‘I mean, I'm not going to get paid very much, am I? The money would be far better in London.’

Jo took a breath, to give the impression she was thinking about her answer and not just replying impulsively – although the answer was the same. 'The thing people forget is that it costs money to go out to work. There are your fares, lunches out, smart clothes, all sorts of things. Which is not to say people – for example mothers -shouldn't go out to work, but they should make sure they've done their costings if they're only doing it for the money.'

‘So what are you saying?'

‘I'm saying that taking a local job, for less money, when it's unlikely they'll want you to wear sharp little suits and have French manicures, could work out almost as well paid as temping in London. And far less stressful.’

Now Dora sighed. 'Should I be going for "less stressful" at my age? I'm young!'

‘Yes, but you have just had a trauma of sorts, and working in a boatyard isn't exactly going into a convent for a life of contemplation. You'll be having all kinds of stress. Probably. Just not the same kind.’

Dora warmed to this idea. 'And maybe I should break myself into my new life. I mean, I'd had the same job ever since I left college. Now I'll get a new one. Maybe I'll onlystay there for – a couple of years. Hardly any time at all, really.’

Jo laughed. 'Have you got a number for them?'

‘No, but I've got Tom's number. He'll have theirs,' Dora said as they headed to the mooring.

‘Give him a ring now. No time like the present.’

Dora hadn't telephoned any boy other than John for a hundred years; or at least, that was how it felt. But she was asking for a job, not a date, and with Jo watching her, she felt obliged to be brisk about it.

‘Hi, Tom, it's Dora.'

‘Yes I know.' His voice was amused. 'Your name came up on my phone.'

‘Of course. Listen, you know that job you told me about? Do you think it's still going?'

‘Yeah. Sure.' He sounded enthusiastic.

‘Well, could you give me the number of the boatyard? I want to ring them first thing tomorrow and arrange an interview.’

There was a short, scary silence. 'Tell you what, come out to the pub with me for a drink later and I'll give it to you then.'

‘Are you that pushed for company?’

He chuckled. 'Yes, as it happens.’

She couldn't help laughing back at him. 'OK. I'll check with Jo. I can't come if she's got anything planned.’

‘She could come too, if she wanted,' he said.

‘Jo? Tom has invited us to go to the pub with him this evening?’

Jo shook her heard. 'Sorry, love. After a day in London shopping, I'm not really up for going out again. Could you go by yourself?'

‘Of course! If you don't mind. If you'd rather I stayed in and cooked you scrambled egg on toast, I'll do that.’

Jo was touched and patted Dora's shoulder. 'Make your arrangements with Tom. I can make my own scrambled egg and some for you too, if necessary.’

Chapter Eight

‘There's been a change of plan!' said Tom, the moment he saw Dora.

He was at the doorway of the pub, and Dora hoped her relief didn't show. On the way there she'd remembered how nervous she usually was about meeting people in them.

‘Hello, Tom,' she said.

‘I've borrowed a car,' he said.

‘Why? The whole point of local pubs is that you walk to them. Don't drink and drive and all that.’

Tom seemed unreasonably excited. 'We're going to a different pub.'

‘It's a different pub every night of the week with you, isn't it?’

Now she studied him more closely she realised that Tom was disgustingly pleased with himself for some reason.

‘I saw an ad in the paper and thought of another dare for you,' he said. 'That's why I had to borrow the car.' Dora stopped. 'What is it?' she asked warily.

‘You'll see. Come and see the car.'

‘Is getting in it the dare?' she asked when they'd come to a halt in front of a very old, bright green VW Beetle.

‘Nope, although driving it's fairly hairy. If you offer to drive home, that could be a dare.’

He was obviously testing the water, not sure if she could drive at all, let alone an ancient but venerable vehicle like this.

‘I'll drive home!' She was a good driver and the thought of driving a strange car didn't faze her, although she didn't even know if this one was third-party insured.

Tom shook his head. 'I've changed my mind. You're too keen, which means it won't challenge you, and you certainly won't want to do what I have in mind sober.'

‘What is it?’

But Tom just shook his head and opened the door of the car for her. This wasn't so much an act of chivalry but neces sity. It was a big and very heavy door, and slightly stuck. Dora slid on to the cracked and peeling leather seat and was overwhelmed by the smell of Old Car, which included petrol, very ancient cheese sandwiches and something indefinable that was probably derived from animal origins.

‘Can you manage your seatbelt?' Tom watched as Dora untangled miles of webbing and strapped herself in.

‘Just about, although I'm surprised this car is young enough to have seatbelts. Who did you borrow it from?'

‘Hamo. It is insured and so am I, in case you were wondering.'

‘You must think me a total worry-wart,' she said, admitting to herself that she was.

‘I'm going to cure you of that. And some of your old-fashioned expressions whilst I'm at it, endearing though they are.' And they lurched off into the night.

‘I hope it's not far,' Dora said. 'I want to be able to walk home if we break down.'

‘Oh, ye of little faith! We won't break down. They're dead reliable, these old Beetles.’

After a few yards of incident-free travel confirmed this for Dora she said, 'Tom, you haven't forgotten about me needing the boatyard number, have you?'

‘Well, to be honest, Dora, I've already rung Fred. I'd told him about you before. I had to speak to him anyway, about something else, so I just mentioned you were interested.'

‘Tom! That was very high-handed of you!' Indignation and relief vied for dominance. 'How did you know I'd want it, and anyway, he'll think I'm a complete wimp, not applying for my own job.'

‘No he won't. It's all very casual. Honestly. He wants you to come in for a trial next week. It's not quite a run-of-the-mill office job.'

‘That's OK. I don't want run-of-the-mill, as long as I'm not required to have Tipp-Ex nails and a fake tan.’

‘What?'

‘I mean, as long as it's not terrifically high-powered.’

Tom started to laugh so much he was shaking, although that might have been partly due to the car's dodgy suspension. 'Not exactly.'

‘What's so funny?'

‘You'll see when you get there. And you'll be paid by the hour to begin with, but eventually he'll want to put you on a salary. I should try and be paid by the hour for as long as possible.'

‘Oh, why? I mean, if I have to work out the wages, it's probably less work if I'm on a salary.'

‘Most of the men are self-employed and get paid by the hour. You'll end up doing loads of overtime. If you're on a salary, you won't get paid for that.'

‘Oh. Right. Well, we'll see how it goes. He might not like the look of me.'

‘Oh, he'll like you all right. They all will. Do you mind doing the wages?' he added before she could reply. 'It sounds like hard work to me.'

‘I used to do them before. I'm good at figures and if you've got the right computer program, it does most of the work for you.'

‘You may have to be firm with Fred. He's not much into computer programs.’

Dora smiled. 'I'll try to persuade him.’

Tom grinned. 'I don't suppose you'll have much problem. Ah, here it is.’

There was nothing about this particular pub that was noticeably different from any other and Dora got out of the car feeling moderately confident. Maybe he wanted her to take a turn behind the bar or something. That would be quite embarrassing, having never pulled a pint in her life, but she was good at mental arithmetic, and anyway, tills did it all for you nowadays.