be the pattern her body had established—feeling sick just before breakfast then OK after she’d eaten, then sick again until lunch, then again afterwards until she finally threw up. But at least she got to enjoy her afternoon tea.
On the way back she bumped into Terry, who was hovering in the corridor that led along to the millinery workroom. His tie was knotted crookedly, the tail of his shirt wasn’t tucked in properly, his kind brown eyes were full of concern and his usual shy smile was noticeably absent.
‘Are you all right? I saw you rushing into the toilets,’ he said in a loud whisper. ‘Are you feeling sick? Because if you are, I’ve got these for you.’ He handed Daisy a paper bag; she opened it and saw that it contained home-made oatbiscuits. ‘Mum said they’re good for morning sickness. A bit late today, though, obviously.’
Daisy looked up at Terry’s lovely, gentle face and wanted to kiss him, but didn’t in case she smelled of sick. Instead, she pushed back a lock of his dark brown hair that had flopped over his forehead. ‘Oh, that’s so nice of her, tell her thank you very much,’ she said, wishing her own mother were a bit more like Terry’s.
‘She made them this morning,’ he went on, ‘so they should last a few days. She says you’re meant to have them with a cup of tea whenever you feel squiffy.’
‘Oh, right,’ Daisy said, not convinced that Miss Button would be too happy about her setting up her own little tea party on the workroom table.
Terry touched her hand. ‘Are you really all right? You don’t have to keep on working, you know, not if you’re not feeling well. I can give you a bit of money until we’re married.’
Daisy felt her eyes brim with tears at his thoughtfulness. ‘That’s a lovely thing to say, but it’s only another five weeks.’ She lowered her voice, not wanting three-quarters of Dunbar & Jones’s office staff and all of the tailors, dressmakers and milliners to hear. ‘And it’s only morning sickness, it’ll go away soon.’
‘Are you sure?’
Daisy nodded, though she wasn’t.
‘Miss Button isn’t giving you a rough time, is she?’
‘No, only when I make a mistake,’ Daisy replied. ‘But she does that to everyone when they make mistakes, especially when we’re busy.’ And to be fair, Miss Button was firm, that was all, and she had to be that because it was her job.
‘We’re flat out, too,’ Terry said. ‘I’d better get back. Wait for me after work?’
As she watched him hurry off, Daisy told herself yet again what a lucky girl she was to have a boy as wonderful as Terry.
Louise got off the tram at Avondale, savouring the pleasurable anticipation she always felt when she went to pick up Susan after work. For months now Rob had been putting in long hours at the garage where he worked in Parnell, so she usually collected Susan from her parents’ home, then walked her the two blocks to the small house they were renting. But they wouldn’t be paying good money to a landlord for much longer. They couldn’t afford much, but it would be marvellous to have their own place and be able to do what they liked with it. And when Rob got the raise his boss had been hinting at lately, there might even be enough money for her to stop work and be a proper mother. She knew that Susan was well looked after during the day—despite Rob’s mother carping on about it incessantly—and she enjoyed working at Dunbar & Jones, but deep down she wanted to be at home with her daughter. It wasn’t right, bringing a child into the world then abandoning it five days a week to go out to work, but Susan deserved a proper home.
Louise opened the gate to her mother’s house and hurried down the path, calling out as she went, ‘Susan! Mummy’s here!’
There was a bang as the fly screen on the back door flew open, then the sound of little feet belting around the side of the house. Susan appeared a moment later in herfavourite pink dress with the
On the way back she bumped into Terry, who was hovering in the corridor that led along to the millinery workroom. His tie was knotted crookedly, the tail of his shirt wasn’t tucked in properly, his kind brown eyes were full of concern and his usual shy smile was noticeably absent.
‘Are you all right? I saw you rushing into the toilets,’ he said in a loud whisper. ‘Are you feeling sick? Because if you are, I’ve got these for you.’ He handed Daisy a paper bag; she opened it and saw that it contained home-made oatbiscuits. ‘Mum said they’re good for morning sickness. A bit late today, though, obviously.’
Daisy looked up at Terry’s lovely, gentle face and wanted to kiss him, but didn’t in case she smelled of sick. Instead, she pushed back a lock of his dark brown hair that had flopped over his forehead. ‘Oh, that’s so nice of her, tell her thank you very much,’ she said, wishing her own mother were a bit more like Terry’s.
‘She made them this morning,’ he went on, ‘so they should last a few days. She says you’re meant to have them with a cup of tea whenever you feel squiffy.’
‘Oh, right,’ Daisy said, not convinced that Miss Button would be too happy about her setting up her own little tea party on the workroom table.
Terry touched her hand. ‘Are you really all right? You don’t have to keep on working, you know, not if you’re not feeling well. I can give you a bit of money until we’re married.’
Daisy felt her eyes brim with tears at his thoughtfulness. ‘That’s a lovely thing to say, but it’s only another five weeks.’ She lowered her voice, not wanting three-quarters of Dunbar & Jones’s office staff and all of the tailors, dressmakers and milliners to hear. ‘And it’s only morning sickness, it’ll go away soon.’
‘Are you sure?’
Daisy nodded, though she wasn’t.
‘Miss Button isn’t giving you a rough time, is she?’
‘No, only when I make a mistake,’ Daisy replied. ‘But she does that to everyone when they make mistakes, especially when we’re busy.’ And to be fair, Miss Button was firm, that was all, and she had to be that because it was her job.
‘We’re flat out, too,’ Terry said. ‘I’d better get back. Wait for me after work?’
As she watched him hurry off, Daisy told herself yet again what a lucky girl she was to have a boy as wonderful as Terry.
Louise got off the tram at Avondale, savouring the pleasurable anticipation she always felt when she went to pick up Susan after work. For months now Rob had been putting in long hours at the garage where he worked in Parnell, so she usually collected Susan from her parents’ home, then walked her the two blocks to the small house they were renting. But they wouldn’t be paying good money to a landlord for much longer. They couldn’t afford much, but it would be marvellous to have their own place and be able to do what they liked with it. And when Rob got the raise his boss had been hinting at lately, there might even be enough money for her to stop work and be a proper mother. She knew that Susan was well looked after during the day—despite Rob’s mother carping on about it incessantly—and she enjoyed working at Dunbar & Jones, but deep down she wanted to be at home with her daughter. It wasn’t right, bringing a child into the world then abandoning it five days a week to go out to work, but Susan deserved a proper home.
Louise opened the gate to her mother’s house and hurried down the path, calling out as she went, ‘Susan! Mummy’s here!’
There was a bang as the fly screen on the back door flew open, then the sound of little feet belting around the side of the house. Susan appeared a moment later in herfavourite pink dress with the
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