they got the bacon and eggs while Marcie and the baby only got toast. Marcie considered this unfair seeing as she was the one out at work, not the boys. She wouldn’t dare challenge her grandmother. Rosa Brooks didn’t see things the same way as she did. She’d been brought up to regard men as the breadwinners even if they were not. Nothing could change her now.
Marcie pulled up outside the shop and engaged the brake with her foot.
‘Won’t be long, poppet,’ she said and stroked Annie’s cheek.
She collided with Rita just outside the shop door. Rita was carrying a brown carrier bag full of food. On seeing Marcie she flushed bright red.
‘Hello. Um … just in case you see my mum or dad, I stayed at your place last night – and tonight,’ she added quickly.
Marcie glanced behind her. She hadn’t noticed the shiny motorcycle waiting at the kerb, but she did now. Pete was sitting on it sideways, blowing smoke rings.
There wasn’t much chance of Alan Taylor calling at Endeavour Terrace to check on his daughter. Rita could do no wrong in his eyes. She wished she had the same freedom but it wasn’t likely given the old-fashioned views of Rosa Brooks.
Bearing in mind their argument, Marcie was tempted to be awkward. The comment about her mother still stung. But Rita was her best friend.
‘Sorry about what I said,’ said Rita as though reading her mind.
Marcie wasn’t sure of her sincerity. ‘OK. So how was last night?’
Rita’s eyes sparkled. ‘We did it three times last night and twice more since breakfast.’
Marcie was about to say it was a wonder Rita could walk or Pete could ride a motorcycle, but didn’t. Instead she counselled Rita to be careful.
Rita grinned in response. ‘He’s got some johnnies. I went with him into the chemists. He was too scared to ask for them by himself. But I did though.’
Marcie shook her head in disbelief. ‘You’ve got some front, Rita Taylor.’
Rita giggled. ‘See you in work on Monday then.’
Gone was the angry Rita she had argued with. She was gushing and looking pleased with herself.
She watched Rita mount the motorcycle, her skirt riding high. She cuddled the carrier bag between her breasts and Pete’s back, and waved as the bike moved off.
It’s none of your business, Marcie said to herself as she went into the shop, bought the bread and came out again. ‘Here,’ she said to baby Annie. ‘Hold on to that loaf of bread until we get home.’
Podgy hands reached out for the bread.
Marcie began to push. Annie gurgled and dribbled over the crusty corner of the bread. Marcie thought about stopping her, but held out against it. The poor kid was hungry. Her mother should look after her better. Her thoughts went back to Rita.
‘It’s none of your business,’ she said again, though out loud this time. If Rita got into trouble she only had herself to blame. She found herself wondering if Babs had ever been like Rita when she was younger. How could Rita face her father if she did find herself with a bun in the oven? Johnnies, French letters orwhatever they were called, were known to split. Everybody knew that.
‘Silly cow! Silly, silly cow!’
‘You shouldn’t do that, you know.’ The voice that took her by surprise was slow and jerky.
Marcie knew who it was. ‘Alright then, Garth?’ She said it without looking round. Garth was over twenty-one but had the mind of a ten-year-old. He looked what he was – ungainly, awkward and scruffy.
She felt sorry for him, but he was hardly good company. Besides, she preferred to be alone with her thoughts.
Being offhand might put him off following her. Garth Davies. He lived with his mother in rooms above the shop. His mother being a bit of a gadabout, he was usually there by himself. Lonely and scruffy, he latched on to people like a stray dog pining for attention.
‘You shouldn’t be doing that,’ he said again. His voice was slurred as though his tongue was too big for his mouth. And he
Marcie pulled up outside the shop and engaged the brake with her foot.
‘Won’t be long, poppet,’ she said and stroked Annie’s cheek.
She collided with Rita just outside the shop door. Rita was carrying a brown carrier bag full of food. On seeing Marcie she flushed bright red.
‘Hello. Um … just in case you see my mum or dad, I stayed at your place last night – and tonight,’ she added quickly.
Marcie glanced behind her. She hadn’t noticed the shiny motorcycle waiting at the kerb, but she did now. Pete was sitting on it sideways, blowing smoke rings.
There wasn’t much chance of Alan Taylor calling at Endeavour Terrace to check on his daughter. Rita could do no wrong in his eyes. She wished she had the same freedom but it wasn’t likely given the old-fashioned views of Rosa Brooks.
Bearing in mind their argument, Marcie was tempted to be awkward. The comment about her mother still stung. But Rita was her best friend.
‘Sorry about what I said,’ said Rita as though reading her mind.
Marcie wasn’t sure of her sincerity. ‘OK. So how was last night?’
Rita’s eyes sparkled. ‘We did it three times last night and twice more since breakfast.’
Marcie was about to say it was a wonder Rita could walk or Pete could ride a motorcycle, but didn’t. Instead she counselled Rita to be careful.
Rita grinned in response. ‘He’s got some johnnies. I went with him into the chemists. He was too scared to ask for them by himself. But I did though.’
Marcie shook her head in disbelief. ‘You’ve got some front, Rita Taylor.’
Rita giggled. ‘See you in work on Monday then.’
Gone was the angry Rita she had argued with. She was gushing and looking pleased with herself.
She watched Rita mount the motorcycle, her skirt riding high. She cuddled the carrier bag between her breasts and Pete’s back, and waved as the bike moved off.
It’s none of your business, Marcie said to herself as she went into the shop, bought the bread and came out again. ‘Here,’ she said to baby Annie. ‘Hold on to that loaf of bread until we get home.’
Podgy hands reached out for the bread.
Marcie began to push. Annie gurgled and dribbled over the crusty corner of the bread. Marcie thought about stopping her, but held out against it. The poor kid was hungry. Her mother should look after her better. Her thoughts went back to Rita.
‘It’s none of your business,’ she said again, though out loud this time. If Rita got into trouble she only had herself to blame. She found herself wondering if Babs had ever been like Rita when she was younger. How could Rita face her father if she did find herself with a bun in the oven? Johnnies, French letters orwhatever they were called, were known to split. Everybody knew that.
‘Silly cow! Silly, silly cow!’
‘You shouldn’t do that, you know.’ The voice that took her by surprise was slow and jerky.
Marcie knew who it was. ‘Alright then, Garth?’ She said it without looking round. Garth was over twenty-one but had the mind of a ten-year-old. He looked what he was – ungainly, awkward and scruffy.
She felt sorry for him, but he was hardly good company. Besides, she preferred to be alone with her thoughts.
Being offhand might put him off following her. Garth Davies. He lived with his mother in rooms above the shop. His mother being a bit of a gadabout, he was usually there by himself. Lonely and scruffy, he latched on to people like a stray dog pining for attention.
‘You shouldn’t be doing that,’ he said again. His voice was slurred as though his tongue was too big for his mouth. And he
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