The Silent War Read Online Free PDF Page A

wanted in a feller, and with his short, dark hair, bushy eyebrows, and rough Cockney slang, she would have killed to get her hands on him. But she knew only too well that Lennie would never be for her. He had shown her so several times, when he had totally ignored her in favour of any bit of skirt that happened to be around at the time. But why Pearl? It was a question she had asked herself over and over again. How could a real bloke like that go for a girl who was so fat that at this very moment sweat was running down her blood-red face as she danced. Yes, Sunday was jealous all right. If it wasn’t for the fact that Pearl was her best friend, she’d go all out to get Lennie bloody Jackson for herself.
    ‘’As anyone told you, yer’ve got the best tits round ’ere?’
    Sunday had already noticed the boy in RAF uniform who had made his way towards her from the other end of the bar. If she didn’t like his style then it was her own fault, for she had seen him eyeing her, and quite deliberately egged him on.
    ‘Bit of an expert, are you?’ Sunday replied, rather tartly.
    ‘I know the best when I see it.’ The boy’s eyes were flicking back and forward from Sunday’s eyes to her breasts. ‘Fag?’
    Sunday was about to shake her head, when over the RAF boy’s shoulder she caught sight of Pearl waving to her. ‘Ta,’ she replied, taking out a Gold Flake from the packet the RAF boy was holding out for her. Only when the boy had lit the fag, and she drew in the first puff of smoke , did she realise what a daft thing she was doing. However, despite the fact that Sunday had never smoked before, she was quite determined to put on as big an act as she could, and make quite sure that both Pearl and Lennie could see her.
    ‘M’name’s ’Arry. ’Arry Smike.’ The boy was looking all over Sunday with the most come-to-bed eyes she had seen in a long time.
    ‘Sunday.’
    Harry looked puzzled. ‘Say that again.’
    ‘My name’s Sunday,’ she answered, raising her voice to compete with the ‘Chattanooga Choo-Choo’ catcalls. ‘It’s too long a story to tell why.’
    Harry asked no more. He just grinned at her, puffed at his fag and swallowed as much of the nicotine as he could. He liked this girl. He liked her a lot. She had a good tongue. She had a good body. This one he was not going to let go.
    ‘What’s the propeller for?’ asked Sunday, nodding towards the small flash on the sleeve of Harry’s blue uniform tunic.
    ‘LAC. Leading Aircraftman.’
    ‘Is that important?’
    ‘Well, at least it’s one up from AC plonk.’
    That was good enough for Sunday. Her eyes darted momentarily across to Lennie Jackson, who was bending the dumpy figure of Pearl backwards in some showy exhibition of his quickstep dancing talents. There was certainly no flash of any kind on
his
plain army tunic.
    For a moment or so, Harry watched this sexy bird sipping from her glass of lemonade, taking in minimal puffs of smoke from the fag he had given her. ‘Wouldn’t yer like somefin’ stronger than that stuff?’ he asked, his lips practically pressed against her ear.
    ‘I don’t drink,’ she said, without turning to look at him.
    ‘Wot
do
yer do?’
    Harry’s predictable question didn’t worry Sunday one little bit. She merely turned to face him, and with their lips almost touching each other’s replied, ‘I dance.’
    As she spoke, the lights in the hall came up full, and over the tannoy system came the voice of the dance MC: ‘Ladies an’ gentlemen. Boys an’ girls. Take your partners for – the jitterbug!’
    To the accompaniment of a loud cheer from all the dancers, the floor cleared instantly, leaving behind only a small group of younger people, mainly teenagers. From the loudspeaker now came the sound of Kay Keyser and his band with a frantic version of ‘Gotta Gal Named Sal’, which was the cue for the few remaining couples to burst into an energetic display of the latest dance craze – the