That'll Be the Day (2007) Read Free Page B

got a motorbike, will that do?’
    ‘I suppose it’ll have to.’ Lynda rather liked motor bikes and he went up a little in her estimation. At least the leather jacket wasn’t simply for show. ‘Seven o’clock it is then. Shall I wear my tight jeans for the bike, then change into a skirt at the dance? I mean, I don’t want the wind to blow it up and embarrass you by revealing next week’s washing.’
    ‘Stop teasing the poor lad,’ said a voice in her ear. ‘He’s breaking out in a cold sweat at the thought.’
    ‘Oh, hello Winnie. I didn’t see you standing there.’ Damn, she should have known a person didn’t have a minute’s privacy on this market. When had Winnie Holmes ever missed a trick? Biggest gossip on the street, for all she might deny it.
    In a show of defiance, Lynda reached up to place a soft kiss on Terry’s cheek, sending him back to work in a daze of desire, before turning to Winnie to ask in her coolest tones, ‘Did you want something?’
    ‘Aye, a few marguerites. Where’s your mam?’
    ‘The marguerites are all finished now, but we’ve some beautiful blue delphiniums. Mam’s gone for a cuppa at Belle’s caff. She’s got a cold coming on.’
    ‘Oh aye, I saw her there a while back. I thought she looked a bit peaky. She should watch out, it could be that old cow Belle Garside trying to poison her. Hey up, it might be none of my business but isn’t Terry Hall a bit young for you, chuck?’
    Lynda concentrated on wrapping half a dozen of the tall blue flowers, still in tight bud, refusing to rise to Winnie’s snide remark. The woman was forever poking her nose in where it wasn’t wanted. Besides, her mind was fully occupied wondering if dating a vibrant male six years younger than herself who owned a motor bike might turn out to be far more exciting than she’d first thought.

 
    Chapter Three
    Betty was snoring gently on her green moquette sofa, quietly recovering from the worst day she could remember in a long time. She’d meant to be back at her flower stall by now but had fallen asleep listening to Woman’s Hour on the wireless. Now she was brought rudely awake by a knock on the door.
    ‘Who can that be? Not Constable Nuttall, thank God, he always hammers the door down.’ Betty groaned. ‘I hope it’s not Winnie Holmes come poking her nose in where it’s not wanted.’
    Rubbing the sleep from her eyes she shuffled down the passage to the front door in her carpet slippers, the little bobbles on the front bouncing as she walked. The knock came again, louder this time. ‘All right, all right, keep your hair on, I’m coming.’
    He was standing on her doorstep, a bunch of yellow roses clutched tightly in his hands, bought no doubt from her own flower stall. Betty was filled with a sudden unexpected rage at the sight of him, and, as if guessing her intention, he put a foot in the door.
    ‘Don’t try closing it. I just wanted a word. There’s no harm in that now Betty love, is there?’
    ‘Every harm, I should think, judging from past experience,’ Betty snapped. ‘And don’t call me love. I haven’t been that for many a long year.’
    ‘Ten minutes of your time, no more. Then I’ll be out of your life again, just like before. Here, I fetched you these. I know roses are your favourite.’ He pushed the bunch into her unwilling hands and was over the threshold striding along the passage into her home before she could gather her wits fast enough to stop him.
    ‘Nice place you’ve got here. Must be doing all right on that stall of yours?’
    Betty found she was shaking as she scuttled after him and, resolving not to be intimidated, flung the offending roses on to the table from where they skidded off on to the linoleum-covered floor. She stood four-square before her ex-husband, arms folded and a dangerous glint in her eye. ‘What is it you want? If it’s money you’re after, you’ve come to the wrong shop. I owe you nothing.’
    ‘Dear me, what a low opinion