The Shop Girls

‘Lily— Lily, please.’ Jim reached out and touched her arm. ‘Why are we arguing? I don’t want to. You coming home with me or not has got nothing to do with Margaret. It’s just … trust me … it’s better if you don’t get involved.’

Trust him. She always had, implicitly. But …

She looked at him and his eyes held hers, pleading. He moved as if to reach out and hug her but she flinched away. Silly, maybe, stubborn, certainly, but she couldn’t let him touch her, not while she felt like this.

Suddenly it began to rain; big, fat drops that spattered on the leaves. It was a shock, but it was a relief. Now, thought Lily, they’d have to shelter under the tree and Jim would put his arms round her and tuck her inside his coat and tell her she was being silly, which she was, and everything would be all right again.

‘Damn,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to run for it.’

‘What?’

‘ARP. I can’t be late.’ Jim spread his hands. ‘I’m sorry, I have to go.’

‘Fine. Of course you must,’ she said stiffly. ‘Off you go.’

She stretched her mouth into a shape that was like a smile but wasn’t. Jim gave another hopeless little lift of his hands. He made no attempt to kiss her or even to touch her. Sadly she watched him lope off, his hair getting plastered to his head.

She hadn’t told him about Frank Bryant. And something told her she wouldn’t, now.

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