On Mother Brown's Doorstep by Mary Jane Staples

back.’ She took her apron off.
    ‘Annie, you don’t ’alf look nice in yer best frock,’ said Cassie, holding the now soggy packet to her chest.
    ‘It’s Sunday,’ said Annie.
    ‘It’s your bestest Sunday one,’ said Cassie. Annie’s bestest was a turquoise crepe de chine, paid for by her dad on the occasion of her seventeenth birthday. To her sisters it looked as expensively posh as real silk.
    ‘Annie, you do look swell,’ said Nellie.
    ‘Is your soldier goin’ to church with you?’ said Cassie.
    ‘Who?’ said Annie.
    ‘The soldier that’s guardin’ Windsor Castle,’ said Cassie.
    ‘Cassie, if you don’t stop makin’ things up,’ said Annie, ‘the cat’ll get your tongue and you’ll ’ave to do without it.’
    ‘Oh, lor’, will I?’ said Cassie, not too happy about the prospect. But her irrepressible imagination chased the thought away, and she asked if the soldiers guarding Windsor Castle were given free ice cream in the summer.
    ‘No, course not,’ said Nellie, ‘they’ve all got to wait till they get to ’eaven, the same as ev’rybody else. And if you cuddle them potato peelings much longer, they’ll start comin’ out of your ears.’
    ‘I’ll just go and put my mac on,’ said Annie, ‘then I’m off to church.’
    ‘But it’s still early,’ said Nellie.
    ‘Oh, I don’t mind bein’ early,’ said Annie.
    Susie was having an absorbing morning in partnership with her dad. They were working out table arrangements for the sit-down wedding breakfast at St John’s Institute. Williamson’s the caterers were looking after everything relating to food and drink. Mr Brown and Susie were taking care of protocol. Mr Brown had made a pencil sketch, and Susie had a list of everyone who would be there. They were sitting at the parlour table, keeping out of Mrs Brown’s way in the kitchen. Susie said both families and their closest relatives had better be at the top line of tables. She counted and said that would amount to thirty grown-ups and children.
    ‘Seems to me the Browns and Adams are a bit prolific,’ said Mr Brown.
    The front door knocker sounded.
    ‘That can’t be Sammy yet,’ said Susie. Sammy was due to pick her up at noon and drive her to his mother’s home for Sunday dinner there. The time now was twenty to eleven. Answering the door, she found herself looking at a dark-haired young lady with wide grey eyes framed by sooty lashes, and wearing a light mackintosh and a round rain hat. The day was showery.
    ‘Hello,’ said Susie.
    ‘Oh, hello,’ said Annie. Thinking that wasn’t quite enough, she added, ‘How’d you do?’
    ‘I can’t complain, and I’m not,’ smiled Susie. Lord, thought Annie, who’s she? She’s stunning. ‘Are you lookin’ for someone?’ asked Susie.
    ‘Oh, I’m just callin’,’ said Annie, who had asked at the first house where the Brown family lived.
    ‘So I see,’ said Susie, smiling again. Neighbours were passing by, going early to church. She took a more thoughtful look at the girl. Age? Yes, seventeen, she’d bet on it. Hurt knee? No, that wasn’t obvious. All the same, she might be the girl. ‘I suppose you’re not askin’ to see my brother Will, are you?’
    Help, thought Annie, is this his sister? I think I’ve seen her about. She’s really posh.
    Susie looked a Sunday dream in a tailored spring costume made by Lilian Hyams, designer for Adams Fashions.
    ‘Is your brother a soldier?’ asked Annie.
    ‘That’s him,’ said Susie. What had Will been up to, saying he hadn’t noticed if the girl was pretty or not? She was all of that. And if anyone deserved her, Will did. He needs a helping hand. ‘I think you’re Annie Ford. Come in, we’ve heard all about you. Will’s wandering around the Sunday market with Sally and Freddy, my sister and younger brother. Come on in, Annie.’
    ‘Oh, I only called to thank him,’ said Annie.
    ‘Come in. Will won’t be long.’ Susie took the girl into the parlour.