Jack's Island Read Online Free PDF

eight. It all looked very sophisticated to me.
    I sat at the end of the hall with Patricia, watching the dancing for a while and getting a bit bored. Then Dafty walked in. I’d seen Mad Martha, his mum, working in the kitchen so I guessed he’d have to be hanging about somewhere. He pulled himself up on the chair beside me, swinging his legs, his feet not touching the floor. For the first time in his life he wore a pair of shoes. He had on a new knitted sleeveless sweater and a peculiar bow tie that made him look like Peter Rabbit. He seemed pretty pleased with the effect.
    â€˜Hey, Jack, look at all the pretty ladies. Nice. I like pretty ladies.’
    I was about to answer that I did too when the lance corporal at the door announced, ‘Mr and Mrs Merson and Miss Elizabeth Merson.’ Elizabeth? I wondered. Then I realised. Bess!
    I heard Dafty gasp and I reckon his jaw must have dropped to the ground. I know mine did and most other blokes’ in the room did as well. Bess looked a bit shy but absolutely beautiful, just like Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind. Even though her red velvet dress looked like it might’ve been made from the curtains the Mersons used to have in their front window in Leederville, she looked wonderful. She also wore long gloves and her black hair had been curled just like Scarlett’s. I had never seen such a vision, other than the real Scarlett, of course.
    Charlie Junior’s accordion went quiet as he too lost concentration and turned to stare. Mrs Mills’ hand shot out from her keyboard and slapped him on the back of the head without missing a note.
    â€˜Look, she’s wearing nylons,’ I heard Mrs Purvis hiss loudly. I’d once heard Mum and Mrs Carter say that only girls who’d been with American sailors had nylon stockings. The whispering raced round the room like a bushfire. Several older women pursed their lips and shook their heads in disapproval.
    Bess must’ve guessed they were talking about her because she’d turned the colour of her dress. She didn’t know where to look or what to do. I suddenly felt sorry for her standing alone with everyone in the room staring at her.
    From the corner Little Eric noticed what was going on. He frowned slightly, handed his beer to his mate and quickly walked across the room to her.
    â€˜Bess, how lovely to see you. I believe you promised me this dance.’ He bowed slightly, like a real gentleman, and led her to the centre of the hall. The relief on Bess’s face was clear. Little Eric was a good cove, that’s for sure.
    But the look on Dafty’s face was a different thing altogether. I hadn’t known he felt so strongly about Bess. He knew he couldn’t be dancing with her—he was half her size—and besides, he couldn’t dance. He could barely stop himself from falling over a lot of the time. But it was obviously nearly choking him to see Bess dancing with Little Eric. I saw tears running down his cheek—tears not only of jealously but also of utter hopelessness.
    Mum was glaring at Mrs Purvis across the other side of the room. She couldn’t stand rudeness. My bum can swear to that. She especially couldn’t abide unkindness and Mrs Purvis was good at both. In fact, I think Mum had trouble abiding Mrs Purvis most of the time. Mum sat there fuming, but after the third or fourth dance she must’ve relaxed a bit because she turned to Dad and dragged him up. I sat fascinated, watching them waltz around the polished floor. I hadn’t known they could dance so well. They glided in time to Mrs Mills and the Charlies just like they were in the movies, like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, looking only at each other as if no-one else in the world existed. And maybe for a few moments Hitler and the Japs and the stink of tar and the rationing and crying babies and badly behaved sons magically disappeared for them.
    Patricia, Dafty and I went outside