LITMIR.BIZ

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the toast rack and placed it on the table in front of his parents. The big main room of the flat had three large windows looking out over the estuary. Morning light flooded in to show off the ornate dining table and chairs, the large new three piece suite, the glass-fronted cabinet filled with china ornaments, and the modern electrical goods. There was a television in pride of place in front of the suite, its purple screen dead now as programmes didn’t begin till the evening, a large wireless on the sideboard, tuned to the Light Programme, and a record player on a side table with a huge pile of dance band records stacked beside it.

      Jonathan’s mother helped herself to toast and spread large dollops of butter and marmalade.

      ‘Well, yes, there was sure to be something,’ she said, returning to her original topic of conversation, ‘but with this one it’s everything. To start with, his timekeeping’s useless. I don’t think he knows how to tell the time. When you tell him he’s late, he gives you that daft vague look of his and says, “Oh, is it that already?” as if he’s no idea. I could kill him, I really could.’

      Jonathan ate his own toast, a feeling of doom settling uneasily in his stomach. She was talking about Scarlett’s dad again. What if they gave him the boot? What if he and Scarlett then moved somewhere the other end of the country? It would be terrible.

      ‘He does know how to keep the beers,’ his father said, swigging down his tea. ‘I’ll give him that. Trouble is, he’s too darn fussy. Throws stuff away! I caught him getting rid of nearly a gallon yesterday. Said it wasn’t good enough. “It’s good enough for our customers,” I told him. “They’re not here to taste the quality, they’re here to get pissed. You mix that in with the next lot and it’ll be quite all right. They won’t notice anything wrong with it at all.” You should of seen his face! You’d’ve thought I’d asked him to strangle his grandmother.’

      ‘He was famous for his beers when he had his own place. People used to cycle out from Southend just to drink at his pub,’ Jonathan said.

      Both parents looked at him as if they’d only just realised he was there.

      ‘Who told you that?’ his mother asked. ‘That girl, what’s-her-name?’

      ‘Scarlett,’ Jonathan reminded her, regretting having opened his mouth. He knew just what she was going to say next. And she did.

      ‘Blooming stupid name to give a kid.’

      Jonathan said nothing. He’d already had this argument with his mother several times.

      ‘And you know what I said about her,’ she went on. ‘You’re not to hang about with her. Staff are staff. They’re not for consorting with.’

      She glared at his father as she said it. He took a sudden deep interest in the racing pages of the newspaper.

      Jonathan felt sick. How could she compare what he felt for Scarlett with his father groping the barmaids? But it was no use even trying to explain. She wouldn’t understand.

      ‘You’re far too young to be going around with girls, anyway,’ his mother said. ‘You’ve got plenty of friends, you should be with them, off sailing or something. Who are you watching the carnival with?’

      ‘The gang,’ Jonathan said.

      It was true, he was going with his schoolfriends, but Scarlett was coming along as well. It would be the first time she would see the carnival. They planned to walk along to Westcliff and watch from the cliff gardens.

      ‘Well mind you’re back by seven. We’re going to be chock-a-block here tonight and we’ll need you to collect glasses,’ his father said.

      ‘Yes, right,’ Jonathan agreed.

      Really, they only ever wanted to know where he was when they wanted his help or didn’t approve of who he was with. Most of the time they couldn’t care less. Which was quite useful because ever since that first trip up the pier, he had spent practically every day of the holidays with Scarlett.

      ‘And if you see her—what’s-her-name—Scarlett—you can tell her she can earn some pocket money washing up. Flaming Marlene’s got the gutache so she’ll be no use to us today,’ his mother said.

      ‘Right—I’ll ask her.’

      ‘You’ll tell her. There’s five bob in it for her and I expect her to be there by seven, all right?’

      ‘Yeah, yeah.’

      Much to his surprise, Scarlett was delighted.

      ‘Oh, good, it’ll be nice to earn some money. And if you’re bringing the glasses out we’ll see something of each other.’

      It was a bright summer’s day as they wandered along the sea front towards Westcliff. The crowds were already out, milling around Peter Pan’s Playground, buying their ice creams and candyfloss and spilling onto the beaches to swim and dig and sit in deckchairs.

      ‘We’ll go to the Never-Never Land one evening, if you like,’ Jonathan said as they passed the part of the cliff gardens that were filled with models and grottos and were lit up at night with coloured lights. ‘It’s for kids really, but it’s all right.’

      ‘That’d be lovely,’ Scarlett said, gazing across the road to where a miniature fairy tale castle stood at the entrance to the attraction.

      It gave him such a thrill to be able to show her things she’d never seen before. Together they had roamed all over town, visiting parks and shops, walking right along the sea front to Thorpe Bay in one direction and Leigh-on-Sea in the other, and testing out the beaches and the swimming in various places. He had taken her out sailing and been proud of how quickly she had taken to handling a boat. Sometimes she was sad and quiet, and nothing he could do would shake her out of her mood, but other times, like today, the real Scarlett would shine through her grief for her mother.

      ‘Oh, I’m so looking forward to this,’ she cried, her dark eyes sparkling with excitement. ‘I’ve heard so much about the carnival, and now I’m going to see it.’

      ‘It’s the first time for me as well,’ Jonathan reminded her. ‘I was always over in France in the summer the last few years, and before that, of course, it was wartime.’

      ‘Do you miss not going over there?’ Scarlett asked. ‘It sounds such fun, being with all your cousins.’

      ‘I was really disappointed when Tante Jeanne-Marie wrote and said I couldn’t come because they were all going down with the chicken pox,’ Jonathan admitted. ‘But now I’m really pleased, because this has turned into the best summer holiday I’ve ever had.’

      ‘Oh, good,’ Scarlett said, sliding her hand into his. ‘Because it’s the best summer hols I’ve ever had too. I thought I was going to hate it here, but then I met you.’

      Guilt coursed through him as he thought of the news he still hadn’t told her. He’d been on the point of it several times. He’d rehearsed it in his head. Scarlett, you know how I want to be a chef, and the only way to get a proper training is to go to France—? The longer he left it, the worse it was going to be—he realised that. He took a deep breath.

      ‘Tante Jeanne-Marie wrote a couple of days ago, actually…’

      ‘Did she? Oh, there’s Tommy! Hello Tommy, are the others here yet?’

      Never had Jonathan been less pleased to see his friend. Once again, the moment had slipped away. He would have to wait till later.

      The group met up and walked over the mud flats to meet the rising tide, had a mud fight and washed it all off as the water got deeper, then followed the ripples in till they reached the beach. By the time they had dried, changed and had their sandwiches, it was time to go and stake a claim to a space on the cliffs to watch the carnival.

      Huge crowds lined up along the pavement each side of the esplanade and up in the cliff gardens. It seemed as if the whole town had turned out to watch the parade, along with all the thousands

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