Free Friends and Lovers by June Francis

couldn’t bear you near her after he had gone because you reminded her of him too much?’
    ‘You’re defending her again!’ Viv’s voice rose angrily. ‘Perhaps you still fancy her? There are men who like older women.’
    ‘Don’t be daft!’ He added softly, ‘When I first saw you I thought, I like this one. She’s got something. I still think that. Now shall we forget about your mother and mine and think of us? Tell me what you do for a living.’
    Viv stared at him, her emotions in a turmoil. ‘Just like that?’ she said.
    ‘Tell me,’ he said quietly. ‘All about yourself.’
    ‘There’s not much to tell,’ she muttered. Even so, as they began to walk up Bold Street she told him how she had taken the first job the Employment had sent her to when she left school because she had needed the money. She worked in the Racing Department of Littlewood’s, the pools firm, working out the odds. She had been reasonably content there because she liked the girls she worked with and one of them, Dot, had become her closest friend. At this time of year, though, they weren’t very busy. The flat season was over and it was all national hunt race meetings. ‘I’m not much of a gambler myself,’ she said ruefully. ‘And now that Grandfather’s dead I’ve been thinking about looking for something else. What do you do, Nick?’
    They had neared the delicately carved stone structure of the bombed St Luke’s church at the top of Bold Street and he paused to look at it. ‘I’m an architect. I finished my training before doing National Service. Look at the craftsmanship in this, Viv.’
    ‘It’s lovely.’ She tried to hide her surprise at his answer. Working-class lads didn’t often become architects. ‘I have my lunch in the grounds sometimes in summer,’ she added. Inside the shell of the building trees and grass had taken over from pews and pulpit and ivy had sent tendrils curling around empty window frames.
    ‘Lucky you,’ said Nick, smiling. ‘And talking of food, we’ll be there soon.’
    They approached an area Viv did not know. It was brightly, almost garishly, lit by a string of restaurants.
    Nick led her inside one of the smaller ones where paper lanterns hung from the ceiling and willowy oriental figures stared inscrutably from niches in the crimson and cream fabric-covered walls. Liverpool had the oldest Chinese community in Europe but Viv had never tasted Chinese food before.
    She liked it, and by the time she had finished crispy Peking duck and illicitly drunk three glasses of white wine she decided that she did not want to go home and face her mother. ‘Where else can we go?’ she asked over coffee, not wanting to believe how late it might be or how the drink had gone to her head.
    ‘Quiet or noisy?’ murmured Nick, kissing her fingertips.
    She giggled. ‘Quiet, after all that jazz.’
    ‘The local graveyard?’ He smiled and she believed that he was joking. ‘It’s the nearest anywhere of quiet distinction you can get,’ he added blandly.
    ‘Take me,’ she ordered, thinking she would have something to tell Dot when next she saw her.
    The way was steep and the wind from the River Mersey whipped under Viv’s coat, up her legs and beneath the swaying hooped underskirt, chillingthe bare skin between stocking top and knickers. She was half frozen but was not going to admit it as he gazed up at the Anglican cathedral on St James Mount, looming above them in all its pseudo-Gothic glory. She should have guessed. She knew it well. Had been confirmed within its walls. ‘You’re crazy wanting to come here at this time of night,’ she said, shaking her head.
    Nick put an arm round her and said, ‘I love this building.’ His tone was reverent. ‘It was designed by a Roman Catholic, Gilbert Scott, when he was only twenty-one. The foundation stone was laid in 1904 and it’s still not finished. It was bombed during the war but the work goes on. A job for life for some of the stonemasons,