Home is Where the Heart Is. Freda Lightfoot

There were thanksgiving services at various churches, and the King spoke to us on the wireless. Oh, it was a wonderful celebration with dozens of street parties held over the next few days. Mam and I attended several, and treated ourselves by opening a tin of peaches.’ Cathie chuckled at the memory, preferring not to mention that they’d both also wept over the fact Sal was not present to share the celebrations with them.

      Alex groaned. ‘We missed all of that, but I see us going out quite a bit over the next few months, to the theatre, dancing, concerts, all manner of stuff. Can’t wait to start enjoying life again.’

      ‘Of course, you deserve to after all you’ve been through,’ she said, feeling a little guilty that they’d been privileged to enjoy the bonfires and parties, and cheer as the blackout curtains were taken down.

      Turning right along Quay Street, they walked in silence, Cathie’s mind racing as she wondered whom she could call upon to babysit whenever they did go out. Rona had made her position on the issue very clear. Would Brenda mind the baby for her? Maybe, on the odd occasion, as she was doing today, but Alex sounded as if he wished to go out almost nightly.

      And when should she bring up the subject of little Heather?

      Remembering what her Aunt Evie had said, Cathie decided the moment wasn’t quite right, as he looked so grim and rather tired. Which was to be expected as he’d only just arrived, and it would take a little time for them to re-establish the closeness they’d once enjoyed.

      When they reached the corner of St John Street, he paused. ‘How would you feel about a night out at the Palais, or maybe the Ritz? Going to a dance is how we met, so let’s revisit old times.’

      ‘Oh, that would be wonderful,’ Cathie agreed, heart racing.

      Then, putting his arm about her waist, he gave her a rather chaste little kiss as he smiled down at her. ‘More of this later, eh?’ And after agreeing to meet at the bus stop on Wednesday evening, he turned smartly on his heel and strode away, whistling happily.

      Walking home alone, feeling just a little flat as this was not at all how she’d expected their first day together to be, Cathie deliberately turned her mind to what she would wear for the dance. It was, after all, something to look forward to.

      ‘How did it go?’ Brenda asked, when Cathie called to collect Heather following a Sunday dinner with her mother that had been even more dull and boring than usual. ‘Did Alex look as you remembered?’

      ‘Not quite, I almost didn’t recognise him as he’s no longer a smart soldier, a bit unshaven and shabby-looking, although he still marches like one. But he seems fit and well, which is all that really matters, and he still likes kissing me,’ Cathie added with a shy giggle.

      ‘Wonderful, and how did he react to the news about this little one?’

      Cathie ruefully explained how she hadn’t found the courage to tell him, and how his plans for the day had not included her. She was struggling to keep her emotions in check, feeling a slight sense of rejection. ‘He didn’t seem too keen to spend his first day home with me. It was as if we’d just met and were strangers, not engaged at all. A really weird feeling.’

      ‘That’s not so unusual, darling. It must feel a bit odd to be back in Civvy Street. Another friend of mine said her husband went to the pub first, and was pretty drunk by the time he arrived home, somewhat later than expected. She was not pleased, but he claimed he needed to celebrate peace at last, as he’d missed all the street parties.’

      ‘I dare say you’re right, Brenda. Alex too is upset at missing out on the celebrations, and his parents haven’t seen him for a long time either, so his family should come first.’

      ‘Parents can be very controlling,’ Brenda sadly remarked as she slipped Heather’s chubby arms into her matinee jacket. ‘And his father, Doctor Ryman, does have a reputation for being rather grand. Some men tend to be that way. You should see how my brother-in-law behaves, as if he has the right to own the world. He goes on and on at me, constantly nagging and insisting I do whatever stuff he demands.’

      ‘What sort of stuff?’

      ‘Oh, legal stuff in the main. He’s so arrogant, but then my late husband did inherit the family estate, now in his brother’s hands. Anyway, enough of my stupid problems. I’m sure Alex will make it up to you soon,’ she said, giving Cathie a warm hug.

      ‘Oh, I’m sure he will,’ Cathie agreed, instantly brightening as she explained about the Ritz. ‘Can’t wait for Wednesday to come. Now what on earth can I wear?’

CHAPTER FIVE

      The Ritz was every bit as beautiful as Cathie remembered, luxuriously appointed in red and gold, with its arched ceiling, two tier bandstand, tables and chairs set around the dance floor, and with a gallery above where you could watch the dancing. The band was playing Doris Day’s ‘Sentimental Journey’ as they walked in, which quite touched her heart. To her great surprise, in spite of the war having been over for some months, there were still many men in uniform, happily smooching with their partners to the music. Others were standing around eyeing up the girls and women who stood chatting and giggling at the opposite side of the ballroom.

      ‘I’m amazed there are still servicemen around,’ she said.

      ‘Maybe they are men returning home, looking to find themselves a wife.’

      ‘Or husbands who have left their poor wives stuck by the fireside minding the kids,’ she said, giving a small sigh of disapproval.

      ‘Which would be perfectly reasonable.’

      She looked up at him, startled by this remark, but decided he must be joking. The next instant she was in his arms, moving slowly around the ballroom, and it felt so wonderful, her insides lighting up as brilliantly as that highlighting the band.

      There were very few American GIs around, she noticed, or Yankee-Doodle Dandies as they used to be called. ‘This ballroom was once so popular with the Yanks, they called it the forty-ninth state,’ Cathie told him with a laugh. ‘Whitworth Street always seemed to be full of American jeeps, and MPs with red armbands and batons, whose task it was to keep the boys of Uncle Sam in line.’

      Staring grimly down at her, he asked, ‘Did you used to come here and dance with them?’

      ‘Heavens, no! I was too busy working for one thing, and waiting for you, of course.’

      ‘Sorry, of course you were,’ he said with a smile that warmed her heart.

      Cathie caught a glimpse of them dancing together in one of the many mirrors set around the walls. Was she dancing close enough in his arms, or a little more distant than that first time when they’d met at the Palais? Perhaps it would take a little while for them to relax together, as her friend Brenda had suggested. Still, she was here at the Ritz, in his arms, a dream come true. Cathie was relieved to see that she looked quite respectable in a pink flowered dress with a matching flower in her hair. Almost pretty. Stuck for something to talk about, she continued chatting about the way things used to be during the war years.

      ‘British servicemen outnumbered the Yanks, of course, but only just. I believe the ballroom did used to be packed with scores of excited girls throughout the war, all seeking their dream hero.’

      ‘That’s all women want from a man, someone to bring in the money each week.’

      ‘Goodness, what a thing to say.’

      ‘Are you implying that you want more from me than that?’ he asked.

      ‘Of course I do. I love you, darling.’

      It was then, as the lights dimmed and the music changed to ‘If I Loved You’, that he kissed her, quite thoroughly this time.

      ‘We should come here more often,’ Alex said, when later he walked her home. ‘I love dancing with you. We could try