Rosie Goes to War (12 page)

Tempted as I am to take it – he's a lot fitter than Harry after all – I hold up my hands and step back. ‘You really don't have to dance with me, Jock,' I say. ‘I'm a terrible dancer. I'll probably step on your toes.'

‘That's all right,' he says. ‘We all have to start somewhere. May used to be diabolical. I had to give her lessons.'

‘Really?' I'm so surprised I let him take me in his arms. Ooh, nice! Before I know it he's leading me round the dance floor in what I think is a waltz. It's not exactly
Strictly
, but it's not as hard as I thought, and it feels nice being close to Jock like this. ‘So, you and May, eh? What hasn't she been telling me?'

Jock laughs, a rich, warm sound. Couples around us turn to look, smiling at his amusement. ‘Nah. Me and May go back a long way – my nan lives over the road from her place. I think I'm the brother she never had.' The slight twist of his mouth as he smiles tells me how he feels about that. Ahh, so that's how it is. Poor Jock. I know what that's like.

I think about Simon, and how I was always pretending not to care, especially when he was with other girls. I feel really sorry for Jock. I wish I could make him feel better, but what can I say, it's hopeless. Gran married a guy called Billy, not Jock. I don't know when she met him or anything. At least it won't be Harry; I'd hate to think of that slimeball being my Grandpa.

I look up at Jock and smile. He's very tall, making me feel tiny, even in these high heels (I'm getting the hang of them – haven't fallen over yet). He's got a nice face, with lovely brown eyes. There's something about him that looks familiar. Who does he remind me of?

‘Why the frown?' he asks.

I feel myself blushing. ‘Sorry, Jock, I just … you remind me of someone, and I can't figure out who.'

He shrugs. ‘I reckon I've got one of them faces. Ordinary. Look like everyone, me.'

‘No, you're not ordinary. It … you've got a nice face, Jock.'

He grins. ‘Nice? Not handsome?'

I swat at his shoulder. ‘Don't push your luck, mister,' I laugh. ‘I was just saying you look like someone I know. But I can't for the life of me think who it is.'

‘I've got loads of cousins round here. Maybe you're thinking of one of them.'

‘I haven't been here long enough to know many people, so I don't think it's that.'

He raises an eyebrow – and suddenly I realise who he reminds me of.

‘Jock?'

‘Yea?'

‘You haven't got a cousin called Bill, have you?'

He stops, right there in the middle of the dance floor. ‘You're joking, right?'

‘Er, no.'

‘Did May put you up to this?'

‘No, why would she? I don't understand.'

‘It must have been May, or Nell. They both know.'

‘Know what?' Couples are starting to bump into us now. ‘Look, why don't we get out of everyone's way?'

He nods and with a warm hand on my back guides me off the dance floor. ‘Want a drink?' he asks.

‘I'd really prefer some fresh air,' I say. My eyes are stinging from the cigarette smoke and I suddenly go dizzy. For a minute I think I'm going back to the future, everything's going all wavy and weird. I panic. I mean, what if I end up in the same place? Is this building going to be there in the twenty-first century? Or will I find myself in a strange house, or office, or shop? Or the middle of a bloody great traffic junction?

‘You all right, love?' Jock asks, peering at my face. ‘You're as white as a sheet.'

Everything comes back into focus. I don't know whether to be pleased or cry my eyes out. ‘Uh, yeah. Thought I was going to get sucked into a wormhole there. Just need some air.' I leave Jock standing there and head for the door. I can't believe I just said that. How stupid did that sound?

Outside on the dark street, I take deep breaths of the frosty air, blowing out clouds of vapour as I try to calm down.

Jock has followed me out. ‘Do you want me to get the girls?'

‘No, honestly, I'm all right. I just went a bit dizzy, that's all. I'm OK now.' I smile at him. ‘But thanks anyway.'

‘If you're sure,' he looks doubtful.

‘It's cool.'

He takes his jacket off. ‘Yeah, bleeding freezing,' he says. ‘You'll catch your death. Here, put this round you.'

‘No, I meant …' I start to giggle. ‘I didn't mean it literally.' His jacket is warm from his body. It's so sweet of him. He'll get cold now, standing there in his shirt.

‘I don't know what you're on about, Queenie. You're a funny girl, ain't you?'

‘Rosie,' I say.

‘Eh?'

‘My name's Rosie. May and Nelly call me Queenie because they know loads of Roses already.'

‘So how did they come up with Queenie?'

I smile. ‘On account of me being so posh, innit?'

Jock laughs. ‘Yeah, you're a right Queenie. So, nice to meet you, Rosie. I'm Bill.'

‘Sorry?'

‘You didn't think Jock was me real name, did you? You're not the only one who has to put up with a nickname.'

‘Bill? Really? But …'

‘Yeah, just like me old dad and granddad, God rest 'em. All Bill McAllisters. They decided I needed a nickname, so as not to get me confused with the old fellas. I thought Nell or May had told you, and you were teasing me.'

Whoa, hold on! ‘Did you say Bill McAllister?'

‘Yeah,' he nods. ‘That's why they call me Jock – on account of me having a Scotch name. Mind you, as far as I know all my family come from London. Always have done.'

I put a hand to my forehead. It can't be!

‘Hey, are you sure you're all right?' he asks. ‘I reckon I'd better get the girls for you.'

‘No. No don't. It's just …' I can't stop staring at him.

Bill McAllister
…
Oh. My. God. I've just been dancing with my grandfather!

I don't remember my Grandpa Bill, he died when I was a baby. But I've seen pictures, and everyone says Dad is the spitting image of him. It was that eyebrow-raising thing that reminded me so much of Dad. He does it exactly like that. And his eyes are the same, except Dad has some wrinkles and lines round them these days. But hey, Dad is
old
– at least fifty-five. Bill's not much older than me.

‘You wouldn't believe me if I told you,' I say. ‘I don't believe it myself. This is seriously awesome.' I hug myself, the itchy wool of his soldier's jacket making my skin tingle. Bill looks at me as if I'm mad and I start to laugh, really laugh, so hard that I have to clutch my belly and tears are streaming down my face.

Bill stands there watching me. The poor guy doesn't know what to do. People are coming in and out of the Palais, some of them calling out to Bill, most of them thinking I'm drunk or something. I can't help it. If only they knew.
I'm standing here with my grandpa.
No one else in the whole wide world knows. He definitely reminds me of my dad, so I suppose that's what dad looked like when he was younger. I never realised he was quite fanciable, I always wondered what Mum saw in him. Now here I am, trying not to fancy my own grandpa! What am I like?

‘What the hell's wrong with her?' It's Nelly, looking all disapproving, like Great-aunt Eleanor. If only she knew.

‘God knows. She just went off on one,' says Bill, smiling despite himself. ‘She ain't drunk, but something's tickled her funny bone.'

Nelly tuts. ‘I swear she's a bleeding nutcase, that one.'

‘She's all right, Nell. At least she's happy.'

Before she can reply the air-raid siren goes off. Everyone stops and looks up. Straight away the searchlights are beaming into the darkness. I take a deep breath, trying to calm down. This is serious stuff now, so I'd better sort myself out. Bill hands me a clean white hankie and I wipe my face and blow my nose.

‘Feeling better?' he asks.

‘Yes, thanks.' I go to give it back to him, but realise he won't want my snot in his pocket. ‘I'll, er, wash it and let you have it back.'

‘Fair enough. Now, we'd better get down the shelter. You coming, Nell?'

People are pouring out of the Palais, and heading off in different directions.

‘I'll find May. You all right with her?' She points at me. ‘She's still ain't used to raids. I can hang on to her if you like.'

‘Na, don't worry. I'll look after her. You get May, and we'll see you later.'

‘Thanks, Jock.' She glares at me. ‘You behave yourself. This ain't no time for hysterics, my girl.'

I try to look serious, but the effect is spoiled by a hiccup. Bill laughs as Nelly rolls her eyes and turns back into the Palais to find May.

‘Shouldn't we wait for them?' I ask.

‘Don't worry. They'll be all right. Come on, or the nearest shelters will be full up.' He grabs my hand and pulls me along the street just as we hear the heavy drone of the bombers overhead.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The first shelter we get to is full, so we keep walking. The anti-aircraft guns have started up now, and somewhere in the distance I can hear bombs landing with a
whoomph
. Bill quickens his pace, almost dragging me along. I do my best to keep up with him. The only lights are the beams searching the sky and the traces of the bullets aimed at the bombers.

A woman trips over a kerb and cries out as she falls. A couple step over her, they're not stopping for anyone. I pull on Bill's hand and he turns round. Between us we help her to her feet.

‘Are you all right?' I ask. ‘I can't believe how rude that couple were.' The woman leans on me, still a bit shaken. Her knees are bloody.

‘Oh my goodness, look at the state of my nylons,' she cries.

I can't believe she's more bothered by the holes in her stockings than the horrible grazes she's got, but there is a war on, I suppose. Nylons are like gold-dust according to May.

‘Move along now!' A guy in a tin hat with ARP painted on it is yelling through a megaphone. ‘Into the shelters with you. Don't hang about.'

‘Doris, where are you?'

The woman looks up. ‘Over here, Alf.'

An older man hurries over. ‘Oh thank goodness. Are you all right, old girl?'

We step back and leave them to it. Bill takes my hand again as the woman calls out her thanks. I smile at her and follow Bill.

We run through the streets, the noise of the guns and bombs getting louder. I start to wonder if we'll find a shelter. It's not exactly safe out here, and these shoes are definitely not made for running!

Just when I think I'm going to run out of breath completely, we arrive at a shelter – a great big, brick-built thing in the middle of a road. We duck inside. It's almost full of families and couples, and even more are coming in behind us. Bill and I settle down next to a woman with a baby in her arms and a toddler standing by her on the bench clinging to her shoulder. The little one is fast asleep, but the toddler is crying.

‘It's all right, Tommy. You be a brave boy now and sit down here. Try and get some sleep, darling.'

‘Come here, love, I'll give you a cuddle.' An older woman tries to take little Tommy onto her lap, but he's having none of that. He clings to his mum and cries louder.

‘Will you shut that kid up?' yells an old guy in the corner. ‘It's bleeding bad enough having to put up with Jerry, without your snotty kid whining all night.'

‘Well he ain't going to shut up with you shouting like that and frightening the poor little mite,' says the older woman. ‘Leave him alone.' There's a general murmur of agreement and the old man gives up. Tommy is getting tired and his crying subsides to a soft grizzle as he wipes his nose on his poor mum's shoulder. She doesn't take any notice. I think she's as tired as he is.

I haven't been in one of these big shelters before, and the first thing I notice is the smell – stale sweat, cigarettes, and a sort of damp tar. It's pretty gloomy in here, with just a couple of lanterns hanging from nails along the walls. There must be about thirty people in here, and we're all squeezed up against each other along benches on each side. Little Tommy is literally being held upright between me and his mum. I can feel him get heavier as he falls asleep. I'm also noticing a weight across my shoulders and realise that Bill has his arm around me.

I'm not sure how I feel about that. Is he trying it on, or is he being protective? If I didn't know he's my grandpa, I'd probably want it to be more than just looking out for me. But I do know, and he doesn't, so it's really weird.

I look up at him, not sure what I'll do if he's looking all google-eyed at me. No worries on that score though, he's got his head back and eyes closed. Everyone is quiet now, some of them asleep, their heads on their chests or resting on the nearest shoulder. A few people are looking tense, flinching at every bang and pop outside. A couple more are using torches to read by. There's a huge crash, not far away, and everyone jumps. I would've fallen off the bench if Bill hadn't been holding onto me. Little Tommy starts to slip and I grab him. Bless him, he sleeps through it all. I slide him onto my lap and he snuggles in. His mum looks grateful for the break.

‘Blimey, that was close,' someone says as we all settle back against the wall.

‘Not 'alf. I reckon that was Percy Street.'

‘Christ, I hope not. My old dad lives down there. He won't come to the shelter – says he won't give Hitler the satisfaction.' She stands up. ‘I'd better get round there, make sure he's all right.'

‘Don't be daft, woman. You can't go out there.'

She hesitates. The noise out there is horrible. The drone of the planes, the high-pitched whine of the bombs dropping, the ack-ack-ack of the anti-aircraft guns, all combined with shouts and hisses and pops. It sounds like total chaos. The woman looks miserable, and sits down again, bowing her head as though she's praying. Someone pats her knee. ‘Don't worry, love. I'm sure he'll be all right. It probably weren't anywhere near Percy Street. You stay here where it's safe.'