Kitabı oku: «A Step In Time», sayfa 4

Chapter 9
Cora

The sound of a car door slamming stirred me from my doze in the armchair. I found that increasingly these days I woke very early then snoozed in my chair whenever I sat down. This morning I’d risen before six, made myself a cup of tea, and settled down to read a book. But I’d fallen asleep almost immediately. My tea was still warm, though, I thought, touching the back of my hand to my mug, so I hadn’t been dozing for long.

Ever the nosey neighbour, I rose from the chair to see who was slamming doors at this early hour. It was my new tenant – Amy. She was leaning into the window of a taxi, paying a fare. I watched as she handed over the cash, then turned away to go down to her flat. She was wearing a sparkly 1920s-style dress and in her hands she had a pair of high heels and a similarly sparkly clutch bag. She looked very beautiful, I noted, but very overdressed for a Sunday morning in Clapham. She’d obviously been out all night and I hoped she’d had some fun – she’d struck me as someone who was in need of fun when I’d spied on her the other day. I smiled as she tiptoed down the stairs to her front door. She definitely reminded me of myself, I thought once again. At least, she reminded me of the old me. The one I’d once been …

1944

I hurried through the camp, stopping anyone I recognized to ask if they’d seen Donnie. I had no idea where he’d gone. His friend, Paul, had told me he’d had a letter from home and had seemed upset. So now I was worried he’d had some bad news and I wanted to find him to see if I could comfort him.

I skirted the edge of a garage and came face to face with another of Donnie’s friends, Rog.

‘Have you seen Donnie?’ I asked.

Rog nodded.

‘Saw the back of his head,’ he said, pointing to a storage tent. ‘He was going in there.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, giving his arm a squeeze.

I dashed into the tent and let the heavy canvas door drop behind me. It was dark in there and it took a while for my eyes to adjust.

‘Donnie,’ I whispered. ‘Donnie, are you in here?’

There was a noise from the back of the tent, so I carefully picked my way towards the far end. The tent was full of bags of uniforms, piles of boots, sandbags – anything and everything. And at the back, sitting on a pile of scratchy grey blankets, was Donnie. He was holding a letter and crying, and when he saw me he turned his face away so I wouldn’t see his tears.

My heart ached for him so much I felt his pain like it was my own. I sat down next to him and gathered him into my arms and he cried and cried onto my neck.

‘What is it?’ I whispered, kissing his tears away. ‘What’s happened?’

Donnie gave a sort of hiccupping sob.

‘Gene,’ he said.

I knew who Gene was. He’d been Donnie’s best friend since they started school. They’d gone all the way through school together but joined up separately – Gene into the navy and Donnie the army. Donnie talked about him a lot and had told me how much he wanted us to like each other. Now my stomach twisted with sadness.

‘Is he …?’

Donnie wiped his face with the heel of his hand and handed me the letter.

‘Torpedo,’ he said. ‘The ship sank. No survivors.’

I scanned the letter – it was from Donnie’s mum and broke the bad news in such a sweet, sad way that I felt tears pricking my eyelids, too.

‘Oh, darling,’ I said, pulling him closer to me. ‘What a sad, sad loss.’

‘This damn war,’ Donnie said. ‘You know, sometimes I don’t even know why we’re fighting.’

I didn’t know what to say. I’d been a schoolgirl when war broke out, and it was so much a part of my life that I couldn’t remember what it was like before. But I was lucky. I had no brothers to lose, and my dad, who’d seen action in the Great War, had passed away before war broke out this time.

Donnie was crying again.

‘I just want it to be over,’ he said. ‘I just want it to end.’

‘I know,’ I said, kissing him again.

‘I don’t want to go to France,’ Donnie said. ‘It’s awful there. It’s really, really awful. I’m scared, Cora.’

Now I was crying, too.

‘Oh, my darling, darling boy,’ I said. ‘I’m scared, too. I’m so scared. But we’ve got this time together. We need to make the most of it.’

Donnie nodded.

‘And when you’re in France, I want you to think about me all the time,’ I said, kissing his face all over. ‘I want you to think about the hours we’ve spent together, and the way you make me laugh more than anyone else, and the way you make me happier than anyone else ever has.’

Donnie kissed me deeply and I shivered in pleasure.

‘And the way your kisses turn my legs to jelly,’ I said weakly.

I began unbuttoning his shirt. Donnie stopped my hand with his and looked at me.

‘Are you sure?’ he said.

‘Anything can happen,’ I said, hearing my voice tremble a little bit. ‘Gene thought he had his whole life ahead of him and he didn’t. There are bombs dropping, and guns, and all sorts of horrible things. Anything can happen to anyone and I don’t want to regret not doing something when I had the chance.’

Afterwards we lay curled up together, under one of the scratchy blankets.

‘No regrets?’ Donnie said to me, his face close to mine.

‘Never,’ I said. ‘I will never regret today as long as I live.’

A shout from outside made us jump and I suddenly remembered where we were and what a risk we were taking.

‘I have to go,’ I said, kissing Donnie and then wriggling out from under the blanket. ‘Audrey will cover for me, but she can’t keep pretending I’m in the privy.’

I pulled on my skirt and buttoned up my shirt, while Donnie watched me, smiling.

‘What?’ I said.

‘You’re beautiful.’

I threw my hat at him, then had to retrieve it.

‘You soppy old so-and-so,’ I laughed.

‘I love you,’ he said.

I blew him a kiss.

‘I love you, too,’ I said.

For the next three days we met up in the tent whenever we could. We couldn’t get enough of each other. I wanted the smell of Donnie on my skin, the feel of his breath on my face. I just wanted to be near him all the time.

I knew that emotions were heightened because of the war, and that in peacetime our romance probably would have taken months, or even years, to get to this stage, but I didn’t care. Gene’s death had shown us how important it was to live in the moment and to make the most of every single day.

Our unit was going to London after Christmas – we had a six-month stint entertaining troops in the capital and I was looking forward to settling in one place for a while. But Donnie knew he’d be leaving for France soon. I tried not to think about how he’d be forced to live. The things he’d see and do. The danger he’d be in.

As Audrey and I were packing up our costumes and getting ready to hit the road, Donnie came to find me.

‘I have some good news,’ he said, grinning widely.

‘The war’s over?’ Audrey said, putting a feathery headdress into a box.

Donnie chuckled.

‘Not that good,’ he admitted. ‘But good for me. We’re going to be in London for a couple of nights before we leave for France in the spring.’

I was delighted.

‘Really?’ I said, throwing my arms round him. ‘So we can meet?’

Donnie looked down at me and kissed the end of my nose.

‘Oh, better than that,’ he said. ‘I thought we could get married.’

Chapter 10

I was having fun. Lots of fun, actually, much to my surprise. It was my first day on Strictly Stars Dancing and so far it had been brilliant.

I’d arrived at the studios early that morning, bracing myself to face photographers but there was no one there.

‘We’ll do all the publicity shots today in costume,’ the director explained. ‘Then we’ll release your names to the press one by one, starting tomorrow. We’ve not confirmed anyone yet – it creates a buzz.’

I’d felt a shiver of excitement when she mentioned costumes. I may have had misgivings about Strictly Stars Dancing but the fabulous outfits weren’t one of them. And I definitely wasn’t disappointed. As soon as we arrived we were hurried into the enormous costume department, where there were rails and rails of frothy material in every colour of the rainbow, racks of shoes, and wonderful headdresses. I’d never seen so much glitter. I let out a small whimper of joy; it was absolutely amazing.

I was whisked away by a dresser who took me to a rail with a sign saying AMY. It was filled with lots of very sparkly, very small costumes. I swallowed.

‘There’s not much to them,’ I said.

She grinned.

‘There’s not much to you,’ she said. ‘You’ll wear long dresses for ballroom and whatnot, but for the pics we wanted to make the most of that gorgeous bod of yours.’

The outfit she chose was a gold mini skirt and fitted crop top. Both the top and the skirt were completely covered in fringing and shimmered under the lights.

‘Really?’ I said, holding up the tiny scraps of material.

‘You’ll look fabulous,’ she said. ‘Trust me.’

At the risk of sounding big headed, she was right. Good genes – my mum still had the figure of a twenty-one-year-old despite three kids and a fondness for sangria – combined with years of controlling my diet and working out every day had made sure I didn’t have an ounce of blubber. The costume showed off my tight abs and my toned legs.

The hairdresser kept my brunette locks loose and gently waved. Instead of having my extensions taken out like I’d planned to do if I went into the jungle, I’d had them redone and I was very pleased with them. My hair fell over my boobs and halfway down my back and it was thick and lush. The Strictly Stars Dancing make-up was way over the top, but it worked with the costume and all, in all, the final result was pretty good.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror, turning from side to side to see every bit of the costume. I didn’t look like the normal me, but I quite liked the effect.

‘Smoking,’ said my dresser in admiration as she looked at me. ‘You look like the real deal.’

‘Except I can’t dance,’ I said, looking at my back view over my shoulder. ‘So as soon as I start to move, everyone will realize I’m not the real deal at all.’

She gave me a nudge.

‘Every single contestant I’ve ever dressed has said that,’ she said. ‘And they’ve all had a ball. The professional dancers are amazing – they’ll soon whip you into shape.’

Oh, God. I’d been trying to forget that, as well as having our photos done, we’d also be meeting our dance partners. I already felt sorry for whoever landed me. I was a lost cause.

I didn’t have long to wait. We gathered together in the main studio. I looked at the dance floor and imagined dancing there in front of millions of viewers and a lively audience and felt a bit sick.

‘Nervous?’ said one of my fellow competitors. He was a rugby player – absolutely enormous with broad shoulders and ripped abs.

‘So nervous I can’t even think about it,’ I confessed.

He laughed.

‘It’ll be fun, I reckon,’ he said.

‘Definitely,’ said the woman to my other side. She was a newsreader who must have been in her late forties but looked a lot younger.

‘You’ll be fine,’ she assured me. ‘You actors always do well. Didn’t you have dance training at drama school?’

‘I did,’ I admitted. ‘Until the day I made my dance teacher cry because I was so awful and she chucked me out of the lesson.’

‘Ah,’ said the newsreader.

The rugby player chuckled.

‘Stick with me,’ he said. ‘I’m so rubbish I’ll make anyone look good.’

I smiled widely. I was having such a lovely time my nerves were beginning to recede. All the other contestants seemed very nice. They were a mixture of celebs from all walks of life – I’d met the rugby player and the newsreader, of course, but I’d also said hello to an older actor who’d starred in a rival soap for years and who I knew from various awards ceremonies. He’d greeted me like a long-lost friend, and I realized everyone was just as nervous as I was. There was also a beautiful actress who’d been a model in the sixties, then moved into films and now made documentaries in which she travelled round the world. She was one of my heroes and I was too starstruck to even speak to her. There were a couple of pop stars, an Olympic swimmer who was wearing her gold medal round her neck, and a few TV presenters. Even if I got nowhere in the competition, I thought, it would be nice to meet all these people and find out more about them.

There was a buzz of chatter from the back of the studio and I turned to see the two presenters come in. They were both women and always amazingly, astonishingly glam when I saw them on TV. But today they were both wearing jeans and vest tops. The blonde one – who I knew was called Melissa – had her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and the other one – Vicky – had a blunt, dark, Mary Quant bob and wasn’t wearing any make-up.

‘Oh, God, you all look so beautiful,’ Melissa squealed. ‘Are you all raring to go?’

Vicky grinned.

‘The dancers are all out there,’ she said, pointing to the studio exit. ‘They can’t wait to find out which of you they’ve got to train.’

‘I pity whoever gets me,’ I muttered and the rugby player laughed again. He really was a lovely chap.

‘Right then,’ Melissa said. ‘Let’s get cracking.’

She and Vicky explained that we’d meet our partners now and do all the publicity shots and so on. Then later in the week we’d film the launch show, and be introduced all over again, pretending it was the first time we’d met. Then, we’d have a month or so of rehearsals with our partner before the first live dance show. They made it sound so much fun and so straightforward that I suddenly felt really excited about this new challenge I was taking on.

I watched and clapped as one by one the dancers filed in and met their partner. And then they called my name. I went up to the front and said hello to Melissa and Vicky.

‘Excited?’ Melissa asked.

I nodded.

‘You should be,’ Vicky said. ‘Your partner is gorgeous.’

Melissa gripped my arm.

‘Amy,’ she said. ‘Meet Patrick Walker.’

The doors opened and in came my partner, twirling and dancing his way towards me. He was definitely gorgeous – there was no doubt about that. But I’d met him already.

He stopped in front of me and our eyes met.

‘You,’ he said.

It was Surfer Dude.

Chapter 11

We looked at each other for a beat too long then Surfer Dude – Patrick – picked me up and spun me round, just like all the other male dancers had done to their partners.

‘Great to meet you, Amy,’ he said as he put me down. ‘We’re going to have a ball.’

‘A glitter ball,’ I said fake-brightly. God, this was excruciating. Most people managed to have drunken one-night stands without being forced to spend the next ten weeks with the object of their ill-advised affection.

‘Do you guys know each other?’ Melissa asked. She’d obviously seen the glimmer of recognition when we were introduced.

‘No,’ I said.

‘Yes,’ said Patrick.

‘We were introduced very briefly at a party last week,’ I lied. ‘Though I didn’t know Patrick was a dancer.’

‘And I didn’t know Amy was the famous Amy Lavender,’ Patrick said, flashing his broad grin at Melissa and giving me an accusatory glance over his shoulder.

‘How funny,’ said Melissa. ‘Enjoy getting to know each other better!’

But I was too embarrassed to enjoy anything.

The photo shoot was fine, actually. I’d done enough of those things over the years to be able to switch it on at will. I smiled, posed, spun and shimmied my way through all my solo photos, then escaped to the canteen for a (horrible) coffee so I didn’t have to watch Patrick do his. He was really very good looking and seeing the muscles working in his back – which was barely covered by a sheer shirt – was very off-putting.

To keep my mind on the task ahead, I hid in the loo and took a close-up selfie of half of my made-up face, eye closed and false eyelashes brushing my tanned cheek. I sat on the closed toilet seat and added many filters so it was as flattering a pic as possible. Then, knowing I was risking my place on the show when we weren’t really supposed to tell anyone we were competing until the press were told tomorrow, I sent it to Matty.

‘Guess what I’m doing?’ I typed.

There was no reply. But I didn’t expect him to reply immediately. I had no idea what had possessed me to message him. After all, the last time I’d seen him he’d been throwing my belongings onto the street. All I can think is I was feeling unsettled and guilty about my night with Surfer Dude – Patrick – and I wasn’t thinking straight. Plus, I had to admit that I missed Matty. We’d been together a long time and it was weird being alone. I wondered if he was missing me, too. It was doubtful considering there were always girls throwing themselves at him when we were together – he was bound to have even more now we’d split so publicly and I was sure he was making the most of it

I tossed my hair back. All the more reason to make a success of this ridiculous dancing show, I thought. I would throw myself into it, learn to cha-cha like a pro. I’d learn to live without Matty, Babs would be thrilled and my career would surely be back on track.

Filled with new-found enthusiasm and vigour for the task in hand, I wandered down the corridor towards the room where I knew Patrick was. He was sitting on the floor of the room, beating out a rhythm on his long outstretched legs, and a camera crew was recording what he was saying. About me.

‘I’d read all the stories, of course,’ he was saying. ‘And I’d heard people say she was a bit shallow – you know like some of these reality TV stars can be.’

I bristled. I was an actress. Who happened to have appeared in occasional episodes of my boyfriend’s fly-on-the-wall TV show. I was NOT a reality TV star.

‘So is Amy how you expected?’ one of the camera crew said. ‘What are your first impressions?’

‘She’s beautiful, of course,’ Patrick said. ‘But she also seems fun and genuine and a good laugh.’

Well, that was nice. Quickly I planned what I’d say when they asked me the same question about Patrick – welcoming, friendly, friendly.

But Patrick was still talking.

‘I really like her,’ he said, a funny look on his face. ‘And that kind of surprises me.’

Oh man, he wasn’t falling for me, was he? My whole life men had been harbouring crushes on me. I wasn’t stupid enough to think they really wanted to be with me. I knew it was my pretty face they were interested in – and even then it was just the face I showed the world. Very few people had ever seen the real me – the one who slobbed out in leggings and a vest top with greasy hair and no make-up; the one who watched Pitch Perfect then went back to the beginning and watched it all over again straightaway. The one who loved to laugh but had a bit of a temper. Phil knew the real Amy, of course. We’d been friends since we were fourteen and I couldn’t ever fool him. But even Matty had seen a carefully edited version – until I let my mask slip that night in the club.

Patrick having a crush on me could be awkward, I thought. I should probably put him straight as soon as I could. I really just wanted time to myself to get my head together and learn to be me again, instead of being part of Brand Matty and Amy. I was too bruised, too broken, to risk another relationship right now. Plus I’d totally had it with high-profile romances and being fodder for the showbiz gossip columnists. I didn’t want any saucy stories damaging my hopes of getting more acting work in the future.

But for now I had to get on with this photo shoot so I plastered a huge smile on my face and pretended I’d just walked into the room.

‘Hi guys,’ I said. ‘Are we ready for the next lot of photos?’

Patrick stood up.

‘Amy,’ he said. ‘Great. Let’s get cracking.’

Doing our photo shoot together was strange. We weren’t dancing, obviously – our rehearsals hadn’t started yet. Instead, we just posed as though we were. I quite enjoyed looking like I knew what I was doing, even when I clearly didn’t have a clue. But what I didn’t enjoy was being so close to Patrick. The feel of his tight muscles under my hands, the smell of his skin and the rasp of his stubble against my face brought back lots of memories of the night we’d spent together. Memories that were really too nice …

‘Stop it, Amy,’ I told myself sternly, smiling at the camera as Patrick lifted me up in his strong (stop it), ripped (seriously, enough) arms. ‘No more stories for the PostOnline.’

When we had a break I wandered over to get some water and checked my phone to see if Matty had replied to the photo I sent, but there was nothing. I scrolled through the pictures, intending to resend it.

Patrick followed me.

‘Who are you messaging with such a serious look on your face?’ he asked.

‘My boyfriend,’ I said without thinking. Patrick’s smile slipped just a little bit.

‘You’re back together?’ he said.

‘Oh, well, no,’ I said. ‘I just thought …’ Feeling silly to have been ‘caught’ messaging the man who cheated on me, I pressed ‘send’ firmly, then looked up at Patrick from under my eyelashes, the way I made Betsy do when she was apologizing for something. Like murdering the pub’s sleazy landlord or sleeping with her best friend’s bloke. Anyway, I channelled my inner Betsy and focused on Patrick.

‘Listen,’ I said softly. ‘I had a really great time with you the other night. But things are complicated with me right now and I don’t want this …’ – I waved my arm wildly, taking in me, Patrick, the camera crew, everything – ‘… this thing to get in the way. We’re professionals, right? We can do this.’

For a second Patrick gave me a look like I’d kicked his puppy. Then he straightened up and gave me a smile. The kind of smile I recognized because I’d used it myself so often. A fake it until you make it smile.

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘You’re not really my type anyway.’

I narrowed my eyes.

‘What is your type?’

‘Oh, you know. Bit more wholesome. Less concerned with appearance and more about what’s inside.’

I stared at him. I hadn’t really expected a character assassination.

‘More real,’ Patrick said. ‘More like a human being.’

My phone beeped with a message and I leapt on it, grateful for the distraction.

It was from Matty. Finally. My heart thumping, I swiped to open the message.

‘Who is this?’ it said.

I burst into tears.