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about making the most of it in Britain.
    “What did that lout mean?” she asked. “You know, when he was ranting on about Texas?”
    Bill’s head was resting against her neck. She felt the muscles of his jaw tense. “Where I come from, we have these stupid laws,” he said. “Depends what state you live in, but in the South, most places colored folks and white folks don’t mix. It’s not allowed.”
    “Don’t mix? You mean like this?” She traced his lips with her finger.
    “Uh-huh.” He took her finger in his mouth. “Crazy, I know,” he mumbled.
    “I didn’t know it was like that. How can they do that?”
    “They think we’re inferior to them. That’s the top and bottom of it,” he said, caressing her cheek. “Same in the army. We don’t get to fight, don’t get to handle weapons; all we’re here for is to cook for them, clean up after them, that kind of thing.”
    “Is that what you do? Cook, I mean?”
    He went quiet for a moment. “That’s not what I wanted to do. I wanted to fight.”
    She thought of Eddie then, wondered what he would say in response. Eddie hadn’t wanted to fight. His father had been mustard- gassed in 1916 and returned from the war a shadow of the man he’d once been. He’d died when Eddie was ten years old, too weak to withstand the bronchitis that plagued him each winter. No wonder Eddie had dreaded being called up.
    “Have you lost anyone, Eva?” Bill’s question sliced through her thoughts like a knife. Had he guessed? Was she that easy to read? She was framing some vague response when the sound of giggling floated across the square from the gloomy recesses of the shop fronts. Eva’s breath caught in her throat. Dilys! Where was she? And what had she been doing all this time?
    She pulled away from Bill’s arms. “I’ve got to find my sister! I was supposed to be keeping an eye on her . . . ” She stumbled down the steps, fumbling in her bag for her torch, calling Dilys’s name.
    “Hey, wait a minute!” She could hear his footsteps behind her as she ran toward the shops, past the ghostly market stalls. “Let me help you!” A needle-thin beam of light fell on the metal framework of the stall in front of her. “Whoa!” he said as he caught up to her. “How do you know she’s not back inside, dancing?”
    “I looked for her when the lights went on and she wasn’t there,” Eva groaned. “She’s only fifteen and she was with one of those Dutch soldiers!” She bit her lip as the beam of her own torch, dimmed by the brown paper wrapped over its end, caught a flash of bare legs in one of the shop doorways.
    They walked the length of the row of shops—the groans, whispers, and giggles punctuated by shouts of abuse as her torch beam settled on one couple after another. Dilys was not there.
    “Come on,” Bill said, “let’s go back inside—she’ll be in there, you betcha.”
    It was hard to adjust to the brightness of the lights as they pushed open the inner doors. Bill hung back as Eva headed into the crowd.
    “Where have you been?” Eva jumped as she heard her friend’s voice. There was a mischievous grin on Cathy’s face as she glanced at the pale-khaki jacket around Eva’s shoulders.
    “Oh, don’t ask!” Eva cast a nervous smile. “I’ve been trying to find Dilys. And anyway,” she said, eyebrows arching, “what happened to you? You disappeared during the Blackout Stroll.”
    “I went to look for Dilys too: I needed an excuse to ditch that RAF chap. Hands everywhere—like Christopher Columbus discovering America!” Cathy rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I found her in that little alcove behind the cloakroom. She’s over there now.”
    Eva followed Cathy’s gaze and spotted Dilys waltzing toward the stage. Her partner was the same Dutch soldier as before.
    “Cathy, they weren’t . . . ”
    “Don’t worry! They were just necking. The minute Dilys clapped eyes on me, she turned bright red and shot back onto the dance