My stomach was now happily overly satiated, full with rich gravies from the bacon wrapped chicken roast and the thick, sweet sauce from the sticky toffee pudding. Liz looked like she was ready to bounce off every single surface in the room from all the sugar she had just eaten, having finished Dad’s pudding off for him as well as her own.
I sipped at the after dinner coffee, handing over the little packages of shortbread to Louie for his consumption. More and more it felt like he was an empty pit, desperately trying to eat as much as possible whenever possible. Mum almost despaired at how quickly he inhaled his dinner, barely lifting his head to join in with any of the polite conversation around the table. He’d even managed to wrangle leftovers from Captain Wright at some point. When Mum turned a fierce shade of pink when the Captain pushed his plate towards Louie, telling him off for his lack of manners, the Captain merely chuckled, “Growing lads are always the hungriest. Unless someone wants to through my brother in the mix. All bets are off there…”
The soldier who had followed me to get raffle tickets snorted and ranked a hand through his brown hair, pushing wisps out from his face.
“Ye know, I don’ think I’ll be ribbin’ yer brother wit’ ya. I got respect for a man payin’ for my drinks,” My Dad stated, completely at odds with the slight smirk on his face.
“Well, if I knew that that was all it would take, I would have shared my flask with you sooner,” The Captain harrumphed, shaking his head as a waiter offered to fill up his mug, “No, thank you, dear. I don’t think my heart could quite take coffee. Awful American drivel. I’ll wait for the tea.”
“Oh, it’s awful. Keeps me up half the night when I drink one cup,” Mum agreed, shaking her head in disbelief, “It totally makes sense, though.”
Nancy, who grabbed her husband and dragged him over to our table as soon as dessert had been devoured, sipped her own coffee and wrinkled her nose, “What makes sense?”
“Americans,” Mum replied, looking at Nancy incredulously, as though this was the only answer possible, “And why they’re like the way they are. They always seem so full of beans. It’s because of the coffee.”
“You know they don’t actually eat the coffee beans raw, right?” Mike asked after a moment’s silence, spreading a fine spray of shortbread crumbs across the table.
Nancy shook her head, placing a hand on her husband’s lap, “I think she’s well aware of that, dear.”
“I mean...she said about beans-”
“Darling. Shush.”
A small titter spread around the table until Captain Wright graciously swept in to remove any chance for discomfort by declaring, “Well, if you’d all like to look over at the Greater Wright, I’m sure you would witness quite a spectacle...”
Our heads couldn’t swivel fast enough towards Lord Wright, who was standing at the back of his seat, unable to make space to pull it out and sit back down now that a group had swamped around him. Except for the gentle buzz of conversation from across the room, it was hard to tell what was going on. If I could hazard a guess from the reddening of his face and neck, though, it certainly wasn’t a pleasant conversation.
“It seems like his idea of getting every man a pint might have backfired,” I muttered, turning back to our table.
“I highly doubt that was his idea,” the soldier responded, “Lord Wright isn’t very well known for readily parting with his hard earned inheritance at the best of times, never mind to supply the good folk in this room with wine and whisky. Frankly, it makes it taste that much sweeter,” He smirked, taking a sip as he nodded at the Captain, who simply shook his head as he tried not to grin.
“D’ya spend the man’s money for ‘im just then? ‘Splains the look on his face. He was ‘bout to have an heart attack,” Dad chuckled, shaking his head, “I guess I finally got something to be thankful to ya for.”
“‘Finally’,” Captain Wright chuckled and shook his head, “Yes, I suppose you ‘finally’ do.”
“You know, if I wasn’t someone who knew better, I’d say that you two hated each other,” Mum sighed, shaking her head, “Men. They can only show their appreciation by being rude to each other, hm?”
“That sounds about right. Whenever Mike and his brothers meet up it’s like carnage.”
“It’s not that bad. Just some standard rough-housing.”
“Darling, your 19 year old brother ended up breaking a leg because he wanted to prove he could land on his feet after jumping from the top of the stairs. It’s not really standard, is it?”
“That was his own fault.”
“Except you and Jerry kept goading him on.”
I leaned in to Louie, “I bet you’re glad you only had sisters.”
“Hm. I dunno. Sometimes I’d take a broken leg over you guys crying and whinging all the time,” He shrugged, opening up a shortbread to bite a chunk.
I raised a brow, “You know, brothers would never give you their shortbread.”
“That’s true. Me and my brothers always fought for stuff,” Mike confessed.
“They’re animals, really,” Nancy drawled, sipping on her wine with an uppity air.
“I don’t think that’s very fair to-”
“Oh, I think they might be drawing the raffle!” My mum squealed, picking up her handbag to riffle through it for her tickets, “Jesus - I can hardly see in this light where they might be...”
This time, when Horace took to the stage with the much loved Helen in tow, there was a roar of approval and wolf-whistles that followed. Before Mike could bring his hands together to form his first clap, Nancy gripped onto his thigh, and shook her head. From the look of slight terror that I could see on Mike’s face, I felt grateful not to have witnessed Nancy’s glare of disapproval.
“Thank you, thank you,” Mr Wilson smile, as he stood at the microphone, “You’re all too kind, but I’m sure my wife wouldn’t be too pleased at those whistles.” He took the moment to chuckle at his own joke, his cheeks now a rosy pink compared to his blanched pallor at the start of the evening. The confidence derived from Dutch courage actually suited him slightly, “Now, it’s that time that we’ve all been waiting for: it’s the drawing of the tombolas! We’ve got some corkers for prizes! Such as... a bottle of... Lagavulin, a brand new dutch oven, a-a...shit. I can’t read this! Helen, is this your handwriting? It’s bloody awful. Don’t you women get classes for this type of-”
Helen quickly shuffled her way over to the microphone, taking it away from Mr Wilson so she could stop the car before it continued to crash, “-an afternoon tea at the Bristol Hotel! And, of course, the surprise grand prize which will be revealed later. As...Mr Wilson said earlier, all of these wonderful gifts and more have been donated by members of the committee or companies within Bristol! Isn’t that wonderful? A-and for those who didn’t manage to get a ticket for tonight’s raffle, there will be a tombola out in the hall way for the rest of the evening. It’s 20p a play, and we have some really fantastic prizes, especially for all the little kiddies in the room.”
Horace was a vision behind Helen, holding a hat in his hand with the raffle tickets in it. He’d managed to tip a few out at some point throughout her speech, meaning that he had to bend down to gather them up. The more he bent over, the more tickets fell out, like multi-coloured strands of confetti, littering along the floor of the stage and tumbling to the ground. It took him a few moments to realise his error and with a tut that could be heard from the back of the room, he finally placed down the hat and started his hunter-gatherer mission to collect every ticket. It was like something out of a Laurel and Hardy or Chaplin film. Titters could be heard sporadically across the room, whilst Helen did her damnedest to keep everything on track.
The first few prizes were collected without any enthusiasm on the behalf of the winners. A soap set was collected by a soldier, who tutted when his friends cheered him onto the stage. Someone won a new pen and ink set, nodding their dull thanks as they traipsed away.
“And now for the set of four home-made jams! We have...” Helen smiled, poking at Horace with the edge of the hat that she had managed to salvage from him. It seemed like now all he was good for was giving pantomime like ‘oh’s and ‘ah’s and picking out the tickets for Helen to read out the numbers, “Number 397! Who has 397?”
After having handed over my tickets to Mum after the second prize was announced as she didn’t seem to believe I was capable of reading numbers anymore, I could basically feel her vibrate with excitement before she finally gasped,“That’s one! Ruth, that’s your one! We - we have it!”
A dull courtesy clap spread across the floor as Mum jammed the ticket into my hand and ushered me off, “This is the start of our streak. I want that custom made dress!”
As I made my way over to the stage, I could see the expression on Helen’s face falter and rectify itself quickly. With a beaming smile, she tried to juggle holding the hat and my prize, pressing the four heavy jars in their carton against her body to keep everything level, “Aren’t you lucky?”
“Just the luckiest, really,” I responded, taking my prize out of her hands and returning her plastic smile with one of my own.
“Oh. Do you mind if I can I see your ticket, though? Just to make sure you’ve actually won.”
I bit the inside of my lip, trying my hardest to control the little flare of anger that bubbled in my stomach before I handed over my ticket and swiftly left the stage as she crushed it in her hand. She didn’t even need to glance at it as she knew fine well that it was mine. I’d bought some from the back of the book.
I returned to the table with my winnings, sourly placing them down as Luis and Mum started to eye them over.
“You know, I think the raspberry jam has real seeds in it,” Luis nodded, seemly pleased with the result, “That’d be great on toast-”
“Toast?!” Mum baulked, shaking her head, “No! That’s going inside a Vicky sponge. I’ve been saving some sugar for it. I have powdered eggs, but I reckon we might be able to get some real ones and keep them aside...”
No one was more let down than Mum that she didn’t win the custom, handmade dress. Instead, a burly man in a tweed jacket wandered up to the stage to claim his prize with a delighted expression on his face. With a wrinkled nose, Mum clapped out of obligation as he descended from the stage, “I never bloody win anything.”
“We have the jam, Mum. I reckon that’s a fair prize.”
“Maybe we’ll win the tombola,” Liz cut in, tapping Mum’s knee to sooth her.
“That’s true... right, let me find my change - Win? Give up your shrapnel.”
As Dad dug through his pockets, moaning and grumbling the whole time, the rest of the prizes were awarded. It seemed like our table was the winners, though. A friend of the Captain’s who was sitting at the other side of the table won a pair of new boots. Shelly, had to slink away up to get her prize, with her husband tutting at her gambling, but the fact that she had won a new pair of boots was part of the conversation for the rest of the evening.
And then, there was the soldier. He rose up to collect his prize of the afternoon tea that I had been coveting for a while now. I always walked past Bristol Hotel on my way into the office and on the way home. I would peer through the windows on my way, watching people sitting graciously at tables, with grins on their faces as they delicately picked up chocolates and scones and nibble the tiniest little bits out of it, like they had to make sure they lasted for ever. I always wondered who those people were and what they must do for a living, being able to sit in an expensive restaurant all day without a single care in the world.
On my way home, I’d watch couples linger intimately at the bar, drinks being sipped achingly slowly, whilst at the other end, friends huddled together, whispering away as live music played. The dark silhouette of a bartender could be seen, backlit against the lights of the bar, pouring drink after drink or swiping a rag along the counter tops. It reminded me of moments from Casablanca.
Me and Nancy desperately wanted to go there. Mike’s brother had taken his wife one day as a treat, and she couldn’t stop raving about it to Nancy. Although Nancy attempted to bait Mike into a competition with his brother, trying to get him to prove that he treated Nancy better that his brother treated his wife, Mike was quick to see through it and Nancy never quite managed to get her afternoon tea there.
Nancy sighed as the soldier picked up his reward, gave a half-hearted salute to the audience who had a renewed interest in the reveal of what the grand prize was and who was going to win it. As he returned towards us, she leaned in to mutter to me, “You reckon he’d swap his tickets for your jam?”
“Not a chance! I’ve got plans with this jam, Nancy Laughton. don’t you go putting ideas in Ruth’s head. I missed out on the dress and I’ll be damned if you take my jam.”
“Ya betta watch Louie den. Boy’ll eat the lot ‘fore we leave.”
“Pft. Mum’d skin me alive.”
“Well, there’s your answer,” I muttered shaking my head at them both before we started clapping for the winner of the grand prize - a two night stay in the Bristol Hotel, with dinner on both nights. I nodded towards the soldier, who was putting away his tickets into his coat pocket, “Congratulations. Seems like I left enough tickets for other winners.”
A delicate smile spread across his lips and a soft puff of air escaped in his chuckle, “Just about. Thanks.”
Helen seemed relived to be able to wrap up her duties for the evening, reminding us all to continue to donate, and trying to entice everyone into going to the tombola. The promise of gifts for children there started a small group of whines across the tables as children begged for money to go play. Amongst them was Liz, who had very patiently been biding her time until she could grab Mum’s hand and implore her to go. Somehow, she also managed to get almost everyone at the table to root through their coin purses to give up their money too. She seemed to have a way of doing that, managing to convince almost anyone to give her what she wanted with those big, chocolatey chubby cheeks and a smile sweet enough to give you a sugar high. Before you knew it, you were penniless and she’d drift off to her newest victim.
The majority of our table seemed to melt back into a group of soldiers and their wives, sitting close together as they chatted and drank and smoke, leaving me, Nancy and Mike to our gossip. Luis had also given his pardons and had wandered off towards another table where he could spy some people from his year in school. And amongst them, of course-
“I think he’s going to do it,” Nancy said, grabbing my hand as she watched Luis inch his way closer into the group.
“Oh God. Oh God, I hope she says yes. I don’t wanna see him crushed.”
“Are you kidding? He looks so cute in his little suit. She’s gonna eat him alive.”
“Mm, but her Daddy is going to have a coronary-”
“What’re we looking it?” Mike asked, leaning in. Nancy gesture across the way towards Luis, who had now managed to get Olive away from the larger group and seemed to be in the middle of his proposal. Mike tutted, “Leave ‘im alone. If he finds out you two gossips were watching him this whole time, he’d die of embarrassment. Now can you just - is-is that Olive Riley?”
“The one and only,” Nancy smirked, taking a sip of her coffee as she watched the show unfold.
“Oh, her Dad is going to go wild if he finds out - wh-where is he?”
“Probably slumped against a table somewhere,” I muttered.
“Free drinks,” Nancy nodded in agreement before sighing, “He better dance with her whilst he can. Someone’s bound to wake him up eventually.”
“Maybe. Maybe they’ll just leave ‘im alone. Dad’s here.” I explained, nodding towards my father who was sitting back with his group of veterans once more, a cigar pressed between his lips as he listened to whoever was speaking, “You know they wouldn’t bother him if Dad’s around.”
“That’s fair… oh, they’re off to the dance floor! Honestly, look at them both! How sweet is that?” Nancy pouted, watching them with a hand clasped to her chest.
As the opening cords of the I Can’t Believe You’re in Love with Me started, Dad’s head lifted from the table, “Where’s yer mum?”
“Uh...last I heard she was trying to win the doll for Liz at the tombola. She might need to file for bankruptcy at the end of the night, Dad. I think you need to cut her off.”
Dad nodded and stood up, “‘Scuse me, den. I’ll go fin’ her. That’s our song. She’ll be hurtin’ if we miss it,” he explained, placing his cap on his head, and adjusting his coat.
The Captain chuckled and glanced at Dad in disbelief, “Well, wonders never cease. It looks like we have quite the romantic on our hands. How could you be surprised at Louie now?”
Taking one last sip of his whisky, Dad couldn’t help hide the smirk on his face, “Da boy’s smooth, just like his dad...” before he turned promptly on his heel to head towards the entrance way. He was hardly half way across the room when Mum appeared in the doorway, a grin on her face.
Nancy sighed softly, watching Dad lead Mum to the dance floor so they could melt into the crowd together, “Hmmm...could you imagine that? Married all these years and still in love. Mike, do you remember our song?”
The deer in headlights look on Mike’s face gave the impression that he was watching his life flash before his eyes. The people left around the table seemed to almost lean in, wanting to see how he would wriggle his way out of this one.
Wiping his hands down the legs of the black slacks, Mike cleared his throat and nodded, “Of course I can, darling. But when we’re together, every song is our song. Now, come on. Let’s go for a spin.”
Our eyes flickered between Mike and Nancy, as we waited to see how Nancy was going to react. The little smile on her face, and how she graciously took Mike’s hand gave off the impression that all was well, as they swept off towards the dance floor, Nancy’s navy dress pooling behind her.
“Looks like he got away with that, there,” the soldier murmured, shaking his head in disbelief as closed the gap of the empty seats between us to sit at my side.
“Mmm, I have my doubts about that. Nancy’s not one to forget these types of things. Just when he least expects it, he’ll get his comeuppance,” I responded, sipping my wine as I watched the couples swirl around the dance floor to the soft tunes. Whilst most couples were wrapped up together, with heads cuddled in close, dancing cheek to cheek or cheek to chest as as they swayed to the music. Not Louie, though. Even from this distance, it was easy to see how he was gently counting under his breath, his arms stiff as he tried to make sure that there was a suitable distance between him and his date.
“You know, I never got your name-”
“Ruth Fraser.”
“Ruth Fraser. Well, I’m Thomas Murray,” He smiled, holding out his hand, “It’s been a pleasure to meet you.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle at the formality, taking his hand to return the slight squeeze. His hand felt solid and strong, but soft as well. It was at complete odds to his uniform. Usually soldier’s hands were calloused and hardened. As I looked at him closer, though, he was full of contradictions. Soft lips, but a strong jaw. The colour of his eyes blurred across the whole spectrum of the colour green, but he had a razor sharp hair cut. Light caramel browns flecked through his dark, chocolatey hair, but little hints of white and silver could be found in the stubble along his chin. I could understand why Helen had such big doe eyes for him. “Likewise.”
“So, you’ve had a good evening so far?”
“It’s been...okay. Would’ve went better if I won that afternoon tea.”
“Well, now you’re just being jealous.”
“I’m big enough to admit that you’re right.”
“But you did get...what was it? Some jam?”
“Uh, excuse you! I think you’ll find -,” I murmured, picking up a jar to read from the label. I leaned in towards the table to use the candles for light, “- that it’s real handmade fruit preserves. The fruit was picked at the height of its season as well. It wasn’t just any old fruit going into it. So it’s not just jam. Oh, one of them has plums in it...” I pointed out, tapping the label with a nod.
“Oh, you got me. Now I’m the one who’s jealous.”
“As you should be.”
“I’ll try not to cry into my...champagne, scones and petite fours. I might need to get a new suit for this.”
I tutted slightly, shook my head and politely clapped as the band ended their song to start another, this time with more of a swing to it. I tapped my foot against the leg of the table, watching the couples pick up the tempo. Mum and Dad found their way off to the side of the dance floor, their hands still entwined.
“You know, Ruth? I’ve not seen you on the floor all evening.”
“I think it’s better for everyone that I’m not, to be honest with you.”
“Well, I doubt that. I think you should have at least a few dances. Come on. Let’s give it a go,” Tommy got up, gesturing towards the dance floor, as he stood behind my chair “Everyone else is doing it.”
I swivelled slightly in my seat, leaning back to look up at Thomas, “I really don’t think it’s a great idea.”
“Well, Ruth Fraser, I am a man of many great ideas. It’ll surprise you, really. Come on. What’s the worst that can happen?” He asked, a charming smile spreading across his face.
With a little disbelieving shake of my head, I rose and took Thomas’s hand, allowing him to tuck my chair in behind me, “Well... I suppose it’s your funeral.”
“We’ll see about that. Now come on. Let’s go dance.”