Molly Green - A Sister’s Courage

‘I don’t want to bother her when she’s obviously busy.’

‘I still think she’d appreciate a letter,’ Suzanne said. ‘At the very least, it will keep your name in front of her before anyone else who applies. You don’t know, but you could hear in a few weeks’ time.’

‘You’re such a wise owl,’ Raine said, smiling for the first time all day. She hugged her. ‘I’ll do it straightaway. Oh, I nearly forgot. I picked up a leaflet in the library about a dance at the Palais. I haven’t read it properly, but we’ve never had an evening out on our own, have we?’ She pulled the leaflet from her bag and handed it to her sister.

‘It’s this Saturday,’ Suzanne said, looking up excitedly. ‘Oh, Raine, I’d love to. They’ve got a jazz band playing.’ She glanced at the leaflet again. ‘Richard Spicer is the bandleader – he’s one of my favourites – and Sally Rivers is singing. She’s becoming very popular on the wireless but I’d love to hear her in person, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yes, but you’ll have to be the one to convince Maman,’ Raine said. ‘She’s much more likely to agree than if I asked her.’

To Raine’s astonishment her mother was actually amenable to the idea of her two daughters going to a dance together.

‘How will you come home?’ Simone asked.

‘Same way we go – on the bus,’ Raine answered.

‘Well, you may go if you promise not to lose the last bus.’

‘We promise, Maman,’ Suzanne said.

‘And to look after your sister at all times, Lorraine.’

‘I will.’

Ronnie’s face was a picture when Raine and Suzanne waltzed down the stairs on the evening of the dance.

‘Look at you two – dressed up like a dog’s dinner.’

Raine gently pulled one of Ronnie’s pigtails. ‘You’re still a baby. I’m sure in a few years’ time you’ll have given up being a tomboy and will be just as excited to go off to a dance as we are.’

‘I’m hardly a baby at fourteen,’ Ronnie protested, ‘but I just hate all that girl–boy stuff. Waiting on the edge of the floor to be asked to dance by some pimply boy with greasy hair. Ugh.’ She made an ugly face.

‘We don’t intend to dance with pimply boys,’ Suzanne said, laughing. ‘There should be a few slightly more mature ones around, being so close to the aerodrome – if they’re not all away fighting the Germans, that is. If there’s no one we fancy we’ll have a dance together, won’t we, Raine?’

‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,’ Raine chuckled. ‘Come on, Suzy, we don’t want to be late and miss all the fun.’

The dance hall was packed as the two sisters entered. Raine swiftly glanced around, wondering if there was anyone she knew from Biggin Hill, but it was difficult to see the faces clearly because of so much smoke. And as many of them were in uniform it was even harder to differentiate between them. She suddenly thought of Foxy and hoped to God he wouldn’t be here or suddenly turn up.

The floor was already crowded with couples dancing to the small orchestra playing ‘Crazy Rhythm’ and Raine found herself tapping her foot to the infectious beat. She glanced at Suzanne, who was staring at the small stage, eyes half closed, mesmerised. Suzanne looked delightful in her new dress, Raine thought. Her sister had made it out of a length of bright flowered cotton that one of Maman’s housewives had given her, saying she didn’t have any spare saucepans but hoped the material would help the war effort.

Suzanne had altered one of Maman’s gowns for Raine – a bright red silky affair with a short full skirt that flew above Raine’s knees when she’d twirled in the mirror and a halterneck top. What a marvel her sister was with a sewing machine.

‘I’ll get a drink for us at the bar,’ Raine said, ‘if you can find a table.’

Even though she was tall, and wearing her eye-catching red dress, Raine could not catch the barman’s eye. Men who should have been behind her somehow edged their way in front and were served. Chewing her lip in frustration she finally elbowed her way forward and stood directly in front of one of the bartenders, then opened her mouth to give her order. Ignoring her, he nodded to the tall man who had suddenly appeared on her right. Raine sucked in a breath of irritation. What was so special about him ?

She gave him a sideways glance. He was in RAF uniform, as were many of the other men – three or four years older than her, she decided. His fair hair was swept back from his forehead to show the world what a very good-looking bloke he was. He knew it, too, she thought scornfully, by the cocksure way he’d managed to get served before her. He had no manners. He jolly well knew she was at the bar before him.

As though he felt her staring, he turned to her. His eyes, the green of a blade of grass, held hers. And then he smiled. She gave a start. She’d seen that smile before. It lit up his face. But where? At this moment he was regarding her with open admiration, but it did nothing to thwart her temper.

‘Excuse me , but I’ve been standing here for ten minutes.’ She flashed him an angry look. ‘But I realise I must be invisible.’

‘Oh, no,’ he chuckled. ‘Believe me, you are extremely visible – particularly in that vampire’s dress.’

‘In that case, I’d like to put my order in before you,’ she snapped.

‘Be my guest.’

He shifted no more than an inch or two, supposedly giving her the impression he was letting her go in front. She noticed his wings and the two bars on the cuffs of his tunic. He was a pilot – and an officer. He wouldn’t have had any trouble joining up. The RAF would have welcomed him with open arms. And because she was a woman she was not only denied getting into the ATA to do something worthwhile for the war effort through lack of solo air miles, but it was also as though this cocky pilot was rubbing her nose in it at the same time.

Common sense finally came to the rescue and aware that the bartender was enjoying the little scene, she said in as cool a tone as she could muster, ‘Two lemonades, please.’

‘Coming right up,’ the barman said, and she saw a wink pass between the two of them.

They were laughing at her! In a split second she’d turned on her heel, but the pilot was too fast. He grabbed her arm.

‘Hey, what’s the matter? You’ve made your point. You’re being served now.’

She shook his arm off. ‘The trouble with you men in uniform,’ she began, her voice trembling with anger, ‘is that you all think you’re God’s gift. All I asked was for good manners, which I would’ve thought they’d have taught you in the RAF, even if your parents didn’t, which doesn’t mean sharing a joke at my expense with the bartender just because I made a point , as you call it.’

She stopped abruptly to take a breath, inwardly seething.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, looking like a contrite schoolboy who didn’t really mean it. ‘I admit, it was rude of me. Come on back and I’ll buy those drinks. Who are you with, anyway – a boyfriend who drinks lemonade?’