The Serial: The Green Years, Day Six

For the first time in his handsome life, he’d been rejected by a woman

The next day, at work, Maisie appeared the same, but underneath she knew things were different. The trust she had had in her world and the people around her had taken a knock and been replaced by fear and uncertainty.

Jack Carter had seemed so clean cut, so much a gentleman and all her instincts had been to trust him. How wrong she had been and it had shaken her confidence more than she cared to admit.

She was still in this state of introspection as she sat at one of the canteen tables with her bacon roll and mug of tea. “Mind if I join you?” asked a male voice, sliding his tray on to the table and pulling up a chair.

Maisie looked up and into the eyes of Kenny Wilson. “Yes, I do mind,” Maisie told him, snappily. “I’d prefer to be alone.”

Kenny raised his eyebrows in disbelief. Maisie Green was telling him to buzz off! “No need to be like that Maisie,” he said, smarting from her rejection of his company, “I just wanted to say...”

“There’s nothing you can say that I want to hear,” Maisie countered loudly, before he could say any more. “So just GO, all right!” she added angrily.

Altercation

Fellow workers round about them began to nudge one another, with the women especially interested at Kenny Wilson seeming to be given the ‘Big E.’

“You tell him Maisie,” shouted Betty Morrison, particularly pleased at the altercation, as she was one of Kenny’s ‘rejects’ herself.

Kenny felt his face burn with embarrassment and humiliation, but remained in his seat. No woman was going to tell him what to do.

“I’m not for leaving Maisie Green,” he said slowly, leaning forward, “but if you want to head off, then ta ta.” He waved a hand in front of Maisie’s face.

Maisie’s bravado faded. For the second time in a row, she’d been made a fool of by a man and as the last of her confidence evaporated in tearful confusion, she ran from the canteen to the cheers of the men and the silence of the women.

Blinded by tears, she hurried to the Ladies, only to be stopped in her tracks by the bulk of Rab Skelly.

“Hey, hey,” he said, holding on to Maisie’s shoulders, “where’s the fire?” Maisie tried to push him away, but the fight had gone out of her.

“Ask your pal,” she whispered, bitterly, “and tell him from me to get lost.”

Rab frowned and released his grip, watching Maisie’s back till she disappeared into the women’s toilets. What had Kenny done now, he wondered, as he headed to the canteen.

He thought his mate fancied Maisie, but whatever he’d said to her, clearly hadn’t worked. He found Kenny alone and staring at the half-eaten bacon roll Maisie had left.

“What’s up Ken?” he said cheerfully, pointing to the uneaten food, “not hungry then?” “She just dumped me,” Kenny said slowly, “and in front of everybody.”

Rab looked around at the mix of workers who had turned back to the business of eating, now that the ‘fun’ was over.

He knew who Kenny was talking about but feigned ignorance. “What!” Kenny’s still-stunned eyes met his. “Maisie Green,” he told him, “just dumped me. ME, Kenny Wilson, and in front of everybody.”

Reassuring

Rab glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t think anybody noticed Kenny,” he said in a reassuring voice, “and by the state of Maisie Green in the corridor just now, it looked more like you dumped her.”

Kenny brightened. “Upset was she?” “Very!”

He pushed his chair back and looked around. Rab was right, nobody seemed bothered, too busy feeding their faces. But Kenny was bothered. Maisie’s rejection had shaken him up.

For the first time in his handsome life, he’d been rejected by a woman.

Chrissie came rushing into the Ladies. “Maisie!” she exclaimed, “are you OK?” Maisie sniffed and nodded. “Betty Morrison told me what happened with Kenny Wilson in the canteen.”

Maisie held up her hand to silence Chrissie, as she dabbed her red swollen eyes with a wet hankie.

“Its fine, Chrissie, honest,” Maisie tried to assure her, “but now’s not the time or place to speak about this. The supervisor will be on our necks if we don’t get back to work.”

Chrissie agreed. “How about we go to Wallace’s Tearoom later for a pie and beans and you can get this off your chest?” Chrissie blushed, remembering the ‘shoulder pad’ incident at Keiller’s dance.

“Sorry Maisie,” she stammered, “I didn’t mean to remind you of .... ” Maisie shoved her gently towards the door.

“C’mon,” she said, “let’s get back to work.” Wallace’s Tearoom was quiet, with only a few tables taken by men on their own, filling up on pies and bridies before hitting the pubs for a ‘session.’

The waitress showed them to a table at the back of the tearoom where they could have ‘privacy’ as Maisie put it.

The order for pie and beans was placed accompanied by a large pot of tea and the two girls got down to the task of understanding men and two men in particular.

“I just don’t get it!” Maisie stated bluntly. “Are all lads only after one thing?”

Chrissie shrugged and dipped her knife into her hot pie. “Tommy’s not,” she said, a forkful of pie midway between plate and mouth, “Tommy’s lovely.” Chrissie chewed thoughtfully. “He’s going to write to me every day he’s at sea and send photos and everything.”

Stunned

Maisie was stunned. “But, you’ve only just met!” she exclaimed. “How can you tell he’s, well, decent?”

“I can’t,” Chrissie replied, with all the wisdom of her 16 years, “but I like to think that I know what’s right and, anyway, I don’t intend to end up like Jean, with a bairn at 15 and no man.”

Maisie sat back in her chair, her pie growing cold. “And he didn’t ‘try anything on’ last night?” Chrissie scooped up more beans. “Nope.”

Maisie frowned, “then it must be me,” she reasoned, “I must be giving off some kind of vibes or something.”

Chrissie poured herself a cup of tea. “Are you not hungry?” she asked, pointing to the untouched pie and beans. Maisie pushed the plate towards her friend. “Help yourself,” she said, “I couldn’t eat a thing.”

Chrissie sighed, usually it was she who bemoaned her lack of attention from boys, and, for the first time, felt sorry for Maisie and her good looks.

“So you’ve had a bit of bad luck with the laddies,” she counselled, “but you’re a bonnie lassie, Maisie, and if you don’t want lads to fancy you, then you’d better stop being a wee smasher or get really good at saying NO.”

More on Monday.