Free The Girl From Penny Lane by Katie Flynn Page A

the two figures strolling slowly back the way they had come, Nellie’s head very close to Stuart’s strong shoulder, his arm comfortingly round her thickening waist, and the curious little stab of envy pricked her once more.
    They were going far away, and they were going together. But she, Lilac, would stay here growing older, all by herself, with only her friends for company, with no lover to warm her.
    The conductor shouted to someone to hurry up please, the bell ting-tinged and the tram lurched into motion. Lilac noticed someone who had been standing some yards from the stop suddenly decide to jump aboard; she saw him leap, heard the conductor shout, and then a tall figure was pushing its way between the seats and slumping into the one beside her.
    ‘Art! What on earth are you doing here?’
    ‘Doin’? Catchin’ the tram, our Lilac, same’s you.’
    Art grinned affectionately down at her. He was tall and husky, with bright brown hair which fell in a cowlick across his forehead, a broad, almost simple grin and a pair of shrewd brown eyes. He would probably have been the first to say that his face was undistinguished and his figure too chunky, but even if she didn’t want to marry him Lilac still had a soft spot for her old playmate and smiled back at him whilst shaking her head sorrowfully.
    ‘Catching the tram indeed! Well I know that, puddin’-head! But I’ve been to supper with the Gallaghers; what are you doing in Penny Lane?’
    Art chuckled and put an arm along the back of the seat. Lilac edged forward a bit; she did not want to be cuddled in a public service vehicle!
    ‘This isn’t Penny Lane, Miss know-it-all, this is Ullet Road. Do you remember Tippy Huggett?’
    ‘No. Should I?’
    ‘Oh, queen, you must remember Tippy! He was the feller who got turned out of the Rotunda for making spit-balls. Don’t you remember, we were all kicked out by the commissionaire – you said . . .’
    ‘Oh him ,’ Lilac said hastily. The tram was crowded, she did not want the other passengers to hear all about her misspent youth. ‘What about him?’
    ‘He’s lodging on Ullet Road; he’s working for William Griffiths & Son, the tailors in South John Street. Doing well for himself is Tippy.’
    ‘I can just imagine him sitting cross-legged on the floor, but I can’t imagine him using a needle and thread,’ Lilac observed. ‘He was a right devil was Tippy.’
    ‘So was I,’ Art said regretfully. ‘So was you, queen! Fact is, we all have to change as we grow up or we’d starve. But Tippy doesn’t sit cross-legged – whatever give you that idea? – he’s in the showroom. He shows patterns and takes measurements; he was always kind o’ neat, wouldn’t you say?’
    ‘Ye-es,’ Lilac agreed. She remembered Tippy as a small, aggressive boy with sores round his mouth and hair which looked as though mice had nibbled it. ‘Smartened himself up a bit, has he?’
    ‘Haven’t we all?’ Art said reproachfully. ‘I call to mind the day you fell on your face in Mersey-mud an’ Stuart chucked you in the bath . . .’
    ‘Don’t keep getting so personal ,’ Lilac snapped, ‘or you can move to another seat! Kids are always mucky. So anyway, Tippy lodges in Ullet Road and you were visiting him and just happened . . .’
    ‘Don’t get swelled-headed,’ Art advised kindly. ‘I just happened to walk down to the tram stop and saw you get aboard, I nearly didn’t bother to come on as well, I meant to walk, only . . .’
    ‘You thought you might as well ride,’ Lilac said sarcastically. ‘Oh well, if you’re getting off at my stop you can walk me up to Rodney Street if you like.’
    ‘And give you a kiss and a cuddle on the doorstep?’
    ‘No!’ snapped Lilac, all too conscious of listening ears. She moved pointedly further along the slatted wooden seat. ‘I’ve got my good name to consider, Art O’Brien.’
    ‘Aw, c’mon, Lilac love, don’t get all starched up wi’ me, you knew I were