More background tat.

[annwfyn.livejournal.com]

"Oi! Rosemary!"

Bobby Crane had been waiting at the end of the road for half an hour by the time Rosemary Harris walked past. He'd spent twenty minutes throwing a tennis ball at the wall of Number Ten, which had been empty since it took a direct strike in 1941, and then had spent the last ten minutes pacing. But now she was there, with her glossy dark curls bobbing as she walked. She threw him a sideways glance but didn't stop walking.

"Morning Bobby," she said, with the slightly prim tones that she'd affected ever since she came back from wherever she'd been evacuated too. Bobby's Ma reckoned that Rosemary Harris had picked up ideas above her station whilst she'd been away. Bobby had just noticed that the skinned knees and missing teeth had been replaced with hips and breasts that were beginning to curve enticingly. At the age of fifteen this was beginning to matter to him.

"I've got something for you," he said, falling into step with her.

Rosemary raised an eyebrow.

"You have, have you?" she said, with the expression of one who at thirteen had already begun to notice the effect she was having on men.

Bobby felt mildly annoyed.

"Yes," he said. "I have."

He pulled a small bar of chocolate from his pocket and was rewarded by seeing Rosemary's face light up.

"Chocolate? Really? Where did you get that from? You're not a Yank."

Bobby grinned, triumphant.

"No," he said. "But I know a man who is,"

The man in question had been visiting Bobby's Ma for the last two months, but Bobby didn't mention that. Not with his Dad still alive and well, just stuck somewhere over the other side of the world.

"Anyway," he said. "He got me some. Do you want it?"

Rosemary nodded, eyes wide.

"Oh yes," she said, and let him break out a square into her palm. She stopped to nibble on it, and even let Bobby pull her to the side of the road, down into the little alley that lead to the old tannery so he could break a second square off to hand to her.

"How about a kiss?" he asked, as she chewed on her second piece.

Rosemary threw him a mildly disdainful expression.

"No," she said. "What kind of girl do you think I am? Anyway, you're not a soldier."

"I'm fifteen!" he said, with some level of irritation.

Rosemary tossed her curls dismissively.

"Well, maybe when you're older."

"Older?" Bobby said. "You're only thirteen!"

"I'm nearly fourteen. And anyway, I can wait. I'm going to wait for a proper soldier. With medals and everything."

Rosemary took another small bite of the chocolate, savouring the taste. It was amazing. Bobby Crane, meanwhile, was gazing at her hungrily.

"Just one kiss," he said, almost pleadingly.

Rosemary raised an eyebrow.

"Don't be stupid," she said.

Bobby felt a brief rush of anger run through him. Who did she think she was anyway? Just because she was pretty she thought she could treat him like dirt. He grabbed her by the shoulders.

Bobby Crane was a skinny fifteen year old, but Rosemary Harris was a delicately built thirteen year old girl, and she couldn't push him off. His mouth closed on hers, catching at her lip and filling her nostrils with the scent of the kippers he had had for breakfast.

"Get off," she said, and tried to push him away, but he wouldn't let go. A surge of panic was rising up in her, and she began to batter at him with hands that were swiftly pinned.

"You should have let me kiss you," he snapped, and then "ow" as she kicked him in the ankle. He didn't let go.

"Hey!"

The voice from up the alley startled both of them. A young man, a little older than Bobby, with a thin face beneath a black hat was walking towards them.

"I think," he said, in a heavily accented voice "that the lady was saying 'no'"

Bobby glared, but let Rosemary break free.

"And what's it to you, Fritz?" he said, sharp and snarling.

Rosemary took the opportunity to punch him in the arm.

"Don't even think about starting anything, Bobby Cooper," she snapped, and pressed the small packet of chocolate back in his hand. "Now, take your chocolate and go home."

Bobby glared at her.

"Snobby bitch," he muttered, but he left, leaving Rosemary alone in the alley with the stranger. She held out her hand, awkwardly.

"Hello," she said. "I'm Rosemary."

He nodded and took her hand gently. His hand was warm and dry.

"I'm Lev," he said.

Rosemary frowned at him.

"You're not German, are you?" she said.

He smiled and shook his head.

"No," he said. "I'm Polish. From Krakow. Are...are you all right? That boy...he didn't...?"

"I'm fine," Rosemary said quickly. She paused, unsure of what to say next. Neither of them said anything until Rosemary said, slightly uncertainly "I should probably go."

Lev hesitated for a moment, looking at the girl in front of him. Sensibly, he knew that he really should walk away. His parents had drummed it into him a dozen times that it was best to keep your head down when you were a refugee. Not attract too much attention. Too many people in London couldn't tell a Yiddish accent from a German accent already and right now it wasn't a good time to be taken for German. Plus this girl was clearly gentile, and he knew how his parents felt about that. Best to keep to yourself.

Yet she was pretty. Really, really pretty. Young, he thought, although he wasn't sure how young. A few years younger than him, perhaps, which would make her fifteen or sixteen.

"Would you like me to walk you home?" he found himself saying, and realized that he was feeling oddly warm inside as she smiled brightly up at him.

Rosemary, meanwhile, was entranced. OK, so this boy wasn't a soldier. In fact, he was rather thin, with huge dark eyes that took up most of his face beneath a black brimmed hat, but he had just saved her from the hideous fate of being forcibly kissed by Bobby Cooper.

"I would be very grateful if you could walk me home," she said as graciously as she could. She would, she thought, conspire to find out where he lived on the way home and then find an errand that would take her that way. And next time she would remember to add lipstick.