cheese melted on top to supplement her meagre breakfast.
‘Nice weather for March innit, missus?’ the carter called out. ‘Not much wind and rain abat lately.’
She nodded, though she thought the sky to be dull and overcast, and the temperature fairly cold.
She smiled at him before she closed the door, not bothering to correct him about her single status, because in her apron and with a scarf tied turban style around her hair to keep it tidy, she felt like a mother who’d just got her children off to school and was rushing through her chores so she could go out for morning coffee with her girlfriends.
An important-looking envelope came through the letterbox, hit the floor with a thud and skidded across the hall. It was in reply to her request for information after reading an article about the Women’s Royal Naval Service. Quickly she read through it. They were taking the names of women who were offering their services should they be needed.
She filled in the form, listing name, age, educational qualifications and skills, including all the hobbies she could think of . . . driving, typing, flying, cryptic crosswords, dancing, writing fiction. Before she could change her mind she signed the form, placed it in an envelope, and dashing to the post box at the end of the street she watched it disappear into the square red mouth, just before the collection van came around the corner.
Back home, she turned the radio up loud and waltzed around the room in practice for the weekend dance date, until a sudden thought brought her to a halt. She didn’t have any girlfriends. She just didn’t seem to attract females. Susan, once her best friend at school, had started work as a junior shop assistant in the children’s book department at a Bournemouth bookshop. There, she earned a wage of twelve shillings a week, and had started going out with a ‘crowd’.
Being by herself didn’t bother Meggie, since she was content with her own company most of the time, and her own thoughts. All the same, it would be nice to have a friend she could talk to – one who understood the odd flights of fancy she indulged in. Susan hadn’t been able to do that. She had turned into a prim little miss who thought it was weird that Meggie even thought silly things. Her aim was to meet a nice boy, then get engaged to be married.
The telephone rang.
She pinched her nose and assumed a nasal whine. ‘Good morning. Margaret Elliot speaking.’
‘Ah, you’re home, Margaret . . . good. It’s Rennie Stone. I wondered if you’d be free for lunch today. By the way, what’s wrong with your voice; do you have a cold?’
‘No. I just talk like this on Mondays. It was nice of you to enquire, though.’ She grinned when he made an impatient hissing noise through his teeth. ‘We’re seeing you at the weekend for the dance, aren’t we? Are you ringing to cancel it?’
‘Certainly not! That’s got nothing to do with it. Don’t you eat lunch?’
‘Of course I eat lunch.’
‘Good, then let me ask you again. Are you free for lunch today?’
‘Well yes . . . but I’ve got to go to the market first, else we won’t have anything for dinner, and it’s already eleven thirty.’
‘Is there any reason why you can’t go to the market after lunch?’
‘Well no, but—’
‘I’ll pick you up at noon then . . . that is, unless you need an adult’s permission.’
‘You’re being rude and sarcastic.’
‘So I am.’
‘Well . . . you can apologize if you want to take me out to lunch.’
‘Ah . . . an ultimatum. I hadn’t expected one.’ There was a moment of silence that indeed felt like a stand off, then he said, and quite gently, ‘I’ll see you at noon then, Mags.’
‘Don’t bother,’ she flung at him, and hung up half-a-second after he did.
Just in case he hadn’t heard what she’d said, she began to get ready. It took all of twenty-five minutes to wash, roll on her stockings, don her checked dress and arrange her hair.
‘Nice weather for March innit, missus?’ the carter called out. ‘Not much wind and rain abat lately.’
She nodded, though she thought the sky to be dull and overcast, and the temperature fairly cold.
She smiled at him before she closed the door, not bothering to correct him about her single status, because in her apron and with a scarf tied turban style around her hair to keep it tidy, she felt like a mother who’d just got her children off to school and was rushing through her chores so she could go out for morning coffee with her girlfriends.
An important-looking envelope came through the letterbox, hit the floor with a thud and skidded across the hall. It was in reply to her request for information after reading an article about the Women’s Royal Naval Service. Quickly she read through it. They were taking the names of women who were offering their services should they be needed.
She filled in the form, listing name, age, educational qualifications and skills, including all the hobbies she could think of . . . driving, typing, flying, cryptic crosswords, dancing, writing fiction. Before she could change her mind she signed the form, placed it in an envelope, and dashing to the post box at the end of the street she watched it disappear into the square red mouth, just before the collection van came around the corner.
Back home, she turned the radio up loud and waltzed around the room in practice for the weekend dance date, until a sudden thought brought her to a halt. She didn’t have any girlfriends. She just didn’t seem to attract females. Susan, once her best friend at school, had started work as a junior shop assistant in the children’s book department at a Bournemouth bookshop. There, she earned a wage of twelve shillings a week, and had started going out with a ‘crowd’.
Being by herself didn’t bother Meggie, since she was content with her own company most of the time, and her own thoughts. All the same, it would be nice to have a friend she could talk to – one who understood the odd flights of fancy she indulged in. Susan hadn’t been able to do that. She had turned into a prim little miss who thought it was weird that Meggie even thought silly things. Her aim was to meet a nice boy, then get engaged to be married.
The telephone rang.
She pinched her nose and assumed a nasal whine. ‘Good morning. Margaret Elliot speaking.’
‘Ah, you’re home, Margaret . . . good. It’s Rennie Stone. I wondered if you’d be free for lunch today. By the way, what’s wrong with your voice; do you have a cold?’
‘No. I just talk like this on Mondays. It was nice of you to enquire, though.’ She grinned when he made an impatient hissing noise through his teeth. ‘We’re seeing you at the weekend for the dance, aren’t we? Are you ringing to cancel it?’
‘Certainly not! That’s got nothing to do with it. Don’t you eat lunch?’
‘Of course I eat lunch.’
‘Good, then let me ask you again. Are you free for lunch today?’
‘Well yes . . . but I’ve got to go to the market first, else we won’t have anything for dinner, and it’s already eleven thirty.’
‘Is there any reason why you can’t go to the market after lunch?’
‘Well no, but—’
‘I’ll pick you up at noon then . . . that is, unless you need an adult’s permission.’
‘You’re being rude and sarcastic.’
‘So I am.’
‘Well . . . you can apologize if you want to take me out to lunch.’
‘Ah . . . an ultimatum. I hadn’t expected one.’ There was a moment of silence that indeed felt like a stand off, then he said, and quite gently, ‘I’ll see you at noon then, Mags.’
‘Don’t bother,’ she flung at him, and hung up half-a-second after he did.
Just in case he hadn’t heard what she’d said, she began to get ready. It took all of twenty-five minutes to wash, roll on her stockings, don her checked dress and arrange her hair.
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