Ginger all the way
The dance floor was crowded. Girls still stood to one side of the hall pretending not to notice the men who were trying to pluck up the courage to walk across the floor and ask them to dance. Isobel looked around for Harry and spotted a soldier in uniform dancing cheek to cheek. She sighed with relief. It wasn’t Harry.
A cluster of giggling girls glanced in her direction and whispered to one another before giving her another sneaky glance. Catching a glimpse of her reflection in the huge glassed portrait of some past owner of the dancehall, self-conscious she turned away from the image of her in the new green dress and stiletto heels she had ordered out of her auntie’s Kay’s shopping catalogue with a promise to pay in for them at five shillings a week for the next twenty weeks.
Harry was never late. Was he not coming? Her hands began to sweat. She was being ‘stood up’ and everybody was watching! Her face flamed.
“Dance?” a voice asked. Isobel shook her head. The girls giggled again. The skin on her face began to itch from the thick layer of Pan Stick her sisters had insisted made her better looking. Then, Emily, a girl Isobel knew didn’t like her, detached herself from the giggling group and tottered over in her stiletto heels, her tight skirt slowing her steps.
“You waiting for Harry? “
Isobel nodded.
“You’ll have a long wait. I saw him get into the back of a transport lorry,” she smirked going back to join the group. Isobel could feel her face beginning to crumple. Harry had talked about signing on again when his three years with the army was up but he hadn’t bothered to tell her he was leaving. Feeling as if every eye was watching her she ran for the cloakroom.
Sarah, the woman who gave out the cloakroom tickets glanced after her as she flew past and rushed into the toilets locking the door.
Sitting on the toilet seat Isobel let the tears run unchecked down my face. Harry had abandoned her. Maybe…her sisters were right who would want a carrot head for a girlfriend. Or, maybe it was because I had set limits, she thought, remembering how he’d sulked when she’d made it plain she wanted to wait until we were married before they made love
.From under the toilet door she could see feet moving and hear girls’ voices chattering excitedly as they came in and out to fix their hair and reapply their lipstick. When the chatter faded, she cautiously opened the toilet door and stared at her face in the mirror above the handbasin.The thick, streaky matted black, eyelash liner and thick black eyebrow pencil her sisters had applied to hide her ginger eyelashes and eyebrows looked stupid now under the harsh overhead light. “Who’s going to want you looking like you, with ginger eyebrows and your head of hair like a mop,” they’d say as they backed combed her long red hair this way and that before rolling it into a French plait and pushed a hair clasp to hold it in place.
Frantically she pulled at her the comb letting her hair fall down her back in bouncy waves like it always did.
“Here, come in to me a minute,” Sarah called as Isobel sidled past a bundle of coats she was pinning cloakroom numbers on. Taking a compact from her handbag she flicked a film of powder over Isobel’s tear=stained cheeks and carefully dabbed the black eye shadow drips from the edges of her eyes. “You don’t need all that muck on your face. You’re beautiful as you are, natural like,” she fussed.” There, you’ll do,” she said. “Green suits your fair complexion. Now hurry up and get out there or they’ll be calling the last dance,” she said giving me a gentle push.
Harry had finally arrived but he was dancing a slow number with Emily. Isobel’s heart fell to her feet. Self-= consciously she walked towards the seats alongside the wall. If Harry didn’t ask her to dance the next dance she’d get her coat and leave.
“Dance,” a voice said.
Isobel looked up into the face of the boy, who had asked her to dance while she’d been waiting for Harry. She hesitated. It was the last dance. She wanted to wait for Harry. Then, she followed him on to the dance floor.
Standing for the National Anthem she felt a soft tug on the sleeve of my green dress. “What about a bag of chips…before I walk you home, “her dance partner asked.
Her eyes searched for Harry. He was helping Emily on with her coat. Catching her eye he waved and motioned for me to wait for him as he began to push his way through the crowd milling about on the dance floor.
“You’re very quiet tonight,” Harry said, as they walked hand in hand down Butcher Street.
“You didn’t tell me you were going away – to sign on again,” Isobel blurted out the tears threatening to fall again. “And then you danced a slow dance with Emily,” she said a tear sliding unbidden down my cheek.
Harry stopped and took her face between his hands. She could smell the clean smell of soap and the faint smell of Old Spice aftershave.
“Come over here…under the light,” Harry said. Putting his arm around her waist he guided her over the broken paving stones. Cupping his hand under my chin he smiled down into her face. Gently he rubbed the tears from the corners of each eye.
“Oh, my sweet Isobel,” he breathed folding her in his arms. She knew the rough material of his overcoat would wipe the remaining makeup off her eyes and face but she didn’t care. She was safe in Toney’s arms again/
“Do you know where I was tonight? And why I was late?” he asked. “I’ve decided not to sign on again after all. I was away looking for a job. I start as soon as I’m demobbed,” he said. Putting his hand in the inside pocket he drew out a small box. Catching her hand he went down on one knee. “Isobel, will you do me the honour of being my wife,” he asked.
Later over a celebratory feast of chips and mushy peas Isobel’s sisters admired the small sparkling diamond and gave her a big hug. “I’ll be your bridesmaid, “they said jostling each other.
Isobel laughed. “But no black eyelashes or fancy hairdos, please” she said.
“Ginger all the way,” Harry laughed kissing his bride-to-be.
Gemma Hill 2021
Gemma Hill Writeyou Writeme 