‘Would you like more bread and margarine, Father?’ asked her other sister Elizabeth, pushing the serving plate towards his end of the table.
‘Thank you, Betty,’ he said. Stuck-up Elizabeth, sucking up to Father as always, thought Joan. Another doormat. Well, it was now or never. She knew what the answer would be, but she had to ask anyway. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as Mags would say.
‘Father, may I ask a question?’
‘Not if it’s anything more about rationing, child.’
‘No, it’s something else. The thing is, there is a dance on at the Pavilion tomorrow evening, to celebrate the New Year, and I would rather like to go.’
Father put down his teacup and stared at her over the top of his horn-rimmed spectacles. Joan forced herself to keep her eyes on his. If she looked away, she’d lose her nerve.
‘You? But you’re far too young to be attending dances. You’re only sixteen.’
‘I had my birthday yesterday. I’m seventeen, Father.’
‘Don’t contradict me! You’re too young. I forbid you to go.’
‘But, Father, Elizabeth and Margaret went to their first dances when they were seventeen.’
‘Are you arguing with me? I’ve said no, and that’s that.’
‘Mother, Mags is going and she said she’d look after me. Please, may I?’ What was the point? Her mother just shook her head gently and looked again at Father. Of course she would never go against anything he said.
‘Mother agrees with me. You are not to go. And, Margaret, you will be home by ten o’clock. There’s an end to it.’ He picked up his newspaper and flicked it open, signifying that the topic was closed.
‘Please may I leave the table?’ Joan asked. Not waiting for an answer, she pushed her chair back and began gathering up plates and cups for washing up. Mags quickly joined her, and the two girls took the dirty crockery through to the kitchen.
‘It’s so unfair. Why can’t I go? He’s always stricter with me than he ever was with you or Betty.’ Joan turned the tap on full blast, spraying water everywhere.
‘Watch out, you’re making me wet!’ yelped Mags, as she jumped out of the way, brushing droplets off her skirt and blouse. Joan turned off the tap and clattered some plates into the sink. ‘And now you’re going to chip those plates. Let me do it. You’re too cross.’
Joan stood aside and let Mags take her place. Mags was right; she was cross.
‘Elizabeth’s not going, is she?’ she asked.
‘No. She’s going to the cinema to see some worthy French subtitled film. So I’m going to the dance on my own. But Mary and Noreen will be there, and some of the other girls from the WVS, so I won’t be alone.’
Joan picked a plate from the draining board and began wiping it roughly with a tea towel. She liked Mary and Noreen. It would be such fun attending a proper, grown-up dance with them and Mags.
‘I wish I could go. I feel like Cinderella, having to stay home while my sisters go out and enjoy themselves.’
Mags flicked soapsuds at her. ‘Are you calling me an ugly sister, Joanie?’
‘No.’ Joan giggled. ‘Betty’s the ugly one.’
‘Just think,’ said Mags. ‘If there was any way you could come to the dance, you might just meet your own Prince Charming.’
Both girls giggled uncontrollably at this, until Mother appeared at the kitchen door and told them to shush. They were annoying Father.
***
Washing up completed, they went upstairs to Joan’s bedroom. It was only four-thirty but already dark, and time to close the blackout curtains. Although their coastal town hadn’t suffered many air raids, unlike London, it had still had its fair share. Besides, Joan knew Father would be angry if they didn’t draw the blackout blinds before putting on any lights. And she’d annoyed him enough already for one day.
‘Mags,’ she said, as they flopped down onto Joan’s bed, ‘do you think I could sneak out and go to the dance? Without the parents finding out?’
‘How on earth could you do that? Father would expect you to be downstairs after supper, to listen to the news on the wireless.’
‘What if he thought I was out but somewhere else? Maybe, I don’t know, volunteering at the WVS? The soup kitchen’s open tomorrow night isn’t it? I could say I’m working there …’
‘Ooh, Joanie, there’s an idea! But what if he checked up on you?’
‘He wouldn’t check. Well, at most he might ask Noreen or Mary. Do you think they would cover for me?’ Lie for me, Joan thought. It was probably a bit much to ask, but she knew the other girls sympathised with her and Mags over their draconian father.
‘I’m sure they would. You know, I think that’s a plan! I’ll see Noreen this evening anyway—I’m doing a shift at the soup kitchen from six till eight. I’ll get her to put your name down on the rota. You were about to start volunteering anyway, weren’t you? He agreed to you doing it after Christmas, and we’re already into the New Year. Won’t he be suspicious though—first you ask if you can go to the dance, then when he says no, you announce you’re starting at the WVS?’
‘I’ll mention the WVS tomorrow at teatime. He’ll have forgotten I asked about the dance by then. You know he never takes any real interest in what you or I do. Not like Elizabeth. He’ll be asking her about every detail of the film she’s going to.’ Joan clapped her hands with excitement. ‘Now then, what shall I wear?’
‘Well, you can’t pretend you’re going to the WVS if you’re in a party frock,’ Mags pointed out. ‘Unless you put your coat on over it, and don’t let him see what you’ve got on underneath. And no lipstick, until you’ve left the house. Tell you what, I’ll ask Noreen if we can meet up at her house and you could get ready there.’
‘Perfect! And shall I wear my blue frock? It’s my newest.’
‘You look lovely in that one. I’ll help you do your hair at Noreen’s,’ said Mags.
Joan hugged her. ‘You’re definitely not an ugly sister. More like a Fairy Godmother, saying, “Joanie, you shall go to the ball!”’
‘But I wouldn’t recommend wearing glass slippers. It’s a long walk home.’
Both girls dissolved into giggles at this, and continued laughing until Elizabeth came into the room.
‘What’s so funny? Father’s really cross at you both again. He says if you can’t stop your silly giggling, you’ll have no supper. And it’s rabbit stew with dumplings tonight. I made it.’
‘All right, we’ll stop laughing. No fun allowed in this house. We should have remembered,’ said Mags. Joan stifled more giggles.
‘What was so funny anyway?’ asked Elizabeth again. ‘You two always leave me out of things. It’s not fair.’
‘It’s only silly little girl jokes,’ Joan said. ‘You’re too grown-up to find them funny. Mags has almost grown out of them, too.’
‘Hmm, well. I’ll leave you to it, then. But don’t annoy Father any further. That would be my grown-up advice.’ Elizabeth turned on her heel and left the room.
‘I hate rabbit