FOR THE REST of the day Miranda brooded, trying to decide how she should treat her pal when they next met, for he had never before shown any interest in Pearl or Ruby; in fact he had never shown an interest in any girls. True, he was certainly interested in Miranda, but she now realised that this was not the same thing at all as the interest he had been showing in Pearl. Both sisters had the reputation of being what they called ‘good time girls’, and if anything Steve had rather despised them, yet here he was taking them sledging and ignoring Miranda completely. The thought that Miranda was also ignoring him occurred, only to be dismissed. She had walked towards him, smiling in the friendliest fashion, had she not? She told herself, untruthfully, that she had intended to ask him to accompany them to Mrs Higginbottom’s, had only not done so when she saw him kissing Pearl. Well, she hoped that by now he was regretting his behaviour and would apologise to her the next time they met. The trouble with this pious hope was twofold, however. First, she knew very well that she could not possibly have extended an invitation to Steve without first discussing it with Julian and Gerald, and second that she had been at fault from the moment she had accepted their invitation, knowing full well that Steve had asked her first.
Despite the excellence of the meal Mrs Higginbottom put in front of them, Miranda found that her usual hearty appetite had fled, and she had to force herself to eat. They did not leave the farmhouse until darkness had fallen and Julian crept along, headlights blazing, clearly worried that the car might skid and deposit them all in the ditch. However, this worry proved groundless, and soon enough Miranda and Avril were thanking the brothers sincerely for a wonderful day and promising to entertain them, in their turn, to what Avril described as a ‘splendiferous high tea’ in the flat the following weekend.
‘And with a bit of luck you’ll of got out of your bad mood by then and be pals wi’ Steve again,’ she said airily, filling the kettle at the sink. ‘I dunno what were the matter wi’ you and Steve, but I could see you’d both got a cob on when not a word was exchanged, and I wasn’t the only one to notice; Julian asked me what was up.’
Miranda felt her cheeks grow hot. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said feebly. ‘What makes you think I was annoyed with him? He’s my best pal . . .’
Avril gave a disbelieving laugh. ‘No one treats their best pal the way you treated poor Steve,’ she said roundly. ‘And no matter how hard you tried not to show it, any fool could see you were in a bate. For a start, whenever you thought no one was looking you had a face like a smacked bum, and so did Steve.’
Miranda began to mutter that Avril had misread the situation but, having started, Avril did not intend to let the matter lie. ‘Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes, ’cos it won’t work,’ she said firmly. ‘I don’t know what’s been goin’ on betwixt the pair of you but it’s pretty obvious you’ve had an almighty great quarrel, probably your first from what I know of you, and I guess seeing poor old Steve give that girl a peck on the cheek just about put the lid on it.’ She grinned widely, then stretched across the table and tapped Miranda’s hot cheek. ‘No use getting in a rage with me, ’cos I’ve read the situation like a perishin’ book,’ she said breezily. ‘I don’t know who was in the wrong to start with, but you couldn’t get a sweeter-tempered feller than that Steve, so if I were you I’d go round to his house early tomorrer mornin’, before he sets off for work, and admit you were in the wrong and apologise.’
Miranda was about to say that she knew Avril was right and would do as she suggested when, all unbidden, a picture rose up before her inner eye. It was a picture of Steve – her Steve – kissing Pearl’s infuriatingly pink cheek and then slapping her resoundingly on her neat little bottom. ‘Shan’t!’ she almost shouted. ‘It’s up to him to say he’s sorry for kissing that little tart. Why, everyone knows she’ll do anything for a bag of crisps and a bottle of fizzy lemonade, and if that’s the sort of girl he wants . . .’
Avril was beginning to reply when the kettle reached the boil, and she took it off the Primus and began to pour the contents into Miranda’s hot water bottle. She pressed the bag until all the air was out, then screwed the top on tightly and handed it to her still simmering flatmate, before beginning to fill her own bottle. ‘Don’t go losing your temper wi’ me, luv, or you’ll end up wi’out a friend in the world,’ she advised kindly. ‘It started last night, didn’t it? The row, I mean? I knew you were upset about summat; was it the letter you and the Grimshaw boys were talking about at teatime? If so, I’m awful sorry, but it won’t do you no good to turn on your pals, you know.’ She squeezed the air out of the second hot water bottle, made to head for the bedroom and then turned and gave Miranda an impulsive hug. ‘Oh, Miranda, I’m sure your mam’s alive and kickin’ somewhere,’ she said gently. ‘But when you’re in trouble that’s the time to value your friends, not drive them away from you. Just you take my advice – remember, I’m older than you, with a great deal more experience of life – and make it up wi’ Steve first thing tomorrer. Unkind words fester and produce more unkind words; you can do wi’out that. Will you promise me you’ll go round to Steve’s place as soon as possible?’
At Avril’s kind and understanding words, the ice seemed to melt around Miranda’s heart and with a choking sob she ran round the table and cast herself into her friend’s welcoming arms. She wept convulsively for several moments, then stood back and gave a watery smile. ‘I’m really sorry I was horrid to Steve and you’re quite right, I should tell him so,’ she admitted. ‘We had a stupid quarrel over something so trivial that I’m ashamed to mention it, but I’ll go round as soon as I’m up and dressed and tell him he was right and I was wrong. Will that do, do you think?’
Avril thought that it would do very well, but unfortunately the best laid plans usually go awry. First Miranda overslept on Monday morning, and though she hurled her clothes on, snatched a slice of bread and butter to cram into her coat pocket and ran all the way to Jamaica Close, Steve had already left when she arrived. Considerably flustered, and fearing that Steve had probably told his mother how badly she, Miranda, had behaved, she left no message, merely saying that she would meet him at the factory after work. That afternoon she hung around Steve’s workplace and was both cold and cross by the time one of his workmates stopped by her, eyebrows rising. ‘Hello, queen. Who’s you waitin’ for?’ the young man asked curiously. ‘You’re young Mickleborough’s pal, ain’t you? He come in late this mornin’ an’ went straight in to see the boss and got give a day off. Gone to London, I gather. I dare say he’ll be here tomorrer, but there’s no point in you waitin’ now.’
Miranda mumbled her thanks and left, wondering why Steve should have gone to London now, particularly since he worked shifts and she knew that he would not be at the factory towards the end of the week. However, there was nothing she could do about it, so she returned to Russell Street and when Avril came in she had prepared vegetables to go with the two mutton chops she had bought for their tea. Avril bounced into the kitchen, slung her thick coat on the hook by the door and sniffed at the delicious smell of cooking. ‘You’ve got the tea on early; does that mean Steve’s comin’ round later to take you to the flicks?’ she asked, peeping into the oven of the Baby Belling Mr Grimshaw had given Miranda as a house-warming present. ‘Hey, mutton chops! Is there any of that dried mint what the old lady on the Great Homer Street market give us a couple of days ago?’
It was tempting to pretend that she had made her peace with Steve, but Avril was far too canny to be taken in. As the other girl straightened up, Miranda nodded. ‘Aye, there’s some mint, and I didn’t catch Steve, though it wasn’t for lack of trying,’ she assured the other girl. ‘I went round to his place first thing this morning but he’d already left, so I went to the factory as soon as I’d finished work and one of his mates told me that he’d gone to London and wouldn’t be in till tomorrow.’
Avril’s brow puckered. ‘Very odd,’ she said slowly. ‘I wonder why he’s gone? Not with either of them girls he were with yesterday, I’d put money on it. Oh well, tomorrow he’ll be full of whatever scheme he’s hatched, and eager to bend your ear with his doings. But if I were you I’d set the alarm for six, lay out your clothes all ready and be on his doorstep by the time he wakes up. He’s a good bloke is Steve; you don’t want to lose him to young Pearl.’
Miranda sighed, but she nodded too. ‘I reckon you’re right, and I’ll do as you say. I just wish I knew what it was all about, though. Me and Steve have never had secrets from one another, and I can tell you I don’t like it.’
But though she took Avril’s advice and hung around Jamaica Close until well after Steve’s normal leaving time he did not appear, and though she contemplated going to the house and asking Mrs Mickleborough when he would be back her pride would not allow her to admit that she was no longer in his confidence. Instead she returned to the flat and did a few small tasks before setting off for the office, wishing the quarrel had never happened. With no other course of action open to her, she simply settled down to her work, and waited.
Steve had felt just as furious with Miranda as she had with him; probably more so. He had spotted her on the sledging slope before she had seen him and had deliberately plonked a kiss upon Pearl’s hot cheek, knowing how it would infuriate his old bezzie. He had been truly hurt by the fact that she had spurned his invitation, but accepted a later one from Julian and Gerald. It was a dirty trick to bring them to the same spot where he had intended to take her, and from what he had seen of her a good deal of her animation had been put on to upset him. He and Cyril had talked for a long time when they got back to Jamaica Close after seeing the girls home and Cyril had laughed when Steve had told him how he longed to join the air force, as Cyril himself had done. ‘Then why not do it?’ his old friend had said. ‘I took me uncle’s advice – he were in the Royal Flying Corps during the last lot – and he said the sensible thing were to get in early because once war was declared there’d be a rush and them as was already in would get the plum jobs.’
Steve had nodded wisely, agreeing that he had heard other fellers say the same thing, but had Miranda come a little earlier to Number Two on Monday it is doubtful whether Steve would have gone off early to call for Cyril, who had offered to go along to the recruiting office with him. There he had filled in many forms and answered many questions, and the feeling of resentment and pain which had haunted him over Miranda’s defection began to lessen. He was doing what he should have done all along, refusing to let her affect his life. He was a man, wasn’t he? Well, he looked old enough to join the Royal Air Force, at any rate.
The helpful sergeant behind the desk had advised him to take his completed papers along to somewhere called Adastral House, in London, not very far from Euston Station. Handing in his papers personally might speed things up a bit, the sergeant thought.
Feeling that his future was mapped out for him, he hurried to work to see his boss. Mr Richmond was not best pleased, but agreed that it was every fit young man’s duty, in time of war, to do his best for his country. Steve was rather startled to hear his boss talking as though war were already a fact, but when he saw the hum and bustle at Adastral House he knew that he was doing the right thing. Cyril, who had accompanied him to London and was looking forward to a night on the town with his old pal, reminded him of the old saying ‘One volunteer is worth ten pressed men’, and he thought that this was probably true. He was given papers to take to a medical centre the next day so that his health could be checked. If all was well he might find himself in uniform within the month.
When he got home on Wednesday morning, full of excitement, Mrs Mickleborough cried, Mr Mickleborough clapped him on the shoulder and wished him success in this adventure, and his brothers stared round-eyed, though Reg and Joe reminded the family that they both intended to follow Ted into the Navy, and Kenny wept bitterly at the thought of being the only boy living at Number Two.
Steve laughed, and Kenny’s tears disappeared as if by magic when his brother reminded him that he would soon have a new baby to play with, and promised that on his next trip to London he would bring back a model Spitfire for his little brother; a toy which Kenny had longed for.
‘And now all I’ve got to do is tell Miranda. Has she been round asking for me?’ Steve said with pretended indifference.
Mrs Mickleborough wrinkled her brow. ‘She came round Monday morning, after you’d left for Cyril’s,’ she said rather doubtfully. ‘She said she would meet you at the factory after work. Didn’t you tell her what you were going to do?’
‘No,’ Steve said airily. ‘Didn’t want her hangin’ round me neck in floods of tears and beggin’ me not to leave her.’ He grinned at his mother. ‘Some perishin’ chance o’ that! The mood she was in she’d probably have said good riddance to bad rubbish!’
Mrs Mickleborough tutted. ‘What a horrible thing to say! She’s a grand girl your Miranda, and when she does hear I dare say she’ll be upset. She’ll miss you something awful – so will us, won’t us, Dad? But there, Steve luv, I’m sure you’ve done the right thing. You’ll find your carry-out by the back door, so off you go and don’t be late this evenin’ ’cos it’s Lancashire hotpot, and I know you love that.’
Having learned that Steve had gone to London, apparently for some reason which he had not seen fit to confide either to his pals at work or to herself, Miranda fully expected him to come thundering up the stairs which led to the flat on Tuesday evening. But this did not happen. In fact Miranda lost patience and decided to go round to Jamaica Close the next day, ostensibly to visit Aunt Vi and Beth, but really so that she might meet Steve by accident on purpose, so to speak. But on Wednesday morning Gerald telephoned her at work, suggesting that they might go to the cinema together that night. It was a film she very much wanted to see, and she was tempted to leave visiting Jamaica Close till the following day. She wondered how Gerald had got permission to leave school and come into the city, but he explained that his teachers thought he was going with his classmates to see another film, one which was part of their School Certificate curriculum and so would be helpful to them. ‘But surely the other boys will report that you left them?’ Miranda objected.
Gerald laughed. ‘It’s clear you know nothing about fellers at public school,’ he said reprovingly. ‘We drew lots; one of the fellers will actually go to the other film and take notes. Then, on the bus going back to Crosby, he’ll fill the rest of us in. Everyone else wants to see A Day at the Races, but luckily the chap who drew the short straw is a swot, so he’s quite happy to miss the Marx brothers and watch boring old Shakespeare instead.’ His tone changed from explanatory to wheedling. ‘Do say you’ll come, pretty Miranda! I’ve already told the fellers that my girl will be one of the party. I’ll look the most almighty fool if you turn me down.’
Miranda sighed. She would have loved to see the film, especially in Gerald’s company, but she was forced to shake her head. ‘Thank you very much, Gerry, but it’s out of the question, unfortunately. I’ve not seen Steve since he got back from London and I must do so this evening.’
Gerald’s voice sharpened with interest. ‘He went up to London? Did he go with Julian? My big brother means to go to Sandhurst for officer training, and had an interview last week. Don’t say your Steve was doing the same?’
‘He’s not my Steve,’ Miranda said crossly. ‘You say I don’t know nothin’ about public schools; well you don’t know nothin’ about Liverpool, if you think that havin’ a bezzie is the same as having a boyfriend, ’cos it bleedin’ well isn’t. In fact I’m not even sure that Steve’s my bezzie any more. If he was he wouldn’t have gone off to London without a word to me.’
‘Aha, I thought there was a rift in the lute when we went sledging. The pair of you were glaring at each other like a couple of angry cats quarrelling over a mouse,’ Gerald said. He spoke rather unwisely, as it happened, since Miranda shouted into the receiver that he shouldn’t leap to conclusions and now she certainly would not accompany him to any cinema, no matter how badly she wanted to see the film. Gerald began to apologise, but at that moment a member of staff entered the hallway where the telephone hung on the wall and Miranda slammed the receiver guiltily back on its rest and turned to face Mr Hardy, who was coming towards her, eyebrows raised.
‘I trust you were not taking a personal call, Miss Lovage,’ he said reprovingly. ‘You know we frown on personal telephone calls. Whilst you are on the line our clients might be clamouring to get through.’
‘No, it was a business call for Mr Lawrence, only he’s not come in yet,’ Miranda said, crossing her fingers behind her back. ‘I gave the caller Mr Lawrence’s extension number and told him to try it in about half an hour.’
Mr Hardy grunted, then handed Miranda a sheaf of papers. ‘I’ll take your word for it,’ he said grumpily. ‘And now have these typed up for me, please. If you’re too busy to do it yourself give them to Miss Okeham; she’s always very accurate and quick.’
‘Certainly, sir,’ Miranda said through gritted teeth. It was just her luck that Mr Hardy had been the one to catch her using the telephone for a personal call. She knew he disliked her, and thought she had got the job of office junior not through excellence but because she was some connection of Mr Grimshaw’s. Unfortunately there was enough truth in this assumption to make it impossible for Miranda to deny it, so now she took the papers from Mr Hardy’s hot little paw and hurried back to the typing pool, where she had a desk at the extreme end of the long room.
All that day she worked hard and tried to forget that Gerald must be wondering why she had put the phone down on him, but it was the sort of day when things keep going wrong. As office junior, she pushed a trolley round from department to department at eleven in the morning, offering cups of tea or coffee to the assembled staff, and because she was in a hurry to get back to her desk – Miss Okeham was too busy to take on Mr Hardy’s work – she forgot to avoid the loose board at the entrance to the typing pool. She grabbed the tea urn just in time to stop a real calamity but, alas, not quickly enough to prevent tea from puddling all over the trolley. She had only just finished mopping up the mess when several of the men sent her out for sandwiches. She was supposed to buy two ham and pickle, one egg and cress and four beef with mustard, and she would have done so had the baker and confectioner not sold out of beef. He assured her that her customers would like pork just as well, so she followed his advice and bought pork and mustard, only to discover on her return to the office that Mr Rosenbaum, because of his religion, was not allowed to devour any part of the pig.
Miranda sighed, and her friend Lucy, who sat at the next desk, came and took some of the letters which Miranda should have been typing, and gave her friend a sympathetic grin. ‘Haven’t you ever noticed old Rosie wears a little cap thing in his hair?’ she asked. ‘He explained to me once – he’s ever so nice is Mr Rosenbaum – that Jewish men call that cap thing a yarmulke and they’re supposed to wear it all the time; well, not when they’re in bed I s’pose, but whenever they’re up and doing. Anyway, Jewish people aren’t allowed to eat pork, so do you want me to type up some of your letters while you go and buy him something else?’
Miranda thanked her sincerely and scurried off to the bakery to buy another sandwich; at Mr Rosenbaum’s suggestion, another egg and cress.
Naturally enough this made her late and being late made her cross, and being cross led to mistakes in her typing, which normally never happened, so by the time she was about to start her last task – collecting and stamping all the letters that had been typed that day – she was simmering with annoyance, very unfairly directed at Steve because he had not told her, his best friend, either that he was going to London, or the reason for his trip.
She was somewhat mollified on finding, when she eventually left the building, that Steve was waiting for her on the pavement. She was carrying an enormous sack of stamped mail to be posted in the nearest pillar box, and managed to give Steve a small smile and a mutter of thanks as he began helping her to push the letters through the flap. But even this friendly act could not remove her sense of ill usage nor make her forget what a horrid day she had had. During the course of it she had actually wondered if Mr Hardy might demand her dismissal, for she knew very well that Mr Hardy had hoped one of his nieces would get her job. However, until today he had really had nothing to complain about so far as her work went, so she tried to dismiss such thoughts from her mind and turned expectantly to Steve. ‘Well? Where have you been?’ And then, before Steve could open his mouth, she added: ‘Not that I need to ask; you’ve been to perishin’ London for some reason, so are you going to tell me, or would you rather tell that horrible Pearl?’
Steve’s eyes opened wide with astonishment. ‘Now what makes you say that?’ he asked in a wondering tone. ‘I’ve not seen the girl since Sunday.’
‘Nor you’ve not seen me,’ Miranda interrupted ungrammatically. ‘You’ve made a right fool of me, Steve Mickleborough. I thought we was bezzies, but . . .’
‘So we were,’ Steve said. ‘I asked you to come sledgin’ but you chose to go with Gerald instead. Of course he’s gorra car and I’ve only got buses and trams, but I asked you first, you can’t deny it.’
‘I never said I’d go, though,’ Miranda said huffily. ‘You’d been horrible to me, so why should I go sledging with you?’
The two had been standing on the pavement by the letter box, but now Steve took her arm and turned her towards the busy main road. ‘I can see you’re still in a bad mood, so if we’re going to quarrel we might as well do so over a cup of tea and a bun,’ he said resignedly. ‘Oh, Miranda, do come down off your high horse and admit it was a rotten thing to do, to go sledgin’ with the Grimshaw boys in the very same place that you knew I wanted to take you.’
Miranda tried to snatch her arm away, but Steve hung on. ‘No, you aren’t goin’ to walk away from me until we’ve had our talk, so make up your mind to it,’ he said grimly. ‘You must have guessed that Cyril and meself only invited Pearl and Ruby to come along because we thought you’d give me the go-by; well you had, hadn’t you? You thought you were punishin’ me for darin’ to argue with you; well, I suppose I thought I was punishin’ you by taking the girls sledgin’.’
Miranda stopped short and drew herself up to her full height. ‘You know very well that Gerald and Julian are just friends, but from what I’ve heard Pearl and Ruby are a different matter altogether. Why, if anyone wanted to punish anyone else it was you, kissing that horrible Pearl. Not that I care,’ she added quickly. ‘You can kiss anyone you bloody well please, so long as it isn’t me.’
Steve shook her. ‘I’d as soon try to kiss a spitting wild cat, which is what you are,’ he said grimly. ‘Here’s the tea room; furious though I am with you I’m prepared to mug you to tea and a bun whilst we sort things out. Oh, Miranda, don’t be a fool. Don’t just chuck away months and months of good friendship just because of one little falling out.’
Miranda began to protest but Steve ignored her. He pulled her into the small tea room and made her sit at a quiet table in the furthest corner. Then he ordered tea and cakes and the two sat in brooding silence until their order was delivered, when Miranda almost forgot her grievance at the sight of the cream cakes temptingly displayed on a three-tier stand. Her hand hovered between an éclair positively bulging with cream and a meringue, but when Steve advised her to take the éclair first and to have the meringue next she returned her hand to her lap and glared at him. ‘Perhaps you’re confusing me with that little tart you took sledging,’ she said frostily. ‘I’ve heard it said that she’ll do anything for a packet of crisps and a fizzy drink; well I’m not like that so just in case you get the wrong impression I’ll take the custard tart.’
If Steve had merely passed her the custard tart all might still have been well, but instead he gave a loud guffaw, snatched the éclair and plonked it on her plate. ‘Don’t be so daft, Miranda Lovage, and don’t be so unfair to Ruby and Pearl. I don’t know what folks say about them but to my way of thinkin’ they’re just a couple of girls full of energy and fun, without an ounce of vice. And since you’d been invited to come sledging and didn’t even have the good manners to say yes or no, why shouldn’t I ask a couple of girls I’ve known most of me life? Now, for God’s sake eat it, and drink your tea; here’s hoping it’ll sweeten your temper. And then you can tell me what’s wrong.’
Miranda ignored the tempting éclair. ‘All right, I was wrong to fall out with you and not agree to go sledging,’ she muttered. ‘But next day I went round to your house to say I was sorry only you’d already gone to work. I did try to catch you there but I had no luck. So go on, I know you were in London but you’ve been away for three days and I don’t know why you had to go there at all.’ Despite her intention to treat his trip with indifference she could feel her brows beginning to draw together. ‘Well? Are you going to tell me or aren’t you?’
Steve took one of the cakes and bit into it. He chewed and swallowed infuriatingly slowly, before picking up his cup of tea and taking a long swig. When he spoke it was slowly and distinctly, as though to a small child. Miranda gritted her teeth and took a bite out of the chocolate éclair, not deigning to say a word, but waiting for Steve to speak first.
‘Well, after I’d called for you on Sunday and you weren’t there, I were walking along the Scottie headin’ for Jamaica Close when someone shouted me. It were Cyril Rogers; do you remember him? Tall feller, wi’ a big conk and what you used to call a puddin’ basin haircut.’
Miranda giggled. ‘He’s changed a lot,’ she observed. ‘I saw him on your sledge. He’s got himself a proper haircut for a start and he was wearing pretty nice clothes considering he was sledging with you and those two – young ladies.’
‘Yes, well, he’s joined the air force,’ Steve explained. ‘We talked about it all the afternoon – when we weren’t actually on the sledge, I mean – and then he came home to Jamaica Close and Mam gave us both pie and chips and we went on talking. He’s rare keen on the service, and it made me think I could do worse than join up as well. You see, everyone knows there’s a war comin’ despite what Mr Chamberlain said, and Cyril told me what I’ve heard others say – that them as volunteers before war is declared get the best choice of jobs – so I went to the recruiting office and filled in about a hundred forms . . .’
Miranda gasped. She suddenly realised that if she had missed Steve so badly when he was only away for three days, she would miss him a whole lot worse if he joined the forces and left Liverpool, if not for good, then for a very long time. ‘Steve Mickleborough, if you’ve joined the Royal Air Force then it’s the most unfair thing I ever heard,’ she interrupted, her voice rising. ‘It’s not fair! I can’t do the same because I’m too young. Oh, do say you’re just kidding. Do say you’ve not committed yourself!’
Steve grinned. ‘Well if I said it, it’d be a lie,’ he announced cheerfully. ‘I took the recruiting sergeant’s advice and went up to London with Cyril. We booked ourselves into a YMCA hostel – it was quite cheap – and I went to a place called Adastral House where I filled in even more forms, and had an interview, and then they sent me to somewhere in the suburbs where I had a medical. I passed A1 – well I would, wouldn’t I? – and I’ll get a letter telling me where to report for training in a few weeks.’
Miranda’s mouth dropped open. ‘Without telling me?’ she said. ‘Without a word to your bezzie, just because we’d had a teeny little falling out? Steve, how could you? Oh, if only I were a couple of years older . . .’
Steve began to say that he had only forestalled the authorities by a few months because he was sure they would start recruiting his age group very soon, but Miranda was not listening. She pushed her teacup and the plate with its half-eaten éclair away from her, put her head down on her arms and began to weep in earnest. Steve, clearly alarmed, for everyone in the tea room was staring at them, reached across the table and tried to brush the hot tears from Miranda’s reddened cheeks. ‘Stop makin’ an exhibition of yourself, and me too,’ he hissed. ‘Everyone will be thinkin’ I’ve done or said somethin’ bad to make you carry on so. What’s so wrong with me joinin’ the air force anyway? I don’t want to go into the Navy, ’cos I’m always seasick, and I don’t fancy the army either. But I’m interested in aero engines, because that’s what we make at the factory. Oh, Miranda, do stop!’
Miranda sat up; she was red-eyed and the tears still brimmed over, but she muttered something inaudible and reached for her cup.
‘What did you say?’ Steve asked, rather apprehensively. ‘Look, Miranda, it’s no use blamin’ me because what’s done can’t be undone . . . oh, dear, don’t start again! Here, take this.’ He offered her a moderately clean handkerchief, with which Miranda began mopping-up operations, whilst continuing to mutter.
‘It’s always the same,’ she said in a small, hoarse voice. ‘Nobody really likes me, not enough to stay with me, at any rate. First it was my mum; she pushed me away by making me call her Arabella, and left. Then it was Missie, who went off to her island, then Pete Huxtable took Timmy, and now it’s you!’
‘And next it will be you,’ Steve pointed out. ‘You’ve said yourself that as soon as you’re old enough you’re going to join one of the forces. So all you’ve got to do is wait a while, and you’ll be off yourself. And remember, I’m joining the air force. From what I’ve heard the chaps in the air force don’t necessarily go abroad. I might be posted to somewhere within a few miles of Liverpool; think of that!’
Miranda gave her eyes one last rub then handed the now sodden handkerchief back to Steve. Then she picked up the remainder of the éclair and began to eat it. ‘You’re right, of course,’ she said as she finished the last delectable mouthful. ‘I was being silly. The truth is, knowing that you had kept something a secret from me made me feel left out, rejected if you like. Why didn’t you tell me, Steve? You could have come round to Russell Street before you left, or you could have come to the office.’
‘Oh yeah? And have you either bury your fangs in my throat or burst into floods of tears and try to stop me going?’ Steve said, grinning. He leaned across the table and rumpled Miranda’s already rather untidy hair. ‘Besides, I wasn’t sure whether I’d be accepted or not.’ He eyed the remaining cakes on the stand. ‘Want another one?’
Miranda shook her head. ‘No thanks; now that I’ve pulled myself together I really should be getting back to the flat, since it’s my turn to do the spuds and get some sort of a meal together. Want to come to tea with Avril and me? If so I dare say we could run to fish and chips.’
Steve paid the bill, agreeing to forgo his mam’s Lancashire hotpot and have supper in Russell Street, and they left the tea room. Outside on the pavement Steve gave Miranda’s hand a squeeze. ‘Are we pals again? Bezzies? Or are you still cross?’
Miranda gave a watery giggle and shook her head. ‘No, I’m not cross; I was a fool to be annoyed. Of course you should join up, and I’ll do the same when I’m old enough. Can you come straight round to the flat now, or do you want to go home first?’
Steve considered. ‘I’d best nip back to Jamaica Close and tell Mam I shan’t be in for tea,’ he said. ‘Come back with me, why don’t you? Mam’s always glad to see you and you can have a good old moan about me leavin’ home, ’cos Mam was just as upset as you were when I told her I’d joined the RAF.’
Miranda suspected that he was crossing his fingers behind his back, for she thought Mrs Mickleborough far too sensible to object to her son’s joining up; his elder brother was in the Royal Navy, after all. But as he had said, she did like Steve’s mum, so the two of them set out together for Jamaica Close, the best of friends once more, their differences forgotten.