The Saturday Girls

by Elizabeth Woodcraft

  We stepped past a group of girls with petticoats so full their skirts were almost horizontal with their waists. ‘They must have used pounds of sugar to get them sticking out like that,’ Sandra said. Once upon a time, before we were mods, we had stiffened our petticoats with sugar water, so we knew all about it. And seeing them now, standing in the lights of the sideshows, with their bouffant hair, their cardigans done up to the neck, their legs lean and tan, waiting for sneering boys in leather jackets and white t-shirts to whisk them into the ghost train, I thought it might be quite exciting to be a rocker. You could certainly go faster on the back of a motorbike. If we’d been rockers, we’d have wandered down Baddow Road to the Long Bar in the evening, not London Road to the Orpheus, and we’d have stood at their big Wurlitzer jukebox to choose a record. But we’d have to have hated mods. And we wouldn’t have worn suede coats and Fred Perrys.

  ‘Big Girls Don’t Cry’, a song we both liked, was belching out from the cakewalk. Sandra said we might as well have a go, till the mods arrived. We paid our money and jumped on. Everyone was trying to stay upright and move from one end of the tramway to the other, as the floor shifted back and forth. Sandra was mucking about, walking backwards and then running forward to catch up, banging into people, making me laugh. She nearly fell off, between the bars, and I had to drag her back in, which I almost couldn’t because I had such a pain in my side from laughing. A couple of rockers said, ‘All right, girls?’ and Sandra said, ‘You’ll be lucky!’ and we jumped off.

  We walked across to the old-fashioned roundabout with big wooden horses. Their manes were flying as they went round and round and up and down while blaring horns announced Bob & Earl singing ‘Harlem Shuffle’. It was a song they played at least twice a night at the Corn Exchange, so we hummed along, tapping our feet, shrugging our shoulders, and then, on a small patch of squashed, oily grass, we started dancing.

  ‘This could catch on,’ Sandra said. ‘People might mistake it for the Corn Exchange and they’ll all flock over.’

  ‘We could charge,’ I said.

  ‘How much do you reckon?’

  ‘Well, it’s only records, so . . . four and six?’

  And then, from behind a candyfloss cart, Cooky appeared.

  ‘Fancy seeing you here,’ he said. The look on his face made me think he wasn’t surprised at all. I suspected he’d been following us. The only real surprise was that he wasn’t driving the car. ‘Fancy a ride?’ He jerked his head towards the horses.

  ‘No fear!’ I said.

  ‘I wasn’t asking you,’ he said, mildly. The horses were slowing down. He looked at Sandra. ‘Well?’

  She only said yes! I wondered what she was up to. As they flew past, I could see Cooky pretending to slide off his horse and Sandra laughing. It wasn’t fair. It made me feel sick just watching, and not only because they were going round and round. I didn’t particularly like Cooky, with his big Corsair and all that talk about sex before marriage and the fact he’d sent Sandra a Valentine card – she said – but even so, I did think he should have asked me first. He and Sandra shouldn’t be having such a good time together. What about Danny? But for Sandra, perhaps engagement was the thing. From the way Cooky was looking at her now, getting engaged to him would be as easy as falling off a horse on a roundabout. But he was a rocker. But she was laughing.

  I sighed. She was so certain about her future. Weren’t we too young to be making those big, final decisions?

  I walked away from the roundabout towards Bobby Darin singing ‘Dream Lover’. The music was coming through the loudspeakers on the dodgems. Bobby Darin was a bit of a rocker, with his short, shiny black hair, but a smart rocker, in an Italian mohair suit. I walked up the steps.

  And there was Ray, leaning on a post at the side, watching the cars go round.

  ‘Watcha,’ I said.

  ‘Hallo, Linda! How’s it going?’ He was wearing the horrible turquoise jumper. He wasn’t even trying. But it was lovely to see him.

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Where’s your mate?’

  ‘Don’t ask me.’

  Bobby Darin was still singing as the cars slid to a halt. ‘Fancy a go?’ he said.

  I looked at him. There was the jumper, and what he thought about all my friends, and I had hoped Tap might turn up and offer to take me on one of the rides. And what if someone I knew saw me? But Sandra was down there on that roundabout with Cooky, and Tap was nowhere to be seen, and actually I wanted to go on the dodgems and I wanted to go on with him. So I said, ‘Yeah, all right.’

  We walked round the edge of the track. There was the smell of burning rubber, and little sparks from the electrical connections overhead. ‘This one’s a good mover,’ Ray shouted over the music as we reached a blue-and-black car.

  ‘You only like it because it matches your jumper.’

  ‘You wait and see.’ We climbed in as the Shangri-Las began talking to each other, wondering if she was really going out with him, and the singer was explaining where she’d met the Leader of the Pack. I wondered if it was a bad song to drive to. It didn’t end well. Perhaps I should beg Ray to go slow. I turned to him, but the music was loud and he was busy dealing with a man in a red check shirt who was hopping from car to car collecting money, and I forgot what I was going to say.

  Over the loudspeakers the Leader of the Pack revved his engine and we slowly set off. Ray was a careful driver, squinting through the smoke of the cigarette between his teeth. We drove quickly and smoothly round the track, avoiding the other cars, overtaking on the inside, veering to the right. Then a red car bumped into us and someone shouted, ‘Oy, Ray!’ and we sped after him, our car squealing, and with a lurch we skidded into the side of the rink. We caught up to the red car and rammed into it, jumping forward in our seats. A Shangri-La began screaming, ‘Look out! Look out! Look out!’ and I grabbed Ray’s arm. He took his hands off the wheel and shouted, ‘You take over.’

  ‘I can’t drive!’ His hands were still in the air and someone banged into us from behind and the car spun round. I grabbed the wheel and turned it sharply left but we had no power. ‘What do I do?’ I yelled.

  ‘Accelerate! Put your foot on the accelerator!’ I squashed my foot down onto his, and the car jumped into the centre of the rink.

  ‘Watch out!’ he shouted, laughing as we crashed into an empty car. He put his hands on top of mine, and held them there as we moved back into the flow of cars.

  ‘I think you’ve broken my foot,’ he said, as we slowed to a stop.

  ‘It’s your own fault, I told you I couldn’t drive.’

  ‘Want another go?’

  ‘Only if you want me to stamp on your other foot,’ I said. It’s too expensive, I could hear my mum saying. You shouldn’t let him.

  He helped me out of the car. ‘How about a toffee apple?’

  ‘No thanks,’ I said. Toffee apples were a nice idea but they were never as nice as you wanted them to be; the toffee was always too hard and the apples always too soft.

  ‘We can go on the big wheel if you like,’ he said.

  I laughed. I almost clapped my hands. I loved the big wheel. When you stopped at the top it was always freezing cold, and it was just you up in the air, but you could see the whole of the fairground, the roundabouts all lit up and the people moving about, unaware of you up in the sky, looking down on them, and you held your breath and sat as still as you could and hoped the person you were with did the same so that you didn’t fall out.

  ‘I might just agree to that,’ I said.

  He laughed. We wandered past a long queue of rockers in front of the test-your-strength machine. The sound of Chris Montez singing ‘Let’s Dance’ drifted through the air.

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘do you want to go out sometime?’

  ‘With you?’ I asked.

  ‘What do you think?’ he said.

  ‘It depends.’

  ‘On what?’ He was smiling.

  ‘Whether or not you get a dec
ent jumper.’

  ‘That’s a bit shallow, isn’t it?’

  ‘You know what I mean. But why do you want to go out with me? You don’t like my friends, you hardly know me . . . and you think I’m shallow. So what do you want?’

  ‘Oh, Linda. What I want is you.’

  A small electric shock ran through my body. That was so direct and so unexpected. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But my hair looks so horrible at the moment.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with it? I fancy you.’

  ‘Oh, shut up. Where’ve you been since Easter?’

  ‘Well, I’ve been here. But I thought you wanted to be somewhere else. Why, did you miss me?’

  ‘You’re bonkers.’ I couldn’t stop myself smiling. It was probably the most romantic thing that had ever happened to me. But it was Ray. But it was romantic. And what about . . . the rest of the world out there? What would people say? What about Tap? I hesitated. Perhaps it didn’t matter.

  ‘Look, I don’t want to marry you,’ he said, ‘just, you know, do nice things together, go to the pictures, go to London, go for a walk.’

  ‘Walking! No thanks.’

  ‘Whatever you want. I mean, I’ve just given you a ride on the dodgems, haven’t I?’

  ‘You made me drive.’

  He sighed. ‘You are hard work,’ he said.

  ‘Am I?’ I shook my head.

  ‘We could go out for a meal. Or go to the theatre.’

  ‘Don’t go mad. I’ll think about it,’ I said, though it sounded quite good. I looked at my watch. It was half past ten. I hadn’t seen Sandra for nearly an hour. Normally at this time we’d be thinking about the last bus, but tonight everything was different. ‘I’ve got to find Sandra,’ I said. ‘Otherwise I’ve got nowhere to stay tonight.’

  ‘You could stay with me.’

  ‘No, I couldn’t. They’ve got electric blankets at their house. Have you got electric blankets?’

  ‘No, but I could keep you warm. You could share my jumper.’

  ‘This?’ I said. I pulled at the hem. ‘If that’s your best offer, we’d better find her fast.’ I noticed a spot of yellow paint. Examining it, it looked the same colour as the paint on the Valentine’s card.

  I heard a shout. And another. I looked round. ‘Up here!’ It was Sandra; she was on the big wheel. And she was still with Cooky. He was rocking the seat and she was laughing and bashing his arm.

  ‘There you are,’ Ray said. ‘She’s safe and sound.’

  ‘I’m not sure you can say that when Cooky’s involved.’

  ‘What shall we do now?’ Ray said. We were standing by the rifle range.

  ‘You could try your luck on here,’ I said.

  ‘What shall I go for?’ he said. ‘How about that doll?’

  ‘If you like.’

  He paid for four shots. The first two didn’t hit anything. Then he hit a target and won a bag of dolly mixture. ‘This time the dolly mixture, next time the doll,’ he said, looking at my face as he handed me the sweets.

  ‘Just give me the gun,’ I said. I aimed at a bobbing mechanical duck. There was a ping of metal. The stallholder passed me another bag of dolly mixture. I held it out to Ray. ‘And here’s some for you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘So you can drive, and you can shoot. I’m learning a lot about you. And it’s all lovable.’

  ‘And there’s so much more,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, really?’

  I wasn’t sure, so I didn’t say anything. We joined the queue for the big wheel.

  ‘So how’s the Milk Bar? Next time I come in you could give me a free drink.’

  ‘That’s not how it works,’ I said. ‘You come in, you pay. But I do like it, actually.’ I tore open the packet of sweets he’d given me and poured some into his palm. ‘Do you like working in the garage?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, seriously. ‘I enjoy it. I’m quite good with a spanner, you know.’

  ‘Get you.’

  ‘What I’d really like to do is art, not that you can earn a living that way. But it was my best subject at school. I’ve got a painting in the Arts Festival, in the exhibition in the library. You could go and see it.’

  ‘I didn’t know you painted.’ I felt a sting of envy. He was doing something artistic and I wasn’t. ‘What do you paint?’

  ‘All sorts. The one in the exhibition is a still life. But I do portraits. I do life drawing. Naked bodies!’ he hissed. The people in front of us turned round.

  ‘Shhh,’ I said. ‘Keep your jumper on!’

  He put his arm round my shoulder and whispered in my ear, ‘I’ll paint your picture if you like!’ I pushed a sweet into his mouth.

  We were nearly at the front of the queue and we both had our mouths full of dolly mixtures, when I saw Danny. He was on his own, his hands in the pockets of his leather coat, his shoulders hunched.

  Sandra was still on the big wheel with Cooky. I didn’t know what she would want me to do. The last time she had seen Danny he had finished with her. Would she want me to punch him on the nose, or should I try and persuade him to take her back? From the corner of my eye I could see Sandra and Cooky, rocking slowly a few feet above ground. The ride was over and gradually people were being let off. Sandra shouted, ‘Yoo-hoo!’ and then stopped. She’d seen him too. She turned away in the seat.

  ‘Watcha,’ I said to Danny. ‘Fancy seeing you here. Do you want a dolly mixture?’

  ‘I wanna dolly bird,’ Danny said, and laughed. I could smell the beer on his breath. I wasn’t sure he recognised me.

  ‘Sandra’s around somewhere,’ I said, looking across to the dodgems as if she might be there. As I turned back I caught a glimpse of Sandra, pushing back the bar across her seat as it swayed to the ground.

  ‘Oh yeah?’ he said. He looked round as if there might be someone else he’d rather talk to.

  ‘Are you back for long?’ I gabbled.

  ‘Just for a couple of days. Send her my love if you see her.’ He turned to move away, but slowly, as if he didn’t really want to go. He was on his own. Perhaps he was lonely.

  Sandra was hurrying towards us.

  ‘Say I’ll see her down the Orpheus later,’ he said.

  ‘At this time of night?’

  ‘Oh, all right.’ He shrugged. He pulled out a packet of cigarettes. ‘Anyone got a light?’

  ‘I’ve got a match,’ I said, and opened my bag. Since lighting Tap’s cigarette I had taken to carrying matches round with me. Just in case.

  ‘Well, hello,’ Sandra said coldly. But she had tidied her hair. She took the box of matches from my hand. ‘What’s a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?’ She said it sarcastically. She wasn’t going to give in straightaway.

  Danny almost jumped. Then he laughed. ‘I was looking for you, sweetheart,’ he said.

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Sandra folded her arms, but I could tell she was pleased.

  Danny took the box of matches from her in a gesture that was almost a caress. He lit his cigarette and inhaled. ‘You seen Cooky around?’ he said. I had to stop myself looking at Sandra.

  I pointed to the big wheel. Cooky was almost at the top again, sitting alone in his seat.

  ‘Cooky! Oy, Cooky!’ Danny called. ‘What’s he doing up there on his own?’

  ‘Getting away from you, probably,’ Sandra said.

  ‘Cooky needs a girlfriend, Linda,’ Danny said. ‘How about it? You know you like him.’ It was as if Ray wasn’t even there.

  ‘It’s not going to happen,’ Sandra said.

  ‘All right, Sandra!’ I said. It might have done. ‘I’m doing all right, thanks,’ I said to Danny. Ray squeezed my shoulder.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Sandra almost shouted at Danny.

  ‘I told you – looking for you. You coming?’ He jerked his head towards the big wheel. The ride was slowing down. ‘We can squeeze in with Cooky. Give him a thrill.’

  ‘If you think I’m goi
ng on there with someone like you, you’ve got another think coming,’ Sandra said.

  ‘Come on, Sandy,’ he said, ‘don’t be like that.’

  ‘Like what? I’m not sure I even remember who you are, and my mum told me not to talk to strangers.’

  ‘They don’t get much stranger than me,’ Danny chuckled.

  ‘You can say that again,’ Sandra said shortly. But she was puffing her hair up.

  ‘I just wanted to share my forty-eight hours of freedom with you,’ he said.

  ‘Two days,’ Sandra murmured. I could see she was thinking of forgiving him everything, imagining long, smoochy hours with him in the Orpheus, or in one of the pubs in Tindal Street.

  ‘So when do you have to go back?’

  ‘Tonight.’

  ‘Tonight! Where’ve you been for the last day and a half?’ she demanded.

  Shrugging, he said, ‘I’ve been here, I’ve been there, I’ve been everywhere, man.’ He swayed. Then his face changed colour, as if the eerie white light from the ticket kiosk was reflected on his face. But it wasn’t. He was looking behind me. I turned.

  It was Barbara. She was standing by the rifle range, staring at Danny. Her hair was a real beehive, her eyelids were heavy with black make-up and she was wearing dark red lipstick. Her long black leather coat hung almost to the ground, and she stood straight and still. Sandra turned and followed my gaze. The smile slid from her face, replaced by an expression of complete shock and then determination. She looked at Danny. He gave a watery grin.

  His eyes swivelled between the two of them, Sandra, Barbara, Sandra, Barbara, then me. Me! He blinked slowly. Barbara walked up to him and grabbed him by the arm. She pulled him so that his face was level with hers. ‘What’s all this?’ she hissed.

  ‘What? What?’ Danny said.

  ‘I’ve been waiting over an hour for you.’

  ‘I told you, I had to get back.’

  ‘Oh really, via the Dolphin and the Spotted Dog? I only knew where you were because I bought Mick Flynn a drink. And now you’re at the fair?’

  ‘It’s the quickest way to the station.’

  ‘And you picked up a couple of tarts on the way? That’s handy.’