The Girls from See Saw Lane by Sandy Taylor

if I would ever do it with Ralph Bennett, and that thought made me feel a bit weird inside. I lifted my feet off the ground and let the swing spin back. It made me giddy.
    â€˜We’ll have to buy some new clothes for Saturday,’ said Mary dreamily.
    â€˜I haven’t got any money.’
    â€˜You’ll have to do something with the clothes you’ve got then,’ said Mary.
    â€˜Like what?’
    â€˜I dunno. Hitch your skirt up or something. Make yourself look older, sophisticated. Like you go to clubs a lot.’
    I smiled and slipped off the swing. It was still light and beyond the rooftops of the houses on the estate the sunlight was colouring the sea a bright red gold behind the tall grey chimneys of the power station.
    â€˜I can’t wait for Saturday,’ Mary said, jumping off her swing and falling into step beside me. ‘It’s time we spread our wings. We’ve already spent too much of our lives hanging around the estate. This could be the start of something fabulous.’ She took hold of my arm. ‘And I promise you that if we come across any unwanted babies lying around the place we’ll just ignore them.’
    â€˜Absolutely,’ I said linking arms with Mary and walking back towards the estate.

Mary’s Diary
    Dear Diary,
    Me and Dottie are going to the Whisky A Go Go tonight to see Elton’s band. This is going to be the start of my new life. I just know it is.
    I’ve been watching the clock all day, wishing the time away.
    I wish Dottie would stop worrying about stupid things like what if her breathing isn’t so good. What if we miss the last bus home. What if. What if, what if.
    Just relax Dottie, for gawd’s sake.
    I’ve got to look the best I’ve ever looked.
    I’ve got to make Elton fall in love with me.
    Will tonight ever come?
    Tatty bye diary
    Love
    Mary Pickles (almost girlfriend of Elton Briggs)
    Aged 17 years.

Chapter Eight
    I t was the Saturday that me and Mary were going to see Elton’s band. I was pretty excited to be seeing Ralph again, but my excitement was nothing compared to Mary’s, she was practically hysterical. She had been watching the clock over the cigarette counter all morning, as if staring at it was going to make it go any faster.
    â€˜I’m not going to look at it again until I’ve served five customers,’ she said.
    Two customers later I caught her looking at it again. I knew tonight was important to her, but I just didn’t want her to be disappointed. The trouble with Mary was that she never did anything in half measures. It had been the same in school. She had to paint the best picture. She had to write the best story. She had to win the race. That’s just the way Mary was. And now she had to get the boy.
    When work finally ( finally!) finished, we went back to Mary’s house and her mum gave us some toast and dripping, which was all that was left after Mary’s swarm of locusts brothers had been in the kitchen. Mary’s mum ran herself ragged trying to feed those boys. There was always at least one of them in the kitchen rooting through the cupboards looking for something to eat. It used to drive Mrs Pickles absolutely to distraction. She used to chase them away, swatting them with a tea towel like they were stray cats or something! Mary said that if her mum wanted to save food, she had to hide it. That day we ate our snack at the kitchen table while the twins foraged around us, and after that we went upstairs to Mary’s bedroom, the only brother-free place in the house.
    It was only a tiny room, a box room really, and Mary’s bed took up almost all the floor space. Above the bed was a picture of Montmartre, which her old headmistress, Mrs Dicks, had given her. It showed all the artists painting around the church, with the city of Paris spread out below. Mary told me why it meant so much to her.
    â€˜Mrs Dicks told me to look at the picture,