Free Time Goes By by Margaret Thornton

mill towns – although it’s not so bad as it used to be – and enjoy some of your famous fresh air and Blackpool breezes.’
    ‘And are you enjoying it?’
    ‘Yes … but it doesn’t half blow here! I was nearly blown off my feet on the lower prom the other day, to say nothing of getting soaked by an enormous wave crashing over the sea wall.’
    Winifred laughed. ‘Yes, we residents have learnt to beware of the tides. Do you live near the sea?’
    ‘Yes, I have a little bungalow in an avenue near to Gynn Square.’
    ‘And what about your job? You were able to find employment here?’ Winifred realised then that she might be seeming rather nosey, but he was so easy to talk to. ‘I’m sorry …’ she said. ‘I’m asking too many questions.’
    ‘No, not at all,’ he replied easily. ‘Actually, it didn’t make any difference to my work because I’m self-employed. I’m a freelance artist.’
    ‘My goodness! That sounds very clever.’
    Jeff smiled. ‘Well, let’s say it’s one of my very few talents. I’ll be able to help you with your scenery … I do illustrations for greetings cards and children’s books, and for book covers. Anything, really, that I’m asked to do. I suppose you could call me a jobbing artist, but it keeps the wolf from the door.’
    ‘I’m very impressed,’ said Winifred. ‘Oh … I think they’re ready to start again. It’s been nice talking to you … Jeff.’
    ‘The pleasure is all mine … Winifred,’ he replied. ‘And … good luck! Or should I say “break a leg”?’
    She laughed. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m not superstitious.’
    Her chat with Jeff Bancroft had enhanced her sense of well-being and had, somehow, imbued her with confidence.
    The other lady auditioning for the part was older and plumper, looking altogether more like a typical Lady Bracknell. But there was little doubt when they had both been heard what the outcome would be. The part was awarded to Winifred and the other contender gave way graciously.
    ‘Congratulations!’ said Jeff, as they put on their coats ready to depart. ‘I knew you’d do it.’
    ‘Thank you,’ said Winifred, humbly. ‘I must admit … I’m rather pleased.’
    ‘Now, may I offer you a lift home?’ he said. ‘Or do you have your own transport?’
    ‘No, I don’t drive,’ she replied. She knew it would be churlish to refuse; besides, she had no intention of doing so. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It’s very kind of you.’
    His car was parked outside, a Ford Popular, about two years old, she assumed, although her knowledge of cars was limited.
    ‘So I’ll see you next week,’ he said when they pulled up outside Holmleigh. Like the perfect gentleman she had already assumed him to be, he jumped out and opened the passenger door. ‘I’m very pleased to have met you, Winifred. Goodnight, my dear. See you soon …’
    ‘Goodnight, Jeff,’ she said. ‘I’m pleased as well.’
    She walked to the front door feeling a lightness of spirit that she had not known for ages.

Chapter Six
    T he spring open evening was one of the most important events in the school year. The children had been in their new classes for almost two terms, by which time the teachers knew them all very well and were able to discuss with the parents their varying strengths and weaknesses.
    Each teacher did his, or her, very best to make their classroom as attractive as possible. Sally Roberts, at four o’clock on that Thursday afternoon towards the end of March, looked around her room with a quiet smile of satisfaction. The exercise books had all been marked up-to-date and were arranged in tidy piles on the children’s tables, with a printed name card on the top that the parents could easily identify. Sally’s own desk had been tidied, and a vase of daffodils and freesias added a spring-like and welcoming touch.
    The display on the walls, though, was of the greatest importance. It consisted of the children’s paintings and drawings, each