Keep you by my side, p.15
Keep You by My Side, page 15
Phillip rose from his chair and smiled. ‘Splendid idea.’
‘Oh, no,’ Rose corrected him quickly. ‘I was thinking I would go alone.’
‘Oh, I see,’ he said. ‘A drink then. Let me get you a drink for when you come back. What was it? Babycham?’
‘You don’t have to,’ Rose said. She stood up, grabbed her bag and yanked it onto her shoulder. If he bought her a drink, then she would be obliged to come back and listen to more of his opinions. She was about to leave when Phillip sat down heavily; his shoulders sagging like a sail on a windless day. He frowned, rested his elbows on the table and balanced his chin in his hands. Rose paused. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Thank you. A drink would be lovely.’
* * *
It was still light outside and the square was full of people – men with their collars open, eating bags of chips; groups of girls laughing and flirting with groups of boys. Rather than stay amongst them, Rose headed off to find a quiet spot of her own. She made her way to the edge of the Town Hall and stopped beside an alleyway leading down to the back of the building. She leant with her back against the wall and looked towards the fish and chip shop opposite. Earlier that evening the bulbs forming a border around the sign above the door had given off individual spheres of light. Now Rose could only make out a single white blur. She squinted but it didn’t help. She closed her eyes to see whether she could clear the image and start again but as soon as her eyelids met, she had to prise them apart. Why, when she knew full well that she was standing on solid ground, did she feel like she was swaying? Like the pavement beneath her feet was a swelling wave? It must have been all that talk of boats and harbours and first mates and…
‘Shepherd’s delight,’ a man said quietly into her ear.
Rose jumped, her heart pounding like it was trying to punch its way free of her chest.
‘The sky,’ Ray said. He raised his arm to point to the pink hue in the sky and the leather of his jacket brushed Rose’s bare shoulder. ‘Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight,’ he said. ‘You probably don’t bother with old farmers’ sayings like that up in London.’
Rose’s fingers sought out the locket at her neck. She threaded it along the chain and stared straight ahead. ‘No. I mean… yes, we do,’ she said.
Ray leant against the wall beside her and from the corner of her eye she saw him reach inside his jacket. He pulled out a crushed cigarette packet, shook it and offered it to her. She looked down at the two cigarettes standing proud of the others but shook her head. She watched Ray take one and light it. He inhaled deeply as he returned the packet to his pocket.
‘So,’ he said, speaking and exhaling smoke simultaneously. ‘What are you doing out here on your own?’
‘I wanted some air. I was hot.’
‘Right.’
‘And you, I mean, what are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be rehearsing for later?’ She was trying to keep her voice steady, but it wasn’t easy when Ray shrugged and she felt his shoulder move against hers.
‘Nobody in there’ll notice if we play a few bum notes,’ he said. ‘And I like to take a breather before I go on stage. To collect my thoughts.’
Rose prised herself away from the wall. ‘So I should go then and leave you on your own.’
Again, Ray drew deeply on his cigarette and a long, straight plume of smoke passed by the side of Rose’s face.
‘Did I ask you to leave?’ he said.
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘Well then.’
She settled back against the wall and took hold of the locket again.
‘That’s a nice bit of gold,’ Ray said. Still holding the cigarette between his fingers, he pointed at her necklace.
‘It’s my mother’s,’ she said. ‘She lets me wear it on special occasions.’
‘So a dance at the Town Hall is a special occasion?’
Rose let the locket fall back to her chest. Was that a laugh in his voice? Was the necklace too much? Did Ray think she was overdressed? If he thought that her mother’s locket was over the top then what would he say if he knew about the makeshift beauty parlour Mother had set up in the attic to get Rose ready for the dance? All the fussing with heated rollers and make-up and the ceremony where her mother had opened the small box and placed the locket around her neck.
‘It’s not such a special occasion,’ she said still looking ahead, trying to sound casual. ‘But you know what mothers are like.’
Ray took another drag on his cigarette before flicking the stub into the gutter. It bounced twice before disappearing down the drain. ‘We could go somewhere,’ he said. ‘When I’ve finished my set. The Anchor Inn down on the beach at Seatown is quiet. We can talk.’
‘I couldn’t… Arthur. He’d miss me.’ Rose made to touch the locket again but her hand was intercepted on its way to her neck. Ray’s fingers clasped hers. His hand was warm, his grip sure. He moved from his position against the wall to stand in front of her. Rose looked down at the ground but could sense his eyes on her.
‘Arthur’s got his hands full with Mary,’ he said. ‘He won’t notice if you slip out for half an hour. I can have you there and back before he even realises you’ve gone. I want to get to know you better. There’s something special about you, Rose.’
Rose felt the blood rush to her cheeks. ‘No there’s not. I’m not special at all.’
Placing the index finger of his free hand beneath her chin, Ray gently tipped her face up so that she had no choice but to look at him.
‘Oh yes you are,’ he said. ‘You’re incredibly special. And beautiful.’
He looked at her with such intensity that Rose couldn’t bring herself to turn away. Before she had time to react, he leant down and pressed his lips to hers. She should have protested that she wasn’t the kind of girl that let a man she barely knew take advantage of her. Instead, she closed her eyes, relishing the taste of salt and smoke on Ray’s lips. Her head began to swim again. But this time, instead of fighting the sensation, she rode the wave. And she didn’t want it to end. Ever. But all too soon, Ray pulled away.
‘Meet me here after the set,’ Ray said, his face just inches from hers, his voice heavy with breath. ‘I want to see you alone, Rose. I need to see you.’
Ray slipped down the alley to enter the building through a backdoor and Rose made her way slowly back round to the front. Every so often she put her fingertips to her lips and smiled. Ray had kissed her, and she had let him.
On her way over the threshold into the Town Hall, she stumbled, making herself giggle. Imagine being so giddy from a kiss that she couldn’t even control her feet! This was turning out to be a week of firsts. Her first ride on a motorbike. Her first drink of Babycham. Her first kiss.
Once inside, Rose decided against heading back to the table. She lingered in the lobby. It was a shame to think of a cold glass of Babycham going to waste but enduring even one more of Phillip’s stories would be too high a price to pay for another drink. Or was it? She imagined the bubbles popping on her tongue and was weighing up whether it would be rude to rush in and snatch the glass from the table when a cheer went up. Instantly everyone in the lobby wanted to be in the function room. Rose waited for the rush to die down before making her way to the door to look over the heads of the crowd to the stage. Ian came on first and took up his position behind the drums followed by Gary with his bass. And then, from behind a black curtain, Ray appeared. He walked slowly across the stage, a leather strap around his neck, his guitar balanced against his hips. He stopped at a microphone stand in the centre of the stage, nodded and, as one, Gary and Ian joined him in the opening chords of a song. In response to Ray’s deep voice, everyone in the room got to their feet and danced and cheered and sang along. But Rose found that she was suddenly incapable of movement. She watched, dumbfounded, as Ray’s fringe fell into his eyes and stayed there. Those fingers strumming the strings of the guitar were the same fingers that only minutes earlier had held hers. The lips forming the words of the song were the same lips that had pressed to hers. The man up on the stage – the popular, talented, gorgeous man – liked her. He liked her.
Rose was so engrossed in the spectacle on stage that she only realised the set was over when Ray left the stage and a stream of people began pushing their way back out into the lobby. This was it. She was going to do it. She was going to meet Ray outside, climb on board his motorbike and go for a drink with him. But not before she had checked her make-up.
The ‘ladies’ was wall-to-wall with girls jostling for position at the long mirror above the row of sinks. A queue stretched out into the hallway. Above their heads, a fug of cigarette smoke hung in the air and the chatter was almost louder than the music in the hall. While Rose inched her way along the queue towards the cubicles, she watched a group of girls unravelling a roll of toilet paper, handing wads of it to a girl standing by the hand towel. She was sobbing so hard that mascara inched down her cheeks like two spindly spiders.
‘He’s not worth it,’ one of her friends said, wiping the girl’s face. ‘They’re all bastards.’
Not all, Rose thought and smiled as she nipped into a vacated cubicle. She slid the latch across, took a compact from her bag, and fished around for her lipstick. Making an ‘o’ with her lips, she carefully applied a fresh coat of pink before examining her reflection in the little round mirror. Did she look older now, wiser? She should do. Now that she had been kissed she was a woman. She smiled at her reflection and snapped the compact shut. She was returning it to her bag when a familiar voice rose above the general din beyond the door.
‘So he showed his face then,’ Mary said.
‘Finally,’ Shirley replied. ‘But notice how he didn’t bother to come and say hello? Just got up there on the stage. He spends more time fiddling with that bloody guitar than he does me. If you get my drift.’
Mary giggled. ‘You’re terrible! But you’ve got to admit he did look good.’
‘And doesn’t he bloody know it. I tell you something though, he better make it up to me or that’s it. And I don’t just mean a Cherry B and a fumble round the back of The Red Lion this time. For once he better make it up to me proper. Or we’re over.’
‘Yeah and that’s Pinky and Perky flying through the window.’
Rose stood with her hand on the lock. She would have sat on the floor and stayed in the cubicle until the very last person had left if somebody hadn’t bashed on the other side of the door. ‘What’s taking you?’ an angry voice shouted. ‘Have you fallen in?’
Reluctantly she slid the latch and had taken only one step outside the cubicle when the girl barged past her. ‘About bloody time,’ she said.
Rose stared at the floor tiles. All she had to do was get out of the toilets. Just a few short steps…
‘Well if it isn’t Doctor Rose,’ Shirley called. ‘We were wondering where you’d got to.’
Shirley was looking at Rose in the mirror, as she puckered her lips and applied a fresh coat of lipstick. Mary took hold of Rose’s hand.
‘Oh, Rose,’ she said. ‘Where have you been? Art’s been ever so worried. He thought Phillip might have upset you. I told him that Phillip’s not capable of upsetting anyone but I don’t think he believed me. He’s protective, your Arthur, isn’t he?’
‘What? Yes, he can be,’ Rose said. She was responding to Mary’s question but couldn’t take her eyes from Shirley. ‘So your… boyfriend. He’s here?’
Shirley wound down the lipstick, slammed on the lid and handed it to Mary. ‘If you can call him that.’ She rubbed her lips together then dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her little finger.
‘Don’t be daft,’ Mary said and dropped the lipstick into her bag. She turned to Rose. ‘They’re always like this. Running hot and cold. But they’re meant to be together, mark my words. Like Liz Taylor and Richard Burton, they are.’
‘Or Bill and Ben.’ Shirley laughed and hoisted up the front of her dress. Rose stared at Shirley’s reflection; at her red lips and her cleavage like two ripe apples pressed beneath the chiffon. Every other girl at the mirror paled beside Shirley. She was like an orchid in a field of dandelions. A question hovered on Rose’s lips. She wanted to swallow it down but her brain insisted on sending a message instructing her vocal chords to ask it.
‘What’s his name?’
‘What’s whose name?’ Shirley asked, rubbing her finger across her front teeth.
‘Your boyfriend. What’s his name?’
Shirley stopped rubbing her teeth and frowned. ‘If you mean the good-for-nothing ratbag, waste of space, that I have the misfortune of being lumbered with, then I’d call him Pig. But if you ask anyone else that then they’d call him Ray.’
Rose felt the room begin to spin around her. She stumbled and Mary caught her. ‘Are you all right, Rose?’ Mary said.
‘She’s had one too many, that’s all,’ Shirley said. ‘I did say to Art that she looked a bit on the young side to handle so much. Don’t worry, love, we’ve all been there. Get your mum to do you a great big greasy fry up in the morning. That’ll see you right. Nothing like a couple of thick rashers and a bit of fried bread to soak it up.’
Rose clutched her stomach. The sour taste of bile rose to the back of her throat. She felt Mary’s hand press against her brow. ‘I’m not so sure, Shirl,’ Mary said. ‘She don’t look too good. You all right, Rose? Rose? I’ll go and get Art. He’ll know what to do.’
13
Abi – Saturday 19 April 1986 – Morning
Abi pulled the plug from the kitchen sink and looked out of the window. The storm had cleared overnight into a perfect spring Saturday. There wasn’t a single cloud in the endless expanse of blue. The blind at the window barely rattled in the soft breeze coming in through the open kitchen door. It was days like this that made living at Cliff Cottage worthwhile. Almost.
Abi dried her hands on a tea towel and sat down at the table. ‘Done?’
‘Nearly.’ Penny patted a stack of foil-wrapped parcels. ‘Two cheese and tomato sandwiches and two apples.’ She took two fairy cakes from the pile cooling on a wire rack and placed them onto a fresh sheet of foil. ‘Are you sure your Mum won’t mind? Aren’t they for the beetle drive tonight?’
‘She said we could have one each.’
‘If you say so.’ Penny crunched the foil around the cakes to form another neat parcel, which she handed to Abi. ‘So where’s everyone run off to?’
‘Mum’s gone to meet someone about a catering job,’ Abi said and shoved the parcels into a carrier bag, not nearly as carefully or as neatly as Penny had wrapped them. ‘Dad’s gone into work to help with a stocktake and Nan’s down at the church hall putting up decorations for this evening. She’s spent all week making these crazy beetle things out of egg boxes and pipe cleaners, like you’d make at playschool. Look,’ she said, pointing to a black smear on the table. ‘She found an old tin of paint in the shed and gave them all a coat of it.’
‘I bet you helped her.’
‘Might have.’
‘You’re both big kids.’
‘Oi, I’ll have you know that my beetles were very professional, not like Nan’s weirdos.’ Abi curled up her arms and stuck out her tongue in an impression of a squashed beetle.
Penny laughed. ‘Right. I’m going to get my revision notes to take to the beach. Shall I get your folder too?’
‘You want to study? Today?’
‘I think you should. What did Mrs Bennett say yesterday?’ Penny pretended to adjust a pair of glasses on her nose and dipped her head as though looking at Abi over the top of thick bifocals. ‘Abigail Russell, it is not enough to excel in one subject alone. Where will pretty drawings and paintings get you without a creditable academic record to support them? Nowhere young lady, that’s where.’
Abi frowned. ‘Can I help it if I’m not a genius like you? How am I supposed to know why a stupid crow wants to say “love” or why the ghost of some old bloke wants to wander around on a turret just to scare his son?’
‘If it was Mouldy Munro giving you advice you’d be like “Oh, Mr Munro. Of course, sir. Anything you say, sir. Three bags full, sir.”’
Abi felt her cheeks colour. ‘No.’
‘Yes,’ Penny laughed. ‘But don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone that you dream of having Mouldy’s babies.’
Before she’d even finished her sentence, Penny was out of her seat and in the hall. She narrowly avoided the soggy tea towel Abi lobbed in her direction.
‘Silly moo!’ Abi shouted after her. But Penny was already halfway up the stairs, the steps creaking beneath her as she ran to the top of the house.
Abi collected the tea towel and sat back at the table. She only did what Mr Munro said because she needed a good grade in art. There was nothing wrong with that.
Penny’s footsteps thudded back down the stairs.
‘I hope you’re not spreading rumours about me and Mouldy because–’ Abi started but the phone ringing in the hall stopped her mid-flow.
‘I’ll get it!’ Penny shouted. ‘Hello… No sorry she’s not here… No, neither is she… No, I’m her friend. Okay, yes, I’ll get her. Hold on.’
Abi wandered out into the hall and Penny held the receiver out to her, her hand covering the mouthpiece. ‘It’s your dad’s boss,’ she whispered.
‘What does he want?’
‘Don’t know. He didn’t say.’
Abi took the phone. ‘Hello.’
‘Is that Abigail?’
‘Yes.’
‘Abigail, it’s Mr Rees. I manage the shop where your dad works. Now, you’re not to worry, but your dad’s had a bit of an accident. He was up on a ladder counting compost bins and he fell off. We called an ambulance and they took him to hospital but I’m sure it’s just a precaution.’ He paused. ‘Are you still there?’
‘Yes,’ Abi whispered, her throat dry.
‘You need to find your mother and go to the hospital. I’d go myself only I’ve got the whole shop to stocktake before the end of the day, and with a man down now. Is that okay? Can you find your mother and tell her?’
