Meet You At Misty’s
I was shaking with nerves - or was it fear? I hope Steve hasn’t stood me up, I thought.
I was waiting outside Misty's department store, Yorkshire’s biggest, so people said. It was also a famous meeting place, especially for courting couples. ‘Meet you at Misty's’ sweethearts said to each other, and everyone knew where it was - no-one could not know. It was like Fred Astaire saying he’d never met Ginger Rodgers, or Lauren Bacall not remembering Bogey. It was certainly the biggest shop in Mawton, and standing up against its solid wall waiting for Steve, I began to feel warm and sheltered.
By way of diverting my mind from Steve’s tardiness, I turned and looked into the brightly lit window. The mannequins were dressed in the latest two-piece costumes and looked very elegant. So, this is the famous ‘New Look’, I thought, and wondered if I could possibly have the figure for it. The wax dummies seemed to be staring back at me contemptuously.
You’ve been dumped, they seemed to be thinking. You know it, and we know it, so just face up to the facts, sister.
I smiled to myself. Ridiculous! Shaking myself, I glanced at my watch again surreptitiously, not wanting any passers-by to see I was worried.
I whirled round with a radiant smile of welcome. It quickly faded when I saw my visitor. I didn’t know who this person was, but he was not Steve. Tall, handsome Steve, his black hair slicked back into a quiff, Elvis style. He always had a touch of Irish blarney about him, with his quirky, sideways grin and bright blue eyes which usually had a wink or two. I never could resist a man who winked at me. But no, this was a stranger, short and dumpy.
Well, I supposed he was taller than me – just. But his hair was ginger and his nose was liberally sprinkled with freckles, and he wore glasses; with awful thick lenses and dark brown frames.
“Excuse me” he said again, because I was staring at him, my face a picture of disappointment. “Have you got the right time?”
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