Megan of Merseyside by Rosie Harris Page B

and dancing around,’ he argued sourly.
    ‘Leave her alone, Watkin, the girl’s only having a bit of fun and it keeps her happy going there. I’d be doing the same thing if I was her age.’
    ‘Why don’t you let her go out with Robert?’ suggested Megan. ‘He’d take her to the Philharmonic, or somewhere like that, to hear some proper music.’
    ‘Lynn would go out with him like a shot if he asked her, even though he’s a lot older than her,’ retorted her mother sharply. ‘The trouble is he seems dead set on you, and most of the time you ignore him. You want to remember he owns his house in New Brighton. A far better place than what we’re living in here.’
    ‘That’ll do,’ growled Watkin. ‘Stop matchmaking. If Megan doesn’t want to go out with Robert then that’s her decision, though I agree with you she could do a lot worse for herself.’
    Or a lot better, mused Megan as she remained silent, thinking of Miles. She was relieved that her father had brought the discussion to an end. She’d been afraid her mother might pursue the matter and want to know why she didn’t like Robert Field. How could she explain that, although he was pleasant enough as a friend, he had none of the dashing qualities she admired in Miles? It was like comparing a block of unpolished wood with a shining veneered surface.
    Robert was kindly and capable but he couldn’t begin to compete with Miles. Miles intrigued her. He was a challenge. She was well aware that he could break her heart if she wasn’t careful, but she was attracted to him like a cat to cream. She knew he could be quick-tempered and off-hand, but one flash of his winning smile could start her heart thumping and her spirits soaring. Robert’s slow smile, on the other hand, was reassuring; rather like being wrapped in a soft blanket.
    Next day, her reticence was rewarded.
    It was bitterly cold, the sky grey and leaden. The tall buildings leading up from the Pier Head formed a wind tunnel, trapping the intermittent gusts that came straight off the Mersey, turning them into a full-scale gale.
    Nevertheless, her need to be out of doors was overpowering. In her lunch break Megan tied on a headscarf, determined to take a walk down to the waterfront.
    As she turned into Chapel Street, head down as she battled against the buffeting wind, she bumped into someone hurrying in the opposite direction. When she looked up, an apology on her lips, she was stunned to find it was Miles.
    ‘Where are you dashing off too like a headless chicken?’ he asked in surprise.
    ‘To the Pier Head for a breath of fresh air,’ she mumbled, colouring up.
    ‘You’ll find plenty of that down there,’ he laughed. ‘It’s blowing a gale. Why don’t you change your mind and walk up to Exchange Station with me?’
    Her pleasure at being asked was so great that she could only nod her agreement. As they walked back up Chapel Street she let Miles do most of the talking.
    ‘I’m on my way to Manchester,’ he told her. ‘One of the boats that should have come into Princess Dock has berthed there by mistake and they started unloading before they realised that the consignment was intended for Liverpool.’
    ‘So that means you’ll be working very late tonight?’
    ‘It certainly does! You people in the office don’t know how lucky you are finishing work promptly at half-past five every afternoon. What do you do with yourself for the rest of the evening?’
    ‘I go to night school three times a week,’ Megan reminded him.
    ‘Don’t you ever go to the pictures with your boyfriend?’
    ‘I haven’t got a boyfriend.’ She flushed uncomfortably as he raised his eyebrows questioningly. ‘Sometimes I go out with my younger sister,’ she added quickly.
    ‘You were dancing with that chap Robert Field on New Year’s Eve. I thought he was your boyfriend.’
    ‘No!’ Megan shook her head emphatically. ‘He’s a friend of my father’s … that’s how I came to be there with