Aguilera apparently wore real chaps with knickers like that, and another called what was it, Myles Cyrus? Unless she was the one with pink hair who sang in a top hat and corset, that might have been her.” Celine laughed at Harold’s expression. “Doll’s Ma liked country which is why she’s called Dolly, but her Grandma must have been a bit more raunchy in her day. We’re finding more of that old music in among the CDs we’ve scavenged and Doll recognised some of the singers.”
“Let’s hope none of them look up Mylie Cyrus, which was her real name, for a costume. One of the squaddies had a video of her singing starkers which will wreck any competition and kill any bloke with a dodgy ticker.” Harold looked round. “Sharyn said there were new contestants now that Sal’s been gartered and Matti has apparently retired.”
“There’s a Bethany, a Fergie and a couple more possibles, and Gayle is coming out of her shell a bit. Then there’s Veronica and Hazel?”
“What?”
“Gotcha. They’re not quite sixteen yet and even then they’ll take a while to work up to competition.” Celine giggled. “I haven’t really done that for a while.” She smiled up at Harold as the music ended. “Thank you for the dance, Harold. You really are good at this therapy business, both sorts.” Celine meant how Harold encouraged her to beat offending gangsters with garden canes.
“I aim to please.”
The dance with Celine did settle Harold, and his succession of dancing partners were definitely better behaved than in the past. Then a voice he didn’t recognise spoke up behind him. “I’m supposed to call you Harold in here, aren’t I?”
Harold turned. “All the time except if I’m slapping scroats. Blimey O’Reilly, what’s that? Well its Sal’s red dress, or was, but what’s the disguise?” He smiled. “Let’s start with your real name, then get to that.”
“I’m Fergie and we met when you gave me sanctuary, but I’d covered up because I still didn’t quite believe I’d be all right here. I mean, for, er, cripes sake who really thought it was true, this place? An enclave who beat any gangster swearing in public and kill gropers?” The tall young woman with long dark brown hair put a hand on Harold’s waist with the other on his shoulder and giggled. “This is weird as well, proper dancing. Don’t put your hand round the back unless you… Oops, I’ve been told you won’t mean it anyway.”
“I also know that dress is backless.” Harold smiled in genuine humour. “I once slow danced with a Jessica Rabbit wearing that.”
Her eyes widened. “You did? Did she play pattycake?”
“Ask Bernie because I think she still does.” Harold grinned. “Sal made a spectacular Jessica before she settled down with her Roger Rabbit.” Dancing seemed to be like riding a bike, because Harold could still avoid tromping on feet even with a twirl. “What is that costume supposed to be?” Harold looked at the headband with a big heart on the front.
Fergie glanced down at the two big hearts on her chest. “Queen of tarts of course.” She looked round. “Suzie has a baseball bat with a heart attached. She’s wearing some fur collars as clothes and a little fur jacket someone found, because she’s Queen of Clubs.” Fergie finished her dance and hi-fived another young woman Harold didn’t know. He’d been in some sort of competition after all. Umeko moved in with a shy smile. Harold knew this would be another very quiet, careful dance as she worked through her own experiences.
Just before midnight Harold drew his number for the last dance and waited to see who turned up. The usual flurry of trading started, a mix of people trying to pick a particular partner or avoid one. He expected Liz or Patty, or someone else the younger men classed as drawing a blank because they wouldn’t get a doorstep kiss
or cuddle. The woman waving her number at him surprised Harold. “Celine? Two dances? People will talk, especially with this being the last dance.”
“You should be so lucky. I’ve decided I’m ready for a walk home with a man who might be dangerous in the right circumstances. A step up from the ancient, decrepit or gay.” She giggled. “Oops, twice in a night. Walking me home will give Nigel a chance to walk Sharyn home without you lurking.”
“Nigel and Sharyn?” Harold didn’t think his sister had got over losing her soldier husband, Freddy.
“Not really but they do get on well, as in talking about lone parents raising kids. If they talk a bit longer then Berry and Seth get more time together. Not that they need it but Nigel still thinks she’s thirteen, not seventeen.” Harold twirled her and Celine smiled happily. “Careful, if you keep this up I might forget to be good.”
“As long as I don’t come over all rough soldier you’re safe.”
“I know, which is why I can say things like that to you.” Her light green eyes twinkled briefly. “The time to worry is when my skirt hem starts to move up.”
“You’d better do that gradually so I’ve got time to run.”
“Ah, but when I’m finally wearing my little green dress the skirt won’t slow me up so I’ll catch you.” The music stopped. Celine looked up at him for a moment, debating. “Arms right around my waist please Harold. I’m safe here in the middle of the dance floor and this is the last dance.” She took a deep breath. “It’s time.”
Time for what became clear as Celine put her own arms round Harold’s shoulders and came up on her toes to kiss him very quickly and gently on the lips. “Whew, my first last dance kiss since… Hey, that was all right! Sort of an anti-climax after all the build-up.” A relieved smile lit up her face. “I’ve been working up the nerve to do that all night and I’m fine.” Celine hooked her arm in Harold’s. “Now you can really worry when you walk me home.”
* * *
Harold still wore a little smile about walking Celine home when he opened his own front door. His smile widened at Sharyn’s greeting. “I thought you drew Celine, little brother. Did you trade?”
“No, why?”
Sharyn frowned just a little bit. “Cherry Tree House isn’t that far.”
“And I’ve been a while. Celine wanted to stand and talk because she’s feeling more confident, which she’s really chuffed about. In any case, Casper is the house mother there now so I had to be good.” Harold had definitely been good because in the dark Celine became more nervous, settling for just a peck on the cheek, though she insisted on standing in the dark and talking for a while. “Now you’ve cast aspersions on the spinsters of this parish, just how long did Nigel take over his nightcap because he only just came out of the road end?”
“Stop it.” Two spots of colour appeared on Sharyn’s cheeks. “We were talking about raising kids alone, since I’d promised Berry I’d delay him so he arrived home later.”
“I’ll believe you, thousands wouldn’t. Now tell me what the hell Casper came as?”
“Cupid.”
“Oh, I thought he’d come as a love-child because of the nappy thing. He’s doing better these days as well, more like his daft self, though I’m surprised Amber didn’t come to the dance.” The brown and tan Doberman-Labrador cross bitch might be seven months old and nearly as big as her parents but Casper tended to treat her as about ten weeks old.
“She’s with Thandia, being puppy-sat.” Sharyn smiled. “You know, if the rain had eased off a bit this might have actually cheered me up.”
“Rain is good. Scotland is still under snow.” Harold frowned. “No doubt they’ll get their floods when that lot melts.” He turned to the study, his bedroom these days. “I’m not going to start ranting, I’m off to bed. Sleep tight.”
“You too little bro.”
Harold did sleep well, relatively. Some of the people he’d failed to protect came in dreams but there were also those he had helped, the Celines, Umekos, Fergies and Abigails. People who could be safe inside Orchard Close while the rest of the world went mad.
* * *
At least the dance meant that the shopping party the following day were in a good mood as they gathered at the gate. Though since a few people slept in late, or not at home, the party were delayed while people ran up with last minute requests. That led to few sharp replies because none of the shoppers wanted to wait any longer than necessary in the rain. Eventually the group trudged out of the gates and along the road to the bottom of the access road.
The delay didn’t bother the soldiers, snug in their sandbagged shelter. “Shopping party, sarge.” Harold waited until a bullhorn told him to come ahead, because the soldiers at the top of the access road weren’t there to keep Orchard Close safe. The army posts all around the city were there to keep the inhabitants penned in. Harold smiled despite the wet. “Hi sarge. Are you sure we can’t bring transport up here? A canoe maybe?” The Army sergeant in charge of the checkpoint rolled his eyes and held out a hand for Harold’s ID. He scanned it while the soldiers ran a wand over Harold to check for weapons, then waved him through the sandbags.
“That wouldn’t work up here, because we have drainage.” Sarge looked along the gleaming expanse of wet tarmac roadway stretching each way. “You idiots are the only ones going shopping today.”
“We daren’t miss out because what we want might not be there next time. Our meat stocks are down which is why we’re eating a lot of vegetable soup.” Harold frowned and shrugged. “Not that spam is exactly meat, and neither are those dried strips.”
“Hot vegetable soup is ideal in this wet weather. Not that I’d know.” Sarge grinned because anything up to half a dozen women sometimes brought hot soup up to the soldiers on night duty. They came unofficially as a goodwill gesture, a gesture forbidden under the current fraternisation rules but definitely appreciated by the squaddies.
While they talked the rest of Harold’s party came through, much quicker than usual because the soldiers wanted to get back under shelter. “See you soon, Sarge, because we won’t be strolling in this weather.” Harold put his head down against the blowing drizzle, setting a fast pace for the five mile trek to the mart.
* * *
The mart, a grim blocky building surrounded by mesh fences, armed guards and barbed wire, didn’t look any more welcoming in the rain. Unfortunately the inhabitants of Orchard Close had nowhere else to shop. Harold and the other men with metal frames in their backpacks went into the toilets. They removed the frames, which unscrewed into iron bars for self-defence, and shared them out. No weapons were allowed along the bypass that the Army controlled, but most shoppers were escorted by gangsters so they didn’t come through Army checkpoints. That meant they carried clubs, knives and machetes or similar weapons since those were allowed by law. The other permitted self-defence weapons, bows and crossbows, weren’t allowed on the mart premises.
The rain seemed to have deterred most of the other shoppers or more probably their gangster protectors. Harold’s group filled up packs with spam, dried meat sticks, and even some tubes of what the mart labelled meat paste. Those were the only three meat products on sale. The shoppers took all the cans of spam in case there were none next time. “Harold, since there’s no rush, can we take some potatoes?” Now Harold knew why Curtis, Orchard Close’s gardener, had come on this trip. For potatoes, not just as company for Emmy, his gartered wench or whatever wives were called without any form of official marriage. In Orchard Close, confetti and a garter had been adopted as a substitute.
“Why would picking up some wizened potatoes take time, Curtis?” Harold frowned. “I thought we still had plenty left in the cellar. Enough to thicken soup anyway.”
“Ah, well, these aren’t for soup.” Curtis looked almost embarrassed. “I want to examine each one to pick out all the ones with the best eyes. Then back home Emmy can help me chit them.”
“Not a problem since at least we’re dry here. What is c
hit… on second thoughts your love life is your own affair.” Harold grinned and ducked away from a half-hearted attempt to smack him on the back of the head.
“Hey, leave my main man and his loving out of this.” Emmy, a six foot Jamaican with half her hair cropped short and the other half in long thin beaded plaits, smirked. “I can’t help it if I drive all you bad boys wild.”
“True, I’m only jealous. Come on then, let’s go and find Curtis his evening entertainment.” The whole group followed him. Nobody shopped alone in the mart since the mart guards wouldn’t interfere if shoppers were mugged. “Did you bring enough coupons?” Coupons issued by the government had replaced all money.
“The Coven gave me extras out of the emergency funds.” Emmy giggled. “I promised more potatoes for chips later in the year and they didn’t want details either.”
“If it means chips, I’ll learn to chit.” Matti and Doll, the two sisters, spoke as one.
“I’ll help you with yours.” Jeremy looked hopefully at Matti and she considered.
“Hmm. I’ll have to get the sordid details about this chitting from Emmy first but maybe.”
By the time Harold called a halt Curtis had carefully selected several stones weight of the decidedly second rate potatoes. “Enough Curtis, we’ve got to carry this lot.”
“But each one will make several potato plants.”
“I don’t want to know the love life of potatoes either. Now come on, tear yourself away because I’ve been given coupons for clothing.” Harold nudged Curtis. “Emmy might buy something to encourage you to chit?”
“Stop it.” Harold ducked as Emmy swung again. “Who are you buying underwear for?”
“Just Daisy, Wills and a couple of the other kids. I suppose Doll and Matti will be looking further along the aisle. What about you, Patty? Are you buying something frilly to torment your fan club?”
Patty sneered. “My crossbow keeps their attention firmly on what matters, though I feel half-naked here without it.”
