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  Because you don’t do rules.

  I feel really sorry for this girl, Marilyn. She’s a total disaster. No wonder she wants to get out of here. Go to uni. But how will she get on? When she’s there? Will she cope on her own? Mum says I wouldn’t cope on my own away from home. Anyway it’s not safe. So I’ll have to apply to local places. Much cheaper that way too. Less loan to pay back.

  Can’t believe it. I’m sounding sensible.

  Not sure whether I’m feeling bad for Marilyn or bad for myself.

  I remember the rest of her diary entry.

  There’s one thing I’ll do for her tonight.

  I’ll get her kissed.

  I’ve got to do it.

  Even if it’s some totally disgusting boy I’d never look twice at. It’s one of those random acts of kindness Mum’s always talking about. Marilyn can’t be seventeen and never kissed a boy. Or a girl of course. But I think it would be safer with a boy. Don’t think they’ve heard of being a lesbian in 1962.

  I’ll do it. Tonight. I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t help her out while I’m here.

  And who knows, I might enjoy it. If there’s anyone remotely fit.

  We’re walking up the path to the house. I realise I don’t know this girl’s name.

  I don’t know how Marilyn’s mum will take her coming round.

  I remember I don’t know anything.

  Saturday morning. Marilyn turned over in bed and decided to go back to sleep. It was safe in bed. Nobody would disturb her. She was sure she could sleep on till lunch time. Then Kyle would come over and they’d go out to the youth club. She’d see Saleem again.

  She drifted off towards a beautiful dream of her and Saleem. They were holding hands, walking on a golden beach at sunset.

  A shout from the landing woke her up.

  “Holly! Holly! It’s ten past nine, and you’ve got to be at the coffee shop by half past. Come on, get up!”

  It was Holly’s mum.

  Marilyn sighed and rolled over. She pulled the duvet up over her head. Why should she want to go to the coffee shop? She didn’t drink coffee. It was bitter and powdery.

  “Holly!”

  Marilyn groaned. Holly’s mother knocked, then came in.

  “Have you washed your apron?”

  “Washed my apron?” Marilyn never washed anything at home.

  “For work.”

  Holly’s mum sighed, one of those mock sighs.

  “You’ll have to go without it today. Mrs L will have a spare one. Do put on something decent or she’ll give you the push. And have a shower before you go.”

  “Shower?”

  Holly’s mother frowned and turned to go.

  “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.” Marilyn didn’t want to be on her bad side.

  “Okay, you can have one later. She’ll put up with you being dirty for once.”

  A shower was obviously something you got clean with. Marilyn was used to having a bath once a week. She followed her brother into water scummy from his soap and shampoo.

  “I’ll – do it later.”

  She got dressed in a black top and trousers, tight round the hips and baggy at the bottom. She looked at all the shoes, and decided she couldn’t possibly work in those heels. She could hardly walk in them. The old gym shoes at the back of the wardrobe would have to do. The trousers should cover them up.

  Then she realised she had no idea where the coffee shop was. Was it in town, down the road, somewhere else?

  Holly’s mother was downstairs, sitting at the kitchen table in a dressing gown that looked like it was made of towels, reading the post. Marilyn desperately tried to think of a way of asking where she should go. But nothing happened. So she left the house and walked to the left. That was where the local shops used to be.

  The trousers flapped along the ground, tripping her up. They were far too long. She saw the coffee shop on the corner, across the main road. It was the place with the café downstairs where Sheila used to live with her parents. They lived in the flat upstairs.

  Seeing the place again brought back lots of memories, of Sheila in her immaculate bedroom full of rose pink satin and frills, with the kidney shaped dressing table covered in a flouncy pink skirt. Marilyn envied her that room. It seemed years ago since they’d been there together, giggling over something, it didn’t really matter what. But that was years ago. A lifetime ago.

  There was nothing for it – she’d have to go in and see what happened. If nobody knew her, she could just ask the way somewhere and get out again. If they handed her a tea towel or something, she was in the right place.

  A bell sounded as she opened the door. The place was full of pine chairs and tables – nothing like the café Sheila’s parents had run. There were plants everywhere, and a glass counter with a black machine behind it. The place smelt of coffee. There were no customers. There was a radio on.

  A woman bustled in from the kitchen, carrying a tea towel. She was a big woman, with comfortable breasts hanging down over her comfortable stomach. The white apron marked some kind of waist, but it hardly existed. Her cheeks were red, and her wispy grey hair was tied back. She looked familiar, like someone Marilyn had known all her life.

  “There you are, Holly. I was beginning to wonder. I tried your mobile, but no reply.”

  “No, it’s lost. I’ll have a new one later.”

  The woman shook her head.

  “Come on, shut the door and get your coat off. I’m not paying you to let the heat out.”

  Marilyn took her coat off and wondered where to put it.

  “What have you got on your feet?”

  Marilyn looked down at the dirty gym shoes.

  “I… hurt my foot.”

  The woman sighed.

  “You’ll have to do kitchen duty. I can’t let the customers see you waiting in those shoes.”

  Marilyn looked round at the absence of any customers to disapprove of her shoes.

  “Get back here where they’ll only see your top half. I’ll do the waiting for a change. You know, in my day, I’d never have turned up late for work in the wrong shoes. You young people today, you don’t know you’ve been born.”

  Marilyn knew she’d been born, and it was in 1945, but she thought it would be better not to say that.

  “While nobody’s here, you can give the floor a bit of a sweep. But if anyone comes in, you get behind this counter. If Health and Safety saw those shoes there would be hell to pay. Shut me down, they would. Nothing but rules and regulations these days. They’ll be regulating breathing next.”

  Marilyn picked up the brush and began to sweep up. There didn’t seem to be any dust on the floor. The woman picked up a spoon and started polishing it.

  “So – what’s happening in your life?”

  “Happening?” Marilyn realised she was beginning to sound like a parrot.

  “You know, boyfriends and stuff. Any news? I like to hear your news. It takes me back to when I was young. You’ll never end up an old maid like me. You know, I was asked to marry, twice. Good men, hardworking, decent. But I never did.”

  “Really?” Marilyn was clutching at straws. She had no idea if Holly had a boyfriend. She hoped she didn’t, because Marilyn wouldn’t know what to do with one. Except what she read in her library books, and that couldn’t be real. In one she’d read last week, a man put his tongue in his girlfriend’s mouth. That was disgusting. What if he hadn’t cleaned his teeth?

  Mrs L went on.

  “I’ll tell you a secret. I’m not married. The name’s there to protect me. And the ring’s my mother’s.”

  She waved a thick gold band on her wedding finger. “I wouldn’t want anyone to know there was just me in this building at night – they’d be in here like a shot, stealing and trashing everything.”

  “Really?” Marilyn was genuinely shocked.

  “Nowhere’s safe these days. I’m surprised your mother lets you out at night, the streets aren’t safe for young girls like you.�
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  Then Kyle walked in. Marilyn and Mrs L looked at him, stunned. He was wearing a long black cloak, black trousers, black boots, and under the cloak Marilyn could see a military jacket which looked as if it had bones painted on it. He had loads of eye make up under his eyes. The darkness was still there, but Marilyn could see he was playing a part now, enjoying the attention. He pulled the cloak over his face so they could only see his eyes glittering. He looked from one side of the room to theother, sweeping the cloak behind him.

  Marilyn laughed. She couldn’t help it. He looked so stupid.

  “You laugh now. But you may die later!” Kyle swirled the cloak round, almost knocking over the salt and pepper on the nearest table, then sat down on a chair in a heap.

  “Get me a cappuccino first though, I’m so dry.”

  “I’ll get it,” said Mrs L. “You keep that boyfriend of yours under control, Holly. And get your feet out of sight, will you!”

  “What are you doing here?” Marilyn asked Kyle. She was glad to see him, even though he did look terrible.

  “Your mum said you were at work. I came over early, to do the research. I’d forgotten you were working. And I couldn’t text. So I thought I’d come down and cause some trouble. What’s wrong with your feet? And how’s the old cow this morning?

  “Shh, she’ll hear you.” But the coffee machine was gurgling and Mrs L was busy with her back turned.

  “She doesn’t like my shoes. She’s okay though.”

  “That’s not what you said last Saturday. You nearly walked out. What are you doing in those shoes?”

  Marilyn sat down at the table, hiding her feet.

  “The other ones hurt.”

  “Hurt? Since when did you care about your feet hurting?”

  Mrs L turned round with a cup and saucer in her hand and put it on the counter.

  “Here’s your cappuccino. That will be £1.80.” Marilyn watched Kyle get some strange money out of his pocket and pay Mrs L. The coffee had something brown on top, like the scum on her brother’s bath before Marilyn got into it. It didn’t look good. But Kyle sipped his way through the froth.

  “I’m not paying you to sit and chat. Come on, get in the kitchen!”

  The coffee shop was full all morning after that, mostly of people their age who’d seen Kyle through the window, as well as a few local shoppers. Mrs L was smiling, and Marilyn was running from kitchen to counter, making sure her feet didn’t show. Nobody seemed to want food much, just biscuits and strange cakes, and Mrs L did the complicated things, sighing and tutting. At one o’clock Mrs L looked at her watch.

  “I can take over from here. You’ve been so slow this morning. It’s like you’ve never been here before! I’ll see you tomorrow for the breakfasts. But don’t come back in those shoes.”

  “Right.” Marilyn headed for the door.

  “Don’t you want paying?” Mrs L went to the till and pulled out some of the strange money, little notes and coins. She gave it to Marilyn.

  “And bring your apron next time!”

  Kyle and Marilyn set off up the hill to Holly’s house. There was nobody in. They went into the kitchen and helped themselves to bread and cheese, then took the sandwiches upstairs to Holly’s bedroom. Marilyn still couldn’t get used to him coming in there, but he said they needed to do the project research. She couldn’t understand what he meant.

  The library was the place for books, surely?

  The girl and I go in through the kitchen door. Marilyn’s mother is cooking again. Always in the kitchen.

  “You’re late for your dinner,” she says, without looking up from the frying pan. Which is swimming in fat. Disgusting.

  The table’s laid for four, with the cloth and everything.

  “Hello Mrs Bolton,” says the girl.

  “Sheila!” says the mother. Now at least I know her name.

  “I’ve brought Sheila back – for lunch,” I say. Not with much confidence.

  Marilyn’s mother looks down at the four chops in the pan. One for me, one for her, one for the brat, one for the dad.

  “Lunch.” She sounds despairing.

  “Really, it’s no bother, I’ll go home,” says Sheila, catching the way things are going.

  “No, don’t worry. You set another place at the table, Marilyn. Dinner’s nearly ready. There’s plenty.”

  But she doesn’t sound happy.

  We get through the meal somehow. The mother sits there. Eating vegetables covered in brown sticky gravy. There’s a space on her plate where the chop should be. Seems like passive aggressive to me. She keeps cutting up the veg totally loudly.

  I cut my chop very small. Eat it with the vegetables. So I can’t taste it so much. Soggy. They’ve never heard of al dente and vitamins. Sheila’s talking away. About her mum and dad. They’re totally perfect. Run her life. Without expecting her to have her own ideas.

  “And Mum says I can work in the café till I get a job at the bank. Dad says that’s the right place for a girl to be if she’s not going to get married straight away and have a family.”

  Sheila pauses. Looks at me. Goes red.

  “None of this going to university then,” says Marilyn’s mother. She picks at a piece of carrot. Looks hard at me.

  “No, my dad says I can’t go, they can’t spare me,” says Sheila. I feel sick. Not used to eating meat. Can’t say I’m a vegetarian to these people. The mum’s welcome to my chop. But I couldn’t explain. They wouldn’t understand.

  “What do you think of that, Marilyn?” the dad says. Looks at me. Half smiling. Half serious.

  Now they’re both staring. ”Do you think we can spare you?”

  “Marilyn will get a grant and everything – you won’t have to pay anything, she told me. Loads of girls from school are going,” says Sheila.

  She seems to be trying to rescue me.

  “I don’t hold with it, not for girls,” says the dad. Like he’s god or something.

  “No boy likes a girl who’s clever,” says the mum, laughing. “Do they, Geoffrey?”

  “Who knows what she’d get up to? Better to stay here and get a job, where we can keep an eye.”

  “I’ve got to go,” I say. Louder than I mean to.

  The brother joins in now.

  “She’s too stupid anyway, she won’t get in.”

  I glare at him for Marilyn’s sake. The parents laugh. There’s a silence.

  “Miss Cookson says she’s got a very good chance, I heard her,” says Sheila. “They say at school that girls should be getting an education, a career and all that.”

  “I’d just be happy if she was normal,” says the mum.

  She looks like she’s going to cry. Then goes out and gets the pudding. Apple pie. Looks like she made it herself. No packet or anything.

  “Custard, Sheila?”

  “Yes, Mrs Bolton, thank you.”

  “Custard, Geoff?”

  “Yes, a spoonful please, Jean.” The father pours extra sugar on his custard. I want to warn him about heart attacks. Think better of it.

  The mum ladles bright yellow custard on another bowlful. She doesn’t ask me if I want some. She pushes the bowl at me. Doesn’t look at me.

  Suppose I have to eat it. Sheila’s pigging out as if calories never existed. And it does look very good.

  I pick up the spoon.

  Kyle sat down at the table in Marilyn’s room and jabbed at one of the plastic boxes.

  “Okay, let’s go. Do you mind if I…?”

  “Go ahead.”

  The telly came on, although it didn’t seem to be a telly.

  “Wow,” Marilyn said, without thinking.

  “No need to be sarcastic. Are you still having some kind of identity crisis?”

  “No, go on.”

  He flipped through lots of different pictures. His shoulders were hunched and tight. “Do you want to check your email?”

  “No, it’s okay, I’ll do it tomorrow.” Marilyn was being more careful now, watching
the screen change at a speed she could never have imagined. She’d never seen a boy type before. They didn’t. Girls trained to be typists or secretaries. That’s what her mum wanted her to do. Men wouldn’t type.

  But Kyle did, fast. Like he’d done it forever.

  “What’s that on your bed?”

  Kyle hardly turned from the screen, but he pointed at the plastic bag on the bed. It had Holly’s name on it, and she pulled it open. There was a box inside with a picture of something like the phone the mother had called a mobile.

  “Go on, you sort it out,” said Kyle. “I’ll start finding what you need.”

  Marilyn had the phone in her hand and was looking through the box. She found what looked like a strange electric plug and was wondering what to do with it.

  “1962, wasn’t it? That’s your time?”

  She looked at him, stunned. She went over to the table. Standing behind Kyle she saw images she half recognised. The streets as she knew them. People wearing clothes she knew from the shops.

  “Not much here, I’ll keep looking.”

  “No, that’s my time. That really is my time,” Marilyn said. She couldn’t keep the shock out of her voice. “That’s where I belong. Only I’ve got here somehow. Not that I don’t like it here. I really like it here. I want to stay.”

  Kyle switched off the box and swung round to face her.

  “Holly, are you okay?”

  “I’m not Holly, I keep trying to tell you. I’m Marilyn.”

  “Look, I’ve known you for a couple of years now. If you came from the sixties, believe me, I’d know.”

  “No, you’re right, I should get this sorted out.” Marilyn held out the plug and the phone.

  “You’re such a technophobe.” Kyle was distracted. He switched the phone on and it made a funny sound. “You can change your ring tone later. I’ll put it on charge then at least you’ll be able to use it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Holly, you know what?”

  “What?”

  “You’re my best mate and everything, but I don’t get you. You know?” Marilyn didn’t know, but she nodded.