The Back of Beyond (24 page)

‘You're cold!' Ken exclaimed, removing his battledress blouse and wrapping it round her. ‘We'd better put a step in going back. I don't want you ending up with pneumonia.'

‘I'm not cold,' she protested. ‘I was thinking of all the people who had stood here – since the tower was first built, and it gave me a queer feeling.'

His arm was still round her waist when they returned to the house, and she was quite relieved that Marge had gone to bed and didn't see. ‘I'll make a pot of tea,' she said, her voice low and breathy.

‘No, I'd better go.'

She didn't want to let him go just yet. ‘It won't take long.' She lifted the kettle and held it under the tap.

‘I'd better go. Believe me, Gwen, it
is
better.' He retrieved his jacket and put it on, then said, ‘Good night, I've really enjoyed my day … as usual. I won't see you next week or the week after, of course, but I should manage the week after that … with any luck.'

He was gone before she could set the kettle down, and the rattle of the old bike told her that he hadn't waited for her to see him off. She lit the gas ring and sat down to think over what he had said. They did have a close relationship, she did feel affection for him, but not love. Not any kind of love – well, maybe just a touch. Why did he have to be so nice? Why did Marge have to pair them off? Why was she trembling at the memory of his arm around her?

The hiss of water on the gas flame made her jump up. When the tea was infused, she poured out two cups, one for herself and one for Marge. Her sister would likely wonder why Ken hadn't stayed for a cup, too, so she'd have to think of a reason to explain it.

Marge's light was still on, so she went straight in. ‘How's your head now?'

‘A bit better. I took a couple of aspirins and I dozed off for a while. Did you and Ken go up to the tower?'

‘Mmm. It was lovely up there, so clear we could see for miles.'

‘Um … he didn't stay very long when you came back?'

‘No, he thought I'd caught a cold, because I was shivering. It was only somebody walking over my grave, but … he insisted on giving me his jacket.'

‘You look kind of guilty, Gwennie, so you'd better tell me. Did he try anything?'

‘No, he didn't!' Gwen was truly indignant.

‘He didn't even kiss you?'

‘No, he didn't.'

‘Did you wish he had?'

‘No, I didn't.'

Marge's eye hardened. ‘Change the record, Gwen. I can read you like a book.'

‘Well, you're wrong tonight. Nothing happened, and I wasn't sorry. Ken said ours was a platonic relationship, and that's how we both want it.'

‘I'm glad to hear it. I did wonder, after I sent you out with him, if I was stirring up a hornets' nest, so I'm pleased you're both so adult and sensible about it.'

‘Well, we're both married and love our …'

‘Spouses, that's the word. Now you'll maybe understand how I feel when I'm out dancing. It's nice to be in a man's company again, especially when there's no chemistry to foul things up. I won't feel so bad now about leaving you on your own. And that's another thing. Would Ken have volunteered to be the permanent bus driver taking the soldiers to Forvit? He always makes a point of staying in the hall all the time, nowadays, but he never asks any girl up to dance … not even me.'

In her own bed, Gwen turned Marge's last remark over in her mind. Ken probably
had
volunteered to ferry his friends from the camp to the village and back, and had remained in the hall to save even her sister getting any wrong ideas about her.

Because the monthly dance fell on Dougal's second night home, Marge said she couldn't desert him, but he pulled a face. ‘I don't want you giving up your night out … d'you think any of the boys would mind if I went with you?'

‘I don't see why they should. You're in the forces, the same as them.'

The minister was delighted to make Dougal's acquaintance and, after his usual few words of welcome to the ‘boys from Ardley', he made a point of introducing ‘Marjory's husband'. There were shouts of ‘Good old Marge!' and ‘Good luck, mate!', and even one cheeky ‘He's why we only get to dance with her,' at which she beamed happily.

At that moment, the band struck up, and a laughing Dougal swung her into their first lap of the church hall to the strains of ‘You Are My Sunshine', played with gusto on sax, piano and drums by three ex-members of a quite well-known dance band.

Dougal forgot everything and everyone else in the pleasure of holding his wife in his arms, their bodies moving in unison to the pulsating rhythm. ‘You'll never know, dear, how much I love you,' he sang softly into her ear.

‘Oh, Dougal,' Marge sighed, her heart performing all kinds of somersaults, ‘I didn't know you were such a good dancer.'

‘We never went dancing, did we? Some of the other girls I took out were dancing mad, so I went with them, and I used to go to all the dances round here before I went to London.'

‘Sowing your wild oats?' she teased.

He chuckled at this. ‘What we thought was wild oats at the time, I wasn't long sixteen when I left, remember. I looked on myself as a proper Romeo, you know, and if a girl let me kiss her when I saw her home, I thought I was the bee's knees.'

‘Did you never …?'

‘I used to boast to Alistair I'd gone all the way, he was a lot quieter than me, but it wasn't true. Oh, I admit I made some feeble attempts, but I'd have dropped flat on my face with shock if any of them had let me.'

The quickstep ended with a flourish and was followed by a modern waltz, then a Paul Jones, where, miraculously, they ended up with each other every time the music changed. After the energy expended in most of this, they were glad of the dreamy slow foxtrot to which Dougal substituted the words ‘A Nightingale Sang in Russell Square' instead of the proper Berkeley Square, but he broke off when he realized that his wife's eyes had filled with tears. ‘I'm sorry, Marge, have I made you homesick?' he asked, anxiously.

‘No, it's not that.' She dragged the back of her hand across her cheekbone. ‘It's just … that Russell Square reminded me of Guilford Street, and the hotel … and Dad.'

‘I didn't think – I could bite my tongue out. Will you be all right?'

‘I
am
all right. I was being silly.'

Next, they were told to form into lines for the Lambeth Walk, which was all she needed to banish the nostalgia, and she joined in the fun right to the final ‘Oy!' Spirits were high as the band took a well-deserved break, and the ladies of the Women's Guild took up their positions on the small stage round the tables which held huge tea urns and dozens of plates of scones and pancakes, baked by the ladies themselves. The minister now said a brief grace which doubled as a prayer for absent friends, adding after the Amen, ‘Pray silence for the vice-president of the Women's Guild, Mrs Georgina Tough.'

Dougal couldn't trust himself to look at Marge as Doodie stepped forward. ‘I just want to say,' she began, in her best speechifying-English, ‘how sorry we are that our president is nae able to be here the night, and I think I spikk for yous all when I say we hope her operation's a great success.' She looked round the assembly and then observed, to the minister's very obvious embarrassment, ‘Piles is nae a fine thing to ha'e – I ken that, for my Dod's suffered wi' them for years – and I'd be obliged, Mr Lennox, if you'll pass on oor best wishes to your lady wife. Now, that's me finished, so jist come up and help yoursel's! There's plenty, and you can come back for seconds if you want. Like my aul' Granny used to say, “Stick in till you stick oot.”' With a toothy smile, she returned to her station, ready for the rush.

Surprisingly, the dancers made their way on to the stage in an orderly line, which resulted in a smooth operation where everyone was served in no time at all. Dougal was astonished by the amount on offer, but didn't heap his plate like most of the other men. ‘These pancakes are out of this world,' he enthused when he and Marge were seated. ‘How do they do it when everything's rationed?'

‘All the women chip in a little something,' she smiled. ‘Flour, sugar, eggs …'

‘Dried eggs? I heard they were awful.'

‘A lot of wives here keep hens, so we hardly ever have to use the dried stuff, though it's not too bad when it's reconstituted … not good, but bearable. And Lexie's quite good at giving the committee a bit of Stork margarine, or Echo, no butter, of course.'

‘Does she ever attend these dances?'

‘Not every one, and she's not here tonight. She'd a bad cold on Thursday when I saw her, so she probably didn't feel up to it.'

Dougal eyed his wife reflectively. ‘I don't suppose you and Gwen ever made friends with her?'

Marge lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. ‘Not friends as such. We talk to her in the shop, that's all. I've never really taken to her, you know.'

‘If that's because of Alistair, I'm nearly sure she gave up on him long ago.'

Their little tête-à-tête was interrupted by a roll on the drums, and the first few bars of ‘Jealousy' on the saxophone. A tall captain appeared in front of them now. ‘I hope I'm not intruding,' he began, ‘but I really must have this tango with Marge. She's the only one in the place who can do it properly. I hope you don't mind … Dougal?'

Marge jumped to her feet. ‘Of course he doesn't mind.'

As Dougal watched them, he thought what a stunning couple they made, their steps gracefully synchronized, as if they'd been partners for years. He felt slightly jealous, only very slightly, he told himself, but was it any wonder? Not only an officer, this man was devilishly good-looking – tightly-curled blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, dimpled cheeks – and Marge was laughing as she looked up at him.

When the tango ended, she pulled the captain back to be introduced properly. ‘Dougal, this is Percival Lamont. Percy, this is my beloved husband.'

The attractive smile widened. ‘I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance, Dougal.'

The lilting Highland accent would be another point in his favour with the women, Dougal thought, but he shook the man's hand as warmly as he could. ‘Pleased to meet
you
, Captain.'

‘We don't bother with rank at these dos. But I must tell you how much I envy you, Dougal, having this lovely lady for your wife, a faithful wife, at that. There are very few of them around now.'

Blushing faintly, Marge giggled, ‘Get on with you, Percy. You could charm the birds off the trees if you tried.'

‘But not you, I fear.' He winked at Dougal to show that he was only fooling. ‘Now Dougal, I must spread myself around – I wonder who will be the next lucky lady?'

He turned away and headed for a small brunette at the other side of the hall as the band struck up a slow foxtrot, and Marge said, ‘Don't mind Percy, Dougal. He's an awful tease, but it's all in fun. He's very happily married, his wife had a baby a couple of months ago, and for all his flirting, he wouldn't do anything to hurt her.'

Her husband led her on to the floor. ‘I just wish he wasn't so handsome … like a blinking film star.'

‘I like my men rugged,' she said, softly, ‘with dark hair and called Dougal, not a cissy name like Percival.'

The rugged, dark-haired man called Dougal tightened his hold on her. ‘I love you, Marjory Finnie,' he whispered in her ear, ‘and I'm glad I came with you tonight.' She looked so lovely, so happy, that he couldn't resist kissing her. It didn't go unnoticed, however, and they jumped apart as various teasing comments were made, but, because of the minister's presence, nothing out of place.

‘We'll have to excuse them – they haven't seen each other for months.'

‘Couldn't you two wait till you went home?'

‘I hope my old lady kisses me like that when I'm on leave.'

And so on, the Reverend James Lennox's face never changing its affable expression, although he did unbend a little when the other dancers moved away and left Marge and her husband on their own. ‘Oh, God,' Dougal muttered, ‘I don't like everybody watching every move I make.'

‘It's a compliment,' she giggled, ‘so let's show 'em!'

Their intricate scissors-steps to ‘I'd Like to Get You on a Slow Boat to China' drew frenzied applause from the onlookers, but Dougal was glad when they could return to their seats. ‘I felt awful,' he groaned, while they watched the more energetic Eightsome Reel which followed, ‘like a goldfish in a bowl.'

‘Tell the truth now,' Marge chuckled, ‘you really liked being the centre of all eyes, didn't you?'

‘Aye, I suppose so. I always did like to show off.'

At the end of the evening, several of the men shouted goodnight to them as they made their way outside, one even saying to Marge, ‘Have you got your bike tonight?'

She hadn't, there was only one adult bicycle at Benview, Alice's old rattler, and the thought of having to walk three miles home after dancing all evening was not a pleasant one. The bus was waiting outside to take the soldiers back to Ardley, but the driver – not Ken, Marge was glad to see – came up to her and said, ‘It's back along there, isn't it? Hop in, it's not taking me much out of the way.'

As they plodded up the track some minutes later, Dougal observed, with deep feeling, ‘Thank goodness we got a lift a bit of the way. My legs feel like telephone poles with dancing so much, but I really enjoyed myself.'

‘That's good, 'cos so did I.'

He waited until they were in bed, until he had demonstrated how much he loved her, before he gave her the bad news. ‘This is embarkation leave, I'm afraid, darling, and the word is it's the Far East, so God knows how long it'll be before I get home again.'