The Diary Of Pamela D. by greg monks Read Free Book Online Page A

hurry to get changed. Well, come along! We haven’t got
all day.’
     
    ‘ Haworth is where we go to do our
shopping,’ Mrs. Pascoe said as soon as the two got into her faded
blue Volvo. ‘We sometimes go to Bradford, but it’s a little further
out of the way. Besides, I’m not partial to Bradford. You’ll like
Haworth. That’s where the Brontë family was from.’
    ‘Who?’
    Mrs. Pascoe gave her a
not-quite-mock scandalized look. ‘ Surely you’ve heard of the Brontë
sisters, Anne, Emily and Charlotte, and their ne’er-do-well brother
Branwell? No? Well, if you’re going to live in this part of the
world, you had better learn! A knowledge of the Brontës is
essential if you want to be accepted by certain circles. When we
get back, ask Mr. Theo if he will allow you access to the library.
But don’t tell him what you want to read! He has no patience with what he
calls fluff. ’
    ‘What did the Brontës do?’ Pamela asked,
innocently.
    ‘They wrote Gothic love stories,’ Mrs. Pascoe
told her, ‘in the early part of the 19th century. They didn’t live
for very long, poor things. Something about the proximity of the
graveyard to their water supply, from what I understand. Anne was a
bit of a feminist, if that sort of thing interests you. She was
many years ahead of her time . . .’
    All the way to Haworth,
Pamela’s thoughts ran in counterpoint to Mrs. Pascoe’s pleasant and
interesting ramblings. It turned out that she had heard of stories like Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre .
They were so famous as to be common household words, like salt and
pepper. But she had never read either story, or seen cinematic
renditions.
    Once at Haworth they didn’t make their way to
the top of the steep main street where the church and museum,
formerly the Haworth Parsonage, were situated. Instead they went
directly to a clothing store where Mrs. Pascoe closely supervised
Pamela’s purchases, warning her about the coming winter weather.
Afterwards, Mrs. Pascoe allowed Pamela to go to Deluxe Junk, a
secondhand clothing store, where she got a number of utilitarian
items: some heavy, warm outdoor clothes, a good pair of wellies
with a lot of wear left in them, two pairs of walking shoes that
appeared almost new, a tall, wooden plant stand she herself
wouldn’t have minded owning. After leaving, they put Pamela’s
parcels in the boot of Mrs. Pascoe’s car and made their way to the
Black Bull. On the way, Pamela took in the names of other
businesses for future reference- The Stable Door, The Copper
Kettle, Spook Books . . .
    ‘It’s relatively quiet, for a change,’ Mrs.
Pascoe said with obvious relief, appraising the interior of the
Black Bull as she removed her outer garments and hung them up. When
Pamela had followed suit and they had seated themselves, she added,
‘Suits me just fine, without all those obnoxious tourists
cluttering up the place. Now, d’you know what you’d like?’
    Pamela gazed at the menu, feeling blank. ‘I
don’t know. What are “game pies?” And what are “pasties?”’
    ‘Oh, dear,’ said Mrs. Pascoe
with mock exasperation, ‘you do need educating. I’ll order, how will that be?’ She
ordered two “best” and some “pasties,” which turned out to be a
couple of pints of beer or ale (Pamela didn’t know the difference)
and meat and vegetable filled pastries. Pamela balked when she saw
the beer but decided to drink it out of politeness. ‘Now, then,’
Mrs. Pascoe said, ‘let’s get down to brass tacks. What’s going on
between you and young Mr. Dewhurst? And don’t you try to deny it! I
saw you standing there in his arms- ’
    ‘It wasn’t anything!’ Pamela retorted in a
desperate whisper, thoroughly flustered. ‘I don’t know why he did
that.’
    ‘Did what? Did he try to kiss you?’
    ‘No!’ Pamela almost shouted, and then,
quietly, ‘No. He didn’t do anything. I think he was just trying to
be nice to me because I was so upset, but I got scared