Yardley’s face cream. There was an oak tallboy near the door. My bed was where yours is—but a proper iron-framed bed with a lace counterpane on the eiderdown. I had my dolls on a shelf. Miss Rosebud used to sit on my bed. She’s my favourite doll. Of course, I’m a bit old for dolls now, really, and Freddy laughs at me—but I do love her.’
‘Oh—I love dolls too!’ said Rachel, cheerfully, although it wasn’t strictly true. She quite liked dolls, but certainly didn’t love them—she’d pretty much grown out of them a year or more ago. She seized one now, though, to show to Polly. It was Ritzy—a Chatz Doll—one of a collection of funky teenage figures with oversized eyes, glossy pouting lips, and dreadlocked hair. This one wore hotpants and a crop top and leather-look boots. The designers had given her a navel with its own piercing and she came with a choice of bellybutton rings and studs.
Polly took the doll in her hands, eyes wide. ‘She doesn’t look like a little girl at all. She’s got a … a bosom! Oh! And someone’s stuck a pin in her tummy! How horrid!’
‘No—that’s …’ Rachel tailed off. Polly didn’t even have pierced ears, she could see. This was going to take a while to explain. She changed the subject. ‘I’m sure we’ve got lots in common!’ she chirruped. ‘What’s your school like … er … was it like? I bet you had a horrible maths teacher. Every school has a horrible maths teacher!’
‘We went to boarding school,’ said Polly. ‘So Father could concentrate on his work. We didn’t mind. Grange Court was all right. The girls were mostly quite decent although you had to fag for the older ones and that was jolly hard work when I first went.’
‘Fag?’ Rachel queried.
‘You know—do all their chores for them! Because I was in the first year, of course. It’s to teach you your place! And how to shine shoes and sew and all that. Just because we’re at boarding, it doesn’t mean we all have butlers, you know. We don’t have anyone at home except Mrs M and she only comes in three times a week. But you’re right—mathematics is ghastly! I detest it. Mr Bullford is awful whenever I get my times tables wrong and I’m wrong a lot. Freddy’s good at maths, of course—and sport and all that boy stuff— but I’m a total clot when it comes to that kind of thing. I’m good at English though, and Domestic Science. I can make hotpot and neck of lamb and all sorts.’
Rachel noticed how Polly kept saying ‘is’ instead of ‘was’ and ‘have’ instead of ‘had’. Maybe she still thought it was all a bad dream and she’d wake up tomorrow, back in 1956, in time to go to Hilary’s party after all.
‘Ooh! I’ve read this! I just love this!’ Polly pulled a dusty red book off Rachel’s shelf, beaming. It was Five Go To Smuggler’s Top . ‘I’m in the Famous Five fan club! Are you? I’ve got the badge—it costs a shilling to join and you get special letter and your badge. Enid Blyton is just super! I mean—gosh—to think! You’ve got this book after all this time! It’s just like the one I had—it’s—’ She paused, opening the cover, and then gasped. ‘It is mine!’ She showed Rachel the neat, rounded writing, in blue ink, on the first page. ‘ This book belongs to Pauline Emerson. ’
‘Wow,’ said Rachel. ‘I never thought I’d get to meet the girl who first got that book!’
‘Do you have any more?’ asked Polly, looking eager and bright for the first time.
‘Yes—I think so—downstairs mostly. I’ve kind of moved on from Enid Blyton now,’ confessed Rachel. ‘More into mags really.’
‘Mags? Who’s Mags? She can’t be better than Enid!’
‘No,’ laughed Rachel, ‘magazines … like this.’ She handed SWEET over to Polly—a flimsy cluster of luridly coloured pages, all about the latest music in the charts, pop groups, girl bands, boy bands, film stars, and celebrity stuff. The front cover featured a sulky
‘Oh—I love dolls too!’ said Rachel, cheerfully, although it wasn’t strictly true. She quite liked dolls, but certainly didn’t love them—she’d pretty much grown out of them a year or more ago. She seized one now, though, to show to Polly. It was Ritzy—a Chatz Doll—one of a collection of funky teenage figures with oversized eyes, glossy pouting lips, and dreadlocked hair. This one wore hotpants and a crop top and leather-look boots. The designers had given her a navel with its own piercing and she came with a choice of bellybutton rings and studs.
Polly took the doll in her hands, eyes wide. ‘She doesn’t look like a little girl at all. She’s got a … a bosom! Oh! And someone’s stuck a pin in her tummy! How horrid!’
‘No—that’s …’ Rachel tailed off. Polly didn’t even have pierced ears, she could see. This was going to take a while to explain. She changed the subject. ‘I’m sure we’ve got lots in common!’ she chirruped. ‘What’s your school like … er … was it like? I bet you had a horrible maths teacher. Every school has a horrible maths teacher!’
‘We went to boarding school,’ said Polly. ‘So Father could concentrate on his work. We didn’t mind. Grange Court was all right. The girls were mostly quite decent although you had to fag for the older ones and that was jolly hard work when I first went.’
‘Fag?’ Rachel queried.
‘You know—do all their chores for them! Because I was in the first year, of course. It’s to teach you your place! And how to shine shoes and sew and all that. Just because we’re at boarding, it doesn’t mean we all have butlers, you know. We don’t have anyone at home except Mrs M and she only comes in three times a week. But you’re right—mathematics is ghastly! I detest it. Mr Bullford is awful whenever I get my times tables wrong and I’m wrong a lot. Freddy’s good at maths, of course—and sport and all that boy stuff— but I’m a total clot when it comes to that kind of thing. I’m good at English though, and Domestic Science. I can make hotpot and neck of lamb and all sorts.’
Rachel noticed how Polly kept saying ‘is’ instead of ‘was’ and ‘have’ instead of ‘had’. Maybe she still thought it was all a bad dream and she’d wake up tomorrow, back in 1956, in time to go to Hilary’s party after all.
‘Ooh! I’ve read this! I just love this!’ Polly pulled a dusty red book off Rachel’s shelf, beaming. It was Five Go To Smuggler’s Top . ‘I’m in the Famous Five fan club! Are you? I’ve got the badge—it costs a shilling to join and you get special letter and your badge. Enid Blyton is just super! I mean—gosh—to think! You’ve got this book after all this time! It’s just like the one I had—it’s—’ She paused, opening the cover, and then gasped. ‘It is mine!’ She showed Rachel the neat, rounded writing, in blue ink, on the first page. ‘ This book belongs to Pauline Emerson. ’
‘Wow,’ said Rachel. ‘I never thought I’d get to meet the girl who first got that book!’
‘Do you have any more?’ asked Polly, looking eager and bright for the first time.
‘Yes—I think so—downstairs mostly. I’ve kind of moved on from Enid Blyton now,’ confessed Rachel. ‘More into mags really.’
‘Mags? Who’s Mags? She can’t be better than Enid!’
‘No,’ laughed Rachel, ‘magazines … like this.’ She handed SWEET over to Polly—a flimsy cluster of luridly coloured pages, all about the latest music in the charts, pop groups, girl bands, boy bands, film stars, and celebrity stuff. The front cover featured a sulky
Similar Books
