Lynne, who was standing over by the window in Betty’s flat, where there was a fantastic view of the cathedral and beyond that the Mersey, was nursing a glass of Babycham. She had not realized that hers and Roberta’s visit to the flat would turn into a party with music. She guessed the lad was not much older than her daughter, who was perched on a pouffe with her sketch pad on her knee, gazing at him. Apparently he was part Italian and was good looking with curly hair that was almost as black as the jet jewellery Lynne was wearing. In a few years time he would be a real heart-throb and would have his pick of the girls. Hopefully her daughter was only seeing him as subject matter for her pencil but Lynne doubted it. Roberta was getting to that age when boys were starting to become interesting, which meant she was going to have to keep an eye on her. She had discovered a drawing of another boy in the drawing pad when she had taken her daughter’s gym clothes out of her satchel the other evening.
