The Story So Far
The last waltz has been played and Les finds himself alone at last with the delectable Anne. Wrapped in each other's arms he's convinced that at long last happier days are here when suddenly disaster strikes in the unwelcome appearance of the dragon herself, Anne's Mother.
'Who's this then?' demands the Lady, minus the lamp, but with hair curlers, and a look on her face that sends a message, 'Touch my Daughter if you dare'. Les looks at Anne a picture of exquisite beauty. A quick glance at Anne's Mother tells him just one thing, if there is an escape route then the quicker he finds it the better. 'I think it's time for bed' orders the Dragon after Anne had made a somewhat feeble effort at introductions. Les concluded that at least Mother was thinking on the same lines as he was, but something told him it was her Daughters interests she had in mind, certainly not his. A peck on the cheek for Anne and a 'pleasure to meet you' to Mother, and with that Les headed for the front door showing a display of footwork that would have won him admiration on the dance floor a little bit earlier that evening.
It was well past midnight as he picked up his cycle from the Village Hall. A six-mile journey home faced him; at least it wasn't raining. On the way home Les had plenty of time to reflect on the past few hours. Yes Anne was, as you would expect, uppermost in his mind. But his thoughts were interrupted. When approaching Stoke Bridge he came across two young Ladies who were dressed in somewhat old-fashioned clothes. He was surprised when they stopped him and said they were from Brandon and he was even more surprised when they ask him, 'Is this the way to Wereham?' Les had to concede that not having seen clothes like that before he was unable to advise the dear Ladies, and with that they were on their way. A quick mental thought told him two things. One, he must adjust his drinking levels, or failing that he must stop reading that silly magazine, the Village Pump.
Continuing his homeward journey there was some additional concern that his mind kept drifting back to; his brief encounter with Anne's Mother. In spite of the hair curlers and her draconian expression, even in that short space of time, he could see deeper than that. He didn't have to ask where Anne got her good looks from and Mother wearing a night-dress, that left little to the imagination, clearly had a figure that a much younger person would not have been too ashamed of. Then of course there was the large house down Flegg Green. How was it that Anne and her parents lived in such a place whereas he lived in a council house with his parents? Where did they get their money from?
Mother didn't work, as far as he knew, and father didn't earn a fortune at the Sugar Beet Factory. It didn't add up until Les remembered something Anne had mentioned at the dance earlier, a remark that went over his shoulder more because of drink rather than lack of interest, that her Mother had, several years ago, won quite a bit on the football pools.
A most interesting day was coming to a close. As Les jumped in to bed he had much to reflect on; the delectable Anne, now her Mother who, when he thought about it, was worth more than a second look and what's more she appeared to have money which was something he had little experience of. But then, that was the past; what now did the future hold?