Shadowed Stranger

Irritation flashed in her violet-blue eyes. ‘I didn’t say that,’ she snapped.

Selma looked interested. ‘So you do have a boy-friend?’

‘I—Yes. Yes, I have a boy-friend.’ Now why had she said that, why lie about something that wasn’t after all important?

‘What’s his name?’

‘His name?’ Robyn repeated slowly, licking her lips to delay answering. ‘It’s—er—it’s Richard,’ she said in a rush. ‘Rick, actually—Rick Howarth.’ God, this was getting worse, the lie was becoming deeper and deeper. It was just that she couldn’t stand Selma’s derision.

The other girl always had at least one man in tow, whereas Robyn had only ever had the odd date, and very rarely with the same boy twice. She wasn’t interested in football or cars, and as that seemed to be all her dates ever wanted to talk about she usually ended up by not saying a word all evening. It had earned her the reputation of being ‘stuck-up’, an erroneous impression, but one that seemed to have lasted. Consequently she very rarely dated, something Selma had probably heard about.

She certainly had all of the other girl’s attention now. ‘Where did you meet him?’ Selma wanted to know.

‘He—He’s just moved into Sanford,’ at least this part was true! ‘I met him at the weekend.’

‘Is he nice?’ Selma asked eagerly.

‘Very.’

‘Good-looking?’

Robyn nodded. ‘Yes.’

The other girl frowned. ‘Don’t you want to talk about him?’

She concentrated on her work with an intensity she was far from feeling. ‘Not particularly,’ she replied in a bored voice.

‘Keeping him to yourself, are you?’ Selma teased, not at all offended by Robyn’s attitude.

‘Something like that,’ she nodded, wishing this conversation over.

‘When are you seeing him again?’

‘I—er—Tonight, probably,’ she invented, wishing she had never started this.

‘Going anywhere nice?’ Selma wanted to know.

‘I’m not sure. Probably just to his house.’ Robyn wished she could move away, put an end to these lies, and yet she knew that this job usually took most of the morning to complete. If Selma was going to ask her questions about Richard Howarth all that time …! She was going to run out of conversation about him any moment now!

Selma’s eyes widened. ‘You’ve met his parents?’

She shook her head. ‘He has his own house.’

‘He does?’ That took the other girl aback.

‘Yes.’ She moved on to the I section, getting nearer and nearer Mr Leaven’s desk, and she hoped nearer to ending this discussion.

Selma looked wistful. ‘I’ve never been out with a boy who had his own house. I usually have to wait until his parents go out.’

Wait for what? Robyn almost asked. Selma was a pretty girl, black hair kept long past her shoulders, deep brown eyes, a clear complexion, a nice slim figure, and yet she had earnt herself rather a bad reputation with the boys in the area. Most of them were willing to go out with her for a while, but they all ended up marrying someone else. It was a shame really, because she was a very nice girl given the chance to be.

‘He must be quite rich to own his own house,’ she remarked now.

‘I have no idea.’ Robyn moved up to the J section, luckily almost in view of Mr Leaven.

‘Or does he just rent it?’ He had obviously stepped down in Selma’s estimation if he did.

‘I—–’

‘Would you two girls kindly get on with your work—quietly.’ Mr Leaven suddenly appeared behind them. ‘It may have escaped your notice,’ he continued in an angry whisper, ‘but this is supposed to be a library, a place where people can come to quietly read and study. Your voices—–’

‘Ssh!’ A woman at a nearby table looked up to glare at him. ‘Can’t you read?’ she hissed, pointing to the sigh that read ‘QUIET, PLEASE, PEOPLE WORKING’.

‘Get on with your work!’ Mr Leaven snapped at Robyn and Selma before returning to his desk.

‘Oh dear,’ Selma giggled. ‘That’s put him in a bad mood for the rest of the day!’

Indeed it had, and Robyn kept out of his way as much as possible. She kept out of Selma’s way too, not being anxious to reopen the subject of Rick Howarth. She felt slightly ashamed of herself for using him in that way, even if he didn’t know about it. She had thought it would get Selma off the subject of her having a boy-friend, and instead she seemed to have made matters worse. She hoped she would have forgotten all about it by tomorrow.

The bus service was dreadful again that night, and the shop was already closed and her mother in the kitchen when she entered the house. ‘The bus,’ came her moody explanation for her lateness.

Her mother nodded. ‘I thought you might be late, so I made a casserole for dinner.’

‘Lovely!’ Robyn ran upstairs to change into her denims and tee-shirt, the rumblings of her stomach making it a hurried change. She was always ravenously hungry in the evenings, and so was Billy. Her brother didn’t utter a word as he ate his portion of the chicken casserole.

‘I mended your bike today, Robyn,’ her father told her, eating his meal at a more leisurely pace.

‘You did?’ Her eyes lit up with gratitude, as she thought of not having to catch the bus again tomorrow.

‘Mm. I took one of the wheels off your mother’s old bike. She never rides it anyway.’

‘So you didn’t need to buy a new wheel?’ she frowned.

‘No,’ he shook his head.

‘That means you’ll have to give the money back,’ Billy emerged from eating his dessert long enough to utter.

‘Money?’ their mother repeated sharply. ‘What money is this, Robyn?’

She refused dessert, although she knew the apple pie would be delicious—her mother’s cooking always was. ‘Mr Howarth gave me some money yesterday when he drove over my bicycle. I’d forgotten all about it.’ She reached into the back pocket of her denims, taking out the notes she had stuffed there yesterday.

‘Wow!’ Billy breathed slowly, looking at the two crumpled ten-pound notes Robyn held in her hand.

‘Wow, indeed.’ Their father looked disapprovingly over the top of his glasses. ‘You had no right accepting money from Mr Howarth, not when you openly admitted it was your fault for leaving your bike on the road.’

Robyn was still dazed herself by the amount of money Rick Howarth had given her. Her bike was only an old one, more or less ready for the scrap-merchant who came round every couple of months—the whole thing wasn’t worth twenty pounds! ‘I’ll give it back,’ she said hurriedly.

‘You most certainly will,’ her father said firmly. ‘And as for you, young man,’ he turned towards Billy, ‘how did you know Mr Howarth gave Robyn some money?’