‘How many drinks are you planning to have?’ I said, frowning at my reflection in the mirror in my bedroom. ‘Why does my hair never go right when I want it to?’
Nelly came over to me and stood behind me as I sat at the dressing table. She twirled a lock of my hair round her finger and pinned it firmly into place.
‘There,’ she said, looking at me in the mirror over my shoulder. ‘Perfect.’
I put my hand up and touched hers where it rested on my arm. ‘Ready to have some fun?’
‘I can’t wait,’ Nelly said with a little bubble of laughter. ‘It’s been so long.’
With a sudden flurry of excitement, we both gave our reflections one last approving glance, then we whirled round the flat, finding our bags and coats and scarves. It had been ages since we’d been out dancing. When the bombs started dropping everything stopped for a while. People were nervous about being out late, and at first we thought it would just be a couple of nights of raids. But it had been almost three months now of bombings and sirens and there seemed to be an urgency among people to get on with living their lives. I understood that. When you were surrounded by death and destruction every day it seemed important to make the most of the time you had.
The Pig and Whistle was a large pub on the corner of two roads. I’d been in there with Billy before he went off to fight and as we approached it, I felt my steps slowing.
Nelly, who had her arm looped through mine, realised I was drawing back.
‘Thinking about your Billy?’ she asked astutely.
‘A bit,’ I muttered.
‘He loved a dance,’ she said, which wasn’t exactly true, but Billy had liked being with friends, having a drink, and chatting. ‘We need to make sure we have some extra fun for him tonight.’
‘We do.’
Hand in hand, heels clattering on the pavement, we danced across the road – the light from our torch bouncing – and into the pub.
Going from the dark and cold evening, into the cosy, warm Pig and Whistle made me feel like Alice arriving in Wonderland.
The pub was full of people our age and there was a real buzz of laughter and chatter in the air. I could hear the music playing downstairs in the cellar.
‘There’s a band,’ I said in delight. ‘A real band.’
Nelly grabbed my hand.
‘Come on, let’s get a drink before it gets too busy,’ she said, pulling me towards the bar.
But I’d seen the back of Jackson’s head. He was sitting at a table with an older man. I didn’t think they were together, partly because they weren’t talking and the older man was reading the newspaper, and partly because I never saw Jackson with anyone.
‘Jackson,’ I said in Nelly’s ear. She looked in the direction I nodded and made a face. ‘Let’s go round this way,’ I said, tugging her to the other side of the bar. ‘I don’t want to talk to him tonight.’
We ducked round a group of men in Army uniform and I hoped Jackson hadn’t seen us.
*
The dance was wonderful. We had so much fun.
The cellar of the pub was enormous, with curved stone arches so there was plenty of space to dance. The landlord had put chairs and tables round the edge and even made a little stage out of wooden pallets. I thought he’d been very creative. The war was forcing people to adapt in ways they’d never have thought possible.
And there was a real band. Well, there was a pianist, and a drummer, and a woman singing who Nelly and I both agreed was simply marvellous.
‘How did they get the piano down here?’ I wondered aloud as we queued up for a drink. A man in the queue ahead of me turned and gave me a dazzling smile. ‘They lowered it down on ropes, through the hatch where they drop the beer barrels.’
‘How inventive.’ I sighed.
‘Fancy a dance later?’ the man – who I recognised vaguely as one of the doctors from the hospital – asked.
‘Why not?’ I said and giggled as he blew me a kiss.
Nelly and I danced together at first, enjoying the music and the sheer thrill of not being at work.
