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of them played spin the bottle down behind the sand dunes. The bottle she’d spun had actually been pointing at Donny Roper, but Andy had elbowed Donny out of the way.
    Now they reached the darkness of the verandah and his grip tightened.
    ‘It might be ages before I see you again,’ he said.
    That was true enough. The thought of his heading off into unknown horror made Kitty soft with sympathy, and she was caught off guard when he pulled her roughly against him and pressed his mouth over hers.
    It was strange to be held so tightly. The buckle of his belt pressed into her stomach. His lips were cool and hard and tasted of cigarettes overlaid by peppermint. But it was rather exciting in a strange way. Not wonderful exactly, not romantic, but exciting nevertheless.
    ‘Oh, Kitty.’ Andy sounded out of breath.
    She stood quite still, glad of the darkness, not sure what to say, wishing that she wanted this as much as he seemed to.
    His lips found hers again, more gently this time, and it was quite nice, really. But then his tongue pushed between her lips and he squeezed her breast.
    ‘Andy!’ She struggled to be free of him. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
    ‘You know what I’m doing.’
    ‘But you can’t. Not that.’
    He caught her hands, gripped them so tightly she couldn’t move. ‘You don’t understand, Kitty. I
really
like you. I’ve never been game to tell you before, but I’m crazy about you. And – and I’m going away tomorrow. If I’m going to fight for my country, I should be brave enough to tell my girl how I feel.’
    His girl?
    It was oddly flattering. And very confusing. She wasn’t his girl.
    ‘I don’t know when I’ll see you again.’
    Kitty knew he meant
if
. He didn’t know
if
he would ever see her again. Poor fellow. He was the same age as she was – they’d been to the same primary school and shared endless sessions of backyard cricket and swimming in the rock pool at the end of the Strand, Sunday school picnics and church socials.
    Years ago, in grade seven, Andy had thrown prickly burrs in her hair and the other girls had said it meant he liked her. If she was honest, she’d always known he was a bit keen on her. Now he was heading off for war and he was trying to hide how scared he was.
    Kitty understood that too. They were all scared these days.
    Her throat hurt, as if she’d swallowed a fishbone, and tears burned her eyes. ‘You’ll be fine, Andy. You’ll come home. And now that the Americans are here, the war will be over before you can say Bob’s your uncle.’
    ‘Kitty.’ There was a sob in his voice as he slipped his arms about her waist and pulled her harder against him. She could feel him shaking. ‘We’ve got to do this.’ His voice was hoarse and urgent. ‘I’m going away and we’ve got to. Everybody’s doing it.’
    She stiffened with shock. ‘But –’
    He was holding her so tightly now, pressing hot kisses into her neck and using his body to shepherd her back into the darkness, towards the daybed at the end of the latticed verandah.
    Kitty knew what he’d said was true. Well, maybe not everybody was
doing it
, but Val Keaton had confided that she’d let her boyfriend go
all the way
with her before he left for the front, and she’d hinted she wasn’t the only one who’d been so daring.
    Kitty had always planned to ‘save herself’ until she was married. She wanted the first time she made love to be romantic and beautiful, but already, the arrival of war had muddied her thinking, smudged the lines around ideas that had always been sharp and clear before.
    All around them, the world was changing. The air-raid shelters and the new displays in the shop fronts, the landing barges in the bay were outwards signs of the war, but she’d already sensed the changes taking place in people’s heads and hearts too.
    ‘You’re my girl, Kitty.’
    I’m not
, she almost told him.
I’m not anybody’s girl
. They were friends. Old friends, yes.