She needed an escape route and leant awkwardly across Aileen to talk to Susie. ‘Is Daniel coming tonight?’
Susie shook her head, disappointed. ‘He was needed to get the Hurricanes back to Biggin Hill. He’ll be here tomorrow, though.’
Elsie went to answer, to offer a sympathetic response, but her thoughts were derailed by a persistent tapping on her left shoulder. It was him—the pilot. She ignored it momentarily, thinking about what she would say when she turned to face him. He kept tapping, and the flutter of pity that she had begun to feel towards him was instantly replaced. Still he tapped. A softly smouldering ball of vexation began to rise up inside her, intense and enlivened. She whirled around to see a ridiculous grin on his face. ‘What?’ she demanded.
He waved an empty beer glass in his hand. ‘I’m ready for that drink now.’
‘Looks like you’ll be very thirsty, then,’ Elsie replied curtly. At the other end of the bar, the rotund barman was tending to a group of uniformed pilots. She spotted William among them and waved. ‘William!’ He looked over and smiled. ‘Let me get you a drink,’ she called over, sliding a guinea across the bar in front of the pilot beside her.
William’s friends began that silly back-slapping and whooping that Elsie noticed groups of men were inclined to do when in the company of women. He accepted her offer, took a beer and moved around the bar towards her. ‘Cheers,’ he said.
‘I watched you flying back to the aerodrome,’ Elsie said, chinking glasses with him. ‘Through a telescope.’
William smiled, flattered. ‘How did I do?’ he asked.
She played along. They both knew that there was no possible way for her to have known in which of the twelve Hurricanes he had been flying. ‘Perfectly,’ she answered. ‘A truly magnificent landing.’
His face lit up as he began to talk about the day’s events. Elsie listened more and more intently as he spoke, her awareness of the pilot beside her fading until she forgot all about him entirely.
The band struck up Who’s Taking You Home Tonight and gradually, one couple at a time, the dance floor began to fill.
‘Dance?’ William asked.
Elsie nodded, set down her drink and allowed herself to be led to the edge of the dance floor. He was an energetic, slightly clumsy dancer, obliviously stepping on her toes, as he twirled her around.
As the dance progressed, Elsie became aware that he was holding her at the edge of the dance floor, in full view of his friends at the bar. Her friends were watching too, perhaps aware of her growing unease at William’s boastful dancing display.
A sudden flash of white light dazzled the dance floor; she ground to a halt, waiting for her vision to return.
‘It’s just the local rag,’ William said, his knee banging into her, as he pulled her back into his arrogant performance.
Elsie just spotted the source of the light—two men, one with a camera and one with a notepad and pencil—when William thrust his groin into hers and threw back his head, receiving a tittering approval from the bar.
Another flash.
Elsie shielded her eyes and pulled away.
‘You look like you’re having a good time. What are your names, then?’ the reporter asked, pencil poised. Without waiting for an answer he added, ‘You local or in the services?’ He was a weedy man, too old for conscription, with a face gnarled and bitten by the Great War.
Elsie tried to break away, but William grabbed her wrist with his left hand, passing his right hand over her breasts. He pulled her in, tighter and she could feel his beery breath on her face. ‘Don’t go, we’re having fun,’ he whispered, but she wriggled free, scurrying over to the food table.
‘What a horrible man,’ Elsie breathed, looking back across the dance floor.
‘Did his hands go wandering?’ Pat asked, nibbling on a sausage on a stick.
‘Yes!’ Elsie responded angrily.
‘At least they’re after you,’ Betty commented, her mouth full.
‘You can have him,’ Elsie muttered. ‘And now there’s a bloody nosey reporter here, too.’
Elsie stayed at the food table through several songs, chatting with Pat, who regaled her with the long story of her failed relationships. Every so often, Elsie would take a quick look around the room. The pilot was still at the bar, alone. William had taken to tossing another girl—a younger, blonder and more relaxed version of Elsie—around the dance floor. She had been replaced, just like that. Not that she cared.
The band took a break, and when they started up again the tone of the evening had shifted. The lights were dimmed and they played on with All the Things You Are. The dance floor began to fill up again and Betty snapped up the offer of a pilot’s arm.
Elsie watched for a moment and smiled. It was time to go home. She found her coat among a pile near to the bar. It would be much easier not to say goodnight to anyone, just to slip out inconspicuously.
‘One dance before you go?’
Elsie looked up. It was the pilot from the bar. She saw something in his grey eyes—honesty or sincerity, perhaps—that touched her. One dance for her was simply that—one dance, but for him she knew that it meant so much more: it was possibly his last dance. He took her indecision as acceptance and stood with his hand outstretched, waiting. She put her coat back down and placed her hand into his. She thought she detected the flicker of a smile on
