Page 60 of Lessons in Life

‘So.’ Janice caught up with her, taking her arm. ‘Are you going to come out with us on Saturday? I live in Little Micklethwaite, so you could come down to my house first if you wanted and we could get the bus together.’

‘The bus?’

‘Yes, you know, a big red thing that picks people up and takes them places?’

‘I’ll have to ask Mummy.’

‘Why? You’re seventeen, Eloise. Why can’t you just say you’re off out? Or wouldn’t your mum and dad want you going out with us?’

Eloise felt her face redden, knowing Janice had insight into the truth. ‘No, no, no, it’s not that at all…’ she stuttered.

‘Great, then come down to our house – it’s a fifteen-minute walk into Little Micklethwaite from the centre of Beddingfield where you said your granny lives. We can get the bus down to the Rooms together.’

Eloise left the girls and made her way back to the office, reluctant to be swapping the warm July sunshine for the overpowering fug of Lenthéric Tweed – Sandra’s – and BO – Carole’s – that permeated the air each afternoon as the warm summer days progressed.

She stopped suddenly, coming to a standstill as a figure in front of her stood as if playing a child’s game of statues, his arms raised slightly as he dropped slowly and noiselessly to a crouched position. The man in the blue mill overall, obviously sensing Eloise’s presence, turned slightly, immediately tutting and swearing under his breath at the flurry of activity from the adjacent privet.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ he snapped. ‘You’ve disturbed it now.’

‘I’m so sorry, what was it?’

‘The most beautiful song thrush. I’ve been trying to get a decent picture of it for days.’ The man – boy really, probably only a couple of years older than herself, Eloise thought – turned back to his camera, ignoring Eloise, who didn’t know if she should carry on speaking or simply walk away.

‘How d’you know it was a song thrush?’ she finally asked. ‘And not a mistle thrush?’

‘Brown above, with a white belly covered in black, drop-shaped spots. It’s smaller and a warmer brown than the mistle thrush.’ His voice, testy, was accented and when he turned once more, Eloise stared, feeling the air almost sucked from her lungs as she came face to face with what she knew to be the most beautiful face she’d ever seen. Coffee-coloured skin, the beginnings of a dark beard and huge brown eyes, which were now fixed crossly on her own.

‘Are you all right?’ The boy stared, almost impatiently, in her direction. ‘You’ve gone very white. You’re not going to faint, are you?’

Eloise immediately felt herself flush the unbecoming beetroot that appeared par for the course whenever she came face to face with an attractive male. Would it ever stop?

‘Sorry, so sorry…’

‘Oh, wow. Fab!’

Eloise turned to see who was behind her. What had suddenly delighted him? He relaxed his cross face into a smile showing the most amazingly white straight teeth.

‘What?’ Eloise, realising he was staring at her, put up a hand to her face, to her hair. Had she got the remains of the cheese sandwich round her mouth?

‘A Praktica Super TL.’ He breathed the words reverentially, and was reaching a hand towards where the camera was strapped over her shoulder when the klaxon warning rent the air again and a shout of, ‘Oy, Sattar, stop pissing about with that bird and get back on the shop floor.’

‘Does he mean me?’ Eloise was most indignant.

‘No.’ The boy smiled, heading off in the direction of the carding shed. ‘He means the song thrush.’

* * *

‘Eloise, dear, can I have a word?’ Dorothy Gray was waiting at the door of the General Office as soon as Eloise returned from lunch.

‘Yes, of course.’ Her head full of the beautiful boy with the camera, she couldn’t think straight or even speak properly. She took a deep breath, trying to concentrate on what the older woman was saying. Oh God, had she filed Wm Armstrong and Sons under Wm Armitage and Sons again like yesterday?

‘I don’t think sitting on the grass with the mill girls is quite the thing, dear. You get my meaning? You must come and eat your lunch with us in the office canteen. I should have taken you there from the start, but I got the impression you wanted to walk into the village to buy your lunch? Have a bit of a look round? Mrs Wilson has some very nice Sirdar patterns and wool to knit yourself a nice cardi…’

‘Mrs Wilson?’ Eloise shook her head slightly, not wanting to disperse the fading image of the boy from her mind.

‘Haberdashery, dear. She’ll put the wool away for you if you want to pay weekly…’

‘Right.’ Eloise frowned. ‘I can’t knit to save my life. And I really enjoy sitting with the girls. They’re so interesting. They’ve invited me…’ Eloise broke off, sensing danger.

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