was caught between exasperation and amusement. His own dark hair was already whipped into spikes, and I hoped he would never decide to start using oils on it and tame that fresh, clean look that was so typical of him.
He took my hand and tucked it beneath his arm. ‘Where first?’
‘I am desperate to go on that captive flying machine,’ I said eagerly, pointing to the huge apparatus in the distance. ‘Ava went on it last year and screamed all the way around, so she said. Can you think of anything more exciting than screaming in public and not being glared at?’
Will laughed. ‘I might have guessed you’d make a beeline for that. Let’s go!’
I could quite see why Ava had screamed her head off. I did too, to start with, but then I just laughed, thrilled to be so high up, secured by the huge, spider-like arms that were, in turn, fixed to the central frame. Nestled against Will, his arm about my shoulder, I abandoned any attempt to hold my hat on and held it in my hand instead while we whizzed around in the chilly air, listening to the yells of the other riders.
We staggered off a little while later, still breathless and barely able to speak, but both of us grinning with delight. I put my hat back on, fiddling with the loosened hair-pins but it was a pointless exercise and Will removed it again, and bent to kiss me.
‘Now, tell me again how clever I am, and what a wonderful idea it was to come here.’
‘I suppose I could come to like it,’ I said, and ducked away as he swiped at me with my hat.
The day passed in a blur of sightseeing, paddling and funfair rides, and looking around the Winter Gardens, and eventually we even stopped looking over our shoulders. It was almost perfect. We had an early dinner then went for a walk, admiring the glittering beauty of thousands of lights against the night sky, and I finally admitted to Will that his idea was the best possible one, and that we must return to Blackpool one day soon. I had thought he might have wanted to visit his family, but the subject did not arise, and I didn’t want to make him feel obliged either to them, or to me.
The shadows lengthened and we had, by unspoken agreement, begun walking towards the train station, but I wasn’t ready to end the day yet. ‘Why don’t we see what’s showing at the theatre?’
‘We’re too late,’ he said, though reluctantly. ‘Whatever it is will have started by now.’
‘Well, there are a lot of people over there,’ I observed, pointing. A large group, mainly women, I noted, had gathered at the entrance to a small theatre across the street. ‘Perhaps there’s a late play. Come on, we can always get the last train.’
It wasn’t until we had crossed the road and were outside the theatre that we saw what had drawn the crowds, and Will frowned. ‘It’s anti-suffrage,’ he said. ‘Come on, let’s leave it.’
‘No, we’re here now. I’d like to hear what they have to say.’
‘Evie –’
‘I’m open-minded, it’s only fair,’ I pointed out. I was interested in seeing how this movement could possibly dispute the need for women’s votes; it was preposterous to think they might have a valid argument, and I knew I’d go away fully convinced of the rightness of my beliefs, but there was a sense of fair play that niggled. I wanted to hear both sides.
‘We’ll just stay for a short while,’ I promised.
‘All right. But no lecturing me on the way home,’ he warned. ‘You have a habit of preaching to the choir.’
‘No preaching,’ I said solemnly. ‘You have my word. Let’s go in.’
We were jostled on our way through, quite roughly, and seeing the purple, green and white badges and sashes I belatedly realised the majority of people were not here to listen to the speeches, but to protest them. It was tempting to tell them that I was on their side, that there was no need to shove, but Will pulled me through quickly and I made do with nodding understandingly at their colours