Christmas with the Queen

Chapter 16 Olive

Chapter 16

Olive

London, June 1945

O ur circle of friends, formed in the heady celebrations of VE Day, melded together into an inseparable group over carefree nights of drinking and dancing. Although the awful impact of war was all around us—London’s streets badly damaged from the bombing raids and rationing still in place—we had reason to hope again, and to look forward to the future. There was plenty of flirting, and more than a few drunken kisses, but nothing serious developed between any of us.

My position at the War Office continued, with documents to be filed and all manner of correspondence to be typed up, but I had my heart set on moving into more exciting surroundings. I had a wild dream of working at the BBC, and since the war had ended, I knew it was time to take a chance. I applied for a position in the typing pool in the home affairs department and hoped for the best. Rosie decided to apply, too, declaring that she couldn’t possibly bear it if I left her at Whitehall for a glamorous life at the BBC.

After work one evening, Rosie and I hurried to meet the others at our favorite pub, The Thirsty Dog.

“I wonder if darling Jack will be there,” she said as we ran up the steps from the underground.

She insisted that Jack liked me, and that the attention he gave to Andrea Keane was his way of making me jealous.

“I keep telling you, Rosie—Jack had his chance on VE Day and he blew it! We’re just friends.” I tried to sound convincing but didn’t even manage to convince myself. I was attracted to Jack, but he wasn’t as confident, or as easy to get to know, as the other boys in the group—Peter, especially. Jack had also started a new job in a scruffy restaurant in the East End, and worked odd shifts which meant he wasn’t always with us when we got together.

“You can deny it all you want, Olive, but I see the way the two of you look at each other.” Rosie grabbed my arm. “You should flirt with Peter. Make Jack jealous.”

I laughed. “I won’t need to try hard to flirt with Peter Hall. He’ll flirt with anyone.”

As it happened, I ended up sitting beside Peter in the pub that evening. He was dark-haired and even darker-eyed and handsome as hell. There were worse ways to spend my evening than flirting with him.

“So, are the two of them a couple, or what?” Peter asked later that night, when we had moved to a dance hall and Jack and Andrea had made their way to the floor together.

“Looks like it,” I said.

Rosie leaned forward. “Although he secretly likes Olive.”

I dug her in the ribs with a sharp elbow. “He does not! Jack’s a friend. We enjoy each other’s company,” I added. “That’s all.”

Peter looked at me, his eyes studying mine. “I enjoy your company, too, but with less talking and more of this.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips against mine. “You’re a firecracker, Olive Carter. If Jack’s too stupid to make a move, then I sure as hell will.”

“Don’t mind me,” Rosie said, laughing as she kicked my feet under the table.

I ignored her. Peter tasted of whisky and tobacco and delicious things, wild and dangerous. Jack and I talked a lot, but with Peter, conversation was entirely unnecessary. He was the perfect antidote to the long difficult years of war.

When Jack and Andrea returned from their dance, Jack seemed a little uncomfortable and Andrea was embarrassed by Peter’s teasing. They soon finished their drinks and said their goodbyes.

As they left arm in arm, Jack turned to look over his shoulder, and our eyes met. I pulled Peter toward me and kissed him, and hoped that Jack would realize he was leaving with the wrong girl.