CHAPTER 14
Catriona Foster was dissatisfied and showed it. Life was not turning out the way she had expected. Oh, it wasn’t bad, far from it, but she had no clear idea of where she was going. School was already behind her by several months. She hadn’t done badly there, but not so well that she could have envisaged university study, even if the thought of doing so had entered her head. On the contrary, her parents described themselves as self made, and had little time for education beyond the basics. An attitude based firmly on self imposed ignorance, it was nevertheless real enough to turn their only daughter’s mind away from any form of higher education.
She had spent her time since leaving school working in one of the shops her parents owned, and the prospect did not please. Her brother John was being groomed to take over the business one day, and was already manager of the High Street shop. It never occurred to her at the time to question the obvious favouritism shown to the ‘boy’. It was only in later years she realised how she may have been cheated simply because she was the wrong sex.
Not that the question would have troubled her in any case. She was simply filling in time amongst the potatoes, bacon, sugar and biscuits until something more exciting cropped up. What sort of excitement she sought wasn’t clear, even to herself, but had to include something more than handing goods over the counter and receiving money in exchange. In the meantime, there were weekend pleasures. There were boys, a recent discovery, dancing and fresh country air obtained through the medium of two wheels. This last, she considered disdainfully, was adequate until such time as she became old enough to take a driving licence. Her lip curled as she looked at her bicycle. It wasn’t even the one she had asked for. Oh, her parents were willing enough, that she had to admit - just - but they never really listened. A three gear girl’s bike, painted a revolting shade of granny underwear pink, with a basket on the handlebars for expletive deleted’s sake. There, she felt better after the expletive, even if it had been unvoiced and expurgated. A basket! What she had really wanted, and what she had asked for was a ten gear racing model in matt black with drop handlebars, rat trap pedals and toe clips. She liked black. It suited her personality. But there you are. Nobody listened. Nobody really cared. Nobody, her parents least of all, thought that she just might have a mind of her own. Only boys had minds of their own. Girls were expected to be docile and obedient.
Grimly, she pedalled up the slope that led to the one and only cafe in the town that actually welcomed cyclists, permitting them to bring in their own food, with the sole condition that they bought a cup of tea. At a cost of tuppence, the entrance fee wasn’t excessive. She parked her bicycle on the pavement, locking it carefully, sneering at it again for its little girl approach, and entered the cafe. Buying a mug of tea, strong, two sugars and hot, she looked around for a vacant seat. There weren’t too many free places at all. Her eyes sweeping around the room, she caught sight of a familiar face. It was nobody she actually knew as such, but not a total stranger at any rate.
’Excuse me. Is this place free?’ she asked.
The occupant of the table looked up and smiled at the young woman who had just addressed him.
’Yes.’
With the single word, he pulled out a chair, the only vacant one at the table, and Catriona settled into it, murmuring her thanks. It seemed easy to fall into light conversation. Not that the man was so talkative, but that hardly mattered, as Catriona considered that a good conversationalist was someone who could listen to her. That they rode home together seemed natural, as she knew they lived in the same town. That he called upon her later was also natural, and a friendship of sorts developed.