I’m just g-going,” Barbara stutters, turning and running downstairs.
Out on the street, she hesitates, then turns towards the high street. It’s a coolish September day and the sky is a pale grey, the breeze gentle.
As she walks, she tries to imagine the conversation between her mother and Tony. She imagines them eating scones together and wonders if Tony will dribble jam down his tie – he’s a horribly messy eater. She tries to guess what Minnie will say when she gets back. “I’m sorry, he’s a nice lad, but he’s just not the kind of boy I want you to see,” seems a possible formula. Or perhaps, “I’ve thought about it but you’re just a bit young to be courting right now. I think you need to wait a few years.” Her mum always says ‘courting’. But would Tony wait for her? Of course he wouldn’t. Especially not with Diane waiting in the wings. Minnie will surely have noticed his frayed collar and the undersized suit as well. Of that much, Barbara is certain. And will Tony still want to see her now he knows she lives in a slum above a laundry? Most probably not. Her heart is racing and she can’t think of any reasonable way to make an hour disappear. “Please?” she prays, silently. “My whole life depends on this.”
When, after forlornly wandering the streets for an hour, she gets back, she glances up at the windows as if they might reveal something about the atmosphere inside but all she can see is a reflection of the sky.
She lets herself in, walks through the laundry and pauses at the bottom of the stairs to listen. To her great surprise, she hears Minnie laughing. She can’t remember ever having heard her mother laugh. It’s a shock to discover that she is actually capable of doing so.
She listens a little longer, then after glancing at the clock to check that exactly an hour has passed, she climbs the stairs, takes off her coat and then hesitantly knocks on the door.
“Come in, love,” Minnie says, and after the laughter, even her voice sounds changed and unfamiliar.
Barbara enters the room and finds Minnie wiping a tear from her eye and Tony grinning broadly. “You’ve got yourself a proper little comedian here,” Minnie says. “He’s had me in stitches, he has.”
Barbara struggles not to frown as she looks at them both. This is such an unexpected result, it feels like some kind of a trick. “Well, come and have a scone then,” Minnie says. “Tony’s going to have to leave soon, more’s the pity.”
Tony winks at her and only then does Barbara let her features relax.
Out on the street, half an hour later, as Tony pulls on his crash helmet, Barbara glances up at Minnie watching them from the window and asks, quietly, “What on earth did you say to make her laugh like that?”
Tony shrugs. “I told her some jokes,” he says. “My dad’s mainly. She’s really nice, your mum is.”
“Jokes?! What jokes?”
“Dunno. The one about the cannibals cooking the clergymen. Stuff like that.”
“What, ‘Shall we boil him? No this one’s a friar?’” Barbara asks, perplexed.
“Yeah.”
“But she was in tears. ”
Tony shrugs again. “Maybe nobody bothered to tell her any jokes for a while,” he says.
“No,” Barbara concedes. “No, maybe nobody did.”
"So, when can I see you again?”
“I don’t know. I suppose Mum will talk to me now. Once you’ve gone.”
“I had better get going then.”
“I’ll write. As soon as I know something, I’ll write.”
“And I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
And then Tony jumps on the kick-starter of his motorbike, clunks into gear and heads off down the street.
When Barbara gets back inside, Minnie is already sewing.
“Can I have another scone?” she asks.
“As long as you leave some for Glenda.”
"So, did you like him?”
“Yes,” Minnie says. “Yes, he’s a nice enough lad.”
“Can I carry on seeing him, then?”
Minnie pauses and looks up at her. “I’m going to write to
Out on the street, she hesitates, then turns towards the high street. It’s a coolish September day and the sky is a pale grey, the breeze gentle.
As she walks, she tries to imagine the conversation between her mother and Tony. She imagines them eating scones together and wonders if Tony will dribble jam down his tie – he’s a horribly messy eater. She tries to guess what Minnie will say when she gets back. “I’m sorry, he’s a nice lad, but he’s just not the kind of boy I want you to see,” seems a possible formula. Or perhaps, “I’ve thought about it but you’re just a bit young to be courting right now. I think you need to wait a few years.” Her mum always says ‘courting’. But would Tony wait for her? Of course he wouldn’t. Especially not with Diane waiting in the wings. Minnie will surely have noticed his frayed collar and the undersized suit as well. Of that much, Barbara is certain. And will Tony still want to see her now he knows she lives in a slum above a laundry? Most probably not. Her heart is racing and she can’t think of any reasonable way to make an hour disappear. “Please?” she prays, silently. “My whole life depends on this.”
When, after forlornly wandering the streets for an hour, she gets back, she glances up at the windows as if they might reveal something about the atmosphere inside but all she can see is a reflection of the sky.
She lets herself in, walks through the laundry and pauses at the bottom of the stairs to listen. To her great surprise, she hears Minnie laughing. She can’t remember ever having heard her mother laugh. It’s a shock to discover that she is actually capable of doing so.
She listens a little longer, then after glancing at the clock to check that exactly an hour has passed, she climbs the stairs, takes off her coat and then hesitantly knocks on the door.
“Come in, love,” Minnie says, and after the laughter, even her voice sounds changed and unfamiliar.
Barbara enters the room and finds Minnie wiping a tear from her eye and Tony grinning broadly. “You’ve got yourself a proper little comedian here,” Minnie says. “He’s had me in stitches, he has.”
Barbara struggles not to frown as she looks at them both. This is such an unexpected result, it feels like some kind of a trick. “Well, come and have a scone then,” Minnie says. “Tony’s going to have to leave soon, more’s the pity.”
Tony winks at her and only then does Barbara let her features relax.
Out on the street, half an hour later, as Tony pulls on his crash helmet, Barbara glances up at Minnie watching them from the window and asks, quietly, “What on earth did you say to make her laugh like that?”
Tony shrugs. “I told her some jokes,” he says. “My dad’s mainly. She’s really nice, your mum is.”
“Jokes?! What jokes?”
“Dunno. The one about the cannibals cooking the clergymen. Stuff like that.”
“What, ‘Shall we boil him? No this one’s a friar?’” Barbara asks, perplexed.
“Yeah.”
“But she was in tears. ”
Tony shrugs again. “Maybe nobody bothered to tell her any jokes for a while,” he says.
“No,” Barbara concedes. “No, maybe nobody did.”
"So, when can I see you again?”
“I don’t know. I suppose Mum will talk to me now. Once you’ve gone.”
“I had better get going then.”
“I’ll write. As soon as I know something, I’ll write.”
“And I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
And then Tony jumps on the kick-starter of his motorbike, clunks into gear and heads off down the street.
When Barbara gets back inside, Minnie is already sewing.
“Can I have another scone?” she asks.
“As long as you leave some for Glenda.”
"So, did you like him?”
“Yes,” Minnie says. “Yes, he’s a nice enough lad.”
“Can I carry on seeing him, then?”
Minnie pauses and looks up at her. “I’m going to write to
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