the three of them. Her stomach was in a knot and she knew it wouldn’t be long before plates were flying against the wall again. How she hated her father.
*
Florrie had looked forward to meeting Janie on New Year's Eve, but since Frank’s brief kiss on Christmas Day her feelings were a mixture of curiosity and resentment, even jealousy, but you weren’t supposed to feel jealous of another man’s wife, not when you had a husband of your own. The kiss had meant nothing to Frank so why should she attach so much importance to it? After all, it wasn’t as if he’d kissed her on the lips… it wasn’t as if she’d lain in his arms all night… Christ, where were her thoughts leading her. She wondered what kind of a girl Janie would be. She hoped she wouldn’t be prettier or better dressed than herself, it was bad enough that she was a few years younger. Coming from Lancaster she wouldn’t talk in a broad Lancashire dialect like Joe and her. Frank, with his posh, gentle way of talking... she could listen to him all day. There she went again, daydreaming, wondering what it would be like to be Janie and married to him.
She forced Frank out of her thoughts and Joe back into them and got on with darning his socks. According to him she was the world’s worst darner and he often demonstrated the truth of this by bad-temperedly ripping apart her efforts. Today, he’d just won her over and would have to keep his mouth shut and go easy when forcing his toes into the fragile, higgledy-piggledy cobwebs.
To Florrie’s relief Janie was no beauty. Smart? Yes, in high heels and navy pinstripe two-piece with her dark curls piled stylishly on top of her snooty little head. She ought to have looked delicate or demure with her tiny, almost boyish, shape but instead had a hardness about her that would be noticeable only to another woman. Her upper lip had a strange curl that was supposed to pass for a smile, but lingered then faded without ever reaching her eyes. This was no downtrodden wife like her, whose husband threw pots and pans. And as expected, she spoke with a posh accent using an unfamiliar vocabulary... but then again, her Joe knew plenty of choice words that Janie had never heard of.
The evening passed pleasantly enough with Janie faintly amused by this odd household, by Joe’s brashness and his gauche efforts to flirt with her in front of his dull little mouse of a wife.
Just before midnight he stood on the front doorstep chatting to other ‘first-footers’ waiting for the clock in Corporation Park to chime in the New Year. As the clock fell silent he was welcomed inside where Frank was waiting to propose a toast.
‘To 1941, let’s drink to the end of this bloody war and hope and pray that before long we’ll all have peaceful lives again.
They clinked whisky glasses then placed them on the table and welcomed the New Year with kisses or handshakes. Joe made a meal of Janie for what seemed like hours, greedily reaching for a second helping of her tight, red lips.
Frank and Florrie made do with a quick peck at first, but seeing that Joe and Janie were too busy with each other to notice them, slid back into each other's arms and kissed more passionately. They broke apart to find Joe pinning Janie against the wall while she struggled to break free.
‘For Christ’s sake, let her be, act your age and stop showing yourself up,’ Florrie muttered under her breath. Compared to Frank he was uncouth and insensitive.
Later she undressed and climbed into bed, surprisingly irritated at the thought of Frank and Janie crushed up together under the stairs. The walls on either side of the tiny bed would keep them from falling onto the floor so more than likely they’d have to cling to each other all night.
She wished she’d never met Janie, her with her sharp tongue and an answer for everything. She’d never make a friend of her, they were like cheese and chalk,
*
Florrie had looked forward to meeting Janie on New Year's Eve, but since Frank’s brief kiss on Christmas Day her feelings were a mixture of curiosity and resentment, even jealousy, but you weren’t supposed to feel jealous of another man’s wife, not when you had a husband of your own. The kiss had meant nothing to Frank so why should she attach so much importance to it? After all, it wasn’t as if he’d kissed her on the lips… it wasn’t as if she’d lain in his arms all night… Christ, where were her thoughts leading her. She wondered what kind of a girl Janie would be. She hoped she wouldn’t be prettier or better dressed than herself, it was bad enough that she was a few years younger. Coming from Lancaster she wouldn’t talk in a broad Lancashire dialect like Joe and her. Frank, with his posh, gentle way of talking... she could listen to him all day. There she went again, daydreaming, wondering what it would be like to be Janie and married to him.
She forced Frank out of her thoughts and Joe back into them and got on with darning his socks. According to him she was the world’s worst darner and he often demonstrated the truth of this by bad-temperedly ripping apart her efforts. Today, he’d just won her over and would have to keep his mouth shut and go easy when forcing his toes into the fragile, higgledy-piggledy cobwebs.
To Florrie’s relief Janie was no beauty. Smart? Yes, in high heels and navy pinstripe two-piece with her dark curls piled stylishly on top of her snooty little head. She ought to have looked delicate or demure with her tiny, almost boyish, shape but instead had a hardness about her that would be noticeable only to another woman. Her upper lip had a strange curl that was supposed to pass for a smile, but lingered then faded without ever reaching her eyes. This was no downtrodden wife like her, whose husband threw pots and pans. And as expected, she spoke with a posh accent using an unfamiliar vocabulary... but then again, her Joe knew plenty of choice words that Janie had never heard of.
The evening passed pleasantly enough with Janie faintly amused by this odd household, by Joe’s brashness and his gauche efforts to flirt with her in front of his dull little mouse of a wife.
Just before midnight he stood on the front doorstep chatting to other ‘first-footers’ waiting for the clock in Corporation Park to chime in the New Year. As the clock fell silent he was welcomed inside where Frank was waiting to propose a toast.
‘To 1941, let’s drink to the end of this bloody war and hope and pray that before long we’ll all have peaceful lives again.
They clinked whisky glasses then placed them on the table and welcomed the New Year with kisses or handshakes. Joe made a meal of Janie for what seemed like hours, greedily reaching for a second helping of her tight, red lips.
Frank and Florrie made do with a quick peck at first, but seeing that Joe and Janie were too busy with each other to notice them, slid back into each other's arms and kissed more passionately. They broke apart to find Joe pinning Janie against the wall while she struggled to break free.
‘For Christ’s sake, let her be, act your age and stop showing yourself up,’ Florrie muttered under her breath. Compared to Frank he was uncouth and insensitive.
Later she undressed and climbed into bed, surprisingly irritated at the thought of Frank and Janie crushed up together under the stairs. The walls on either side of the tiny bed would keep them from falling onto the floor so more than likely they’d have to cling to each other all night.
She wished she’d never met Janie, her with her sharp tongue and an answer for everything. She’d never make a friend of her, they were like cheese and chalk,
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