Free The Back of Beyond by Doris Davidson Page A

his own reservations about the meeting, after five minutes in her company Alistair was talking to her as if they had known each other for years. Her friendly manner, and genuine interest in what his work entailed, encouraged him to describe his customers, give little thumbnail sketches of their lives, marvelling all the while at the compassion she showed for the poor downtrodden women and their families.
    â€˜It’s a shame,’ she murmured, at one point. ‘People shouldn’t have to live like that.’
    â€˜They’re used to it,’ he assured her, ‘to living from hand to mouth. It’s likely what their own mothers had to do, it’s the only way of life they know.’ Noticing that her lovely blue eyes were moist, he felt angry at himself for upsetting her, and changed to describing some of the items Manny found in the street markets.
    They had been walking for almost an hour before it dawned on him that he had been doing most of the talking. ‘You’ll be fed up listening to me. Tell me about the hotel,’ he coaxed. ‘You must have some strange characters coming there?’
    â€˜Some,’ she smiled, ‘but not many and not too strange – most of them have been coming to us for years. It’s the lady tourists who … they’ve probably never been in a hotel before and treat us like slaves.’ She gave an imitation of the kind of haughty women she had to deal with, which ended with them giggling together like children.
    By the time they reached the point where Dougal and Marge were waiting for them, Alistair knew that Gwen was the only girl for him. He would gladly have lain down on the ground and let her trample all over him if that was what she wanted. Not that she would, for she wasn’t that kind of person.
    As he bade Gwen a cordial, and rather reserved, good night at the corner of her street, Alistair wondered if he would ever have the courage to kiss her at all, never mind in the passionate way Dougal was kissing Marge.
    â€˜That went off all right,’ Dougal observed when they were walking back along Russell Square. ‘I didn’t see any sparks flying.’
    â€˜Gwen’s really easy to get on with.’
    â€˜Oh, aye? Would I be right in thinking you’ve fallen for her?’
    â€˜I didn’t say that.’
    â€˜You don’t have to. It’s written all over your face.’
    â€˜I like her,’ Alistair admitted, colouring.
    â€˜Maybe you two’ll be walking down the aisle a few months after us.’
    â€˜I wouldn’t mind if we were, but maybe Gwen doesn’t feel the same way.’
    Gwen did feel the same way, although he didn’t find out until almost two weeks later. They had been going for walks together, but on this particular night, because it was raining quite heavily, they went to a small cinema which showed, in its hour-long continuous programme, a few cartoons, an educational short, plus a roundup of world news, and because it was quite late by the time they got there, the only seats available were doubles in the back row. Sitting this close to the girl of his dreams, it still took Alistair ten minutes to slide his arm round her, and another five to pull her towards him. Then without warning, she turned to face him, and her lips were only inches from his.
    For the next hour and a half, he was conscious only of her, of the whispered words of love, of the kisses that made his heart race almost out of control. The strains of ‘God Save the King’, heralding the end of the show, brought them both to their senses – they had sat unwittingly through forty-five minutes of repeats – and they ran, hand in hand, as fast as their legs could carry them, so that Gwen could be home before the hotel doors were locked for the night. One last snatched kiss was all they had time for, but Alistair made his way back to Hackney happier than he had ever been in his entire