‘Why not? I’ll be here at the dance again next week.’
‘I might not be here next week.’ Richard smiled down at her. ‘What about a walk around the bay tomorrow night?’
‘All right,’ Hari said, ‘I’ll see you at the ice cream parlour by the slip about seven. It’s just a walk mind.’
‘I know—a walk it is. Where’s the slip?’
‘On the sands near the bridge.’
‘Could I walk you home?’
Hari hesitated. ‘Best not, there might be an air raid.’
‘All the more reason—’ She didn’t allow him to finish the sentence.
‘No.’
She walked away from him briskly, but as the music from the dance hall faded away she wondered if she would ever see Richard alive again.
Kate lay down in the grass and Stephen lay down beside her. He was just like a puppy, uncoordinated and foolish. She wanted to kiss him. She leaned over him and touched his cheek. ‘There, there, my little man, everything will be all right, so it will, Kate says so.’
Stephen curled into her arms. ‘Hold me, Kate,’ he said softly, ‘just hold me.’ He began to cry and Kate rocked him in her arms the way she did with her baby brother, the youngest one, Sean, two years old and ‘into everything’ as her mother often complained.
She felt a moment’s pang of loss for her other brother, Paul, gone to some funny place to live with strangers, begging to come home in every letter he sent. Soon, she knew her mother would give in and fetch him back to Swansea from his place of exile. Evacuation they called it but she called it a cruel shame.
She looked down at the airman in her arms, his eyes were closed, incredibly long lashes swept against his thin cheek, he was nothing more than a boy, little older than her Paul; her heart ached for him. Fascinated, she touched his skin; she could feel the stubble on his chin. He was a hero, flying into danger whenever duty called. He was so different from every other boy she knew. They lay together for a long time and then Kate shivered and shook him awake.
‘We’ve got to go, Stephen, it’s cold enough out here on this hill to freeze the backside off me.’
Stephen was awake in an instant. ‘And the balls off me! Sorry, pet, it’s not right to swear in the company of a lady.’
Kate was touched by his humility. She kissed him and his response was immediate and unexpected. ‘Let me, Kate, let me.’ He rolled over until he was on top of her, she could feel his hardness against her belly and then he was kissing her, drowning her in kisses. He pushed her skirt up and slid his hand to her thigh. The most absurd thought that her stockings would be torn flitted through her mind and then he pulled her knickers aside and he was against her, flesh on flesh, he, hard and yearning, and Kate bewildered—did she want this? Was it wrong to give comfort to a man going to war in the skies? But he was pushing against her, tearing her underclothes in his eagerness.
‘I won’t hurt you,’ he gasped and Kate gave in and took him in her hand and guided him to her. She almost screamed when he came into her, he was so big, but then perhaps all men were the same. She’d heard some of the more racy girls in the factory talk about it and the giggle always came at the end and the phrase ‘bigger is better’.
It didn’t seem so to Kate; it hurt, by Mary and all the angels it hurt, but she bit her lip and let him have his way. It was all over in a few minutes and he lay on her gasping. Kate felt only relief.
He adjusted his dress and then led her back to the road, thanking her with his dark puppy eyes, looking down at her with something like awe. ‘I love you, Kate,’ he said softly and, at that moment, she knew he meant it.
Five
‘This girl’s got a head full of nits!’ Mrs Dixon pushed me away and stared at me as though I had the plague. She fetched the scissors from a drawer and began to chop at my hair without minding what she was doing.
‘I didn’t have them when I came here,’ I said with venom. ‘I probably got them from your precious Georgie Porgy—he’s always sitting by a scruffy girl at school.’
I’d come to hate Fat George with every bit of me. When I first set eyes on him I nearly burst out laughing; he had queer trousers that were tucked into his socks and pouched out around his legs like big bloomers. He also wore a cap on his scraggy hair and he talked so funny I could hardly understand him. He was two years older then me but he acted like a child. Even after all these months I hadn’t got used to him. He reminded me of Podgy the pig in one of my Christmas annuals.
‘Ow, you’re hurting me!’ I pulled away from Mrs Dixon and slapped her hand so hard that the scissors fell on to the floor. In retaliation, she slapped my legs, a stinging slap that had me hopping about like a wounded chicken. Georgie laughed and, forgetting the pain in my leg, I ran to him and pushed him hard. Taken by surprise, he fell on to his fat backside and stared up at me mouth open. I’d never seen such an ugly sight.
I couldn’t help it, I just had to say it: ‘You look just like one of them pigs you’re so fond of—all bristly and red and ugly. I hate you George and your mother’s a cruel witch!’
‘That’s it. You’re no longer welcome in my house.’ Mrs Dixon took me by the shoulders and shook me until my head buzzed. ‘You’re a horrible, no-manners town girl and I knew you were trouble the moment I set eyes on you. I’ve tried to tame you but I give up, you’re a wicked, wicked girl.’
When she let me go I flew out the door and began to run. I had no idea where I was going but I wanted to put as much distance between me and the horrible Dixon family as I could.
I ran until I was breathless and then sat down on a flat stone at the side of the road and wondered what to do. There were fields all around, winter-bare, hedged and looking just the same as the next lot of fields. Without houses and bus stops and shops and all the things I was used to I had no focus, no way of finding out where I was. Still, I wasn’t completely stupid, it was obvious Mrs Dixon would tell someone about me, the police most probably or whoever it was who arranged places for the evacuees in the first place. They’d learn a thing or two about Mrs Dixon if I had anything to do with it.
I couldn’t sit here all day though, the road was narrow without a signpost in sight. I’d been sent to somewhere called Carmarthen; what I needed was to find a big road leading towards Swansea where I could be picked up easily.
I found a hill—there were plenty of them—and I stood up as high as I could to look around. Over to my left, I saw a farm cart, the big horse plodding along head down. This, as far as I could see, was the only traffic I would find.
I began to cross the field towards the other road and halfway over the cold ground the cart came swinging towards me. There was a man on the cart who looked older than me—about the same age as my sister Hari. He drew the big horse to a halt as near to me as he could get, which wasn’t very close because I kept edging away from the great creature whose loose mouth, filled with huge teeth, was a bit too near for comfort.
‘What you doing here?’
‘What does it look like?’ I wrapped my arms around my skinny body realizing my jersey wasn’t doing much to keep me warm.
The man leaned forward, his big-booted foot resting on the edge of the cart. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, ‘you’ll have to tell me.’
‘You’re a foreigner.’ He had the faintest accent and it wasn’t Welsh.
‘Very quick of you. Come on, what you doing out here on your own? Where have you appeared from—you’re not a mirage are you?’
‘I’m running away. In any case they only get mirages in the desert, haven’t you ever been to school?’
He smiled. You don’t look like you’re running away. I thought real runaways had a stick over their shoulder with a lump of old clothes tied to it. Where’s your stick?’
I had to laugh then. ‘You’re not so bad for a grown up,’ I conceded.
He looked at me for a long time. ‘Get on the cart,’ he said, ‘I can’t leave you here, can I?’
‘Why not? And what if I don’t want to get up on to your scruffy cart?’
