She's Leaving Home Read Free Page A

remarks to tease. In response Colette clutched her stomach and made retching noises. By now the two truants were the centre of an admiring circle.
    ‘You’ll get caught,’ Meg interspersed sourly. The discussion of their favourites’ relative merits and talents continued for several moments. A small group over by the far window, who had asserted that the locals were not a patch on the real thing from America, began softly to croon the Roy Orbison hit ‘Only the Lonely’.
    Brenda spoke sharply. ‘Shut it. We’ll have Miss Plumb in here if you’re not careful.’ She turned to Helen. ‘You doing anything tomorrow? We have a day off, remember.’
    Helen was puzzled. ‘It’s a Friday. What’s up?’
    ‘It’s for Founder’s Day. Oh, I forgot, you weren’t in assembly last week when the date was announced. You know we’re entitled to an extra day’s holiday to commemorate Emma Holt, daughter of our illustrious founder, whose demise in 1844 at the early age of seven led to his recognition of the importance of education for girls. Have I got that right?’ Brenda appealed to her listeners.
    ‘Nearly. Except the child died before that,’ Meg could not help correcting. Her fingernails were bitten to the quick; when anyone looked at her hands she would slide them behind her back. ‘Still, nice of her Papa. Not many people believed in educating girls in those days.’
    ‘They still don’t.’ This was said with feeling from Colette.
    ‘Your Dad still being a pest?’ Brenda was sympathetic.
    Colette put down her file and pushed hair from her forehead. ‘He can’t see the point in my staying on,’ she said quietly. ‘I could have left in July and he says I ought to be out earning my keep. Nobody in my family has ever stayed at school longer than the law required, ever, and most skipped off long before that.’
    ‘Can’t he see that you’ll end up maintaining the entire household if you go to college and get a good job?’ Meg spoke with a hint of superiority. ‘Anyway, what does he want you to do? You can’t exactly end up working in the docks like him or your brothers.’
    ‘There’s nothing wrong with dock work.’ Colette’s response had a touch of irritation.
    Meg could not restrain herself. ‘Except there’s less and less of it. If your brothers want to be sure of wage packets in ten years’ time, they’d have been better off staying at school themselves.’
    ‘Fat chance. They weren’t learning much at Paddington Comprehensive, were they? But our Billy’s applied to the new factory at Ford’s. The first cars roll off in March – if they’re on time. He says he’ll hate being indoors the whole day and the moving track will drive him crackers but the money’s great, and steady.’
    Helen moved to the large sash window whose design revealed the Regency origins of the grand house that Mr Holt had purchased for his pioneering school. The Anglican Cathedral towered nearby, its red sandstone creeping inch by inch to the sky, still unfinished after half a century. A solitary crane stood gaunt, its small load being raised with infinite slowness up to a solitary workman who sat on the scaffolding, his feet dangled over the edge. Nothing would happen till he had finished his cigarette. When the foundation stone was laid this area had been wealthy and snobbish, the perfect location. Now it had become run-down; the handsome old properties had slid into multi-occupation as the more affluent headed for suburbs and to smart mini-towns over the water. It was not safe to wander around Canning Street and Blackburne Terrace after dark.
    Beyond the cathedral the land dipped away steeply down past the old cemetery towards the river. On a fine day Birkenhead and Cammell Lairds were clearly visible. But this afternoon the damp chill made the light soft and misty so that the mythical Liver birds on top of the Cunard building seemed to float, unsupported and ethereal.
    The river. You can always leave, murmured