Chapter 7
JACKIE SAT BACK, tongue clamped between her teeth and an eyeliner brush held aloft, and admired her handiwork. ‘That looks fantastic, Ange. If I say so myself. I reckon I’m a bit of an artist.’
Jackie had spent nearly half an hour making up Angie’s face as a mirror image of her own: she had covered her friend’s face and neck with the palest Sheer Genius foundation, then had dotted white Mary Quant highlighter on to her cheekbones, between her eyes, and on the point of her chin, and then she had stuck false eyelashes on to her top lids. Next, she had painted an exaggerated line of matching lashes, with stark black eyeliner, along Angie’s bottom lids, and then dotted a sprinkling of light-brown freckles over her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Jackie had then finished off the whole, sooty-eyed, child-woman face with the palest of pink lipsticks.
‘Get those rollers out,’ she said, lifting Angie’s chin with the back of her hand, ‘and I’ll back-comb the top for you, then you can iron my fringe.’
Finally, satisfied with their make-up and hair, the girls took off their housecoats and got dressed.
They had chosen identical outfits: bottom-skimming, black PVC miniskirts with matching braces that crossed over their black and white polka dot shirts, and white mid-calf boots over white, lacy tights.
The girls stared admiringly at themselves in the mirror.
Jackie’s hair hung to her shoulders in a straight blonde curtain, with the thick, heavy fringe almost touching her spidery, artificial lashes, while Angie’s chestnut hair swung in a glossy, geometric bob that tapered away to points which brushed against her carefully highlighted cheekbones.
Angie turned her head to one side, trying to get a glimpse of her profile.
‘Nice work, Jack.’
‘Not bad, is it?’ Jackie turned round and looked over her shoulder, checking out the back view. ‘Are you still sure about this? It’s not going to be cheap, you know.’
‘I told you, after that party, I’m going to start doing things with my life. Going to start living a bit. And it was you who said you wanted to go somewhere like the Tiles or the Canvas Club.’
‘Yeah, but the cost.’ Jackie reached under her skirt and hitched her tights up a bit higher – uncomfortable, but it showed off the lace pattern to the best effect.
‘I can afford it, with all the commission I’m earning. And after everything you’ve done for me, I want to take you out to say thank you.’
Jackie shoved her in the side. ‘Good job really, who else would be good-looking enough to go out with a beautiful girl like you?’
Angie thought for a moment. ‘Marilyn?’
‘I’m not joking.’
‘No?’ Angie was preoccupied, inspecting her teeth in the mirror for stray streaks of lipstick.
‘Seriously, Ange.’ Jackie took a deep breath. ‘The girls from school. They never really used to want you to go out with us.’
Angie straightened up and affected a look of shock. ‘Never?’
Jackie shook her head. ‘Never.’
‘I’m not an idiot, Jack. I know you used to pretend they all wanted me to go along.’
Jackie shrugged. ‘It’s different now. Now they wouldn’t dare.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. They couldn’t compete.’ Jackie pointed at their reflection. ‘With either of us. We’re flaming gorgeous.’
‘You’re right. I reckon if we set our sights on a bloke, we could have anyone we fancied.’
‘Paul McCartney?’
‘No trouble.’
‘Roger Daltrey?’
‘Easy.’
‘That bloke who wears the teddy boy clothes up the shops?’
‘Even I’m not that adorable, Jack.’
’I can’t believe they charged you that for just two drinks.’ Jackie sipped at the watery glass of gin and tonic that Angie had just handed to her, trying to hide the involuntary shudder at the horrible taste. ‘And that barman. He looked like he was doing you a flipping favour serving you.’
Both of them had sworn that they would never let a drop of vodka and orange, or lager and lime, anywhere near their lips ever again, and had had to wrack their brains for suitably sophisticated drinks that they could order without making themselves look like clueless kids from out of town. The barman’s weary attitude, as they dithered and considered, hadn’t helped.
‘And the entry price. We could have bought the new Stones album, all the top five, and still have had enough left over for a Wimpy each.’
‘It would have been even dearer if we’d come later, when it gets busy. But when you think what they’re charging for.’ Angie pointed to her lap, and lowered her voice. ‘We are sitting on bar stools in the Canvas Club in Soho. The stools you see in photographs in the Sunday papers and all the magazines.’
Usually Jackie would have made some sort of smart comment, but she was as impressed as her friend.
‘Just think, Jack.’ Angie gestured at the mirrored walls with a lift of her chin. ‘Pop stars have sat here looking at themselves.’
‘It is amazing.’ Jackie stared, wide-eyed over the rim of her glass. ‘Shall we go and have a dance, do you think?’
‘Let’s wait a bit. Till it gets busier, so we’re not on show.’
‘Good idea. We can have a look round first. See what the others get up to. So we can act like we’re used to it.’
The girls studied the people in the club as closely as explorers trying to fathom the behaviour of a previously undiscovered tribe: noting the steps of the first tentative dancers; listening to the casual laughter of the coolly jaded; and watching the approaches of peacock males fluttering around their cruelly judgemental female targets.
Jackie jerked her head towards a crop-haired boy of about nineteen, who was standing by the door to the men’s lavatory. ‘Over there,’ she spluttered into her drink, her attempts at subtlety completely failing.
‘What?’
‘He’s just handed’, she leaned forward and breathed out the words, ‘something to that red-haired bloke with the glasses. And taken money off him.’ She sat up again and added authoritatively, ‘They’ll be French Blues he’s selling. Or Black Bombers. I’ve read all about them. All the mods take them. To get blocked.’
‘I bet Martin doesn’t,’ Angie snapped nastily. ‘Your mum’d kill her precious little boy if he did.’
‘What’s got into you?’
‘Nothing.’
Jackie grabbed her hand. ‘Don’t look, Ange.’
‘What?’
‘This might be the last drink you’ll have to buy tonight.’
‘Why?’
‘Look – slowly – in the mirror. Them blokes over there. They’re watching us.’
‘Which ones?’
‘The cross-eyed one with the wooden leg and the green teeth, and his mate with the bag over his head. Which ones do you think? The fab-looking one with the suit who’s walking your way, and his friend in the mohair jacket. Quick, look all pleased with yourself.’ Jackie gulped back what little of her drink she hadn’t managed to spray all over the place and jabbed Angie in the shoulder. ‘Angie, you are so funny, you always say things that make me laugh so much.’
Without a beat Angie let out what she hoped was a tinkling, charming giggle. ‘You know me, Jackie, always know all the latest jokes.’
‘Any clean enough to tell me?’ The one with the suit checked the bar top for any signs of wetness, then, satisfied it was up to his standards, he rested his arm between the two girls.
Angie dropped her chin and looked up at him through her long, false lashes. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘If you won’t tell me a joke, how about a dance?’
Angie glanced at Jackie, who swivelled her eyes at his friend, and nodded encouragingly.
‘I’d love to.’
‘Ray,’ he said, holding out his hand to help her down from the bar stool.
‘Angie,’ she replied, letting him lead her on to the floor, wher
e just two other couples and a few huddles of girls were dancing.
‘I like the record,’ she mouthed.
‘Spencer David Group,’ Ray mouthed back. ‘It’s nearly finished. Fancy another drink instead?’
Angie looked over at Jackie, who was being chatted up by his friend, and smiled her agreement.
Ray bought the drinks and then steered her to the other end of the bar from where Jackie and his friend were now both sitting.
‘Not much goes on in here till about half nine,’ he said, leaning close to her. ‘So why don’t we go outside for a while?’
‘Outside?’
‘You know, round the back.’
Angie didn’t actually know what he meant but she had a good idea.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Come on. Your mate’s all right.’ Jackie, who had just got up and was now on the floor dancing with his friend, was giving every impression that she was really enjoying herself. ‘And you don’t have to worry. I’ve got a rubber.’
Angie didn’t want to seem juvenile, or silly, but she knew she definitely didn’t want this – rubber or not. She also knew she had no idea how to handle the situation. ‘Let’s have a dance,’ she suggested, more in panic than through any logical reasoning.
Ray looked at her, weighing up the chances of being able to wear her down.
On balance, he thought it was worth spending a bit more time and flattery on her. Maybe even shelling out for another over-priced drink. She looked very tasty, and he liked being seen with girls who dressed right. It was good for his image.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘Let’s show them how it’s done.’
Bobby stopped the Jaguar outside a coffee bar, close to the entrance of the club. There would be no complaints. Local tradesmen knew better than to protest if David Fuller took their parking spaces.
David, who was sitting in the front passenger seat, twisted the rear-view mirror round and checked his tie. ‘I’m just popping in to see to a bit of business. Won’t be long.’
‘Make sure you’re not.’ Sonia snapped from behind him.
Bobby sat impassively in the driver’s seat. He was as deaf, dumb and blind as the three wise monkeys – until David addressed him personally.
‘Who’s on duty tonight, Bob? Jeff?’
Bobby thought for a moment. ‘Half-a-lung Cassidy.’
‘Lovely. Having him coughing all over me.’
The far wall of the Canvas Club’s office, even though it was only a few feet from the door, was almost obscured by a thick fug of smoke. Cassidy, who stood in for Jeff on his one night off in ten, was choking and spluttering on one of his ever-present Senior Service cigarettes.
‘Blimey, Half-a-lung, are you sure?’ David gestured with a nod towards the cash box. ‘Open it up, and open that window and all while you’re about it.’
Half-a-lung fiddled around with the window catch, slipping his big meaty hand through the narrow space between the security bars, and then held the open box out for David’s inspection.
‘Still full. Mikey not been in yet?’
‘I’ve not seen him, Dave. Not tonight. Mind you, according to Jeff, he’s been getting like a right blister lately.’
Half-a-lung’s jokes and puns drove David barmy, but he’d been a loyal worker, even once having taken a stabbing protecting his boss, so he tolerated his nonsense more than most people would have credited. ‘Like a what?’
‘A blister. Only shows up when the work’s finished.’
David smiled automatically. ‘Yeah. Very funny. Nice one. Jeff told you what to do, did he?’
‘Yeah. And, like the famous Memory Man, I have it all tucked away for future reference.’ He stopped speaking in order to choke a bit more, then, having lit a fresh cigarette, he went on. ‘I know exactly what to do, Dave.’
‘Good.’
David was about to leave when the unmistakable sound of breaking glass – something every club owner dreaded: fights were bad for business, they brought the sort of publicity that kept celebrities away – crashed through from the other side of the wall.
David threw open the door and scanned the room. ‘What’s going on out there?’ he demanded from Cassidy. ‘Where’s the poxy doormen?’
What was going on was that Ray had lost his temper with Angie for daring to reject his advances again, and Jackie had started shouting at Ray for upsetting her friend, Ray’s friend having disappeared, more interested in what the young man by the lavatory had to sell. The row, on the now-crowded dance floor, was beginning to reach boiling-point – the glass had been thrown by someone who fancied a bit of action, something more serious than a dreary little ruck between a bloke and his bird.
As for Jim and Graham, the bouncers, they were round the back in the alley, taking advantage of Jeff’s absence, and enjoying the ‘hospitality’ of two young women who had been promised, in return for their willingness to have a quick knee-trembler up against the wall, free passes for the whole of the next month.
‘You were quick enough to take that second drink off me.’ Ray was now hollering, jabbing his finger at Angie’s face. ‘You are a prick teaser.’
Jackie was incensed. Not only had this idiot made her friend cry, but now he was showing them up. Both of them. In the middle of the Canvas Club, the place that Jackie had dreamed of going to. She wasn’t having this, some thick git spoiling her big night out.
‘Oi, you. She told you, she doesn’t care what other girls do, she doesn’t go round the back with strange blokes. She’s not like that. And especially not with stupid buggers like you.’
‘So why’s she dressed like that?’
‘Did you hear what he said?’ gasped a miniskirted girl to her boyfriend. ‘Bloody cheek. Who does he think he is? Thinking he can tell girls what to wear. Hit him, Paul. Go on.’
Paul wasn’t so keen. ‘Let’s go. This is daft.’
Jackie, on the other hand, was ready for action. She was ready to scratch Ray’s eyes out.
Just as she was about to make a lunge for his sneering, pasty face, someone grabbed her arm.
She twisted round, set to attack, but quickly changed her mind.
A very grown-up, very well-built, smartly dressed man was holding her arm, but he was pointing very firmly at Ray.
‘Oi! Mouthy!’ he yelled.
Ray looked shocked. This bloke was built like a number-nine bus, and his presence had coincided with the music stopping and all the lights being turned up full pelt. Ray, like most other people in the club, was blinking and wondering what was going on. He was also almost wetting himself. Being forceful with girls was one thing, but having a row with a great big bloke was quite another.
‘What?’ Ray asked, holding out his hands in the submissive, palms-up gesture of an innocent, injured party.
‘Are you going to leave quietly, sonny?’
‘What have I done?’
David let go of Jackie and grabbed Ray by the hair. He immediately let go again. ‘Blimey. What’s that muck on your hair? Surely it ain’t Brylcreem?’
Ray, now tight-lipped with embarrassment, but still ridiculously cocky, started dancing around on the spot like an abandoned sparring partner. ‘Hair conditioner, if you must know.’
David raised a single, shapely eyebrow – ‘Hair conditioner? Aw, sorry, ducks’ – then grabbed him firmly by the collar. ‘You. Out.’ He dragged Ray to the exit and shoved him hard, giving him an actually gentle, but thoroughly insulting, kick up the backside to see him on his way.
David went back over to Jackie and Angie, who were still standing, equally as shocked as they were embarrassed, in the middle of the dance floor.
‘OK, everyone,’ said David, guiding the girls towards the bar, and nodding for the disc jockey to get the music back on and the lights dimmed, ‘the rubbish has been cleared away. Let’s all get back to enjoying ourselves.’
The disc jockey, used to conducting a nightly form of crowd control, knew exactly what to play: as Sam the Sham and the
Pharaohs blasted out ‘Woolly Bully’, practically the whole club was back dancing on the floor.
‘Now, girls,’ said David. ‘First my apologies for that uncouth little twerp, and secondly, are you both all right?’
‘Yes, thanks.’ The girls spoke in unison as if they had been rehearsing.
‘Good.’ David raised a finger and the barman was immediately there. ‘Rick. These young ladies are princesses for the night. Got it?’
Angie watched, impressed, as this big, tough man transformed the previously intimidating barman into Rick, their new best friend.
‘Got it, Mr Fuller.’
‘Anything they want. OK?’
‘Got it.’
‘Good.’
‘Thanks, Mr Fuller,’ said Angie.
‘It’s David, sweetheart.’ He winked and chucked her under the chin. ‘To a pretty girl like you, that is.’
As David swept out of the club, planning what he would do when he got hold of the bouncers – something involving a pair of fucking pliers, he was so wild – two men were looking first at him, then at the girls, then at him, then at the girls again.
‘I’m telling you, Matthew. That bird over there, it’s that Violet’s kid.’
‘Who?’
‘You know that old ripper I was giving one to.’
‘What the bird over in Dagenham?’
‘That’s her. Violet. And that’s her kid. Angie.’
‘Don’t be stupid, Chas. That girl over there’s gorgeous. A right sort. You must need your eyes testing.’
‘Yeah, I suppose you’re right.’ Chas chuckled to himself.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘Violet was worried that you were after her.’
‘What? Violet?’
‘No. Her kid.’
‘Christ, Chas, she wasn’t only old, she must have been bloody senile.’
Wiping his hands on his handkerchief, with a look of disgust – hair conditioner, what was wrong with young blokes nowadays? – David got back into the passenger seat of his Jaguar.
‘You took long enough,’ sniped Sonia from the back of the car. Not only had she been left like a child, but she had been trying for weeks to get the keys for the club and had completely failed. Only David and Jeff had sets, and that awful Cassidy man on his one night in ten, and she couldn’t think of a way to get the damn things off any one of them. Why couldn’t he leave them around like a normal man? Throw them on the table, with his loose change when he came in at night? Anyone would think he didn’t trust her.
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