The Beachcomber. Josephine Cox

feel rejected and isolated. In fact, if it hadn’t been for her father and his quiet love for her, her life would have been unbearable. ‘You must never feel second-best,’ he would say. But, with a sister who could do no wrong, it was hard not to feel inferior.

      Inevitably Kathy and her father grew closer over the years, and when his expanding business ventures took him away for days on end, she would pine at the window, watching for him hour after hour, ‘like a puppy dog!’ her sister teased, but by now Kathy had learned to shrug off such cutting remarks. Though it hurt when her mother described her in barely concealed undertones as ‘the plain one’. In her heart and soul, and in spite of her father’s reassurances, Kathy knew she could never be the natural beauty Samantha was. Small-built, pleasantly pretty with chubby legs and a hearty laugh, Kathy spent ages looking at herself in the mirror and comparing her modest attributes with those of her more glamorous sister. It made her smile; made her sad. In the end, she shrugged it all off and, safe in her father’s love, simply got on with her life.

      She had proved her mother wrong: someone had wanted to marry her. Her wedding to Dan had been a quiet, wartime one, snatched during his leave, with no time for a pretty dress or a party. The two of them had fun at first, in the short, intense bursts of leave, but the long absences had taken their toll. They had never really got to know each other properly. Since the end of the war, Kathy had tried to be a wife to him, but with no children to care for, and a husband who was hardly at home, it had proved difficult. Dan had grown more and more distant, and had finally left her for another woman just before her father became ill.

      And now he too was gone and she was alone, except for a sister and mother who treated her with contempt. Oh, but there was still darling Maggie, a very special friend who over these past few years had become more like a sister to her than Samantha could ever be.

      ‘Your stop, miss!’ The conductor’s voice cut through her thoughts. ‘I thought for a minute you’d gawn off to sleep.’

      Kathy laughed. ‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ she replied with a grin. ‘To tell you the truth, I could sleep on a clothes-line!’

      He waited for her to disembark. ‘What? Boyfriend been keeping you out late, has he?’

      Kathy thought of her last encounter and laughed out loud. ‘I’m done with all that,’ she told him, and meant it.

      Tucked away behind a row of shops, Kathy’s flat boasted one tiny bedroom, a kitchenette, a sparkling white bathroom, and a surprisingly spacious living room, whose wide window looked down over the hustle and bustle of the locality.

      Furnished with a brown, second-hand sofa, a little oak dresser carved with roses, a couple of seascapes hanging on the wall, and other market bric-à-brac placed here and there to make it more like home, the flat didn’t have much in the way of luxuries. But it was clean and functional and suited her for now.

      She had decided to rent it after she and Dan had split up. It had been a struggle on her salary, but with Dan’s small monthly cheque, she could just afford it. She couldn’t have stayed in their old home. This place had given Kathy that sense of freedom and independence she had sorely needed. It was her sea of calm after the storm, and she loved it.

      Relieved to be home, she pottered around the flat, her voice softly humming to the tune of Doris Day’s ‘A Guy Is a Guy’. She had spent a small fortune playing that song on the jukebox at the Palais, but it never failed to make her smile, as it did now. She danced across the room; she was looking forward to the usual Saturday evening at the Palais with Maggie. Saturday night was the one time they could really let their hair down; they could lie in for as long as they liked on Sunday morning.

      Kathy picked up her bag, and ran down to the payphone in the hall. Her toes were still tapping as she waited for the connection. While she waited she launched into another rendition of ‘A Guy Is a Guy’, her arms and legs jerking in time with the rhythm.

      It seemed an age before Maggie answered. Kathy was about to replace the receiver when Maggie’s blunt Cockney voice finally answered, ‘Yes, who is it?’

      Kathy gave a sigh of relief. ‘It’s me, who d’you think it is?’ She suddenly felt tired to the bone. ‘I was just about to put the phone down,’ Kathy told her. ‘Where were you?’ She grinned. ‘Hey! You haven’t got a fella there, have you?’

      At the other end of the line, Maggie continued drying her hair. ‘No, worse luck. I were in the bathroom.’

      ‘So, you haven’t forgotten we’re off to the Palais tonight, then?’

      ‘No chance! I’m looking forward to it.’

      ‘Bad day, was it?’

      Maggie groaned. ‘You could say that. I’ve never known the salon so busy. Eight bloody hours, an’ I never even got a proper chance to sit down. Honest to God, Kathy, I don’t know why I’m looking forward to the Palais, ’cause I’ll not be able to dance even if I’m asked. Me back aches like it’s been through a wringer, and me feet feel like two over-baked puddings.’

      Kathy was used to Maggie’s moaning. It was all part and parcel of her colourful personality. She’d met Maggie at work, when she’d come in as a replacement receptionist. Maggie’s outspoken style and vibrant outfits meant she hadn’t lasted long – but long enough for the two of them to become good, if unlikely, friends. ‘We needn’t go to the Palais if you don’t want?’ she suggested slyly. ‘We could go to the chippie instead, then come back here afterwards. You can help me paint that bathroom wall … I’ve been meaning to do it for ages.’

      ‘What!’ Incredulous, Maggie yelped down the phone. ‘You asking me to help you paint the bathroom wall … on a Sat’day night of all things?’

      ‘Well, if you really don’t feel like going down the Palais, I thought it would be a good idea. Besides, I finally bought a tin of paint last week … that lovely lavender colour I told you about. And I know I’ve got two brushes …’ She smiled mischievously. ‘It’ll be fun. What do you say?’

      Maggie was shocked. ‘Bloody hell, Kathy, have you gone bleedin’ mad or what! You can paint if you like, but, pudding feet or not, I’m off to the Palais!’

      Kathy laughed out loud. ‘That’s more like it! Now stop your moaning and get ready. Eight o’clock as usual, outside Woolies.’

      Maggie sounded relieved. ‘You and your painting. You were just having me on!’

      ‘It worked though, didn’t it?’ Kathy laughed. ‘See you later.’ Eager now to be ready, she replaced the telephone receiver and nipped back up to the flat.

      Kathy glanced at the clock. It was just coming up for five. ‘Time enough yet,’ she muttered. ‘Tea and crumpet sounds good.’ Leaping off the sofa, she busied herself in the tiny kitchen area, filling the kettle and switching it on. She put two crumpets under the grill.

      In a matter of minutes she was seated at the table, a steaming hot cup of tea in front of her, and alongside that two golden toasted crumpets. After a moment’s hesitation, she added a scraping of precious butter from her weekly ration. ‘It’s an end-of-week treat,’ she told herself.

      Hungrier than she’d realised, she soon devoured the crumpets. Washing them down with the tea, she cleared away and went into the bathroom, where she ran a hot bath, stripped off, and gently lowered herself into the soapy suds. It felt wonderful. ‘Just what the doctor ordered!’ She sighed and lolled, and closed her eyes to dream about her perfect man; only to groan with disappointment when she realised there was no such thing on God’s earth.

      ‘One of these days, I might get swept off my feet by the man of my dreams,’ she muttered, ‘though I’ll probably be old and grey, and he’ll have no teeth!’ The image in her mind made her laugh out loud.

      Ready to submit to a full hour of soaking in the tub, she stretched out her legs and, draping her arms over the side of the bath, began to sing; not the rock-and-roll stuff Maggie was so fond of, but a quiet, romantic