Page 43 of Millie & George: Young Love
‘No problem. Mind you, we’ll both be moving to the living room if Millie accepts the invitation.’ George said, glancing across to the bar at Millie, pleased to see she’d stopped talking to the man in the grey suit and was serving a couple of innocuous looking girls.
Owen paused from taking another mouthful of beer and asked, ‘Why both of us?’
‘She’ll be in my room.’
‘Won’t you be there too?’
‘No. Even if we were having sex, which we’re not yet.’ George flicked freshly worried eyes at Owen; trying to work out what his mate thought of this confession. ‘Mum and Dad would expect us to stay apart while Millie visits. So it’ll be me and you in the sitting room.’
‘Old fashioned.’
‘Yes, Mum’s a Catholic and Dinosaur.’
Owen nodded slowly.
‘It’s all right though, isn’t it? Sleeping in the living room, I mean. It’s all right with you?’
‘Course it is.’ Owen put his half empty beer glass down and glanced across at Millie. She was walking over to their table, carrying a tray. ‘You said she’s studying journalism?’
‘Yes, I did.’ George rooted around in the crisp packet for the last crumbs of salt and vinegar, sucked them off his fingers.
‘Right, boys.’ Millie arrived at their table and cleared a space for her tray. Owen and George stared at three plates heaped with steaming hot shepherd’s pie.
Millie said, ‘I’m on my break, and it’s time for us to eat.’ She glanced at Owen and, seeming to recognise his reluctance, she went on, ‘It’s free. Leftovers from lunchtime. Whoever said there’s no such thing as a free lunch was obviously wrong.’ She grinned at them both and added, ‘It’s a little crispy around the edges, but it’s still good to eat. A perk of the job.’
Owen said, ‘Only if you’re sure and it’s not cost you anything?’
‘Only my blood, sweat and tears.’ She laughed and added, ‘Have you not heard what a slave driver Pete is?’
‘That’s very kind of you, Millie,’ Owen said and treated her to one of his most vulnerable, lost boy smiles.
George wanted to kick him and waited miserably for Millie to melt in the glow of Owen’s soulful gaze. He didn’t blame Owen… not really. Probably, Owen didn’t even know he was doing it. Charm and vulnerability just naturally oozed out of him. This was the real Owen, not the careless man who had ignored Millie at St Pancras. How could she resist him now?
She gave Owen’s arm a squeeze and said, ‘Seriously, I am very sure. Now eat up.’ She nodded at the plate, then pulled a chair to the table and sat close to George, saying to him, ‘I know I don’t have to force you to eat it.’
‘That’s true.’ George, pushing his fears and insecurities aside, relaxed a little. ‘Always hungry, that’s me.’ He gently touched Millie’s hand. ‘I was just telling Owen you want to go into journalism when you finish college.’
‘I’ve got some good news on that.’ She squeezed George’s fingers, then turned her attention to the food again, moving the plates from the tray, and setting out the cutlery swaddled in paper napkins. Everything in order to her satisfaction and with eyes sparkling, she declared, ‘I’ve got an internship sorted.’
‘Millie, that’s great.’ George dropped the fork.
‘When does it start?’ Owen asked, picking up his beer again.
‘The end of the final term.’
‘How long for?’
‘Three months. If I do well, and if they like me, it could lead straight to a proper job with them.’
‘Who’s it with?’ George asked. ‘Don’t tell us it’s with the BBC!’
‘Nothing so grand. It’s a mid-rank woman’s magazine. You boys would never have heard of it.’
‘Maybe not me,’ George said. ‘But Owen will probably know it. He reads anything and everything he can get his hands on. The other week I found him reading the Red Letter.’
‘Is that a communist journal?’ Millie asked.
Owen spluttered into his beer.
