Sniffing and brushing away her tears, Raine pulled the letter from her coat pocket and reread it. Miss Gower promised – well, not promised, exactly – but said she would contact her if the situation changed. In other words, if Miss Gower was given permission to take on more women. Raine supposed at least that was something. A glimmer of hope.
What to do in the meantime?
She wasn’t in the mood to think straight right now. The library. She’d cycle into Bromley and have a good look round. Libraries were full of information. She heard her mother in the kitchen so she put her head in the door.
‘Maman, I’m just going to the library to change some books.’
Her mother was peeling potatoes for dinner.
‘You’ll be back by one?’ she asked, looking up. ‘Are you all right, Lorraine? You look as though you’ve been crying.’
‘It’s probably a cold coming on,’ Raine said. ‘And yes, I should be back by one.’
That would give her plenty of time to calm down. Try to think sensibly what to do.
Mrs Jones, the elderly library assistant, looked up as Raine walked in and put her three books on the library counter. She smiled as she recognised her customer.
‘Hello, dear. Are you looking for anything in particular today?’
‘Not really,’ Raine answered. ‘Um, that is, I don’t suppose you have any information on the ATA, do you?’
Mrs Jones pushed her spectacles up her nose. ‘The ATA? I’m afraid you’ll have to enlighten me, dear.’
Raine explained, but Mrs Jones remained looking nonplussed.
‘I’ve never heard of it,’ she said. ‘Perhaps the librarian will know. I’ll have a word with her when she comes in later. But I have something that might interest you – if you’re set on aeroplanes, that is.’
Raine followed her over to a table with a couple of daily newspapers and a few out-of-date magazines.
‘Ah, here it is.’ Mrs Jones pounced on a magazine displaying drawings of several different aeroplanes on the cover. ‘A gentleman brought this in, in case one of our readers was interested.’ She took off her steel-rimmed glasses and smiled at Raine. ‘You’re welcome to have it, dear.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ Raine said, taking the magazine and glancing at the name: Flight. ‘I haven’t seen this one in the newsagents’. How kind of you to think of me.’ She gave Mrs Jones a beaming smile. ‘I shall really enjoy reading this.’
‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’
‘No, thanks. I’ll just have a look around the shelves.’
She passed a table where there were some pamphlets about a dance on at the Palais in Bromley. She picked one up and put it in her bag without looking at it. She hadn’t been out for a long time. Perhaps that was just what was needed to cheer her up.
That evening, before supper, when Raine was in their shared room, she read Miss Gower’s letter to Suzanne.
‘Oh, Raine, how disappointing.’ Her sister regarded her. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘Good question. I wish I knew.’
‘Well, you must write to this Miss Gower and thank her,’ Suzanne said firmly. ‘Maman taught us that. Tell her how disappointed you are but thank her very much for putting you on her waiting list. And that you look forward to hearing further if things change. No, on second thoughts not “if”, but when things change. Because they’re bound to with so many of our soldiers losing their lives.’ She blinked away a tear.
‘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