Free Jam and Roses by Mary Gibson

felt hot with embarrassment. There was Pat telling her she looked grown-up and here was her mother, dragging her off like a naughty child. All her life she’d felt an unquestioning loyalty to her mother. But now that practised hard resistance she’d used to deal with the old man seemed to take over. She shook off her mother’s restraining hand.
    ‘Don’t tell me you’re turning into the old man, telling me what I can and can’t do! I’ll spend my time with whoever I want!’
    Mrs Colman stood in shocked silence, and Milly felt her mother’s gaze on her back as she hurried over towards the Gun Inn, yet she hadn’t reached the end of the field before she regretted her harshness. Perhaps she’d spent too many weeks alone with the old man, and that had hardened her heart. Now she felt a tinge of fear, that she might have forgotten entirely how to soften it.
    Most of the hoppers preferred to drink outside the pub. There were a few women drinking there, with their husbands and children, who had been treated to bottles of ginger beer.
    ‘Here, Milly, hold on to your glass, that cost me an extra shilling!’ Pat said as he handed her a pint of bitter. In spite of the good business the hoppers brought in, they were still charged a ‘shilling on the glass’ against breakages. It rankled, but not enough to interfere with their Sunday drink. She took the glass and went to sit with him on the green.
    ‘Your mum didn’t look too happy to see me.’
    ‘Take no notice, Pat, someone told her I had a few drinks on the lorry. Says it’ll ruin me reputation.’
    He raised his eyes. ‘She forgets you’re grown up now, not one of her little set of jugs no more!’
    Milly felt a pang of regret. A few years ago her mother had saved up the money to have that photograph taken of Milly and her sisters. They’d gone to the studio in Sunday best, brightly polished shoes, carefully brushed hair with bows tied neatly, Amy scrubbed clean of all the urchin dirt she so loved. And the photographer had positioned them, in height order. Milly first on the left, willowy and emerging from childhood, Elsie in the middle, skinny and gazing into the distance with a faraway look, and finally Amy, defiantly staring at the camera as though she were calculating what mischief she could get up to next. Her mother had loved it, exclaiming, ‘Oh! Will you look at me set of three jugs, you’re all so lovely!’ Now she felt mean, to have turned on her mother as if she were an enemy, instead of her greatest ally.
    She drained her glass. ‘Better be getting back up the field. Mum’ll want help with the dinner.’
    Pat looked disappointed. ‘I’ll be down again next weekend, will you want a lift back home in the lorry?’
    ‘You’re a diamond, Pat. I can’t afford the train, I’ll need to save all me earnings to give the old man when I get back.’
    ‘Right you are, I’ll see you next week then.’ He seemed to hesitate. ‘Do you want me to walk up the field with you?’
    She paused. ‘All right, if you like.’
    Halfway up the lane, he put his arm round her waist. She didn’t look at him, but she could feel his slightly beery breath on her cheek as he bent to kiss her.
    ‘I always liked you, Milly, even when I used to hang about with your brother, but now you’re the prettiest girl down here, do you know that?’
    Milly looked up at him, startled by her own power. She’d had childish boyfriends before, but Pat was older, a man. Now, with him standing so close, wanting something from her, she felt an echo of the power she’d had when standing her ground against the old man. But as he held her shoulders, pushing her up against the high hedge, panic caught in her throat and she remembered her mother’s warning. Before he could steal another kiss, she had started away, sprinting up the lane, long legs flashing, shouting.
    ‘See you next week!’
    Without looking back, she flew along the hedgerow until she got to the five-bar gate. Stepping