Mia Gregory is a former counsellor who lives in South Wales with her

daughter and three dogs. She worked for a number of years for the
NHS and the Probation Service.
Clouds got in my way is her first novel and she has completed a follow
up.










To Doctor Michael Bowman who saved me.












































Copyright Mia Gregory

The right of Mia Gregory to be identified as author of this work has
been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise,
without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this
publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for
damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British
Library.


ISBN 978 184963 718 3


www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2014)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd.
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LB








Printed and bound in Great Britain









So many things I would have done but clouds got in my way.

Both Sides Now
Joni Mitchell





Chapter 1


I fell in love on the underground. I did my courting on the underground or most
of it. What a funny word that is, courting, sounds so old fashioned, but I cant
think of another that describes the process. It was a descent into madness, falling
in love and one I hope never to repeat. I dont want to give control over my
emotions to another person ever, to be so besotted with them that whatever they
do impacts on me to such a great extent, that if things went wrong I wanted to
die. But that was how it was, or at least how it seemed for those eight years from
when I was eighteen until I was twenty six.
It was the nineteen sixties, the summer of love, the birth of the Age of
Aquarius. Ironic that, because Aquarius was also my birth sign. Flower power
and hippies and people loving each other were everywhere it seemed,
everywhere except in the North London suburb where I grew up. Middle class
girls with solicitors for fathers and librarians for mothers didnt embrace free
love, flower power or the hippie movement, especially not convent educated
middle class girls. Well, thats what my cousin said. My cousin who at two
years older than me knew everything, or at least thought she did. But thats
another story. I had left school at sixteen, much to my fathers disgust, on the
condition that I take a secretarial course. I had agreed as I had been desperate to
escape the confines of school, where I had never fitted in. I didnt like sports, I
didnt own a pony and I thought the Beatles were a group of ordinary,
unexciting and unimaginative singer/songwriters. For me music meant the sound
of Motown with its insistent beat and its throaty, hoarse sounding singers
proclaiming unrequited love or inviting everyone to dance in the street.
It was the music that saved me. It made me feel alive, it spoke to my soul.
So, when I had completed the secretarial course I did something wild, well, wild
for me, I applied for a Christmas Job at the HMV record store in Oxford Street. I
never dreamt I would get it, not in a million years, but it was a kind of rebelling
against my family, spur of the moment decision. I can remember when I
received the letter inviting me in for an interview. I just stared at it, wondering
what I could possibly bring to interview that others couldnt. My one experience
in the working world had been in a dreary architects office, where the managing
partner, a forty something South African man, had fondled and groped me every
time I had to enter his office with a letter I had inexpertly typed. As I had been
brought up to always be polite and not make a fuss, I had endured his
manhandling of me for about three months, before walking out one Friday
evening and never returning. I told my parents that the office was closing down
and of course they believed me. After that unsavoury experience I had lazed
around at home with the highlight of my day being to telephone my best friend,
who manned the reception and switchboard at her job, and play endless Motown
and soul tunes to her until she was forced, by her boss, to hang up.

This went on for about three months until the phone bill landed on the mat
and my father went ballistic. You have to find yourself a job young lady, was
his response to the outlandish size of the bill. So find myself a job I did. And so
I found myself boarding the bus and then the underground to Bond Street station
on a cheerless November morning. This in itself was an adventure. I was going
up to London, alone, not having told my parents that I was even leaving the
house, let alone applying for work in a shop!!! God, I shivered imagining their
reaction; their precious, spoilt, only daughter working in a shop. But of course I
wasnt going to get the job, just show up at the interview and the interviewer
would see how utterly unsuitable I would be for any work they had to offer.
I approached the front of the biggest record store in London with some
trepidation. Suddenly it didnt seem such a laugh anymore. I entered and
approached the first person I saw. Ive come to see Mr Howson for an
interview, I managed to stutter out to the coolest young man I had seen outside
of TV.
Sure thing, he replied with a broad Australian twang. Ill let them know
youre here. So far, so good.
I sort of hovered around until a middle-aged lady got out of the lift,
approached me and asked, Freya Beaumont?
Yes, I replied.
Come with me, she barely looked over her shoulder to see if I was
following. We entered the lift and she pressed a button saying 3
rd
floor. When
we reached our destination she pointed distractedly to a seat in a small office
and said, Wait there please, someone will call you shortly. So I did what I was
told, I waited there, and sure enough, after about ten minutes, a small middle-
aged man with brown twinkling eyes and greying dark hair entered the office.
He held out his hand and I inwardly grimaced wondering if my own was as
sweaty as it felt. He clasped it firmly however and took me through to a larger
office just off the one where I had been waiting. I watched him scrutinise my
application form for a few minutes before looking up at me.
So, you dont appear to have any sales experience, he finally said and with
that I found myself rising to leave. Where are you going? he asked with a look
of astonishment on his face. This must be the shortest interview on record, no
pun intended.
I realised I liked this little man, so I sat down again feeling and no doubt
looking bemused. Well, I stammered, you said I dont have any sales
experience and thats true so I thought that was it and I should probably leave.
God, I thought, he must think Im an idiot.
Well you dont and I was just wondering what makes you want to work
here for the Christmas period, when you could be working in a nice comfortable
office. The sales floor here gets jam packed with people all thrusting and
pushing to get served; you only get two fifteen minute tea breaks and an hour for
lunch and believe me when I say it is non-stop from the moment you arrive until
the shop closes. You will be asked to work from nine to five but on Thursdays it
might sometimes be from twelve to eight as we have late night shopping. You
will be harassed by staff and customers, your feet will ache from all the walking
you will have to do to, and from the sales till. Your arms will ache from carrying

the records and your ears will split and your mind will disintegrate from the
mindless repetition of the Christmas number one, which is always some ghastly
novelty number. Have I put you off yet? His eyes seemed to sparkle even more
with the fun I felt he was probably having at my expense.
No, it sounds great, I replied.
Ok, so which label does Frank Sinatra sing for?
I thought for a minute, and then remembered my mothers large collection
of Sinatra records. Reprise, I replied without hesitation.
And the Beach Boys?
This really had to be my lucky day; one of my friends was Beach Boys mad,
EMI, again no hesitation.
Ok so how about Engelbert Humperdinck?
My luck had just run out, I had no idea whatsoever, I couldnt stand him. I
gazed at Mr Howson and then took a wild guess, Parlaphone? Now where had
that come from I wondered?
Close, but Im afraid no cigar, he was still smiling. Actually its Decca,
but never mind, tell me what kind of music you like?
At that I launched into a long eulogy about Motown and Soul. I aired my
knowledge of the entire Motown stable and then went onto Atlantic and was just
about to launch into Stax, when he held his hand up, stopping me.
Well you certainly know your stuff, despite the lack of knowledge of
Englebert Humperdinck, but then it doesnt sound as if his music is your thing.
Have you anything you want to ask me?
No, not really. I thought I sounded a bit pathetic.
You know its just a temporary Christmas post dont you? I nodded a
reply. Well, just one more thing, when can you start?
I was struck dumb with surprise. I managed a squeaky Whenever you like.
Ok, how about we say next Monday at 9am. Youll get a letter in the post
and you can come in to get an overall when you start. You will also have to wear
black court shoes, so if you dont have any youll have to buy a pair. The salary
is three pounds a week and the contract will last until the 31
st
December. With
that he got to his feet and shook my hand again. Well see you next Monday
then.
I followed him out, back to the lift and he pushed the button, bade me
goodbye and walked off. I was so shocked. Not only had I committed myself to
a job, I also had to tell my parents what kind of job I had landed. I shivered
imagining the frosty look on my fathers face.
Maybe I should say a little about my parents. Basically they should never
have had any children as they did not have a clue about parenting. My father
was very aloof and distant in his manner. He thought that being loving was
showering me with money and giving me everything I wanted as long as he
didnt have to give me any of his attention, time, or become involved in my life
in any way. He knew what was best for me, at least he thought he did, and if I
didnt agree he would withdraw behind a wall of silence that could last for
months on end. My mother on the other hand was a nightmare that no teenage
girl should have to endure. In fact no-one should have to endure my mother.
What was wrong with her? Well where do I start? For one thing she wanted to

be a permanent teenager. For all of my fathers non-involvement in my life she
made up for it tenfold and in spades. She opened our home to my friends, she
made dates with them for lunch and things without my being there, and she
chatted to them on the phone for hours before handing the calls on to me. She
always, always joined us in the lounge, drinking and smoking and sitting on the
floor, laughing at jokes, giving her opinions and listening to music alongside us,
just as if she were our peer. I absolutely hated it. All my friends thought she was
so cool. They used to go on and on about how they wished she was their mother,
whilst I wanted to scream: Have her, take her, please. I didnt, I just went
along with it all as the line of least resistance. I allowed her to come to the pub
with us on Friday nights, come to the cinema with us, to concerts, shopping and
every other activity teenagers take part in. Having my mother engaging in all my
social activities was, to say the least, highly embarrassing. I would prefer to use
the term mortifying. The other mortifying thing being that she also wanted to
have long, prurient discussions with me about sex, not just about whether or not
I was engaged in any sexual activity, but she would go into endless details about
affairs she had had during the war, whilst my father was a prisoner of the
Japanese. Now I dont believe parents should talk to their children about their
sex life. Okay, so maybe they have to give the proverbial chat about the birds
and the bees, but it should most certainly end there. I did not want to hear about
my mother becoming wet down there every time she saw the RAF pilot she
fancied. I wanted to scream and put my fingers in my ears and dance around the
room shouting no no no no, but I didnt. I simply used to go to another place
in my mind and think about my second passion to soul music, that being history.
I could recite all the Kings and Queens of England from William the Conqueror
to the present day. In fact I had a chart on my wall depicting their lineage. So
when my mother started I would simply recite in my head, William the first,
William the second, Henry the first, Stephen and Mathilda etc until I felt she
must have stopped talking. If she went into one of her long eulogies I could
recite the French lineage as well, right up to the revolution and beyond to
Napoleon the first and the third. Of course this didnt work if I wasnt on my
own. She didnt limit these revelations just to me, but liked to regale my friends,
both female and male with her stories of being in the land army which inevitably
led onto sexual exploits during this time. Whilst I had taught myself to tune my
mother out when we were alone, I somehow couldnt do the same with other
people around me, so would have to just sit there and endure.
The other issue was quite simply the relationship between my mother and
my father. They understandably couldnt stand each other. My father would
come home from his office and eat a solitary dinner, my mother and I always
used to eat much earlier, deliberately on her part Im sure, then he would sit in
the dining room watching television until getting up and informing the room in
general, Just going for cigarettes. What he actually meant was that he was
going round the corner to the so called club for gentlemen and their sons
where he would drink, smoke and indulge in the occasional game of snooker.
This hallowed establishment was men only, apart from Friday nights when for
some unknown reason, ladies were allowed in accompanied by their spouses. In
fact it had sometimes been a treat for me if my father had asked me to, come

round to the club for a drink. Naturally I thought it to be more of a punishment
as we would stand or sit at the bar in total silence, unless one of his
acquaintances joined us. Then he would become overly hearty and jolly and
refer to me as young shaver. Nevertheless I actually loved my father, but sadly
could never tell him so, and even more sadly he could never tell me.
Right, so now we have the picture of my home life, well a part of the
picture. So far I havent really mentioned my cousin, but, more importantly, my
very best friend in all the world. She was Cassie, and she had come to live in our
private square, where her father worked as the gardener and caretaker. My
mother, who liked to know everything that went on in the square, came home in
some excitement one day talking about Mr Trent and his teenage daughter.
Theyve just moved in, she enthused, and the daughter is missing all her
friends, so Ive told him to bring her round here this evening, so she can meet
you and anyone else who might be here. Another person, I thought, to whom
my mother can hold court. As it happened it wasnt like that at all. Cassie and I
bonded immediately. We then became inseparable in the way that only fifteen
year old girls can. We liked the same music, the same clothes, she introduced
me to such great books as Gone with the wind, Dr. Zhivago and Exodus. We
both loved cats and dogs, and taking long bike rides in the evening, she on her
bike, and me on the second-hand one that my mother had bought and never
ridden. We biked and sang along Green Lanes in Winchmore Hill right up to the
triangle at Palmers Green, and around Broomfield Park. We freewheeled down
hills singing Monday Monday by the Mamas and Papas. The miracle was that
we didnt have an accident. So over that first summer our friendship was sealed.
So that really was my life as it stood. And now I had got a temporary job. I
couldnt face going straight home, so I decided to go round the corner to a caf I
had spotted as I came past. I had a coffee and a roll and then took myself off to
Foyles bookshop, where I indulged my passion for historical romances by
buying three novels by Jean Plaidy about the Kings and Queens of Spain. Then I
had to find somewhere to have a cup of tea as I was thirsty, so by that time it
was nearly five oclock. I thought about finding a phone box and ringing Cassie
to see if she wanted to meet to come home, she worked in London, but then
thought better of it. She certainly didnt need to be exposed to the wrath of my
parents when I told them my news. She always called in to my house before
going home for her dinner, so it would be better if I wasnt there rather than
have her subjected to the tirade I knew would ensue once I had told them.
I wandered around London for a bit and thought about Christmas shopping.
As I have said I always had plenty of money courtesy of my father so really
money was no object. I loved to buy presents for friends as I thoroughly enjoyed
seeing their reaction when they opened them. This led me back to thinking about
my cousin. My cousin was two years older as I have said and for some strange
reason both our parents thought that it would be better if we spent all our time
together rather than just live as only children. This idea came about when I was
nine and Camilla was eleven. We were so unlike each other that at first I was
quite intimidated by her fierce attitude to life. Gradually, as we got used to each
other, that changed. We used to indulge in endless games of Sue Barton Senior
Nurse Mallory Towers and St. Claires. We never got tired. We both had

very lively imaginations and everything was good until we reached our teenage
years. In fact the only time I can ever remember us getting into trouble was
when we found a bundle of candles and lit them in our bedroom. Of course all
the wax melted into the carpet and my mother went mental. Camilla remained
fierce with everyone except me. What had brought her to mind was the fact that
we always spent Christmas together with our grandparents, who were my
mother and her fathers parents. One year we were really excited about our
prospective gifts. I would have been about ten and Camilla twelve. We managed
to fall asleep eventually and woke again at five thirty. Sure enough on the end of
each of our beds was a pillow case bulging with bits and pieces. The tradition
was that we always had one really good present and then the rest were novelties,
sweets and of course School Friend Annual an absolute must every year. I
drew out my big present which was a transistor radio, something I had longed
for as I wanted to listen to Radio Luxembourg in my room every night with the
lights out and the curtains drawn, I thought that would be so exciting. I was
about to dive in to get the next item when I heard a long string of invectives
coming from my cousins bed, one of which being the f word.
Whats the matter? I enquired tentatively.
Look, shouted my cousin, My presents a fucking tennis racquet press.
She was obviously expecting something less utilitarian. Why the fuck would
my father think I wanted a tennis racquet press.
Well you do have a tennis racquet, I offered in amelioration.
Yes and I hate fucking tennis. When Camilla got angry she lapsed into
pseudo cockney, knowing that this above all would infuriate her parents. Just
wait til I see me farver. Oh no, today was not going to be a good day.
I looked longingly at my coveted radio and me being me, said quietly, You
can swap with my present if you want to. I held my breath dreading an
affirmative response.
Camilla leapt out of her bed and bounced onto mine. Lets have a butchers
then. She eagerly grabbed hold of the radio and turned it on. She started
running the tuning button up and down until she found Cliff Richard singing
Gee whiz its you. Cor, one of me favourites, she enthused and I felt the
radio slipping further and further out of my grasp. You havent got a tennis
racquet tho, so how can we swap? Me farver wont let me. I relaxed thinking
that maybe I wouldnt have to relinquish my radio after all. We both delved
further into our sacks and I found my beloved annual and also Bunty annual as
well. There were the usual bits and pieces and two more books A Dream of
Sadlers Wells and Veronica joins the Wells. I was so excited, as reading was
my greatest passion, I just wished Christmas was over and I was back in my own
home, in my own room, reading. However, that was some time off and I was
determined to enjoy Christmas, so after just glancing into the books I resolutely
put them aside.
I gradually came out of my reverie back to the present. I couldnt remember
how the tennis racquet press incident got resolved all I remembered was that I
didnt have to relinquish my coveted radio and that it stayed by my bed all
through my early teens. I looked around the glittering shops at various things
and found myself at a Disci record store in Piccadilly where I was able to

purchase a soul LP for Cassie, one I knew she didnt have. I would have to tell
her father in case he bought it for her. Looking at my watch I knew that I could
no longer postpone the inevitable and that I had to go home. So I went down
into the underground once again and managed to elbow my way onto a seat back
to Wood Green. On the bus ride home, I rehearsed what I was going to say to
my parents. I was going to emphasise first of all that this was just a temporary
job until the end of December. I would then go on to remind my father that he
was the one who had told me to get a job, and that he hadnt been explicit about
what kind of job I had to get. I knew this was being a bit devious as the
underlying message I knew full well had been to get an office job. Looking out
of the window I realised that we were rounding the corner to my stop, so I
jumped up, telling myself to be calm, and not panic, that all would be well.
I walked down the slope to the square where my house was situated, past the
shrubberies and turned into the drive. I got my key out and just as I was about to
turn it I heard a voice shouting my name. As I turned I saw a friend of mine,
Penny, coming across the lawn. Ive been round once, she informed me, but
you werent in, so I just hung about. Ive been to the bungalow too but Cassie
isnt home either.
Hi Penny, I replied, Nice to see you, but actually tonight isnt really a
good time, I need to talk to my parents about something. One look at Pennys
crestfallen face, and I knew I would have to relent. Oh, ok come on in, have
you had dinner? One thing about my mother was that I knew she would always
provide enough food for any of my friends who turned up.
No, not yet, do you think your mum will feed me? I smiled to myself.
Penny knew as well as I did that my mother never turned anyone away. Just at
that moment, my father opened the front door.
Tebbits night, got to dash. I had forgotten all about that. Every Thursday
my father played snooker with an elderly club member called Alf Tebbit. He
was probably one of the unlikeliest people you would ever imagine my father
even giving the time of day to, but they had managed somehow to establish this
Thursday night routine and come hell or high water they both stuck to it rigidly.
Ok, but I need to I realised I was talking to empty air as my father,
brandishing his snooker cue had got almost to the top of the slope leading to the
main road. Oh ok Ill see you later then. I tailed off, and turning to Penny I
opened the front door that my father had closed behind him and ushered her in
in front of me.
My mother was sitting in the lounge with David a young neighbour of ours
from two houses down. Now why she would want to entertain him I have no
idea. He was a really nice boy of fourteen, whose sole passions were football
and Monty Pythons Flying Circus in that order, neither of which interested my
mother in the least.
Hello girls, she smiled warmly. Davids here.
Yes I see. I could feel my resolve to let someone, anyone know about my
job melting away. Penny and I havent eaten.
Theres cauliflower cheese in the oven and baked potatoes, Ill just get it
for you.

Hello Freya, Hi Penny have you heard the one about the Randy young
monk? Oh yes, Davids other passion - filthy rhymes and jokes.
No, I said firmly, we havent and we dont want to. I knew this would
only stop him temporarily and that somehow before the time came for him to go
home he would have told it to us. Penny and I are having something to eat and
we dont need to hear any disgusting jokes, itll put us off our food.
Ok Ill save it for later then. I pushed Penny towards the dining room
where my mother was placing two plates of dinner onto the table.
Are you hungry David? she called into the lounge.
Wouldnt say no, Dorothy, came his quick reply.
Ok now heres the deal, I warned No stories about monks randy or
otherwise, no jokes about queers or sex, at least until weve finished eating. I
tried to pull a stern face. And absolutely no quotes from Monty Python. David
grinned; I could see his mind working overtime, wondering how he could slip
something into the conversation. I mean it, I warned. One thing, and Penny
and I will take our dinner upstairs.
He managed to get right to the end of the meal, before launching into a joke
about a parrot, which Penny told him was disgusting, but which I knew she
would repeat at work the following morning. Just as the meal and the joke were
finished I heard the back door opening and Cassies voice calling Anyone
here?
Come on in Cass, trilled my mother. Theres cauliflower cheese if you
want some.
Its ok, Dorothy, Ive just had one of Miserys dogs dinners. Cassies
father, who was one of the most easy-going, cheerful people I had ever come
across, was called Dick. Cassie always referred to him as Misery Dick, or
usually just Misery, and the ongoing joke, since her mother had left home,
was the food her father cooked which she referred to as dogs dinners. Now,
as my understanding of dog food was Pal out of a tin, I couldnt quite see the
connection, but I always laughed along with the rest, whilst secretly envying the
fact that Dick loved his daughter enough to cook for her every evening. I was
sure that if my father were in his place we would have lived on sandwiches and
crisps.
I registered the sound of the back door opening again and a smiling ginger
head came round the dining room door. Hello there.
Hello Patrick, we all chorused. Whenever was I going to get my parents
alone I thought vaguely and then let the thought go right to the back of my mind.
It was obviously going to be one of those evenings whereby everyone would
just turn up. They had obviously remembered it was Tebbits night and that
they would have free rein of the house without the somewhat disapproving
presence of my father watching TV in the dining room before going to get
some cigarettes. Patrick was Irish and he worked in a TV rental shop. I cant
remember quite how he became one of our regular visitors. I do remember that
he and I had had a rather disastrous date one night and that to avoid having to
kiss him I had brought him home for coffee. That was about two years ago and
he had just sort of amalgamated into the crowd of visitors that frequented my
house. Will I play some records, will I? Patrick loved to choose the music and

his current favourite was Massachusetts by the Bee Gees. Once he latched onto
a song he did it to death. We had gone through Kites, Waterloo Sunset and
Rudys in Court before he went onto his current passion. I watched him go into
the lounge and take the record off the shelf before turning on the record player
that lived on a lop-sided shelf that my father had put up one snowy day when
there was no chance of a game of golf. Within seconds the plaintive sound of the
Bee Gees filled the room. This is great isnt it? beamed Patrick. Now someone
had told me that Patrick suffered from schizophrenia but I hadnt seen any signs
of his having a mental health problem. He was a bit vague but I had always put
that down to the fact that he was Irish, David had a whole collection of jokes
about how thick the Irish were. He was also well into his thirties and I had often
wondered why he liked spending so much time with a bunch of teenagers and
my mother. But he was good natured and had some interesting stories to tell
about when he had been in the Merchant Navy so we put up with some of his
somewhat odd behaviour - especially that of playing the same record over and
over again.
After about an hour of chatting, smoking and drinking coffee, the bell rang
and on the step stood Giles and Amelia. They were a couple who had met each
other in the library where my mother worked and had only recently started going
out together. Amelia had dumped her long standing boyfriend, who also still
came round to my house post dumping, and begun dating Giles. If Roger was
round and they turned up it could become very tense with Roger making barbed
remarks and Amelia going out of the room to cry in the bathroom. Giles
remained blissfully unaware of any undercurrents as he shared the same passion
for bawdy jokes and Monty Python as David and they would spend the evening
laughing uproariously at each others stories. This actually belied the fact that
Giles was very intelligent and gifted, especially at model making. He had
ambitions to join the BBC and was currently getting his portfolio together.
Amelias anxious face peered at me from around the door, Whos here?
she whispered.
Its ok, I whispered back. Roger isnt here. I saw her relax visibly.
We thought we might be a bit late, is it still alright to come in only we had
to spend part of the evening with Giles mother? Amelia grimaced. She had
told me that the one thing not so good about their relationship was that she
couldnt stand Giles widowed mother who was very clingy with, and protective
of her only son. Giles, yet again also blissfully unaware of this, went sailing into
the lounge with cries of I say I say I say as he had spotted David and was all
set to embark upon a marathon joke telling session.
Come into the kitchen, I whispered to Amelia, Ive got something to tell
you. When we had shut the door I told her about my job. The reason I felt able
to confide in her, was that her father was equally as strict as mine, so I knew she
would understand my trepidation.
Wow! she said. What about your dad?
I know, hes going to have a fit, but I really want to do this. Just imagine
listening to music all day, not to mention the hefty staff discount.
Amelias eyes were as round as saucers, Do you think you might be able to
get any American imports of the Beach Boys?

I dont know, but I can have a look.
Oh wow, that would be great. Amelia was trying to be a flower child and
her language was beginning to reflect this. That would be so cool, she giggled.
I can just imagine the look on your dads face when you tell him.
I really didnt think that was very funny. By the way, I warned, Davids
here. Amelia had a very expressive face, every thought was visible. I could see
her groan inwardly as I knew that she was embarrassed by Giles jokes.
Hell have to go soon, tho wont he? Wont he have to get up for school?
I expect so, although he may bunk off and come in here and hide under my
bed. This was something he had been known to do on several occasions. Just at
that moment there was a knock on the back door. When I opened it I found
Felicity, Davids sister standing on the step.
Ive come to drag Dave home, hes got homework. Felicity was sullen, I
think it was something to do with the fact that her parents had banned her
boyfriend from the house, deeming him unsuitable. I had never seen Felicity
without a glower on her face.
Ill go and tell him, replied Amelia, he wont be a minute.
Do you want to come in? I asked politely, only to receive a frozen look.
No thanks, I just want Dave to hurry up and come home, I dont know why
I had to come and get him in the first place. I then did something I dont ever
do and I must admit Im not proud that I did.
Hows Grant? I asked innocently. Well, if looks could kill that would have
been it. Felicity is only tiny and quite round, but she just looks so haughty all the
time.
I expect you know, Im not supposed to see him any more. I felt really
sorry now as I had spotted tears in her eyes. Well anyway, he cant come to the
house. We she stopped abruptly as David entered the kitchen. Come on,
she told him crossly, youve got homework apparently. With that she banged
the back door open and without another word walked out with David trailing
behind her. He managed a cheery See you tomorrow over his shoulder as he
left. After that all was fairly calm, Giles, robbed of his joke partner was
earnestly talking music with Patrick, although their tastes were so different I
dont know why he bothered.
I could hear Patricks Irish lilt periodically asking him Dont you just love
Massachusetts, dont you? I didnt hear the reply. What I did hear were the
strains of Rudys in court from the corner of the room and I wondered
fleetingly why he had reverted to one of his older obsessions. I later learned that
David had hidden Massachusetts just before he left. He must have thought
enough is enough.
So that evening I didnt get to tell my parents about my job. When my father
returned from the club he just poked a head around the lounge door, caught sight
of all the people and bid a hasty retreat upstairs to bed. My mother was still
holding court on the floor. Just as she was offering everyone coffee, I told her
and the room in general that I was going to bed. I was so tired after my long day
in the West End and could see that the remaining people were getting ready for a
long session, which I didnt really want to join.

To good natured choruses of Night and Good Night then I made my
way to my room and when I had washed and cleaned my teeth I snuggled under
the covers with one of the books I had bought that afternoon. It wasnt long
before I fell off into a peaceful sleep.

The next morning I was woken up by the sound of my parents arguing. This
did not bode well for the day. My mothers voice gradually got louder and
louder as it always did when she was cross, while my fathers tones remained
controlled and measured. I thought about just turning over and going back to
sleep, but was hungry and needed the loo, so thought better of it.
I put on my dressing gown and went downstairs. As I entered the dining
room my mother rounded on me, desperate I was sure to get me on side.
Were not having Christmas this year Freya, your father wont give me any
money for Christmas shopping. I looked at my father who was desperately
trying to eat a piece of toast and drink a cup of tea before leaving for work.
He raised an eyebrow at me. Thats not what I said Dorothy, I simply said
you receive your salary three days hence, utilise that and Ill reimburse you.
Now my father often did sound pedantic and used legalese but we were all used
to this.
Do you hear that? bellowed my mother. Jonathan please do not talk to
me as if Im one of your clients, Im your wife. I could just imagine the
thoughts that were going on in his head in response to this but all he did was
shrug and take his empty plate to the kitchen. More tea? my mother shouted to
him as if he were in the next county and not just the next room.
Please, dear, just over half a cup.
For goodness sake why do you have to say that all the time, just a yes or no
would do. I really did regret coming downstairs now, so helping myself to a
cup of coffee from the percolator, I bid a hasty retreat back to my bedroom. I
was joined by Dennis my faithful dog. Dennis is a rescue greyhound and he has
the saddest eyes I have ever seen. He was only three when they got rid of him as
he hadnt won a race. He was obviously far too clever to chase a mechanical
hare round a track. I always begged to have Dennis sleep with me at night but
was never allowed as my mother deemed it to be unhygienic. However he
grabbed the first opportunity to come bounding upstairs and snuggle down under
my bedclothes. For a large dog he was so elegant and could fold himself down
into the smallest of spaces.
Its ok Den, I told him reassuringly. Its just those two arguing again.
Dennis was extremely sensitive to any underlying atmospheres in the home; he
hated fireworks and thunder and raised voices with a passion. I sat in bed
alternately sipping coffee and stroking Dennis until I heard the back door slam
and my mothers car start. My father had long since taken himself off to the
local station where he caught his city train.
I lay back down for a while and then throwing back the covers, much to
Dennis irritation, got out of bed and went to have a bath. After this I went down
to make myself some toast. Dennis, ever hopeful for some food, padded after
me, so we shared a couple of pieces of toast before going out for our morning
walk around the cricket field.

With Dennis walked, I had the rest of the day to do anything with. I
remembered then that I needed some black court shoes for work. What were
court shoes? I wondered. I was sure I didnt have any. I had black sandals and
lovely suede shoes in all different colours with pointed toes and stiletto heels, I
also had leather ones, but nothing black. My mother would know what
constituted a court shoe, but there again so would a sales assistant. I decided
Enfield would be the best place for this, so making sure Dennis had all his
creature comforts, warm bed by the radiator, chews and water I left the house.
Enfield Town was heaving when I arrived; I guessed this was because we
were getting into the Christmas shopping period. I thought Clarks would be the
most likely place for court shoes. I had it in my head that these were old-
fashioned and as I deemed Clarks the most old-fashioned shop I knew, thought
they would be perfect.
The sales assistant was quite haughty when I asked for black court shoes
sized four. Have you looked in the window? she asked dismissively. I didnt
want to own my ignorance of what constituted a court shoe, so I smiled sweetly
and said no. She suppressed a tut of annoyance and went out into the back of
the shop. She returned bearing a shoe box and when she took the shoes out I
realised that I had been right in thinking they were old-fashioned. They were just
plain black leather shoes with a kind of heel that I think is called Louis after
the fourteenth king of France of that name. I tried them on and they felt ok even
if they looked like something my grandmother would wear.
My, Thanks, Ill take them, actually elicited a smile from the assistant,
who proceeded to put them into a bag whilst taking my money.
With mission accomplished I decided to just have a quick look in the town
library. I loved libraries with a passion and had once spent three days in the
basement of my local library, looking through the stock of old, musty-smelling
books. My mother worked as a librarian in another branch and I usually avoided
visiting her place of work as she was more than likely to embarrass me in front
of her colleagues.
After finding a couple of quite good books, I decided I was going to go
home to have some lunch and then maybe look in my fathers drinks cabinet to
see if there was anything to give me a bit of Dutch courage before my parents
returned home and I told them about my job.
I had opened the door and been greeted by Dennis when I had the feeling
that someone was in the house. Calling out for my mother, I knew it wouldnt be
my father, I felt a hand tap me on the shoulder. I nearly jumped out of my skin.
Turning I saw David grinning at me. What are you doing here? I tried to take
advantage of my four years seniority and sound superior, but actually sounded
just what I was, terrified.
He grinned. Came home early from school, I know where you keep the
spare key so let myself in, dont want Uncle Pete seeing me. Now for some
unknown reason David always referred to his parents as Uncle Pete and Aunty
Jane whether there was some kind of denial of his origins going on here I
wasnt too sure. He comes home early on Fridays.
Oh, ok, I have to admit my heart sank at the thought of having to spend
the afternoon with David. Obviously he didnt feel the same as he grinned at me.

Got a great record by George Formby we can listen to. Things were
definitely going from bad to worse. I know that boys of his age love to indulge
in smutty humour, in fact my father always referred to anything like that as
schoolboy humour. To have to spend hours listening to it was another matter.
Actually Im going to have some lunch, have you eaten? God, I sounded
just like my mother.
Wouldnt say no, this was his usual answer, which used to drive my
mother mad, so I quite encouraged him to keep saying it. Looking in the fridge I
found the ingredients for cheese on toast, which David said would suit him just
fine. When we had filled our faces, I saw him sidling into the lounge in the
direction of the record player. Within minutes and before I could say anything I
heard the excruciating sound of When Im cleaning windows, accompanied by
Davids rather mature sounding dirty laugh. I took the opportunity to pour
myself a large gin and bitter lemon from the drinks cabinet whilst he was so
very obviously occupied. I must say that after two of those I felt able to face
both George Formby and my parents.
My mother arrived home at 4.30pm. She breezed in, greeting David as if he
were her long lost son, before coming over to hug me. I shrank back alarmed.
She knew I didnt like being touched whatever was the matter with her? Were
all going to the Green Dragon tonight, she was obviously excited. Roger came
into the library and hes bringing a group of his rugger friends to meet us. I
cringed at the us. Hes having a party next weekend and he thought it would
be good to get together beforehand. My mother was forty eight for goodness
sake, sounding like sixteen.
Does that include me? piped up David.
I dont know whether or not I look eighteen. To my mind he looked about
twelve, but I didnt want to hurt his feelings.
No David dear, said my mother sounding disappointed. Im afraid you
are just a bit too young to go into a pub, but Im sure Roger wont mind you
going to his party.
Cool, will he invite Giles do you think? I bit my tongue for fear of
laughing. I could just imagine Roger, having been dumped unceremoniously by
Amelia, asking her new boyfriend to his party. It must have dawned on David
too, as he went quite red and mumbled something along the lines of, No I dont
suppose he will be there.
Youll have to ask Uncle Pete and Auntie Jane if you can come dear, my
mother told him. She was calling them that now I realised in some dismay. Was
madness catching I wondered briefly, but seized the moment and, banking on
my mothers excitement at an evening with a bunch of teenagers in the local pub
putting her in a good mood, I blurted out about my job.
Goodness me, whatever will your father say? The glee in her voice was
apparent as was the twinkle in her eyes. Anything that disconcerted my father
was great in her book. Hell absolutely have a fit and just imagine if they found
out at the golf club. I could see her mind working overtime to try and come up
with a way to let his fellow members know. Are you telling him tonight as I
really want to be there to see his face? I made a mental note to intercept him at
the front door.

Luckily my mother was busy chatting on the phone to the one friend she had
who was actually her own age, when the time of my fathers arrival home came
round. I had sidled out of the back door and was just sort of lurking by the
garage when I heard his footsteps. I reached him before he had a chance to put
his key in the door. I need to talk to you, I sounded like someone in a spy film
I thought briefly. My father raised a surprised eyebrow. Ive got a temporary
job starting Monday, I blurted out with emphasis on the temporary.
Thats good, keep you out of mischief.
Well, you might not think its so good when you hear what it is but like I
said it really is only temporary.
Good Lord, youre not doing the Christmas post round are you? He
sounded so alarmed at the thought of my delivering letters to all our neighbours
and making him feel, to coin his usual phrase: Highly embarrassed. I realised
he had solved all my problems. A job in far off Oxford Street albeit in a shop
was so much more preferable than my embarrassing him on home ground.
No, of course not, I laughed. But you wont like that its in a shop.
A shop, where, not Palmers Green? too near I knew he was thinking.
Oxford Street. Oh, right, is it something to do with Cassie? Why he would
think that I had no idea. She works up there doesnt she?
Not far.
Thats good youll be able to get together for lunch. I wondered if he had
visited the golf club on his way home and was in fact drunk he was receiving the
news so well. Might be a bit of a laugh what? Getting your hands dirty and so
on for a month or so. I knew I had been right to emphasise the jobs temporary
status. This way he could rationalise it as things youngsters do before they settle
down. Your mother in is she?
Yes, talking to Heather.
Well, time for the Flintstones then. My father had a strange passion for
cartoons on TV, which, considering his intellectual ability and his hatred of
Making small talk, I found hard to equate with him. With that he opened the
front door and stood aside to let me enter. I couldnt really believe I had got
away with things so easily. And later that evening I had even more of a shock
when my father came to my room and told me that some mornings, when he was
taking the car to work I could have a lift in with him. He really was taking this
so well. I thanked him and said that would be good although I quaked inwardly
at the thought of an hour spent in the car in total silence as I knew he wouldnt
chat to me during the journey.
The weekend passed in its usual way; shopping with Cassie on Saturday,
friends visiting in the evening as usual. Sunday was relatively quiet. As it was
cold but sunny, Cassie and I took Dennis for a long walk to Grovelands Park.
We spent the afternoon and evening deciding what I was going to wear for my
first day at work and then decided that an early night was in order.
I found however, when I got to bed I was too nervous to sleep. A thousand
things went round in my mind, from worrying about being late to wondering
what I would have to do, to what would they think of me and last but not least
my name. My name has always bugged me. In a school full of Theresas, Janes,
Marys, Patricias, Katies, I most certainly had been the odd one out. When I went

to primary school I realised that my name was very different from that of the
other children. When I came home and cried about this my mother told me
Freya was a Norse Goddess and that I had a name to be proud of. Of course this
didnt wash with my peers in either primary or grammar school. I was the odd
girl, with the odd name right up until the day I left. My father had wanted to
call me Christine, and whilst I was not that keen on it, I preferred it to Freya as it
was somewhat more common. I remember once telling some people I met in the
park that I was Elizabeth Green. I couldnt have been more than about five years
old and my mother looked most surprised when the two kindly elderly ladies she
found me talking to by the duck pond, bade me Bye bye Elizabeth.
I wondered whether I would have the nerve to tell people tomorrow at least
that I was called Christine. The other thing was my voice. In the sixties received
pronunciation was on its way out, along with the middle classes. My accent was
pure cut glass home counties, gently honed by my family, Camilla the
exception, and my school teachers. My voice was just too BBC. Cassie and I
had practised Estuary English in the privacy of my bedroom but never had the
courage to use it when we were not alone. Camilla spoke with a combination of
cockney and mid-west twang that she had gleaned from watching cowboy films
on television. I almost envied her this, thinking she would probably fit in with
my prospective working environment.
I tossed and turned and then worried what my hair would be like in the
morning as a result. That was another thing, my hair. It was long and thick as
fashion dictated, but it was not straight. No matter what lengths I went to I was
unable to eliminate the natural waves that fell way past my shoulders. I had even
got Cassie to iron it for me once, with pretty disastrous consequences I might
add. It was dark, but had a strong hint of chestnut which I was very worried
might have something to do with my maternal grandmother being Irish. I didnt
like the idea of that, thanks to Davids jokes. My Grandmother herself is
absolutely lovely and does not have an Irish accent. I believe the Irish
connection is quite distant but have always been told that the auburn that runs
through our familys hair is the result of this. So I had lots of things to worry
about, as I tried in vain to get off to sleep.
I looked out of my bedroom window about three oclock and was amazed to
see some lights on in the flats above the shops which were visible to the side of
us if we craned our necks. Those people werent asleep either. I wondered for a
moment what thoughts were keeping them awake. I must have dozed eventually
because the next thing I knew was that my mother was shaking me awake. She
plonked a cup of coffee down on my bedside table and with a - Its about half
past six - flung at me from over her shoulder, left the room. She still hadnt
really forgiven me for catching my father first and telling him about my job
without her being there. I felt tired, but excited and nervous all at the same time.
My mother insisted that I ate breakfast and just as I was about to leave she
thrust a packet wrapped in tin foil into my hands. Whats that? I asked,
puzzled. Your lunch, Ive made you some marmite and cucumber sandwiches.
God, Mummy they have a canteen. I didnt for once think about hurt feelings,
I just knew I couldnt go to a new job clutching marmite and cucumber
sandwiches, like some saddo who doesnt know how to live. I regretted it the

minute it left my mouth as I could see how hurt she was. But Id love them for
tea, so can you put them in the fridge til I get home? I felt I might have
redeemed myself with this and the look on her face told me I was right. My
mother has this strange ability to make me feel guilty for just thinking bad things
about her, let alone ever voicing them. I almost felt she might be able to read my
mind and believe me I did have some very nasty thoughts about her at times.
The sandwich crisis averted I grabbed my coat and handbag and headed out of
the front door towards the bus stop for the first leg of my journey.
I managed to get a seat on the underground; my mother had told me it was
common to refer to it as the tube. I had brought a book to read and actually
found I became so absorbed that I forgot all about my nerves and almost missed
the stop where I had to change. I navigated the change but couldnt secure a seat
on the next train so no book meant back with the nerves. I told myself all the
way until I reached the store entrance, that I could leave at the end of the day
and not go back if I didnt like it. This didnt really help as I realised I was
actually quite desperate to like it.
When I entered I saw the same Australian by the front door. Hi, He
obviously recognised me which I wondered was a good or bad thing. Get the
lift up to the third floor Mr Dennisons secretary is waiting for all you newbies.
Who I wondered was Mr Dennison and what was a newbee.
Ok, I replied as nonchalantly as I could. There was no way I was going to
let the whole world know that I felt completely, totally and utterly out of my
depth.
On reaching the third floor I found the same middle-aged lady I had seen at
interview. She had a tall gangly young man in tow this time. Ah Miss
Beaumont isnt it, this is Mr Maunders, hes starting with you today along with
two others who arent here yet. I could see she disapproved of the fact that they
werent here and felt sorry for what I thought might be their reception when they
did finally arrive. She didnt look to be the friendly, motherly type at all. She
had handed Mr Maunders, who was about my age, a ghastly grey jacket which
she was trying to brush down whilst he put it on.
That should be your size, she gave him an icy glare defying him to argue
with her. The fact that the sleeves came way above his wrists didnt seem to faze
her. Miss Beaumont, in the continuing absence of the others I may as well take
you down to get your overall, what size are you? - youre very thin, but there
again, I could see she was eyeing the other cause of my perhaps greatest
embarrassment, my overly large and very well developed breasts. I was what
men called a knockout when it came to looks; the thing was inside I didnt
feel that way at all. Yes I wore very short skirts but they were the current
fashion and at eighteen I wanted to look the part. I was quite short, only five foot
three and very slim from the waist down. I had long legs which, ok were quite
shapely for mini skirts. My face was quite round and I had greeny-blue eyes to
go with my dark abundant hair. My bra size however, was thirty six D totally
out of proportion to the rest of my body. Mr Dennisons secretary, I presumed
that was who she was, continued to stare at me and tut. We might have to adapt
a couple of overalls for you. She made me feel that this was the worst possible
scenario by the tone of her voice. Come with me, no, not you Mr Maunders, we

are going to the ladies rest room, you wait in that office there, with a
dismissive flick of the wrist she indicated the room where I had had my
interview.
I trailed after her along a corridor and down the stairs to the first floor. She
entered an office and bade me to wait where I was. Within minutes she re-
emerged holding two blue nylon overalls. This way, she chivvied me along to
another room which I gathered was the womens changing room. There were
lockers all around, one of which she opened with a key, which she then handed
to me. You put any valuables in there. She informed me. Now, lets have a
look at these overalls. The first one she produced was voluminous to say the
least. You will wear this over your clothes, she instructed, thrusting it at me. I
put the ugly looking thing on. As I had thought it was huge and way too big for
me she tutted again and proffered the next. This one, much to my surprise and
hers, fitted quite well. Hm, thats a size twelve, but it does seem to be alright, at
least it will do. Ill just pop and get another for you, so that you can have one on
and one in the wash at all times. I couldnt help feeling that she would have
been more suited to a career in the armed forces than the music industry. Just as
she was about to leave, the door opened and a girl of about my age looked in.
Hello Mrs G, Ive got Jenny Yip here. She starts as a Christmas temp today
on the sales floor. She was followed by a woman just a little older than me,
who managed to look flustered yet sad at the same time.
Oh yes, of course, but you do know you were meant to be here at 9am
dont you? Jenny looked even more flustered.
Yes, but I got lost on the tube. She had a broad northern accent. Ive only
ever been on there the one time I came for my interview and I went the wrong
way today and got on the wrong platform and
Mrs G held up a restraining hand. You need to get yourself a tube map
young lady, we dont tolerate people being late, especially on their first day. I
shot Jenny a sympathetic look. What dress size are you? she barked at her.
Twelve.
Right then I need to get another three twelves. You two wait here for a
minute, oh and Mrs Yip, your shoes are completely unsuitable, you need to
change them. With that she was gone.
I looked down at the offending shoes which looked to me pretty much like
the ones I had on, the only difference being that hers were brown. God, she
grimaced. Who does that old bat think she is. I only got brown shoes and no
money for any others til I been paid. I liked her accent. So me being me, told
her so. She grinned at me. I like yours too, its dead posh. Not what I had
really wanted to hear. Aint London a fab place, I thought Liverpool were
great, but London, well, I cant wait to go to Carnaby Street. Now she had
begun to speak it didnt seem as if she was going to stop. The re-emergence of
Mrs G however, put a halt to her enthusiasm. She handed Jenny her two overalls
and me my spare and then turning round told us to follow her back to the third
floor.
When we reached there we found that Mr Maunders had been joined by
another young man. He had very white skin and black curly hair. His dark