Read Online Vintage by Maxine Linnell - Free Book Online

won’t have to pay anything, she told me. Loads of girls from school are going,” says Sheila.
    She seems to be trying to rescue me.
    â€œI don’t hold with it, not for girls,” says the dad. Like he’s god or something.
    â€œNo boy likes a girl who’s clever,” says the mum, laughing. “Do they, Geoffrey?”
    â€œWho knows what she’d get up to? Better to stay here and get a job, where we can keep an eye.”
    â€œI’ve got to go,” I say. Louder than I mean to.
    The brother joins in now.
    â€œShe’s too stupid anyway, she won’t get in.”
    I glare at him for Marilyn’s sake. The parents laugh. There’s a silence.
    â€œMiss Cookson says she’s got a very good chance, I heard her,” says Sheila. “They say at school that girls should be getting an education, a career and all that.”
    â€œI’d just be happy if she was normal,” says the mum.
    She looks like she’s going to cry. Then goes out and gets the pudding. Apple pie. Looks like she made it herself. No packet or anything.
    â€œCustard, Sheila?”
    â€œYes, Mrs Bolton, thank you.”
    â€œCustard, Geoff?”
    â€œYes, a spoonful please, Jean.” The father pours extra sugar on his custard. I want to warn him about heart attacks. Think better of it.
    The mum ladles bright yellow custard on another bowlful. She doesn’t ask me if I want some. She pushes the bowl at me. Doesn’t look at me.
    Suppose I have to eat it. Sheila’s pigging out as if calories never existed. And it does look very good.
    I pick up the spoon.

Kyle sat down at the table in Marilyn’s room and jabbed at one of the plastic boxes.
    â€œOkay, let’s go. Do you mind if I…?”
    â€œGo ahead.”
    The telly came on, although it didn’t seem to be a telly.
    â€œWow,” Marilyn said, without thinking.
    â€œNo need to be sarcastic. Are you still having some kind of identity crisis?”
    â€œNo, go on.”
    He flipped through lots of different pictures. His shoulders were hunched and tight. “Do you want to check your email?”
    â€œNo, it’s okay, I’ll do it tomorrow.” Marilyn was being more careful now, watching the screen change at a speed she could never have imagined. She’d never seen a boy type before. They didn’t. Girls trained to be typists or secretaries. That’s what her mum wanted her to do. Men wouldn’t type.
    But Kyle did, fast. Like he’d done it forever.
    â€œWhat’s that on your bed?”
    Kyle hardly turned from the screen, but he pointed at the plastic bag on the bed. It had Holly’s name on it, and she pulled it open. There was a box inside with a picture of something like the phone the mother had called a mobile.
    â€œGo on, you sort it out,” said Kyle. “I’ll start finding what you need.”
    Marilyn had the phone in her hand and was looking through the box. She found what looked like a strange electric plug and was wondering what to do with it.
    â€œ1962, wasn’t it? That’s your time?”
    She looked at him, stunned. She went over to the table. Standing behind Kyle she saw images she half recognised. The streets as she knew them. People wearing clothes she knew from the shops.
    â€œNot much here, I’ll keep looking.”
    â€œNo, that’s my time. That really is my time,” Marilyn said. She couldn’t keep the shock out of her voice. “That’s where I belong. Only I’ve got here somehow. Not that I don’t like it here. I really like it here. I want to stay.”
    Kyle switched off the box and swung round to face her.
    â€œHolly, are you okay?”
    â€œI’m not Holly, I keep trying to tell you. I’m Marilyn.”
    â€œLook, I’ve known you for a couple of years now. If you came from the sixties, believe me, I’d know.”
    â€œNo, you’re right, I should get