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longer, and judging by the straggly curls, it had once been permed.

      She looked open and approachable and did not appear hostile to her daughter taking the exam. A lot of parents were against their children bettering themselves, especially the girls.

      Yet there was some obstacle, because when Claire had asked Janet that morning if she’d broached the subject at home, her eyes had had a hopeless look in them, and there’d been a dejected droop to her mouth. She’d said she’d told her mother, and that she was coming in to discuss it, and now here was the mother and proving very amenable too.

      ‘You are agreeable to allowing Janet to enter then, Mrs Travers?’

      Betty didn’t answer immediately. She twisted her handbag strap round and round in her fingers. Eventually she said:

      ‘Well … the thing is, my husband … he … well, he … he doesn’t see the point.’

      It was nearly always the fathers, Claire thought angrily. ‘You mean her father is refusing to let her take the examination?’ she snapped.

      It came out sharper than she had intended and it put Betty’s back up. Janet’s teacher had no right to talk that way about Bert.

      ‘He’s a good man,’ she said stiffly. ‘It isn’t that he doesn’t want the best for Janet, but he sees this eleven-plus as a waste of time.’

      ‘It’s not!’ Claire cried. ‘It’s a wonderful opportunity for her. You must see that.’

      Betty stared at Claire Wentworth, but she wasn’t seeing her. The word ‘opportunity’ had stirred her memories. The war had given Betty the opportunity to be something other than a wife and mother. It had given her an independent life that she seldom spoke of, even to Bert, sensing his disapproval. Now an opportunity of a different kind was being offered to her daughter, and she was rejecting it on Janet’s behalf.

      Have I any right to do that? she thought. Will she resent me and her dad for not letting her try? She knew Bert would be furious, but she felt she couldn’t deny her daughter this chance.

      ‘When is the examination, Miss Wentworth?’ she asked.

      Claire smiled. ‘The examination is in three parts,’ she said. ‘There is a maths paper, an English paper and a paper to test intelligence. She must pass all three, and the first set is held in November.’

      ‘That’s not far away, it’s October already.’

      ‘Yes, I must enter Janet’s name by the end of the week. And she will need extra tuition.’

      Betty was startled. ‘What d’you mean? You said she had a good chance of passing, you never said a thing about her needing tuition. I can’t afford that.’

      ‘Mrs Travers, you don’t have to afford it. I will coach Janet. She has a chance of passing now, without extra work, but the classes are large and I have no extra time to give her. I’ve explained all this to Janet. She is prepared to work hard.’

      ‘You will do that for our Janet?’ Betty asked, amazed.

      ‘I would do it for any pupil who would benefit from it,’ Claire said. ‘Unfortunately, most children at Paget Road junior school look no further than the secondary modern. It’s what they want and what their parents want, and they see no need to take an examination.’

      ‘But Janet’s different?’

      ‘Undoubtedly,’ Claire said. ‘Now, the first set of exams will be marked by Christmas; you will probably have the results with your Christmas mail. If Janet passes, she will automatically go forward to the second set of examinations, which will be more extensive and will be held at the beginning of February. It will probably be April before you hear if she has passed or failed those.’

      ‘And say she gets through all this and passes,’ said Betty. ‘Where will she go then?’

      ‘Whytecliff School in Sutton Coldfield would be my first choice,’ Claire said. ‘It’s private but it offers scholarships to a quarter of the intake. I hear it’s a marvellous school, with wonderful facilities. I’m sure Janet would love it, and provided she passes the exam, you’d pay for nothing but the uniform.’

      ‘That would probably cost a pretty penny, I bet.’

      Claire could not deny it, and Betty knew the money would have to be found somehow.

      ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Put our Janet’s name down for this here exam and we’ll see what she’s made of.’

      Claire was delighted, but she didn’t want to raise the child’s hopes only to have them dashed again. ‘I’d be only too happy to, Mrs Travers,’ she said, ‘but your husband …?’

      ‘Leave him to me,’ Betty said decisively.

      She said a similar thing to her daughter that evening. Janet had had a chat with Miss Wentworth, who told her of the outcome of her mother’s visit. That afternoon, after school, she settled down in the kitchen, gazing at her mother almost shyly. Betty smiled at her.

      ‘Went to see your Miss Wentworth today,’ she said. ‘I expect she told you.’

      ‘Yes, she did.’

      ‘Pretty young thing, isn’t she? I thought she’d be a crabbed old maid.’

      ‘Oh, no,’ Janet said in the hushed tones of adoration. ‘She’s beautiful.’

      She’d spent hours looking at Miss Wentworth. The teacher’s hair was so light brown as to be almost blonde, and she tied it back from her face with a black ribbon. Her eyes were the darkest brown, and she had the cutest nose and the loveliest mouth. Her whole face had a kindness about it, and her eyes often twinkled with amusement. She had the most gentle speaking voice, that she hardly ever raised in anger, but she could get the children to listen to her just the same. Janet’s dream was to look like Claire Wentworth, but her more realistic aim was to get into the grammar school, because that would please her teacher.

      ‘She thinks a lot of you,’ Betty said.

      Janet said nothing, but her eyes shone.

      ‘Thinks you have a chance of the eleven-plus if you work.’

      ‘I know. I will if you’ll let me try.’

      ‘Well, I think you should have the chance,’ Betty said.

      ‘What about Dad?’

      ‘Leave your dad to me.’

      Janet knew it wouldn’t be easy to change her father’s mind, and Betty didn’t try to kid her otherwise. She hadn’t time to do much then anyway, for she was rushing to make tea for everyone and get to work.

      ‘Now,’ she said, getting into her coat, ‘you get these dishes washed and put away before your dad comes home. Put the vegetables on at half past five for his tea, and don’t let them boil dry.’

      ‘I’ve done it before, Mom,’ Janet protested. ‘Anyway, isn’t Gran coming round?’

      ‘Yes, but she’ll have her hands full getting the twins to bed,’ Betty said. ‘I want your dad’s tea on the table when he comes in, and a tidy house. I want him in a good mood.’

      ‘Why?’ asked Duncan, puzzled.

      ‘Never you mind,’ Betty snapped. Duncan saw the glance his mother gave to Janet. He wondered why his mom was trying to sweeten his dad up, and what it had to do with his sister. He didn’t ask, for he knew his mom wouldn’t tell him, and she was agitated about being late for work anyway. Then Breda was at the door and he watched the pair of them scurry down the road.

      When Bert Travers came in at six o’clock the house was spotless. Janet had dusted and polished and a hint of furniture polish still hung in the air. His dinner was ready, and he stood in the kitchen doorway watching his daughter dish up his meal and pour gravy over it. He felt a surge of pride for his

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