‘What for?’
‘Stealing that kiss, not for drinking my tea.’
‘I stole nothing. You kissed me! Wanna do it again?’
She laughed. ‘What!’
‘Not now!’ he said. ‘Tonight. Why don’t we go out tonight?’ He raised an eyebrow.
She looked at him. He wasn’t Cliff Evans, tie askew, mucking around outside the secretarial class, he wasn’t Mrs Evans no-good son spending his life in jail, he was a man who had a job, who could chat, who could make jokes, who was quite good looking.
‘All right,’ she said.
‘You see, I knew you wanted to.’
‘Just for a drink. Nothing fancy.’
‘OK.’
She watched him as he left the coffee bar. She liked the way he walked. His hands in his pockets, slightly hunched, nodding to an acquaintance. But for God’s sake. He’d thrown someone down the stairs of a bus.
*
Doreen adjusted the scarf round her neck. It was her favourite, green and orange flowers on silky material. She touched her throat, briefly, thoughtfully. She picked up her handbag from the top of the new washing machine in the corner. ‘I’m going out,’ she said, gaily.
It was a warm evening and she felt light walking out to the car. She was looking forward to the evening with Cliff. She would forget all about Gene. Perhaps Cliff would suggest they sit outside in the setting sun. Perhaps they would sit in a dark corner with their drinks. She would choose rum and blackcurrant, it was so sweet and thick. She could almost taste it on her tongue. She licked her lips. She felt the lipstick. It was a new one – Pretty Pink. She tossed her head. It was Gene’s loss.
She’d said ‘Let’s meet in the pub.’ That’s what she wanted, not him coming round to pick her up, she wanted it to be all very casual, no big arrangements, no wide eyes and knowing smiles from her mum. This was just fun, this was just a pleasant evening. She was being carefree like a young woman should be. Gene wasn’t the only fish in the sea. She wasn’t playing the field exactly, but just having a nice time. She remembered again how Cliff’s arms had felt around her after the dog had slobbered all over her. But yes, it was she who had initiated the kiss, in relief, in gratitude, with those arms holding her so easily, for just long enough. Was it really him? Perhaps if he kissed her this evening she would remember. His lips looked soft. She wouldn’t mind.
She looked at her watch as she got into the car. She’d be about ten minutes late. That was all right. Make him wait. It was the man’s job to wait.
She drove along the Main Road, past Day’s garage and the Methodist Church. She remembered coming this way to secondary school. She looked down at her knees. She liked the way her skirt rode up just a little when she drove. She liked her knees. She liked driving. Oh, she loved this car. She parked in the pub car park and walked into the saloon bar.
He wasn’t there. He wasn’t there. She stared into the dark corners of the pub. Had he stood her up? Bloody cheek. Well, sod that, she’d have a drink anyway.
‘Rum and black please.’
‘That’s a big drink for a little girl.’ He was there behind her, standing close to her, speaking over her shoulder. ‘Not tea-tasting tonight?’
She turned, giddy with relief, almost into his arms. ‘That’s my day job. My evening work is a bit stronger. Where were you? I was looking for you.’
‘Where were you? I was out in the garden.’ He drained beer from a glass and pushed the glass towards the barman. ‘Could you fill that up for us?’
‘Do you want to go in the garden?’ she said, watching him take a ten-shilling note from his pocket to pay the barman.
He slid the change into his pocket. ‘It’s a bit cold.’ He was wearing the black suit. His dark hair was smoothed down and glinted with some sort of oil.
He looks great, she thought, like the cat’s pyjamas. ‘Why didn’t you look like this at school?’ she said.
‘There’s a limit to how good you can make a green and yellow tie and grey trousers actually look,’ he said. ‘Whereas you in that grey pleated skirt you wore, with your white shirt. You always had a cool way of dressing.’
‘Huh!’ she said, but she was pleased.
He picked up the drinks and they walked to a secluded table.
She sat down and slipped off her mac. She took a mouthful of her drink. Its sweetness coated her tongue and ran down her throat. She smiled. She was going to enjoy this evening.
*
Later, after a couple more drinks, when the sun had gone down and the night was dark, they went into the car park and he pulled her to him and kissed her.
She pulled back a little and laughed. ‘Was that really you who kissed me on the bus?’
‘Yeah, but as I said before, you kissed me.’ He ran his thumb over her lips. ‘The next day at school you didn’t say a word to me.’
She opened her mouth and bit the tip of his thumb. ‘I didn’t know it was you.’
‘Well, you know now.’ He kissed her again.
‘Let’s get in the car,’ she said. ‘That blue one, over there.’ She pointed proudly.
‘Looks comfy,’ he said.
She unlocked the door. ‘Shall we?’ she said. She slid into the driver’s seat then leaned across to open the passenger door. He got in and put his arm round her neck and kissed her. His hand slid down to her skirt, to her knees. It hovered there, and she could feel the warmth of his palm. Then his hand rose up, under the tight material of her skirt, over the top of her stocking, onto the bare flesh of her thigh. She sighed with pleasure. ‘This is a nice surprise.’
He laughed softly. ‘I’ve been waiting long enough.’
‘You should have said.’ They both laughed. She liked him.
The door of the pub opened and a man and woman came out and walked towards them.
‘Oh God,’ Doreen groaned. ‘We should have put the roof up.’
Cliff moved as if to get out of the car.
‘We can’t do it now!’ Doreen said. ‘That would be a bit unstylish. And anyway, perhaps it’s for the best.’ She straightened her skirt.
He laughed and sat back in the seat. He took out a packet of cigarettes. ‘If we’re forgetting the sex, we might as well go straight for the cigarettes.’ He held the packet out to her.
‘Thank you,’ she said. She took one.
The match glowed in the darkness as he lit both their cigarettes.
He breathed out a plume of smoke and looked up at the sky. ‘Nice evening.’
She tilted her head and looked at the stars. ‘Yes, it’s so dark here, you can see so many stars.’ There was a pale crescent moon. ‘A new moon,’ she said, quietly.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘but what I meant was, it’s been a nice evening.’
She looked at him. ‘Really? I mean, it’s been nice for me too. I’m sorry about, you know, all this.’ She pointed at the folded roof.
‘I’m kind of glad we didn’t do anything, you know,’ he said. ‘Not that glad, obviously, but I’d like our first time to be somewhere nicer than the car park of the Angel.’
‘You old romantic, you,’ she said, but she liked that he’d said it. She stubbed out her cigarette in the small ash-tray in the car-door. ‘Shall we call it a night?’
‘Yeah, let’s do that.’ He flicked his cigarette out of the window.
‘I’ll give you a lift home.’
He smiled. ‘That’s a first.’
She switched on the ignition and drove out onto the Main Road.
As she parked outside his house he turned and said, ‘I was thinking of going to the flicks tomorrow night, if you’re interested.’
She looked at him seriously. She did like him, but she shook her head. It was too risky. The whole thing with Gene had cut deeper than she’d realised. She’d been thinking of Gene when she kissed Cliff. That was no good for either of them. She had to sort out her feelings about Gene – and men in general – before she could even contemplate starting anything new. ‘I don’t th
ink so.’
He sighed. ‘I expect you’ll be washing your hair.’
‘Something like that.’
‘All right. See you around.’
‘Yeah. Look, no hard feelings? OK?’
‘Oh Reen.’ He turned and kissed her quickly on the cheek. ‘I did have a good time tonight.’
‘Yeah, me too.’
‘’Night.’
‘’Night. Have a nice life,’ she said.
He jumped out of the car and walked up the path to his front door.
‘Bugger, bugger, bugger,’ Doreen said. She put the car into gear and drove down the road.
She drew up outside the house and turned off the engine. She reached in her bag for a cigarette and lit it, then she sat for a moment, looking out into the night, enjoying the stillness. The street was empty, a few lights on here and there, no one walking, no cars passing. She leaned back and let out a long sigh. She was pleased they hadn’t done it, she told herself. No point tempting fate too often.
Everything was such a mess. Perhaps she should go to Australia. Her mum was still determined that they should go, even with all the money they’d won. She could go with them, make a place for herself. People must get married in Australia, she thought, they must need to buy wedding dresses. There’d surely be enough money to set up a little shop of her own. That would be good. Or she could start again. Have a different life. Get on telly over there. Maybe even change her name. She could call herself Debbie or Sandy, or Penny, perhaps. Put Gene behind her once and for all.
CHAPTER 23
ANGIE HAD BEEN AT THE ART school a week and she still couldn’t believe her luck. She felt her whole life had changed. She didn’t care that she had to get up at six, grab a bowl of cereal and eat it leaning against the sink, then fly out of the back door to catch the bus to town to catch the train to Liverpool Street. It was all part of the joy of working in London – even the tube journey and then the bus ride she had discovered she could take to get to the college. Mum had been happy for her, even though she’d hoped Angie would go to Australia with them in the end. And her dad had, grudgingly given her ten pounds to buy a season ticket.
She had handed in her notice at English Electric, and asked the personnel officer if she could leave straight away. Together they had weighed up the effect of the lost wages against the joy of taking the train to London on Monday morning to start her new job and she had decided she would lose the wages. She had taken Graham and Mandy to the pub for a sandwich and a Britvic orange and she had said goodbye. Graham had made her promise that she would keep in touch.
Her new job was interesting, although she knew that it would become routine, tidying studios, sorting out equipment, checking for breakages, noting what supplies were needed, paper, charcoal, graphite, pastels. Everyone had been friendly. Some of the lecturers had spoken to her, asked her if she was new, if she liked the job, thanked her for her help. And then there were the students. She liked being in the corridor as the sessions began and ended, as they left the rooms and studios. She would lean against a wall as they passed, talking about art, discussing colours and textures and shapes. Some were beatniks, in long sloppy sweaters and messy hair; some girls were almost rockers with white stiletto shoes and backcombed hair, and the boys they hung out with used Brylcreem; some looked as if they’d come from Poshville, in tweed jackets and shirts and ties, and the girls in suits with round collars that buttoned up to the neck. Several of the men smoked pipes and had beards, some wore old-fashioned round rimmed glasses. There wasn’t a single mod to be seen. Angie felt proud to wear her twinsets and long straight skirts and her flat moccasins.
But her real joy was the lectures and sessions that she was permitted to sit in on. There were lectures about colour, about shape, about fabric. Every day she managed to attend at least one class, sometimes two.
One day a woman, stopped her in the corridor. ‘Angela! How are you getting on?’
Angie looked at the woman. She was young with short wavy brown hair, and she wore a straight shift dress in grey, with a black cardigan buttoned at the neck. She remembered her from the interview. It was Alison Fairfield
‘Oh, Miss Fairfield. Thank you. I really love it. Everyone’s being so nice.’
‘Good. As I think I said, we enjoyed your interview, and your designs. There was a very nice dress that I really appreciated.’
‘The one with the strange sleeves, you said. Yes, I remember now.’ They laughed.
‘Have you managed to get to one of my classes?’
Angie shook her head. ‘Not yet.’
‘Please, do, if you think they’ll be interesting. And they fit in with your work schedule. I’d like to know a bit more about your ideas. It’s unusual to have a technician who can turn a seam!’
‘Is it?’
‘Oh yes. And you know Barbara Darling. Who, I think I can tell you now, said you’d be a delight to have in the college and, indeed, in lectures. I’ve known Barbara a long time.’
How strange to think of Miss Darling having a first name.
‘Well, welcome to Hornsey.’
‘Thank you.’
Angie hurried back to the technician’s station. She scanned the timetable she kept in her bag. There was a ‘Use of fabric’ class led by Miss Fairfield this afternoon. She was determined to go to it.
*
Angie sat at the back and listened. She enjoyed the class. There was talk of shape and fall and flow and cut. She took notes, made some sketches. Towards the end of the class Miss Fairfield, walked round the room, commenting on students’ work. She glanced at Angie’s sketch pad, then stopped and asked to see some of her earlier work. She called it work! Miss Fairfield held up the pad, to show one of Angie’s designs, telling the students this was an excellent example of what could be achieved with a single line, and how the set of a sleeve could alter the look of the whole outfit.
That evening Angie had to work late. She had been to another class, this time on pattern making, and then had spent two hours tidying rooms, noting what and how much paper and other stationery had been used, setting out easels and seats in the studios for the next day’s class, tidying the area where life models would change, checking that the small electric fires behind their screens actually worked, changing a couple of fuses. It was almost nine o’clock when she left the building and walked to the bus stop.
She was exhausted. She had a long journey ahead. But she couldn’t stop smiling at the delight of the job. She was going to have to give up her evening class at home, which would be a wrench, but it would be worth it. She couldn’t wait for tomorrow and what new things she’d learn, what ideas they would spark.
She hadn’t thought about Gene or even Roger for days.
*
On Friday evening Angie came in from work, laden with some new fabric she had bought in London. It had cost a fortune, but, she told herself, a fortune is what we’ve got. She bounded up the stairs and peered into Doreen’s room.
She frowned. ‘What are you doing there? Are you all right?’
‘I’ve just got a bit of a headache. What have you been up to?’
‘Buying some gorgeous material. I couldn’t borrow that dress you’re wearing, could I?’ Angie said.
Doreen glanced down, she was wearing a rust coloured dress Angie had made. ‘So who’s it for tonight?’
‘Roger,’ Angie said. ‘I want to be charming but serious.’
‘I’d have thought you’d got past that with Roger. He’s a very safe bet, isn’t he? The last time I saw him he was looking at you as if you were the most delicate piece of porcelain in the world and he couldn’t believe his luck that he’d got you.’
‘Oh, he looks at everyone like that,’ Angie said.
‘No, he doesn’t. If I was a gambling kind of person, I’d bet good money on him popping the question any day now.’ Doreen sat up and swivelled her legs onto the floor.
‘If Mum had anything to do with it, he’d be walking me up the aisle tomo
rrow,’ Angie said. ‘And that’s what I’m afraid of. Sooooo, I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to chuck him. Tonight.’
Doreen’s head snapped up. ‘Why? Why would you do that?’
‘You know why.’
‘Gene, you mean? For goodness’ sake.’
‘Look, this new job is taking almost all my time. I haven’t been out in the evening since I started. I haven’t got time for two blokes. And when my head is not full of fashion and dresses, I think about Gene – there’s no room for Roger. I’ve got to make a decision.’
‘Well, maybe, but do you think the one you’re making is the best one? I mean, do you know who Gene is? Even his name’s made up. Is he really the man you think he is?’
Angie gazed at Doreen, then said, ‘I don’t care. I love him. Who knows anyone properly? What I know of him is all good, and gets better all the time. His mate Si, before you arrived, he had a whole new story about Gene that was really good, how he’d supported him and helped him get a bit of money. Like he’s done for me.’
‘What?’
‘Well, he knows I’ll pay him back when Dad’s sorted out all the bank accounts.’
‘Oh Angie.’
‘Anyway, what do you care?’
‘I care about you. And I care about your future. And I even care a little bit about Roger.’
‘So does this mean you’re not going to lend me that dress?’
‘No.’ Doreen sighed and stood up, pulling the dress off. ‘Here.’ She handed the dress to Angie. ‘Pass me my housecoat,’ she said.
*
At precisely 6.30 Roger arrived. He knocked on the back door. Mrs Smith answered and greeted him warmly. ‘Roger! Very nice to see you.’
‘And you, Mrs Smith.’
‘Come in.’
‘No time to come in.’ Angie appeared behind Mrs Smith. ‘We’re off out.’
‘The film doesn’t start for an hour,’ Roger said.
‘I want to be at the front of the queue.’
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