The Runaway (46 page)

‘If that’s what he wants, then you’d better start smartening up and stop going around like a perishin’ scarecrow,’ Elaine said cruelly. ‘Tomorrow’s our day off. I told Vera I was going to talk to you and she said if you were agreeable she’d start on your hair tomorrow morning, early. We’ll all help, because everyone’s fond of you, Dana, and we hate to see you looking so miserable.’ She grinned at her friend. ‘And it doesn’t do us any good with the fellers to have a pal with a face like a wet weekend. They’re afraid that if we suggest going
out in a foursome they might get landed with you,’ she added, twinkling.

Dana scowled, then gave her a shove. ‘All right, all right, I take your point, and I’ll be grateful if Vera really will do my hair because it’s so long I’m always afraid it will get caught up in the farm machinery.’

There were now five land girls sleeping in the attic at Tullimore’s Farm, five young women queuing for the washstand in the morning, five eager appetites waiting for a meal to be served up in the farm kitchen. Despite the increase in their numbers, however, things had not improved much. Mrs Tullimore still had it in for Dana, who had become the spokesperson for the whole group. The farmer’s wife always referred to Dana as “Miss Long Nose” and argued over every single point she raised, but though the food was of the plainest Dana made sure they all got their rations and quite often a bit over; otherwise, she told the farmer’s wife, she would inform the Min of Ag that the big old sow known as Crusher had actually given birth to eighteen piglets and not fifteen, or that the hens had laid a great many more eggs than had been sent off to market. So things could have been worse, Dana concluded, throwing the last stick of sprouts into the basket. ‘We’d best get this lot over to the gate,’ she said, seizing the handles at her end and watching as Elaine followed suit. ‘But what Vera thinks she can do with my ginger frizz I can’t imagine, and all the powder in the world won’t disguise the fact that there are ten million freckles on my face!’

Next day the beautifying of Dana began. Vera, cutting great swathes of Dana’s hair and watching them drop to
the attic floor, told her client severely that she should not refer to, or even think of, her hair as “ginger frizz”. ‘You’re so indifferent to what you see in the mirror that you simply have not noticed your hair colour is darkening with every year that passes,’ she said severely. ‘I think I’d describe it as auburn, though in the summer it’s lighter, of course. And as for your freckles, they are most certainly not all over your face. They’re just a band across your nose and your cheekbones, little golden freckles which would not even be visible beneath a light dusting of powder. And if you could just lay your hands on some lipstick …’

‘Yuck!’ Dana said, revolted. ‘My lips are quite red enough, thank you very much.’

Vera lifted Dana’s hand and groaned. ‘Look at your nails! Well, you’ll have to soak them in warm soapy water and then scrub the filth off. Sally is ironing your white shirt and Fenella is putting a stitch in the seat of your breeches so they won’t look as though they’re about to descend to your ankles whenever you do a quickstep. And dear little Elaine is lending you her new shoes; it’s a pity they have to be lace-ups, but they’re a good deal daintier than our working brogues.’

It took all day, but by the time the five girls stole down to the forbidden parlour and gathered round the mirror, the transformation was complete. Dana said exultantly that her own mother would not have recognised her. She had approached the glass with as much caution as she would have shown had she suspected it might leap from its frame and bite her, and she was almost speechless when she saw a slim and undoubtedly attractive girl staring back at her. Instead of the great mass of
untidy reddish frizz, this girl’s head was covered in feathery auburn curls, and her greenish hazel eyes, framed by the long lashes which Elaine had darkened with boot polish, looked huge. Despite Dana’s squeals of protest, Fenella had produced a pair of tweezers and plucked her eyebrows into two delicate wings, and these too had been darkened with boot polish. Sally had lent her a little face powder to hide her freckles, and she had submitted to wearing a pair of clip-on earrings, imitation emeralds which matched and accentuated the colour of her eyes.

There was a breathless silence whilst all five girls critically examined the changes which had been wrought, and then Vera spoke. ‘You’ll slay ’em,’ she said exultantly. ‘I knew the hair would make a difference, but I had no idea how much! Oh, Dana, if your feller was to see you now …’

Dana sighed, then turned reluctantly away from the mirror and headed for the kitchen and the meal which should be on the table. ‘I don’t have a fellow, but I mean to get myself one,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘I’ll teach bloody Con Devlin that he was a fool to cast me off!’

They entered the kitchen in a body to find Mr Grundy and Mr Miller already seated at the table, whilst Mr Tullimore was washing up at the kitchen sink and his wife was at the range, stirring an enormous pot. This indicated that they would all share the meal and that meant it would be a good one, for the farmer and his wife never stinted themselves. The two old men looked up and greeted the girls, then stopped short, open-mouthed. It was clear that they scarcely recognised Dana. Mr Tullimore turned away from the sink, dried his hands
on the roller towel which hung on the back door, and frowned at her. ‘Mrs Tullimore han’t told me we had company,’ he said, and Dana, unable to stop herself, gave him a broad grin.

‘I’ve had my hair cut, Mr Tullimore,’ she said cheerfully. ‘We’re off to a dance at the American airbase later on so it’s best bib and tuckers presently.’

‘Oh aye?’ the farmer said uncertainly. ‘What else ha’ you done, my woman? ’Cos it ain’t just your hair. There’s suffin’ else different.’

Dana opened her eyes very wide at him, hoping the boot polish would not begin to run and give her away, but before anyone could comment Mrs Tullimore was doling out stew and dumplings and all conversation ceased in delighted anticipation of the treat to come, for though Mrs Tullimore had many faults, she was an excellent cook. She worked her way along the table without once raising her eyes from her work, and Dana noticed that by some mysterious sleight of hand she managed to keep most of the meat for herself and her husband. Then the woman must have noticed Dana’s gleaming head, for she stopped with her ladle in mid-air. ‘What have you done to yourself, Miss Long Nose?’ she asked nastily. ‘Not hiding behind that bush of ginger hair any longer? Heh heh heh, a right sight you look!’

Dana knew how spiteful the older woman could be, but still felt a tide of warmth creeping up her neck. Did she look an awful sight; a freak, in fact? But almost immediately there was a chorus of disapproval aimed at the farmer’s wife to which even her husband added his voice. Various remarks were made, all of a complimentary nature, and Dana smiled serenely, reassured when Mr Tullimore
joined in the praise that she had not made a fool of herself: the new style really suited her. And this very evening she would push Con to the back of her mind, even if she could not forget him altogether, and give other fellers a chance.

When the gharry decanted them at the station which was hosting the dance, Dana clutched Vera’s arm for a moment, trying to make herself look less conspicuous. She was taller than most of her contemporaries and tended to slouch to hide the fact, but now she remembered how hard the girls had worked to improve her appearance and, straightening her shoulders, stood tall. Vera patted her hand approvingly. ‘Good girl. Now don’t forget – you’re going to slay ’em,’ she said. ‘Be especially nice to the chap with the scarred face; he always asks you for a dance and I don’t mind telling you, my old darling, that you’ve not given him much encouragement. But tonight you’re Cinderella after the transformation scene, not before.’

Dana giggled as they joined the queue to leave their coats on the pegs behind the counter. The dance was being held in the mess and refreshments would be provided for a nominal sum, though only beer would be available and not the more potent spirits. Men outnumbered girls by two to one, and it was not unheard of for tipsy disagreements to become drunken brawls once the combatants left the mess to return to either their billets or the waiting gharries.

There were hard little wooden chairs set out around the walls of the large room, but scarcely had Dana and Vera seated themselves when the gramophone was
switched on and a lively tune began to play. ‘Quickstep,’ Dana muttered. ‘Or is it the foxtrot?’ She sighed, eyeing her friend mournfully. ‘Oh, Vera, this is the part I hate most! Have you ever been to a cattle sale? Well, if you had, you’d understand how I feel. They lead a cow into the ring and all the farmers stare and then the bids start rolling in – or not, as the case may be. A poor beast raises little interest and that’s exactly how—’

She was interrupted. The young man with the scarred face did not seem to be present and the man who was smiling down at her was a stranger. He had light brown hair cut very short and when he smiled he showed very large, very white teeth. ‘May I have the pleasure of this dance, ma’am?’ he said in a soft drawl, his very dark eyes fixed on Dana’s face so there could be no doubt as to whom he was addressing. As she got to her feet, Dana saw the flash on his shoulder; so he was a Canadian! She was glad she had realised it; she knew from past experience how it annoyed Canadians to be taken for citizens of the US of A.

As she slid into the Canadian’s arms he smiled down at her. ‘I’m Hank Theaker – Flight Lieutenant Theaker if you want to be formal. And you are …’

‘I’m Dana McBride, and as you can probably see from my oh-so-smart uniform, I’m a land girl,’ she told him.

The Canadian whistled under his breath. ‘I did wonder why you came to a dance in breeches,’ he said, and Dana could hear the suppressed laughter in his voice. ‘I have to warn you I’m no great dancer, though I’ll try to avoid landing my eleven stone on your feet. But the minute I saw you I decided I wanted to get to know you …’

He twirled her round as the music came to an end and
Dana was just congratulating herself on her new appearance, which certainly seemed to have paid off, when he added: ‘You were the only girl I could see who didn’t make me feel like Gulliver among the Lilliputians! I’m six foot four, which is kinda tall even at home. Are you from round here? No, don’t tell me, let me guess! I’ll put money on your being Irish; I don’t know if you know it but Canada is full of Irish cops with names like O’Hara and McIntock. Am I right?’ As he spoke he was leading Dana towards the long counter which had become a makeshift bar. ‘Going to let me buy you a beer or a soft drink? And there are some really good little pies with some sort of plums inside – damsons, I think they’re called – so if we’re quick we might manage to grab a couple.’

Dana said that a soft drink would be fine and looked round, thinking she really should join Vera and the other girls, but they had already scattered so she followed Hank meekly and perched upon one of the two vacant chairs in the corner he had chosen. They began to talk, and perhaps because he, like herself, was not a native of this land they soon became easy with one another. Dana, who had never managed to talk freely about her home in Castletara, found she could do so with Hank. She even told him about Con, admitting ruefully that their friendship was now a thing of the past, and the tall Canadian put a large hand over hers and gave it a consoling squeeze.

‘War breaks up marriages, let alone friendships,’ he told her. ‘I was married; would be still except that Mary Lou filed for divorce, saying that I’d ill treated her and then abandoned her to live with my parents on our farm
on Prince Edward Island.’ He sighed, and pulled a rueful face. ‘I promise you, Dana, that none of it was true, but in a way I couldn’t blame her. She’d met someone else, a fellow who ran his own successful business, probably earning as much in a month as I do in a year. I didn’t contest the divorce – my mom and pop advised me not to do so – so now I’m fancy free, except that I find it hard to believe my marriage is over. If I’d been home … but I wasn’t, so no use repining.’

‘No use for me either,’ Dana admitted. ‘I abandoned Con and my home, went without even leaving an address. Con joined the air force and my mother tells me he has found consolation with somebody else. So you and I are in the same boat.’

The Canadian nodded. ‘Gee, I couldn’t put it better myself. But it’s not a bad boat to be in, or it won’t be so bad now we’ve met.’ He cocked an eyebrow. ‘Any chance of meeting again? I’ve got a fourth share in an old jalopy so I could pick you up any time you’re free and we could do the town. Or just meet for a chat,’ he added wistfully. ‘Me and my crew were only posted here a month ago and don’t know a soul apart from a few others on the station. It’d be grand to have a pal to go around with. What do you say, honey?’

‘Isn’t it a bit soon? We’ve only just met,’ Dana said doubtfully, but inside her heart was singing. Already she realised she liked Hank a lot, and anything which took her mind off the loss of Con was welcome. She looked across at the Canadian and saw the same expression in his eyes which she guessed was in her own. She smiled at him. ‘Though why not?’ she said lightly. ‘I’m free evenings, because no one can do much on the land after
dark. I won’t pretend the Tullimores are nice welcoming people, because they aren’t. They’re mean, bad-tempered and demanding, but since we shouldn’t be spending time at the farm that won’t matter. So yes please, Hank, come calling whenever you’re not flying.’

Over the next few weeks Dana learned a great deal about her new friend. He had an elder brother who had not taken to farming life and owned a large hardware shop in the nearby town. Hank himself had come across to Britain and joined the Royal Air Force back in
1938
, since he had learned to fly light aircraft at college and, seeing that war would come, had decided to get himself properly trained for it. He was a keen sportsman, an excellent shot, and loved fishing, whilst at home he was a member of an ice hockey team, a sport he missed sadly but meant to take up again when the war was over. He told Dana that as a boy he had wanted to join the Mounties – the Royal Canadian Mounted Police – but had felt he could not leave his parents’ farm once his brother had defected to the town.