by Daisy White
Mary and I smile at Chris. He has red hair, freckles, and a chunky body emphasised by a tight-fitting shirt. I can’t help thinking what pretty babies he and Pearl would have, and get the giggles. I hide my amusement in my drink as they go off to the dance floor.
“Hey, Ruby. How are you doing?” It’s Kenny, black hair all tousled and sweat glistening on his forehead. He slides into the seat next me.
“Good thanks. Want to dance?” He’s such a sweet, undemanding companion and almost ‘one of the girls,’ so I never mind pairing up with him.
We join the crowded dance floor just as the band strikes up a smoochy Ella Fitzgerald number. Kenny’s tried it on a couple of times, but he’s quite happy when I pretend to ignore his whispered suggestions. I think he’d actually be surprised if a girl did let him kiss her. Sometimes I wonder if he’s really still quite inexperienced, even though he never misses the chance to make suggestive remarks.
We spin round the far side of the floor. Suddenly, I get the all-too- familiar feeling I’m being watched. My scalp prickles, and a little electric shock of fear shoots through my body. Surely the watcher couldn’t be here?
I dart a glance towards the London boys sitting in the smoky corner of the bar. Sure enough, one of them is staring right at me. I get a vague impression of blonde hair, before the other dancers hide my view. But not by any stretch of imagination is this man tall and dark, so he must be staring for a more basic reason. He’s quite good-looking, actually, I have to admit.
The song ends, we break apart and Kenny heads off to get drinks. I can see the blond man pointing at me and laughing. A craggy, older man standing next to him is peeling off a wad of cash. My heart starts to thump painfully, and my fingers tingle. The craggy man is tall and thin, but he stoops, and his head is bald and shiny. He has a distinctive long nose, and bright beady eyes like a shrew.
Kenny returns from the bar, expertly balancing a bottle in each hand. “Your drink, Rubes! Hey, I saw Mary getting her coat, and she said to tell you they’re all heading to the Starlight early. If you drink up, we can catch them at the door.”
The band takes a break, and the little gang of London boys swaggers across the floor as if they own the place. A couple of suited members of the entourage are arguing loudly with the barman while their girlfriends titter and shriek encouragement. Two leather-clad blokes with greasy ponytails are getting in on the action, and I just know how this is going to end.
I slam my bottle of Coca-Cola down on the table and grab Kenny’s hand, “Let’s go now, before they start anything!” He nods, and we scoop our coats from the chairs.
It’s very dark outside, and the light drizzle is a bit of a shock after almost three weeks of sunshine. But the streetlights light up the wet road, and I know the way.
We can hear shouting and breaking glass behind us. I speed up, and Kenny tells me that Brighton’s getting rougher. “But don’t worry, Ruby. It just pays to keep out of the way when something kicks off.”
We dodge the passers-by and head briskly up the road, past the silent shuttered shops, the post office, and the row of dingy cafés. Someone’s broken the butcher’s window, and a couple of blokes are heaving a temporary wooden shutter over it.
“Hey! You’re going the wrong way,” Kenny tugs my arm. I keep on going down the side alley. “This is a short cut.” Mary and I often come down here in the daytime. If Johnnie’s in a good mood at the salon he lets us have a half-hour lunch break, and we let ourselves out of the courtyard door and charge down to Brenda’s Café. It isn’t the best place to eat, but she lets us have stuff on slate if we’ve spent too much the night before. We stuff ourselves with chicken and chips in a basket, washed down with Coca-Cola, and run back before the afternoon clients come in.
Shame I don’t fancy Kenny in the slightest, because he would be a perfect boyfriend. I ignore his hand, and we march briskly on towards the Starlight Rooms. It’s not like I’ve never been with a man. I keep that quiet though, and even Mary thinks I’m still a virgin. I’m not a slag, but for me all that kind of thing was just a way of growing up and proving to myself that I was different to Mum. There was never any love involved. I’ve never had any romantic dreams of white weddings and all that. Does that make me strange? Yes, I suppose it does, but it’s up to me how I live my life really. Then I met Mary, and her relationship with her husband sort of confirmed what I already suspected — you have to get lucky with who you fall in love with or they’ll just take advantage of your weakness.
A man runs past us and disappears into a crowd of laughing teenagers near the door of the Starlight, and I gasp. My heart beats a quick tattoo of fear. I wish I could stop being so jumpy.
“Rubes! That was quick. Did you run?” Mary’s standing smoking on the steps with Ted.
“Hello, Ruby. Don’t you all look amazing tonight?” Ted gestures to the other girls and at Linda in particular. She rolls her eyes but then winks at him.
“Of course we do, Ted. We spent long enough getting ready,” I tease him. He’s looking cool in black trousers and a red Coca-Cola T-shirt with a black jacket. He’s about five inches shorter than the rest of us, but when you have a personality like Ted’s it doesn’t seem to matter.
Mary smiles at Ted too. In her purple skirt, with her hair in cascading waves and lips picked out in scarlet, you’d never guess she was pregnant. She taps one scarlet shoe impatiently while we stand in line to get in. I feel a warm rush of pride when I remember the mousy girl from teacher-training class. Come to think of it, if Ted wasn’t mad about Linda, he’d be ideal for my best friend, with his mop of blonde hair and impish looks . . . Maybe in another life.
I take a quick glance but I can’t see the blond man from the Regent. He’s probably still smashing up the bar with the other London boys. We crowd into the smoky bar. A hand brushes my shoulder in the dark and I jump as I glimpse a blond head, but it turns out to be a younger boy entwined with a frizzy-haired girl. Probably a good thing. I don’t need any more trouble at the moment.
The Starlight Rooms are in a basement. The walls and ceiling are painted black and the only light is an occasional strobe that flashes across the crowds. You have to hold onto your purse, but the music is great.
“How’s your job going?” I ask Kenny, when we’re eventually buried in a dark corner with a table full of drinks. Kenny’s a junior reporter on the news desk at the Herald. He’s only got eight months before he’s up for promotion to another office, so he’s determined to bag a big story before he goes.
“Not that good,” he tells me dolefully. “I’m still trying to find that big story. Oh look, there’s James! Hey, James, over here!”
He waves through the smoke. I look up to smile politely at the newcomer. “James is a junior reporter, like me,” he tells me. “We’re trying to hunt down that next big scoop.” But I don’t pay much attention, because James is gorgeous. For the second time in one evening I feel that dangerous jolt of attraction.
He’s not classically good-looking, but he has a kind of world-weary charm. His features are a bit weathered, he has lines around his eyes and mouth, and his skin is slightly tanned as though he spends a lot of time outside. I try not to stare, and to sip my drink nonchalantly but I can feel myself blushing as an oblivious Kenny does the introductions. Thank heavens it’s dark.
James nods at me. His eyes are almost turquoise and fringed with thick black lashes. “Kenny said you were new in town. Where are you from?”
Gorgeous he may be, but he’s still a reporter looking for a story. So I fudge the answer. I say “Croydon” too quietly to be heard above the music and then move swiftly on to questions of my own.
“So when are you and Kenny going to get that front-page story?”
James slides into the booth opposite us and laughs. His teeth are very white and one of the front ones is slightly chipped. Up close I notice a scar on his cheek, running the length of his face from ear to chin.
“We’re working on it, aren’t we, Ke
n? I did get a great start last week on some old lady in London Road who’d been running a brothel, but then I gave it to Ben on the night desk and he signed it off under his name!” James is clearly disgusted.
“Told you not to tell that Ben anything, mate. Not ever. If he can nick a story he will — anything so he doesn’t have to get off his fat arse and actually do some work.” Kenny takes a swig of beer and gesticulates with a cigarette in his other hand.
“Watch it! You nearly set fire to that girl. I know, I know. I was just so chuffed to actually get a decent lead. Then I felt stupid for giving it to him in the first place.”
“Well, you are a bit of a clod. I put it down to you being Irish.”
James thumps him on the arm, “Half-Irish, and not as thick as you might think, mate! Wait till I get a front page and you’ll be left reporting on the dog mess on the promenade.”
They both collapse with laughter. They’ve obviously had quite a few drinks.
“Come and dance, both of you. Better luck tomorrow!” I tell them firmly, avoiding James’s turquoise eyes. “I’ve told you anyway, Kenny, I bet I can find you a story. You have no idea what I hear while I’m ruining clients’ hair!”
They both laugh, and we join the rest of the crowd in the heat and the bustle of the dance floor.
By eleven-thirty the nightlife is slowing down, and we head off home in a big bunch. Couples peel off to cars or the beach until it’s just us strolling arm in arm up the road in the muggy night.
James and Kenny have disappeared to another party, this time at a flat in the rather grand Sussex Gardens, and nobody seems to have noticed that every time James speaks to me, I turn a silly shade of red. That is not sophisticated, but he’s probably not interested anyway. Romance is the last thing I need on my plate.
The earlier rain has rinsed off a layer of dust and left a few puddles. The sea crashes on the pebbly beach, and I can see distant pinpricks of light that could be ships, or even France. It seems a long way. The hill feels steeper than usual, and we slow to a stroll. Mary is yawning, and Pearl hums ‘A Hard Day’s Night.’
At the top of the road, we turn down the familiar concrete path to the nursing accommodation. The building is pale in the moonlight, and I’m just thinking how lucky it is that Pearl’s room is on the ground floor, with its own little front door. I don’t think any of us have the energy to climb stairs just now. Oh . . .
We jerk to a halt.
The door of Pearl’s bedsit is ajar. The lock hangs by two rusty screws, and swings gently in the breeze.
“No!” Pearl exclaims. I grip her arm with one hand and Mary’s with the other. I can’t breathe for a second. Then I force myself to move, certain that a tall figure is lurking in the shadows about to attack us.
“Bloody hell, someone’s broken in. Look, you two stay right up there by the road. In fact start walking along it after me. I’ll go ahead and get the night watchman and ring the police. Don’t go near the door, okay? I mean it. They could still be in there! If anyone bothers you, scream bloody murder and wait for help.” Pearl’s off before we get a chance to answer, sprinting along the road towards the bright lights of the hospital main entrance.
My heart is battering my ribs. Mary and I cling to each other, huddled by the roadside and staring transfixed at the open door. Eventually I start to pull her towards the hospital entrance as Pearl told us.
“What if is Derek? Or that weirdo that keeps watching you? I’ll feel so guilty if we came down to Brighton and ruined Pearl’s life too,” Mary wails suddenly.
I lick my lips. My voice is croaky. “It’ll be okay, Mary. It probably doesn’t have anything to do with us. And anyway we’re moving out in soon. Look, let’s walk down towards the hospital . . .”
We inch down the road, still clutching each other like a pair of Siamese twins. A few cars whizz past, and I keep turning my head like some demented owl, trying to look everywhere at once. There is no doubt in my mind that this is connected to me, and me alone. That warm feeling that my siblings and my best friend are all safe now has gone, leaving an icy stone of guilt in the pit of my stomach.
Bloody hell. Somebody else knows, and he’s obviously going to keep reminding me.
Chapter Six
The night watchmen make us wait inside the hospital while they search the bedsit. We huddle together on a plastic bench, sipping disgusting weak tea. The smell of disinfectant prickles my nose, and a cleaning lady wheels a red bucket around, sloshing her mop close to our shoes. Mary fiddles with a packet of cigarettes, and Pearl keeps yawning.
The adrenalin and fear has dissipated, leaving us exhausted. I look at my hollow-eyed companions and feel that sick guilt again.
Pearl looks hard at me. “Ruby, I know how hard you two are trying, and I know it took a lot of guts to get out when you did.” She pushes a strand of curly hair back, and takes a deep breath.
There’s a ‘but’ coming so I speak quickly. “I really don’t know if this is connected to anything in Croydon, or to our family. You have to believe me. But do you remember when I saw that man on the beach? At work today,” I glance at Mary and she nods, “earlier today I was cleaning the salon windows and I saw him right opposite just watching me. It went on for so long I was going out to ask him what the hell he was doing, but then he just vanished.”
Should I tell her about the ring? I bite my lip, racking my brain for anyone who would have followed us down here. The only sensible conclusion is that I was seen that night. But who would witness an attack like that and not call the police?
“It could be Derek,” Mary says quietly. Her hand shakes and tea spills on her white blouse. She puts her cup down on the floor, and the cleaner coughs crossly in our direction.
I shake my head. “It isn’t. I’m sure of it. Like I said, this man is tall, maybe even over six feet. Derek is shorter than me, and much fatter.”
“Maybe he paid someone to follow us. Like a private detective.”
“Do you really think he would have the money to do that? And like you said before, he doesn’t care. He’s far too lazy to try and find you.”
She relaxes slightly. “You’re right, and the only reason he’d hire someone to find me would be to . . . to hurt me again.” Her bottom lip trembles.
“He can’t and he won’t!” I hug her tightly, almost crying myself.
Pearl’s blue eyes flick from one of us to the other. A policeman appears at the hospital entrance, and my stomach lurches.
“Just one more thing,” she says quickly. “I live there on my own, okay? You just came after work and got changed for a night out. These men will never realise that all the stuff isn’t just mine. You give the salon as your home address, and we’ll talk to Johnnie and get you moved out tomorrow. I shouldn’t have had house guests for a couple of weeks. I could get in real trouble.”
“Pearl, I’m so sorry.” I touch her arm awkwardly. She doesn’t look too upset, though, whatever calculating has been going on in her head, and she folds a gentle hand over mine.
“Ladies?” One of the navy-uniformed night watchmen beckons us into his drab, overheated little office. We file in like a posse of naughty schoolgirls, and he closes the door behind us.
“Did you find anyone inside?” Pearl demands.
“We have carried out a search of your property, Miss Smith, and of the surrounding area, but have no reason to believe that the perpetrator is still in this area. There have been a number of cash and jewellery thefts recently, up as far as Dyke Hill Road. I suggest you return to your accommodation and make a list of anything missing.”
“Was there much damage?” I ask, tentatively.
He’s a short, round little man with grey hair and a small beard, like a miniature Father Christmas. But he looks shrewd enough. “None at all. Just one more thing, Miss Smith. I suggest that your ‘visitors’ are logged in via the official channels next time.”
To our huge relief, he winks at Pearl. She shakes his hand. I can see some of her sp
arkle returning.
“I will speak to the police and make sure all the paperwork is filled out. If you come by my office at some point tomorrow, I’ll just need signatures and that list of missing items. If you have any worries, Miss Smith, please don’t hesitate to come back up here tonight.”
Slightly stunned by his efficiency, we’re soon heading back down the concrete path with a new set of keys.
“Blimey, Pearl, they certainly look after you here!” Mary says in awe. The lock has already been mended, the door secured, and it doesn’t look damaged at all.
Pearl says nothing, but grips my hand as we approach the building. A group of girls swishes past calling greetings, but we ignore them. It takes a moment to get the new key to work but then it scrapes around the lock and the door swings open.
I’m expecting the tiny room to be a devastation of upturned furniture and general chaos, but I let out a long, relieved breath. The sofa and bed are still strewn with our clothes and unwashed plates sit in a half-filled basin next to the utensils. It turns out that our combined makeup is still haphazardly arranged on a corner table, the shoes are lined up at the door, and my little zipped-up bag is hidden under the pile of clean knickers. You’d never know an intruder had been in here, except for the new lock. Weirdly, this worries me more than if we’d discovered a huge mess. Even when Pearl announces that the cash tin she hides under the sink is missing, I can’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t really about a burglary.
“God, we were so lucky!” Mary sinks down onto the bed. She massages her stomach gently and stretches out her legs with a sigh, kicking off her shoes.
Pearl drags out some enamel mugs, and sets her little pan to boil. As it starts to froth, she sniffs the contents of the milk jug, pours and adds a generous tot of gin to each mug.
“No way — gin and milk!”
“Well, I can’t afford brandy. Not that I can afford gin either, but this was a Christmas present. I think we could all do with it. Even Mary.”