Read Online Dear Doctor Lily by Monica Dickens - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Monica Dickens
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turned her head away, so Buddyâs kiss landed nowhere.
âYou better kiss her goodbye,â he whispered, but Ida merely gave her a victorâs smile and drew him away.
At the gates into the Air Force base, there was some fuss because Ida did not yet have a Dependantâs identity card, and the guard, who was as brusque and suspicious as a gaoler, would not believe she was Mrs Legge.
âLook, this is my wedding dress,â she leaned forwards shyly to tell him. She had taken the white flower out of her hair and put it carefully away in a paper napkin with silver bells on it that one of Vernaâs despised neighbours had brought, but she was still wearing the white dress.
Buddy put out an elbow and pushed her back. Women didnât talk to guards. Although he lived here, Buddy was quite nervous, because the man in the white helmet was a military police sergeant and out for trouble. He finally had to unpack a bag at the back of the car, scattering things on the floor, to find the marriage certificate.
âWelcome to Watkins,â the sergeant said dismissively.
Their house was Number 1009 Pershing Street, which did not mean that there were one thousand and eight other houses there, but they were in the tenth block. Although Buddy had already been to the house after the last couple moved out, and moved in a few bits of furniture, the sergeant had humiliated him and he was too nervous to find the street in the dark. The officersâ houses were bungalows spaced apart, with gardens like a suburb, but the huge enlisted family area had dozens of streets with identical, square, two-storey wooden houses, almost all with a bright light outside.
âElectricity must be cheap over here,â Ida observed, to ease the tension.
Buddy was too rattled to answer. At last, when they found themselves at the crossroads of Otis and School Streets, he had to ask a group of boys discussing a motor-bike on the corner, which he hated to do. By the time they found the house and pulled into the covered car park alongside, he was cursing under his breath and his hands were shaking.
âHe gets easily upset,â Verna Legge had told Ida in the No-name Laundromat
Too right, he did. When he had unlocked the front door, he forgot to pick up Ida and carry her over the sill, as he had promised. He walked into the house, switching on all the lights, and went right through into the kitchen at the back to run water and sluice his face.
âCome back here!â Ida stood on the wooden front step in her good coat with the Peter Pan velvet collar over the white dress.
Her shout brought him. He looked hastily to right and left to see if any neighbours had heard Ida and come out to look, then scooped her up and carried her easily into the bare house, kicking the door shut behind him. When he bent to put her down, Ida clung round his neck and giggled. He squeezed her tightly and kissed her with his wet face, and she made him carry her into the kitchen, kicking off her silver shoes as they went.
There was a stove and a sink and a refrigerator and a washing-machine, but they only had two chairs and a card table in the living-room, and a bed upstairs.
There was some beer in the fridge. Ida didnât drink much of hers because she didnât want it to repeat on her in bed. Buddy drank quite a lot, stopped being jittery and became sentimental. He even mooed to her, âDonât ever leave me, Ah-eye-da.â
He carried her up the stairs, because that had gone well for both of them downstairs, had a quick but satisfactory bash at her, and went to sleep.
That was all right. When Ida was twelve, sex had turned out to be less exhilarating than the magazines made out, and nothing that had happened to her since Pa had changed her mind.
Buddy woke in a foul mood and went off to work, hardly speaking to her. That was all right too. Best thing about playing house was having it to yourself all day. Ida stood in the kitchen
âYou better kiss her goodbye,â he whispered, but Ida merely gave her a victorâs smile and drew him away.
At the gates into the Air Force base, there was some fuss because Ida did not yet have a Dependantâs identity card, and the guard, who was as brusque and suspicious as a gaoler, would not believe she was Mrs Legge.
âLook, this is my wedding dress,â she leaned forwards shyly to tell him. She had taken the white flower out of her hair and put it carefully away in a paper napkin with silver bells on it that one of Vernaâs despised neighbours had brought, but she was still wearing the white dress.
Buddy put out an elbow and pushed her back. Women didnât talk to guards. Although he lived here, Buddy was quite nervous, because the man in the white helmet was a military police sergeant and out for trouble. He finally had to unpack a bag at the back of the car, scattering things on the floor, to find the marriage certificate.
âWelcome to Watkins,â the sergeant said dismissively.
Their house was Number 1009 Pershing Street, which did not mean that there were one thousand and eight other houses there, but they were in the tenth block. Although Buddy had already been to the house after the last couple moved out, and moved in a few bits of furniture, the sergeant had humiliated him and he was too nervous to find the street in the dark. The officersâ houses were bungalows spaced apart, with gardens like a suburb, but the huge enlisted family area had dozens of streets with identical, square, two-storey wooden houses, almost all with a bright light outside.
âElectricity must be cheap over here,â Ida observed, to ease the tension.
Buddy was too rattled to answer. At last, when they found themselves at the crossroads of Otis and School Streets, he had to ask a group of boys discussing a motor-bike on the corner, which he hated to do. By the time they found the house and pulled into the covered car park alongside, he was cursing under his breath and his hands were shaking.
âHe gets easily upset,â Verna Legge had told Ida in the No-name Laundromat
Too right, he did. When he had unlocked the front door, he forgot to pick up Ida and carry her over the sill, as he had promised. He walked into the house, switching on all the lights, and went right through into the kitchen at the back to run water and sluice his face.
âCome back here!â Ida stood on the wooden front step in her good coat with the Peter Pan velvet collar over the white dress.
Her shout brought him. He looked hastily to right and left to see if any neighbours had heard Ida and come out to look, then scooped her up and carried her easily into the bare house, kicking the door shut behind him. When he bent to put her down, Ida clung round his neck and giggled. He squeezed her tightly and kissed her with his wet face, and she made him carry her into the kitchen, kicking off her silver shoes as they went.
There was a stove and a sink and a refrigerator and a washing-machine, but they only had two chairs and a card table in the living-room, and a bed upstairs.
There was some beer in the fridge. Ida didnât drink much of hers because she didnât want it to repeat on her in bed. Buddy drank quite a lot, stopped being jittery and became sentimental. He even mooed to her, âDonât ever leave me, Ah-eye-da.â
He carried her up the stairs, because that had gone well for both of them downstairs, had a quick but satisfactory bash at her, and went to sleep.
That was all right. When Ida was twelve, sex had turned out to be less exhilarating than the magazines made out, and nothing that had happened to her since Pa had changed her mind.
Buddy woke in a foul mood and went off to work, hardly speaking to her. That was all right too. Best thing about playing house was having it to yourself all day. Ida stood in the kitchen
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