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uncomfortably familiar feeling of emptiness, of not quite belonging was always there as it had been for more years than she cared to remember and she thought, as she so often did, of another dance, not nearly as glamorous as this one but a thousand times more meaningful. It was the tune that had set her off, she knew, the sweet haunting strains: ‘I wonder why you keep me waiting; Charmaine, my Charmaine …’ Such a long time ago, and yet still so fresh in her memory that every one of her senses recalled it, right down to the scent of her mother’s Evening in Paris perfume that she had dabbed behind her ears. Such a long time ago and yet still a part of her, her past, her present, her future, all rolled into one.
    The music slowed, came to a climatic end. The dance floor emptied as the waltzers returned to their seats and Heather saw Julia Chivers making her way back towards her. The two girls worked together at the glove factory and they were close friends, although Julia was almost five years younger than Heather. ‘The Glovlie Twins’the men in the factory jokingly called them, though in fact they did not look like twins at all – Heather with her shoulder-length brown hair and wholesome, girl-next-door appearance and dark yet fragile Julia who looked more like a china doll who would break if she wasn’t treated with tender care. Tonight she was wearing apple-green chiffon, which floated around her legs in a pale green cloud, and pinned to the bodice was a single white rose. Heather thought she had seen Julia in colours which suited her better, but the dress had been loaned to her by one of the local traders, and the rose denoted that she was one of the contestants for Carnival Queen.
    â€˜It can’t be long now before they do the choosing, can it?’ Julia said, lowering herself into the chair next to Heather’s, then jumping up again and looking around to see if the officials had yet made an appearance.
    â€˜For goodness sake sit down!’ Heather said, smiling. ‘You’re like a cat on hot bricks! You’re making me nervous!’
    â€˜I can’t help it! It’s such a responsibility, being Miss Hillsbridge.’
    There were sixteen other girls besides Julia wearing white roses; sixteen other girls who had been chosen to represent their village – a Miss South Compton, a Miss Withydown, a Miss Purldown and so on. All would get the chance to ride in the Queen’s Coach in the torchlight carnival procession but fourteen of them would be banked on one side, moving backwards along the route, whilst the Queen and her two attendants had the honour of facing the way they were going and the crowds would see them first. All the girls wanted to win for their village as much as for themselves, but Heather knew that on the night of the carnival they would all feel nothing but incredible excitement. She had been Miss Hillsbridge twice – five years ago she had failed to win a place in the top three, much to the amazement and disgust of her supporters, and the following year when she had been crowned Queen. The thrill of following the town band through the main streets of South Compton, whilst Boy Scouts with flaming torches marched alongside, had given her such a glow that she had not even noticed the cold; her arms beneath the velvet cloak of office had been bare to the frosty November night and she hadn’t thought twice about it, though Carrie had been convinced she would end up with pneumonia. This year, however, it was Julia who wore the coveted Miss Hillsbridge sash.
    â€˜Julia, stop worrying! You look absolutely terrific. If they don’t choose you they should all get a free pair of glasses,’ Heather said.
    â€˜But why can’t they have the choosing and get it over with? At least then I’ll be able to enjoy the rest of the evening.’
    â€˜Even if you don’t win?’
    â€˜Yeah. At least I’ll be able to have a