The Girl From Number 22 by Joan Jonker Read Free Book Online

waste of a tanner, you coming here,’ Danny told him. ‘Why don’t yer stay at home? Yer could moan to yer heart’s content there, and it wouldn’t cost yer anything.’
    ‘It doesn’t cost me anything to come.’ Greg had a smirk on his face. ‘Me ma pays for me.’
    Another mate, Paddy, said, ‘I don’t blame her. She probably does it so she doesn’t have to listen to yer moaning all night.’
    Danny cocked an ear. The four piece band were playing a rumba. And there wasn’t a girl in the hall who could do a rumba as well as Dorothy. So he made haste towards her. ‘Are yer fit, Dorothy?’
    Dorothy’s deep brown eyes widened, and when she spoke there was a hint of sarcasm in her voice. ‘Oh, I thought yer’d be asking Janet for this one. Yer seemed to be getting quite matey with her.’
    ‘Did I? Oh, well, if yer don’t want to dance, I may as well ask her.’
    Dorothy was quick to tell him, ‘I didn’t say I didn’t want to dance, I was only remarking that yer seemed friendly with Janet. Yer know I enjoy doing the rumba with yer.’
    ‘Shall we get on the floor before the dance is over, then?’
    There was no doubt that Dorothy was outstanding when doing the rumba. Many couples left the floor to stand at the side and watch. And Danny, his head and chest swollen with pride, matched her step for step. They made a perfect couple, and both knew it. But Danny wasn’t quite as serious as Dorothy, he could always see the funny side. And when they came to the part of the rumba where he bent her backwards over his left arm, he looked down at her, his dimples deepening, and asked, ‘By the way, Dorothy, is your father a big bloke?’

Chapter Three
    It was Monday morning and Ada was struggling to turn the heavy handle on the mangle. She stopped to wipe the perspiration from her forehead, saying aloud, ‘I hate ruddy Mondays. I don’t know why we can’t spread the wash over a few days and make life easier for ourselves.’ With a deep sigh, she turned the handle again with her right hand, while with her left she held the sheet as it came through the rubber rollers at the back. ‘It’s a flaming custom that’s been passed down from generation to generation. In fact it’s probably a habit from the year dot. Washday every Monday, and fish day every Friday. Not that I dislike fish, I’m rather partial to it, but I hate Monday!’
    The sheet came out from the rollers, and Ada folded it several times so it wouldn’t touch the stone floor. She stood for a while to catch her breath, then opened the kitchen door and stepped down into the yard. The large pocket in her pinny was bulging with wooden pegs, and she took three out and put them in her mouth before throwing the sheet over the clothes line. Then she opened it up and spread it along the line, pegging it at intervals. There was a breeze out, and soon the sheet was blowing in the wind. She leaned back against the wall and watched it as her head filled with notions. ‘I’d swap places with my feller any day. I’d do his job, and he could take over the housework. He wouldn’tknow what had hit him. I’d give him one week, and he’d throw the towel in. In fact he wouldn’t last the week.’
    ‘Ada Fenwick, are you talking to yerself?’ Hetty’s voice floated over the wall. ‘Yer want to be careful, ’cos it’s a bad sign, that is.’
    ‘Well, it’s Monday, isn’t it? I’m entitled to have a moan. It’s the worst ruddy day of the week, and from this week I’m going on strike. Instead of one big wash, I’m going to do a bit each day and make life easier for meself.’
    ‘No matter how yer do it, queen, it’s still the same amount of washing. And it’s not all bad today, the weather is just the job for drying the clothes quickly. We’ll have them all dry by teatime, ready to iron in the morning.’
    ‘Thanks for telling me that, sunshine, it gives me something to look forward to. A stack of ruddy ironing!’
    ‘My goodness, you are down