Free Clover's Child by Amanda Prowse Page A

still been able to wield a spade, but you were lucky to get one chrysanthemum a year out of them now. Dot realised with an uneasy stirring in her stomach that she would be embarrassed to show Sol their garden.
    ‘It’s cold!’ Sol patted his hands together and dipped his chin into his collar.
    ‘When do you think you’ll stop saying that?’
    ‘I don’t know, maybe when the sun comes out!’
    Dot laughed. ‘Blimey, you might be saying it for a while then. This is a lovely day, I don’t know what you’re moaning about.’
    Sol leapt up and sprinted off. She watched the grace with which he ran along the path. There was a hint in the March breeze of the warmth to come. Dot couldn’t wait to show him London in the summer; they could go for picnics and swim in the lido, it would be wonderful. She thought of her best summer frock hanging in the wardrobe and decided to give it a once-over with a damp sponge to make sure she was ready.
    Sol had rounded the bend in the path and stood there catching his breath while he waited for her. She took her time.
    ‘Now aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!’ Sweeping Dot into his arms, Sol lifted her clean off the pavement. ‘I’ve missed you.’
    ‘Get a grip! You only saw me a few moments ago!’
    ‘Clover, I swear that the second I leave you, I long to have you back again, right by my side. Is it the same for you or am I mad?’
    She smiled. ‘You are mad, but it’s the same for me. We must both be mad!’
    ‘How about we go to Paolo’s?’
    ‘Where else would we go?’ she teased.
    ‘It’s our place.’
    ‘Yes it is. If I’d known our first outing was going to have so much significance, I might of picked somewhere a bit flashier!’
    ‘It’s perfect. Plus I like to see how long we can hang around before he starts flicking switches very loudly and coughing about a tiring day. So, that’s the plan, Paolo’s for coffee and maybe some toast, what do you think?’
    ‘I think I’d love to!’ I think I love you…
    The next morning, Dot hung her coat on the peg in the staff room and smiled at the colleagues and customers she passed on her way to her floor. She wondered if they’d seen a change in her over the last month; she certainly felt different. Seeking out the little jobs and fiddly chores in the Haberdashery to try and still her busy mind, she occupied herself with the winding of ribbon and logging of wool, attempting to order the thoughts that competed for space in her head. She imagined the conversation she must have with her dad, pictured him and Sol shaking hands over the threshold of Ropemakers Fields. But try as she might, it was a blur.
    ‘I’m nipping out for a bit of fresh air and a fag, you coming?’
    ‘No, I’m all right, Barb. It’s pissing down and I don’t want to get me hair wet.’
    ‘Who are you, Jean bloody Shrimpton? What d’you mean you don’t want to get your hair wet? Since when have you been bothered about that?’
    ‘I just mean I don’t want to spend the afternoon looking like a frizzled drip and with me hair all stuck to me face.’
    Barb studied her friend, who was now absorbed in ordering and sorting the packets of dress patterns into a neat row, patting the sides and tops until they were aligned.
    ‘You’ve been right off today. What’s up, you on the rag?’
    Dot shook her head. ‘No. I’m just a bit tired.’
    Barb chewed the inside of her cheek and watched her mate toil. ‘Oh my God! It’s that bloke, isn’t it? You don’t want to get your hair messed up cos you’re meeting him! I’m right, aren’t I?’
    Dot sighed as she looked up. ‘All right! Yes, I admit I don’t want me hair messed up cos I’m meeting him for a coffee. Happy now?’
    Barb folded her arms. ‘A bit. But I don’t know what you’re worried for, he’s got that horrible crinkly stuff on his head, he’s hardly going to worry if yours is a bit flatter than usual. At least you’ve got normal hair!’ Barb snorted her laughter.
    Dot