My stepsister, Carole, and I were the same age and when we were 15 years old, we had some lovely times together. Like the times we were supposed to be learning typing at the evening college and learned to play poker at a friend’s house instead. I had won a pocketful of pennies and halfpennies, and my pocket was bulging with them the night we ran back to the college to catch the bus and found Mum and Dad waiting for us. We had nothing to say on the way home and the typing lessons ceased forthwith.
Unbeknown to our parents, when Mum and Dad went out, leaving us to babysit our younger brother, we invited a few friends around and innocently danced the evening away. This ended abruptly when Carole’s partner failed to catch her hand and she hurtled backwards, crashing into the record player. A couple of weeks later, the damage having been discovered, we both acted innocent and looked in bewilderment at the resultant destruction.
I think it was the best time we had together, in spite of our naughtiness, or maybe, because of it.
By Margaret Irwin