A Time for Us

by Josephine Cox

Genres: Family Life

Synopsis

Lucy Nolan has everything she could wish for - until tragedy intervenes.

Josephine Cox's A Time For Us is a heartrending saga of love, tragedy and undying hope. Perfect for fans of Cathy Sharp and Dilly Court.

Lucy Nolan is the golden girl. The only daughter of local grocers, Sally and Mike Nolan, she's grown up in a home of total love and security. The one thing her heart desires is that Jack Hanson might ask her to marry him, and when he does eventually propose, Lucy is prepared to give up everything to be with him - even though it means leaving her beloved parents to live abroad where Jack has been offered an exciting business opportunity.

But then, almost on the eve of the marriage itself, tragedy strikes. And for the first time in her life, Lucy is forced to realise that Fate, which has been so kind to her, can also be just as cruel.

What readers are saying about A Time For Us:

'Yet another fantastic book to read. Right from the beginning I could not put the book down, I cried and laughed and cried again' ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

'Great story line full of twists and turns, funny and so enjoyable. A real page turner, thoroughly enjoyed' ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

'A really gripping story that held me from start to finish. Great characters and a truly believable tale of love and tragedy. What a brilliant author' ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

'I quickly got hooked and couldn't put it down' ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

'When I feel life is cruel I read one of Josephine's books and I believe in goodness again' ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Release date: January 19, 2012

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 293

Sample

‘Give us a kiss!’ One brown eye gave a cheeky wink.

‘Shame on you, Mike Nolan.’ In spite of the laughter bubbling inside her, Sally managed to keep a straight face. ‘And me a married woman, too!’

‘The man doesn’t deserve you.’

‘I’m glad you think so.’

‘Don’t you sometimes fancy a change?’

‘Wouldn’t tell you if I did.’

‘Go on, Sally, be a devil,’ he pleaded. ‘One kiss, that’s all.’ He winked again, making her smile. ‘What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.’

She feigned indignation. ‘Do I look like the kind of woman who would cheat on her husband?’

The mischievous brown eyes looked her up and down. ‘Hmm.’ He rubbed his chin, and smiled at her. ‘Perhaps not. But all I need is a quick cuddle behind the vegetables.’ He glanced towards the shop doorway. There was no one about. He grew bolder. ‘And if you’re feeling extra generous, I wouldn’t say no to a bit more than a cuddle.’ Grinning like a naughty boy, he raised one eyebrow quizzically. ‘If you know what I mean?’

Flattening her hands against his chest, she pushed him away. ‘You randy old bugger!’ Pleasure lightened her pretty blue eyes fleetingly. ‘I know what you mean all right. And the answer is still no!’

Groaning like a man in pain, he grabbed her by the waist. ‘You’re driving me mad!’ he cried. ‘I’VE GOT TO HAVE YOU!’

‘Have you any idea what you look like?’ She could hardly contain her laughter. ‘Cabbage stains on your overall, and the smell of carrots in your hair. What woman could fancy you?’

‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph . . . you’re a wicked woman.’ With great difficulty he tried to drag her round the back of the counter. ‘Five minutes on the floor should do it,’ he promised, going red in the face as he tried to lift her off her feet.

‘Put me down, you daft devil!’ she laughed. ‘The time’s long gone when you could sweep me off my feet.’

Keeping his arms round her, he demanded in a hurt little voice, ‘Mrs Nolan, are you insinuating that I’m past it?’

Now it was her turn to eye him up and down. ‘Well, you must admit you aren’t as slim as you used to be,’ she answered kindly.

‘Neither are you.’ He squeezed his arms tight round her waist. ‘But I’m not complaining.’

‘And you’d better not!’ She touched her finger against the end of his nose, her voice falling tenderly as she told him, ‘We might as well face it, my love, we’ll never be eighteen again. We’re both a bit thicker round the waist . . . a bit dafter as the years go by.’ She ran her finger over his mouth. ‘But I still love you, Mike Nolan. More than ever.’

It was a moment before he could speak. In that moment he looked into her wistful blue eyes and his heart was full. ‘You’re as lovely as the day you walked down the aisle,’ he murmured.

‘And you’re still the most handsome man I’ve ever met,’ she told him. ‘Just as cheeky . . . just as much fun.’ Giggling like a schoolgirl, she reminded him, ‘Just now, though, when you were pretending to be my lover, anyone might have walked in and heard the conversation. Strangers even!’ She blushed a fierce shade of red. ‘God knows what they would have thought.’

‘Strangers?’ He feigned astonishment. ‘This is a family greengrocer’s, known to all and sundry from one end of Blackburn to the other. The only “strange” person who might have caught us acting the fool is old Polly Entwhistle.’ Making a face that was uncannily like that of the old troublemaker, he even sounded like her. ‘I’ll have a pound o’ them there apples . . . nice and soft so me teeth won’t come out. Oh, an’ mek sure there are no wormholes in ’em. Oh, yes, and I’ve brought back the bananas you sold me last week. They’ve gone all yellow, so I want me money back, an’ no argument!’

Sally couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Serve you right if she did walk in and give you a piece of her mind,’ she warned, glancing furtively towards the door.

‘Do you love me’

‘I must do, or I wouldn’t put up with you.’

Content now that he had made her say that, he let his mind roam back over the past twenty-five years: their courting; their doubts when they found she was pregnant; the rushed marriage, and the wonderful, happy years that had followed.

Sally had been eighteen when they met. He was twenty. Two years later they were hastily married, and everyone warned the marriage wouldn’t last.

Their love for each other had proved everyone wrong, thank God. Seven months after they walked down the aisle, they were blessed with a precious daughter whom they named Lucy. The years following had been more wonderful than he could ever have imagined. He and Sally were in their forties now, and as much in love as ever. Not a day passed when he didn’t pray there might be many more wonderful times to come.

In the twenty-two years since she had been born, Mike’s daughter Lucy had become his pride and joy.

His wife though, was his very life.

Now, with such love inside him that it hurt, he held her small, pretty face between his hands. Gazing with unashamed adoration into her bright blue eyes, he whispered, ‘What in God’s name would I ever do without you, eh?’

‘Oh, you’d be all right,’ she teased. ‘You’re a good-looking fella . . . you’ve got your own shop, and you can still make a woman’s heart beat faster in bed.’ She smiled affectionately. ‘If I wasn’t around to keep you on a leash, the girls would come running from every direction. You wouldn’t be short of company, I can promise you that.’

He visibly shivered. ‘Don’t talk like that, sweetheart,’ he pleaded. ‘If I didn’t have you, I wouldn’t even want to live.’ Only the good Lord knew, he loved this woman with every fibre of his being. The very thought of losing her was terrifying.

She had never doubted his love. She didn’t doubt it now. ‘None of us lives for ever,’ she reminded him.

Choosing to ignore her remark, he asked boldly, ‘Do I get that kiss, or don’t I?’

She didn’t reply. Instead she wrapped her arms round his neck and stood on tiptoe to reach him.

Lucy Nolan and her friend Debbie turned into Penny Street.

The two of them were laughing and chattering, enjoying each other’s company and sharing little snippets of gossip in the way of young women. ‘I’ll be glad to put my feet up,’ Debbie sighed. ‘I don’t mind re-potting plants, in fact I quite like it, but in the middle of July, it’s sheer bloody murder in the greenhouses.’ She held out her hand and glared at her fingernails. ‘Look at that!’ she moaned. ‘It’ll take me a week to get the dirt out.’

Lucy shook her head. ‘It’s your own fault,’ she said with a warm smile. ‘I heard Old Ted tell you time and again to put on your gloves.’ She wasn’t being hard on her friend. She loved her dearly, but Debbie had a habit of getting herself into all kinds of trouble, and then, in a comical way, putting the blame on someone else.

Debbie Lately lived up to her name because, no matter how early Lucy phoned to get her out of bed in the mornings, or how hard she tried to make her change her habits, her friend was always late. Late for work; late for appointments; late when she and Lucy went out on a Saturday night; and late to catch every bus, train and taxi. Last year, when the two of them went to Spain on holiday, Debbie kept the plane waiting for ten minutes; she’d gone to the loo and couldn’t find her way back to the departure lounge. If it hadn’t been for Lucy setting out to find her, they might never have got to Spain at all. Then there was the time when she spent half an hour chatting up a man waiting at her till while the queue grew and grew, until a fight broke out among the customers. The upshot of that was Debbie being threatened with the sack, and half the customers abandoning their purchases and marching out.

She had a habit of chatting up the men, and they took to her like rain to a gutter. And it wasn’t as though she was a stunning beauty or a sparkling wit – far from it. Short and plump, with thin, mouse-coloured hair, she was quite ordinary. Her jokes were awful, and she always opened her mouth where wiser folk knew when to keep quiet.

Lucy and Debbie had gone through school together. They’d endured puberty, courted boys, shared secrets, loved and lost, laughed and cried, and always found consolation in each other. On leaving school six years ago, they had found work in the same garden nurseries. Here they had grown from girls to women, and their friendship had flourished and strengthened. These two shared a special bond, a fierce protective instinct towards each other. A unique and wonderful friendship that others could only envy.

Debbie Lately was generous and truthful, honest and childlike. And though she was no beauty, she had a warm, caring soul and the prettiest, brightest blue eyes; they sparkled when she was happy, and darkened when she was sad. Mischievous one minute, reflective the next, they didn’t miss one single thing.

She was perceptive and outspoken, often to a fault, and when it came to her lifelong friend Lucy, would tear the throat out of anyone for hurting her.

She realised now that Lucy was unusually quiet. ‘What’s wrong?’

Lucy swung round to face her. ‘What makes you think anything’s wrong?’

‘Because you’ve hardly said two words.’

Lucy shrugged her shoulders. ‘Just thinking.’

‘About what?’ Debbie was a persistent little soul.

‘Nothing in particular.’

Debbie opened her mouth to say something, then changed her mind. ‘Okay. Suit yourself,’ she replied flippantly.

They continued to stroll along Penny Street as though they had all the time in the world, with Debbie whistling aloud and Lucy deep in thought. Presently, Lucy’s soft, troubled voice was heard. ‘Debbie?’

‘What?’ This time she showed only a determined disinterest.

Lucy slowed her pace, her mind racing. She didn’t want to worry Debbie. On the other hand, she needed to talk about something she had witnessed earlier.

Debbie kept up the sham for a while longer, then when Lucy fell silent again, could bear it no longer. ‘LUCY! Will you tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to drag it out of you?’

‘It’s something and nothing. I’ll tell you later.’ She should have known better. Now Debbie would never let it be, she thought.

And she was right.

Catching hold of Lucy’s sleeve, Debbie drew her to a halt, her voice more gentle as she urged, ‘There is something wrong, isn’t there?’ Thoughts of young men, and sex, and the awful consequences, fired her vivid imagination. ‘My God, you’re pregnant!’

Lucy laughed. ‘Don’t be so daft!’

Debbie gave a sigh of relief. ‘Honest to God?’

‘Yes . . . honest to God.’ Lucy began to walk on. ‘And I’ll thank you to remember it was you, not me, who went into a field with a strange bloke, and didn’t come out for nearly an hour!’ She gave Debbie a wry little smile before going on at a faster pace towards home.

Debbie ran to keep up with her. ‘Alfie Burrows is not a strange bloke.’

Lucy laughed. That’s a matter of opinion.’ In fact the young man in question was the local watchmaker who took great delight in explaining the workings of every clock and watch he encountered. He was red-headed and painfully shy, absent-minded, dressed as if clothes had gone out of fashion, and when teased would blush like the fires of Hell. Needless to say, that was reason enough for Debbie to tease him endlessly and without mercy. But he loved her all the same. Once he’d even asked her to marry him. Debbie teased him over that too. She said she might consider it if he gave up watchmaking and took her on a world cruise. He’d never asked her again.

Now Debbie laughed out loud, a raw raucous sound that sent a stray dog scurrying for shelter. ‘You’re right,’ she giggled. ‘He is a weird little bugger. But all the good men seem to have disappeared, so you grab what you can when it’s handed you on a plate.’

Shocked, Lucy stopped and stared. ‘So you did do it?’

‘’Course we did! Why do you think I let him take me into the field?’ She made a grimace. ‘Trouble is, he got a bit too excited and pushed me right into a bloody cowpat. Before I could roll away he was on top of me. My knickers were round my ankles and he was on the job before you could say Jack Robinson.’ She flinched at the memory. ‘To tell you the truth, I didn’t enjoy it all that much. I mean, you wouldn’t, would you? Not when your bare arse is squelching on a cowpat?’

Lucy didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. But she did recall: ‘I wondered what that horrible smell was. Even the bus conductor gave you a funny look.’

‘Hmm! That’s nothing to what I got from my dad when I arrived home.’

‘Angry, was he?’

‘He smelled the cowshit right away. Then he wanted to know where I’d been to get it all over my skirt. Then he interrogated me about the bloke I’d been with. When I told him who it was, he fell about laughing and said for a minute there he was worried, but now that he knew I’d been keeping company with Alfie Burrows, he didn’t imagine I’d get into trouble because Alfie didn’t have the know-how or the “tackle” to get a girl into trouble.’

Lucy was curious. ‘And has he?’

Debbie gave a knowing little smile. ‘Little does my dad know,’ she confided. ‘I wonder what he’d say if I told him Alfie Burrows has the biggest cock I’ve ever seen. What’s more, he knows how to use it.’

Lucy burst out laughing. ‘What am I going to do with you, eh?’

Debbie gave her a sideways glance. ‘So, what’s worrying you then?’

Having been sidetracked by the conversation about Alfie and the cowpat, Lucy had almost forgotten the initial conversation. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You were about to tell me what was worrying you.’

‘Was I?’

‘You know bloody well you were.’ Debbie frowned. ‘If you’re not pregnant, what is it?’ Her face fell. ‘Aw, Lucy . . . it’s Jack, isn’t it? He’s thrown you over, hasn’t he?’

‘No, he hasn’t. What I was going to tell you has nothing to do with Jack, or with me being pregnant, and it has nothing to do with you either, so will you stop jumping to conclusions?’

‘All right then. What is it?’

Lucy knew how panic-stricken Debbie could get over the slightest little thing, and began to wish she had never said anything.

While Lucy took a moment to think, Debbie looked consideringly at her friend, admiring the long slim limbs and the attractive easy way she walked; the clear creamy skin and that pretty, straight nose above full lips and a small square chin. Her wide mouth was quick to smile, and the striking dove-grey eyes expressed her every mood.

Lucy was unusually lovely. Her thick, dark hair worn with a fringe reached down to her shoulders, and she had a certain quiet grace that endeared her to everyone she met. She could be painfully shy, yet loved people and had a natural winning way with them.

She was not only lovely to look at, she was lovely to know. Fiercely protective of those she loved, she had a kind, giving nature, and a way of winning a person over before they even suspected it. She also had a shrewd, canny business sense, so much so that in the past year, Old Ted at the nurseries had shifted more and more responsibilities on to her able young shoulders.

It was Old Ted Lucy meant to talk about. ‘I’m worried about him,’ she confided. ‘I was taking a tray of seedlings to the potting shed and found him there, leaning against the wall, gasping and wheezing . . . fighting for breath.’ He had given her a real fright.

Debbie was alarmed. ‘Was he having a heart attack?’

‘No, but he was in a bad way. I asked him to go and lie down and said I’d send for the doctor, but he wouldn’t hear of it.’

‘Is he dying?’ Well-meaning though she was, Debbie was not the most discreet person on God’s earth. ‘If he dies, we’ll lose our jobs, won’t we? I mean . . . that no-good son of his will sell the place and we’ll be out on our ear.’

Lucy gave her a withering look. ‘He’s not dying. The poor old thing’s just worn out. He works like a dog from morning to night, and won’t take a rest unless he’s made to. He won’t even eat unless I nag him, and he still insists on doing all the heavy work himself.’

Debbie looked worried. ‘But what if something did happen to him? Oh, I know he’s a grand old thing, and I’d be really sorry if he was to die, but . . . well, the only thing I’m good at is making plants grow. I’d have a terrible time finding another job. Besides, I like working for Old Ted. It’s his awful son I’m worried about. That bugger’s all right, with his big farm and his fancy house. He’s in the south and we’re in the north. What does he care, eh? He never even comes to see his own father. And if he doesn’t care about Ted, why should he care about the likes of us, eh?’ She went on and on, worrying herself sick, just as Lucy had feared she would. ‘He’ll sell the place from under us, that’s what he’ll do.’

Lucy wasn’t listening. She was too concerned about the old fellow. ‘Ted will have to take things easier,’ she mused. ‘He’ll be sixty-seven next week . . . too old to be running that place. In the time we’ve been there, the workload has doubled.’ She looked at Debbie with alarm. ‘Do you know how much we took last week?’

‘No.’ Debbie had no interest in figures.

Lucy enlightened her. ‘We took a thousand pounds on plants, and two hundred pounds on fertiliser. You don’t earn that much money without blood, sweat and tears.’

‘It’s all your fault.’

Lucy was puzzled. ‘What is?’

The amount of money we take. You’re right, the workload has doubled, but only because you’ve made the whole place more successful.’ She playfully punched Lucy in the arm. ‘You’re making the old bugger a fortune. It’s time he made you a partner.’

Lucy smiled at that. The nurseries are his life,’ she said. ‘But he would never take on a partner. What! Have someone else’s name alongside his above the gate?’ She could understand the old fellow feeling the way he did. ‘Haven’t you noticed how he polishes that sign . . . like it was the most precious thing in the world?’

She always felt a certain amount of pride when watching him. For Old Ted it was a daily labour of love. Every morning, he would carry the ladder and bucket down to the big gates, where he would climb the ladder and polish the sign until it shone.

Debbie stopped to stretch out her arms. ‘Have I seen him?’ she echoed. ‘HAVE . . . I . . . SEEN . . . HIM!’ She rolled her eyes to Heaven. ‘Honest to God, Lucy, I sometimes wonder if the old bugger’s been wound up. Regular as clockwork, he gets out the ladder and bucket, fills the bucket with clean water, ambles down to the gate and spends half an hour polishing that bloody sign!’ Making extravagant gestures with her arms, she said loudly: ‘ “EDWARD BECKENDALE . . . EXPERIENCED NURSERYMAN.” I should think they can see it all the way from Blackpool.’

Lucy smiled at her antics. ‘He’s a lovely old soul, though,’ she said. ‘Since his wife died and his son left home all those years ago, the nurseries are all he’s got left. He’s worked hard and deserves to be proud.’ In fact he deserved more. He deserved to be happy, but there was a quiet, private kind of sadness about Edward Beckendale. ‘The only time he seems really content is when he’s tending to his plants,’ she commented wistfully.

‘Oh, he’s all right. He’s got more than most.’

‘Material things, maybe. But he’s got no family . . . no one to share things with.’ For Lucy that was the saddest thing of all.

Debbie made a face. ‘He can have my dad any day of the week.’

‘You don’t mean that.’

‘You don’t know my dad! All you see is the way he smiles at you when you call round. You don’t hear the foul temper and the endless questions.’ She mimicked him perfectly, even to the hang-dog look: ‘ “Where have you been ’til this time, our Debbie . . . ? What have you been up to, eh . . . ? Are you behaving yourself . . . ? Keeping out of trouble, are you? Get yerself pregnant and you’re out that bloody door so fast your feet won’t touch the ground! DO YOU HEAR ME, OUR DEBBIE? D’you hear what I’m saying?” ’

Lucy had to laugh. ‘It’s your poor dad I feel sorry for,’ she teased. ‘What’s he done to deserve you, that’s what I want to know?’

‘Get away! He’s a bloody monster! I wouldn’t mind, but I’m twenty-two . . . same age as you, for God’s sake. And your dad doesn’t treat you like you’re a two-year-old.’

That’s because I’m more sensible than you.’

‘Cheeky sod!’

‘Oh, stop moaning. Think about Ted. He’s got nobody to nag him. Nobody to love. Nobody to talk to when he feels down.’ He was such a lonely old soul, but he wouldn’t let anyone near. ‘I can’t help wishing his son would contact him.’

‘Oh, he will!’ Debbie was convinced. The minute George Beckendale knows there are pickings to be had, you won’t see his arse for dust. He’ll be strutting round Ted’s property before the old sod’s cold in the ground.’

‘You could be right. But there’s nothing we can do about that. All we can do is to look after Old Ted, and make sure he isn’t overdoing things.’

Debbie’s fears returned. ‘You don’t think we’ll lose our jobs, do you, Lucy?’ she asked woefully. ‘I’m really worried now.’

‘I knew you would be,’ she sighed. ‘That’s why I wasn’t going to say anything. But it needs the two of us to watch out for him. I can’t always be in the right place at the right time.’

‘Have you said anything to that young girl . . . what’s her name?’

‘Sophie?’

‘Posh bloody name! No wonder I can never remember it.’

‘No, I haven’t said anything, and I won’t. She’s only fifteen, just out of school. There’s no sense in worrying her.’

‘You’ve worried me though.’

That’s nothing new. You’d worry even if you won the pools.’

‘Ah! But I could do my worrying lying on the deck of my own yacht as we cruised the seven seas.’ Debbie gave a wicked grin. ‘I’d be surrounded by hunky men, and waited on by jealous females.’

‘Oh? And where would I fit in?’ Lucy was used to her friend’s dreaming.

‘You’d be down in the galley washing the dishes, of course.’

‘Of course!’

They were quiet for a minute, dreaming and wishing, wondering what the future held, and just enjoying each other’s company. These two were more like sisters than friends . . . closer even than that, because there was no rivalry, no envy, and nothing they would not share. ‘I’ve never met anyone who’s won the pools,’ Lucy remarked.

‘Neither have I.’ Debbie had her own views on the matter. ‘I reckon it’s all a fiddle. I reckon nobody’s ever won the pools.’ She became serious for a minute. ‘I bet I know what you would do if you won.’

‘Go on?’ Lucy had realised long ago that there were times when Debbie knew her better than she knew herself.

‘You’d offer to buy out Old Ted, and make those nurseries the biggest in Lancashire. You’d keep the old bugger on for as long as he lived, give him a generous wage-rise and let him stay in his scruffy old bungalow ’til his toes turned up.’ She grinned like a naughty schoolgirl. ‘Well? Am I right?’

‘You’re a witch.’ Lucy threaded her arm through Debbie’s, her voice soft and sincere as she told her, ‘I know Ted’s bawled you out a few times but he doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s a lonely old man, Debs. Don’t be too hard on him.’

Debbie admitted, ‘I suppose it is my fault. I do seem to get on the wrong side of him, don’t I?’

Lucy just smiled. They both knew the truth. Already that season Debbie had suffocated a whole batch of tomatoes when she forgot to open the greenhouse vents on the hottest day of the year. Both Lucy and Old Ted were rushed off their feet looking after customers, and so hadn’t noticed ’til too late.

The week before that, she had been trusted to set the sprinklers over the petunia seedlings. She forgot that, too, and by the time Ted arrived on the scene, they were wilted beyond redemption.

Recalling all this, and more, Debbie had to confess, ‘I expect you’re right. If the old bugger’s given me a rollicking, I’ve always deserved it.Anybody else would have sacked me for the daft things I’ve done . . . especially after what happened this afternoon.’

Lucy gave her a reproving glance. ‘Least said about that the better,’ she declared.

‘All the same, it was a stupid thing to do.’

‘So will you help me to keep an eye on him?’ Lucy couldn’t hide her relief.

‘Okay. I’m still worried, though . . . about my job, I mean.’

Lucy looked at her friend’s stricken face, and her heart went out to her. ‘Tell you what,’ she said, ‘I’ll make you a promise. If for any reason we do lose our jobs, I’ll set up on my own and you’ll have a job for life, if you want it. What do you say to that?’

‘I say that’ll do me fine . . . until I find a bloke who’s willing to take me on and look after me.’ The smile returned to her homely face.

‘Alfie Burrows would do that tomorrow,’ Lucy laughed.

Debbie thought about that, and her answer surprised even herself. ‘If I can’t find anybody else willing, I just might have to settle for him,’ she remarked casually.

Suddenly, as if the idea of being married to Alfie had given her a fright, she changed the subject. ‘If we’re going out on the town, we’d best get a move on.’ She quickened her steps, but even then her short little legs couldn’t keep up with Lucy’s. ‘Besides, I want to catch your dad before he shuts shop. I promised my mam I’d stop off to get her a pound of grapes. The cat from next door raided our fruit bowl last night and ate the bloody lot . . . grapes, apples, pips and everything!’ she groaned. ‘I wouldn’t mind, but the thieving bugger had the cheek to mess on the doormat before he sneaked out of the window.’ Giggling at the memory, she explained, ‘You should have seen our dad’s face when he trod in it barefoot . . . all squashed in between his toes it were. Cor! I’ve never seen him so hopping mad. Me and our mam made it worse by falling about laughing in the doorway.’

The two of them were still chuckling when they passed Widow Leadbeater’s house.As always the old dear was sitting on a chair by the door. ‘Beautiful day, ain’t it, loves?’ she said, brushing away a persistent fly. ‘Makes me wish I were sixteen again.’ She was nearing ninety, but her small round face and prim little figure made her appear much younger.

Lucy exchanged greetings with other neighbours as she wended her way to her parents’ shop. There was young Bernard Brindle, a snotty-nosed kid with dark hair and big brown eyes; he was sitting on his front doorstep with his nose stuck in a comic as usual. ‘Good, is it?’ Lucy asked, but he was too engrossed to answer.

His brother Richard was two years younger. Seated on the step next to Bernard, he was looking fed up. ‘It’s my comic,’ he moaned. ‘He pinched it off me. When our dad gets home, I’m gonna tell him.’ He had blond curly hair and a freckled face. He also had a ready smile. ‘Hey, Lucy! D’yer want to see me new pigeon?’

‘I can’t, sweetheart,’ she answered kindly, ‘I’m late already. But I’d like to see it tomorrow if that’s all right?’

‘Okay,’ he said, starting a fight with Bernard by way of a distraction. Soon they were screeching and giggling, and the comic was torn to shreds in the tussle.

‘Little buggers!’ Debbie said. ‘They want their arses kicked.’

Lucy didn’t agree. ‘Oh, they’re all right,’ she told her. ‘It’s just high spirits. They’ll be the best of friends the minute our backs are turned.’ She’d seen it all before, and the boys never came to any harm. The Brindles were a large, happy family. Down this busy lively street, there were many such. They all knew Lucy Nolan. Most had known her from birth, and all had a soft spot for her.

Debbie was aware of the affection between neighbours in Penny Street. ‘Do you think there’ll ever come a time when you leave here?’ she asked.

Lucy didn’t answer right away. But when she did, there was such conviction in her voice that Debbie was subdued. ‘One day,’ she said quietly, nodding her head, ‘one day when I’m ready to make my way in the world, I expect I’ll have to pay the price.’

With a little shock, Lucy realised that leaving Penny Street would be the hardest thing she had ever done. Yet in some instinctive, inexplicable way she had always known she was not meant to spend the rest of her life here.

In a minute they were outside the shop. Both of them saw the intimate little scene through the window, but it was Debbie who commented, ‘Cor! Look at them two!’ She giggled. ‘Kissing and cuddling like a pair o’ lovers.’

It was true. Blissfully oblivious of any onlookers, Mike and Sally were locked in each other’s arms. They love each other,’ Lucy declared proudly, ‘what’s wrong with that?’ She continued to gaze at her parents, her young heart filled with devotion.

‘Nothing!’ Debbie whispered. ‘Only sometimes you wonder about older