Frankie and Bill 1937

A Love Story

She felt his hand hot on her waist through the fabric of her skirt.

She stood amid the joyous gaggle of her laughing sisters and her friends, with their arms all around each other at the end of the Saturday night dance. The photographer said “Smiiiile” and the flash bulb popped, then all the girls laughed and squealed and blinked until bright white light was gone from their eyes.

Then his hand was gone, and she could swear it burned a mark on her skin for hours and hours.

Bill was the new chap at the Post Office and two weeks ago she wouldn’t have given you tuppence for even the thought of him. Back then she’d thought him surly, but tonight, they’d danced twice, first a Foxtrot and then a Quickstep and she liked his rhythm, and he was handsome and warm.

“Frankie, can I walk you home?” He asked, and she watched the blush spread from the collar of his crisp white shirt, up past his brilliant blue eyes to the strawberry blond of his hair. She couldn’t stop the smile from her face as she took his arm and they walked out into the still summer evening, while the crickets chirruped in the long summer grass, under an indigo sky with the brightest stars. Her every step was a song, and the Jasmine twined its heady perfume through their senses as they blushed and smiled into the darkness.