The Forgotten Girl by Kerry Barrett

from under the umbrella, pulled his jacket over his head and dashed off in the direction of Carnaby Street.
    I watched him go. Suze watched me.
    â€˜Who’s he?’ she said.
    â€˜Friend,’ I said. ‘Photographer.’
    I flexed my fingers where George had squeezed them.
    â€˜Do you like him?’
    â€˜He’s nice,’ I said, deliberately misunderstanding.
    Suze shoved me. Her energy was amazing. She was never still. Even now she was bouncing on the balls of her feet like an excited child.
    â€˜You like him,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you tell him?’
    â€˜It’s complicated,’ I said.
    Suze reached into the top of her jumper and pulled a ten-shilling note from her bra.
    â€˜I’ll buy you a coffee,’ she said. ‘And you can tell me all about it.’
    I didn’t want to ask where she’d got the money from, but I let her buy me a coffee and we settled into the same booth at the back of the café where we’d sat yesterday.
    â€˜So what’s with George,’ she said, blowing across the top of her cup to cool it down. Her skinny fingers were chapped with chilblains.
    â€˜What’s your idea?’ I said.
    She giggled.
    â€˜I’ll tell you if you tell me,’ she said.
    I shrugged.
    â€˜I’m not that bothered,’ I said, suspecting she’d not be able to resist telling me, whatever I said.
    She lasted about a minute before she sighed in a dramatic way.
    â€˜Okay, then,’ she said. ‘Look I don’t want to sound like an oddball, but yesterday I thought we got on really well.’
    I nodded slowly, reluctant to commit to whatever she was obviously going to ask me.
    â€˜Don’t look so scared,’ she said. ‘I just thought we could be friends, that’s all. And you did me a good turn yesterday so now it’s my turn.’
    â€˜Go on,’ I said, interested despite myself.
    â€˜Let’s work together,’ she said. ‘You said you don’t get any time to write at home. Bring your typewriter to mine and we can work on some stuff together.’
    â€˜Work together?’ I repeated, turning the idea over in my mind. ‘Write together?’
    Suze made a face.
    â€˜Probably not actually writing together,’ she said. ‘But tossing around ideas, that sort of thing. It was fun yesterday when we were joking about running our own magazine.’
    â€˜It was,’ I agreed. ‘So we could write some articles, and see if we can get them published in Home & Hearth, or other magazines?’
    â€˜Exactly,’ said Suze, clapping her hands together. ‘I think we’ll be good for each other.’
    She reached over the checked tablecloth and gripped my fingers.
    â€˜I know I’m a bit out there,’ she said, giving me a sheepish grin. ‘Sometimes my ideas are a bit out there too. But I’m a good writer, Nancy. Really good. And I bet you are too.’
    I made what I thought was a modest face.
    â€˜I keep thinking we’d make a good team,’ Suze went on. ‘Two heads are better than one.’
    I thought about how I had to keep all my writing hidden away at home. How I never had anyone to read my stuff. How I loved my job but how I was bored to tears typing up recipes and replying to readers’ letters, and how much I longed to write proper features for magazines.
    I grinned at Suze.
    â€˜Okay, then,’ I said. ‘Let’s do it. I’ll probably have to tell my dad that I’m doing an evening class or something, not that I expect he’d care very much, and I couldn’t do every night because I need to see…’
    I trailed off.
    â€˜Who do you need to see?’ Suze said, raising her eyebrow. ‘George?’
    â€˜No,’ I said, miserably, thinking of Billy’s swagger as he walked down the road. A man without a care in the world – for now. ‘I need to see Billy. He’s my