A Step In Time (4 page)

‘Take everything you want,’ he was yelling. ‘Help yourselves.’

Oh.

Of course there were three photographers busy capturing everything, plus a camera crew, obviously filming for Matty’s fly-on-the-wall show.

‘Keep driving,’ I shrieked. ‘Keep driving!’

The cab driver met my eyes in the mirror and nodded briskly. Next to me, on the pavement, the teenage girls dug into another bag, pulling out what seemed to be my favourite jeans and trainers.

I made a split-second decision.

‘Stop!’ I shouted. The cabbie jammed on the brakes and I was out onto the pavement in a flash, leaving the taxi door open. As skilfully as any rugby player I swerved round the group of girls. Then, catching them unawares, I yanked the bin liner from one of the girl’s hands, pulled my prized Marc Jacobs clutch from an outstretched arm, and scooped up a pair of battered Converse. Then, before the photographers even had a chance to notice I was there, I dived back into the cab and slammed the door.

‘Drive!’ I yelled, feeling like Thelma. Or was it Louise? ‘Driiiiive!’

‘Where to, miss?’ the cabbie said politely, flooring the accelerator and speeding away from the flat.

I took a breath.

‘Clapham,’ I said. ‘Take me to Clapham.’

I looked down at the Converse I had clasped in my trembling hands.

‘I don’t think these are mine,’ I said in surprise.

The cabbie let out a snort of laughter.

‘I reckon you deserve them,’ he said

‘I reckon I do.’ I looked out of the back window of the cab at the window where Matty still stood. We were going pretty fast so it was hard to see but I liked to think he looked a bit forlorn and I felt glad. After all, he had smashed my heart into tiny pieces.

‘You that Amy Lavender?’ the cabbie asked as we hurtled south. I thought about denying it but there wasn’t much point given what he’d just witnessed. Instead I nodded.

‘That’s me,’ I said.

‘He’s an idiot that fella,’ he said, winking at me in the mirror. ‘You’re well shot of him.’

I smiled. That was nice to hear.

‘I messed up,’ I said.

‘Had a drink, had you?’ the cabbie asked.

‘More than one.’

‘Well, we’ve all been there,’ he said. ‘Things get a bit tasty when you’ve all had a few. But the way I see it, you had good reason.’

He grinned.

‘Mind you, probably should have belted him – not her.’

I laughed for what seemed like the first time in days.

‘Want him back?’ he asked.

‘Nope.’

‘Nice one,’ he said, indicating and pulling into the kerb. ‘Find someone who’s worthy of you, that’s my advice. Here we are then.’

He had stopped outside a beautiful house facing a huge expanse of grass – Clapham Common, I guessed.

I widened my eyes in surprise.

‘Is this it?’

It was. It was a stunning house. One of the Victorian double-fronted villas that lined the edges of the common like sentries. It had wrought-iron railings, flowers in pots either side of the enormous front door, and a black-and-white tiled path. And to the left some stone steps led down to a second front door, this one painted a smart grey, at basement level. My new home. For now.

I handed over a bundle of notes and scrambled out of the car, clutching my handbag, bin liner and the stolen Converse. The cabbie waved cheerily at me as he drove off and I blew him a kiss – he’d been a real tonic – and gazed up at the house. I saw a movement at the window on the ground floor and wondered if the old woman was watching me. Maybe she was planning to phone the papers and tell them where I was, I thought, slightly hysterically. Or perhaps she was going to be a nosey old trout who made my life a misery. I squinted at the window again but I couldn’t see anyone, so I made my way carefully down the steep stairs.

The flat was actually really nice and surprisingly light for a basement. It had one bedroom with a double bed and fitted wardrobes – not that I had much to put in them – and when I lay on the bed to test it I could see people’s feet and ankles as they walked along the road.

There was a basic bathroom and a large sitting room, with an open-plan kitchen area at one end. It was a lovely room with wooden floors, an original tiled fireplace and French windows that opened onto a tiny paved backyard. There was a sofa and a squishy armchair, a small TV and DVD player, and empty bookshelves. It was all a bit unloved but it was okay. For now, I thought again.

My phone rang and I dived for it. Babs.

‘Hit me with it,’ I said. ‘When do I fly out to Oz?’

There was a pause.

‘Ah,’ said Babs.

‘What do you mean, “ah”?’ I said, hysteria mounting. ‘What does “ah” mean?’

‘Jungle’s not a goer, I’m afraid,’ Babs said. ‘But don’t be downhearted. I’ve come up with something really special.’

‘Really?’ I said, curiosity overtaking my disappointment. ‘What is it?’

‘I’ve called in just about every favour I’ve ever been owed, and pulled a lot of strings,’ Babs said.

‘Yes,’ I said.

Babs made a noise that I thought was supposed to be a drum roll.

‘Babs,’ I said. ‘What is it?’

‘Strictly. Stars. Dancing,’ she said triumphantly.

I sat down heavily on the sofa.

‘What?’ I said.

‘
Strictly Stars Dancing
,’ Babs said again. ‘It’s glittery, it’s fabulous and it’s going to make you the nation’s darling once more.’

I felt sick.

‘Babs,’ I whispered. ‘I can’t dance.’

Chapter Six

Cora

I watched as the girl stumbled down the steps to the basement flat, carrying bin liners that spilled their contents over the concrete stairs. She was very pretty, though her eyes were swollen and red, from crying, I assumed. And she was very thin. Her legs in her skin-tight jeans were like twigs. She reminded me of my Ginny, back in the sixties, when she was fashionably little-boy thin and wore her ravishing red hair in a pixie crop that made her look like a street urchin.

The girl looked up at my window and I drew back slightly, not wanting to be spotted spying.

She looked, I thought, like someone in trouble, as she stood at the front door of the flat, gripping the keys so tightly her knuckles gleamed white. Someone in need of a friend. Her shoulders slumped as she plucked a bra from where it had dropped onto one of the plants next to the door, then she turned the key in the lock and went inside.

Disappointed, I gave up my vantage point and settled down on the sofa. My new tenant interested me. There was something in the set of her shoulders, in the haunted look in her eye, that reminded me of the girl I’d once been – frightened, heartbroken, but, in my case, not alone. My eyes rested on a photograph of Audrey and me that stood on the mantelpiece. It had been taken in the fifties and we both wore clam-digger trousers and fitted blouses. I remembered how sassy we’d thought ourselves in those outfits. We were grinning like the kids we were really. Audrey had a cigarette dangling from her lips and I was laughing, with my head thrown back.

‘I hope she’s got a friend like you, Aud,’ I said aloud, wondering if I was finally turning into a batty old woman. ‘And I hope, if she does, she listens to hers.’

I picked up my half-drunk G&T and raised it towards the ceiling.

‘I should have listened to you, Audrey,’ I said. ‘I should have listened.’

1944

I peeked through the gap in the curtains and hugged myself in delight. He was here. Just as he’d promised he would be. Sitting bang in the middle, about three rows back. Worried he’d spot me spying, I let the curtain drop, but then couldn’t resist taking another look. Donnie was smiling widely and looked wonderfully handsome, every bit as handsome as I remembered. I had a churning excitement in my stomach and I couldn’t wait to talk to him after the show. To hold him and kiss him.

‘Is he here?’ Audrey stood on her tiptoes to see through the curtain above my head.

I gave her a shove.

‘I’m trying to be discreet,’ I giggled. ‘Don’t make it so obvious that we’re looking.’

‘Girls,’ Henry, the entertainment officer, hissed at us from the side of the stage. ‘Places, please.’

The band struck up and, still laughing, Audrey and I ran to get into position for the opening number.

I loved being on stage. I liked everything about it – the costumes, make-up, the applause from the audience. I enjoyed singing, though I knew I wasn’t a natural singer, not like Audrey was. I did short skits with Nigel, a rotund actor who everyone adored and I liked those, too – it was fun making people laugh. But it was dancing that was my real love. I heard music in my head all the time, and so I danced all the time, when I was queuing for breakfast, or making my bed at whatever digs we were staying in that week. Sometimes I wondered how other people stayed so still.

And on stage – oh, that was where I really came alive. I didn’t care if I was dancing a solo or part of the chorus line, I loved it all. And frankly I was so glad to finally have been allowed to become part of the Entertainment National Service Association, now I’d turned eighteen, and to shake off the shackles of my overbearing mother, that I always made the effort to enjoy every single part of a performance.

But not tonight.

Tonight, I was distracted. I barely registered the first few numbers, I performed my solo – which was my favourite part of the show – as if in a dream, and though I tried to throw myself into my comic scenes with Nigel, I knew I wasn’t really firing on all cylinders. Because of Donnie. He was all I could think about, and for the first time since I’d joined up, I just wanted the show to be over.

As soon as the curtain fell on the grand finale, I scarpered. I raced to the tent the girls in the company used as a dressing room and stripped off my costume. It was an adapted showgirl outfit commandeered from a London theatre and, though it looked wonderful under the lights, up close it was shabby and losing its sheen.

I pulled it off and instead put on my uniform, wishing I had something else to wear. I brushed my blonde hair until it shone, and pinned it up, then I pinched my cheeks to give them some colour, thanking my lucky stars that, unlike some of my friends back home, who were working in factories and kitchens and hospitals, I still had make-up. I spat on my mascara and slicked it onto my lashes and smoothed on a tiny amount of red lipstick. I may have had make-up but who knew how long it would last? Then I checked my appearance in the mirror and grinned.

‘Not bad, Cora,’ I said.

Audrey appeared in the doorway of the tent.

‘Blimey, you were off that stage at a fair old whack,’ she said. She straightened my skirt over my hips and kissed me on the cheek.

‘You look beautiful,’ she said. ‘I hope he’s bloody worth it?’

I gave her a poke.

‘I think so,’ I said. ‘Which is all that matters.’

Audrey rolled her eyes at me.

‘Just be careful, Cora,’ she said. ‘The one thing blokes are good at is lying.’

I poked her again.

‘Don’t be so miserable,’ I said. ‘Have you seen him?’

Audrey scowled at me, then her face softened.

‘He’s waiting for you out the back, you soppy cow. I saw him just now. Go on, if you really have to. Go!’

I gave a small squeal and rushed off to find Donnie.

He was waiting exactly where Audrey said he would be, behind the mess hall where the performance had been. He was watching some bags being loaded onto trucks and he had his back to me.

Suddenly shy, I paused, but he turned and saw me, and opened his arms, and all my shyness was forgotten as I ran to him.

We walked round the edge of the camp, hand in hand. It was dark there and away from the shouts and engine noises. You could even hear the wind in the trees on the other side of the fence, if you listened hard enough. It wasn’t the most romantic location but just being with Donnie made it perfect.

‘How long are you staying this time?’ Donnie said as they strolled. His soft American accent made me shiver with pleasure. I’d found myself forgetting his voice over the months since I’d seen him last and so it was wonderful to hear him again.

I groaned.

‘Only a few nights,’ I said. ‘Nothing like as long as last time.’

When we’d been at the camp before we’d stayed for a month, doing shows on a rotation to the GIs stationed there. With so much time together, my romance with Donnie had blossomed and our letters had kept things going while I toured Britain with the ENSA.

But there weren’t many troops left now. Donnie would be headed back to France before too long, and this time we only had a few days.

‘Tell me again,’ I said now. ‘Tell me the plan.’

Donnie had mapped out our future while we’d been apart, spelling it all out in his letters. But I’d never heard him actually say the words.

‘When this damn war finally ends, and the Americans send those Germans packing,’ he began.

I giggled and pulled his arm round my shoulders, grateful of his warmth on this cold, clear night.

‘Not just the Americans,’ I said.

Donnie chuckled.

‘Whatever you say, honey,’ he drawled in an over-the-top accent.

‘So when the war is over …’ I prompted, giving him a fake-stern look.

‘We’ll ship out of England and head back to the States,’ Donnie said. ‘Soon as we can.’

‘And where will we go?’ I said, knowing the answer but wanting him to say it.

‘Well, I guess we should call in on my folks,’ Donnie said. ‘Mom’s desperate to meet you.’

‘She is?’

‘Sure she is. I got a letter from her just the other day asking to know more about you.’

I blinked. This was all news to me.

‘More?’ she said. ‘What have you told her already?’

‘That you’re beautiful, funny, talented and you’ve made me the happiest man in England,’ Donnie said.

‘Sounds about right,’ I said, striking a pose.

‘Have you told your mom about me?’ Donnie asked.

Up ahead was a parked jeep. Not wanting to answer Donnie’s question, I saw my chance to distract him, so I bounced over to the car and climbed up onto the bonnet.

‘Come on,’ I said. I lay back against the windscreen and looked up at the stars, bright in the clear December sky. Donnie climbed up next to me and gripped my hand.