Thursday's Child Read Online Free Page A

matrimony?’
    â€˜No,’ I said, my throat tight.
    Bessie looked at my plainly combed, long hair, my tailored suit and my far too sensible, flat-heeled shoes: ‘No, I suppose not,’ she said in a specially kind tone of voice.
    I felt angry. I am not beautiful and my work demanded that I should dress very plainly, but Barney, James and Jackie had loved me, so I could not be entirely lacking in charm. Still, the dancing class promised to be a new experience, so I asked her to explain exactly what was entailed by acting as a partner.
    Bessie explained about times and lessons, and I agreed to come the following evening. Then a little silence came between us.
    Hesitatingly, I asked if she had ever heard what happened to Lieutenant Forbes.
    She gave a fluttering sigh: ‘No,’ she said. ‘He was presumed killed.’
    â€˜I’m sorry, Bessie.’
    She sighed again and fiddled with the fountain pen on her desk: ‘It’s quite all right, deah,’ she said, ‘I was lucky to have him for as long as I did.’
    I saw that it was time to go and I rose. She got up and walked with me downstairs and as far as the swing doors, which the commissionaire opened. She told him that I would be coming on the following day and that I was to be brought straight up to her. Then she shook my hand.
    â€˜You will enjoy it here – meet some new people – have some fun,’ she said.
    I murmured that the nicest thing was seeing her again – and I meant it.
    When I got home, Father was sitting by the fire reading Gibbon’s Decline and Fall . He rose and kissed me. Our house always smells of polish and flowers, and the outside door is invariably open and welcoming; his warm greeting and the habit he has of pushing forward the most comfortable chair for you, make the shyest visitor feel that his arrival is a pleasure. He has long since lived down the fact that he is ‘in the Income Tax’, and everybody knows him as Mr Delaney who has such a lovely show of daffodils.
    â€˜Where’s Mother?’ I asked, taking off my dark jacket and eyeing it disgustedly.
    â€˜She’s in the kitchen, making chili con carne for your supper.’
    â€˜How good she is,’ I said. I love hot dishes, but as no one else in the family liked them, I did not eat them often, so I kissed Father on his bald patch and wandered hopefully kitchenwards.
    The house may be Victorian, but the kitchen is not. Father had the old kitchen ripped out, just before the war began, and Mother worked in an atmosphere reminiscent of the advertisements in American magazines.
    Mother was really cooking chili con carne.
    â€˜The butcher gave me some extra meat,’ she explained, ‘and I’ve had the beans for years.’
    I sniffed appreciatively and sat on the primrose-colouredtable, while I told her about the McShane Club. I also told her ruefully about Bessie’s tone of voice when marriage was mentioned.
    Mother looked at me shrewdly from the corners of her eyes. She said: ‘The war lasted too long. Now it is finished, it is time to wear pretty clothes again. You should buy a “new look” dress.’
    â€˜Good heavens, Mother, they are too ultra-fashionable. I’ve never seen anyone in Wetherport wearing one yet.’
    â€˜Don’t be silly,’ said Mother, ‘they are in the shops – I’ve seen them – and you have just the figure for one. You’ve plenty of money – you saved all through the war for –’ she stopped.
    â€˜For my marriage,’ I finished off.
    â€˜Yes, dear,’ said Mother sadly.
    It was true. I had three hundred pounds in the bank. I sighed; but when on the following day I had finished a round of visits to foster-parents, I slipped into a dress shop and spent an hour buying a dress and coat, followed by another hour in hat and shoe shops. I wondered if I would ever have the courage to wear my purchases, but it