she said.
Maggie had been invited to tea, and Chris had been sent to buy fish and chips. There were bottles of wine and vinegar on the table – a different table to the one with the costumes on – along with three highly ornamental glasses, three beautifully embroidered napkins and an assortment of fancy cutlery, none of which matched.
Chris entered the room and Maggie could have sworn that her heart stopped beating. She was so much in love that she could hardly concentrate on anything else, not her family, not her work, not her friends. He smiled right at her and her heart stopped again. One of these days she was sure she’d have a heart attack, or her heart would stop beating altogether.
‘I like him,’ Maggie had heard her mother say after the first time she’d brought Chris to the house. She’d been sitting on the stairs quite shamelessly eavesdropping on her parents discussing her new boyfriend. ‘He’s a bit out of the ordinary, just right for our Maggie.’
Dad had begged to differ. ‘He’s a funny sort of bugger. Hasn’t got a trade. I can’t figure out a man without a trade.’ Paddy O’Neill was a centre lathe turner and proud of it.
‘He’s interesting,’ Mam claimed. ‘We talked for ages about Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. He’s seen every one of their pictures.’
‘So have a lot of people. That’s nothing to boast about,’ her father growled. ‘It might be a good idea if he found something more useful to do with his time, like earn a proper wage instead of selling that vile mixture that’s probably ruining the health of the nation.’
‘I had a letter today from my friend Susan in London,’ Betty said now, waving a sheet of mauve notepaper. ‘She’s really looking forward to us living together in Crouch End. She’s been a theatrical agent for years, but started off as a dancer like me and Antonio.’ She always referred to her husband by his stage name rather than his real one, which was Gordon.
Betty had wanted to move away for a long time, but Chris was attached to Liverpool and not at all keen on London. She didn’t like the idea of leaving him behind, but now he had met Maggie and would have a wife for company when she went.
Maggie was thrilled. ‘I’d love to live here. It’s so bohemian . Oh, but I’ll really miss you, Betty,’ she added fulsomely.
Later, after Betty had gone to the pub on the corner with her friend Eunice, Maggie and Chris lay together in the room where he slept, which was just about big enough for a single bed and a chest of drawers.
‘I love you,’ he whispered.
‘And I love you. I love you so much it hurts.’ She could actually feel an ache in the bothersome heart that kept switching itself on and off these days.
He stroked her neck, then her breasts through the thin material of her blouse. She didn’t protest when he pulled the blouse out of her skirt and slid his hand beneath it and her bra until he was touching her naked flesh. Everything inside seemed to explode in great spasms of pleasure, but when he reached under her skirt and his hand touched the skin at the top of her stockings, she made him stop, though it took an enormous amount of determination.
‘No,’ she said firmly, if a trifle shakily. ‘No, not yet. Not until we’re married.’ She struggled to a sitting position and pushed his hands away.
He groaned. ‘Lord knows when that’ll happen.’
‘Now we’ve got somewhere to live, all you have to do is get a better job – a proper one.’
His face lit up. ‘I met a chap today who said that a new picture house is opening in Walton Vale. Actually, it’s an old one being done up and reopening, but showing nothing but foreign pictures. It’ll be called I Continental. As soon as I find out who’s running it, I’ll apply for the job of manager, though assistant manager would do for the time being.’
‘Oh, Chris! That’d be the gear.’ She got up and went into the big room, away from the dangerously
Maggie had been invited to tea, and Chris had been sent to buy fish and chips. There were bottles of wine and vinegar on the table – a different table to the one with the costumes on – along with three highly ornamental glasses, three beautifully embroidered napkins and an assortment of fancy cutlery, none of which matched.
Chris entered the room and Maggie could have sworn that her heart stopped beating. She was so much in love that she could hardly concentrate on anything else, not her family, not her work, not her friends. He smiled right at her and her heart stopped again. One of these days she was sure she’d have a heart attack, or her heart would stop beating altogether.
‘I like him,’ Maggie had heard her mother say after the first time she’d brought Chris to the house. She’d been sitting on the stairs quite shamelessly eavesdropping on her parents discussing her new boyfriend. ‘He’s a bit out of the ordinary, just right for our Maggie.’
Dad had begged to differ. ‘He’s a funny sort of bugger. Hasn’t got a trade. I can’t figure out a man without a trade.’ Paddy O’Neill was a centre lathe turner and proud of it.
‘He’s interesting,’ Mam claimed. ‘We talked for ages about Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. He’s seen every one of their pictures.’
‘So have a lot of people. That’s nothing to boast about,’ her father growled. ‘It might be a good idea if he found something more useful to do with his time, like earn a proper wage instead of selling that vile mixture that’s probably ruining the health of the nation.’
‘I had a letter today from my friend Susan in London,’ Betty said now, waving a sheet of mauve notepaper. ‘She’s really looking forward to us living together in Crouch End. She’s been a theatrical agent for years, but started off as a dancer like me and Antonio.’ She always referred to her husband by his stage name rather than his real one, which was Gordon.
Betty had wanted to move away for a long time, but Chris was attached to Liverpool and not at all keen on London. She didn’t like the idea of leaving him behind, but now he had met Maggie and would have a wife for company when she went.
Maggie was thrilled. ‘I’d love to live here. It’s so bohemian . Oh, but I’ll really miss you, Betty,’ she added fulsomely.
Later, after Betty had gone to the pub on the corner with her friend Eunice, Maggie and Chris lay together in the room where he slept, which was just about big enough for a single bed and a chest of drawers.
‘I love you,’ he whispered.
‘And I love you. I love you so much it hurts.’ She could actually feel an ache in the bothersome heart that kept switching itself on and off these days.
He stroked her neck, then her breasts through the thin material of her blouse. She didn’t protest when he pulled the blouse out of her skirt and slid his hand beneath it and her bra until he was touching her naked flesh. Everything inside seemed to explode in great spasms of pleasure, but when he reached under her skirt and his hand touched the skin at the top of her stockings, she made him stop, though it took an enormous amount of determination.
‘No,’ she said firmly, if a trifle shakily. ‘No, not yet. Not until we’re married.’ She struggled to a sitting position and pushed his hands away.
He groaned. ‘Lord knows when that’ll happen.’
‘Now we’ve got somewhere to live, all you have to do is get a better job – a proper one.’
His face lit up. ‘I met a chap today who said that a new picture house is opening in Walton Vale. Actually, it’s an old one being done up and reopening, but showing nothing but foreign pictures. It’ll be called I Continental. As soon as I find out who’s running it, I’ll apply for the job of manager, though assistant manager would do for the time being.’
‘Oh, Chris! That’d be the gear.’ She got up and went into the big room, away from the dangerously
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