‘I’m not sure when I’ll be able to get away from the camp next but when I do can I come and see you?’
The bin lid rattled once more. ‘Yes of course.’ She gazed up at him taking a photograph of his face to pull out between times. When she was sure every detail of his features from the glint of stubble determined to make an appearance to the line of freckles marching across his nose were firmly imprinted in her mind’s eye, she stood on her tippy toes and kissed him hard on his lips. ‘Goodnight Henry,’ she whispered, unlatching the gate. She didn’t dare look behind her as she disappeared down the path for fear that she would be unable to leave him.
Later she lay restlessly on her bed, her blankets in a heap on the floor where she’d kicked them off. It was too hot to sleep, but even if it had been the kind of night when she donned a woolly hat and slippers for bed, she knew she wouldn’t have been able to nod off. Her thoughts were too full of Henry and the way her body had taken on a life of its own responding to his kiss. Her legs had seemed to liquefy, and there had been an ache inside her that needed filling. Constance knew as she stared up at the ceiling that when she met Henry at the folly last Monday she’d been a girl but as she’d tripped up the stairs tonight, pausing only out of politeness to tell her parents and Ginny that she’d had a lovely evening that she wasn’t that girl anymore. She, Constance Mary Downer, now knew what it was to be a woman with all the promises of something wonderful waiting just around the corner.
A familiar drone began to grow louder, and she knew not even a trip down to the Anderson Shelter would dampen her ardour. She might have only known Henry a short while, but she was in love. She knew this with the same certainty she knew the bombs would rain down on Wight that night.
͠
Wednesday night arrived despite Constance’s best efforts at willing it away. She was wide-eyed thanks to a mix of terror at the evening ahead and awe at the room in which she was standing. In its hey-day, this had been Darlinghurst House’s formal dining room. The only clues to the room’s glamorous past now, however, lay in the crystal chandelier dangling from the ornate ceiling rose. It didn’t sparkle as it once had thanks to the film of dust coating the teardrop crystals. There was no one left with the time or inclination to look after it now. The upstairs and downstairs staff of yesteryear were long gone. The ornate, gilt-framed portraits of disapproving relatives in old-fashioned dress frowning down at whoever stepped across the threshold were a reminder too, of the wealthy and somewhat ostentatious Bournemouth set who’d opted to vacate the home and head back to the south coast beach town from whence they’d come. They’d no wish to limit themselves to the two rooms allocated them after the house was commandeered for the war effort.
The atmosphere in the room was oppressive despite the large windows letting in the last of the days light, their square panes framed by heavy, velvet drapes. The low hum of voices bounced off the rich and dark, oak paneled walls as the voices of the soldiers well enough to attend this evening’s show rose and fell. Some had robes on, some were in their pajamas; all were in varying states of bandaged repair. The nurses too milled about making sure their charges were comfortable. Tonight was a break from the ho-hum routine of the soldier's respite and making her presence known lest any of her boys get too excited was the matron. She reminded Constance of a bird of prey, but the woman’s hawkish gaze was forgotten as she spied Henry.
Her heart soared—he’d come! He was standing at the back of the room near the wide entrance framed by a sturdy set of intricately carved double doors, his wedge cap clasped in his hands. She forgot to be coy as she’d heard Myrtle and her worldly posse at the factory say one should be when it came to dealing with boyfriends. Her face broke into a wide smile of its own accord, and she waved over leaving the huddle of animated, overexcited girls all dressed in their very best, she’d arrived with, weaving her way through the crowded room to where Henry stood.
‘I couldn’t get away from the camp before now, but I was determined not to miss out on hearing you sing tonight.’ He smiled down at her, and it was evident to Constance in the way his eyes softened as he looked at her that he was as pleased to see her as she was him. In that instance, she forgot her roiling nerves as her emotions swung between elation and relief at the sight of him. In the days that had passed since she’d fallen for her handsome Canadian Airforce man, she’d replayed their evening together over and over in her mind. As time ticked over with no word from him, however, she’d begun to wonder if she was as Evelyn, had said on Saturday afternoon, naïve.
Her sister had called home with an offering of early spring carrots and a pat of butter. As their mother busied herself rustling up a plate of cheese sandwiches, Ginny had shared her happy news with her sister-in-law. Evelyn had been just as thrilled at the thought of a baby coming into the family as the rest of them and the atmosphere as they fell upon the sandwiches, agreeing they tasted that much better thanks to the smearing of real butter, was jovial. Constance was helping herself to another triangle when Ginny elbowed her. ‘Connie has
