[Requiem/Lizzy James] Harvest

[sea-of-flame.livejournal.com]

There's no half days at harvest time. We work til the sun drops behind the trees in the western corner, sending shadows streaking across the field, old furrows hidden under new stubble ready to trip tired feet as we head home.  Tomorrow will be another day, we'll move on to the oats on the hill. My back aches, but it's good.

Better than bleeding factory work anyways - mum writes they've painted all the windows out, so they're working in electric light even in the day, and everyone's snippy. Down here though - it's good to walk down lanes thick with the scent of...I don't know what it is. Pink and white trumpets running ragged through the hedges, social climbers reaching for a last touch of grace. Good to sit on the back step with the other girls, kicking off clay-heavy boots. Good to know that today's harvest is tomorrow's bread; that our aching backs and sunburnt necks will keep Britain fed.

No time tonight to chat though. Gerry's got an evening pass for the dance. I half-fill a bucket at the old pump, and haul it upstairs, trying not to splash as I fill the washbasin. Pull off work clothes, fold ready for tomorrow. Scrub the dirt out from under my nails, and splash my face clean. Untie headscarf, unpin hair. Brush out tangles.

Pull on dress. No stockings to be had, but no change there. Buckle shoes. Pin hair back up, quickly now; glance in mirror, get that lipstick straight.

Deep twilight outside now. I borrow the torch for later, making sure the regulation tissue paper isn't torn - the ARP warden's a stickler, and he's bound to wait outside the hall when everyone's leaving. The road's familiar to my feet after all these months, no need to waste the torch batteries. That's government thinking for you - approve #8's for anyone to use, but have a shortage of batteries!

*

Who's the loving daddy with the beautiful eyes

As I round the corner, I hear the music - the dance has already started and I'm late despite hurrying.

What a pair of lips, I'd like to try 'em for size

Down a side road, there's muffled voices. I keep walking towards the hall with a sympathetic grin - no need to disturb anyone's fun, me & Gerry better just remember to steer clear of that road later...

I'll just tell him, baby, won't you swing it with me

...that is, until a man's stifled gasp catches my ear in the heartbeat between notes. My foot freezes mid-step, my own breath catching. Gerry?

Hope he tells me maybe, what a wing it will be

I'd recognise that anywhere, any other wife would know her husband the same. My fists bunch and the strained moment springs back full speed as I run towards him and the other...man??

So, I said politely, darlin', may I intrude

A dozen easy curses die unspoken on my lips as I see the two silhouetted, and realise with relief he's not with another girl.

He said, don't keep me waitin' 
When I'm in the mood

Then Gerry's indrawn breath, and the other man's lips on his neck, sink in - and a host of far more taboo invective readies itself.

First I held him lightly and we started to dance

I grab the other bloke's collar, pulling him away, bunched fist flying straight for his nose. Eyes flick to meet mine, an eyebrow raised in surprise as the punch connects.

Then I held him tightly what a dreamy romance

There's a bile-inducing crunch of bone breaking. His nose should be gushing blood. It's not. My hand hurts. Lots. Without streetlights, everything's drained of colour, feels distorted, unreal.

And I said, hey, baby, it's a quarter to three

His lips are weirdly dark, and nobody who's been punched should have an intrigued smile spreading like that. My hindbrain screams a wailing note of warning, but I just want to wipe that look off his face.

There's a mess of moonlight, won't-cha share it with me

I push Gerry out of the way, and he staggers towards the hedge, one hand gripped to his neck. There's a satisfying fleshy noise as my knee impacts into the nancy's groin.

Well, he answered, baby, don't-cha know that it's rude
To keep my two lips waitin' 
When they're in the mood

And once again, that damned unnatural smile, from a mouth smeared darkly. Lips that curl back to reveal sharp canines, one hand effortlessly grabbing and crushing down on my broken fingers. Finally, as the music swells, the full danger sinks in, and my voice comes out in a whispered squeak -

"Oh, buggering BOLLOCKS!"

In the mood, that's what he told me
In the mood, and when he told me
In the mood, my heart was skippin'
It didn't take me long to say I'm in the mood now

In the mood for all his kissin'
In the mood his crazy lovin'
In the mood what I was missin'
It didn't take me long to say
I'm in the mood now

So, I said politely, darlin' may I intrude
He said, Don't keep me waitin' 
When I'm in the mood...