It is Saturday night and the Pier Ballroom in Swansea is the place to be: For Lily, an evacuee unclaimed by her family at the end of the war; for Judy, taught independence by her war widow mother; for Katie, the product of a marriage between a drunken, violent father and a cowed, beaten mother; and for the spoiled, wilful Helen. It is an evening that fuels jealousies and sows the seeds for friendships, confidences, and romance . . .
If Jack really cared for her he would have left his skiffle group practice early and met her in the garden. He should have realised she'd wait for him from nine o'clock on. Did he love her or didn't he? Or was he just playing stupid games? The ex-Borstal boy putting one over on the respectable girl next door - only now she wasn't quite so respectable. Had he only asked her to be his girl so he could treat her like that horrid Larry Murton Davies? Like a ... a common tart, as her mother had said. She fingered her lips, remembering Jack's kisses - warm, tender - and the way they had made her feel. He had to love her after kissing her like that - didn't he? Had he turned up after she'd left? Or hadn't he any intention of coming at all? Surely he realised she couldn't hang around the garden all night waiting for him - not after Brian had seen her. Lying face down on the bed, she pulled at the fringes on her candlewick bedspread. He loved her -loved her not - loved her - loved her not ... She was still holding the fringes when she woke the next morning, fully dressed and lying on top of her bedclothes. Loved her - loved her not
Bloody Kiss
La Muerte Escarlata
Heptameron
Diccionario de Onomatopeyas del Cómic