It's Now or Never by June Francis Page A

the doorway. ‘You and Ethel get on OK, Dot, don’t you? She likes you. We could even get married this year instead of next. What do you think?’
    Dorothy could feel panic rising inside her as Sam so neatly mapped out her future. She visualized having to give up her career and being stuck with Ethel until she went senile and died.
    â€˜I find it amazing,’ said Grace.
    â€˜What d’you find amazing?’ asked Dorothy faintly.
    â€˜That anyone could get along with Ethel without wanting to throw a screaming fit,’ replied Grace. ‘I think you’re best waiting, Sam, to see what your father says before you start making plans.’
    Dorothy murmured agreement, feeling grateful towards the older woman whom she already admired for her courage and honesty. She thought about what she had told her about having met her mother and forgiven her for having had her fostered. Knowing Sam, Dorothy knew he would never forgive her for giving away his son, so she could never tell him.

Four
    Betty watched as the youth went over to the jukebox and wasted no time choosing a record and putting a coin in the slot. The latest catchy hit from Rosemary Clooney and The Mellomen, ‘Mambo Italiano’, caused two teenage girls sitting at a table a few feet away to stop talking and stare at him. She remembered Tony playing the same record on Friday and he had sung along with the music. It had been decided there and then that he would sing that song at Hester and Ally’s wedding. He was a handsome lad with dark Italian looks that were as unlike this boy’s as black from white. Yet she could not help thinking that this youth with his flaxen hair and attractive cheekbones and firm chin would draw the girls in a few years time like moths to a candle. She knew from the badge on his blazer that he was a pupil at the Liverpool Boys’ Institute, as was his companion, Chris, one of their regular customers, who she guessed must be a couple of years older.
    At that moment Chris caught her eye and she took a pad and pencil from her overall pocket and went over to the table where the other boy now joined him. ‘What can I get you?’ she asked.
    â€˜Coffee and a bacon butty,’ said Chris before turning to his friend. ‘What about you, Nick?’ he asked.
    â€˜A banana milkshake and a bacon butty.’ Nick glanced up at Betty from brown eyes that reminded her of treacle toffee.
    â€˜So you’re Nick,’ she said, writing down his order. ‘You’re new here. Welcome!’
    â€˜Thanks,’ he said, flushing slightly.
    â€˜I told you they were friendly here,’ said Chris, grinning across at him.
    â€˜We are as long as you don’t burst into song too often or dance on the tables,’ said Betty. ‘At least not before the boss gets an entertainment licence. I keep telling him it could make his fortune but will he listen?’ She smiled and left them alone and went through into the kitchen.
    â€˜Two bacon butties,’ she said, stifling a yawn and resting her back against a table. ‘We have a new customer. Friend of Chris.’
    â€˜The lad who goes to the Institute and lives Prescot Road way?’ said Lenny, getting out the bacon. ‘He has ambitions to be a reporter.’
    â€˜Your memory is improving, boss,’ teased Betty.
    â€˜Don’t you be smart with me, Ginger,’ said Lenny. ‘Light the gas for us, there’s a love.’
    â€˜I wish you wouldn’t call me Ginger. I know my hair’s red but even so …’ She lit the gas. ‘I wouldn’t mind so much if we were licensed for dancing …’ She regarded her boss hopefully.
    â€˜You find me a Fred Astaire to perform here and I’ll apply for a licence,’ replied Lenny, placing the frying pan on the stove.
    â€˜I wish you would and I wish you’d come and listen to the group play.’ Betty resumed her position against