Fire

by Deborah Challinor

  ‘Thank you, Miss Willow,’ Allie said. ‘I’ll be very careful with what I choose, I promise.’

  ‘I’m sure you will be, Allie. You’re that sort of person.’

  It didn’t take Allie long to select an indigo pencil skirt and a pale lilac, three-quarter-sleeved top; her work shoes were black and only had a low heel, but they would look all right. She changed in one of the dressing rooms, using the mirror to comb her hair and put on fresh lipstick. Then she rolled up her work uniform, but when she tried to stuff it into her bag it was obvious that it wasn’t going to fit, so she stowed it under the dress department counter; she could wear her other uniform tomorrow.

  Sonny was waiting for her at the side door onto Wyndham Street, leaning against one of the store’s plateglass windows and having a cigarette.

  ‘Sorry, I got held up. Have you been waiting long?’

  ‘It’s OK,’ Sonny said, grinding his smoke out under the heel of his boot. He was wearing his work clothes but also had on a pea coat, with the collar turned up. He kissed her cheek lightly. ‘So where are we going?’

  ‘I don’t know. I thought you had somewhere in mind.’

  ‘Not really. Where do you want to go?’

  ‘We’re not really dressed for the Wintergarden, are we?’

  ‘Nope. What about a coffee bar?’

  ‘That would be nice.’

  ‘There’s a good one in the back of Currie’s, up the street.’

  ‘Currie’s Milkbar?’

  Sonny nodded.

  ‘Isn’t that where the milkbar cowboys go?’ Allie said. ‘I’ve heard it’s a bit rough there.’

  ‘Only when the teds turn up,’ Sonny replied. ‘You’ll be OK with me, and if you don’t like it we’ll go somewhere else. There’s always Somervell’s.’

  Allie knew Somervell’s Milkbar, having been there once with Irene after the pictures six months ago. All sorts of people congregated there and it was becoming a hangout for Auckland’s more ‘alternative’ types—artists and strange writers like that Frank Sargeson—but evidently teddy boys and their girlfriends sometimes turned up as well.

  Allie was well aware of the teddy boys because her father expounded on them weekly without fail, insisting that the bodgies, as he called them, were nothing more than juvenile delinquents and long-haired layabouts who went around wearing poncy bloody clothes and giving the streets of Auckland a bad name. A good war would fix them, he reckoned, and why the government hadn’t rounded them all up and sent them off to Korea, he didn’t know. And of course, whenever he went on like this, Donna and Pauline would launch into impassioned explanations that they weren’t bodgies and their girlfriends weren’t widgies—they were teddy boys and anyone with half a brain knew that. Which would cause their father to rattle his newspaper at them and point out that the press was calling them bodgies, so that’s what they were. Then Donna and Pauline would say that the papers didn’t know their arseholes from their earholes, and that would make their mother bang a pot or something on the bench and tell them that that was enough, and to all shut up.

  Allie and Sonny walked up Queen Street hand in hand, stopping to look into Smith & Caughey’s display windows so Allie could see what the opposition were doing, until they came to Currie’s, which seemed fairly quiet. Mind you, it was only eight o’clock. They went inside and sat down in a booth towards the back. Johnny Ray was on the juke box and the lighting in the rear of the shop was subdued and intimate, unlike at the front where it bounced glaringly off the white formica counter tops and the gleaming chrome of the shop’s fittings.

  Sonny ordered black coffee for himself and white for Allie, from a waitress who wore a straight skirt with a slit up the side, a tight black polo-neck, her long hair in a ponytail, and a name badge that said ‘Candy’.

  Allie rather liked the look of the girl’s ponytail. What luxury it would be to go around with your hair done like that every day. No more curlers and lacquer, just a quick brush and an elastic band and that was it.

  ‘So how long has Polly been a model?’ she asked.

  ‘About two years, I think,’ Sonny replied. ‘I dunno, I’ve been working away for a while so I’m not sure when she started.’

  ‘And is she your little sister?’

  Sonny nodded. ‘Next in line after me.’

  ‘She’s very beautiful.’

  ‘She’s very tutu.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘She’s naughty. She drinks too much and runs around with the wrong people and gets in trouble all the time. Poor old Mum’s just about going round the bend.’

  ‘And does she live at home?’

  ‘More or less.’

  Allie leaned back as the waitress set their coffees on the table. ‘Well, she won’t get to be a world-famous model if she behaves like that.’

  ‘Won’t she?’ Sonny said.

  Allie looked at him for a second. ‘I don’t know, actually. I just thought models would have to be well behaved.’

  Sonny shrugged. ‘Well, don’t ask me. All I know is that Polly’s a pain in the arse most of the time.’

  ‘Beautiful, though,’ Allie said, stirring her coffee to cool it down.

  ‘Yeah, that’s the trouble.’

  They sat in companionable silence. Then Sonny said, ‘Are we still on for tomorrow night? The dancing?’

  Allie nodded.

  ‘Shall I come and pick you up? It’ll only be in the truck.’

  ‘That would be nice, thank you.’

  ‘It won’t,’ Sonny said, ‘but I’ll have my own transport soon.’ He shovelled three teaspoons of sugar into his coffee. ‘It’s my brother’s twenty-first this weekend, on Saturday night. Do you want to come?’

  Allie felt a delicious sense of anticipation steal over her. Counting tonight, that would make four dates with Sonny in one week. And that must mean that he was as interested in her as she was in him, mustn’t it? ‘Yes, I’d like that!’

  ‘Nothing flash. Just a party.’

  ‘It sounds great,’ Allie said, already thinking about what to wear. Would it be in a hall, or somewhere outdoors? She opened her mouth to ask, but then frowned and said instead, ‘What’s that noise? Like thunder. Can you hear it?’

  Sonny listened. ‘Motorbikes.’

  ‘Sounds like a lot of them.’

  The noise grew louder and louder until it peaked in a rumbling, blatting roar that made the hairs on Allie’s arms spring up. She half stood for a better view of the street outside. ‘They’re stopping here!’

  Sonny turned around, had a look, then turned back again. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  But Allie was worried. She could see something like a dozen motorcycles pulling up in front of the milkbar, their riders revving loudly and backing up to the footpath before dismounting.

  ‘What if they come in?’ Allie said anxiously. ‘Will they come in, do you think?’

  Sonny touched her hand across the table. ‘Don’t worry, drink your coffee.’

  Allie obeyed, but didn’t take her eyes off the door.

  They did come in, a dozen of them, some with girls trailing behind them. Their clothing was menacing, to say the least. Most of the lads wore leather flying jackets with the sheepskin collars turned up, jeans and heavy work boots. When the one at the front turned around, Allie saw that there was an image of an eagle emblazoned on the back of his jacket above the words ‘Currie’s Cowboys’.

  Everyone in the milkbar stared at them in silence, and there was a sudden tension in the air. The cowboys sat down at the tables near the front while their leader sauntered up to the counter, leaned against it and propped his boot on the footrest.

  ‘Hokey-pokey milkshake, doll, when you’re ready,’ he said to the waitress.

  The chatter started up again, and Allie breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps there wouldn’t be trouble after all. She was vaguely concerned for her own safety, but more than that she had a horrible image in her head of the headline that would be splashed across the ne
xt morning’s Herald—‘DUNBAR & JONES SALESGIRL AT CENTRE OF MILKBAR BRAWL.’

  The cowboy leader paid and sat down next to a very pretty girl wearing tight black capri pants, a low-cut black sweater and a pink scarf at her throat. He stuck two straws into the milkshake and they bent their heads over it, giggling.

  Sonny drained his coffee, then inclined his head towards Allie’s cup. ‘Do you want a refill?’

  ‘No, thanks. I’d better be getting home soon. I have to get to work early tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll give you a lift.’

  ‘OK, thanks, but I’ll go straight in this time,’ Allie said. ‘Donna and Pauline were watching us last night through the curtains and this morning they—’ She stopped.

  The cowboy leader was walking towards their booth. He came to a halt in front of them and stood for a long moment, his thumbs caught in the pockets of his jeans, staring down at Sonny.

  Allie tensed as Sonny pushed his cup away and slowly raised his eyes to the cowboy’s face.

  Then he said, ‘G’day, Gary.’

  ‘Hey, Sonny. All right?’

  ‘Yep. Yourself?’

  ‘Can’t complain.’

  Sonny said, ‘This is my girl, Allie.’

  ‘Pleased to meetcha,’ Gary said, then asked Sonny, ‘Going down the club tomorrow night?’

  ‘Nah, going dancing.’

  ‘Yeah? Whereabouts?’

  ‘The Peter Pan.’

  ‘We been banned from there,’ Gary said. ‘But, you know, I can’t dance anyway.’ He looked over at his friends, who were getting up. ‘Well, gotta go, we got some teds to beat the shit out of.’

  Sonny and Allie watched as Gary and his mates slouched out of the milkbar, climbed onto their motorbikes and, with a great deal of engine-revving and yelling out to one another, roared off up Queen Street.

  Chapter Seven

  Friday, 18 December 1953

  Daisy was still feeling sick, and tired and down in the dumps. The wedding gowns last night had been absolutely gorgeous, but she knew she wouldn’t be wearing anything remotely like that. Still, at least she could get some nice material, and her mother was good with a sewing machine.

  She looked at the clock on the wall above the rows of hat blocks and saw that it was ten minutes to twelve—nearly her lunchtime. She’d just stitched a line of grosgrain ribbon onto the brim of a hat, but it looked rather odd and she wondered if she’d put it in the wrong place. Daisy put up her hand so that Miss Button would come over. She preferred the girls to do this if they wanted something—she said it was more sensible than them all queuing up in front of her and making the room untidy, and anyway she needed the exercise.

  ‘I’m sorry, Miss Button, but am I putting the ribbon on in the right place? I seem to be having a bit of a dozy time today.’

  Beatrice Button privately thought that Daisy had a dozy time most days, but she was never unkind enough to say so. And besides, the girl was sweet, her sewing was very neat and tidy, and she did have a certain creative flair.

  ‘No, dear, it should be on the outside of the brim, not next to the crown.’

  Daisy’s pretty, endearing little face fell and her huge grey eyes filled with tears.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Beatrice said. ‘Just unpick it and put a new piece on in the right place.’

  ‘And I can’t seem to get this peony right either,’ Daisy complained. ‘The petals keep going funny.’

  Beatrice glanced up at the clock herself. ‘Why don’t you ask me about that after lunch, Daisy? I’ve got an appointment and I really do need to go in a minute.’

  Daisy nodded, feeling more despondent than ever. Everyone was doing something today at lunchtime except her. Nyla and Peg, her two best friends in the millinery workroom, had already gone, and even Terry was too busy to meet her. She supposed she would have to eat her lunch by herself. Sighing, she carefully put down the hat and stuck her needle into a pincushion so it wouldn’t get lost. Retrieving her bag from the shelf beneath the table, she went to the toilet, which she seemed to be doing a lot lately, washed her hands and put on a bit of lipstick. What now? A boring old sandwich and a cup of tea in the caf, she supposed. But when she came out again she bumped into Allie, leaning with theatrical nonchalance against the wall.

  ‘I thought you had something on today?’ Daisy said, trying not to sound grumpy.

  ‘I have,’ Allie replied, tucking her arm through Daisy’s. ‘Come on.’

  ‘Come on where?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  Allie led Daisy all the way down the stairs to the ground floor, then out onto the crowded street.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Daisy said again.

  ‘Just wait and see, will you? It’s not far.’

  Mystified, Daisy allowed herself to be pulled along until they came to the Kia Ora Tearooms, not far up the street.

  ‘What are we doing here?’ Daisy said, now thoroughly confused.

  Smiling to herself, Allie didn’t reply. Instead she led Daisy past the tables filled with lunchtime customers and through to a private room at the back of the shop.

  As they entered, Daisy saw Irene, Louise, Nyla, Peg and Miss Button sitting around a table wearing silly smiles on their faces.

  ‘Surprise!’ Louise exclaimed. ‘We’re having your Dunbar & Jones bridal shower!’

  Daisy burst into tears.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Beatrice said, digging for a handkerchief in her bag. ‘Have we given you a fright?’

  Daisy took the handkerchief and honked into it. ‘No, I just, well, I didn’t expect this, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, a girl only gets married once, you know,’ Peg declared.

  ‘But it’s not till the end of January,’ Daisy protested.

  ‘We know,’ Louise said, ‘but we’ll all be off on our holidays after next week, and you’ll be busy getting everything ready for the wedding when we get back, so we thought we’d have it now. Now come and sit down, we’ve ordered a lovely lunch. But first…’ She reached behind her and produced an elegantly wrapped parcel. ‘Ta-da! Come and open your presents!’

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ Daisy said as she sat down.

  ‘Don’t say anything,’ Allie suggested. ‘Just open your presents.’

  Daisy pulled hesitantly at the ribbon around the parcel.

  ‘Oh, just tear it off, it’s only paper!’ Irene said, giggling.

  ‘But it’s really pretty!’ Daisy ripped it open anyway, then gasped, ‘Louise, it’s lovely!’ She held up a beautifully embroidered damask tablecloth so everyone could see.

  Allie waited for the oohs and aahs to die down before she handed Daisy her present, about which she’d thought very carefully.

  Daisy opened it, and started crying again.

  ‘It’s a length of guipure lace,’ Allie explained. ‘For your wedding dress.’

  ‘I know,’ Daisy said, wiping at her tears. ‘It’s beautiful. It must have cost you a fortune!’ She managed a giggle. ‘The queen will be so jealous!’

  ‘Bound to be,’ Irene said. ‘Now open mine.’

  Irene’s present was a crystal salad set. She’d decided against the Indian rug, thinking that Daisy was more of a salad set sort of girl.

  ‘Thank you, Irene. It’s very classy and such a lovely pattern. You can come and have the first salad with it after we’re married.’

  Nyla and Peg’s gift was a hand-painted Sèvres porcelain sandwich tray.

  ‘We chipped in together,’ Nyla explained. ‘We’re both a bit broke at the moment.’

  Beatrice presented her gift last, a very pretty silver condiment set. ‘It’s from Miss Willow as well,’ she said. Then she passed over another parcel, wrapped in yellow paper. ‘This is just for you. Open it when you’re by yourself.’

  ‘Oh. Thank you very much.’ Not sure what else to do, Daisy slipped the parcel into her bag just as their lunch arrived.

  Irene reached for a potato-topped savoury. ‘Yum, I’m starving.’ She bit into i
t, and laughed as a globule of hot mince squirted out and plopped onto the table top.

  ‘You’re in a chirpy mood today,’ Allie observed. ‘Did you win the art union?’

  Irene shook her head, and swallowed. ‘No. But it’s a beautiful day and Daisy’s getting married and it’s Christmas and everything’s all right, isn’t it?’

  Allie supposed it was, though she suspected there was more to Irene’s good mood than she was letting on. Something to do with Vince Reynolds, perhaps? He’d given Irene a particularly sleazy wink at morning tea.

  ‘We’re all going dancing tonight at the Peter Pan,’ Louise told Nyla and Peg. ‘Do you want to come?’

  ‘I can’t,’ Nyla replied morosely. ‘I’m babysitting my little brother. My parents are going out.’

  ‘Can I bring Jim?’ Peg asked, referring to her husband. ‘Or is it a girls’ night out?’

  ‘Rob’s coming,’ Louise said, reaching for a ham and egg sandwich.

  Irene added, ‘And Allie’s bringing a man.’

  ‘Have you got a new man?’ Peg asked excitedly.

  ‘That Maori boy from stores,’ Irene said. ‘Sonny Manaia.’

  ‘The one with the duck’s arse hairdo and the twinkly brown eyes?’ Nyla was impressed.

  Allie nodded, half proud and half embarrassed.

  ‘He’s nice. How long have you been going out?’ Peg said, dissecting her sandwich and scraping the piccalilli off the ham.

  Daisy was fascinated. ‘Don’t you like piccalilli?’ She couldn’t eat it herself, at the moment—the thought of any pickle, in fact, turned her stomach. On the other hand, she was getting through a jar of Marmite every week, so she supposed it evened out.

  ‘I hate cauliflower,’ Peg explained. ‘And sometimes they put cauliflower in piccalilli.’

  ‘We’ve only been out twice,’ Allie said, suddenly overwhelmed with a need to talk about Sonny. ‘The pictures on Wednesday night, and last night after the fashion show we went for a coffee.’ She paused for a deliberate second. ‘At Currie’s Milkbar.’

  Nyla’s thinly plucked eyebrows went up. ‘Isn’t a bit rough there?’

  ‘Not really, though some cowboys did stop by when we were having our coffee.’