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‘He didn’t mention being back by February at all. In fact, he said something about someone he’d met. He . . .’ Hugh stopped stone cold. Chills started radiating down Marylou’s arm, but it wasn’t from any coldness Hugh was transmitting. Hugh’s touch was all heat, it was only his voice that was chilling. ‘Uhhh. I’m sorry, Marylou. I didn’t mean to . . . oh, damn. Umm, sorry. Oh, I’m such a klutz.’ He had to hold Marylou up with hands on both of her arms. She was sagging at the knees. ‘Yoohoo, Mr. Preston,’ a high, trilling voice soared from the front of the store, just barely out of sight from where Hugh and Marylou were standing. ‘Has that calico cloth you promised me come in yet?’ ‘I do believe so, Mrs. Belsam. If you’d step this way . . .’ The voice of Hugh’s father was drawing closer. ‘Here, through that door,’ Hugh hissed. ‘You don’t want them to see—’ Marylou needed no prompting. She didn’t exactly move into the storeroom behind the goods floor on her own, but she didn’t resist. After two stressful job interviews squeezed into one afternoon, a quick coffee with an old friend, and a trip to the doctors to pick up a prescription for my little brother, Scarlett was utterly fed up and exhausted. And now the last bus home was late. She stood alone at the bus stop, in her interview outfit, a mustard yellow pencil skirt and white peter pan collared, short sleeved shirt and thanked the lord that it was a balmy night. Her long, dark hair had been set in curls that morning, but by now was resting in wavy tendrils down her back. She had a slender body, but was very curvy — her hips were much wider than her tiny waist and her breasts were ample without being too large. Her spirits lifted when the bus finally arrived, almost half an hour later, and when she saw who the driver was as she climbed aboard, she smiled inwardly. She recognised him from some of her daytime routes, and being a non-driver, she caught buses a lot. She could still remember fancying him from when.
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