It hadn’t entirely been a lie. Her father had let her practise on the farm lanes around Holkham Hall during their summer holiday. ‘Yes, sir.’
He gestures to the bag of eighteen oranges. ‘Take the staff car and share them around the chaps on the guns over at the castle. Can’t let them go to waste.’
She’d see George for Valentine’s after all! ‘Yes, sir. Thank you very much, sir.’ She grabs her coat and umbrella from the coat stand, and pulls her AFS satchel over her shoulder as she heads for the door.
‘Burgess!’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘You’ll be needing these.’ Fire Officer Williams tosses Ellie a set of keys. ‘I’ve not known an automobile to work without them.’
***
The fender of the staff car scrapes along the edge of the pavement stones as Ellie shifts gears and parks under the trees of Chapelfield Gardens. She scoops an orange out of the net bag and tucks it into her satchel. Across the street, the red-brick mass of Mcklintock’s Chocolates sprawls across the block. Opening the car door, she gets out and heads towards the entrance.
Ellie hurries down the green linoleum corridors and spies George, neat as always in a dark green V-necked jumper over his white shirt, at his desk behind the glass partition of the staff offices that overlook the production floor. His short, brilliantined black hair is carefully combed, and his tortoiseshell glasses perch on the end of his nose where his nostrils have arrested their downward slide. She taps on the window and waves at him when he looks up.
George meets her in the corridor and gives her hand a squeeze. ‘Ellie, what are you doing here?’
Ellie digs into her satchel and pulls out the orange. ‘Happy Valentine’s Day, George.’
‘An orange?’ He stares at the fruit. ‘Where’d you get an orange?’ He frowns as he pushes his glasses up his nose. ‘You didn’t steal it, did you?’
‘Good grief, George. Don’t be silly. The Newfoundlanders sent them to the fire station. I’m to deliver them to the fellows on the guns by the castle. Since you’re one of the fellows, I thought I’d give you the pick of the bunch.’
George sniffs the orange. ‘Oh, that’s lovely. I’ve missed that smell.’ He gives Ellie a peck on her cheek. ‘Thanks for that, El.’
‘Don’t thank me. Thank the Newfoundlanders.’
George’s forehead wrinkles as his eyebrows draw together. ‘The Newfoundlanders or a Newfoundlander?’
Ellie laughs. ‘Do you mean Thomas Parsons? Honestly, George, you’re being beyond silly today. I doubt he even remembers my name. I haven’t seen him since the New Year’s dance.’
‘Right. Okay, then.’ He pockets the orange and holds up a finger. ‘Wait here. I’ve got something for you too.’
‘You do?’
‘Of course I do.’
Ellie watches him through the glass partition as he rifles through his desk drawers. He takes out something small, hiding it in his hand as he enters the corridor.
‘Oh, George. You remembered Valentine’s!’
‘I work in a chocolate factory. How can I possibly forget?’
‘If it’s a box of chocolates, it’s awfully small.’
‘It’s much better than that.’ He opens up his hand.
Ellie stares at the lump of pink, heart-shaped rubber. ‘What’s that?’
‘It’s a pencil rubber. It’s shaped like a heart. Isn’t that clever? I saw it the other day at Jarrolds and thought of you. You can use it at the fire station. Every time you use it you’ll think of me. If you don’t press too hard, it should last a year.’
‘A pencil rubber?’
George presses the pencil rubber into Ellie’s hand. ‘I’ve got to get back to work or I’ll get a ticking off. Meet you at eight tomorrow at the Samson?’
Ellie folds her fingers over the lump of rubber. ‘Sure. Fine. See you at the Samson.’
She walks down the green linoleum corridor towards the entrance doors. A metal bin is wedged beside a fire extinguisher in the corner of the entrance lobby. She tosses the pencil rubber into the bin and walks back to the car.
***
One week later
‘Poppy, I have a question for you.’
Henry Burgess looks up from the second slice he’s cutting from the orange cake. ‘What’s that, Ellie Mae?’
‘Is it really the thought that counts rather than the gift itself?’
‘I would say that’s right. Not everyone can afford expensive gifts. A thoughtful gift should be appreciated even if it’s something simple.’
Ellie screws up her lips. ‘I thought you’d say that.’
Dottie scrapes the icing off her plate with her fork and reaches over to pull the cake stand towards her. ‘Ellie’s cross with George.’
Ellie taps Dottie’s hand with the back of her fork. ‘You don’t need any more cake. You’ve already had two slices.’
‘Why’s Ellie cross with George, then?’
Dottie slouches back in her chair and crosses her arms. ‘He gave her a pencil rubber for Valentine’s and she threw it away.’
Henry Burgess’s eyebrows rise over the frames of his round glasses. ‘George gave you a pencil rubber?’
‘Yes. Honestly, Poppy, what kind of gift is that?’
‘You should’ve given it to me if you didn’t like it, Ellie.’ Dottie runs a finger over her plate, catching the last drops of icing. ‘I would’ve used it. I’d pretend George gave it to me.’
‘No one asked you, Dottie.’
Dottie licks her finger. ‘You’re just being selfish.’
‘Stop licking your finger – it’s rude.’
Henry clears his throat. ‘That’s enough, girls. Go practise your piano, Dottie. I want to hear Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight Sonata’ before you go to bed.’
Dottie groans. ‘Again? I played that yesterday, Poppy.’
‘Practise makes perfect, pet. Mrs Banister says that with a little effort you’ll be ready to sit your Grade Five exams this summer. The Easter recital is coming up soon. Don’t you want us to be proud?’
Dottie looks at Ellie. ‘Is George coming to the recital?’
‘I expect so.’
Dottie expels a sigh as heavy as a farm labourer’s. ‘All right, then.’ Pushing away from the table, she slumps towards the dining room door.
‘Dottie? You didn’t happen to borrow my lipstick, did you? I can’t find it anywhere. I’ve torn up my room looking for it. There
