Free A Distant Dream by Pamela Evans Page A

lust.’
    ‘You would,’ said one of the other women, whose name was Vi. ‘He was just being nice to make May feel better. She’s only sixteen. He must be well into his twenties.’
    ‘Just right for me, then,’ said Connie.
    ‘You’re only sixteen too.’
    ‘Yes, but I’m very mature for my age.’
    ‘You’re man-mad.’
    ‘Of course I am. We all are, being shut away from them like this,’ said Connie. ‘It isn’t natural.’
    ‘Some people don’t let the rules stop them,’ said Vi. ‘Maybe you should arrange to meet our art teacher after dark.’
    ‘I would do if it was me he was interested in,’ she said, turning her gaze on May. ‘But it isn’t.’
    ‘Don’t look at me,’ May objected mildly. ‘I haven’t even had a proper boyfriend yet. Don’t start trying to pair me off with an older man.’
    ‘Older man my foot, he can’t be more than about twenty-four or-five,’ said Connie.
    ‘And I’m only sixteen. Anyway, he’s a different type to us altogether,’ said May. ‘He seems quite classy.’
    ‘And we’re rough, I suppose.’
    ‘You know what I mean,’ said May. ‘He’s got a posh accent and he seems sort of, er . . . cultured.’
    ‘Mm, he does,’ Connie agreed, ‘but I find that really attractive in a man.’
    ‘He’s an interesting type, I agree,’ said May.
    ‘He’s different to run-of-the-mill blokes, that’s for sure,’ stated Connie. ‘But he can’t be rich or he’d be in a sanatorium in Switzerland, not a council-funded one in Surrey.’
    ‘Yeah, there is that,’ May agreed. ‘He’s obviously well educated, though, even if he isn’t rolling in dough.’
    ‘We’ll have to try to find out some more about him,’ suggested Connie.
    ‘If you like,’ agreed May. ‘But now it’s time for dinner, so let’s head for the canteen.’ She looked at Connie. ‘And don’t embarrass us by making eyes at him all through the meal. If too much of that sort of thing goes on, they might start making men and women eat at different times.’
    ‘And we can’t have that, can we,’ laughed Connie.
    ‘Come on, Betty, get off your fat arse and help Mum with the washing-up,’ demanded Sheila of her sister-in-law one evening in late November when they had finished their evening meal.
    ‘I’m tired,’ said Betty.
    ‘God knows why, since you do nothing all day except sit around,’ said Sheila.
    ‘I’m pregnant,’ said Betty.
    ‘I don’t think any of us is in any doubt about that since you remind us every time you might be in danger of lifting a finger,’ said Sheila. ‘It isn’t an illness, so you ought to do your share around here.’
    ‘Why can’t you do it?’ asked Betty.
    ‘Because I’m going to the pictures and I do it every night as well as being at work all day,’ said Sheila. ‘But that isn’t the point. You’re living here so you must start to pull your weight.’
    ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Dot nervously. ‘I can manage all right on my own.’
    ‘Don’t be such a doormat, Mum,’ Sheila admonished. ‘We need some ground rules around here.’ She turned to Betty. ‘Look, if you start to muck in, I’m sure we’ll all get along famously, but you’re not a visitor in this house; you’re part of the family now, so act like it.’
    Enraged, Betty turned to her husband. ‘Are you going to let her speak to me like that?’
    ‘Go easy on her, sis,’ George said dutifully.
    Sheila gave him a scathing look. ‘Come on, George, I know she’s your wife but surely you don’t want her to treat us all like slaves.’
    ‘Don’t talk about me as if I’m not here,’ Betty objected.
    ‘Stop quarrelling, all of you,’ said Dot, becoming tearful. ‘You know how it upsets me.’
    ‘Oh no,’ said Sheila. ‘Don’t start blubbing again, Mum, for Gawd’s sake.’
    ‘Leave Mum alone,’ admonished George instinctively, protective of his mother.
    ‘Oh, so you can stick up for your mother but not your wife,’ Betty