Started this a long time ago but I'm finally ready to have a go at something new - I hope you enjoy.

For around 6 years during my student days I worked on the estate at Chatsworth which gave me a pretty good idea of how these grand old houses run. This story is partly inspired by the things I learned there.

And Time – chapter 1

The Past

The boy was born first. Over twenty-four hours in labour and a long-limbed baby screeched into the world, a stubborn little bugger from those first minutes.

His sister arrived just over three years later, with flaming red hair like her father and her mother's short stature and plump little arms.

They were oddities when together. Him tall and dark, she short and red. Him serious and precise, her always teasing and laughing. He liked numbers and tradition, she liked cooking and parties. Most of the time they lived in harmony, small cogs on a grand Yorkshire estate; they played in the fields, they chased the sheep, they wiled away those long summer days of childhood.

As different as they were they shared one great love – Elsie Hughes.

Present Day

She wouldn't have gone had it not been for her daughter. There was an event, dressage, and Etty was so desperate to get back into it all now they'd moved. And so she'd been dragged along on a Sunday, at a time when she would usually have been settling down to the afternoon Marple or pottering in the garden, the sun being out after all.

Not that she had a garden. The dim flat they were currently renting was like living back in the 1980s, all faded grey walls and the stench of damp. She'd never imagined life would bring her back to Yorkshire, to this village, and she'd certainly never imagined that if, and when, she did return she would end up in some shit tip like this.

Money had been tight since she'd sold the shop. And nobody was ever in a rush to pay you your dues; she'd filled in a hundred forms; the state was yet to respond in the form of a cheque. Bastards.

Her daughter was persuasive though. She'd been born that way, smart tongue, quick brain, she never missed a beat. Fourteen and already taller than her mother, better looking, more talented. She wanted to give her every possible advantage, but life never went the way of the plan.

"Mum, you missed the turning," Ethel said, jumping forward in her seat. "Take the next right instead," she stared at her phone as it recalculated. "Added a couple of minutes but looks like we're okay."

"Oh crap," Elsie quickly glanced in her mirror then took the turning. "It said ten minutes."

"Yeah, and you go lost twice, I thought you grew up here."

"Years ago, things change. What's the plan?"

"Plan?" Ethel held up her phone, staring wide-eyed at it, "There's no signal in this shitty place."

"Don't use language like that. The plan for getting you on the team?"

"I need a horse first, and we can't afford it –,"

"Oh don't be dramatic."

"We can't! We had beans on toast three nights last week, we're poor."

"Hardly poor, just, being careful at the moment." She tapped on the steering wheel as they joined the end of a queue, smart cream cardboard signs showing where event parking was. "And we don't need to buy a horse, we just need to find a club for you to join, then they'll see how talented you are and there we go, you're in." She slapped her hand on her daughter's legs, "Feet down off the seat. And it's not a shitty place, it's a beautiful place, they just have poor phone signals. But you know, swings and roundabouts. Least they have horses, hey."

Ethel rolled her eyes, glancing out of the window. "Anyone you know here?"

"Maybe, my friend."

"The one I've never met."

"I think you were three last time she saw you, then we moved back to Scotland and it's not so quick a journey. She sends you a card every birthday though, give her that."

"She know you're back?"

"Not yet."

Something about the back of her head made him stop. The babble in his walkie-talkie continued and he lowered it, enfolding it in his palm to block the noise. The main showground was heaving, midday and the height of the events.

He stood still, giving his eyes time to focus. Her hair was the same golden strawberry he remembered, not faded as in photographs from the past, greyed with dust and time. He fancied he caught her perfume on the breeze, whipping her hair up, longer now than it had been in her youth. Her shoulders were softer, sloped more, and her hips fuller.

He gingerly stepped forward, resurfacing in the crowd, bumps to his arms as he crossed the bruised grass and closed the space between them.

From what he could see she was alone, she shuffled from foot-to-foot – dark jeans, canvas shoes, a black top striped with gold – bare arms; she shone in the sunshine. Those freckles made him smile.

He reached forward before she disappeared, a hand to her shoulder and she turned quickly, a frown at first and then brightness, red lips curving into a smile, bright eyes cresting the hill.

There was the hint of a question to her voice, "Charles?"

"Hello Elsie."

The sun was warm, mid-afternoon and high.

A shadow crossed her neck, shielding her upper arms from the heat. She turned towards the source of the blackout, blinking as a plastic cup was held out to her.

"Lemonade, you said."

"Thank you," she took the cup from him, sipping the sparkling liquid.

"So –," they said in unison, and she paused, smiled. "Go on."

"I was just going to say I didn't know you were back, are you…?"

"Back? I guess so, for the time being anyhow."

"Does Beryl know?"

Elsie shook her head, "Not yet, it was an impulsive decision, truth be told. We've been in Northumberland a few years and I just… things happen, felt like revisiting."

"I always wondered if you would. She'll be ecstatic, all these years."

"Is she working today?"

"No, not for something like this, just vans, awful really, burgers and the like but it makes money so we have it."

She shielded her eyes, looking up at his height. The smartly tailored tweed jacket, a mustard shirt, brown leather brogues. He looked every inch the country gent. "You've done well for yourself though, Beryl wrote at Christmas how successful everything was. The house and such."

"Things have blossomed yes, we brought in new things, ideas…" the walkie-talkie crackled in his jacket pocket. "Oh, sorry."

"No, I am, you're working, I'm keeping you."

He flicked the red button on top of the machine to momentarily silence it. "I'd like to catch up. It's good to see you here." He briefly touched her arm, a fleeting moment as he squeezed then retracted. "It's so busy today."

"I have to go find my daughter anyhow, might see you later if not I'm sure I'll be popping down next week, I need to see Beryl, get her phone number." She shrugged awkwardly, "Reconnect properly with her."

"She'll be so happy," he said, then realised he was repeating himself. "Well, so good to see you Elsie."

"And you, thank you for the lemonade."

He nodded, "You're welcome, enjoy the show. Feel free to pass on any feedback!" He laughed as he walked away; perhaps more jovial but with a strange feeling in his stomach, something akin to toothache.

The Past

August and the days are hazy. So hot the grass is crisp, sharp around the ankles, and the skies above blend into one long chalk mark of blue.

The river at the house, running through the grounds, is wide and gaping. The banks heave with tourists, for it is still free then; cars can be abandoned and the walk down across the field takes no more than three minutes. Deer hide in the trees over the other side of the park, in the shade, away from the noise. Nosy sheep test the resolve of drivers as they wander aimlessly across the road.

The three teenagers know the system by now. Two have grown up on the estate, their father a worker, a groundsman, their mother a cook. Their cottage lies some two miles from the house and they follow the river as it winds up through the valley, to where it thins and meanders. It is quiet here and with their friend they can remove shoes and hop about in the water in their shorts.

Charles has spent most of the year pretending he's too old for the girls. At seventeen he is thinking of his future, of moving away, perhaps rebelling at the country ideals and going to London for University. His father can't afford it and it's unheard of for boys of his type, but he's born and bred on the estate and the Duke is almost a grandfather – he has plans, he just hasn't told his family yet.

His sister is just fourteen, her friend still thirteen, a baby really. They squeal like babies as they splash down the river and he lies on the grass and watches. There's a ladybird on his sunglasses and it seems to be crawling over Beryl's head, blocking his view of her as she bends to splash her friend. Elsie gasps as the water soaks through her vest top, kicking up her leg, her toes sending droplets of water spinning through the air.

"Come on fatty, she's gonna win!" Charles teases, shouting down to his baby sister who is still struggling with her puppy fat.

"Bugger off, Lurch!"

He chuckles at her retort; he is tall even for his age, and dark, 'brooding' his mother keeps saying. He knows he is attractive to the girls, it comes easily, he stands out compared to the other local lads. He is smart too, he listens in school, and he doesn't want to settle for some manual labour role. Not that he cares for the lasses that throw themselves at him, he's got his eye on Alice Tanner and nothing else will do. She is rich, haughty, blonde and bloody gorgeous.

He jumps to his feet, throwing aside the long piece of grass he'd been splintering with his nail.

"You gotta move faster, Bezza," he calls down, kicking off his shoes and wading into the river. "Light on the stones as you jump, she'll win you at this rate."

"She's too fast, her legs are longer!" Beryl calls to him but he is already moving down the river, chasing after Elsie.

The younger girl giggles as she hops from one rock to the other, bare feet clinging to the shiny dampness. First to the old white gate that used to mark the edge of the estate, there's a new nail varnish in it if she wins and though neither of them have any money somehow Beryl always manages to have more new things than Elsie. Girly things that Elsie's mother tells her are a sign of vanity and a waste of hard earned money.

She gasps when a sharp edge catches her toe, bites her lip for fortitude and jumps again, slipping slightly.

"If I get there first the prize is mine," Charles booms behind her and she quickens her jump as she feels his shadow at her back.

"You want nail varnish!" Beryl laughs behind him, already giving up.

"Pay me in food, a chocolate cake Bezza."

"Elsie has to make it too," she calls back.

He is close now, Elsie keeps her mouth closed, saving her energy, plus she's the quieter of the three, has been since she was four and they met at the village fair.

"Gonna get you Elsie," he warns, then he's jumping past her and they aim for the next rock. She slips, her gangly legs flying from under her, and he reaches to catch her, he cannot stop her feet from missing and landing in the water but he prevents her body falling in.

His hand grazes over her vest top as she wobbles precariously, it takes no more than ten seconds, but fleetingly the buds of her new breasts tickle his palms and he pulls away quickly. Flushed.

She blobs out her tongue, too young to know what he'd touched and how it felt. "Slow coach!" She teases, and she is off, pounding down the river and hoisting herself up the bank and on to the gate. "Elsie Hughes, 1, 2, 3!" she cries triumphantly and Beryl shouts her delight.

In the bath that night he washed away the summer day, and the memory of her breast made his body react in a way he was embarrassed to admit. He never told a soul. He never forgot.

The Present

It can be years, too many to count, and yet when true friends meet again joy overrides distance and time.

There are hugs in the courtyard that drizzling Monday morn, it is quiet and Beryl's hands are covered in flour, for she has only just put the first batch of cherry scones into the mouth of the oven.

"Where's your kid?"

"In school, first day, she's nervous as hell and the blazer doesn't fit."

Beryl smiles, "Bring her though, would love to meet her."

"Course. Sorry to surprise you like this, I would've called but your number changed and then… you know, time passes and it gets awkward."

"You're living here though, if she's at school?"

Elsie shrugs, she still hasn't decided exactly what she's doing. "A flat in town, only renting at the moment but we'll see what happens. Sorry to take you from work," she says, eyeing the chef smoking behind the old toilet block.

"Bugger him, come on into the restaurant, we aren't open for an hour but you can have a cup of tea, a warm scone."

"Oh god, remember your mother used to give us those smothered in butter when we were little."

"I can do the same." She takes her old friend's arm, leading her in from the rain.

"It's impressive now, I don't remember all this glass section," she is shrugging off her coat, gazing around. "It's bigger."

"Million more customers a year, and this is all Charles, he sketched it out, had it built on."

"Did he? Like a giant conservatory." She takes a seat, the chair legs rattling on the tiled floor. "I saw him yesterday, at the horsey thing."

"He never said, mind you, we didn't speak last night. I'm pissed off with him because at latest staff meeting he's proposing cutting how long we close at Christmas. We used to get all January off, remember, everything closed up in Winter."

"I do remember, it was one of the things that made my father relocate the farm."

"It's all about money now, even suggested we buy in some frozen goods!"

"Good god," Else faked scandal, "did you bludgeon him?"

"With a rolling pin, of course." They laughed, as old friends do. "It's ever since the split, he's got time on his hands and an overwhelming desire to prove he's still worthy of them keeping him on now he's divorcing the Duke's sister."

Elsie shook her head, "I feel like I'm catching up on year's worth of Emmerdale in thirty seconds."

"You know he married Rosamund?"

"Yes, you told me that, a long time ago. They're divorced?"

"In process of, eat your scone before it cools."

"Why?"

"It's better warm."

"No, the divorce."

"Oh, yeah, well, long flipping story there but not one for this room, if you get my meaning. Too many gossips in a small village. You can't fart without someone passing judgement."

Elsie laughed, covering her mouth as she did so crumbs flying into her palm.

"What?"

"Nothing, I'd just forgotten how open you can be. I missed it."

Beryl covered Elsie's hand on the table with hers, "Well, let's hope you're here to stay."

Elsie sighed, "I need a job."

"You sold your shop?"

"Couldn't afford to employ people to run it whilst I, well, you know, what with the operation and all I couldn't work. It doesn't matter."

"You were a good seamstress, that top you sent me one year for my birthday, that was quality."

"Well, might've lost the knack, been a couple of years now since I made anything. Gonna have a drive into town after this, have a look around the job centre. Unskilled aging woman seeks employment, please. What do you reckon?"

"You need to work on your CV love."

The Past

School hasn't started yet September is in the air. The leaves have already turned over, their backs a sign of displeasure at the coming of Autumn. It is already cooler, those long light days shrinking into nothing but pebbles kicked about in the yard.

Six weeks seems an eternity when you're nine and have no cares. The most important thing to Charles was his bike and his slingshot. He was spot on now, after days aiming it at the broad chested Oak in the back yard. He can take a leaf from an overhanging branch with a single shot whilst lying on his back in the garden.

"Hey, watch it," he cries as someone trips over his leg on the grass.

Lazily, he lifts his shoulders and squints ahead, a waif of a girl blinking back at him. She's wearing plaited pigtails and there's mud on her cheek. She stares at him, wide-eyed, open mouth forming an 'o', chubby cheeks and a pointed chin.

"Well, aren't you going to say sorry?" He asks, haughty to the stranger in his garden. "You stood on my leg."

For a second he thinks she'll cry and he briefly visualises a thrashing from his father for bringing a guest to tears. Then she lifts her head, brings a hand to her hip and bites her bottom lip, "Are you Charlie?"

"Might be."

"Beryl says you smell of boy stuff."

"Yeah." He gets on his knees, "Well, she's a girl, so she's stupid. Who are you?"

"Elsie." She suddenly holds out her hand, "Hello."

He thinks on it, then shakes her little hand. "Your voice is kinda funny."

"It's Scottish, I'm Scottish."

"Right. What you doing in Yorkshire then?"

"Da is working the farm."

"Da? Do you mean your Dad?"

She nods, "We've got cows here, we didn't in Scotland."

"There's cows all over the estate."

"We've got brown cows."

Charles nods as if he understands.

"Elsie!" Beryl shouts as she rides her bike into the yard. "Come on, we can bike down to the mud heap and climb to the top."

"You ain't allowed there," Charles interrupts. "You're too little."

"I don't have a bike," Elsie says sadly.

"You come Charl, Elsie can go on with you."

"No way, I'm not hanging out with little kids."

Beryl kicks him in the kneecap as she rides past, "Don't be a mushy mashy monster."

Elsie clings to his waist as they fly down the lane, the wind easing her hair free from its plaits. She can't help the laughter in her stomach – she's never been this fast on a bike. The chain is digging into her ankle and the seat is so big she's dangerously bobbing about on top of it but none of that matters because they're flying over the top of the hill and she's laughing at her freedom and the boy pounding the pedals is laughing in her ear.

The Present

"Father," Mary says dramatically, leaning around the office door. "You're late, they're ready to start."

"Mm, be right there," Charles stares at the computer screen, inching the mouse across his desk and tapping it. "Trying to print these notes for it, juuuust… ah, damn thing, it clicks where it wants."

"You're useless at that," she moves behind him, bending to click 'file-print' on the document. "Did you draft the advert for the new positions yet?"

"Yes, you wanna spellcheck them for me?" He teased, getting up from his chair and reaching for his jacket.

Mary screwed her mouth up, smiling at his teasing. "No I trust you."

"Eager to take over already?"

"Ah, but that would mean giving up on London and business school."

"Don't waste those fees!"

Mary rolled her eyes as she took the printed document and stapled it together; it wasn't even her father's money paying for it, but she let that be.

"You spoken to your mother?" Charles asked, finding his briefcase and heading out down the corridor with her.

"Saw her last week, we went to the theatre, had dinner."

"She's alright, then?"

Mary nodded, "Seems okay."

"Planning to stay in the London flat?"

"Daaad," Mary sighed. "Why don't you just ring her, ask?"

"Because this is a precarious position I'm in, in case you haven't noticed."

"I don't see how. Uncle Robert is fine with it, with you. You know he thinks you're doing a great job, he's hardly about to sack you because you and mum have finally called it quits."

"If your mother clicked her fingers he'd do it. Blink of an eye. I'm dispensable."

"As if."

"I am. I may have married your mother but I've never been part of the family, far too common."

Mary sighed again, annoyed, "Dad, I don't want to hear this. You are part of this, you're our father for a start and we are part of it. Barrow's all set for taking over once Uncle Rob kicks the bucket, lucky sod was born with balls. Unlike myself."

"Your black and white view of the world is always enlightening."

"If things were fair then Edith would be in line for the throne, but she isn't, god bless us all."

"Now don't start on her."

"Drippy cow couldn't organise a kid's birthday party let alone run the estate."

"Mary, just because she doesn't have your drive. And you did steal her boyfriend."

They stopped at the entrance to the meeting room, heads of department were gathered inside waiting for the weekly briefing.

"He made his choice," Mary said, turning to straighten her father's tie. "Besides, it hardly lasted. She could've had him back."

"Too much of your mother in you at times," he kissed his daughter's forehead. "You coming in?"

"No, I'll go for a wander, check on the workers. Meet you later for dinner in the restaurant?"

"Sure."

She squeezed his arms, "See you later, good luck, knock em dead," she smiled gloriously, lighting up his world.

The Present

They met in town for lunch, Beryl's day off and Elsie was still without work. She didn't want her to see the inside of the flat she was renting, nor indeed the part of town they were living in.

It was late April, raining lightly and the sun through it.

"You look pale," Beryl said, cutting her sandwich in half and swapping it with half of Elsie's.

"I'm always pale."

"No, I mean you look really pale, are you feeling off it?"

Elsie shook her head, "No, tired maybe, not sleeping great if I'm honest."

She poured the tea, this was their fifth meeting since she'd moved back to the area and they'd quite easily slipped back into the role of best friends.

"How come?" Beryl asked, licking lemon mayonnaise from her thumb. "Come on, you're meant to share stuff."

Elsie rolled her eyes, "I'm not used to, you know, been just me and Etty for so long."

"Well, things are different now. So, spill, and I'll help."

Elsie sipped her tea, turning the words over in her mouth before she spoke. "I'm poor." She stated simply. "I've applied for a couple of jobs and nothing. I'm too old and too unskilled."

"Bollocks," Beryl spluttered, biting into her sandwich. "You ran your own business."

"Which failed."

"Come on, you were really ill."

Elsie grimaced at the mention of it, looking away through the window. "I'm better now."

"Thank goodness, and you know, there's jobs at the estate."

Elsie frowned, putting her tea cup down. "You don't think that's a bit… like, you know, we grew up there, your parents did it, my dad was the farmer. And you and Charles." She shrugged, "I just didn't think I'd end up back here."

"It's not that bad," Beryl bristled. "I've had my entire career here."

"I didn't mean –," Elsie's stomach cringed. "Sorry." She paused, breaking off the corner of her sandwich. "It isn't bad at all, not at all. Oh shit, that came out all wrong."

"Don't worry. Have you been round the house since you got back?"

She shook her head, feeling her cheeks warm with embarrassment.

"You should, I can sign you in for free. It's changed a lot since we were kids, as much as it pains me to say, Charles has made some great changes."

"He seems to love it."

"He does, trouble is…" she shook her head, refilling their tea. "The trouble is I worry it's all he has."

"You mean, with the divorce?"

"No honey, Rosamund is a bitch," she whispered, holding Elsie's gaze. "Make no mistake about that. He's lived for work for years and years to escape her. I worried about him. Remember when we were kids how tall and brave he seemed to us, he'd defend us, protect us."

"I remember," to them as little girls Charles was a hero.

"That faded somewhat, she chipped away at it."

"Why did he marry her? He must have loved her."

"Yes, I guess so, in his own blind and misguided way. He was always seeking something, wanting more. Not just to work on the estate, he somehow saw himself as part of the family and marrying her made that real, like he was always destined for it."

Elsie pursed her lips, reflecting on it. "Hard to feel sympathy for him, if that's the case."

"At times, yes. And he's a pompous old sod too, always knows best, and sometimes forgets his staff are humans not robots. But he's also very lonely, and still very kind. Deep down."

Elsie smiled at that, "He walked me home in the rain once, I couldn't have been more than nine and he didn't want me to go home alone so he walked me."

"Nice of him."

"It was."

"Will you come to the house then, if you let me know when I'll put your name down at the entrance so you can get in for free. Otherwise it's nearly thirty quid a ticket now! Bring Etty too, then you could have lunch in the restaurant after, make a day of it."

"That does sound nice, maybe this weekend, we don't have plans and as yet she's sticking with me because she hasn't made enough friends to disappear with."

"Give it another week, you might never see her."

The Past

"You're such a baby!" Beryl shouted, "Baby, baby Elsie!"

"I am not! You're a baby. You took my pink pen."

"I did not. Bessy Turner took it and hid it in the coat rack."

"She said you took it, and my penguin rubber and you put them in the toilet and Mrs. Green will find them and now you'll be in trouble. I'll tell."

"Swot! You're always sucking up."

"You're jealous because I got full marks on spellings and you didn't."

Beryl shoved Elsie in the chest, "You promised you wouldn't tell anyone."

Elsie stumbled backwards, the ache in her chest a mixture of physical and emotional pain. "You promised you were my friend and you went off at sports day and left me on my own."

"Because you can't skip and we'd lose."

Elsie shoved Beryl back, feeling tears sting her eyes. "At least I can spell."

"I hate you," Beryl screeched racing towards Elsie.

She bumped into her desk chair as Elsie jumped out of the way and landed on her bum, Elsie looking down at her. Beryl swung out her leg and whacked Elsie in the ankle, and the slender girl toppled forward on top of her friend. They rolled around on the rug, pulling each other's hair and screaming and shouting.

Charles came through the back door, soaking wet from the rain and with his Scouts uniform fastened to him like a second skin. His legs were coated in mud to the knee and he couldn't get the grit of earth from between his teeth. His mother had promised Shepherd's Pie for dinner and he hungrily opened the oven door looking for his plate. At thirteen, he seemed constantly hungry and growing like a weed.

There was a nice slab of pie keeping warm and a pan of gravy on the top of the cooker; he lit the gas ring and let it heat through whilst he rinsed his hands. Orienteering in October was no fun but he wanted the badge before Christmas; if he got four more it meant a special gift of his choice and he was desperate for a new bike.

As he searched for a towel on the radiator beneath the drying t-shirts and socks, the lounge door was thrown open and Elsie flounced in. She dropped to the floor and reached for her battered canvas shoes.

"Alright?" He said casually, stirring his gravy and watching her struggle with her laces. It took him some time to realise her fingers were shaking and she wasn't making eye-contact. "What's up?"

"Nothing." She said, and he thought her throat sounded sore. "I'm going home."

"It's raining bad."

"So."

Charles shrugged, "Just saying."

He took his plate from the oven, holding it with the towel and plonking it on the kitchen table before pouring over most of the gravy. He kicked off his dirty boots and pulled out a seat, lifting his knife and fork and then looking up as Elsie got to her feet. Her face was red and her hair messy as it tumbled from her ponytail.

"Gee, what happened? You fall off the top bunk again?"

"No," she snapped. "Can I have my coat?"

Charles realised it was on his chair and he moved as she took hold of it and pulled it on. He chewed slowly, trying to ignore her snuffle as she zipped up the yellow jacket.

The door swung open for a second time and Beryl barged in, seething with anger and annoyance.

"Thought you was going!"

"I am!" Elsie snapped.

"Good. Get gone quicker."

Charles' fork paused in mid-air as he watched the interchange.

"Stupid baby," Beryl said watching Elsie struggle with the door lock.

"You're stupid, and I want my pen back, and my friendship necklace too."

"Hey," Charles interrupted, "You shouldn't walk home alone, it's dark now and raining."

"I don't care," Elsie said, opening the door and stepping out beneath the porch. She stood there watching the heavy raindrops bounce up from the garden path as the door swung closed behind her.

"What's kicking off?" Charles asked, looking to Beryl's flushed face. "You two fighting?"

"I hate her, I won't ever speak to her again."

He raised his eyebrows, chewing another piece of pie. "Where's mum and dad?"

"Went next door for a drink with Sue and Fred."

"Oh," he looked to the porch again and realised Elsie was still standing there and a funny feeling seeped into his stomach. "She's only just nine," he said, but Beryl was searching in the biscuit jar for Jammy Dodgers.

"I'm going to watch television, mum said I could so don't get switching my shows." She snapped at him.

"Right, gonna have a bath after my dinner anyhow, freezing out there tonight."

Beryl left him alone again and he cut off another piece of pie and smothered it in gravy before eating. The little girl was still standing in the rain on the doorstep and he knew, whether he liked it or not, he had a responsibility.

"Bugger it," he muttered, getting up and opening the door. "Want me to walk you home?" He asked and Elsie turned, large blue eyes looking up at him as she nodded sadly.

Charles kicked at a stone on the pavement, watching as it hurtled away down the street and into the gutter. The downpour had slowed to a lazy drizzle but it was cold and dark and he wanted to be finishing his dinner and thinking about getting into the bath, maybe have a read of his cricket magazine – not walking home a teary little girl who was silent and kept sniffling back tears.

"Halloween soon," he suddenly stated, trying to find some common topic, "what you going as?"

She shrugged, hands buried in her pockets.

"We always go," he said. The estate held a great Halloween Bonfire Night party for the tenants every year, there was always a bonfire, fireworks, and sticky sweet food. "I'm thinking I might go as a swamp monster, I can get stuff from the lake, stick it to my old joggers. Paint my face green," he elbowed her arm, "what you reckon?"

She shrugged again, then looked up slowly, "Bez and I were meant to go as twins, joined up, we made a dress." Her eyes crunched up, "I sewed two dresses together so we could share it."

"Why can't you still go as that?"

"Cos she hates me, I don't care because I hate her too!"

Charles breathed deeply – he hated girls and their stupid arguments – but still, he didn't like seeing Elsie upset neither, he'd known her for five years now and though he often felt like he was growing out of hanging out with them, there were times in the summer holidays when the three of them would spend days and days together exploring the woods.

"Just a row."

"She was mean."

"She can be, but we all fall out, you and I fell out the other week."

"Because you threw the football at my nose."

He laughed, "Yeah, I did." He elbowed her again, "Come on. It'll be over soon, you'll be best friends tomorrow and then we can go to the party in a week and eat candy apples."

She pouted, "They make fun of me, the other girls at school, because of my voice. And because I get top marks in the class ad they don't like it."

"Oh," he knew how that felt, he couldn't name one lad from school he was close friends with.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Sure."

"Secret?"

"Promise."

"Well, the other day, I didn't get the highest mark on the spelling test. But, I did know them, I pretended I didn't so I wouldn't win."

"Oh," he said again, wondering what he was meant to say to that. His stomach was rumbling and he thought his mother had left crumble for pudding.

"Do you think it's cheating?"

He shook his head, "Nah, just doing it to win is cheating. I'd say just do the test, if you get them right then that's good, if them other girls don't like it tough."

"But… Beryl doesn't like it," she said softly, "she wants to be with the other girls."

He couldn't for the life of him fathom why.

"No she doesn't, you two are best friends, it'll be nothing."

"She doesn't like me."

"Course she does," he pushed open her garden gate for her and followed her to the door. "Just be alright, tomorrow, you'll see her at school and it'll be okay."

She turned to face him, "Thanks for bringing me home Charlie," she said.

He dug his frozen hands into his pocket, "S'alright. Seeya round."

"Yeah. Seeya."

He watched her disappear inside before he set off home.

Beryl and Elsie didn't speak for over a week.

Charles was beginning to think he might never spend a summer with the two of them ever again and, quite oddly, that bothered him more than it should have. He was grateful when he came home from Chess Club one night to find them in the lounge dancing to Top of the Pops and slurping Cola.

He sat in his Dad's chair eating fish and chips from the newspaper and inwardly chuckling at their dance routines. Clearly the war was over and he was glad; it was the only time in their entire childhood he could remember them falling out and it had come of something as a shock to realise he felt sad about the entire thing. The thought of never seeing Elsie Hughes again upset him, made his stomach sink, and he wasn't quite sure what to do about that.

Somehow this slip of a girl with a strange accent had gone from being his little sister's best friend, to his friend too.

Please let me know your thoughts :)