The Girls from See Saw Lane Read Free Page B

think you have to hurt the one you love. I think it makes more sense to be nice to the one you love.’
    â€˜You’ve got a lot to learn about love,’ she said, catching hold of my hand and starting to run.
    â€˜I don’t think I’ll bother,’ I shouted, stumbling behind her.
    We had only run a short distance when I let go of her hand and leant against a wall.
    Mary ran back to me.
    I took the puffer out of my pocket, inhaling the medicine and holding my breath.
    â€˜I forgot,’ said Mary.
    â€˜I know.’
    â€˜I’m always forgetting.’
    â€˜I know.’
    â€˜We’ll walk really slowly,’ she said. ‘In fact we’ll crawl, and if anyone says anything, we’ll tell them to take a long run off a short pier.’
    â€˜You’re daft, you are.’
    â€˜I know, it’s endearing, isn’t it?’
    â€˜That’s one word for it.’
    â€˜Feeling better?’
    â€˜Much.’
    We walked slowly down West Street and on to the seafront. There were crowds of people milling around the aquarium and the little shops, whose windows were full of pink shiny Brighton rock wrapped in cellophane and plastic windmills for the children to hold in the wind. We were used to all the holidaymakers who arrived in the summer with their umbrellas and their plastic mats and their noisy children. The rock in the sweet shops was for them. Me and Mary had never bought the rock and we’d never visited the aquarium. When I was a kid, my mum said if I ever ate it I’d end up with no teeth. My sister Rita said that in my case that could only be an improvement. She’s very sweet, my sister. Not.
    â€˜How do I look?’ asked Mary.
    â€˜You look nice.’
    â€˜What do you mean I look nice? I need to look more than nice, nice is ordinary, I have to look better than ordinary. I have to look extraordinary.’
    â€˜You look fab,’ I said. ‘Really, you do.’
    â€˜Have you got any lippy on you?’
    â€˜Haven’t you got any, then?’
    â€˜I wouldn’t be asking you if I had any would I?’
    â€˜Well you usually do.’
    â€˜For heaven’s sake, have you got any or not?’
    â€˜A bit but you’ll have to dig it out with a match.’
    â€˜Have you got a match?’
    â€˜I don’t think so.’
    â€˜Do you know how irritating you can be at times?’
    â€˜It has been mentioned. I’ve got a hair grip, that should do it.’
    â€˜What colour is it?’ she said.
    â€˜What the hair grip?’
    â€˜No, stupid, the lippy.’
    â€˜It’s called Corn Silk. It’s a kind of apricot colour. It will go nicely with your jumper.’
    Before we went into the cafe, we went across the road to the Flick ‘n’ Curl hairdressers, ‘cos they had this big mirror in the window and Mary could put the lippy on.
    I found the hair grip, managed to get the lippy out and smeared some on Mary’s lips. She tucked them into her mouth to spread it about a bit. She stood in front of me holding her face up like a child. I licked the corner of my handkerchief and tidied the edges up for her.
    â€˜Do I look all right?’ she said again.
    â€˜You look fab!’ I said, smiling at her.
    Dells cafe was full of people. Its windows were covered with posters and notices advertising gigs and what films were on at the Regent Cinema, and there was a lovely smell, a combination of coffee and that hot, sugary scent of fresh doughnuts. Mary and I went in and the first person we saw was Christine Smith, leaning against the jukebox. Her best friend Angie Brown was over by the counter. They both worked in the sack factory and they had this permanent smell of fish about them. I don’t know why working in a sack factory made them smell of fish, but it did. 
    â€˜All right?’ asked Christine when we walked in. Her face was red and damp in the heat. She popped the last piece of