Sonny also stopped. ‘I think you probably know, eh.’
Irene did, actually. She looked at the floor for a moment, then sighed. ‘You’re right, I suppose. Sometimes I don’t think.’
‘And I’m not on the market,’ Sonny added. ‘If that’s what you had in mind.’
Her confidence returning as quickly as it had ebbed, Irene laughed. ‘No, it wasn’t, actually. I only wanted a dance. I like to dance.’
‘Just making it clear.’
Irene thought it was time to make herself clear. ‘Look, Mr Fancy Feet, you might be smooth and handsome, but you’re Allie’s bloke and Allie’s my friend. I don’t do that to my friends.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ Sonny said.
They shared a look of mutual understanding that could almost be construed as respect, then resumed dancing.
When the song finished, an amused Irene said with exaggerated formality, ‘Thank you, Mr Manaia.’
Sonny nodded and said after a moment, ‘You’re all right.’
‘So are you,’ Irene replied, and they made their way back to their table.
‘Sorry about that,’ Sonny said as he sat down next to Allie. ‘Had to get something straightened out.’
‘And did you?’ Allie asked, still feeling somewhat bruised.
‘Yep.’ He paused. ‘That Irene’s a good mate.’
Startled, Allie said, ‘Of yours?’
Sonny kissed the end of her nose. ‘No, of yours.’
Peg and her husband Jim arrived then, and they all shuffled their chairs around to squeeze them in.
Allie danced almost constantly with Sonny, and when they took breaks he stayed beside her and talked to her, except when he, Terry, Rob and Jim ducked outside for a beer from Terry’s car. Allie felt wonderfully light-headed, almost drunk, even though she’d only had a couple of gin and oranges, and she caught herself wishing that the evening would never end. Poor Daisy, who’d had the same amount to drink, actually was drunk, but then she was in a delicate condition. Irene was having a marvellous time—her backside was only ever on her chair for a few minutes before someone would come up and ask her to dance and she’d be off again, whirling and spinning, laughing and flirting like mad.
At eleven-thirty Rob and Louise announced that they were off to collect Susan. Terry glanced at Daisy’s drooping eyelids and said that they should probably go, too, and did anyone else want a lift home? Allie and Sonny accepted as Sonny didn’t have the truck.
When they were halfway down the cabaret steps, Sonny stopped and frowned.
‘What is it?’ Allie asked, and when he nodded at something across the street, she followed his gaze.
There were several cars parked there, with more than a dozen teddy boys slouched around them. Allie felt her stomach lurch: she knew they were just ordinary Kiwi lads, but for some reason they looked menacing in their stovepipe trousers, draped jackets, skinny ties and chunky shoes. She had heard, too, that they all carried flick-knives.
‘What are they doing?’ she asked nervously.
Sonny shrugged. ‘Waiting?’
‘What for?’
‘Trouble, probably. Come on, let’s go.’
Terry was waving out from his car a short way down the street, and they had almost reached it when the unmistakable thunder of motorcycle engines filled the air.
Sonny muttered, ‘Shit.’ He flicked his cigarette into the gutter and gestured for Allie and Daisy to hurry up and get into the car.
They scrambled in, just in time to see the cowboys come rumbling and back-firing up street, the lights from store windows and street lamps reflecting off the chrome and gleaming paint of their motorcycles. Allie recognized Gary in the lead, but her heart almost stopped when she also realized that one of the pillion passengers, her arms tight around the waist of a denim- and leather-clad boy, was Donna, wearing tight capri pants and a very skimpy halterneck top.
The cowboys cruised slowly past the teds, who gave them the fingers and yelled abuse. Then, deliberately stopping traffic in both directions, the motorbikes turned in the middle of the street and came back. Drawn by the noise, people were pouring out of the Peter Pan and gathering on the footpath.
Terry started the car. ‘Time to go, I think.’
‘My sister’s on one of those motorbikes!’ Allie blurted.
‘What, Pauline?’ Terry looked as shocked as Allie felt.
‘No, bloody Donna.’
Terry said, ‘Sorry, Allie, but I’m not grabbing her. I’ll get my head kicked in.’
‘Where’s Sonny?’ Allie looked around wildly. And then she spotted him, standing very still on the footpath, watching the teds. She wound down her window and called out to him.
He turned his head, but didn’t take his eyes off the teddy boys.
‘Donna’s on one of those motorbikes!’ she shouted.
Sonny did look at her then. ‘Your sister?’
Allie nodded.
Sonny swore. Then, almost inevitably, a bottle spun through the air and smashed against one of the teds’ cars, and they surged into the street, hitting and kicking out at the cowboys going past. Two went down, the big machines crashing onto the tarseal in a shower of sparks, the riders and pillion passengers scrambling out of the way. Realizing what had happened, the rest of the cowboys wheeled around, parked, leapt off their bikes and lunged across the street, throwing themselves at the teds. In an instant there were fists and boots everywhere, people yelling and swearing, and high-pitched screams from the girls of both gangs.
Watching from the safety of the car Daisy shrieked herself, and Allie gasped as a cowboy girl launched herself at a ted girl and yanked her hair viciously, then slapped her face.
‘Bloody hell,’ Terry said.
Allie looked for Sonny again but he’d gone. She spotted him a moment later in the middle of the mêlée, lashing out with his fists while also trying to pull a ted off Gary, who was face-down on the road. Then someone lurched up to him and punched him in the head, and he went down himself.
‘Oh God, Terry, help him!’ Allie wailed.
But Terry, his face the colour of porridge in the bright light of the street lamps, swallowed and said nothing.
Then a new noise was added to the din—police sirens. A car and two vans screeched to a halt, disgorging cop after cop. The teds melted away and the cowboys ran for their bikes and roared off, though the police managed to collar several from each gang, bundling them unceremoniously into separate vans. It was all over in a few minutes, and the crowd outside the Peter Pan began to disperse, hurried along by several stony-faced constables.
Allie’s door was yanked open and Sonny fell in, a handkerchief clamped over his bleeding nose. ‘Put your foot down, Terry,’ he said in a muffled voice.
Soon they were driving along Parnell Road, heading for Orakei.
‘Are you all right?’ Allie asked when she trusted her voice enough to speak. Her knees felt like jelly even though she was sitting down, and her heart was only just beginning to settle back into its regular rhythm.
Sonny nodded.
Terry cleared his throat. ‘Allie, sorry I couldn’t do anything about Donna. Or give you a hand, Sonny. I…just couldn’t.’
Sonny waved his hand. ‘Don’t worry about it. It was just a stupid bloody scrap.’
‘I’ll kill Donna when I see her,’ Allie said grimly.
They were silent again for a while. Then, just as they turned into Coates Avenue, Daisy asked, ‘Did one of those cowboys throw that bottle?’
‘I didn’t see,’ Allie said.
Sonny dabbed at his nose. The bleeding had stopped so he wound down the window and threw the bloodied handkerchief out. ‘Someone on the footpath chucked it.’
‘I’d better go straight in,’ Allie told Sonny when Terry had stopped the car.
‘Sorry about what happened,’ he said. ‘But Gary’s a mate.’
‘I know,’ Allie replied. ‘It’s all right.’
‘Are we still on for tomor
row night?’
‘Yes. Why wouldn’t we be?’
Sonny looked relieved. ‘I’ll pick you up at six then, eh? Meet me on the corner of Kepa Road. Oh, and wear long pants.’
Mystified, Allie looked at him. ‘Why?’
‘Wait and see,’ Sonny said.
After Terry had dropped her off at home, Daisy crept into her bedroom so she wouldn’t wake her parents, closed the door, and opened Miss Button’s secret present. It was a set of white, exquisitely knitted baby clothes—a gown, a jacket, a bonnet and booties. The card tucked into the tiny garments said, ‘To Daisy and Terry, congratulations and very best wishes regarding your soon-to-be new arrival. If there is anything we can help with, please let us know, from Beatrice Button and Ruby Willow.’
Daisy cried for the fourth time that day.
Chapter Eight
Saturday, 19 December 1953
Allie sat up and lifted the blind at the window—another lovely, bright sunny day. Throwing off the covers, she slid out of bed and looked in the mirror. God. She hadn’t taken her make-up off last night and she looked a sight.
The floorboards were cool on her bare feet as she padded down the hall to the bathroom. She splashed cold water on her face and rubbed off the worst of the smeared mascara, then went out into the kitchen.
Everyone was there except Donna, and Allie felt her heart sink.
‘Morning, Sleeping Beauty,’ her father said, turning over a page of the Herald. ‘You get in a stoush last night?’
‘What?’ Allie said, appalled. Was it in the papers?
‘A stoush. You’ve got black eyes.’
‘Oh. No, that’s just make-up.’ Allie gave an inward sigh of relief. ‘Where’s Donna?’
‘She stayed at Maureen’s house last night,’ Colleen said, breaking eggs into a spitting frying pan.
Allie nodded. That made sense. Maureen was Donna’s friend from school, and they were always getting into trouble together.
‘Except I wasn’t allowed to go,’ Pauline complained.
‘You weren’t invited,’ Colleen said, shaking the pan so the eggs wouldn’t stick.
Pauline scowled. ‘It’s not fair, I never get invited to stay at anyone’s house.’
‘For Christ’s sake, Pauline, give it a rest, will you?’ Sid had been hearing this all morning. He snapped his paper shut. ‘Bugger-all in that today,’ he added, ‘except there’s been another scrap in Queen Street between those lads on the motorbikes and those bloody bodgies.’
‘Teddy boys,’ Pauline corrected.
Sid didn’t take the bait. Colleen put his breakfast in front of him. ‘Thanks, love, this looks good,’ he said, enthusiastically rupturing his fried eggs with a fork. ‘Who’s helping me in the garden today?’
‘Not me,’ Pauline said immediately.
Allie said, ‘I will, if you like.’
Sid shovelled in a mouthful of food and talked through it. ‘Thought I’d put in some beans and a bit of beetroot, maybe some broccoli—’
Pauline pulled a disgusted face. ‘Yuck.’
‘—and some celery, and I might even have a go at some snow peas.’
Colleen sat down at the table with her own breakfast. ‘Snow peas? They’re a bit posh, aren’t they?’
‘Dunno, but Bill reckons they’re just the ticket in a salad with a bit of lettuce and a hard-boiled egg. His missus grows them.’
Buttering a piece of toast, Colleen said, ‘When do we ever eat salads?’
‘Never,’ Sid replied, ‘but maybe we should start.’ He poked the roll of fat bulging over the waistband of his trousers. ‘That’s how you get rid of one of these, isn’t it? Eating rabbit food?’
‘But you’ve had that tummy for years, love.’
‘That’s right, but it occurred to me recently that the sheilas haven’t been whistling at me half as much as they used to, and I thought maybe it was the spare tyre.’
Fork halfway to her mouth, Colleen stared incredulously at her husband, then burst out laughing.
‘What?’ Sid said, trying to look wounded. Then he started laughing too.
Allie was giggling so much she had to put her cup back in its saucer.
Pauline, who had a pained expression on her face, said, ‘God, Dad, you’re pathetic.’
‘That’s enough, Pauline,’ Colleen warned, though there was no bite to her words. ‘At least your father can laugh at himself.’
Pauline muttered something under her breath, grabbed a piece of toast, and slouched out of the kitchen.
‘Bloody teenagers,’ Sid said cheerfully.
Allie sat on an upturned bucket, smoking a cigarette and watching her father swear as he tried to separate clumps of baby celery plants.
‘I’m buggered if I know why they can’t wrap each one up individually,’ he said.
‘That’d be a lot of newspaper, though, wouldn’t it?’ Allie countered.
‘Yes, but it only ends up around fish and chips anyway, doesn’t it?’
‘I suppose,’ Allie said. She looked up as Donna appeared around the side of the house. Her sister was wearing a knee-length skirt and demure cotton blouse—no sign of last night’s rather revealing outfit—and the sort of sour yet shifty expression that only Donna could manufacture.
Sid said, ‘Hello stranger. Have a nice night?’
‘It was OK,’ Donna said, not meeting his eye. She hurried up the back steps and disappeared into the house.
Allie stood up, flicked her fag end into the nasturtiums behind the bomb shelter and followed her sister inside.
She caught up with her in the hall. ‘Where were you last night?’ she demanded.
‘At Maureen’s,’ Donna said.
‘All night?’
‘Yes.’
‘Liar.’
‘I am not!’
‘You bloody well are,’ Allie said. ‘I saw you in Queen Street at about half past eleven, on the back of some bloke’s motorbike!’
Donna glared at her, clearly trying to decide whether to continue lying or not. ‘So?’ she said, shrugging.
‘You were right in the middle of that bloody fight!’ Allie snapped.
‘So what if I was?’ Donna replied blithely. ‘You were there too!’
‘Donna, I’m twenty years old. You’re only fifteen! And I wasn’t wrapped around a milkbar cowboy!’
‘Well, at least I wasn’t wrapped around a Maori boy.’
Allie felt the last of her self-control slip away and she punched her sister on the arm.
‘Ow! What was that for?’ Donna cried.
‘What’s happening out there?’ Colleen called from the kitchen.
Allie lowered her voice and hissed, ‘For being so bloody rude! How dare you say that about Sonny!’
‘What? That he’s a Maori?’ Donna said, rubbing her arm. ‘Well, he is, isn’t he?’
‘It was the way you said it. As an insult.’
‘I think you’re hearing things, Allie.’
‘I think you’re being a bitch, Donna. Why?’
Donna was quiet for a moment. Then she shrugged again and made a vaguely remorseful face. ‘I don’t know. Sorry.’
‘And where was Maureen last night? Did her mother know you were in town?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘What do you mean, “not exactly”? Did you sneak out?’
‘Didn’t have to. Mrs Johnson was at the housie.’
Allie frowned: she bet her mother hadn’t known that. ‘And where did you get those pants and the top? Mum’d have a fit if she saw you wearing them. You looked closer to twenty-one than fifteen.’
When Donna’s face lit up, Allie knew she’d said the wrong thing.
‘Yeah, I did, didn’t I? Kev says I looked beaut.’
‘Who the hell’s Kev?’
‘Kevin Donovan, from school?’
Allie cast her mind back: all she could recall of Kevin Donovan was a pair of knobbly knees beneath baggy school shorts and a bad case of acne. ‘Kevin Donov
an’s a milkbar cowboy?’ she said disbelievingly.
Donna nodded proudly. ‘And my boyfriend.’
‘Oh, don’t be so bloody stupid. You’re not old enough to have a boyfriend.’
‘I am so,’ Donna shot back, then burst out laughing. ‘You should see your face.’
‘It’s not funny, Donna. You could have been hurt last night. Or arrested. And motorbikes can be very dangerous.’
‘Oh, they are not.’
‘Well, if I even hear you’ve been out with Kevin Donovan again, I’m telling Mum,’ Allie threatened.
‘I’m telling Mum,’ Donna mimicked in a silly voice. Then, with a toss of her long blonde ponytail, she flounced into the bedroom she shared with Pauline and slammed the door in Allie’s face.
Allie stared at the door for a moment, then turned away to see her mother standing at the other end of the hallway.
‘What was that in aid of?’ Colleen asked.
‘Oh, you know. Just Donna being Donna,’ Allie said.
Colleen made an I-know-what-you-mean face. ‘Will you be wanting tea tonight before you go out?’
‘No, thanks, Mum. I think there’ll be food there.’
‘Allie, where exactly is this party you’re going to?’
‘It’s a twenty-first so I think it must be in a hall somewhere. Or it might be outside or in a marquee, because Sonny said to wear slacks. I don’t think it’s a dress-up thing.’
Colleen didn’t look entirely pleased. ‘Well, you be careful, Allie. You might not know anyone else there.’
‘I will, Mum, don’t worry.’
Allie took her time dawdling back from the shop that afternoon, enjoying the balmy weather. She fancied Sonny so much it almost hurt, and whenever she thought about him, which was frequently, her stomach flipped and she got fluttery feelings in the most embarrassing places. He had such beautiful eyes, and lovely muscled arms and a deliciously firm belly, which she’d felt through his shirt the other night. When he’d kissed her she’d wanted it to last for ever, and now she was starting to think that she wanted it to go further. The idea of it made her feel nervous and horribly excited—nothing like the way she’d felt, or not felt, about Derek.
Fire Page 13