Mrs. Marlow pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve. “Your dad would turn in his grave . . .”

“Don’t cry, Mum, don’t . . . I’m innocent, Mum, I had to do something to prove it. They’ll lay off me now, and I got paid a fair bit. I’ll get a new job—they gave me good references. Things’ll turn out, don’t you worry.”

He walked to the railings at the edge of the promenade and threw the paper into the sea. When he turned a moment later to face her, his hands were in his pockets.

“Which one’s got a present in?” he demanded. “I want a song, though, you must promise me a song.”

She made a great performance out of it, finally fooling him into giving her a clue to which pocket his gift was in. He presented the perfume with a flourish and she made him bend down for a kiss. Her warmth and her love for him shone out, despite her fears.

On the way back to the home they sang, “Why am I always the bridesmaid, never the blushing bride?” vying with each other to sing the silly bits and breaking into giggles.

Moyra was doing the ironing. While George put the kettle on he was singing “Why Am I Always the Bridesmaid?”

“Every time you go to see her you come back singing those stupid songs,” Moyra complained.

“That was by way of a proposal,” he said as he put coffee in their mugs and poured the boiling water. “I reckon it’s time I made an honest woman of you.”

“Not if your mother has any say in the matter; I was never good enough for you in her eyes!” Moyra retorted. “And I notice she gave the papers that photo of you in your posh school uniform . . .”

He handed her a mug of coffee. “Did I ever tell you about—”

She interrupted him. “How beautiful she looked at the school prize-giving? How all the lads said she looked like a movie star? Yes, you did!”

“But I’ve never told you about afterwards, after the prize-giving.”

“I dunno why you go on about it, you were only at the school two minutes.”

“I walked Mum and Dad to the gates. They were all hanging out of the dormitory windows, giving her wolf-whistles. Mum was being all coy, you know, waving to the boys. She didn’t want them to know we didn’t have a car, that they were going to catch the bus. And then, just as we got to the gates, the wind blew her wig off. They all saw it . . .”

Moyra spluttered through her mouthful of coffee. “You’re kidding me! Blew her wig off!” She laughed aloud.