‘Don’t you think we’d have seen them by now?’ Touring the room with his bottle, her father remained calm and kind, though there was a hint of anger in his eye for those who had caused such disaffection. ‘Come on, I thought this was meant to be a party?’
With his words, it was back to another singsong, Margaret and Daphne swooping on their handsome visitor, one either side of him as they caroused. Provided with food and drink, Nell and her mother were to sway happily in time to the music, though Thelma didn’t actually know many of the words. Despite being sandwiched between his hostesses, Billy seemed unable to keep his eyes off the attractive dark-haired girl who stood out from the rest, not only because of her height, and though she persisted in turning her back on him, Nell herself could not resist sneaking an admiring look.
‘Well, I’m glad to see you’ve shed that maungy expression,’ observed Thelma, causing her daughter’s face to snap up from her glass. ‘Kicking up such a fuss about wanting to traipse around town on a Sunday, looking into closed shop windows – I told you you’d have a much better time here. See? Mother knows best!’
Sorry for all the horrible thoughts she had entertained earlier, Nell smiled warmly for her mother – the one she genuinely regarded as Mother, and not the faceless one who had given her away – and had to agree that it was a more enjoyable evening than she could ever have forecast.
So enjoyable, in fact, that she and Thelma were still to be found there at ten o’clock.
Then – ‘Hush, everyone!’ A tousle-haired Uncle Cliff urged the roisterers to stop. And they heard that ominous wail that all had come to dread.
‘Oh bother!’ exclaimed Thelma. ‘I was just about to suggest we make a move.’
But there were more fragile souls to be comforted, Uncle Cliff laying a firm hand on Daphne’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, love, it’ll only be another false alarm.’
‘Will it, though?’ Her pasty face had turned even whiter, and her behaviour nervy. ‘This could be it.’
‘Be assured, Daphne,’ laughed her Aunty Thelma, a stalwart of the Women’s Voluntary Services. ‘In the unlikely event that they were to breach our defences, there are millions of us ready to take up arms before we’d allow them to get to our children. Your uncle’s showed me how to use his gun, and God help the first German who tries his bullying tactics on Eleanor!’
Mimicking this bold example, despite her own twinge of nerves, Nell gave her cousin a reassuring smile, and assisted her to the exit.
With others taking care of Daphne, Cliff put on his tin helmet and herded everyone towards the Anderson shelter in the garden. ‘By, it’s going to be a tight old squeeze tonight.’
‘Some of you’d better come in ours!’ summoned a next-door neighbour, invoking the group to split in half and move after him. ‘Bring your glasses with you if you like!’
‘Er, not the bottles as well!’ Cliff objected, but in vain. He uttered a groan, then, after going round turning off the gas and electricity supplies, hurried after the others.
It was dark outside. With those around her toting glasses of beer or sherry, Nell found herself guided by competent male hands towards the even darker interior of the shelter, which smelled of damp earth. Uncle Cliff had rigged up a light of sorts, but they couldn’t turn it on yet, and as they filed in, everyone seemed to be tripping over everyone else’s feet as well as the items of comfort that had been deposited here in case of a drawn-out siege: bottles of water, a torch, a paraffin stove, a kettle, cups, magazines, tins and boxes of essentials. Her mother’s plump bottom directly ahead of her, head down and bent almost double, Nell shuffled and groped her way in, intending to take a seat beside her mother on one of the bunks that Cliff had fitted on two sides. But somehow, amidst all the fumbling, one of the young soldiers managed to engineer a place for her elsewhere, leaving her sandwiched between him and the one called Billy. Then, with ranks of bodies squashed together, the unnerving wait began.
The light had been turned on now, though it was still very dim. There was desultory chat as they sipped their drinks and waited. Nell herself remained speechless, for she had just felt the back of Billy’s hand caress her thigh. Jammed into place, it was impossible for her to move out of range, and so she remained stiff as a poker on the edge of the bunk, hiding her discomposure in her glass and trying not to flinch, as the hand continued its secret stroking.
With no word to the contrary, Billy seemed to take this as an invitation to go further. To her shock, whilst casually chatting to the others, and unnoticed in the poor light, he worked his arm round behind her and tugged her blouse from under the band of her skirt, slipped his hand beneath it, and began to caress her bare back. Nell developed instant goose bumps, and dared not move as the hand grew ever more adventurous, stroking its way underneath her perspiring armpit and brushing the tips of its fingers against her breast. Outraged at his nerve, Nell immediately clamped her arm down on it to prevent any further indignation, growing redder and redder, and trying to retain her look of interest as Aunty Ethel related each step of her recent medical procedure.
Undeterred, a twinkling Billy – obviously greatly enjoying this assault – managed to release his trapped digits from beneath the moist heat of her arm, and diverted his efforts. Nell shivered in anticipation as his hand meandered seductively downwards over her spine and began to invade the waistband of her skirt. She bent forward as if to attend to some interesting morsel of conversation, though her intention was to prevent this rude foray. She half succeeded. The waistband too tight a squeeze, Billy had to content himself by wiggling a finger against the swell of her buttock. Then, a press stud burst with an audible pop. As alarmed as she, Billy quickly withdrew his hand and pretended to examine the sleeve of his battledress.
Everyone looked at him. ‘Was that you, Billy?’ laughed Aunty Phyllis.
‘Yes, I don’t think this uniform’s quite up to my bulging biceps,’ joked Billy, the object of some amusement. ‘I shall have to get out me needle and thread when I get back to billet.’
Phyllis glanced around for her emergency sewing box. ‘Oh, I’m sure one of us can do it while we’re wait—’
‘Thank you very much, but don’t you go bothering yourself, Mrs Spottiswood!’ he cut in hastily. ‘They teach us how to do that sort of thing in the army – it’s nothing much anyway. And if my seam’s the only thing that explodes tonight I’m sure we’ll all be heartily glad.’
But the ensuing ripple of laughter was curtailed upon the rumble of a distant explosion, and at once everyone’s attention was back on the threat.
A faint burst of machine-gun fire had Daphne almost hysterical. ‘What if there’s gas?’ In the claustrophobic surroundings, she was already gulping for air.
Those around were quick to douse her shrieks. ‘You’ll hear the rattle,’ said her father calmly. ‘And we’ve got our masks. Don’t worry.’
Even so, the tension became palpable, each ear pricked for imminent disaster. With one arm tightly around Daphne, Uncle Cliff took quiet possession of his wife’s hand and gripped it, each of the other men doing likewise with the woman who was seated next to him.
Billy went further. Appointing himself as Nell’s protector, he clamped his arm around her soft flesh and leaned intimately towards her, whilst she was forced to sit there with a rapidly beating heart, as much intent on Billy as on the bombers, wondering what he would get up to next, and if her skirt would fall down when she finally rose to leave.
After what seemed like only minutes to a stimulated Nell, but an interminable wait to the others, the all-clear finally sounded. Thoroughly relieved, the occupants dribbled from the musty shelter into the garden, breathing in sweet air, extending their upper limbs to a sky that was not black but a very deep and romantic shade of blue, stamping their cramped feet, and handing round cigarettes. A secret smoker, Nell was forced