‘You have lovely golden hair, pet.’ The air force pilot leaned over Hari, in an attempt to dance the waltz with her. His eyes were glazed, his breath smelling of whisky. The pilots liked to live high on the hog, Hari noted with resignation.
‘Well, don’t get too close, pet.’ Hari edged him away from her and took a deep breath of the cigarette smoke that was marginally better than close-quarter whisky fumes.
‘Don’t push me away, you know I love you.’
She looked up into his face: he was handsome and broad-shouldered, with thick, severely brilliantined hair that shone like shoe black under the lights; and he had a dimple in just the right place on his chin. She didn’t even know his name.
‘I love you, I really do.’ He nuzzled into her neck, his lips sucking at her skin. Irritated, she pulled away from him and left the dance floor.
‘I’ve got some fantastic stockings,’ he called after her. He was swaying where he stood and for a moment Hari felt sorry for him, tonight’s mission might be his last. She was sorry, but not sorry enough to surrender her virginity to him.
‘I hope they suit you,’ she called back, and made her way outside the hall to take a deep breath of clean air. She looked up at the sky—the clouds were scudding like large black pillows edging and pushing past a watery moon. She shivered. It was a sudden cold snap come early in November reminiscent of the February night when her life had been torn apart by the three nights’ heavy bombardment of Swansea. Below her the town was in darkness, the only lights,’ shining dimly, were from the dock’s emergency lights that would be extinguished only if there was an air raid.
‘Sorry about Stephen.’ A voice spoke close to her ear and she turned around, startled. Framed in the doorway was the slim figure of an airman. ‘He’s lonely and afraid.’
He held out his hand. ‘I’m Richard Squires. I’m based at Fairwood so I get into Swansea quite often.’
She took his hand. ‘Hari, Angharad Jones, and don’t worry about your friend, as you say, he’s just a bit drunk.’ She rubbed her hands together. ‘How can he possibly fly a plane the way he is?’
‘Shoving your arms into your flying jacket and preparing to take off soon clears the head. Up there you’re on your own, no one to rely on but yourself.’
‘I suppose you’re right.’ Hari turned away from him. She didn’t allow herself to make friends with the men from the airfield as inevitably, one night, one more of them would fail to return from a raid.
Kate came out of the Glyn Hall giggling and clinging to the arm of the airman Hari had been dancing with.
‘He loves me, so he does—at least that’s what he tells me.’
‘Me too, Hari said dryly. ‘Any minute now he’ll tell you about his stockings.’
‘These you mean?’ Kate dangled the fine stockings from her fingers. ‘If he’s good I might even try them on for him.’
‘He’s scared, apparently,’ Hari said. ‘The poor chap is frightened of dying without knowing what it is to have a woman—that’s the new way of making a pass these days. It’s anyone, anytime, anywhere—so don’t encourage him.’
Kate held up her hand. ‘No lectures, Hari, I’m a big girl now, remember?’ She rested her hand on Hari’s shoulder. ‘I’m scared. I work with them damn shells all day; I could be blown up at any time and I don’t want to die without “knowing” too.’ She clutched the pilot’s arm.
‘Come on, pet, we’ve got to go.’
Reluctantly, Hari remained silent. If Kate was old enough to risk her life in the munitions factory she was old enough to make her own choices in other ways. She looked up at the man at her side. ‘Well, Richard, I’m off home.’ She held out her hand and he took it.
‘Can I see you again?’
‘Why not? I’ll be here at the dance again next week.’
‘I might not be here next week.’ Richard smiled down at her. ‘What about a walk around the bay tomorrow night?’
‘All right,’ Hari said, ‘I’ll see you at the ice cream parlour by the slip about seven. It’s just a walk mind.’
‘I know—a walk it is. Where’s the slip?’
‘On the sands near the bridge.’
‘Could I walk you home?’
Hari hesitated. ‘Best not, there might be an air raid.’
‘All the more reason—’ She didn’t allow him to finish the sentence.
‘No.’
She walked away from him briskly, but as the music from the dance hall faded away she wondered if she would ever see Richard alive again.
Kate lay down in the grass and Stephen lay down beside her. He was just like a puppy, uncoordinated and foolish. She wanted to kiss him. She leaned over him and touched his cheek. ‘There, there, my little man, everything will be all right, so it will, Kate says so.’
Stephen curled into her arms. ‘Hold me, Kate,’ he said softly, ‘just hold me.’ He began to cry and Kate rocked him in her arms the way she did with her baby brother, the youngest one, Sean, two years old and ‘into everything’ as her mother often complained.
She felt a moment’s pang of loss for her other brother, Paul, gone to some funny place to live with strangers, begging to come home in every letter he sent. Soon, she knew her mother would give in and fetch him back to Swansea from his place of exile. Evacuation they called it but she called it a cruel shame.
She looked down at the airman in her arms, his eyes were closed, incredibly long lashes swept against his thin cheek, he was nothing more than a boy, little older than her Paul; her heart ached for him. Fascinated, she touched his skin; she could feel the stubble on his chin. He was a hero, flying into danger whenever duty called. He was so different from every other boy she knew. They lay together for a long time and then Kate shivered and shook him awake.
‘We’ve got to go, Stephen, it’s cold enough out here on this hill to freeze the backside off me.’
Stephen was awake in an instant. ‘And the balls off me! Sorry, pet, it’s not right to swear in the company of a lady.’
Kate was touched by his humility. She kissed him and his response was immediate and unexpected. ‘Let me, Kate, let me.’ He rolled over until he was on top of her, she could feel his hardness against her belly and then he was kissing her, drowning her in kisses. He pushed her skirt up and slid his hand to her thigh. The most absurd thought that her stockings would be torn flitted through her mind and then he pulled her knickers aside and he was against her, flesh on flesh, he, hard and yearning, and Kate bewildered—did she want this? Was it wrong to give comfort to a man going to war in the skies? But he was pushing against her, tearing her underclothes in his eagerness.
‘I won’t hurt you,’ he gasped and Kate gave in and took him in her hand and guided him to her. She almost screamed when he came into her, he was so big, but then perhaps all men were the same. She’d heard some of the more racy girls in the factory talk about it and the giggle always came at the end and the phrase ‘bigger is better’.
It didn’t seem so to Kate; it hurt, by Mary and all the angels it hurt, but she bit her lip and let him have his way. It was all over in a few minutes and he lay on her gasping. Kate felt only relief.
He adjusted his dress and then led her back to the road, thanking her with his dark puppy eyes, looking down at her with something like awe. ‘I love you, Kate,’ he said softly and, at that moment, she knew he meant it.