A Daughter's Choice by June Francis

work.’
    â€˜Can I have a swim?’ said Marie, tugging at her frock. ‘I’m hot an’ sticky an’ I need a swim.’
    â€˜You can’t swim here,’ said her brother scornfully. ‘The sea’s that far out, it’s disappeared!’
    â€˜It’s too cold even if the tide wasn’t out,’ said Rita.
    Celia looked towards where the sea should have been and thought that was what made a mockery of the hotel’s name. More often than not there was no sign of the sea and that was something she missed. Just as she had missed her daughter growing up. Her gaze fixed on the little girl as she threw a handful of sand up in the air and dodged back. She said to Rita, ‘Wouldn’t you like children of your own before it’s too late?’
    She shrugged. ‘Maybe. If I could have them without a man.’
    â€˜The things you do say,’ said Celia dispassionately. ‘How would you manage to keep them without a man’s wage packet coming in?’
    â€˜Widows manage.’ Rita hunched her knees and wrapped her arms round them. ‘But I’m not going to waste my energies worrying about not having children. I have these two to play with and I enjoy my work, despite ol’ Hennie expecting far too much for the money she pays me.’
    â€˜At least you don’t have to do two jobs. Don’t I wish I could win the pools!’
    Rita looked at her with interest. ‘I never knew you did the pools?’
    â€˜I do a couple of lines, and I back the odd horse.’ Celia got to her feet. ‘My gran was a great gambler but so far her luck hasn’t rubbed off on me.’
    Rita smiled. ‘You’ll just have to keep on trying. See you tomorrow. Come on, kids,’ she called. ‘Time to get going. Your mum gave me the money for just one go on the fair.’
    â€˜Hurray!’ shouted Marie, and Sammy did a somersault on the sand.
    Celia watched them a few moments longer and then hurried home to her lodgings to darn the hole in her lisle stockings and make herself some cheese on toast.
    She was back in the Seaview the next morning when Mrs Henshall almost leapt on Rita as soon as she entered the hotel. ‘There’s been a man here asking after you. Says his name’s Ryan and you know his brother.’
    â€˜He’s having you on,’ said Rita, toying with a button on her green duster coat. ‘I don’t know any Ryans. What did he look like?’
    â€˜He seemed very positive he knows you,’ said Mrs Henshall, glancing at Celia who had removed the bowl of flowers from the oval oak table she was polishing and was holding it in mid-air. ‘Don’t drop that!’ she said sharply. ‘Or it’ll come out of your wages.’ Then lowered her voice. ‘His name was Ben and he said he had a brother who was in the navy and you thought he was dead but he wasn’t.’
    Celia gave up all pretence at polishing and stared at Rita who was shaking her head. ‘Doesn’t ring a bell.’
    Mrs Henshall looked put out. ‘Well, if you’re going to be secretive, I might as well be off! I’m meeting my sister and we’re playing bridge this afternoon. Telephone me if there’s anything urgent.’
    Celia said breathlessly, ‘Did Mr Ryan say what his brother’s name was?’
    Mrs Henshall paused in the act of pulling on a pair of long white gloves. ‘I don’t think that’s any of your business, Celia,’ she said haughtily.
    Rita said firmly, ‘I’d like to know. His first name might jog my memory.’
    Her employer stared at her hard. ‘I think it was Mick – Mick Ryan. Very Irish,’ she declared and swept out of the lobby.
    Celia sank on to a chair with her cheeks paper white.
    â€˜What was all that about?’ said Rita softly. ‘Do
you
know these brothers?’
    Celia nodded. ‘I can’t understand why they should