Christmas at the Farmhouse - Rebecca Boxall Page 0,5

managed to leave the house. Then I sat at the frilled kidney-shaped dressing table in my bedroom while I tried to decide what to do with my unfashionable long brown curls. A high ponytail was the best thing for it, I decided.

Having tied up my hair, I studied my face in the glass and sighed. I wasn’t ugly. I had clear skin and strong eyebrows and perfectly nice brown eyes. It was just that there was nothing remarkable about my face. At least, there wasn’t without the help of cosmetics, and my parents would never have allowed me to wear make-up. Sometimes, when I went round to Penny’s, she spent ages making my face up for me and I loved to look at myself in the mirror, marvelling at the transformation. But then I had to scrub it all off before I came home, so it all seemed like a silly waste of time.

Oh well, I looked as good as possible, and I wasn’t even sure quite why I wanted to look good. After all, if Penny was right and Mr Jenners was after me, then I had no wish whatsoever to encourage him. Perhaps it was just that I wanted to look nice because I was actually doing something other than working or spending time with my parents. The only excitement in my life came from Penny and, while I was only going for a cup of tea at Mr Jenners’ home, it was, pathetically, a bit of an occasion for me. There was also that very unlikely prospect of Paul McCartney being there and I really did want to look my best for him.

‘Susan! Susan, you’re going to be late for work!’ Mother’s voice carried up the stairs.

‘Just coming, Mother!’ I shouted back. I pulled my long mac out of my wardrobe and put it on so that my dress was covered, then hurried downstairs towards the front door.

‘You haven’t had breakfast,’ Mother said, her lined face creasing even more as she frowned. She had her pinny on over her Crimplene dress, as she usually did; she spent so much of her life steeped in domesticity that she only seemed to take it off for church or her Women’s Institute meetings. ‘Can’t expect to do a morning’s work on an empty stomach. You’ve five minutes to eat your boiled egg. Come on, it’s all ready for you.’

Reluctantly, I followed her into the dining room, where Father was sitting at the head of the table reading the morning papers.

‘Morning, Susan,’ he said, without looking up.

‘Morning, Father,’ I replied, taking a seat at the other end.

‘Aren’t you going to take your coat off?’ he asked, though he’d shown no sign of having looked at what I might be wearing.

‘Haven’t the time,’ I said, scoffing the egg and washing it down with a small glass of orange juice. ‘Can’t be late for work… Mr Downley will have my guts for garters.’

Father grimaced, as though my words had put him off his bacon and eggs. ‘Surprised he’s kept you on as long as he has,’ my father said dourly, squashing any little residue of confidence I might possess – something he liked to do on a regular basis, coming from a family who believed there was nothing worse than being too big for your boots and that everyone should be knocked down a peg or two.

‘She’s a hard worker,’ Mother said, sticking up for me as much as she dared. ‘Off you go, dear. Have a nice time at Penny’s and we’ll see you at five in time for supper.’

‘I’m not sure about that Penny girl,’ Father suddenly piped up and I felt myself freeze with fear. ‘I saw her at the station last week. She looked like a common prostitute. I’m not sure about her influence on Susan,’ he said to my mother as though I weren’t in the room. But Mother just sighed impatiently.

‘They all look like tarts these days, dear. It’s the fashion. I know Penny’s mother and she’s a good sort. We’ve nothing to worry about there.’

I could have hugged Mother, but we weren’t a demonstrative family so I smiled at her instead and she gave me a little wink. Father made a huffing sound and returned to his paper.

***

The morning dragged as I watched the clock but by five minutes past midday I was rapping the brass knocker on Mr Jenners’ red front door, my knees trembling. He answered almost immediately, taking my coat and ushering me