Read Online After the Last Dance by Manning Sarra - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Manning Sarra
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from the ceiling and most of the soldiers had removed their jackets. The place reeked of mildew and sweat.
âOver here!â Sylvia waved frantically from a far corner. âRose! Ray!â
She let Ray lead her through the mass of resting dancers; girls with their hands on their knees as they tried to catch their breath, men mopping at their foreheads with handkerchiefs.
âBilly got you a drink,â Sylvia said to Rose as soon as they reached her table. Rose didnât know who Billy was and the glass thrust at her contained a lukewarm liquid that tasted even viler than the Coca-Cola sheâd had at Rainbow Corner. âGin and French. Divine, isnât it?â
âOh, itâs my absolute favourite,â Rose said. She let Ray light a cigarette for her and find her a chair and it wasnât until she was sitting down and taking cautious sips of her drink and hesitant puffs of her cigarette that she noticed the other two girls. One was blonde, though not as blonde as Sylvia, and had a jutting bosom displayed in all its glory in an emerald satin frock and the other one was thinner, darker; she was dressed all in black and looked terribly chic.
âPhyllis.â Sylvia gestured at the blonde, then at the dark-haired girl. âMaggie. This is Rose. She let me have a dab of lipstick and she knows how to jive.â
Rose resisted the urge to wriggle her shoulders as Phyllis and Maggie looked her over. âItâs very nice to meet you,â she said.
âHow old are you?â Maggie said. Rose thought she had an accent but it was hard to know for certain as the band had started playing again.
âIâm nineteen.â
Maggie looked at Roseâs sweat-stained dress, the hair that had once again broken free of its moorings and didnât say anything, but glanced at Phyllis, her eyebrows raised.
âSo have you decided what youâll do when you get drafted next year?â Phyllis asked. Rose hadnât because she was still three years off twenty, and the war couldnât last another three years, though often it seemed as if it would last for ever.
âAnything but the Land Girls,â she said fervently but she didnât want them to think that the only thing she was doing for the war effort was dancing with soldiers on leave. âIâve only been in London for a few weeks but now Iâve settled in, Iâm looking for some volunteer work.â Phyllis and Maggie still had pursed lips, which wasnât very encouraging. âOlive, the girl I room with, spends three nights on duty as a roof spotter. She says it was quiet for ages, but itâs got quite lively recently.â
In Durham, the bombing had become so sporadic that Roseâs father even stored his bicycle in their air raid shelter, which would have been unthinkable two years ago. But in the few weeks that sheâd been in London, Rose had got used to the whine of the siren again and having to feel her way down three flights of stairs in the dark to the damp cellar. She still wasnât used to the terrifying crackle and pop of the anti-aircraft guns, though, or seeing the sky lit up so brightly. Not just from the city blazing with fire from the bombs that rained down, but from the ghostly glowing beams of the searchlights picking out the German planes.
There was something to be said for spending most of her nights in dimly lit basements where the band and the thud of feet drowned out the sound of the world outside. Most times, when they let off the sirens, they were a distant wail and everyone carried on dancing.
But that wasnât important now, when Phyllis was glaring at her as if sheâd confessed to something awful like having a secret Nazi lover or trading on the black market. Maggie wasnât looking too thrilled either and Sylvia wasnât any help as she had her back to the three of them while she talked to two airmen. âHave I said something to offend
âOver here!â Sylvia waved frantically from a far corner. âRose! Ray!â
She let Ray lead her through the mass of resting dancers; girls with their hands on their knees as they tried to catch their breath, men mopping at their foreheads with handkerchiefs.
âBilly got you a drink,â Sylvia said to Rose as soon as they reached her table. Rose didnât know who Billy was and the glass thrust at her contained a lukewarm liquid that tasted even viler than the Coca-Cola sheâd had at Rainbow Corner. âGin and French. Divine, isnât it?â
âOh, itâs my absolute favourite,â Rose said. She let Ray light a cigarette for her and find her a chair and it wasnât until she was sitting down and taking cautious sips of her drink and hesitant puffs of her cigarette that she noticed the other two girls. One was blonde, though not as blonde as Sylvia, and had a jutting bosom displayed in all its glory in an emerald satin frock and the other one was thinner, darker; she was dressed all in black and looked terribly chic.
âPhyllis.â Sylvia gestured at the blonde, then at the dark-haired girl. âMaggie. This is Rose. She let me have a dab of lipstick and she knows how to jive.â
Rose resisted the urge to wriggle her shoulders as Phyllis and Maggie looked her over. âItâs very nice to meet you,â she said.
âHow old are you?â Maggie said. Rose thought she had an accent but it was hard to know for certain as the band had started playing again.
âIâm nineteen.â
Maggie looked at Roseâs sweat-stained dress, the hair that had once again broken free of its moorings and didnât say anything, but glanced at Phyllis, her eyebrows raised.
âSo have you decided what youâll do when you get drafted next year?â Phyllis asked. Rose hadnât because she was still three years off twenty, and the war couldnât last another three years, though often it seemed as if it would last for ever.
âAnything but the Land Girls,â she said fervently but she didnât want them to think that the only thing she was doing for the war effort was dancing with soldiers on leave. âIâve only been in London for a few weeks but now Iâve settled in, Iâm looking for some volunteer work.â Phyllis and Maggie still had pursed lips, which wasnât very encouraging. âOlive, the girl I room with, spends three nights on duty as a roof spotter. She says it was quiet for ages, but itâs got quite lively recently.â
In Durham, the bombing had become so sporadic that Roseâs father even stored his bicycle in their air raid shelter, which would have been unthinkable two years ago. But in the few weeks that sheâd been in London, Rose had got used to the whine of the siren again and having to feel her way down three flights of stairs in the dark to the damp cellar. She still wasnât used to the terrifying crackle and pop of the anti-aircraft guns, though, or seeing the sky lit up so brightly. Not just from the city blazing with fire from the bombs that rained down, but from the ghostly glowing beams of the searchlights picking out the German planes.
There was something to be said for spending most of her nights in dimly lit basements where the band and the thud of feet drowned out the sound of the world outside. Most times, when they let off the sirens, they were a distant wail and everyone carried on dancing.
But that wasnât important now, when Phyllis was glaring at her as if sheâd confessed to something awful like having a secret Nazi lover or trading on the black market. Maggie wasnât looking too thrilled either and Sylvia wasnât any help as she had her back to the three of them while she talked to two airmen. âHave I said something to offend
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