Bobby's Girl Read Online Free PDF Page A

waiting for their circulars from the feed companies.’ Brian carried his mug to the sink and turned on the tap to rinse it.
    Penny had to stop herself from shouting, ‘Leave it. Just go.’ When he turned and she saw the expression on his face, she was ashamed. She gestured towards the canvas on her easel.
    â€˜Sorry,’ she apologised. ‘It’s not going well.’
    Brian squinted at the half-finished painting, a jacket for a romance novel. ‘Looks good to me. Mam and Betty always say your book covers stand out a mile in Smith’s. They’re streets ahead of the others. The only complaintBetty makes is about what’s inside. According to her, the best bit of the books she reads these days is what you’ve put on the outside.’
    Penny knew Brian was trying to make her feel better but she still wanted him gone. She went to the door and opened it. ‘Give my love to Betty and your mother.’
    â€˜I will.’ He left the mug on the draining board and picked up his bag.
    Feeling guilty she called after him. ‘See you tomorrow. If I finish the painting, you can give me your verdict. And I’ll remember to buy chocolate biscuits.’
    He waved back at her on his way to her parents’ letter box. She closed the door, took a clean paintbrush and slid the wooden stem into the corner of the envelope. Mouth dry, heart beating erratically, she unfolded the letter, removed the cards and studied the photograph.
    She hadn’t seen it before, of that much she was certain. She couldn’t even remember it being taken. But there was no mistaking the four people pictured. Two young couples smiled directly into the camera lens from the deck of a yacht. Their arms were so tightly entwined it was difficult to work out which limb belonged to which body. Given the boys’ long hair and the cut of her and Kate’s bikinis it could have been a vintage advertisement aimed at luring holidaymakers to Cape Cod. Scrawled across the corner in a familiar hand was Bobby , Sandy and their girls .
    Penny couldn’t bear to look at it.
    She opened the drawer she kept her stationery in, pushed the photograph beneath a pile of envelopes and slammed it shut. Then she checked the name and addresson the back of the envelope. Not that she needed to. She knew exactly who’d sent it, although there were only initials on the handwritten sheet. It had been optimistic of her to think he’d allow Andy’s eighteenth birthday to pass without attempting to get in touch with her …
    She read the letter and reread it, until it was imprinted on her mind.
    There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, or Andrew. But you’ve known that for eighteen years.
    Love, as always.
    Penny slipped the letter into the back pocket of her jeans, opened the french doors, and breathed in the aromas of spring. Damp acidic earth, rosemary and bluebells, the light perfume of apple and cherry blossom; and, overlaying everything, the lingering fragrance of woodsmoke from the cold embers of the bonfire her father and Andy had fed yesterday evening with winter’s dead wood.
    It was peculiar how a scent could conjure the past even more effectively than a photograph. It demolished the floodgates she’d built to hold memories she couldn’t bear to dwell on. And, as her defences crumbled, the intervening years washed away. She was back in that summer of 1968.
    So many memories. Not all of them painful. Late evening after darkness had fallen, thick and fast. Without light pollution from street lamps, the moon and stars had shone brighter than the neon glares of Broadway. A circle of young people sitting around a campfirein a yard, roasting potatoes and melting cheese, and marshmallows that dripped from the sticks into the flames. Eating – talking – arguing – laughing – demolishing the hidebound institutions of the world and rebuilding them in fairer, more honest modes while