Jasmine Nights (8 page)

‘Heavens,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure I would have recognised you out of your pyjamas. You’re as good as new.’

The same thing his mother had said, and so untrue.

‘Look, I’m sorry about today,’ she added, colouring. ‘It was all too much. It’s my first time in London.’

‘And my first time for being jilted.’ He made it sound like a joke, but it was true. Almost.

‘Well get you!’ She was mocking him and smiling too, reminding him again of their hospital kiss.

‘Must you dash? Can’t I buy you a drink? A nice cup of cocoa maybe?’ Oh, the habits of facetiousness did die hard, even when your heart was going like a bloody tom-tom. It’s only a dare, he told himself. Calm down.

While she considered this, he noticed the feverish look in her eyes, as though she was floating above the earth and not aware of her surroundings.

‘Well, all right then,’ she said after a pause. ‘I’m absolutely starving. I was so nervous before.’ He touched her arm to warn her of a passing car that could have knocked her over, and she continued in the same dream-like voice, ‘I can’t believe it. Any of it. I honestly don’t know what to
do
with myself.’

They had to walk. It was rush hour now, the buses were crammed. He said he would take her to Cavour’s in the Strand. When it started to rain harder, he took off his greatcoat and draped it around her shoulders.

Halfway up Regent Street she sat down on a bench like a vagabond and took her right shoe off. Her new shoes had given her a blister. Her hair was wet and plastered around her face, which was triangle-shaped and high-cheekboned, and she suddenly looked so vulnerable, cocooned in his greatcoat and with London rushing around her, and her little foot now curved for his inspection, that he wanted to take it in his hand and kiss it better. He touched her instep lightly; she did not move away.

‘Nasty,’ he said. ‘Amputation? Ambulance? What do you think?’

She swung her handbag at his head.

‘Idiot! Twit!’ A tomboy moment which delighted him. He’d never liked ladylike girls with their pearls, and handbags on their laps, and talk of horses and Mummy and parties, but where did her high spirits come from? She was so very excited, and seemed to give off a kind of electricity.

‘Honestly, what a day!’ she said to him. ‘What a day,’ she repeated. ‘Such wonderful things!’

The waiter took their orders: half a bitter for him, a glass of lemonade for her, and whatever sandwiches the kitchen could rustle up. He asked for a seat as far away from the bar as possible so they could talk.

‘Are you sure it shouldn’t be champagne?’ he said, making sure he sounded offhand.

‘Well maybe,’ she said quietly. ‘I got the job. I’m going to be measured for my uniform tomorrow.’

She seemed to get an attack of nerves when she said that. She said she was going to be busy the whole of the next day, and that she was not actually normally in the habit of going out with strange men.

‘I’m not a strange man. Don’t forget,’ he teased her to hide his dismay, ‘we’ve kissed. Don’t you remember? In hospital.’

She looked sweet when she went red like that, but he saw her legs move away from him under the table and worried he might have pushed it too far.

‘So whereabouts in Wales do you live?’

The blush had receded and the pale honey of her cheeks returned. ‘In Cardiff,’ she told him. ‘Pomeroy Street. Near the notorious Tiger Bay.’ She was teasing him now.

‘And your parents? Are they singers?’

‘No.’ She looked unhappy again. He thought that she had the most beautiful eyebrows he’d ever seen – dark wings over dark eyes.

‘I’m not surprised you got the job,’ he said, hoping to cheer her up. ‘You were really quite good . . . that’s what I came to tell you.’

‘Quite good.’ She shot him a look. ‘You silver-tongued lizard. Anyway, you don’t know that: you didn’t even hear me.’

‘I did. I bribed the doorman. I wanted to see you.’ He had nothing to lose now.

She narrowed her eyes and looked at him, mock-suspicious. ‘Why?’

‘Because . . .’ he took a sip of his drink, ‘because . . .’ He closed his eyes, thinking
hold it in, hold it in
. This was the last thing on earth that he wanted – to feel out of control again. ‘Because you’re OK.’

‘Oh, very GI Joe,’ she said.

‘Tell me more about the job,’ he asked. He wanted to hold her hand, for her to stay for a week or two so they could get to know each other better. ‘Do you know where you’re going, or when?’

‘No.’ She still had that coming-out-of-a-dream look, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was saying. ‘And even if I did, we’re not allowed to say. All I know is I’ve got to have all the injections: you know, cholera, and yellow fever and typhoid.’

She looked terrified when she said that. She was faking her air of calm. He recognised the signs all too well. His heart sank. So most likely the Middle East, where things were hotting up, or India, or Burma, which was bloody miles away.

‘Shame, I was hoping it would be down the end of the pier at Southend so we could do this again.’

‘Do what again?’ All her dimples came out when she smiled at him like that.

‘Well, talk, have a laugh.’

‘Well . . .’ She gave him a quizzical look and took a sip of her lemonade ‘. . . It’s not, so we can’t—’

He cut her off quickly. ‘First time abroad?’

‘Yes.’

‘Parents know yet?’

‘No.’ She squeezed her eyes shut.

An uncle-ish part of him rose up when she said this. He wanted to scold her, to warn her of clear and present dangers ahead. Of men in remote places who would want to seduce her, of bad beds and frightening transport and bombs, and stinging insects.

‘Will they mind?’ He hoped they would.

‘It’s going to break their hearts,’ she said. She grimaced into her lemonade. ‘I thought I’d be able to go back and see them before we left – I promised my mum I would – and now it sounds like I won’t, there’s no time. That’s horrible.’ She squeezed her eyes shut. ‘So let’s talk about something else.’

The bar was starting to fill up. The barman was reciting his cocktails – Singapore Sling, White Lady, Naval Grog – to a group of army officers. Dom was staring at her across the table, his brain trying to accommodate, to understand. It was all such unfamiliar territory.

‘I know what that feels like,’ he said at last. ‘I’m flying again; my mother doesn’t know yet. I’m going home next week to tell her.’

‘Why?’ It was her turn to look shocked. ‘Don’t they let you stop once you’ve been shot down?’

‘I don’t want to stop.’

‘Why not? Aren’t you frightened now?’

‘No.’ That could never be admitted, not even to himself. ‘I can’t stop now. It feels like the thing I was born to do – if that doesn’t sound fantastically corny.’

She was staring at him properly now.

‘No, not corny,’ she said. ‘Hard.’

Her hands were resting on the table between them. A schoolgirl’s hands, no rings, no nail varnish.

‘Are you fit enough to go?’

‘Yep.’ He didn’t like talking about it, not with a girl, particularly. It made him feel breathless, hunted. ‘I’m fine now.’

‘How do they know?’

‘Had the X-ray, been spun in a chair. Fit for active service.’

She looked at him steadily. ‘I liked that poem you sent me,’ she said.

‘Oh God, did I?’ His turn to be embarrassed – he’d written it out, and when Misou came into the room, must have stuffed it into the envelope by mistake.

‘
Whatever comes, one hour was sunlit
,’ she said dreamily. ‘Such a good thing to say. Sometimes one hour is enough.’

‘Pound actually rewrote the poem later – he said two weeks was better.’

Her dimples appeared. ‘Dom – I’m going!’ Playfully, as if they were children and the game was tag.

‘I know, so am I. So let me walk you home,’ he said. ‘I could help you pack, or sew on your uniform pips or something. I’m good at sewing.’

‘No.’ She put her hands over her face.

‘A cup of coffee, then.’ He had half a bottle of whisky in his greatcoat, just in case.

‘I can’t.’ She touched his hand. ‘I’m definitely going to take that job. I decided as soon as they asked me. I can’t let anything stop me now.’

‘I know.’ He did too, understand. Unfortunately.

She laid the key to the B and B on the table. She’d produced it proudly for his inspection earlier, thought it was very trusting of her landlady considering this was London. He felt a pang looking at it. How easy it would have been to creep up the stairs together, and how blameless it would feel – all the old rules of courtship had been bent out of shape since the war began.

‘Saba.’

‘Yes.’

‘When you’re cleared for security, let me know where you are.’

She was about to answer when the waiter interrupted. He’d returned to smile at them, to squint at the wings on Dom’s uniform and ask what squadron he was with. The management would be honoured to offer him and his good lady a cocktail on the house. They were brave men and they deserved it. Dom, going through the usual nonchalant disclaimers, felt shamingly pleased to be in the spotlight in front of her and also glad not to have to say more about the medical, which had for reasons not explicable made him feel angry and defensive, like a small boy required to drop his trousers.

They ordered Singapore Slings. She wrinkled her nose as she drank it, like a kitten dipping a paw into water. She wasn’t half the sophisticate she pretended to be.

When her glass was half emptied, her lit-up look returned like a flash of lightning. He wondered if she was thinking about her job again, and feeling at a sudden loss, he stood up, and on the pretext of hurrying the waiter along with their food, walked as casually as he could over to the bar.

He was standing there when a slight figure came out of the shadows, and stood in a puddle of light in front of him. It was Jilly, Jacko’s fiancée. Later, it made perfect sense to him that she would come here to either torture or comfort herself, but on this night they gaped at each other like actors from different plays. She was wearing a blue dress, with the small RAF wings brooch Jacko had bought her pinned to the lapel. She was thinner.

He expected her to cut him, but instead she moved towards him and hugged him hard.

‘Dom,’ she said at last. She was gripping his hand so hard it hurt. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Not bad,’ he muttered back. ‘You?’

‘Awful,’ she said. She put her arms around his neck again. ‘I tried to find you at the funeral.’

‘You did?’ He’d avoided her all day, couldn’t cope. ‘I had to go. I’m sorry I didn’t speak to you then.’

He’d been throwing up in the bushes in a muddy field behind the graveyard, sure she must blame him for everything. Who else had talked Jacko into flying at Cambridge, and later, teased him in the mess the week before he was shot down? Good joke, Dom – one of your better ones.

Jacko, screaming behind the Perspex of his cockpit and in flames. The rictus of his almost smile before his aircraft went down.

‘I missed you.’

‘You did. I—’

‘But I can’t talk now.’ When she grabbed both his forearms, he saw she was slightly tight, not that he blamed her. ‘I’m with someone.’

A tall chap got up from the booth, she put her hand on Dom’s face and said: ‘Wonderful to see you, Dom, you look as good as new. Sorry to hear about Annabel, by the way – come and have a drink with us soon.’ She was gabbling, her new man frowning, and protective, sliding an arm around her waist.

Dom stood there frozen for a while, and when he turned, Saba was gone. Jilly had kept her hand on his arm while they were talking. Saba must have seen it all. When he went back to their table, their half-drunk cocktails were still there, the waiter hovering unsure.

‘Did you see the lady go?’ Dom asked him.

‘Yes, sir. She must have left this.’ The waiter dived underneath the table and came up with a blue coat over his arm. Dom took it and ran out into the street.

It was completely dark outside the restaurant now. The streets still wet. He ran almost all the way back down to the Theatre Royal, worried about her on her own, desperate to return the coat, to say goodbye properly. No sign of her. The crowds of London rushed by him, splashing him, no lights, no stars, the statue of Eros at Piccadilly all covered now to protect it from bombs.

When he reached the theatre, the doorman he’d bribed earlier stood under a dripping tarpaulin.

‘Evening, gov,’ he said. ‘Stinking day, innit? You can stop inside if you like.’

‘I need to find Saba Tarcan,’ he said. ‘She was at the audition earlier. I have her coat.’

‘I don’t know her, sir. We have hundreds coming every day at the moment. Do you want to leave it here in case she comes back for it?’

‘No. No. I have her home address.’ He’d suddenly remembered. ‘I’ll post it.’

No time left for him to try and find her; his leave was over the next day – he’d be training again for the next few weeks.

‘Any idea where the company is going next?’ he asked casually, fumbling for another half a crown.

‘No idea whatsoever, sir.’ The doorman looked stolidly ahead at the crowds and the rain, at London preparing itself for another night of bombs. ‘But I suppose if I had to take a wild guess, I’d stick my pin in Africa.’

Chapter 6

There was no time to go home and say goodbye. After the injections and three days of rehearsals, Saba was fitted for her ENSA uniform, which she thought was pretty hideous: khaki, rather like the ATS uniform, with a badge on its shoulder, three Aertex shirts to go with it, two terrible-looking brassieres and some huge khaki-coloured knickers.

When she asked Arleta where she thought they were going, Arleta said Aertex shirts meant somewhere hot, but apart from that, not a clue: it could be an aerodrome, a desert camp, Malta, Cairo. ‘From now on, darling,’ she said, ‘consider yourself a little pawn in the big boys’ war game – you won’t know a thing until the last minute, and if you try and work it out, you’ll go a little mad.’

So more waiting, endless cups of tea, and then, on the Thursday of the following week, Saba, Arleta and Janine were told to pack a light bag and to tell no one they were leaving. Their families would be informed when it was safe to do so.