‘I’m not sure,’ she replied, as Henry crossed the room toward her.
‘Constance Downer, you’ve gone and got yourself a fella, haven’t you?’ Lil laughed. ‘And a fine looking one at that.’
Chapter 18
It was nearly a month since Constance and Henry had met, and there weren’t many moments in Constance’s day when he didn't occupy her thoughts. She’d wonder what he was doing, and as she toiled at her mundane task in the factory, her mind would drift replaying their last outing. As though using a fine tooth comb she’d scour each detail of their time together unaware of the lovelorn look on her face until one of the girls would elbow her as they passed by telling her to stop daydreaming. She couldn’t help herself though; it was the only way she could get through the minutes, hours or days until the next time she saw him.
Today as she left the factory boarding the bus for home and taking her customary seat down the back, she was filled with a sense of desperation. It was Thursday, five whole days since she’d last seen him and she’d exhausted the memories of that last encounter during that time. They’d gone to the Saturday night dance at the Shanklin Theatre; it had been Henry’s idea as he reckoned his leg was strong enough for a few turns on the dance floor. ‘I want to show my girl off,’ he’d said, and she’d thrilled at the way he’d called her ‘my girl.' Henry had proved he was trustworthy when it came to looking after his daughter, and so Arthur Downer had agreed that yes, Constance could go to the dance in Shanklin with him.
It was the first dance of that scale, Constance had been too, and she’d been a little in awe as Henry led her past the milling animated crowd up the theatre’s grand, classical staircase and in through the main doors. She couldn’t wait until she saw Norma next so she could tell her all about it and she’d mesmerized the lively scene for her friend’s benefit. She and Henry had fun jitterbugging and doing the Lindy hop under the domed ceiling with its bright lights their feet skidding over the polished floors. Constance had felt a surge of gratitude as she whirled and twirled to Evelyn for teaching her the dances and hoped her sister had forgiven her for the number of times she’d trodden on her toes! She’d been surprised too that Henry, despite his stature, was light on his feet and as her dress spun out around her thighs, she’d felt as though she was starring in a Hollywood film.
They left before the dance finished, beating the throngs to catch the bus back to Ryde. Constance flopped down in her seat and leaned her head on Henry’s shoulder. The lights, the noise, the dancing and the late supper had worn her out. She closed her eyes and must have drifted despite the bus’s juddering motion, but she was startled awake by Henry’s voice.
‘I’ve got something for you,’ he said.
Constance rubbed her eyes and swiveled in her seat, so she was facing him. He reached into his pocket and retrieved a small bag with drawstring ties, like the one Ted used to keep his marbles in, she thought watching as he opened it.
‘Hold your hands out, palms up.’ He smiled, and Constance cupped her hands curious to see what would spill out onto her upturned palms. It was an assortment of pretty shells of all different shapes and sizes, and she gave a delighted cry, ‘Oh they’re such lovely colours.’ Her fingers sifted through them feeling their smooth sea-worn exterior beneath their tips. The colours were the same soft oranges, and pink of a setting summer sun. She already knew what she held in her hands were much more than just shells; they were treasures.
‘You can hear the sea with this one,’ he said, holding it to her ear, and Constance smiled as he covered her other ear and she heard the tide.
He grinned. ‘Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I do that, and it always sends me off.’ He sorted through the little pile. ‘That one there was such a pretty colour I couldn’t resist it.’ He indicated toward a vibrant pink and purple scallop shell.
‘It’s gorgeous,’ Constance breathed as if he’d just pointed out a precious gem.
‘I’ve been collecting them since I arrived here on Wight. I’ve quite a stash back at my lodgings, but those there are my favourites. There’s seven of them, one there for each day of the week.’
He didn’t say the words, but Constance knew the sentiment behind the gesture was so she’d know he was thinking about her each time she held them.
Now as the bus shuddered to a halt, she shoved her hand into her overalls pocket and her fingers closed over the shell she’d chosen to carry with her today. It was no good, she thought bidding the driver goodnight; she couldn’t face another night sitting by the wireless with daddy while mum and Ginny clacked away with their needles. She needed to put her mind at rest. Constance looked down the long stretch of waterfront ahead of her; there was nothing else for it—she’d go to Puckpool. She had to see him.
So it was twenty minutes later she found herself being barked at as to what her business was. She retrieved her identification card and handed it to the police officer on duty at the entrance to the camp, explaining she’d come to see Wing Commander Henry Johnson. Satisfied the officer nodded and handed her card back which she duly tucked away once more in her front pocket where there was no risk of it falling out.
She moved away from the front gates and stepped further into the grounds of the former holiday camp. She
