The Quality Street Girls. Penny Thorpe

They would have to be friends now.

      Peter realised it was his turn to speak, and with great effort came up with, ‘Do you think you’ll like it?’

      ‘I love it. I love it so much. I want to be the quickest girl on the line.’

      ‘Well, we’ve got something in common. I want to help you to be the quickest girl on the line.’

      The dummy line was a foil wrapping machine. It wrapped squares of soft pastel green around triangles of hazelnut praline at a breathtaking speed. The machine didn’t interest Diana – very little did – but what did catch her attention was a girl who had picked up two cartons in one hand and was about to demonstrate to the Time and Motion lad how she thought she could make the line faster. She’d obviously seen Mary Norcliffe use that same trick when she thought no one was looking and was picking up the slack for her sister. These young ones were exasperating.

      Diana dived in before Reenie could utter a word to the new lad and steered her over to a quiet corner away from the others. ‘Were you about to tell those gents that you’d had a bright idea?’

      Reenie was startled, she hadn’t expected the older girl to notice her and was glad of a chance to share her idea with this girl too. ‘How did you know? It wasn’t really my idea, I got the idea from something I saw, and I thought—’

      ‘Well don’t. Don’t try any fancy footwork, don’t try to share any bright ideas or do anything differently. Just work slowly and carefully. Don’t talk about what you’ve seen or heard, just stick to a simple job.’ Diana softened her tone when she saw that she’d been too short with Reenie. ‘Look, I want you to do well and be happy, but round here you can get in trouble for thinking. Just don’t rock the boat. And if you’ve got any ideas you tell me and not the overlookers. I’ll tell you when you’re allowed to have a bright idea and you’ll do alright.’ Diana received no response from the startled girl. ‘Do you understand?’

      ‘Yes, I think so. Although I think that the lad who I was going to show my idea to is different from the others because—’

      ‘No.’ Diana stopped Reenie short. ‘Don’t go getting ideas about the management lads. That one is no different from the others. I’ve heard all about him; he’s from some fancy family in Norwich and he’s a friend of one of Lord Mackintosh’s sons, or nephews or summat. He’ll be here five minutes and then they’ll give him a job running one of the factories abroad. Mark my words, he’s no different. If he asks you to walk out with him say a polite no, because his type is not for the likes of you; you can do better. He’ll show you a good time and then he’ll be gone. You deserve better; look to the engineers, or one of the factory fitters, but don’t make eyes at the management lads even if they make eyes at you. In fact, especially if they make eyes at you.’

      Reenie nodded and looked crestfallen; she seemed to take the advice on board.

      ‘Just remember,’ Diana told her as kindly as she could, ‘all these management types are friends of the Mackintosh family; they might seem down-to-earth, but on Sunday afternoons they’re eating cucumber sandwiches in Lady Mackintosh’s drawing room, so don’t go thinking you can make friends with them. It’s them and us.’

      Reenie nodded again. She’d had the wind knocked out of her sails, but it was what she needed. Some of these new girls were so green.

      For a split second, Diana didn’t recognise the two men walking towards her with their hands in their pockets. Perhaps it was seeing them in an unexpected environment, or the worn blue overalls that she’d never seen them in before, but for a moment she took them for normal factory craftsmen, on their way to a repair job. And when one of them looked her full in the face and gave her a nasty grin she felt a jolt of discomfort and walked past them for several paces before her mind caught up with itself. It was her stepbrother and his friend – her former beau, Stewart, though it pained her to remember it. They were clearly up to no good.

      Diana froze for a second in confusion, then spun around and caught up with the trespassers. ‘What are you two doing here,’ she hissed to her stepbrother, ‘and who gave you those overalls?’

      ‘What’s wrong with our overalls? I think they’re very fetching.’ Tommo mimed a pantomime twirl like Fred Astaire in a song and dance picture on the polished floor of the deserted factory corridor. He was smirking; he obviously wasn’t worried in the slightest about being caught by his stepsister.

      ‘You know bloody well.’ Diana looked around to make sure they were alone. It wasn’t unusual to see craftsmen like electricians, or fitters, or joiners, walking through the corridors on their way to or from a job mid-shift. There were so many thousands of employees at Mackintosh’s that no one could be expected to know every employee. If anyone else had seen them, they’d have assumed they were on their way to a line needing a repair, but Diana knew better.

      ‘Maybe we felt like getting jobs at Mac’s.’ Stewart ran his hand through his soft, floppy hair in a habit that had been honed over the years by his innate vanity. The same vanity that had prevented him from holding down any regular job for more than a week. He provided a stark contrast with his friend Tommo. Tommo was scrawny for a grown man; he had thinning black hair that was combed back with thick Brylcreem. His wide, frog-like mouth made Diana feel sick to look at it, and his beady, rat-like eyes always made her think that he was up to something. He usually was up to something. Stewart on the other hand was tall, muscular, sandy-haired, and with a complexion that was like rich Devon cream. His long, light brown eyelashes framed azure blue eyes that looked uncomplicated and innocent to anyone who didn’t know him; and vacant to the few who did. Today Stewart’s summer suntan was all but faded, along with any feelings Diana once had for him. She’d liked him when they were kids because he’d been the best-looking boy around and she enjoyed lording it over the other girls, but she was a different person now. The trouble was that Stewart was ignorant, and stupid enough to follow Tommo around. One day Tommo would get them both into trouble, and Diana thought it would serve them right.

      Stewart huffed in a petulant pretence at being hurt by what Diana had said. ‘You’re always banging on about how important it is to get a job, and now that I’ve got one you’re rude to me.’

      Diana wasn’t fooled by Stewart or his overalls. ‘I know full well you haven’t got a job here. These are craftsmen’s overalls; you haven’t passed an apprenticeship overnight, so these aren’t yours. I’ll ask you one last time before I call for the Watchman: what are you doing here?’

      Tommo rolled on his heels with his hands in his pockets. His smug expression had not left his frog-like mouth. ‘And what are you doing here, sis?’ He lowered his voice and moved closer to her, even though they were completely alone in the echoey factory corridor. ‘Haven’t they found out your little secret yet?’

      So, that’s how it is, is it? Diana thought to herself. If I shop you, you’ll shop me. She knew that Tommo didn’t care if she lost her wage and her last taste of independence and self-determination; the only reason he hadn’t exposed her until now was because he enjoyed tormenting her with the idea that he would. They stared at one another in silence, both as determined as the other not to give an inch. Tommo stood, smirking with mischief, Diana fuming with rage. And then Stewart yawned.

      ‘Are we going, or what?’ Stewart sounded bored. ‘We’ve only got half an hour to put that bet on, and it’ll take us best part of a quarter hour to walk to the bookies. If I miss this one, so help me—’

      ‘Alright, alright.’ Tommo had evidently been trumped by Stewart, who hadn’t cared two hoots about the spat between his former girl and his best friend. Tommo rubbed his eyebrows with his bony, nicotine-stained fingers as though this demanding day had taxed his great intellect. ‘This tip better be worth it, Stewie.’

      ‘He’s doping the horse hisself. It’s a cert.’ Stewart looked at his wristwatch. It narked at Diana that he could afford a wristwatch but worked less than she did.

      Diana could tell that Tommo wanted to save face. He thought for a second or two and then allowed a smile to stretch