Dare Truth Or Promise by Paula Boock

sculpted her face so that her cheekbones and nose, the moulding of her lips and her jaw stood out, and Willa wished she had some poetry, some of Louie’s own words to describe her loveliness. She’d thrown her leg out from under the cover and it lay next to Willa’s, olive against her own pale calf. She thought of Cathy and their fearful touching, the denial afterwards and she shook her head in wonder. Willa smiled gratefully at Louie’s sleeping face. This then, was what it was like to be in love, and to have it returned.

    Louie stirred and woke slowly, then suddenly she jumped up and grabbed her watch.
    “Take it easy, it’s only seven,” said Willa.
    Louie sighed and flopped back down.
    “Come with me,” said Willa, helping her back up.
    When Susi came in at eight o’clock, ostensibly to offer tea or coffee, she found both girls sound asleep in their own beds. Something similar to but not quite the same as disappointment passed across her face.
 


10
Willa
    It was Saturday night and all hands on deck at the bar. Two of their staff were away including Midge who did meals. So Willa was doing a turn behind the Golden Grill with Jolene who dashed back and forth to help Sid when the bar traffic was heavy. Usually Willa avoided the pub—years of drunks and fights, vomiting and bad singing had put her off for life, but there were occasional times, and this was one of them, when the crowd were good-spirited, and the atmosphere full of bonhomie, when Willa laughed with them and liked them all.

    “That should give you some legs, Bruce,” she commented to a student as she handed him a T-bone steak and chips.
    “What’s wrong with m’legs?” he said, acting offended, and another guy gave him a playful shove.
    “Too much sitting on your butt in that rust-bucket of yours rooting the clutch.” It was Darryl, the mechanic from across the road.
    “Don’t you call my car a rust-bucket or I’ll take my money elsewhere.”
    “Money? No money in clutch repairs, mate, they’re fiddly as buggery.”
    “Oh, pull the other one,” laughed Willa, “you garage people have got more money than you know what to do with. Our best customers, mechanics.” Willa left them to the ensuing debate and threw more chips in the deep fryer.

    “You’re in fine form tonight,” commented Jolene. “Had a good day?”
    “Yeah, not bad at all.”
    “You’re happy at the new school, love?” Jolene put her arm around her daughter’s waist.
    Willa smiled back. “Yeah, Mum, I like it.” They went back to their work for a bit, then Willa said, “I’m going to be in the school production—Shakespeare.”
    “You’re joking.” Jolene put down her knife and looked delighted.
    “Well, not acting. I’m doing the lights. Thought it might be a laugh.”
    “It’s a start. We’ll get you on the boards yet.” Willa knew it was a disappointment to Jolene that neither of her daughters showed any inclination to sing or perform like their parents.
    Later, she said, out of the blue, “Your friend Louie, is she in the production too?”
    Willa stiffened. “Yeah, she is. She’s one of the leads.”
Is it that obvious?

    Jolene nodded. “She’s a nice kid, Louie.”
    “Yeah, she is.”
Nice,
she thought.
Yeah, like the Sahara’s cosy at this time of year. She’s nice to the power of a hundred! She’s nice with turbo-charge and electric fuel injection! Nice, hell.
    Willa smiled as she thought about Louie today, rushing into Willa’s home room at lunchtime and pulling her aside.
    “Look, look,” she’d said, shoving a book under Willa’s nose. “Read this.”
    “What?” Willa had frowned at the tiny print. It was a very old, musty-smelling book.
    “Here!” Louie pointed at the print and read out loud. “
It loved to happen.
” She turned over the book, to show Willa the spine. “Marcus Aurelius. He was a Roman Emperor and philosopher.
It loved to happen,
” she repeated. “Isn’t that it? What you were saying to