The Factory Girls – Episode 35
Later, as Jonathan walked her home, she curved in against him. “We will save Cardill’s, you know.”He looked down at her.“Where has that come from?”“I don’t know. It’s just, with everyone in the pub all together, it made me see how strong the spirit is in Deveroe. Does that sound stupid?”“Not at all. It’s great here.”“That’s what Sean said.”“He’s nice, your brother. All your brothers are.” Jonathan stopped suddenly. “Not as nice as you, though.”Dana tipped her head up as his lips claimed hers. It was a long kiss, tasting of salt and vinegar from the chips they’d just shared, and Dana surrendered herself to it gladly, uncaring of passers-by. When they eventually pulled apart she looked around. The moon was bright and edged everything with silver. The shabby shop windows sparkled and the old castle up on the hill looked magical. The twisting street seemed as if it might lead to a promised land, rather than just to the factory.“We will save Cardill’s,” she repeated fiercely.Jonathan blinked.“Very romantic, Dana.”“Sorry.” She kissed him swiftly. “It’s not all I think about, Jonathan, far from it. Everything seems perfect now, with you here, and I want it to stay that way.” She sighed. “There’s a photographer coming in on Wednesday to capture us all in Shelley’s T-shirts.”He pulled back a little.“Wednesday?”“Yes. I spoke to her this afternoon before the match.”“Wednesday,” Jonathan repeated and Dana frowned up at him.“What’s wrong with Wednesday?”He shifted his feet, kicking up an old can.“Nothing, only Frank said something about needing me on Wednesday. I’m not sure why. Probably won’t be until later in the day, though.”The mood had changed, somehow, and Dana didn’t like it.“No problem,” she said hastily. “We’ll get her in first thing.”She ran her hands up round Jonathan’s neck, teasing at the edge of his hair.“That tickles,” he protested.“Good.”She tickled harder and he wriggled in her arms.“Mercy!” “Never,” she said and then his lips were on hers again and the mood, whatever it had been, had passed.
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Carol stood in the middle of what had once been her garden and surveyed the tangle of weeds in dismay. Spring seemed to have come out of nowhere and the plants had gone wild.“Sorry, Eddie,” she mumbled.This garden had been her husband’s pride and joy. He’d spent hours out here, lovingly pruning, planting and weeding. Carol had sometimes even heard him talking to the flowers, coaxing them into bloom, and had tried not to think of them as his substitute children. They had been, though, in a way, just as sewing machines had been hers.“Nonsense,” she said aloud. She was overdramatising. Cardill’s was work, that was all. And it wasn’t her only interest. She loved . . . Carol fought to find something else she loved.
