‘What do you think of all this?’ she asked. ‘I suppose it’s a good sign. The magazine must be in a strong position if Reg is willing to put it in our hands.’
‘I just hope he’s not dying. Never thought he’d retire while he was still able to hold his blue pencil.’ Tony turned a resentful gaze on her. ‘Followed me to gloat, did you?’
‘Don’t be daft, Tony.’
He thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘It was bad enough when Don Sykes made you his pet at theCourier, but Atherton really seems to think you’re God’s gift to journalism.’
Bobby shrugged. ‘Well, I’ve worked for him longer. You shouldn’t take it so personally.’
‘Helps your career prospects if you’re married to his brother, I reckon.’
‘Perhaps it does.’ She smiled warmly. ‘And since you’re married to my sister, that makesThe Tykea thoroughly family affair. Let’s not fall out over it, eh?’
‘Bloody humiliating when I’m made junior to a bird on a tinpot rag like this, after ten years in the newspaper business,’ Tony muttered.
‘It’s that attitude that’s going to keep you junior as well,’ Bobby said sharply, her patience thinning. ‘Reg promoted me because I understand what’s special aboutThe Tyke. All you ever do is sneer at it.’
Tony ignored this.
‘Not going to put on airs and start ordering me about, are you?’ he demanded. ‘Don’t forget who gave you your start in this business.’
Tony often threw this in her face, which Bobby felt was rich considering what ‘giving her her start’ actually meant – getting her to write his copy back when she was still a humble typist, while he took his girlfriends out on the newspaper’s time. She felt that now wasn’t the time to bring this up, however, and adopted a conciliatory tone.
‘Things won’t be any different, I promise – except that with Reg stepping back, we can both have more creative control,’ she told him. ‘It’ll be a partnership.’
‘Apart from the extra few bob you’ll be pocketing.’
‘I’ll gladly split the difference. One and six a week is a small price to pay if it’s going to stop you sulking.’
‘No thanks,’ Tony said, adopting a superior expression. ‘I won’t take charity.’
She squeezed his arm. ‘But you’ll take a pint at the Hart later, won’t you? You, me, Lil and Charlie can make up a foursome, and my dad can mind Annie. Show there’s no bad blood, eh?’
Tony looked slightly mollified. ‘Aye, all right. Just don’t be getting ideas above your station because you’ve got “editor” after your name. It don’t mean owt.’
They’d reached the cottage now, and Tony rapped on the door.
It wasn’t Captain Parry who answered but Florrie, with Ace the border collie at her feet. The dog immediately hurtled out and flung himself at his old friend Bobby. He was a sizeable hound now, quite capable of winding her, but no one could persuade him he wasn’t the same ball of fluff as when he’d first joined the family. Bobby laughed as she made a fuss of him.
Ace was full of beans but Florrie seemed rather tired, Bobby thought. She wondered if growing pains had been costing the child sleep. Florence was really getting quite grown-up now – she would be celebrating her thirteenth birthday in the summer. Already she was nearly as tall as Bobby, seeming to gain inches whenever the adults turned their backs on her. But tired as she looked, Florrie grinned to find a friend on the doorstep.
‘Hullo, Bobby.’ She turned dutifully to Tony. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Scott.’
Tony gave an awkward ‘good afternoon’ in return. Unused to the company of children, he often seemed ill at ease around the Parrys. The girls sensed his wariness and rarely prattled to him as they did to other members of the family, reserving their best formal manners for him.
Having observed the social niceties, Florrie turned her attention back to Bobby.
‘I’m glad you’ve come,’ she said. ‘Me and Jessie want to go to Moorside and help Mary with the mince pies, only Dad said we’d to wait till he came home. But if you go with us, I bet he won’t mind.’
‘I’m sure Mary will be grateful for extra help, as long as you’re not just after her carefully hoarded raisins,’ Bobby said,laughing. ‘Mr Scott and I were hoping to talk to your dad. Is he at work?’
‘No, he went into Skipton for summat. Jessie says she bets it’s Christmas presents.’ Florrie looked at Bobby hopefully. ‘Do you think it is?’
‘I’m sure I couldn’t say,’ Bobby said with a smile.
‘You can come in if you want. Dad says we’re not to let people in when he’s out, but I think he meant strangers, not you. Jess is in the garden, feeding her hens.’
‘We came hoping to look at something. Reg told us your dad’s got a shed we’re to use for the magazine. Do you know about it?’
