Luckpenny Land Read Free Page A

her of the solace of this much loved view and she fell upon the bed and lay on her back, determined not to cry. But despite her best intentions great fat tears rolled out of the corners of her eyes and ran down into her ears. She had chosen the wrong moment. Why had she risked spoiling the dance for an impossible concession? What had possessed her to be so reckless?
    The thought of dancing with Jack Lawson made her stomach quiver with excitement. Now she wouldn’t see him at all and he’d chat up some other girl.
    She got off the bed to stand in front of the speckled mirror and confront the horror of her hair. One side was long as ever, rippling in waves over her shoulder. The other side was short, sticking out in a madcap sort of way like a halo. The oddness of it suddenly appealed to her sense of humour and she felt a giggle start deep inside. What would everyone say if she left it like this? They’d think she’d gone mad. The shortness of it seemed to exaggerate the devilish gleam of hot rebellion that still burned in her grey eyes.
    The laughter started then, bubbling up and spilling over in great spurts of glee. And suddenly it didn’t matter what her father did. She was young, wasn’t she? Soon the dull days of winter and a cold spring would lighten into summer. There was still time to find some other way of escape. And she would, too. However much she might feel that she belonged here, at Ashlea, she wouldn’t stay as anyone’s skivvy.
    What’s more, if there was some way for her to go to the lambing supper, then she would find it. She must see Jack, she must. But first the hair. Meg opened a dressing table drawer and took out a pair of scissors. Short hair, Kath said, was all the rage.
     
    It was Charlie who championed her, as always. He came in on a bluster of cold wind, banging all the doors.
    Dan and her father were upstairs getting washed and changed ready to go out and Meg was drying her hair in front of the fire. She had cut and washed it and now it sprang in short bouncy curls, a wild mass of golden colour about her head. She rather thought it suited her but was still self-conscious about it. Charlie sank wearily into a chair, telling her about the latest lambs to be born and put with their ewes in the barn for the night. It was a moment before he noticed her hair. When at last he did, an explanation had to be given and his young face darkened.
    ‘He treats you as if it were still the dark ages instead of the twentieth century. Don’t let him get away with it.’
    Meg gave a rueful smile as she brewed tea and set a steaming mug in his hands. ‘I think I already said more than I should. We had a real ding-dong.’
    ‘He’ll not keep me locked up. There’s a war coming, you know. Hitler won’t stop till he’s got what he’s after. All of Europe no less. While we fuss over the cost of building aeroplanes, German forces have taken over Austria. Where next? France? Poland?’ His blue eyes came alight with fervour and he ran one grubby hand through hair only a shade paler than her own. ‘I’ll be one of the first to join up if war comes. You just see.’
    ‘You’re too young,’ she laughed, rumpling his tangled curls affectionately, but he snatched himself away from her.
    ‘Don’t say that. You sound like Father.’
    She was at once contrite. Charlie was not a natural farmer, being better with machines than the blood and gore that was an unavoidable part of country life. And Joe never let an opportunity pass to taunt his younger son about his squeamishness which hurt Meg as much as it did Charlie, for they were close.
    ‘Come on, love, have a piece of gingerbread while I go and shut the hens up. It’ll warm you. There might be more to lamb tonight and you’ll need to cope alone with Father and Dan both going out.’
    The hens were making those warm, contented chutterings as Meg slid down the door over the pop hole to keep them safe from unwelcome night visitors. She loved looking after