his demeanour. His mouth edged into a half-smile. His free hand tapped Prue’s wrist. ‘That’s something to
think about, any road,’ he said. ‘I rather fancy a son with your green eyes. My brain,’ he added with a laugh. ‘We could put that plan into action, sweetheart. We could
start tonight. We can keep at it. That’s a good idea.’
Prue inwardly quailed as her husband’s eyes trawled her exposed chest and the small rounds of her breasts. If his intention was to work at conceiving like some kind of business plan, she
hoped it would happen very fast and that once she was pregnant she would be spared his hammering.
Barry asked for the bill. He seemed to be in a hurry to get home. Prue put aside her idea of suggesting chickens. Two major possibilities at once might be too much for him. Chickens would have
to wait.
All the way home Barry drove with one hand on the steering-wheel, the other on her knee. ‘That’s a good idea, love, that baby plan,’ he said several times. ‘I like the
idea of green eyes, handsome little bugger.’
Despite Barry’s apparent enthusiasm to get going straight away on the baby plan, the first attempt did not take place that night. When Prue obligingly walked from the bathroom, naked, to
the bed, Barry impatiently told her to cover herself up. ‘No jiggery-pokery tonight, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘I’m all for getting going soon as possible, like I said, but
I’m knackered. Lot of stuff on my mind at work. Don’t worry. Won’t be long till you’re tripping round with a stomach like a balloon. Only we’re not going to make it
happen tonight.’
There was a hint of apology in this, and Prue could see he did look unusually tired. So with mixed feelings she got into bed and turned out the light. A baby, she knew, would be the answer to
everything. But curiously, for all Barry’s initial enthusiasm, his threat ‘to keep at it’ did not come about. The old routine of Saturday nights only carried on, and there was no
sign of Prue conceiving.
There was serious deflection from this disappointment. Within a few days of Prue passing her driving test, a scarlet Sunbeam Talbot was delivered to the driveway of The Larches.
She sat in the pale leather driving seat overawed. She felt sudden tears blur her eyes. ‘This is the most beautiful car I’ve ever—’
‘It’s so you can do what you like, sweetheart. Go where you like, drive all over. Keep you happy.’ Barry stood beside the open car window, chomping on his cigar.
‘Thank you, Barry. How ever can I say thank you enough?’
‘I like to keep you happy.’
‘I’m going for a first short drive. Can’t wait to try her out. Want to come?’
‘Best you go alone. I’ve got things to do.’
Prue waved, wound up the window and started the engine, which made the most thrilling music she had ever heard.
She spent many days driving about in her car – not far, at first, but once she had grown used to it she bought a map and began to explore the country beyond Manchester.
Several times she went to Derbyshire, which she loved. Often, when she parked at the roadside to study the view, she consciously thought: I’m happy now. Quite happy. She made a plan to go to
Yorkshire, once she was a more confident driver, to visit Mr and Mrs Lawrence.
One afternoon, on returning from an outing to the city where with long-saved coupons she had bought a pair of irresistible pre-war red shoes, she found a man standing in the porch, his hand on
the knocker. He turned to her as she got out of the car. ‘Whew! Quite some car.’
He was tall and thin, with the kind of quirky face that was attractive. He had red hair – a ruddy amber rather than carrot, Prue judged, but red enough for him to have been teased at
school. He reminded her a little of Robert, and of George, a man she had met on a bus soon after she had returned to Manchester just after the war. He had got off at the same stop as her, said
he’d walk her home.
think about, any road,’ he said. ‘I rather fancy a son with your green eyes. My brain,’ he added with a laugh. ‘We could put that plan into action, sweetheart. We could
start tonight. We can keep at it. That’s a good idea.’
Prue inwardly quailed as her husband’s eyes trawled her exposed chest and the small rounds of her breasts. If his intention was to work at conceiving like some kind of business plan, she
hoped it would happen very fast and that once she was pregnant she would be spared his hammering.
Barry asked for the bill. He seemed to be in a hurry to get home. Prue put aside her idea of suggesting chickens. Two major possibilities at once might be too much for him. Chickens would have
to wait.
All the way home Barry drove with one hand on the steering-wheel, the other on her knee. ‘That’s a good idea, love, that baby plan,’ he said several times. ‘I like the
idea of green eyes, handsome little bugger.’
Despite Barry’s apparent enthusiasm to get going straight away on the baby plan, the first attempt did not take place that night. When Prue obligingly walked from the bathroom, naked, to
the bed, Barry impatiently told her to cover herself up. ‘No jiggery-pokery tonight, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘I’m all for getting going soon as possible, like I said, but
I’m knackered. Lot of stuff on my mind at work. Don’t worry. Won’t be long till you’re tripping round with a stomach like a balloon. Only we’re not going to make it
happen tonight.’
There was a hint of apology in this, and Prue could see he did look unusually tired. So with mixed feelings she got into bed and turned out the light. A baby, she knew, would be the answer to
everything. But curiously, for all Barry’s initial enthusiasm, his threat ‘to keep at it’ did not come about. The old routine of Saturday nights only carried on, and there was no
sign of Prue conceiving.
There was serious deflection from this disappointment. Within a few days of Prue passing her driving test, a scarlet Sunbeam Talbot was delivered to the driveway of The Larches.
She sat in the pale leather driving seat overawed. She felt sudden tears blur her eyes. ‘This is the most beautiful car I’ve ever—’
‘It’s so you can do what you like, sweetheart. Go where you like, drive all over. Keep you happy.’ Barry stood beside the open car window, chomping on his cigar.
‘Thank you, Barry. How ever can I say thank you enough?’
‘I like to keep you happy.’
‘I’m going for a first short drive. Can’t wait to try her out. Want to come?’
‘Best you go alone. I’ve got things to do.’
Prue waved, wound up the window and started the engine, which made the most thrilling music she had ever heard.
She spent many days driving about in her car – not far, at first, but once she had grown used to it she bought a map and began to explore the country beyond Manchester.
Several times she went to Derbyshire, which she loved. Often, when she parked at the roadside to study the view, she consciously thought: I’m happy now. Quite happy. She made a plan to go to
Yorkshire, once she was a more confident driver, to visit Mr and Mrs Lawrence.
One afternoon, on returning from an outing to the city where with long-saved coupons she had bought a pair of irresistible pre-war red shoes, she found a man standing in the porch, his hand on
the knocker. He turned to her as she got out of the car. ‘Whew! Quite some car.’
He was tall and thin, with the kind of quirky face that was attractive. He had red hair – a ruddy amber rather than carrot, Prue judged, but red enough for him to have been teased at
school. He reminded her a little of Robert, and of George, a man she had met on a bus soon after she had returned to Manchester just after the war. He had got off at the same stop as her, said
he’d walk her home.
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