He knew my name now. It had been weeks since that first excruciatingly embarrassing encounter. Now, when I saw him, I only flushed pink instead of deep crimson. I was a grown woman, but the emotions that crowded in on me made me feel as if I had returned to childhood.
‘Hi,’ I said, with a great deal more confidence than I had shown on the day I first set eyes on him.
We had not progressed beyond the relationship of shopkeeper and customer, but in recent weeks he had grown bolder, making little jokes, complimenting me on the way I looked. It was an innocent intimacy. I was conscious that he treated me differently from the other customers. I learned that he had a reputation for brusqueness, and few of the people from the neighbourhood had a good word for this new and ‘superior’ sub-postmaster. Ash’s manner was a talking point. One of our neighbours was having tea with Ma when my dear old mother revealed that ‘Ashley had a fancy’ for me.
‘Ma! I said in a tone of voice my mother was no stranger to.
‘He’s a bit snooty,’ said our neighbour, between mouthfuls of biscuit.
‘He’s always nice to the baby,’ replied Ma, looking at me.
She was incorrigible.
‘I get the impression he doesn’t think much of the folk around here,’ our neighbour went on. ‘He can be a bit sharp, as if he can’t get you away from the counter quickly enough.’
‘He’s not like that with our Giselle,’ Ma told her.
‘Ma!’ I said again.
‘It’s true,’ she said. ‘He’s got a fancy for the baby. He’s not sharp with her.’
‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ said our neighbour. ‘But he’s a bit of a cold fish with the rest of us.’
I had been replaying that conversation in my head when I was brought back to the present by Ash speaking again.
‘What can I do for you today, Giselle?’ he asked.
Ash had escaped from behind the glass screen of the post office and was serving in the main shop.
‘A loaf, thanks,’ I replied, my heart beating hard against my chest.
‘You must like your bread; you buy enough of it,’ he said, smiling, and reaching behind to a shelf packed with baker’s goods.
Looking back, it is astounding how many loaves were in Ma’s bread bin during that period. I had been finding more and more reasons to go into the shop. Everyone needs bread, after all. I took the loaf and stuffed it into my shopping bag. Ash came around the counter and escorted me to the door. He held it open, and I was exhilarated by a combination of cold air and his presence. I looked up at him shyly and muttered a sheepish ‘Thank you’.
He said, ‘Well, when are you going to come out with me, then?’
I laughed, as I always did. It was not the first time he had asked me out. It had become something of a ritual. Part of me regarded it as polite banter. A secret side of me hoped that he meant it. I lacked the courage to take it seriously. I was in so many ways still that little schoolgirl standing in front of the mirror. I was walking out of the shop when he said, ‘Oh, well, maybe next time.’
‘Maybe,’ I said, playing the game.
‘One of these days you’ll say “Yes”,’ he replied.
I floated off, back to my secure and safe little home, where Ma and Da were waiting. I had just closed the door of the flat when I heard Ma asking, ‘Is that you, darlin’?’
Da was in the kitchen and I found Ma in the living room.
‘Did you see Ashley?’ she asked, her eyes twinkling.
‘Ma-aa!’ I said.
‘He ask you out again?’
‘Maa-aaa!’
‘One of these days, you’re going to have to say “Yes”,’ said Ma.
‘Say “Yes” to what?’ asked Da, returning from the kitchen.
‘Our baby …’ began Ma.
‘Maaaaa!’ I said, interrupting her before she could say any more. ‘Nothing, Da. She’s pulling your leg.’
My angry eyes ordered Ma to be silent. Her serene eyes danced. She loved this.
‘I’ll get the tea,’ I said.
‘Is there enough bread?’ Ma asked.
I glared at her.
Chapter 3
Moths to a Flame
‘Rab the brute sensed June’s neediness; Ash the clever charmer savoured Giselle’s innocence … they are two sides of the same coin.’
Ian Stephen
June: I was drawn back like a moth to a flame …
‘That’s you back, then?’ Rab said.
Another night, the same dance hall. Kilbirnie on a wet weekend. He was unchanged, still with the long blond hair, the attitude, and the knowledge in his voice that sooner or later I was bound to return, drawn irresistibly back into his orbit. It was as if he had known it was inevitable from the moment I stepped off the bus from London. In my heart, I did too.
London had failed to excise Kilbirnie. In spite of all my childlike dreams and the desperation to get away, the city lights had paled. It was good to be home, where familiarity, however banal, offered a sense of comfort and safety. I know it will sound crazy to Londoners – and to all those who have deserted their little home towns to make their life in the capital – but I couldn’t settle. I had arrived with such high hopes, but very quickly – and like so many before me – I had made three salient discoveries. The first was that the streets were not paved with gold. The second was that glamorous destinations may be wonderful to visit, but when you have to make a living the daily grind wears you down. The third discovery was perhaps the most telling and curious of the three. I was homesick.
Don’t ask me why, but I couldn’t get back to Ayrshire quickly enough. My sojourn had been a great adventure, but it’s difficult to overcome small-town bones.
For the first few months I had worked in a hotel alongside a great bunch of girls, most of them from places other than London. We decided we would share a flat. We had really great times, four young women not yet grown up, finding their feet far from home. I soon moved on from the hotel and got another job with a clothing manufacturer. My job was to make the clothes, but after a while the boss approached me.
‘You’re tall and slim, June,’ he said. ‘How would you like to show off the clothes to the buyers?’
I was taken from the assembly line and sent on to the catwalk – ‘showing off’ the new designs at trade shows. I had stumbled into modelling, of all things. To a girl like me, it was glamorous – but with a small ‘g’. However, there are only so many parties you can throw; only so many places you can go. When most of your time is spent trying to pay the bills, it doesn’t matter where you are: the most exciting city in the world or a windswept corner of north Ayrshire.
It was time to go home.
And here I was, peering through the half-light of the dance hall, with Whitesnake blasting my eardrums, and Rab trying his best to look ‘cool’ and indifferent. I realised again that he had played a big part in my decision to return home. I knew it hadn’t been a conscious element in my thinking, but while I was absent I had replayed in my mind our first encounter in this dance hall.
We were back where we began. I looked at Rab.
‘Love Whitesnake!’ he shouted.
‘Me, too,’ I lied.
A moth to a flame …
Giselle: