Vic Brown is a young draughtsman at an engineering
works in northern England in the 1950s. He lives with
his mother and father. He is attracted to one of the
secretaries at the engineering works – Ingrid Rothwell
– and one day, as they leave work, they run into each
other and start walking to the bus stop together.
I'm going your way,' she says.
I hold the door open for her and get a gorgeous whiff of her scent as she goes by. We say good night to the commissionaire and walk off down the lane. [...]
It seems there's a lot I don't know and she starts to bring me up to date. I don't have to make the conversation tonight; she just rolls it out. She's as full of scandal as the Sunday papers and by the time we get to the bus stop I know more about the people who work at Whittaker's than I've learned all the time I've been there.
I get both fares into town and she says, 'That makes us quits,' and smiles.
She picks up where she left off and starts chattering again; but I'm not really listening now. My mind's working like mad on how I can make the most of this chance. I try to think of a way to get started and all the time the bus is tearing down the road into town. When I see the Grammar School sail by I kind of panic because I know we'll be in the station any minute now.
'Look, there's something I –' And she starts talking again at the same time. We both stop. 'Go on,' I say.
'I was just going to ask you if you'd seen that new musical Rise and Shine at the Palace,' she says. 'I was wondering what it was like.'
I haven't a clue what it's like, to be honest, but I say, 'I think it's good,' and I'm thinking, Now, now, now: what are you waiting for? 'I was thinking of going to see it myself one night this week, as a matter of fact,' I say. This is another fib, but I don't care. I have to clear my throat. 'P'raps ... er, mebbe you'd like to come with me ... see it together ...'
She says, 'Oh!' just as if it was the last thing she'd have thought of and I begin to think how I can pass it off if she turns me down. 'Well, when?'
I can hardly sit still in the seat. I want to jump up and shout, I'm that excited. 'I'd thought of going tomorrow, but any night 'ud suit me really.'
'Tomorrow's New Year's Eve,' she says, 'and I'm going to a party. Can you make it Wednesday?'
'All right.' Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday or Sunday. I can make it any night or all of them. I just want it to be soon.
'Wednesday, then,' she says, and I nod. 'Wednesday.'
Before the bus pulls into the station we've fixed up what time we'll meet and where and everything. And to think, only this morning I wouldn't have given a bent penny for my chances. But that's how things work out sometimes. Wednesday ... I just don't know how I'll live till then.
But course I do, and now here I am waiting on the corner at twenty-five to eight. She's late, but only five minutes, and I was here ten minutes early to make sure I didn't miss her so that makes it seem more.
