hair, which shehad now decided made her look like a bonfire guy.
âAt this rate, Jim will think youâre never going to meet him, and heâll have given up on you,â she said.
They parted company and Gracie spent her Sunday afternoon poring over her favourite movie-star magazines. Her nerves were still on edge, moping about a man she hardly knew, but who had made such an impression on her. Thinking what might have been ⦠She hadnât got over the shock yet, not by a long way, and she didnât have Dollyâs ability to put it all behind her so quickly. If they hadnât been near the doors of the Palais at the time, it could have been fatal for them, and they had yet to discover how many had been killed or injured.
She shuddered, realizing she was finding little pleasure today in reading about the doings of her favourite movie stars. It was all make-believe, anyway, and what had happened on Saturday night had been real, raw life. And death.
By mid-afternoon, she knew she couldnât stay inside the boarding-house any longer. With the same sudden need for fresh air as she had felt last night, Gracie thought that if she didnât get out of there, she would become as stagnant as the rest of the Sundayafternoon lodgers.
She wouldnât go to the park though, where she was likely to run into Dolly and Jim. Like a criminal returning to the scene of the crime, she had a bizarre urge to go back to the Palais, to see the damage. Perhaps it wasnât too bad. Perhaps, in their mad panic to get out, they had mistaken a small fire for something much greater. She blotted out the memory of that sheet of flame, boarded a tram and soon realized that people were talking about it in heated conversations, clearly knowing nothing of the true circumstances. Gracie began to feel mildly hysterical, wanting to hit out and say that they shouldnât spread these wicked rumours â¦
The minute she got off the tram and walked the few streets to where the Palais had stood in all its glittering glory, she knew there had been no exaggeration. The acrid smell of smoke reached her long before she got there, and there were other, more sickening smells that she couldnât identify, and didnât care to try. In the starkness of a spring afternoon, the reality looked even worse. Crowds of onlookers gazed at the blackened remains of the Palais, its roof completely destroyed, its framework leaning crazily towards the sky. The effects of fire and water from thefiremensâ hoses still filled the air with that stifling and nauseating stink.
âTerrible sight, ainât it?â someone said. âThey say dozens of âem were killed, overcome by smoke or burned to death, or trampled in the rush to get out of the place.â
âWho says so?â Gracie stammered.
âWell, everybody,â someone else said impatiently. âStands to reason, dunnit? Not many could have survived in that little lot.â
âWell,
I
did,â she said savagely, angered beyond reason by the callous way he was stating false facts.
A woman nearby nudged her friend.
âYou was in there then, was you? What was it like then?â Her voice was eager, ghoulish, wanting to know details Gracie didnât have, and wouldnât have told her if she did.
âWell, if you wanted a quick sunburn, I suppose that was one way to get it,â she replied, her voice harsh. âWhat the bleedinâ hell do you think it was like?â
âThereâs no need to be so stuck-up! I was only asking! You young girls think you can say anything these days. You all need a lesson in manners,â the woman said, and turned her back on Gracie in a huff.
She didnât know whether to laugh or cry. Stuck-up indeed, with what she had just said! She normally left the swearing to Dolly, eventhough she heard plenty of it from the girls and the blokes at Lawsonâs Shirt Factory, and could cuss with the best of
âAt this rate, Jim will think youâre never going to meet him, and heâll have given up on you,â she said.
They parted company and Gracie spent her Sunday afternoon poring over her favourite movie-star magazines. Her nerves were still on edge, moping about a man she hardly knew, but who had made such an impression on her. Thinking what might have been ⦠She hadnât got over the shock yet, not by a long way, and she didnât have Dollyâs ability to put it all behind her so quickly. If they hadnât been near the doors of the Palais at the time, it could have been fatal for them, and they had yet to discover how many had been killed or injured.
She shuddered, realizing she was finding little pleasure today in reading about the doings of her favourite movie stars. It was all make-believe, anyway, and what had happened on Saturday night had been real, raw life. And death.
By mid-afternoon, she knew she couldnât stay inside the boarding-house any longer. With the same sudden need for fresh air as she had felt last night, Gracie thought that if she didnât get out of there, she would become as stagnant as the rest of the Sundayafternoon lodgers.
She wouldnât go to the park though, where she was likely to run into Dolly and Jim. Like a criminal returning to the scene of the crime, she had a bizarre urge to go back to the Palais, to see the damage. Perhaps it wasnât too bad. Perhaps, in their mad panic to get out, they had mistaken a small fire for something much greater. She blotted out the memory of that sheet of flame, boarded a tram and soon realized that people were talking about it in heated conversations, clearly knowing nothing of the true circumstances. Gracie began to feel mildly hysterical, wanting to hit out and say that they shouldnât spread these wicked rumours â¦
The minute she got off the tram and walked the few streets to where the Palais had stood in all its glittering glory, she knew there had been no exaggeration. The acrid smell of smoke reached her long before she got there, and there were other, more sickening smells that she couldnât identify, and didnât care to try. In the starkness of a spring afternoon, the reality looked even worse. Crowds of onlookers gazed at the blackened remains of the Palais, its roof completely destroyed, its framework leaning crazily towards the sky. The effects of fire and water from thefiremensâ hoses still filled the air with that stifling and nauseating stink.
âTerrible sight, ainât it?â someone said. âThey say dozens of âem were killed, overcome by smoke or burned to death, or trampled in the rush to get out of the place.â
âWho says so?â Gracie stammered.
âWell, everybody,â someone else said impatiently. âStands to reason, dunnit? Not many could have survived in that little lot.â
âWell,
I
did,â she said savagely, angered beyond reason by the callous way he was stating false facts.
A woman nearby nudged her friend.
âYou was in there then, was you? What was it like then?â Her voice was eager, ghoulish, wanting to know details Gracie didnât have, and wouldnât have told her if she did.
âWell, if you wanted a quick sunburn, I suppose that was one way to get it,â she replied, her voice harsh. âWhat the bleedinâ hell do you think it was like?â
âThereâs no need to be so stuck-up! I was only asking! You young girls think you can say anything these days. You all need a lesson in manners,â the woman said, and turned her back on Gracie in a huff.
She didnât know whether to laugh or cry. Stuck-up indeed, with what she had just said! She normally left the swearing to Dolly, eventhough she heard plenty of it from the girls and the blokes at Lawsonâs Shirt Factory, and could cuss with the best of
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