Time Goes By (25 page)

Nat looked questioningly at Barbara. ‘Would you care to dance?’ he asked.

‘Yes … yes, I would … thank you,’ she replied.

They walked hand in hand to the ballroom floor. Barbara was aware of Dorothy’s eyes on her, and she smiled at her friend. Dorothy winked; she, too, seemed to be getting along very well with Nat’s friend, Howard.

It was a slow foxtrot rhythm, the most difficult of all the dances to Barbara; but Albert had
taught her well and she was able to follow Nat’s lead quite easily. She wasn’t thinking of Albert, however, at that moment. Nat was not tall, about half a head taller than Barbara, that was all. His hair was neither dark nor fair, just an in-between shade, cut short as regulations required, but it was quite abundant and had a natural wave. His silver-grey eyes were the first thing she had noticed about him; she had known at once that he was a kind and thoughtful sort of person.

He placed his hand in the small of her back and drew her a little closer, and she glanced up at him. His wide mouth curved in a tender smile, and she could not avoid the sudden indrawn breath that she took as their eyes met. The look they exchanged was one of perfect understanding. Barbara knew that was the moment when she started to fall in love with Nat Castillo.

B
arbara and Nat were still dancing together as the last waltz was played, the evocative melody ‘Who’s Taking You Home Tonight?’ They danced with their heads close together, scarcely moving, just taking small steps and swaying gently in time to the rhythm. Dorothy and Howard were near to them as the band ended the tune on a poignant diminuendo. The dancers all applauded, a tribute to the band and to Ena Baga, then the four of them together walked off the ballroom floor.

It was Howard who made the suggestion. ‘May we have the pleasure of escorting you two ladies home tonight?’

‘I don’t see why not,’ answered Dorothy cheerily. ‘What do you say, Barbara? Shall we let them?’

‘Yes … that would be very nice,’ said Barbara
with a shy glance at Nat. He did not speak, just nodded his head and winked.

‘We’ll see you at the top of the stairs, then, near the front entrance,’ said Dorothy. ‘Come on, Barbara; let’s go and get our coats.’

‘Nice fellow, that Howard,’ Dorothy went on, as they stood in the queue for their coats. ‘Good company; great to talk to and have a laugh with. I put him in the picture straight away, though. I told him about Raymond; I thought it was best to tell him. But it appears that he’s married; he’s got a wife and a kiddy – a two-year-old boy – back in the USA. His home’s in Texas. What about you? You seemed to be getting on quite well with Nat. Did you tell him about Albert?’

‘Of course I did!’ replied Barbara, rather edgily. ‘And about Katherine as well. He knew I was married, though, because of my wedding ring.’

‘So that’s all right, then,’ said Dorothy. ‘It’s best to be above board, then we all know where we stand. Is Nat married too?’

‘No, actually he isn’t,’ replied Barbara, as nonchalantly as she was able.

‘Well, it doesn’t matter, so long as he knows that you’re spoken for. I don’t see any harm in them walking back with us tonight. It’s obvious that they’re both very polite, well-brought-up young men. They probably think it’s the right thing to do.’

They left the Tower building at the promenade entrance, turning right towards Talbot Square. Dorothy and Howard were leading the way, with Barbara and Nat close behind as they walked up Talbot Road, then turned left along Dickson Road. At Nat’s invitation Barbara linked her arm through his.

‘It’s good of you to see us home,’ she told him. ‘The blackout can be rather scary sometimes.’ It was a dark night with only a dim crescent moon. ‘Although we’ve all got used to it by now. What about you? How will you get back to your camp?’

‘No problem,’ answered Nat. ‘There’s transport laid on for us from the centre of Blackpool, in about half an hour.’

‘Known as the passion wagons,’ called out Howard, who had overheard the conversation. ‘At least, that’s what some of the guys call them. Those who’ve been up to no good.’

‘Ye-eh …’ Nat laughed. ‘We’ve heard tales of some of your RAF lads taking revenge on the GIs and misdirecting them when they’ve missed their transport back to Warton. Some have found themselves on a tramcar bound for Bispham when they should’ve been going the other way, to Squires Gate.’

‘Oh dear!’ said Barbara. ‘Well, it’s not very far now to where we live.’

Dorothy lived slightly nearer to the centre of
the town than did Barbara, so she was the first one to leave the foursome.

‘What do you say that we do this again?’ suggested Howard, as they stood together at Dorothy’s front gate. ‘Same time, same place, next Saturday? Is that OK with you girls?’

Dorothy looked at Barbara. ‘What do you think? Is that all right with you? I’ve enjoyed it tonight.’

‘Yes, so have I,’ agreed Barbara in a quiet voice. ‘Yes, that would be very nice.’ She smiled shyly at Nat. ‘Thank you, both of you, for seeing us home.’

It was Howard who answered. ‘It was a real pleasure, ma’am.’

‘Cheerio, then,’ said Dorothy, walking up her path. ‘See you next week. I’ll be in touch with you, Barbara.’

Nat and Howard walked one on each side of Barbara, along the street and round the next corner to her aunt’s boarding house. She was relieved that the house was in darkness. Her aunt and uncle had no doubt retired for the night, and probably all the RAF recruits, too, who were still stationed there. They were allowed a key if they knew they were going to be late back. The dark street was silent and the three of them found themselves whispering their goodnights.

‘Thank you again,’ said Barbara. ‘See you next
Saturday, then.’ They had agreed to meet inside, near to the cloakroom, at seven-thirty.

‘Goodnight, Barbara,’ said Nat. She noticed the note of tenderness in his voice.

‘So long, Barbara,’ said Howard. ‘It’s been swell meeting the two of you. See you soon.’

Barbara and Nat exchanged a telling glance as Howard turned to walk away; then Nat followed him.

What have I done? What on earth was I thinking about? Barbara was to ask herself these same questions time and again over the next few days. She even tried to persuade herself that she must have imagined the intensity of feeling she had experienced on meeting Nat, and had only imagined, too, that it was the same for him. At one point she decided that she would not go on Saturday. This thing, whatever it was, must be nipped in the bud before it was too late. And yet she knew, deep down, that she would be there.

‘I’m glad you’re getting out and about a bit,’ her Aunt Myrtle said to her, when she asked if she and her uncle would look after Katherine again on Saturday. ‘Don’t look so worried about it, dear. Kathy will be perfectly all right with us; she was as good as gold. And you’re not doing anything wrong, going to a dance hall. Did you meet anybody else you knew?’

‘Yes, we met some friends of Dorothy’s,’ said Barbara. ‘They were dancing the jitterbug with some Yanks, and then a few of us got talking. It was rather good fun.’ She didn’t say, however, that they had agreed to meet up again.

Dorothy was unaware of the turmoil going on in her friend’s mind, and Barbara intended to keep it that way.

They met again the following Saturday as they had arranged. Barbara felt dreadful lying to her aunt and uncle. Although it was not really a lie; it was what might be called a half-truth, a lie of omission. She was letting them think that she was just meeting Dorothy as she had done the previous week. The guilt she experienced made her feel that she was doing wrong, but she was to find that as the weeks, then the months, went by, her sense of guilt lessened. By that time she and Nat had fallen so deeply in love that all other considerations were of minor importance.

Excepting for the matter of her dear little daughter, Katherine. She loved her baby girl so very much. She was at the interesting stage now, sitting up and smiling at everyone; she was such a happy little girl. At ten months old she was even trying to talk. She repeated the sounds of ‘ma-ma’ and Barbara convinced herself, as all mothers did, that she was trying to talk to her mummy.

The sounds of ‘da-da’ did not, as yet, feature
in her infant utterances. Albert was able to get a forty-eight-hour pass only occasionally, not long enough for his little daughter to form any lasting memory of him. He was clearly delighted with her; he made a tremendous fuss of her every time he came home, and the little girl would smile winningly at him as she did at most people. It was then that Barbara’s guilt would surface, as she wondered what would be the outcome of this problem. She entered into lovemaking with Albert as she knew she must. She did not think he noticed any reluctance on her part. She was still fond of him and he was always gentle and considerate towards her at such times.

For the first few months the love that was gradually developing between herself and Nat did not reach its fulfilment. They both knew that the consummation was inevitable, but Nat was, deep down, an honourable man. Barbara knew that he was trying to show her that he loved her in every way, and not just in the physical sense; and she knew that she loved him in the same way. They were truly soulmates.

The relationship had begun quite slowly. She greeted Nat in a casual manner the second Saturday evening, the same way that Dorothy greeted Howard. They made their way to the ballroom first of all, where Ena Baga was already
well into her stride, playing
‘Deep in the Heart of Texas’.

‘Gee whizz! She’s playing my song!’ exclaimed Howard. He sounded pensive for a moment, although he was still smiling. ‘Come on, Dorothy, we must dance this one.’ He took her arm and led her towards the dance floor.

‘That’s his state, Texas,’ remarked Nat. ‘I guess it means as much to him as Vermont means to me. He sure talks a lot about it.’

‘But you’ve never been there?’ asked Barbara.

‘Gosh, no! It’s about as far away as you can imagine from where I live, thousands of miles. And as different as you can imagine as well. Vermont’s one of the smallest states in the USA, right up near the Canadian border, and Texas is one of the largest, way down in the deep south, bordering on Mexico. We get snow, and they get tropical sunshine and hurricanes. We get along great, though, Howard and me. We enlisted at the same time and we’ve stuck together ever since … Care to dance, Barbara?’

They moved easily together to the quickstep rhythm. Barbara had a feeling of rightness and familiarity with Nat’s arms around her, although he was not holding her too closely. He sang softly along to the tune of ‘Deep in the Heart of Texas’, about the bright stars and the prairie sky and the perfume of the sage in bloom, and she joined in as
well. The song had become very familiar since the Yanks had come to Britain. The organist moved on easily from that melody to the rhythm of the ‘American Patrol’. This was the signal for some of the more enthusiastic couples to start their jitterbugging.

Barbara and Nat danced carefully around them, avoiding a collision. The more energetic couples would, no doubt, be asked to move off before long, or would of their own accord continue their gymnastics away from the ballroom floor. When the sequence of dances ended the four of them met up again in the spot where they had all congregated the previous week.

‘What do you say we have a little refreshment?’ suggested Howard. ‘I was thinking of tea and cakes actually, at the moment, rather than beer. That’s one of your English specialities, isn’t it?’

‘That’s true,’ replied Dorothy. ‘Usually in the afternoon, though; it’s called “afternoon tea”.’

‘I thought you Americans preferred coffee,’ remarked Barbara.

‘Sorry to say it, but your coffee is undrinkable,’ said Howard, laughing. ‘Isn’t that so, Nat?’

‘’Fraid so,’ said Nat with a rueful grin. ‘But I guess it’s not your fault; another inconvenience caused by old Adolf, eh?’

‘I don’t think we were ever really coffee drinkers,’ said Barbara. ‘We used to drink Nescafé,
but we can’t get that now. We have to make do with that Camp coffee that comes in a bottle. I must admit, it’s pretty awful.’

‘Well then, we’ll have a nice cup of tea,’ smiled Nat. ‘That’s what you Brits say, isn’t it? A nice cup of tea. And I must say it’s a mighty fine beverage, the way you make it.’

‘Let’s go to that posh place upstairs,’ said Dorothy. ‘There’s a lot more to our Tower than just the ballroom, you know.’

She led the way to a refreshment room on the next floor up, where ferns and greenery, even a palm tree, added to the pleasant ambience of the place, a contrast to the rowdier downstairs bars and tea rooms. They sat at a table for four where a waitress served them with tea in a silver pot and a selection of cakes on a cake stand. The cream in the eclairs was ‘mock’ and, most probably, so was the filling in the ‘almond’ tarts, but they all agreed that they were as good as any you could get at the present time.

‘It’s rather more select up here, isn’t it?’ remarked Nat, ‘away from the noise and the crowds.’

‘I’ve told you, there’s far more to the Tower than you see at a first glance,’ said Dorothy. ‘When we’ve finished our tea we could go and look at the animals.’

‘Animals?’ queried Nat.

‘Oh, didn’t you know? There’s a zoo just over there. Or a menagerie, some people still call it. It’s been there since the Tower opened, that’s about seventy years ago, though no doubt the animals have changed.’

‘Not much of a zoo by your standards, I don’t suppose,’ said Barbara, as the four of them, a little while later, sat on the raised seating in the centre of the room watching, from a distance, the animals in their cages.

‘A quaint idea, though,’ said Nat. ‘I guess the children like to come and see the monkeys.’

A few braver folk, including children with their parents, were pushing nuts through the bars of the cages, encouraging the monkeys to perform their tricks. But Barbara and Dorothy preferred to keep their distance, away from the lion and the rather fierce-looking bear.

‘Is that the lion that the poem was written about?’ asked Nat. ‘Wallace, the one that had the “’orse’s ’ead ’andle” poked in his ear?’

Barbara laughed. ‘I’m not sure if it’s the same one that swallowed Albert.’ She felt a momentary spasm of guilt as she said the name that was also the name of her husband. ‘I didn’t think you Americans would know about that.’

‘Oh yes, we’ve heard all about
Albert and the Lion
and Stanley Holloway since we came to Blackpool,’ said Howard. ‘Did he write the poem?’

‘No, it was a man called Marriott Edgar,’ said Dorothy. ‘He’s the man who writes the monologues for Stanley Holloway. I know because I recite it sometimes at church concerts, don’t I, Barbara?’

‘Yes, you do indeed,’ answered her friend. ‘And it always goes down well with the audience. Are you going to recite it for us now?’

‘No, I’d rather not,’ laughed Dorothy. ‘Some other time, maybe. I say, it pongs in here, doesn’t it? Shall we move on?’

‘Yes, it is a bit niffy,’ agreed Howard. ‘And I can’t say I really approve of animals in cages, although they look contented enough.’

‘There’s an aquarium as well on the ground floor,’ said Barbara, as they left the menagerie. ‘And an aviary with exotic birds up near the top of the Tower. And in peacetime you could go up to the top of the Tower. Not now, though, of course; there’s a radar station up there and a lookout post.’