seen. ‘Haven’t a clue,’ she said brightly as she ran down the stairs.
The nurse pulled the curtain around his bed and leaned over to undo the buttons on his pyjama top. Kenneth didn’t look down. He didn’t want to see the livid redness, the uneven skin and the scars. He’d looked at himself in the mirror once and it had turned his stomach. His own body and he couldn’t stand to look at it. They had done what they could and the ice packs on his hand relieved the awful pain. Hands. That was a joke. He didn’t have hands anymore. One of them was little more than a shapeless stump.
The doctor and his entourage swept in, each pulling the curtain closed until they were all cocooned together. Now there were six of them standing around his bed. Six and the nurse. Nobody spoke. He looked at each man in turn. He knew what they were thinking. Poor sod. Got right through the war unscathed and then, while the rest of the world is dancing in the streets, he comes down in flames to this … He thought of some of those who didn’t make it. Pongo Harris and Woody Slade and little Jimmy. At least they’d gone out intact. He might be still alive, but look at the state he was in. It would have been better if he’d died along with the rest of his crew.
The doctor leaned towards him. ‘I’m putting you up for transfer, Dickie,’ he said.
Kenneth snorted and turned away. That’s right, he thought. Out of sight, out of mind. Not my problem.
‘Listen, son,’ said the doctor. ‘We’ve done all we can for you here, but there’s a place where they are brilliant at helping boys in your position. It’s in East Grinstead, the Royal Victoria Hospital. They’ve got this man there called McIndoe and he’s pioneered some wonderful treatments for burn victims.’
‘The chaps who’ve been there are proud of what they’ve achieved. They called themselves The Guinea Pig Club,’ said one of the others.
Kenneth closed his eyes in disgust. ‘I’m not going somewhere to be experimented on. Just give me a gun and I’ll finish the job for good.’
‘That’s enough of that kind of talk,’ the doctor snapped. ‘Look,’ he added softening his tone, ‘what if I get someone to come and see you? Maybe even the big man himself. It’s up to you, but surely it’s worth a try.’
Kenneth sighed. He didn’t want this but they’d keep on and on until they had their way and he was too tired to argue. ‘All right,’ he said wearily.
‘Good man.’ The doctor leaned towards him again. ‘You know, it’s time you thought about contacting your loved ones.’
His patient’s eyes blazed. ‘No, absolutely not. I’m not ready for all that.’
Connie kept herself busy for the rest of the day and did her best to avoid working with her mother. After tea, Connie worked in the shop with Sally. They usually had a bit of a laugh together but Sally wasn’t her usual chatty self which suited Connie for now. Her mind was filled with thoughts of Kenneth. If all went to plan, she would join Kez in the evening and begin her lessons. Perhaps she should talk to Kez about Kenneth, and yet even as the thought crossed her mind she knew she wouldn’t. It was embarrassing and shameful and she couldn’t bear the thought of Kez knowing such awful things about her. She had struggled for years to put it all behind her, but what with Ga and her constant reminders and the fact that her brother was estranged from the family, what hope had she? At least by keeping busy, she wasn’t thinking about having to lie to her mother. How she wished she could just up sticks and go for her training. Being a nurse seemed to be so right for her but by being stuck here in the nursery, she’d probably end up like Ga, an old maid with nobody to love. Life was bloody unfair sometimes.
Five
It didn’t take long for Saturday evenings at the dance hall to become a routine. Connie joined up with Jane Jackson, Sally Burndell and a couple of other girls to go to the Assembly Hall in Worthing. Their dresses were all homemade. There was so little material to be had but Connie was good with a needle. She was wearing a pretty blue and white dress with a full skirt and a scooped neck with a trail of white muslin draped attractively across the shoulders. She’d found the material in another form in a jumble sale. The dress was far too big so she was able to take it to pieces and start again.
The dance was up some steps in the next road to the New Town Hall. The place was packed although as time went by, there were fewer men in uniform. Demob suits were very much in evidence. The Assembly Hall was a beautiful building. They entered a large foyer, bought their tickets and went to the cloakroom to hang up their coats. Connie loved the Art Deco reliefs, the star-shaped light fittings and the proscenium arch which was flanked by seahorses. It spoke of an age long since gone and yet somehow the building seemed as fresh and exciting as it must have done when it was built in the 1930s.
The band was already playing as they walked in and a small glass orb glittered from the ceiling. Connie and her friends found a table and sat down. The dances were done in threes. It might be a foxtrot or a rumba or a waltz when the lights were dimmed right down. As the band struck up, the men circled the seated area looking for a partner. Jane was always popular but Connie and Sally had to wait a little while before someone asked them to dance.
It had taken Connie a while before she’d got to know the other girls. At sixteen, Sally’s secretarial course was due to start towards the end of September. She may have been a lot younger than the rest of them, but she fitted into the group well. Jane was the joker. Having heard of Sally’s ambition to be a private secretary rather than ending up in the typing pool, Connie had asked Jane about her ambitions. Jane had looked thoughtful and then said, ‘I think I’ll marry a man with one foot in the grave and the other on a banana skin,’ and they’d all laughed.
‘How’s your boyfriend in the army?’ said Connie making small talk while they waited.
Sally had just refused to dance with a tall, lanky man with buck teeth. ‘Terry? Fine,’ she nodded. She picked up her handbag and rummaged inside. ‘He’s still in Germany. He says he’ll be stuck there until he’s demobbed next year.’
‘What rotten luck,’ said Connie. ‘A year is a long time.’
‘I’ll wait for him,’ said Sally, pulling out a dog-eared photograph. ‘That’s my Terry.’ He looked about twenty and was tall with round-rimmed glasses.
‘He doesn’t mind you coming to dances?’
‘Well, he can’t expect me to live like a hermit,’ Sally retorted, ‘but I shall always be faithful to him.’
A good looking man with slicked-down hair came up to the table and gave the girls a short bow. ‘May I?’
‘And what the eye doesn’t see …’ said Sally, taking his hand.
Connie went back to the gypsy camp whenever she had a spare minute. Kez was a willing pupil even though some of her relatives teased her when they saw what she was doing. She had been right about the books. Kez had loved the Stories from the Arabian Nights and who could blame her. All those handsome, dark-eyed men fighting for the women they loved and looking at the girls in their pretty Eastern dress made enjoyable reading.
‘The way you two sit like that,’ Reuben remarked one day, ‘you could be sisters.’
Connie smiled. She would have liked to have had a sister like Kez. Simeon was a nice man too. He sat close to his wife and a couple of times, as Connie traced the words with her finger on the page, she caught
