by AJ Pearce
I couldn’t help thinking that Edmund had never said anything complimentary about the Fire Service to William and how nice it was that Charles had. It was lovely to see Bunty beam with pride too.
I offered everyone a sherry, pleased that Bunts had had the presence of mind to hide the two glasses we’d already used so there was no suggestion of an unfortunate dependency. As it was my second drink in ten minutes it was also a nerve-settler if ever I’d had one.
With everyone relaxing, the conversation became gay. We chatted about how there wasn’t enough jazz on the BBC but it was super when they did do some and wasn’t Tommy Handley a real card on It’s That Man Again. I made a big effort to be lovely to William, and he made an equal effort to be chivalrous back, while Charles showed great interest in Bunty and she was adorable to him in return, until anyone would have been forgiven for thinking we were all about to go dancing with completely the wrong person.
It was a damp evening, but as we headed off to the West End we were all in high spirits. William seemed especially keen to get going and the four of us arrived at the dance just as the queues were beginning to build for the evening session. It was a mixed crowd, lots of service men and women, and a real jumble of accents. We waited in the drizzle by some friendly New Zealanders who made funny comments about the posters advising Be Like Dad, Keep Mum and even more colourful ones about the adverts for Land Girls. Charles raised his eyebrows at me and I laughed. So much for my plan to be a career woman with no time for men.
By the time we got inside, the dance floor was packed with couples. At the far end of the hall, the band were playing their socks off and if it hadn’t been for the absolute sea of different uniforms and the fact that the civilian girls were in day dresses rather than evening frocks, for a second you could have forgotten that there was anything awful happening in the world at all.
Straight away a determined William swept Bunty onto the dance floor, and for a few moments Charles and I watched. Bunty looked so happy as they started foxtrot- ting, with the chiffon on her dress flying out like a ladybird about to take off. I laughed out loud and gave them a wave.
‘I think they’ve left us to it,’ shouted Charles, over the noise of the band and the chatter around the bar. ‘Would you like a dance, or shall we have a drink to celebrate the evening first?’
‘A drink sounds lovely,’ I yelled. ‘Although what are we celebrating exactly? Quick, there’s a free table.’ A couple were moving onto the dance floor so I grabbed Charles by the arm, pulling him with me. We rudely pushed past a short man chatting to a tall girl and hurled ourselves into the tiny velvet booth that had just become free, falling into it without any semblance of decorum.
As the other couple looked defeated, Charles and I turned to each other.
‘Hurrah!’ we both said at the same time and burst into laughter.
‘Well done,’ said Charles, flagging down a waiter. ‘I bet you’re a demon when you dance. Would you like champagne?’ He paused and pulled a face. ‘I’m sorry, am I being an awful Flash Harry?’
‘Not at all,’ I said, as if I drank champagne and went dancing every Wednesday and this was all par for the course.
‘Good,’ said Charles and ordered a bottle. He turned to me and smiled. ‘You do realise I’m trying to look as if I do this all the time, don’t you? Please tell me it might be working just a bit?’
Actually, I had a feeling it might be working rather a lot.
‘Oh yes,’ I said in a supportive way. ‘I think you’re doing very well.’
‘Thank goodness. Quite honestly I’m not sure what’s come over me. I’m showing off terribly. I shall hate myself tomorrow at this rate.’
‘Ah, but we’re celebrating,’ I said, coming to his rescue.
‘Aren’t we?’
He laughed. ‘I’ll say.’
‘Only, I don’t really know what,’ I added, thinking that I didn’t actually care.
Charles paused and leant forward to speak. Even sit- ting in the booth, we were surrounded by noise. ‘Well,’ he said as the waiter reappeared in double quick time with a bottle and two glasses. ‘I think we should celebrate you making my leave quite the jolliest ever.’
I could feel my cheeks turning red.
‘I haven’t done much really,’ I said. ‘Just the cinema and talking on the phone. Oh, and this.’
The waiter showed Charles the bottle, and after he had nodded, poured the champagne.
Charles handed me a glass. ‘It’s been a bit of a year,’ he said, frowning, his brown eyes very serious for a moment. ‘Not always huge fun.’
He didn’t appear at all Flash Harry now. He cleared his throat.
‘Emmy, I hope you don’t mind me saying that you’ve cheered me up no end. I just wanted to say that. I hope you don’t mind,’ he said again.
He fiddled with his glass and looked embarrassed, but in a rather dashing way. I clutched at the stem of my champagne glass and forced myself to look him in the eye.
‘I’m having the loveliest time,’ I said which came out so quietly I felt sure he wouldn’t hear. It wasn’t the sort of thing I wanted to bellow. ‘Thank you ever so much.’
Charles had the nicest eyes I had ever looked into.
It must have been a funny sherry at Bunty’s as I could hardly breathe.
He raised his glass.
‘To us, Emmy Lake,’ he said, as we clinked glasses and stared at each other.
‘To us,’ I said, and then just to make sure of it, said again under my breath. ‘Goodness. To us.’
Then neither of us said anything and it was the most natural thing in the world when Charles put down his glass and reached across the table to hold my hand.
This was how Bunty and William found us a few minutes later, which elicited a loud Oh from me as I sat bolt upright and snatched my hand away from Charles again.
If he minded that I seemed to keep doing this, or thought
I was rude, he certainly didn’t let on, just raising a surreptitious eyebrow at me with a smile.
As it turned out, Bunty only had eyes for William. Although all of us tried, the conversation didn’t really take off with the music and hubbub and anyway, William kept fidgeting and clearing his throat. He looked even more jumpy than earlier, but both he and Bunty were more than happy to stay in the booth when Charles suggested he and I go off to dance.
The band were well into their stride, and even though it was packed, no one got in the way and it was as if the entire dance floor was ours. Charles was a good dancer, confident and practised, and you didn’t feel as if you were a sack of coal being heaved onto a float, which sometimes happened with a partner you didn’t much know. Dancing with Charles was exciting and I wished we could carry on through the night. I’d never felt like that with Edmund, who didn’t like dances anyway.
We waltzed and foxtrotted and it felt as if we cut quite a dash, and for once there was no thought of work or the station or air raids or worries. Just dancing and laughing with a man who was rather lovely and I thought very handsome as well.
When the band leader announced a short break we headed back to our table to catch our breath. William had stopped looking nervy and was grinning like a Cheshire cat and Bunty was sniffing and looking happier than I had ever seen her.
About fit to burst, she held up her left hand.
‘Look, Emmy, look,’ she cried.
My best friend in the world was engaged and the expression on her face was enough for me to know that her dearest dream had come true.
Within a second there was absolute pandemonium with Bunts and me shrieking and hugging and trying not to cry in public, and Charles pumping William’s hand up and down and saying Well Done Old Man as if he had known him for ever. Then Bunty and I pulled ourselves together and she properly showed me the most beautiful emerald ring that had belonged to William’s mother and it was quite hard not to start crying all over again.
It was the loveliest surprise.
‘Bill
says now he’s been promoted, he doesn’t have to wait any longer,’ said Bunty, beaming. ‘He is silly. I’d have married him whatever he’s doing.’
‘Someone’s got to keep you in champagne,’ grinned her fiancé. ‘We all might get used to this sort of high life.’
We all cheered in agreement and then Bunty turned to me.
‘Emmy, there is one thing I need to sort out,’ she said, putting on a serious face for a moment. ‘You will be my chief bridesmaid, won’t you?’
Of course, I said yes, and then we both went slightly to pieces and Charles ended up giving me his hankie. William had ordered a second bottle of champagne and we all started making toasts to the happy couple and the future and Peace and even a mention for the King and Queen.
William had his arm around Bunty and was holding on to her as if he would never let her go. Bunty kept gazing at him and even though they were sharing the marvellous news with Charles and me, you could tell it was really as if there was nobody else in the whole hall. Finally, Bunts whispered to me that would I mind if they left as she wanted to telephone her granny straight away? Of course I said she must, so we hugged again, and they galloped off into the night leaving Charles and me to stay dancing on our own.
Their happiness was catching. We danced for ages and although we both said our feet hurt like anything, at the end of the evening, we happily walked home, arm in arm in the dark. Although there were raids over the north of the city, it didn’t bother either of us very much and it was past midnight when we got back to the house and stood whispering on the doorstep. Charles had to be on a train back to his regiment at five the next morning and there would be no chance to see each other again for some time. It was a horrid thought and hard not to feel low, but we chatted as perkily as we could and agreed we should both very much like to write to each other while he was away.
‘I’m not going to be gloomy,’ he said. ‘Because I will look forward to your letters and anyway you never know when they might dole out some more leave.’
This was an admirable lie so I went along with it and said I would write him hideously dull letters if he liked so that he’d be far happier being away. Then I shut up and we looked at each other in a brave fashion, because actually it was horrible having to say goodbye seeing as we’d only just met, and I for one thought that I might like him very much.
‘You’re funny and lovely and couldn’t be dull if you tried,’ he said. ‘Write to me every day and I bet you still can’t do it. I’ll write too of course.’
And before I could think of anything funny or lovely or not dull to say back, that was when Captain Charles Mayhew leant forward and very gently, we kissed.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I Know What I’m Doing
Charles was as good as his word about promising to write. The day after next, a letter arrived which I read while Bunty paced up and down, pretending she wasn’t dying to know what it said.
Dear Emmy
It isn’t very long since we said goodbye and as I put off packing for just a little longer, I wonder will you think me too horribly keen if I write to you tonight?
Well, I chewed it over all the way back to the flat and have decided it is a risk I shall have to take!
I so very much enjoyed going out with you tonight – I wish I could stay in London longer, but what a send-off it was – laughing and talking and dancing our feet off! I can’t remember when I had such a grand time.
Emmy, I am terrifically pleased we have met. I should like very much to get to know you. I shall post this tomorrow, so that you have proof I intend to write as often as possible – and to hold you to your promise to write too!
Well, I said this would just be a note and I’m afraid I had better get my kit ready for the off. I will try to write again before I leave England – it may get a little patchier after that, but they do try to get post to us as it gives such a boost.
Please pass on my sincere congratulations to Bunty and William again, won’t you? I wish them the very greatest of happiness.
Cheerio for now.
Yours,
Charles x
I thought it was lovely. I put Bunty out of her misery by reading it out to her and she was pleased as anything too. Then I let her read it herself and when she saw he had signed it with a kiss, she very nearly went into orbit.
I kept my side of the bargain and began writing to Charles, trying to send chatty letters that might make him laugh, or at least brighten his day. He would be away for goodness knew how long before his next leave, and while hugely upbeat about everything, neither of us was under any illusion about the job in hand. My first letter took all evening to write and re-write several times in order to look entirely spontaneous. I started off tremendously well with Dear Charles, but then ran aground as I panicked and couldn’t think of anything remotely interesting to say and was pretty sure I never would again. Somehow I pushed on through and ended up with four sides of chatter even though it had only been a day since we had said goodbye.
Finding a suitable end to the letter was a trial, as I didn’t want to just copy him and say Cheerio For Now back again before signing off, and Bunty didn’t help by going berserk and suggesting Ever Yours as if it was something out of one of Mr Collins’ romance stories. In the end I took a grip of myself and settled on Yours, Emmy with a kiss, so it did match after all.
While we had only seen each other a couple of times, I liked Charles very much. I cursed the stupid war for making him go, even though if it hadn’t been for the stupid war I probably wouldn’t have met him in the first place.
And anyway, I wasn’t going to moon around pining like a hopeless schoolgirl. It was one of the few things I absolutely agreed with Mrs Bird on. We might be back home and not actually fighting, but we women needed to pull our weight. I had tons to be getting on with, what with Woman’s Friend and the shifts at the fire station and helping plan Bunty’s wedding.
I continued to answer as many of the readers as I could. I would read their letters on the bus home, terrified I might drop one without noticing, and then type out answers like fury in the living room on afternoons when Bunty was still on her shift at the War Office. Woman’s Friend was still far from overwhelmed with letters to Mrs Bird, but there had been a few more in the last couple of weeks. Some said they had heard about the magazine from their friends. I had to admit I had edited one or two of Mrs Bird’s real replies in ‘Henrietta Helps’ to make them sound slightly less brusque. The advice was the same and that was what mattered.
Occasionally, if it was a quiet night at the station I would casually ask Thelma for her views, especially about the problems from older readers. One lady had sent in a stamped addressed envelope for a reply but I didn’t have a clue what to advise.
Dear Mrs. Bird
Me and my two friends are all in our late thirties and beginning to worry about The Change. We have seen advertisements in your magazine that say a woman’s forties are the most difficult time in her life. Is this an old wives’ tale? Our friend Irene gets Menopax from the chemists for hot flushes but she doesn’t look any different and is still a right old misery guts half the time if you ask me. What should we do?
Yours
Winnie Plum (Mrs.)
I’d asked Mrs Bird, who had snorted and said Winnie Plum was A Very Silly Woman Indeed, but Thelma was far more sympathetic and said that according to her older sister, middle age wasn’t exactly a day at the seaside but it wasn’t the end of the world either especially if you took the odd gin and lemon and a double Jimmy Stewart feature at the Odeon. And if that wasn’t enough, Her Majesty The Queen was forty and she looked smashing.
At work I couldn’t quite put this in a letter but translated it into a supportive reply to Mrs Plum, finishing it with an upbeat ‘Don’t you let any stage of life stop you from doing all the things you want to do anyway. Good luck!’
I hoped it might help and that it was better than nothing. I just wished I knew more about Life. Mrs Bird receiv
ed quite a number of letters about The Change and although it was one of the few subjects not to feature on the List of Unacceptable Topics, invariably readers were told to stop making a fuss and crack on.
No wonder people preferred the more modern magazines. They sent you a pamphlet about very nearly anything if you wrote in to them and included a stamp. Kathleen knew someone who worked at one of the biggest ones and she said they had teams of people sending out information all the time.
Often it felt as if I was wasting my time. There I was, secretly trying to come up with answers on the bus home while the other magazines were doing it on an industrial scale. I told myself to stop being a gloom bag and keep going.
And anyway, there was now tons to be cheerful about. Even though spring had been dragging its heels about getting started and not pulling its weight in the least, the promise of Bunty and William’s wedding was the best ever tonic. Since the war began, no one had long engagements any more (which might have given me rather a clue about Edmund now I thought about it) and as Bunty and William had known each other for ever, there was no reason to wait. They had set the date for Wednesday 19th March. It meant less than a month to get everything done.
Bunty’s excitement was infectious. The wedding was going to be a quiet affair, at Bunty’s granny’s village church, followed by an informal luncheon up at Mrs Tavistock’s house. Roy from the station was beside himself to be William’s Best Man, and Mother and Daddy would be there of course, although Jack would be unlikely to get leave. After the lunch, the new Mr and Mrs Barnes would leave for a two-night honeymoon near Andover before William had to be back at work on the Friday afternoon. There was talk of pork loin for lunch.
As a jovial sort of engagement present, I bought Bunty The Guide Book For The Modern Bride, which had been written three years earlier and was full of practical advice and ideas that were now quite hopeless in the middle of war.
‘“No house is a home without a piano”,’ Bunty read out loud, adding gravely, ‘That’s Bill and me up a gum tree then.’ She roared with laughter.
