isn’t it? I could say I’m working there …’
‘Ooh, Joanie, there’s an idea! But what if he checked up on you?’
‘He wouldn’t check. Well, at most he might ask Noreen or Mary. Do you think they would cover for me?’ Lie for me, Joan thought. It was probably a bit much to ask, but she knew the other girls sympathised with her and Mags over their draconian father.
‘I’m sure they would. You know, I think that’s a plan! I’ll see Noreen this evening anyway—I’m doing a shift at the soup kitchen from six till eight. I’ll get her to put your name down on the rota. You were about to start volunteering anyway, weren’t you? He agreed to you doing it after Christmas, and we’re already into the New Year. Won’t he be suspicious though—first you ask if you can go to the dance, then when he says no, you announce you’re starting at the WVS?’
‘I’ll mention the WVS tomorrow at teatime. He’ll have forgotten I asked about the dance by then. You know he never takes any real interest in what you or I do. Not like Elizabeth. He’ll be asking her about every detail of the film she’s going to.’ Joan clapped her hands with excitement. ‘Now then, what shall I wear?’
‘Well, you can’t pretend you’re going to the WVS if you’re in a party frock,’ Mags pointed out. ‘Unless you put your coat on over it, and don’t let him see what you’ve got on underneath. And no lipstick, until you’ve left the house. Tell you what, I’ll ask Noreen if we can meet up at her house and you could get ready there.’
‘Perfect! And shall I wear my blue frock? It’s my newest.’
‘You look lovely in that one. I’ll help you do your hair at Noreen’s,’ said Mags.
Joan hugged her. ‘You’re definitely not an ugly sister. More like a Fairy Godmother, saying, “Joanie, you shall go to the ball!”’
‘But I wouldn’t recommend wearing glass slippers. It’s a long walk home.’
Both girls dissolved into giggles at this, and continued laughing until Elizabeth came into the room.
‘What’s so funny? Father’s really cross at you both again. He says if you can’t stop your silly giggling, you’ll have no supper. And it’s rabbit stew with dumplings tonight. I made it.’
‘All right, we’ll stop laughing. No fun allowed in this house. We should have remembered,’ said Mags. Joan stifled more giggles.
‘What was so funny anyway?’ asked Elizabeth again. ‘You two always leave me out of things. It’s not fair.’
‘It’s only silly little girl jokes,’ Joan said. ‘You’re too grown-up to find them funny. Mags has almost grown out of them, too.’
‘Hmm, well. I’ll leave you to it, then. But don’t annoy Father any further. That would be my grown-up advice.’ Elizabeth turned on her heel and left the room.
‘I hate rabbit stew,’ said Mags.
Joan had to stuff a pillow in her mouth to stop herself guffawing aloud at that comment. She felt so happy. She was going to the dance, and no one could stop her!
***
Everything went according to plan. At teatime on the day of the dance, Joan announced Noreen had put her on the WVS soup kitchen rota, and that she would be starting that evening. Father just grunted in reply from behind his newspaper. Mother opened her mouth as if to make some comment, but after a glance at Father presumably thought better of it. Elizabeth appeared not to have heard, and chattered happily about the film she was going to see with her friend from work.
After supper, Mags and Joan washed up quickly then ran upstairs to get ready. They left the house separately, and reconvened at the corner of the street before going together to Noreen’s, and then on to the Pavilion. Joan was buzzing with excitement. Every time they saw someone else heading the same way she couldn’t help herself asking the older girls whether they knew the person, whether they were going to the dance as well.
It was a long cold walk along the seafront to the Pavilion and Joan giggled to herself as she found herself being thankful she hadn’t worn glass slippers. At last they arrived and went quickly inside out of the biting wind. Joan gazed around in awe as she handed her coat to the cloakroom attendant. There may be a war on, but the Pavilion was glittering. The Christmas decorations were still up, as it was not yet Twelfth Night. Tinsel and baubles hung from the ceiling, and boughs of holly garlanded the hall above head height. Joan followed Mags to the bar and bought herself a lemonade. Young men in various uniforms stood in groups, trying to catch the eye of any girl who passed.
Mags and Noreen found their friend Mary, who immediately began to regale them with a long, funny story about her last WVS shift. Joan listened at first, but soon found her attention wandering. The band had started up—a ten-piece swing band playing Glenn Miller’s hits. She couldn’t help but jiggle around to the music; she was most definitely ‘in the mood’. There was a group of Canadian airmen standing across the room, their loud voices and raucous laughter at times almost drowning out the music. All of them were tall and handsome. One, especially, was very good-looking—with sandy hair, broad shoulders and a mischievous look in his eyes. Joan wondered whether she would manage to catch the eye of any of them. She supposed not. After all she was probably too young, and not pretty enough for them. But just imagine, if one of them asked her to dance, how exciting that would be!
As couples began to take to the dance floor, Joan noticed a shy-looking young man in civilian clothing watching her. He had dark, floppy hair and wore a pair of spectacles that had one broken arm, held together by tape. His jacket looked worn but clean. He raised his glass in her direction, but Joan gave him a small, non-committal smile. He was no Prince Charming, though he had a kind and gentle look about his eyes.
‘Hey, beautiful, why are you standing on your own?’
Joan turned to find the sandy-haired Canadian airman beside her. This was more like it! She felt her tummy flip over as she smiled encouragingly at him. ‘I was just waiting for the right person to come and sweep me off my feet,’ she replied.
‘And here I am,’ the airman said, winking at her. He took her glass out of her hand and put it on a nearby table, then scooped her into his arms and whirled her onto the dance floor. Joan laughed and gasped, trying desperately to keep up with his lightning-fast dance steps. She couldn’t believe this was happening—she was dancing with the best-looking man in the room!
‘What’s your name?’ he asked her.
‘Joan. What’s yours?’
‘Ah, Joan, Joan, you’ll make me moan,’ he said, grinning. ‘I’m Freddie, and always at the ready.’
She giggled, and he pulled her in tighter. She saw Mags, Noreen and Mary dancing with a group of soldiers. Mags caught her eye and raised an eyebrow. She looked as though she disapproved of Joan’s dance partner. Well, it wasn’t up to her, was it? Joan was enjoying herself. Freddie was handsome and funny, and seemed to really like her. She was determined to make the most of her evening out.
The music ended, and Freddie let her go. ‘I’ll get you some refreshments,’ he said. ‘Don’t go away.’
A moment later he was back with an iced drink for her. She sipped it gratefully. ‘What is this?’
‘G
