the last recipe for something called moussaka, and added it to the pile on my desk.
‘Nancy?’ My editor, Rosemary, had a sixth sense when it came to knowing when I was about to relax.
She stood in the door of her office looking chic in her camel-coloured twinset and tweed skirt. Her blonde hair was twisted up at the back and high on her crown. I had no idea how old she was. Late forties? Perhaps fifty? She was very glamorous and I hoped I would be like her one day.
‘Can you pick up some prints from Frank?’ she asked.
‘Course,’ I said. Frank was the photographer we used most often. His studio was just down Carnaby Street so I never minded going for a walk down there. It felt like the place where everything was happening, and I loved just watching what was going on. ‘Can I just make a quick phone call?’
Rosemary nodded.
‘Take him an issue,’ she said, gesturing towards the teetering pile of magazines next to my desk, and disappeared back into her office.
I checked my watch, then I picked up the phone on my desk and dialled Dennis’s number. He answered almost straight away.
‘Landsdowne Grammar School.’
‘Den, it’s me,’ I said. ‘Can you talk?’
‘I can spare five minutes,’ my brother said. ‘If the headmaster comes back, I’ll pretend you’re trying to sell me exercise books.’
I giggled.
‘So come on then. How was the big engagement do?’
I groaned.
‘It was a lovely party,’ I said mechanically.
‘Really?’
‘Really,’ I said more firmly.
It had been a nice party, if you liked that sort of thing. Which I definitely didn’t. I wasn’t even sure I liked Billy very much and I still wasn’t completely sure how I’d ended up engaged to him, other than I hadn’t really liked to say no when he asked me and I’d had a vague idea that getting married could have been an escape of sorts. Except it seemed to have ended up trapping me.
‘Did Dad behave?’ Dennis asked.
‘He was on good form,’ I said. Dad was always gregarious and generous in company. ‘He charmed Billy’s nan, he bought everyone a drink… you know what he’s like.’
Dennis snorted.
‘Do you need any money?’ he said.
‘No, I’m okay,’ I said. He always looked out for me, my big brother. ‘I’m saving up to get my own place.’
‘In London?’
‘Of course in London.’
‘Come to Leeds,’ he said
‘I can’t, Den,’ I said for the millionth time. ‘My job’s here.’
He wasn’t offended.
‘The offer’s there,’ he said. ‘I have to go, I’m teaching this afternoon and the head’s going to observe, check I’m doing it right.’
‘Good luck,’ I said. ‘You’ll be great.’
‘You too,’ he said. ‘Stay out of Dad’s way, okay?’
‘I will,’ I promised.
I said goodbye and I dropped the receiver back onto the cradle. I picked up my coat and bag, and grabbed a copy of the magazine to give to Frank, thinking about the stupid mess I’d got myself tangled up in and envying Dennis for his simple life in Leeds, far, far away from Dad...
‘Oooph!’
I walked out of the building and straight into a girl who was coming the other way. She shrieked in horror and dived onto the pavement.
‘Sorry,’ I said, starting to walk round her.
‘Sorry?’ she said. ‘Sorry? Look what you’ve done.’
She stood up and thrust some dripping wet papers at me. I backed away.
‘This is the best story I’ve ever written and you made me drop it in a puddle,’ she wailed. ‘It’s ruined, look.’
She unfolded the wet pages and held them up to my face. Some of the ink had run and the words were difficult to read. I felt a glimmer of sympathy for her. Losing work was never nice.
The girl looked at me properly for the first time, and I looked back at her. She was a similar height and age to me, but her dark hair was very short and she was wearing a dress without a coat over the top, despite the rain. Her thick black mascara was running down her cheeks.
‘Are you a writer?’ she said. ‘Do you work for Home & Hearth?’
I smiled in what I hoped was a writerly fashion.
‘I do,’ I said.
She gripped my arm so tightly it made me gasp.
‘You have to help me,’ she said. ‘You have to help me get a job.’
I stared at her hand, which was digging into my arm through my mac. Her fingernails were bitten down, and there was a smear of mascara and eyeliner across the back of her hand. I tried not to recoil from the dirt.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I don’t think I can help you.’
The girl let go, much to my relief.
‘Really?’ she said. She ran her fingers through her short hair and made it stick up at the front. ‘I’m just so desperate for a job, you see. I wrote this article and I think it’s really good – at least I thought it was really good. No one will be able to read it now.’
I shrugged.
‘Don’t you have a copy?’
‘No,’ the girl wailed.
I subtly glanced at my watch. Rosemary would be expecting those proofs and I really wanted time to have a chat with Frank’s assistant, George. I needed to get rid of this girl.
‘Look,’ I said. ‘I’m the lowest of the low at Home & Hearth. I don’t get to decide who works there. But if you write another feature and send it to me, I’ll make sure Rosemary, the editor, sees it.’
The girl grabbed my arm again, this time in excitement.
‘Would you?’ she said. ‘Would you really do that?’
‘Sure,’ I said. I noticed for the first time how thin she was, and how she was shivering violently because she wasn’t wearing a coat. Again I felt a flash of sympathy for this funny-looking urchin girl.
‘Have you got any money?’ I asked.
The girl raised her chin and looked at me through defiant eyes.
‘Why do you ask?’
I was too embarrassed to say I felt sorry for her.
‘Thought you might have rushed out in a hurry, and forgotten your purse,’ I lied, nodding towards her. ‘No coat.’
‘Oh,’ she said. She let go of my arm – thank goodness – and smoothed down her damp dress. ‘Yes, I didn’t realise it was raining.’
I opened my black patent bag – my pride and joy – and dug about for my purse. I found a ten-shilling note and thrust it at her.
‘I’m really sorry about your article,’ I said. ‘But I’ve got to go and run an errand for my editor. There’s a cafe there…’ I pointed across the road to a narrow shopfront, nestled in between two offices. ‘…go and get yourself a coffee