The kitchen felt warm and comforting after the chill of the shelter. Jean had just finished washing up from their tea when the air-raid siren had gone off, and the dishes were still on the draining board.
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ she told Sam as she stifled a weary yawn.
‘You look done in, love. Why don’t you go up and have an hour in bed?’ Sam suggested.
‘I can never sleep in the shelter. It doesn’t seem proper somehow, sleeping when you’re with all them other people, even if there is a war on and they are our neighbours.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Sam agreed. ‘It will be all hands to the pumps for us today, clearing up the mess Hitler’s left us with. I’ll go up and have a bit of a wash and then I’d better get down to the yard. We won’t be able to see how much damage has been done until it’s properly light, of course.’
‘I just hope that Katie’s all right.’
‘She’ll be safe in one of the shelters, love.’
The kettle had boiled. Jean reached for it, warming the pot and then sparingly spooning some fresh tea leaves into it before adding some of the tea leaves she had kept from the previous day, to give it a bit more strength.
The resultant brew wasn’t the cup of tea she longed for but it was better than nothing and, more important, it was all that they could have. Not that Jean intended to complain. What did she have to complain about, after all, when both her son and her daughter were alive and well and living close enough to home for her to be able to see them regularly? Others were not so fortunate. There was more than one family in their road now that had lost someone. One of the other women in Jean’s WVS group had arrived at their weekly meeting earlier in the week with red-rimmed eyes, explaining that her son, who was fighting in the desert, had been reported as missing in action. It made Jean’s heart contract just to think of what she was going through.
The all clear had sounded. The two hundred or so dancers who had braved the Luftwaffe to dance the night away together, and in doing so had formed a bond in the way that young people do, began to shake hands if they were male, and exchange hugs if they were female, relieved that they were now free to leave and yet at the same time unwilling to part from one another.
A standing ovation had been given to the band for keeping them dancing, and Mr Munro had stood up and thanked both the band and the dancers.
‘He’s got another saxophone player coming to audition tomorrow,’ Eric told Katie as he packed away his instrument. She’d gone over to say goodbye to him and she didn’t want to seem rude by rushing off when he plainly wanted to chat.
Katie smiled and nodded.
Luke scowled as he watched her smiling at the musician. She was pretty pally with him on the strength of one night’s acquaintanceship, but then her sort were like that, as he well knew from Lillian. They excelled at making a chap believe they thought he was the best thing out and then making him look a fool. Well, that was never going to happen to him again.
As they left the Grafton in the chilly darkness of the December morning, coats over their dance dresses, groups of girls huddled together shivering and looking down at the glass-strewn pavement and road in distress.
‘There’s no way any buses are going to be coming down here,’ Carole told Katie unnecessarily. ‘We’ll have to walk.’ She looked dismayed. ‘And me wearing me only pair of dancing shoes. They’ll be cut to ribbons.’
‘We’ll just have to be very careful,’ Katie tried to comfort her.
The fair-haired private who had been dancing with Carole called out to his friends, ‘Come on, lads. Let’s see these girls safely on their way. They’ll never be able to walk over this lot. Allow me to offer you some transport, modom,’ he joked, putting on a fake ‘posh’ accent as he and another private made a seat with their crossed and joined hands, indicating that they would carry Carole over the worst of the broken glass.
She was giggling now, her dismay giving way to a dimpled smile as she settled herself into her ‘transport’.
Luke came out of the Grafton just in time to see what was going on and hear Carole’s giggles as his men carried her down the street.
Impatiently he strode after them, watched by Katie, who had held back from accepting an offer of her own transport, being naturally more self-conscious than her more exuberant and boisterous friend.
‘You’re in the British Army, you two, not the Christmas panto,’ Luke barked at the two young men, causing them to put Carole down and hang their heads.
‘We was only helping the girls across the worst of the broken glass, Corp,’ Andy defended his actions. ‘With them thin shoes they’re wearing their feet would be cut to ribbons.’
It was cold and Katie was tired and unwilling to hang around outside the Grafton any longer under the disapproving gaze of the corporal, whom she was quite sure now had taken a dislike to her.
With so many torches switched on it was easy enough for her to see the ground and pick her way carefully through the glass, or at least it would have been, if she hadn’t suddenly put her foot on such a smooth piece of glass that she was slipping on it.
Luke swung round as he heard Katie cry out, sprinting the few yards that separated them and reaching her just in time to catch her as she fell. Katie gasped as she was swung off her feet with so much force and speed that she fell against her rescuer’s chest and was obliged to lie there, winded, with her feet dangling above the ground.
He smelled of khaki and soap and clean male sweat. A funny unfamiliar sensation seemed to pierce her body, leaving her even more breathless than his forceful rescue.
Her ‘thank you’ was muffled and made uncomfortable by both her awareness of how much she wished it had been any soldier but this one who had saved her, and how much he himself must dislike having had to do so.
‘You can put me down now,’ she told him. She dare not move. He was of necessity holding her very tightly. He had no option, having rushed to save her, of course, but it was still a very intimate hold, given that they were strangers, and she was now clasped so tightly to his body that she could actually feel the hard muscles in his thighs against her own legs. Katie was glad that it was dark, because she knew that she was blushing. Which was so silly, given the situation. He already despised her enough without her making things even worse by behaving like a silly overly dramatic type of girl who had to make a fuss about something that wasn’t really anything at all. Even so, she would be very glad to be standing on her own feet and not held so close to him. He must have very strong arms to hold her like that. She was panting and had to struggle slightly for breath, but he was not breathing fast at all. Well, not very much. She could feel his heart thudding quite heavily, though. And he still hadn’t put her down. In fact …
Katie gasped as she felt him starting to walk, still carrying her.
‘Put me down,’ she repeated.
‘Keep still,’ he warned her, ignoring her demand and carrying her across the worst of the broken glass to where Carole was standing watching.
How embarrassing. Katie felt so flushed and self-conscious. She had to thank him again, of course, after he had placed her on her feet, and she certainly didn’t welcome Carole’s giggled, ‘It looked ever so romantic, him carrying you like that. Just like something from Gone With the Wind,’ once they had left the men behind and were picking their way carefully through the mess.
It was nearly seven o’clock before Katie finally made it back to the Campions’. Jean welcomed her with open relief, clucking over her like a mother hen, as Katie explained what had happened.
‘We were safe enough