The Women's Pages by Victoria Purman

Author:Victoria Purman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HQ Fiction

Chapter Seventeen

Tilly had always loved dancing with Archie. His parents were ballroom dancers in Taree and had provided expert tuition to their son. He knew every dance craze going around and had taught them all to Tilly, from the lindy hop and the cakewalk to the jive and the jitterbug and swing.

‘Being in your arms is like dancing with Fred Astaire,’ she’d told him and he’d kissed her quick and whirled her feet off the floor every single time she said it.

If Archie had been at the Roosevelt that night, the crowd would have parted, gasping in admiration and bursting into applause at how skilfully he moved Tilly, twirled her, pulled her close and then swung her out into the space. Every man would envy him and every woman would want to be the next one to dance with him.

George Cooper was definitely no Fred Astaire. It was abundantly clear that his considerable talent had been poured into words, not quick steps. However, what he lacked in talent, he made up for in half-drunk enthusiasm and Tilly forgot her anger and all her frustrations about work long enough to enjoy herself. When the band struck up a slow song, Cooper gently pulled her in close and tucked her head in the crook of his shoulder and she didn’t fight the overwhelming urge to be held and comforted.

Tilly’s eyes drifted closed as they swayed to a jazz ballad and she felt a warmth rise inside her chest. She let the heat and the movement lull her into some kind of peace. Cooper’s breath was whisky-sweet and the lapels of his new suit jacket were infused with something pine and crisp. Her mind wandered and she imagined a forest, not a jungle; snow, not drenching rain; and her attention focussed on the alive, not the missing.

At ten o’clock, after a couple more drinks and more cigarettes, Tilly and Cooper walked out of the Roosevelt and, instead of crossing the road back to Tilly’s apartment, they turned right towards Victoria Street and the water. The night was cool but still, and the nightlife sounds of Potts Point faded as they got closer to the wooden warehouses of the Fitzroy Stevedoring Company that lined the wharf. The waterfront might have been busy during the day and during the height of the war, but the buildings and wharves were silent now, hulking in the dark. The only sound was the water lapping at the wharf.

Tilly walked to the edge and peered into the murky depths below. Cooper grabbed her elbow and she wobbled.

‘Not too close there, Mrs Galloway. Wouldn’t want you ending up in the drink. Not after all that gin.’

She laughed at him. ‘You don’t think I can swim?’

‘I’m sure you can. But damned if I’m diving in to rescue you.’

‘I’m a Millers Point girl, Cooper. I’m a water rat from way back.’ She sat and dangled her legs over the edge and breathed in the scent of oil and salt and sulphur. When

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