baby grand piano, the Chinese vase lamps and the warmth of the roaring fire. Brian the plump, chintz-covered armchairs and settee, the delicate water colours on the walls, the leather-bound books close to his elbow.
Georgia looked from Celia to Brian as she unwound her scarf and unbuttoned her coat.
Her father’s love of order ran not only to arranging books in size, the fringe on the hearth rug brushed out flat, but also to timekeeping. Yet for once he didn’t seem aware she was late.
‘I’m sorry,’ Georgia panted. ‘I was talking to Peter.’
‘Did you pluck up courage to invite him to the party?’ Celia raised one eyebrow, letting her knitting droop to her lap. Georgia had spoken of this boy so often she felt she knew him almost as well as her daughter.
‘Yes,’ Georgia wanted to sit on her mother’s knee, wrap her arms round her and tell her everything. But the child in her was gone now, left back at the church steps when Peter took her hand. ‘And he asked if he could take me to the pictures tomorrow.’
‘Did he now,’ Celia’s eyes were more green than grey in the light of the fire, twinkling like the Christmas tree lights.
‘Can I go then?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ Celia’s soft pale lips curved into a smile. ‘As long as he brings you straight home afterwards.’
‘Just a moment,’ Brian sat up sharply and took off his glasses. ‘Don’t I have any say in this?’
Georgia gulped. She and Celia rarely asked Brian’s opinion about anything and just lately he seemed to have noticed. His face had a polished look in the soft light, faded blue eyes puckered with irritation.
‘I’m sorry, Daddy,’ Georgia went over to him and perched on the arm of his chair. His sandy hair was getting very thin and from her position slightly above him, she could see a bald patch as big as a half crown. She slid her arm around his neck, fondling his ears. ‘Please don’t be a grouch. I didn’t ask you first because I was embarrassed.’
‘Who is this boy?’ Brian’s eyes softened just enough for her to know he was at least receptive.
‘Peter Radcliffe, he sings in the choir. You’d like him Daddy! He plays cricket.’
‘I’ll reserve my judgement until I’ve met him,’ Brian half smiled. ‘If he isn’t one of those ton-up boys and he can be trusted to behave himself with you, I can’t really think of any reason to say no.’
As Georgia got into bed that night she could scarcely contain her excitement. If she closed her eyes she could taste Peter’s lips again, feel that strange tugging sensation inside her.
Was she in love? She had all the symptoms they mentioned in magazines. She could hardly wait till tomorrow to phone Christine and tell her Peter had finally kissed her.
She lay on her back looking at the new party dress hanging on the wardrobe. Celia had bought it just two days earlier and she couldn’t wait to wear it.
It was beautiful. Red satin with a billowing underskirt of net. The bodice was tight and low cut, with just tiny cap sleeves. No one else would have a dress quite like it.
Celia smiled as she peeped into Georgia’s room an hour later.
Brown arms hugging a teddy bear, face buried in the pillow. She had noticed the way Georgia looked at this boy. Guessed the big sighs and long periods of idle dreaming were because of him. Tomorrow she would want endless reassurance that he really did want to take her to the pictures!
Celia closed the door softly and went into her own bedroom. Brian was already in bed, covers up to his chin.
‘What’s this boy like?’ he said unexpectedly.
‘Very nice,’ Celia said sitting down on the edge of the bed. ‘Polite, rather handsome, about to do his “A” levels.’
‘She’s a bit young for a boyfriend,’ he said.
‘I don’t know,’ Celia climbed into bed beside him. ‘Most of her friends have one. Better someone like him than some hooligan hanging around on street corners. Don’t get all edgy about it Brian,
Georgia looked from Celia to Brian as she unwound her scarf and unbuttoned her coat.
Her father’s love of order ran not only to arranging books in size, the fringe on the hearth rug brushed out flat, but also to timekeeping. Yet for once he didn’t seem aware she was late.
‘I’m sorry,’ Georgia panted. ‘I was talking to Peter.’
‘Did you pluck up courage to invite him to the party?’ Celia raised one eyebrow, letting her knitting droop to her lap. Georgia had spoken of this boy so often she felt she knew him almost as well as her daughter.
‘Yes,’ Georgia wanted to sit on her mother’s knee, wrap her arms round her and tell her everything. But the child in her was gone now, left back at the church steps when Peter took her hand. ‘And he asked if he could take me to the pictures tomorrow.’
‘Did he now,’ Celia’s eyes were more green than grey in the light of the fire, twinkling like the Christmas tree lights.
‘Can I go then?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ Celia’s soft pale lips curved into a smile. ‘As long as he brings you straight home afterwards.’
‘Just a moment,’ Brian sat up sharply and took off his glasses. ‘Don’t I have any say in this?’
Georgia gulped. She and Celia rarely asked Brian’s opinion about anything and just lately he seemed to have noticed. His face had a polished look in the soft light, faded blue eyes puckered with irritation.
‘I’m sorry, Daddy,’ Georgia went over to him and perched on the arm of his chair. His sandy hair was getting very thin and from her position slightly above him, she could see a bald patch as big as a half crown. She slid her arm around his neck, fondling his ears. ‘Please don’t be a grouch. I didn’t ask you first because I was embarrassed.’
‘Who is this boy?’ Brian’s eyes softened just enough for her to know he was at least receptive.
‘Peter Radcliffe, he sings in the choir. You’d like him Daddy! He plays cricket.’
‘I’ll reserve my judgement until I’ve met him,’ Brian half smiled. ‘If he isn’t one of those ton-up boys and he can be trusted to behave himself with you, I can’t really think of any reason to say no.’
As Georgia got into bed that night she could scarcely contain her excitement. If she closed her eyes she could taste Peter’s lips again, feel that strange tugging sensation inside her.
Was she in love? She had all the symptoms they mentioned in magazines. She could hardly wait till tomorrow to phone Christine and tell her Peter had finally kissed her.
She lay on her back looking at the new party dress hanging on the wardrobe. Celia had bought it just two days earlier and she couldn’t wait to wear it.
It was beautiful. Red satin with a billowing underskirt of net. The bodice was tight and low cut, with just tiny cap sleeves. No one else would have a dress quite like it.
Celia smiled as she peeped into Georgia’s room an hour later.
Brown arms hugging a teddy bear, face buried in the pillow. She had noticed the way Georgia looked at this boy. Guessed the big sighs and long periods of idle dreaming were because of him. Tomorrow she would want endless reassurance that he really did want to take her to the pictures!
Celia closed the door softly and went into her own bedroom. Brian was already in bed, covers up to his chin.
‘What’s this boy like?’ he said unexpectedly.
‘Very nice,’ Celia said sitting down on the edge of the bed. ‘Polite, rather handsome, about to do his “A” levels.’
‘She’s a bit young for a boyfriend,’ he said.
‘I don’t know,’ Celia climbed into bed beside him. ‘Most of her friends have one. Better someone like him than some hooligan hanging around on street corners. Don’t get all edgy about it Brian,
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