I’ll do it,’ Phyllis protested.
‘Don’t be daft, it’s no trouble and if I was under the weather you’d do the same for me.’
‘Yeah, all right, thanks, but there’s Winnie’s stuff to put in soak too.’
‘No problem,’ Mabel said, frowning with concern. The fact that Phyllis had agreed to let her help was worrying and she wondered if taking care of Winnie, along with doing two cleaning jobs, had become a bit too much for her friend . . .
Mabel made the tea, determined to speak her mind as she handed a cup to Phyllis. ‘Now listen, it’s obvious that you’re worn out. Winnie isn’t your responsibility and you shouldn’t have to look after her.’
‘Her son emigrated to Australia and with her daughter living in Devon, she’s too far away. Winnie hasn’t got anyone else.’
‘I’ve offered to help out, but you know that Winnie doesn’t like me and she refused,’ Mabel said. ‘It ain’t fair on you and you should get in touch with her daughter. Tell her that her mother needs to go into a nursing home or something.’
‘Winnie wouldn’t stand for that,’ Phyllis said, shaking her head. ‘She’s lived in that house since she got
married nearly sixty years ago and nothing will make her leave it.’
‘If you didn’t put yourself out, her daughter would flaming well have to,’ Mabel snapped.
‘They don’t get on and she won’t do anything,’ Phyllis said, her voice weak with tiredness.
‘Right then, have a word with the doctor. See if he can get her some sort of home help, ’cos I’m telling you now, Phyllis, if you don’t, I will,’ Mabel said, concerned for her friend.
‘Yeah, yeah, all right, I’ll try to sort something out. Now for goodness sake change the subject,’ Phyllis appealed.
‘While you’re talking to the doc about Winnie, you should get him to take a look at you.’
‘Mabel, I’ve told you, I’m fine, and thanks for the tea. As for my washing, I feel up to doing it myself now. You can bugger off and let me get on with it.’
Mabel didn’t take offence. She and Phyllis had been friends for years and in reply she said, ‘Right, sod you then. I’m going.’
The two women smiled at each other, both knowing that another cup of tea would be shared later that day. Mabel left by the back door again and closed it behind her, unaware that as soon as Phyllis stood up, she had swayed for a moment before crashing, unconscious, onto the floor.
Carol was clock watching. Luckily her lunch break was always at twelve thirty, and Amy’s at one fifteen, each of them allotted forty-five minutes – which was generous of their manageress, Lena Winters, as some shop assistants only got half an hour.
Miss Winters was in her forties, and though she had crooked teeth, she was quite an attractive woman. Carol often wondered why she had never married, but she
had told them little about herself, only that she lived alone above a shop on Northcote Road. As their manageress, Miss Winters kept herself a little aloof and as questions about her private life weren’t welcomed, they knew little about her.
The shop wasn’t busy; it rarely was on a Monday, and she and Amy had been given the task of checking stocks. Carol was up a ladder in the back room, calling out any sizes that had sold out, but paused to say, ‘Well, what did you think of him?’
‘Carol, that’s the umpteenth time you’ve asked me. As I’ve said before, I think he looks a bit old for you.’
‘I reckon he’s in his late twenties and I don’t see anything wrong with that, after all, I’ll be eighteen next month. Oh, I can’t wait for my lunch break.’
‘You’ve only got ten minutes to go.’
‘Does my hair still look all right?’ Carol asked worriedly.
‘Its fine, now what did you say about size five?’
‘We’re out of the D width.’
‘Amy, we have customers. Can you come out front, please,’ Miss Winters called.
As her friend scuttled off, Carol descended the ladder. She would go to the toilet, touch up her make-up and then it would be time to go. Her tummy was fluttering with nerves as she applied a dab of powder and fresh lipstick. She had only been out with boys of her own age and this time she was feeling out of her depth.
With one last look in the mirror Carol went out to the shop and spoke to Miss Winters. ‘Will it be all right if I go to lunch now?’
‘Yes, off you go,’ the woman agreed.
Amy was on one knee, helping an old lady to try on some shoes, but she looked up and grinned as Carol passed. With a tight smile on her face, Carol left the shop and soon she was hurrying to the Nelson Café which
was a short distance up St John’s Hill. She hoped he was already there as she opened the door and glanced quickly around, relieved to see him sitting alone at a table. He waved a hand at her and as Carol approached, he pulled out a chair.
‘Take a pew,’ he said, smiling.
‘Thanks,’ Carol replied.
‘I wasn’t sure you’d come. Do you usually have your lunch in here?’ he asked.
‘No, I don’t, but it looks all right,’ she said, her eyes flicking round the café.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Carol. What’s yours?’
‘Roy,’ he replied and handed Carol the menu as the waitress approached. ‘What are you having to eat?’
Carol took a quick look to find the cheapest thing and ordered an egg and chips, while Roy asked for shepherd’s pie. She usually took a sandwich for lunch to save money, but she’d been up late that morning and a cooked meal would make a nice change.
‘Would you like something to drink?’ the waitress asked.
‘A Pepsi, please,’ Carol said, while Roy ordered a cup of coffee.
‘Do you live around here?’ he asked as the waitress walked away.
‘Yes, at the bottom of Lark Rise, off Lavender Hill. Do you know it?’
‘No, I can’t say I do.’
‘Where do you live then?’ Carol asked, thinking that Roy really was handsome as she took in his hazel eyes.
He looked away for a moment, but then said, ‘In Tooting.’
Carol didn’t know much about that area and found herself floundering for something to say, only coming up with, ‘Do you live with your parents?’
His eyes widened. ‘You must be joking. I flew the nest years ago.’
Carol tensed, and asked, ‘Are you married?’
‘Nah, I’m still foot loose and fancy free. I’ve got my own place though, only a small flat, but it suits me fine.’
‘Really,’ Carol said, impressed. All her previous boyfriends, like her, still lived with their parents. She still didn’t know how old Roy was and felt he might even be in his early thirties, yet she really fancied him. He had a round face, with dark blonde, crew-cut hair. His neck was short over wide shoulders, and she could just imagine his muscular torso; Carol hated long, thin men and saw them as puny. She was snapped out of her reverie when Roy spoke.
‘Now that you’ve had a good look, I hope you like what you see,’ he said, smiling.
Aware then that she had been staring at him, Carol flushed, but she still managed to quip, ‘I was looking through you, not at you.’
‘If