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.He was always bringing them presents – he was a regular Santa Claus: packets of cigarettes, a gold lighter for Valerie, a wrist-watch for the absent George; always whisky on the sideboard, tins of food in the pantry, packets of real butter in the new fridge.Margo could see Jack’s point of view – it was a bit like the invasion troops looting the land and the Manders fraternising with the enemy.No wonder the rest of the neighbours looked askance at the jeep swinging up to the door.The contrast between life at Valerie’s and the gloom that pervaded Nellie’s house was almost too much for Margo to bear.It was as if she ran to shelter from a great black cloud that was gathering in the sky.On Saturday night Rita didn’t get ready to go out.She lay upstairs in her room and told Margo she had a headache.‘But won’t Ira be waiting for you?’‘No, he won’t.He’s training this weekend.’‘Training?’ said Margo.But Rita closed her eyes and wouldn’t say another word.All week she had waited for the telephone to ring, though she knew it was useless.She was wallowing in self-pity and withdrawal.She had no friends, no hobbies, no interest beyond Ira.She hated him for being so cruel to her.She dreamed of revenge, of someone in the office telling him, when he did at last ring, that she had left to get married: one of those sudden romances, Alice Wentworth would tell him, a naval officer, a Dutchman.She recalled the seaman billeted on them in the first year of the war, his homely vacant face, the civilian suit he wore, dull and shabby, the little black suitcase he carried with his uniform inside.Auntie Margo had liked him.He bought her some material for a dress once.He took her to look at his ship, though she said she wasn’t allowed on board.She saw Ira in his mustard jacket, his black tie; under the jaunty angle of his cap he lowered golden eyelashes to cover eyes that were the colour of the sky.She lay moaning on her bed, wanting to hit at him with her fists.‘She can’t go on like this,’ said Margo to Nellie, ‘lying up there fretting.She’s not eaten a thing all day.’‘Give her time,’ replied Nellie.‘She’ll come round.’‘They’ve not had a tiff,’ Margo said.‘He’s just training.There’s no call for her to act like this.’Nellie was cutting out the body of Valerie Mander’s engagement dress.The noise the scissors made, as they sheered through the material and scraped the surface of the table, irritated Margo.‘How much did that material cost you?’ she asked.‘Four shillings a yard,’ said Nellie.‘You were done.I saw some just like that in Wharton’s window.I swear it was a bob cheaper.’‘What Wharton’s?’ asked Nellie, not looking up.‘That shop near Ethel Freeman’s house.Round the córner from where Frisby Dyke’s used to be.’‘Ethel Freeman never lived near Frisby Dyke’s,’ said Nellie.‘You’re thinking of someone else.’‘Get away.I went there regular.’‘Not Ethel Freeman,’ Nellie said again.It made Margo mad the way Nellie never gave up, never admitted she could be wrong.She was like a bull terrier with its teeth dug in.She would die rather than let go.‘I’ve joined the Dramatics,’ she said, daring Nellie to make a scathing remark.But Nellie didn’t say it was foolish or wonder how long that little phase would last.‘That’s nice,’ was all she said, bunched up against the sofa as she snipped at the curve of the armhole, the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth with the effort of cutting straight.She wanted to make a lovely job of the dress.She was very fond of Valerie.For all the difference in their attitude to life she could admire the girl.Never underhand, Valerie gave the impression she knew how to deal with living.She was confident.Nellie had thought of giving her the dress as a present, but no one had ever mentioned a wedding or given any indication of how long the engagement might be.They were going to have a party – everyone in the road invited, people from the camp, relatives from Yorkshire, a really big do.No one knew how much longer the war might last, whether Chuck would be sent abroad.It was all indefinite.‘If the war ends,’ said Margo, ‘will Chuck stay on, or will Valerie rush off to America?’‘How do I know?’ Nellie said, ‘you see more of them than I do.’Jack came and they listened to Gilly Potter on the wireless talking about Hogs Norton.Rita stayed upstairs.Jack called her down for a cup of tea and a cream cracker, and she wandered round the kitchen like a stray animal, scattering crumbs from her mouth, slopping tea into her saucer.‘Get away!’ cried Nellie, fearing damage to the green taffeta on the table.So she ran upstairs again, tears of affront in her eyes, slamming her bedroom door in a temper.On Tuesday Margo was told to come to the Dramatics room the following evening for an audition.‘A what?’ she cried appalled.‘I can’t do no audition.’‘We only want to hear your voice, girl.We’re not asking for bleeding Shakespeare.’On Wednesday morning when the alarm went for six o’clock she shut her eyes again, tight.‘Get up, Marge!’ said Nellie, kicking her on the ankle.‘Alarm’s gone.’‘I feel terrible,’ she moaned.‘I feel that poorly.I think I’ll go in later when I feel more myself.’‘Get off, there was nothing wrong with you last night.’But she couldn’t very well drag her out of bed, she couldn’t dress her and push her out of the door.Marge stayed where she was till midday, waiting till Nellie went out shopping on Breck Road.‘I may pop over and see Jack,’ Nellie called, listening to Marge wheezing in the bedroom.Marge didn’t reply.She was lying upstairs, right as rain, smoking her cigar ettes in bed.Margo wanted to be really ready for the audition
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