Forever Torn

C19: You're dating Who? (1/2)

CHAPTER NINETEEN: You're dating WHO?

On Saturday the twelfth of August 1944, Harry clocked off of work at 1pm as usual – Saturdays being a half day for him and as it was glorious weather he walked home humming a tune to himself and generally feeling all was right with the world. Betsy was down this weekend and they were meeting at one of the Maccabi dances and he was looking forward to it, not having seen her for a month or so. In fact it had been a relatively quiet time date-wise as Sylvia had been busy with her mother and unable to see him on his last visit to London.

After a relaxing walk, he chatted a while with Esther over lunch back at the house and then went upstairs to read a book, reckoning he could get a good eighty pages done before it was time to start getting ready – the dances usually started in the early evening and it wasn't the kind to go on much past midnight.

He selected a sharp suit that was relatively new – meaning, only a few years old, a made over suit from one of his East End contacts who had assured Harry that it had been completely re-stitched and altered to the latest style. It certainly looked new and that was all that mattered as actually buying a new made to measure suit was next to impossible these days unless you had a month or two's wages going spare.

Then he carefully took a brush to his hair, frowning as usual when he contemplated his receding brow. Harry was only 23 but already his hair was thinning; he examined it closely and concluded that although his forehead looked larger these days; he didn't quite look as if he was on the verge of balding on top.

Maybe he should let it fall forward a bit he thought but soon rejected the notion as it would make him appear scruffy and the last thing he wanted was to appear anything but dapper and well groomed in front of girls on a night out, so he brushed it back as usual.

Having thoroughly shaved just before putting on his suit, his cheeks and chin were smooth and sharp as usual. If it wasn't for his hair, he might even be taken for a few years younger – not that he was baby-faced, simply smooth and young. In recent years his figure had filled out a bit placing enough muscle on his frame to stop him being skinny but he was very slender with height enough to consider his frame slim and elegant.

The finishing touch to his sartorial preparations was a splash of aftershave and then Harry felt ready to hit the town. It was not yet six o clock so he thought he'd waste some time by strolling down to the club and enjoying the air and views along the coastal walk before swinging off of that route towards the function rooms.

The sky was light and the birds were chirping and Harry Gilvicious hadn't a care in the world. A perfect day and surely a perfect evening.

When Harry arrived he quickly located Betsy, spotting her red hair in the early evening crowd. Sometimes he would pick her up on the way and at other times she would prefer to meet him at a dance.

This was one of those evenings as Betsy's sister was down from London as well, although they had come separately because Betsy had already been at her grandparents a while.

Spotting his tall redheaded date chatting to a smaller girl with brown hair, Harry reasoned that the second girl was Rita, who he had never met. In fact this would be the first time he was to meet any of Betsy's family.

Betsy glanced over as he approached and waved him over with a cheery smile. Sure enough the other girl was her sister Rita and Harry was introduced. He shook Rita's hand and exchanged a few hello, how do you do? pleasantries with her, thinking Rita seemed a nice enough sort.

She was in fact fair company – some other friends of theirs had joined and enlarged the group and as seven o clock moved towards eight, the crowd had turned very jolly indeed. Betsy introduced her sister around and sat talking to Harry a while or they all talked idle chit chat as a group. After about a half hour it struck Harry that he should give the sisters proper time to catch up and so he stood up and asked the ladies what they were drinking, suggesting that he buy another round to replace their fast depleting glasses.

Humming the same tune as earlier he walked over to the bar and waited patiently to be served, requested a tray to carry the drinks and walked back to the table in the corner where they were sitting, Betsy and Rita at one end next to his vacated chair and another couple sitting further down. Some of the others had gone to the bar and it appeared that the band were setting up so there would be dancing soon which people were probably waiting for.

He set the drinks down and sat down, still smiling. The girls looked serious.

'Oh how terrible!' Betsy was saying.

Naturally Harry inquired what was the matter? He saw that Rita looked a bit upset.

'My sister's boyfriend,' Betsy explained, 'His house was recently bombed.' She turned back to Rita and took the smaller girls hand 'Oh darling, I'm so sorry to hear. What a terrible, terrible thing.'

Harry deduced by the words and tones that the damage was limited to property but felt compelled to ask if anyone was hurt, as was the usual etiquette in such situations.

Rita shook her head. 'Thank God, no. It's just him and his parents but everyone was out when it happened, but the house, the poor house. Such a beautiful house and of course Cyril has lived there most of his life.'

Harry felt a chill pass through his chest. A coincidence of names surely but he had to ask.

'Where was the house?'

'Clapton. Oh that's right, Betsy said you had an Aunt and Uncle in the area. Evering Road, do you know it at all?'

Harry felt his chest tighten and stomach knot in a tension of excitement. He must have coloured as well because Betsy suddenly looked at him with concern.

'Harry, are you all right dear?'

Ignoring her for the moment, he kept his gaze focused on Rita's. 'Are you talking about the Waterman residence? Cyril Waterman?'

Rita raised an eyebrow in surprise. 'Why yes, do you know them?'

The world seemed to contract for Harry in that moment – there appeared to be a pause that lasted a lifetime as he became acutely aware of just the three of them – music seemed to have stopped and silence replaced it and the general chatter. Their faces took on a remarkable clarity – there was a drop of sweat upon Rita's brow that suddenly seemed like a huge water bubble as if he was focusing in on this and other details under a microscope. He could see the sheen on Betsy's red lipstick and the dazzling glare from her wine glass.

Overlaid upon the immediacy of this scene were images of two shaven headed little children and then he saw snow ... Papa pushing them in the sleigh and then he was playing with Lily as baby Solly sat smiling in the background, then he saw the funerals, one after another – his mother, his father, both of his grandparents – blurred into one. Finally he was on the boat holding his brother's hand and promising they would never be separated.

'Yes,' he said finally, his mouth dry, 'Yes, I know them. Cyril was my ... my friend. We went to school together in Deal Street.'

Rita was saying something but he couldn't hear – he realized that his long pause had in reality been only a second or two. He tried to concentrate. 'I'm sorry Rita, what was that you said?'

She was asking him details and he filled her in as best he could, saying that he hadn't seen Cyril for years but he was glad to hear that he was alright and that Mr and Mrs Waterman were fine also. Rita took this in and went on to speak about the Watermans' plans – where they would go while the house was being rebuilt. She finished by telling Harry that it was a small world and she had never imagined that her sister's young man in Brighton was a friend of her Cyril's. Imagine that! She would be sure to mention that she had met him and pass on the good wishes he had expressed.