The Women of Primrose Square

by Claudia Carroll

  She spotted him almost the minute he came into the room.

  Back then, it was hard to miss Andy McKim. He was tall and pale and so terribly good-looking. He also looked slightly out of place; all of the other gentlemen, Jayne’s husband Tom included, were wearing suits. Neat, respectful, sober jackets with ties. It was that sort of party – make no mistake, this was strictly a formal occasion, heightened by the presence of bow-tied waiters who were hovering around discreetly topping up champagne glasses, while a small army of caterers served canapés to guests from heavy silver platters. All of Freddie Hardcastle’s friends and business associates had turned out in force for such a fancy ‘do’; there was even a chief justice present.

  If Violet was being truthful, it was all a tad intimidating too.

  In the middle of all this, Andy drifted in looking like a beatnik, dressed head to toe in black, with a slightly scruffy turtle-neck jumper and black leather boots with Cuban heels that were all the rage, smoking a cigarette. Every eye in the room seemed to gravitate his way – Violet’s included. Two thoughts struck her. How much this stranger resembled Richard Burton, and how utterly out of his depth he looked.

  Suddenly, she found herself looking at her own party from an outsider’s point of view. How stiff it all must have seemed, with her playing piano concertos and with half the guest list on the wrong side of fifty.

  This is not a fun scene, she thought. Even she had to admit that not a single guest seemed to be enjoying themselves. She’d even overheard two of her close friends from school planning to slip away to a nightclub in town when the coast was clear.

  Violet would dearly love to have slipped off with them to dance and have fun – exactly the memorable birthday celebration she wanted. But she knew it was out of the question. Her father expected her to be hostess for the night, so if that meant playing Mendelssohn concertos and making small talk with boring judges and lawyers and politicians, then that was the price she had to pay.

  Jayne had arrived with Andy, of course, as well as her husband Tom, and the minute they arrived, Jayne bounced over to do the introductions. Jayne, it had to be said, was looking pretty wonderful herself in a copy of a scarlet red minidress that Twiggy had once worn, which she’d run up on her Singer sewing machine. Jayne was creative about saving money like that and was a dab hand at replicating outfits she’d seen in fashion magazines with her own needle and thread. So unlike Violet, who just bought everything from Switzer’s and charged it to her father’s account without a second thought.

  Ordinarily, Violet couldn’t help feeling just a little smug beside Jayne, knowing how much more expensive and shop-bought her own wardrobe was compared with her friend. Not tonight though; on this of all nights, even Violet grudgingly had to admit that Jayne really did look beautiful, with her freshly washed long fair hair swept up into a beehive, and with the bright red lipstick that she’d bought in Woolworths, which matched her dress perfectly. Beside her, Violet felt old-fashioned and a little dowdy, in spite of the fact that her own dress had cost almost an unheard-of sum for a simple white party dress, ballerina-style. She’d dearly have loved to look as sexy and stylish as Jayne did, but her father liked to have a say in what she wore and would have gone ballistic if her skirts had been inappropriately short. When it came to her father, she knew of old, some things just weren’t worth the argument.

  ‘Happy birthday!’ Jayne squealed excitedly, hugging her friend tight, as Tom handed over a beautifully wrapped birthday gift.

  ‘This is a surprise now,’ he cautioned, wagging his finger playfully. ‘Not to be opened till long after we’re gone.’

  ‘If you say so,’ Violet laughed. She’d always been terribly fond of Tom, who was a big, tall bear of a man with a good heart. Even if he was just a carpenter, as father was never tired of reminding her. ‘A carpenter who lives on the wrong side of Primrose Square,’ he used to say. ‘Can’t you find a nicer class of friend to pal around with, Vi? After all the money I’ve spent on your education, are Jayne and Tom Dawson really suitable companions for you?’

  Violet banished her father’s barbed comments out of her mind, as Tom offered to get drinks for everyone. As soon as he’d drifted off, Jayne introduced Andy with a happy smile.

  ‘How do you do?’ Violet said politely.

  Andy beamed broadly, looking right at her with big, soulful brown eyes.

  ‘So you’re the birthday girl, then?’ he said with a little smile, speaking in a Liverpool accent that somehow made everything he said sound funny. ‘You’re looking fab tonight, love. Just gorgeous. The dress suits you. You’re like a model; like Jean Shrimpton.’

  Violet smiled, utterly charmed by this tall, good-looking stranger. Even if he did refer to her as ‘love’, and even if he didn’t shake her hand like most other young gentlemen of her acquaintance would have done.

  ‘And you play piano too, yeah?’ Andy asked, genuinely interested. Which again made a welcome change for Violet; she dearly loved to play and was so seldom asked about it.

  ‘Oh, she plays so well!’ Jayne enthused. ‘Violet studied piano at a really fancy finishing school, you know. She might even teach one day.’

  ‘You’re musical, then?’ he said, with a smile that made his eyes crinkle.

  ‘Well, one tries one’s best,’ Violet said demurely.

  But this time, Andy seemed to be teasing her when he said: ‘Oh, one does, does one?’ he twinkled down at her. ‘Might one give us another turn on the piano then? Maybe a bit of rock and roll? Jerry Lee Lewis? Or how about a bit of Mr Berry?’

  ‘Mr Berry?’ Violet said, puzzled, but then she thought she knew every composer going.

  ‘Well now, you’ve heard of Chuck Berry, haven’t you?’ He grinned. ‘If not, then I might just have to introduce you.’

  ‘Andy’s in a band over in Liverpool,’ Jayne said helpfully. ‘The Moptops. Tom and I heard them at a concert they gave in Manchester once and they were magic. Oh,’ she added with a beam, ‘and guess what? They once worked with the same record producer as The Beatles – George Martin. Isn’t that so cool?’

  ‘Well, now.’ Violet smiled, impressed in spite of herself. Merseybeat was all the rage and everyone knew that if the mighty George Martin deigned to work with an act, then they were surely destined for stardom. ‘In that case, I can say I knew you before you were famous, Andy. Maybe you’d play for us later on?’

  Andy looked down at her, as if he was being challenged. ‘If the birthday girl would like me to play right now,’ he said, ‘then yeah, of course, your wish is my command. So how about we kick-start this party properly, then?’

  Violet smiled back delightedly. Then, with a confident stride, Andy went over to the very piano that still stood in pride of place in Violet’s drawing room, slid onto the chair, shoved a clumpful of his thick, jet-black hair out of his eyes and looked into the crowd for a moment, almost as if he was assessing them before deciding what to play. A minute later, he was playing and singing along to ‘Having a Party’ by Sam Cooke in a rasping, husky voice. It was the perfect choice of song and was the first bit of fun at a party that up till then, had been staid and deadly boring. The music caught everyone’s attention, and in no time the whole room seemed to be clapping and singing along.

  ‘He’s really good, isn’t he?’ Violet said to Jayne, who was singing away at the top of her lungs.

  ‘He’s magic!’ Jayne laughed back. ‘Wait till you see, he’ll be on the Hit Parade before the year is out!’

  In no time, Andy had the whole room eating out of his hand. He launched into a medley of well-known pop tunes, including ‘It’s My Party’, and with a nod towards the crushed blue velvet dress that Violet’s pal Annabel was wearing, he even sang ‘Blue Velvet’. Guests were whooping and cheering by then, as Andy cheekily called into the crowd: ‘Any requests, folks?’

  ‘Givvus “The Twist”!’ someone from the back of the room shouted.

  So he did. And it was raw and raucous and lively and fun, and
suddenly it was as if the whole party had really kicked off properly for everyone.

  For everyone apart from Freddie Hardcastle. Hearing the noise from the drawing room, he strode in to see what all the commotion was, which was particularly annoying for him, as he’d been deep in conversation with Cheif Justice Laffoy in the front parlour room.

  And what a sight greeted him, the minute he thundered into the room, all guns blazing. Younger guests were up dancing, jiving and generally twisting the night away, yelling, clapping and singing along to ‘Let’s Twist Again’ by Chubby Checker. Jayne and Tom were already bopping away, and Violet was swaying and clapping along with a few schoolfriends when her father abruptly rapped her on the shoulder, demanding her attention.

  One look at his face and her blood turned cold.

  ‘What the hell is this racket?’ Freddie demanded, having to shout to be heard over the noise. ‘And who is that idiot at the piano?’

  ‘His name is Andy – he came with Jayne and Tom,’ she told him, instinct telling her all father needed was to be soothed and calmed down. ‘Isn’t he wonderful?’

  ‘He’s got long hair,’ Freddie snapped. ‘He’s a bloody gatecrasher with long hair, who’s in my house and who’s ruining this party.’

  ‘He’s not ruining it, Father,’ Violet said stoutly, the two glasses of Babycham she’d had emboldening her. ‘He’s entertaining everyone – look, they’re all up dancing now! Everyone is having a wonderful time, so you don’t need to worry.’

  ‘Chief Justice Laffoy is here with his son Eugene,’ Freddie growled back. ‘They’ve been here for over half an hour now and you haven’t even bothered to come and say hello to them. Instead, I find you in here making a show of yourself while some uninvited blow-in seems to be taking over.’

  Just then, Andy slowed the music down and launched into ‘Love Me Tender’ by Elvis Presley. It was a softer, quieter song and the whole mood of the room seemed to mellow a little. A few couples started to slow dance. Freddie gripped his daughter tightly by the arm and took her aside, so no one could overhear the rest of their conversation.

  ‘Get him out of here,’ he said in a low, threatening voice that she knew only too well meant trouble. ‘Either you get that beatnik out of my home right now, or by Christ, I will.’

  At that moment Jayne bounced over, with a fresh drink for herself and Violet.

  ‘Oh Mr Hardcastle,’ she gushed, seeing Freddie standing there and completely misinterpreting his mood, ‘isn’t the music brilliant? What a fantastic party. I can’t thank you enough for asking us, and of course Andy too.’

  ‘Except that I didn’t ask him, did I?’ Freddie sniped back at her. ‘Who do you think you are, Jayne Dawson, dragging this lowlife into my private home? The barefaced cheek of you!’

  Jayne opened and closed her mouth in total shock, but no sound came out. Meanwhile Violet just stared at the floor, praying he wouldn’t lose his temper.

  ‘Do I go dragging total strangers into your house without permission?’ Freddie Hardcastle demanded, as Jayne looked utterly mortified. ‘Of course, I should have known you hadn’t an ounce of breeding in you, treating my home as if it’s some kind of freebie nightclub. And as for you, Violet? I’m utterly ashamed of you.’

  At that, Freddie turned on his heel and stormed back to the front parlour. Violet bit her lip and turned to Jayne, who looked as if she’d been slapped right across the face.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Violet began to say. ‘You know what’s he’s like when he gets into these moods.’

  ‘Now don’t you worry a bit,’ Jayne said, though she looked like she was close to tears. ‘I totally understand. Of course your father wasn’t going to like us bringing Andy along. I know that we’re not fancy enough for him and that’s OK with me, honestly. But when your dad’s calmed down a little, maybe you’d tell him that Andy meant no harm by playing a few tunes. That’s just what he does. He’s really sweet when you get to know him.’

  Then Jayne’s voice wobbled, and a moment later, Tom and Andy had sauntered over to see what the fuss was. Seeing his wife upset, Tom slipped his arm supportively around her waist.

  ‘Come on, love,’ he said fondly to her. ‘Chin up. What’s the matter, then?’

  ‘Mr Hardcastle is very angry with us, Tom,’ Jayne told him. ‘I think it’s probably best if we leave. Now. You too, I’m afraid, Andy.’

  ‘I’m so sorry about this,’ Violet spluttered, the awful atmosphere her father had created casting a pall over the whole evening. ‘I don’t know what to say – this is so embarrassing.’

  ‘Hey, not your fault,’ said Tom kindly. ‘Don’t you worry a bit about us. We’ll be on our way now, so you can enjoy the rest of your night.’

  ‘No! Please don’t leave,’ Violet said. She’d wanted to tell them that the whole night had only really kicked off when they’d arrived with Andy, but she felt so choked up with humiliation, somehow she couldn’t find the right words.

  Andy was having none of it, though. ‘Hey, come on, everyone,’ he said in that laid-back, easy way he had that instantly seemed to lighten the tension. ‘We can’t go home yet – the night is but a pup. I’m not letting anyone go anywhere, not when we’re all done up like kippers and ready for a proper night out. How about we go on to a club in town? Check out the scene?’

  ‘A nightclub?’ Jayne said, instantly brightening at the thought. ‘An actual, proper nightclub? Oh, that sounds lovely! I’ve never been to a nightclub before and I’ve always wanted to.’

  ‘Oh,’ Violet said flatly.

  So they were all heading off to have a night of real, proper fun. Without her. She’d have to stay here and make small talk with the judge’s boring son, while they all had a rare old time of it in a nightclub.

  ‘Don’t suppose the beautiful birthday girl fancies coming with us, then?’ Andy said, with a wink in Violet’s direction. Violet flushed, but Jayne was having none of it.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Andy,’ Jayne chided him. ‘She’s the hostess; she can’t just disappear off like that! Besides, there’s a judge’s son inside and her father expects her to entertain him.’

  This time Andy looked at Violet almost as if he was challenging her.

  ‘So, what’s it to be then, love?’ he asked. ‘The judge’s son, or a night of fun? Come on, it’ll be a good laugh – I promise.’

  Violet froze for a moment. This party had been months in the planning and it had cost her father an absolute fortune. If she were to slip away, she’d surely be crucified, no ifs, ands or buts. But then . . . it was her birthday, wasn’t it? She’s only just met Andy and already he was by far the funniest and most entertaining guest there. She longed to go to a nightclub with him, Jayne and Tom. She couldn’t bear the thought of them having all the fun without her. Just this once, couldn’t she do what she wanted? If she were to be very careful and just disappear for an hour or so, she might be able to get away with it.

  Without another thought, she locked eyes with Andy and gave him his answer. Quickly, before she lost her nerve.

  ‘You know, if I were to slip out the side gate,’ she said, lowering her voice so no one would overhear, ‘I don’t think they’d even notice I was gone.’

  By the time she’d grabbed her coat and slipped out of the side door to her house, leaving the party in full swing, Tom had hailed a passing taxi. A moment later, Jayne, Tom, herself and Andy were zooming off on their way to town, full of giggles and high spirits.

  ‘Have you ever been to a beat club before?’ Andy asked her, as they sat side by side, squished together into the back seat of the car. ‘Because a mate of mine who I play with says there’s a really cool one here in Dublin. The Cave, do you know it?’

  ‘No,’ Violet giggled, ‘but I’ve heard of it, of course.’ She didn’t like to say, but the main reason she knew the name was because The Cave was always in the papers as the kind of place where mods and rockers hung out, and where the police were inevitably called to at all hours of the n
ight to sort out the fights that regularly broke out. It was dangerous and out of bounds, and more than anything, she wanted to see it for herself.

  ‘I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. I’ve never done anything wild like this before in my life!’

  Jayne laughed as Violet grinned back happily at her friend. This, she thought, was amazing. This was going to be the best night of her whole life. This felt wild and fun and reckless and all the things that you were supposed to be when you were young. Then Andy’s thigh lightly grazed against the tulle of her ballerina gown, making her skin tingle in a most agreeable way.

  This, Violet thought, really felt like living.

  *

  After Andy walked her home at dawn the next day, the row with her father was legendary. Epic. He was biblical in his anger. He roared and shouted the most vile, abusive obscenities at Violet, just the way he used to at builders who worked for him. Freddie Hardcastle’s temper was lethal and both Violet and poor, blameless Betty had no choice but to lie low downstairs in the kitchen, out of the line of fire. The upshot was that Violet was effectively declared housebound for the rest of the year, her allowance was cut drastically and the atmosphere of cold silence at the house lasted for a full month.

  ‘I’ve seen him lose his temper before,’ Betty hissed to Violet one evening, ‘but nothing like this. This is terrifying.’

  Oddly, though, Violet didn’t seem nearly as concerned as she should have been. She’d wanted her eighteenth birthday party to be the happiest, most memorable night of her life, and in spite of the heavy price she paid, it was.

  It most certainly was.

  Emily

  As was her habit now, Emily had spent most of her evening across Primrose Square at Susan’s, all the better to decompress after the day she’d just had.

  ‘I went in there all guns blazing,’ she said to Susan, who listened as patiently as she always did. ‘I even had it worked out in my head what I’d say to Alec. But then his woman opened the door . . . Poppy, that’s her name, if you can believe that there’s someone over the age of seven in Dublin actually called Poppy . . . Anyway, she just stared at me, not having a clue who I was . . . with a gorgeous little boy in a stroller beside her. And you should have seen the baby – he was Alec’s doppelganger.’