She overheard him asking people if they would sign his petition for peace. He was obviously one of those Ban the Bomb people and, inspired by the spirit of the marchers, Amy went over and offered to sign. He looked pleased. ‘Hey, I know you. It’s Jeff Stockton, isn’t it? Weren’t we in the same class at primary school?’ The young man grinned. ‘Amy Poulson, as I live and breathe.’ ‘Amy George now,’ she said, patting her swollen belly. ‘Good to see you again, Jeff.’ They shook hands, his grip firm. He was tall and lanky with pale grey eyes, a long bony nose, wide smiling mouth and untidy brown hair. Quite attractive really, considering how he’d looked as a boy. ‘I remember you in those awful grey short trousers, your socks always falling down,’ she said with a laugh. ‘And a plaster over one of the lenses on my glasses because apparently I had a lazy eye.’ Jeff agreed, pushing his spectacles back up his nose. ‘Lot of good that did. I remember you with pigtails, frizzy and ginger.’ ‘Auburn, if you don’t mind,’ Amy corrected him.
