Read Online Queen of the Mersey by Maureen Lee - Free Book Online Page B

a note, put it inside the Gibbons, and placed it on the shelf in front of her. ‘What’s your name? I’m Roddy Oliver and I’d like to see you again,’ it had said.
    Laura had wandered away, clutching the note. When she was sure that Miss Lancing wasn’t looking, she wrote on the other side, ‘I’m Laura Conway and I’ll be here at the same time next Saturday.’
    It had gone on like that for weeks. Sometimes there was no sign of Roddy; he’d had a rugger match, his note would explain the following week. Other times, the girls had choir practice or there was a hockey game. Laura wasn’t in the school team, she hated hockey, but was required to stay and cheer their side on. If there was no Roddy and no note, she’d leave one for him, and he did the same.
    When he was there, they merely stared at each other, while Laura experienced all sorts of strange, pleasant emotions. She assumed he must feel the same.
    The waitress came with the soup. It was very thick, no doubt nourishing, but much too filling. ‘I’ll never manage the main course if I eat all this,’ she said halfway through. Roddy had already finished his.
    ‘Hand it over. I’ll eat it.’
    ‘You’ll make yourself sick,’ she warned. She glanced around to make sure no one was looking before passing him her bowl.
    ‘I don’t care. It’s my wedding day and I’ll do as I like. I’m trying to make up for six years of starvation.’
    ‘There was a fat girl at school. We used to call her the human dustbin. She finished off everybody’s meals.’
    ‘I remember. Her name was Fiona. She came with you to that tea room and stole your currant bun.’
    ‘She didn’t steal it. I gave it her. How could I have eaten a currant bun with you sitting at the next table? But fancy you remembering that,’ she said, impressed.
    ‘I remember everything about that day. It was the first time we spoke to each other. I asked if I could borrow your sugar. You passed the bowl and our hands touched.’
    ‘Then you passed it back and they touched again.’
    He must have noticed the girls went into Hunter’s Tea Room before they caught the bus back to school. He was there with another boy when they went in. It was just before the Easter holidays. ‘Where do you live?’ the note she had found earlier had asked. She had written her address on the back and left it in the Gibbons.
    The following week, on Maundy Thursday, he’d turned up at her home, having caught a train from Guildford to Brighton, a bus to Eastbourne, then walked all the way to the village where she lived. It had taken two and a half hours.
    Her father was in church, it was his busiest time of the year, and she was clearing weeds in the rose garden, which had been her mother’s favourite place.
    It had a little iron bench in the corner where she used to sit and read. Her mother had been dead for four years and Laura still missed her badly. She felt closer to her in the rose garden than anywhere else.
    She didn’t know what to say when he arrived, bowled over by how handsome he looked in an open-necked shirt, tweed jacket and baggy flannel trousers. His hair was very blond, very straight, and a mite too long. That was the day when everything had started for real. Within a fortnight, they were making love. It seemed so natural, so beautiful, that she could see nothing disgraceful about going to bed with a boy she hardly knew, but felt she had known for ever. Her father was busy with his duties as a vicar, and the housekeeper worked in the kitchen, out of sight, out of mind, out of hearing of the young couple in the bedroom under the eaves of the old vicarage.
    She jumped when the waitress put the coq au vin in front of her. She’d been so engrossed in reliving the past that she hadn’t noticed the soup bowls had been removed. To her surprise, the woman also placed a bottle of wine on the table.
    ‘Compliments of Mr Theo,’ she said with a smile. ‘Congratulations to you both. I hope you’ll be very happy.’
    As if on cue, the pianist began to play,