Wasn’t that lovely?’ Kelly sighed happily and linked her arm through Harry’s as they left the cinema. ‘I couldn’t help crying when he walked off and left her. But the ending was perfect, running across the field into each other’s arms.’
Harry walked on silently. ‘Didn’t you think so?’ she persisted.
‘Sentimental rubbish,’ answered Harry. ‘And you know I can’t stand subtitles.’
Looking at his handsome, rugged profile, Kelly wished that Harry could be less macho and more – well, caring. He seemed to think that showing feelings of any sort was a fatal weakness. But she was sure those feelings were there, deep down.
‘He’s a typical man, Kelly,’ said her mother when Kelly complained that he’d given her a pair of sewing scissors for her birthday, unwrapped, without even a card. ‘He’s just like your dad was, down to earth. You can’t expect him to go around declaring undying love for you and writing poems. Men don’t do it.’
‘Some do,’ she thought. Was she wrong to want something more?
‘I need a man who’s going to offer me
