The Chandelier Ballroom (18 page)

Mac had no trouble finding girls but Norm was far too reserved to even approach one, let alone ask for a date. He was a good-looking blighter too. Such a waste! It was a shame. Maybe when they went down to the local pub, hopefully to see what there was on offer – not that he held out much hope for Norm – if he found a decent bit of skirt he might ask if she had a friend she could introduce to Norman. Perhaps it would even get him off to a head start for once.

A couple of months had gone by and still no luck with Norman Bowers. The moment Mac began to approach any group of girls, the man would instantly make an excuse to get back to camp or go to the gents’, moments later to emerge and skedaddle off before the girls could be introduced to him.

This evening, standing at the bar of the Baker’s Arms surrounded by a continuous boom of men’s voices and raucous guffaws, occasionally pierced by high female laughter, Norm was airing his most recent brush with Sergeant Price.

‘Being a corporal doesn’t make it easy trying to keep out of his way,’ he mumbled into the pint of black and tan he was drinking.

This morning he’d come under fire during training, Price ridiculing him in front of the men for the dim-witted know-all he really was, all over one of them having reported a minute or two late for duty. Price had slagged him down in front of everyone and nothing Bowers could say or do. An unwitting snort of amusement from one of those present had merely brought a glower from Price, before he used it to upbraid his corporal further for failing to keep the men in order. ‘Can’t even do that, can you?’ he’d bellowed. ‘Think you can command this lot? You couldn’t command a turd!’

Hours later, Norman was still smarting from the humiliation.

‘You should try not to take it so much to heart, Norm,’ Mac told him. ‘It’s not just you. He’s like that with everyone.’

Norman disliked his name being shortened, but with an effort curbed the impulse to correct him. The last thing he wanted was to lose the man’s friendship. Mac saw no evil in anyone, but from time to time could betray a faintly thin skin and without Mac he’d have no one. He knew what the men thought of him, maybe not as badly as they thought of their sergeant, but sergeants were a breed apart whereas corporals were more like one of them, and ostracism was the last thing he wanted.

The Baker’s Arms this Saturday night was full of locals as well as men from the camp, the noise louder than usual, the atmosphere jolly and thick with tobacco smoke. It often happened that some of the locals would play darts against some of the soldiers and tonight was no exception.

Standing at the bar with Mac, Norman watched them for a while as he sipped his black and tan, finally letting his gaze wander on around the room. By the door four young women were seated around a small table, and for a moment or two his heart pumped a little quicker before he let his eyes move away.

He realised that Mac had also spotted them and knew with a sinking heart that he would soon be making his way towards them, expecting Norman to follow. In his mind’s eye he saw himself being introduced, smiled at briefly as every gaze became riveted upon Mac, the tall, good-looking one, he ignored from then on, leaving him to move away with an excuse of needing to be somewhere else. Better to make that excuse now than be humiliated later.

Mac had already come upright in preparation for going across to them. Norman took another quick peek in their direction, already concocting his excuse to leave Mac to himself. That thought was suddenly arrested by the sight of Sergeant Nigel Price entering the pub by the door where the girls were sitting. They’d looked up at his entry, continuing to stare appreciatively at him, but he already had a girl on his arm.

Quickly Norman turned back to the bar but Price had spotted him, was already making his way towards him.

‘Good God, if it isn’t our shrinking violet, Corp’ral Bowers. And all on his own as usual, not a woman in sight. Does his mother know he’s out?’

His sergeant’s powerful voice ringing across the smoky room brought all nearby eyes to look straight at his quarry, and Norman felt himself cringe inside, but it was Mac who stepped forward.

‘What you on about?’ he demanded.

Price fixed him with a blue-eyed glare. ‘I was talking to him, not you.’

‘No, you talk to me!’

‘Watch yourself, Lance Corp,’ came the low warning, but Mac wasn’t to be deterred.

‘We’re not on the parade ground now. We’re in a pub, off duty.’

‘But still in uniform,’ came the low, menacing reply.

Seeing trouble, Norman stepped forward, easing Price to one side. ‘I’m sorry, Sarge, have you got something to say to me?’

His eyes for once were glaring, maybe more than he guessed, for Price stared at him for a moment, then laughed. ‘Trouble with you, Bowers, you can’t take a joke.’

‘I see,’ Norman said slowly. ‘I didn’t realise. I haven’t seen my mother lately, so I will speak for her. If she and my father were here they would no doubt be wondering if your parents in turn know you’re out. I’m only asking, of course.’

It was a pitiful excuse for a retort, but as the fluffy-haired bottle-blonde on Price’s arm gave a giggle, he went red, tugging her into line and snarling at Norman, ‘I’ll catch you later, Bowers.’

It was a threat and Norman didn’t reply, except to acknowledge the dread that made itself felt within the pit of his stomach as Price moved away, dragging the girl with him.

‘Come on, love,’ he said as he began shouldering a path through the throng towards the door through which he’d come. ‘We’ve better things to do than stand yapping to some brainless twit. Might even give you a nice present for the one I’ll be giving you a few minutes from now if you’re good.’ To which she laughed and cuddled closer to him as they made for the exit.

‘What was all that about?’ Mac asked mildly, while Norman continued to stare towards the door through which Price and the girl had disappeared. Norman’s thoughts leapt back to the present.

‘Are you really that dim?’ was all he could find to say, quite savagely in his seething anger at being made to look such a fool, with no idea how rude and unsociable he sounded until he became aware of Mac gazing at him, slowly shaking his head.

‘It’s no wonder you put blokes’ backs up, Norm,’ he said quietly. ‘One can see why you ain’t got any friends. I’m your friend, but talk to me like that and I won’t be for much longer. It’s not the first time you’ve spoke to me like I was nothing. I’ve done you no harm. If you want to take your spleen out on someone, take it out on Price, not me.’ With that, he drained his still half full glass of beer in one long swig, putting it back down on the bar with some force. ‘Think I’ll toddle off back to barracks. I’ve had enough for tonight. You coming or staying?’

Far from being an invitation to leave with him, it was an open desire to go back alone. Norman took the hint.

‘I think I’ll finish this up, maybe get another,’ he said quietly, not sure why Mac should have become so upset, as the man departed having first laid a hand lightly on his shoulder without looking at him.

Left alone, Norman ordered another beer which he now didn’t feel like drinking. He let his gaze wander about the room. The fug and the country pub lighting made it difficult to pick out with any clarity those sitting around the few tables on the far side, mostly family groups, neighbours and friends, while laughter continued to bounce off the ceiling to beat against his ears.

He wished he had gone with Mac out into the quiet night with its silent sky like dark velvet, stars bright as diamonds, the Milky Way a solid path above an enforced total blackout. In the quiet he could have apologised for whatever remark had been enough to put Mac’s nose out of joint and maybe would have felt better than he did at this moment.

He’d like to have thumped Lieutenant Nigel Price, but he would have belittled himself, and anyway they were in uniform. It would also have demonstrated an admission of failure. Yet his insides were raging with an unaccustomed, primitive emotion he fought to stem. His parents would have had a fit had they known how angry he felt. His two years in the army hadn’t yet conditioned him to give way to natural anger, and just as he’d been taught from a child he still spurned that emotion as indecent and undignified, something to be battled until it was thoroughly conquered. He even felt some pride in doing so, just as they had taught him.

Mac had said he put people’s backs up. That wasn’t fair. He never had the intention of upsetting others. If he did it was they who were at fault not him. Mac himself had been wrong to even say that he was the one at fault.

Norman stood, trying to pierce the fug of smoke and fumes, seeing the door at the far corner through which he yearned to escape. At the table just to one side of it sat the group of four girls laughing together. They were about his age, probably had boyfriends. Maybe they were discussing them now, swapping tales. He felt suddenly very lonely.

He’d had enough of drinking alone. He might still catch up with Mac and apologise if he’d upset him. Finishing his drink he made for the door with that goal in mind. Reaching the table where the girls were still laughing, necessitating him to edge past with little space left to manoeuvre between the table and the exit, one of them pushed back her chair to get up, tripping him so that he half fell against the door jamb. She leapt up like a bolt released by a spring, making a grab for him to help steady him, almost toppling over herself, ending up with him grabbing her instead.

‘Oh, God, I’m sorry!’ Her voice was high with embarrassment while at the table the other three had broken into peals of laughter.

Norman felt his face grow hot. He wanted to round on her, ask what she thought she was doing, but she was still clinging to him and he was obliged to take both her arms to steady her instead. So they stood clutching each other until he in turn was forced to apologise.

‘It’s all right,’ she said quickly, looking up at him. ‘My fault entirely. I wasn’t looking what I was doing. I honestly didn’t see you there.’

Her face was inches from his as she gazed up at him – a pretty face, wide blue eyes, sweet mouth with just a touch of lipstick, the lips now parted in her words of apology. Fair wavy hair framed oval features, a strand having escaped the hair clip that held it off her forehead. Norman felt his heart leap.

For a moment they stood together just staring at each other. Her friends had gone silent, all three now keen to see what developments might arise. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked at last.

‘Norman,’ he said, wondering why on earth he had responded so easily. ‘Norman Bowers.’

‘I’m Valerie Prentice, usually known as Val.’

There came a giggle from the three still-seated girls. ‘Well, kiss him then,’ one of them hissed.

She turned on them without disengaging herself from him. ‘Shut up! All of you!’ But then she did step back from him. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.’

Oddly enough, for once in his life he didn’t feel embarrassed by what could have been an awkward situation for him. All he felt was a strange wish to have her not go and sit down, leaving him standing there like a fool.

‘It’s a very nice name,’ he said quickly. It was all he could find to say, but she smiled.

‘Do you think so?’

‘Yes, I do.’ He thought desperately of something else to say, but his mind was now totally blank and it was she who spoke again.

‘D’you come in here often?’ It was so trite, the sort of words used by new partners on every dance floor in the country.

He didn’t enjoy dancing, usually going only when a couple of blokes, feeling sorry for him and assuming they were doing him a favour, practically compelled him to go along with them. Even then the only dance he could do was the waltz and that badly, preferring to sit out and watch others rather than asking a girl to dance and possibly being refused. But he had heard the words spoken, the reply usually being some flippant come-back. Hearing her say it, he wanted to laugh, but managed to control himself from giving tongue to a reply he knew would sound utterly stupid.

Instead he said simply, ‘Sometimes, when we are given a pass for the evening.’ It needed to be enlarged upon. ‘But I enjoy coming to this pub as often as I—’

‘I don’t come in here much myself,’ she interrupted. ‘We usually go off into Brentwood or somewhere like that, but we missed the bus tonight so we decided we’d come in here instead.’

‘I thought I hadn’t seen you before.’ Words were suddenly coming to him easily, his head filling with things he wanted to say to her about himself, everything about himself. But again she interrupted.

‘How long have you been stationed here?’

‘Just a couple of months.’

A voice broke in from one of the three girls sitting watching. ‘Be careful, soldier, she might eat you!’

Val glanced back at them a little irritably then back at him. ‘Let’s go outside, out of the way of this lot.’

He nodded, not knowing quite what to say, but found himself meekly following her as she pulled aside the blackout curtain of the first door to the tiny lobby, swishing it back into place as he stepped out with her, she going through the same procedure with the one across the outer door before opening it to emerge into the stygian darkness of the chill December air, he close behind. The night was silent but for the muffled voices within the pub.

He was feeling awkward. She had leaned her back against the side wall of the pub. What was she expecting of him? He could hardly see her face but thought she was smiling. Was it one of enticement? A girl alone in the dark with a soldier, there was only one reason for that, only one ending. This was how lots of girls in wartime got their fun – certain girls.

‘Tell me all about yourself, about your life, and I’ll tell you all about mine,’ she began.

She hadn’t reached out to him, hadn’t even moved away from the wall, empty space still between them, but he was on his guard.

‘Why?’ he asked.

Instantly he wished he could have bitten off his tongue, expecting her to give an annoyed puff and walk back into the pub, but she didn’t seem at all offended. ‘So we might get to know each other,’ she said innocently.