Shirley said she had to go to get her bus. She put her silver dance-shoes in her bag along with the Stratton powder compact and the spit-on strip of mascara. She pulled on her sling-backs outside the door. She turned up Witham Street to fetch her friend. As she went past the house of Miss Kitchen she saw she had switched off the light. She caught a glimpse of her in the front room, hiding behind the thick damask curtain that was drawn to one side. Shirley smiled and glanced back to see the lace curtains of several other houses moving, too, as prying eyes followed the swish of heels towards the bus stop.
Shirley had on her new navy blue skirt and a white lace-knit jumper, which her mother had made her from a pattern in Woman’s Weekly. It had sleeves cut to just above the elbow and was fitt
