doubted this. Her heart felt as broken now – well, almost – as it had done three months ago when she’d seen Philip in Marks &Spencer linking arms with a very pregnant young woman. They were looking at baby clothes.
‘Huh!’ Carrie said scathingly. ‘I just hope that’s not the reason you’re going to America, as a way of getting over the louse.’
Victoria thought that might well be the case, but wasn’t prepared to admit it. And, anyroad, just because Philip had turned out to be such a louse, it didn’t mean all men were. Gareth Moran, for instance, she’d trust with her life. They’d got on like a house on fire and she could have talked to him all day. Trouble was, he was already married and had made no secret of the fact.
‘A woman in one of the new houses is holding a barby on Saturday,’ she told Carrie. ‘I can bring a friend – would you like to come?’
Carrie’s face went bright red. ‘Sorry, Vic, I can’t.’
‘Why not? Since you got rid of John, you’ve never had anywhere to go on Saturday nights.’
‘I’ve met this chap,’ Carrie muttered, her face turning redder. ‘He’s taking me out to dinner.’
Victoria shrieked with laughter. ‘You hypocrite, Carrie Clarkson. All that guff about hating men. You didn’t mean a word of it.’
‘Yes, I did. This one’s bound to turn out to be a louse just like the rest.’
Earlier, Kathleen had gone next door to introduce herself to the people in Clematis Cottage. ‘They’ll think we’re terribly unsociable,’ she said to Steve before she went. ‘Ever since we moved in, we’ve behaved as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. It’s about time we remembered there are other people on the planet or it’ll come as a shock when we start work.’
She was starting at the hospital on 1 August and,tomorrow, Steve was going for a job interview, only as a security guard – they wouldn’t see much of each other when he was on nights – but it would do until he found something more convenient. She knew how anxious he was to contribute towards their living expenses.
‘Shall I introduce myself as Kathleen Quinn or Kathleen Cartwright?’ she asked. ‘Shall I say you’re my husband or my partner?’
‘Husband,’ he said quickly, as she’d guessed he would. He was terribly old-fashioned. He probably still hadn’t come to terms with the fact that people lived together quite openly these days.
‘I love you,’ she said, kissing his nose. ‘Don’t touch me,’ she yelped and dodged out of his way when he made a grab for her. If they made love again, she’d never get out of the house.
Kathleen still had her hand on the knocker of Clematis Cottage when the door opened, so suddenly, that she was taken by surprise. A tall, extremely fit-looking, white-haired man smiled at her.
‘I’m just fixing a bell,’ he explained. ‘I was right behind the door. It plays
The Minute Waltz
by Chopin. Me wife picked it out.’
‘It’s one of my favourites,’ Kathleen said.
‘Who’s there?’ a sweet voice called. ‘Whoever it is, come in. Ernie’s sulking. He wanted
The Red Flag
, but I talked him out of it.’
‘You bullied me out of it, Anna,’ Ernie said. ‘And I’m not sulking. I’m doing as I’m told like I always do. Go on in, luv. Anna’s in the parlour.’
The geography was exactly the same as their own bungalow: the living room and main bedroom at the front, kitchen and second bedroom to the rear with asmall bathroom and toilet squeezed between. She went into the room that Steve – and the white-haired man – referred to as ‘the parlour’. It was hard to believe that people had only recently moved in. The furniture looked as if it had been there for years: a china cabinet full of dishes and ornaments, a sideboard, statues on the mantelpiece, Impressionist prints on the walls. Carpet with an intense whirly design had been laid on the wood-laminated floor. A petite, silver-haired woman was sitting in a
‘Huh!’ Carrie said scathingly. ‘I just hope that’s not the reason you’re going to America, as a way of getting over the louse.’
Victoria thought that might well be the case, but wasn’t prepared to admit it. And, anyroad, just because Philip had turned out to be such a louse, it didn’t mean all men were. Gareth Moran, for instance, she’d trust with her life. They’d got on like a house on fire and she could have talked to him all day. Trouble was, he was already married and had made no secret of the fact.
‘A woman in one of the new houses is holding a barby on Saturday,’ she told Carrie. ‘I can bring a friend – would you like to come?’
Carrie’s face went bright red. ‘Sorry, Vic, I can’t.’
‘Why not? Since you got rid of John, you’ve never had anywhere to go on Saturday nights.’
‘I’ve met this chap,’ Carrie muttered, her face turning redder. ‘He’s taking me out to dinner.’
Victoria shrieked with laughter. ‘You hypocrite, Carrie Clarkson. All that guff about hating men. You didn’t mean a word of it.’
‘Yes, I did. This one’s bound to turn out to be a louse just like the rest.’
Earlier, Kathleen had gone next door to introduce herself to the people in Clematis Cottage. ‘They’ll think we’re terribly unsociable,’ she said to Steve before she went. ‘Ever since we moved in, we’ve behaved as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. It’s about time we remembered there are other people on the planet or it’ll come as a shock when we start work.’
She was starting at the hospital on 1 August and,tomorrow, Steve was going for a job interview, only as a security guard – they wouldn’t see much of each other when he was on nights – but it would do until he found something more convenient. She knew how anxious he was to contribute towards their living expenses.
‘Shall I introduce myself as Kathleen Quinn or Kathleen Cartwright?’ she asked. ‘Shall I say you’re my husband or my partner?’
‘Husband,’ he said quickly, as she’d guessed he would. He was terribly old-fashioned. He probably still hadn’t come to terms with the fact that people lived together quite openly these days.
‘I love you,’ she said, kissing his nose. ‘Don’t touch me,’ she yelped and dodged out of his way when he made a grab for her. If they made love again, she’d never get out of the house.
Kathleen still had her hand on the knocker of Clematis Cottage when the door opened, so suddenly, that she was taken by surprise. A tall, extremely fit-looking, white-haired man smiled at her.
‘I’m just fixing a bell,’ he explained. ‘I was right behind the door. It plays
The Minute Waltz
by Chopin. Me wife picked it out.’
‘It’s one of my favourites,’ Kathleen said.
‘Who’s there?’ a sweet voice called. ‘Whoever it is, come in. Ernie’s sulking. He wanted
The Red Flag
, but I talked him out of it.’
‘You bullied me out of it, Anna,’ Ernie said. ‘And I’m not sulking. I’m doing as I’m told like I always do. Go on in, luv. Anna’s in the parlour.’
The geography was exactly the same as their own bungalow: the living room and main bedroom at the front, kitchen and second bedroom to the rear with asmall bathroom and toilet squeezed between. She went into the room that Steve – and the white-haired man – referred to as ‘the parlour’. It was hard to believe that people had only recently moved in. The furniture looked as if it had been there for years: a china cabinet full of dishes and ornaments, a sideboard, statues on the mantelpiece, Impressionist prints on the walls. Carpet with an intense whirly design had been laid on the wood-laminated floor. A petite, silver-haired woman was sitting in a
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