Fire by Deborah Challinor Read Free Book Online Page B

shines out of Terry’s backside and the pair of you would have got married anyway. So make yourself the wedding dress you want to wear, hold your head up when you walk down the aisle, and to hell with everyone else. What difference does it make, really, eh?’
    ‘You should tell that to my mother,’ Daisy said. She was smiling again, but her eyes glistened with unshed tears. ‘She won’t come out and say it, but she thinks I’m a trollop. And an idiot.’
    Louise ferreted in her handbag for a handkerchief and passed it to Daisy. ‘I’m sure she doesn’t. I expect she’s just disappointed. Most mothers would rather everything happened in the right order, but like Irene said, it doesn’t always work out like that, does it?’
    Daisy shook her head and honked into the handkerchief.
    Louise put on her talking-to-a-three-year-old voice. ‘So come on then, finish your sandwich and cup of tea and we’ll go and look at patterns with long sleeves, shall we? It’s your day and you should wear what you like.’ She turned to Irene and gave her a small, grateful smile. ‘Do you want to come?’
    Irene shook her head. ‘I would, but Allie’s got a date tomorrow night and we’re going to work on her make-up.’
    ‘Have you?’ Louise said to Allie excitedly. ‘Who’s the lucky man?’
    ‘Everyone’s asked that!’ Allie tried to sound annoyed but failed.
    Just then Sonny sauntered past their table, a food-laden tray casually balanced on one hand. He inclined his head and winked at her.
    Why was it, Allie thought, that when Sonny Manaia winked it was clean and fun and like a breath of fresh air, but when Vince Reynolds did it, it was like yesterday’s chip fat? She wanted to wink back but knew she wasn’t very good at it and would only end up pulling an ugly face, so she smiled instead, and then he was gone.
    Grinning, she confessed, ‘It’s him. Sonny Manaia.’
    ‘Why am I not surprised?’ Louise said.
    ‘I don’t know, why are you not surprised?’ Allie was laughing.
    Louise nodded. ‘Well, good for you. It’s about time you went out with someone nice. In fact, it’s time you went out, full stop. It’s not good for a girl to sit at home night after night.’
    ‘I don’t!’
    ‘Oh, stop being everyone’s mother, Lou,’ Irene admonished. ‘Come on, Allie, let’s go and get stuck into this war paint.’
    The light was quite good in the staff restrooms, because the row of handbasins and mirrors against one wall reflected the light from the high windows opposite.
    ‘It’s important, you know,’ Irene said, ‘to have the right light. You need to see every tiny imperfection.’
    ‘I’d rather not,’ Allie replied, scrutinizing her face in one of the mirrors. ‘I’m covered in freckles. Oh God, is that a pimple starting? There, on my chin?’
    Irene looked. ‘A little one, maybe. And you’re not covered in freckles, there’s only a few across your nose. They make you look…’ she struggled for an appropriate description, ‘sun-kissed!’
    ‘Sun-kissed, my bum. It’s not fair, I’m twenty years old and still getting pimples.’
    ‘Are your monthlies due?’ Irene asked.
    Allie had to think for a second, then nodded. ‘In a couple of days.’
    Irene waved her hand dismissively. ‘You’ll be all right for tomorrow night, then. Safe as houses.’
    Allie opened her mouth to ask Irene what she meant, then caught on. ‘There won’t be anything like that! It’s only the pictures and I hardly know him.’
    ‘But you’d like to, though, wouldn’t you?’
    ‘I’d like to what?’
    Irene laughed at the look on Allie’s face. ‘Know him. Isn’t that why you’re going out with him?’
    ‘I suppose so.’
    ‘There you are, then.’
    Irene used one of the toilets, then came out and washed her hands. She reapplied her lipstick then eased her skirt up around her hips, hitched up her stockings and reattached them to the clasps on her suspender belt. ‘Bloody things,’ she said.