Reeves had to do a lot more work than he was used to. He was always rushing about looking exasperated and never wanted to be asked anything at all, even if you needed something important like keys to the pantry or the linen cupboard. At the same time, everybody in the world seemed to want to come to the hotel for afternoon tea, so we started doing tea dances twice a week in the ballroom â which was a lot of extra work for me and Mavis. All the enlisted men came in to show off their new uniforms, and parents and sweethearts came to say farewell over iced buns and petits fours. Mavis and I would do a bit of a foxtrot with the trays as we swirled in and out. Life was so hectic that I only had time to get up, do my work, and go to bed. I had no time for dreams. Even about Jack.
In fact, the only spare time I had in those days was between breakfast and lunch, when Mrs Willacott was doing the morning coffees. If the weather was fine, Iâd go up with Mavis to the little bit of flat roof over the ballroom and sunbathe behind the wall. No one could see us, and I used to take down my thick stockings and let my skin feel the sun. Mavis would look at my scabs with pity as she stretched out her white legs next to my mottled ones.
âDo they hurt?â she said once, eyeing the shiny red patches on my knees that looked like continents rising from the sea, with a whole lot of separate islands dotted about up and down from my ankles to the top of my legs.
âFlaming agony,â I said, although this was a lie. It was just that the scabs itched a lot and sometimes I couldnât help scratching. Then the blood would seep through my stockings, even though I wore two thick pairs. I always had to be on the lookout for the stains.
âYouâre lucky theyâre not on your face,â she said.
âYes,â I said. âAlthough Iâd be a blinking sight luckier if I didnât have them at all.â Then she asked me if I thought it would make any difference to my getting married, and I could see her thinking of my poor husband and the shock he would have on our wedding night. âI donât think Iâll get married,â I said.
âDonât you want kids? I want to have three kids,â she said, as if that were the only point in getting married.
âMaybe you wonât stop at three. Maybe youâll have seven. One every eighteen months like my ma,â I said callously. âIâd rather keep out of all that. Anyway, I want to get on in life.â
* * *
And get on I did, although I never forgot Jack. He kept himself in some hidden part of me even when I thought Iâd grown out of my romantic stage. I still went to the flicks, of course, and I still held a candle for Leslie Howard, but I knew a bit more about the way of the world. I almost blushed thinking how I must have appeared to Jack that day â a flat-chested kid with bad skin and cowâs eyes, holding a box of sanitary towels. My only comfort was that Jack wouldnât have remembered me at all; and that we were never going to meet again.
So it was a shock to me when I saw him a few years later. It was about the middle of the war and I was dead tired with all the endless work and making do â not to mention the sleepless nights in the cellars because of the bombing. It was Mr Reevesâ half-day off (he had a lot of half-days then), and I was on my way to the kitchens to check the rations with Mr Mullan. As I passed the dining room I glanced in casually to check on the new girl, not expecting anything out of the ordinary. But there he was, silhouetted against the window, handsome as ever. I caught my breath, thinking I must be imagining things. Maybe it was just someone else who looked like him; someone else slim and dark. Then he glanced towards the door where I was standing, and I was in no doubt.
Just like the first time, the dining room was pretty empty. The tea dance was in full swing in the
In fact, the only spare time I had in those days was between breakfast and lunch, when Mrs Willacott was doing the morning coffees. If the weather was fine, Iâd go up with Mavis to the little bit of flat roof over the ballroom and sunbathe behind the wall. No one could see us, and I used to take down my thick stockings and let my skin feel the sun. Mavis would look at my scabs with pity as she stretched out her white legs next to my mottled ones.
âDo they hurt?â she said once, eyeing the shiny red patches on my knees that looked like continents rising from the sea, with a whole lot of separate islands dotted about up and down from my ankles to the top of my legs.
âFlaming agony,â I said, although this was a lie. It was just that the scabs itched a lot and sometimes I couldnât help scratching. Then the blood would seep through my stockings, even though I wore two thick pairs. I always had to be on the lookout for the stains.
âYouâre lucky theyâre not on your face,â she said.
âYes,â I said. âAlthough Iâd be a blinking sight luckier if I didnât have them at all.â Then she asked me if I thought it would make any difference to my getting married, and I could see her thinking of my poor husband and the shock he would have on our wedding night. âI donât think Iâll get married,â I said.
âDonât you want kids? I want to have three kids,â she said, as if that were the only point in getting married.
âMaybe you wonât stop at three. Maybe youâll have seven. One every eighteen months like my ma,â I said callously. âIâd rather keep out of all that. Anyway, I want to get on in life.â
* * *
And get on I did, although I never forgot Jack. He kept himself in some hidden part of me even when I thought Iâd grown out of my romantic stage. I still went to the flicks, of course, and I still held a candle for Leslie Howard, but I knew a bit more about the way of the world. I almost blushed thinking how I must have appeared to Jack that day â a flat-chested kid with bad skin and cowâs eyes, holding a box of sanitary towels. My only comfort was that Jack wouldnât have remembered me at all; and that we were never going to meet again.
So it was a shock to me when I saw him a few years later. It was about the middle of the war and I was dead tired with all the endless work and making do â not to mention the sleepless nights in the cellars because of the bombing. It was Mr Reevesâ half-day off (he had a lot of half-days then), and I was on my way to the kitchens to check the rations with Mr Mullan. As I passed the dining room I glanced in casually to check on the new girl, not expecting anything out of the ordinary. But there he was, silhouetted against the window, handsome as ever. I caught my breath, thinking I must be imagining things. Maybe it was just someone else who looked like him; someone else slim and dark. Then he glanced towards the door where I was standing, and I was in no doubt.
Just like the first time, the dining room was pretty empty. The tea dance was in full swing in the
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