One Day in December

by Josie Silver

  “Hmm. Tricky. I think it needs to sound kitsch and American and fifties, so how about…Lula-May?”

  She looks at me thoughtfully. “I like what you did there. So if you’re Lula-May, that must make me Sara-Belle.”

  “It sure is nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to make your acquaintance too, Lula-May.”

  We incline our heads to each other graciously, then clink tins and neck our gin to cement our new friendship.

  “Will you tell me where we’re going yet?”

  “Just trust me, little lady. You’re gonna love it.” She attempts a really terrible Deep South drawl.

  “You sound more like John Wayne than Sara-Belle,” I laugh. “I think I might fancy you.”

  Sarah stashes our empty tins in the back pockets of the seats in front of us. “It’s my sexual energy. I can’t hold it in.” She glances up as the electronic voice-over tells us that we’re approaching Barnes. “Come on. This is our stop.”

  * * *

  The first thing I notice when we get outside the station is that we’re not the only people who look like extras in a Grease remake. Swing dresses and Teddy Boy suits are interspersed among the regular sunny Saturday lunchtime shoppers, and the occasional flash of pink satin tells me there’s going to be quite a gang of Pink Ladies.

  “Sarah!”

  Jack’s voice rings out and my heart jumps. I’ve been doing my best to avoid spending any time with him and Sarah lately, and luckily they’ve both been so busy with work I think they’ve been quite happy to not have a third wheel on their nights together. And I really feel like I’m starting to think about him less. Perhaps my mind-control efforts are working.

  Then I notice who’s with Jack—Billy, one of his friends who I’ve met a few times at various parties. Please God don’t let this be a setup. The boys walk up to us and break into slightly bashful grins as we exclaim over their T-Bird black drainpipes and skinny-fit black T-shirts. They’ve rolled their sleeves up into shoulder caps to accentuate their biceps and, looking at their quiffs, I shouldn’t think there’s much hair gel left in the tub.

  Wherever we’re going, it appears we’re going as a foursome. It’s not that I mind; I just wasn’t expecting them, and Sarah and I have had the best morning in ages.

  “Well, if it isn’t our dates for the prom.” Sarah laughs and plants a kiss on Jack’s lips, leaving traces of red lipstick on his mouth. He’s wearing mirrored aviators that obscure his eyes; he looks more James Dean than John Travolta.

  “Billy, you look…cool,” I say, and he flexes his muscles obligingly. He’s got one of those bodies that looks like he sculpts it carefully in the gym for two hours every day. The kind where you can’t help but admire, at the same time as feeling complete disdain.

  “Popeye’s got nothing on me.” He takes the lollipop stick he’s chewing for effect out of his mouth and dips to plant a quick kiss on my cheek. “Happy birthday.”

  I notice Sarah looking at us and roll my eyes at her. Trust her to set me up with someone who’s so obviously not my type. He probably loves his women all blond and toned and docile. I wonder what Jack had to promise him to come along.

  “Shall we, ladies?” Jack crooks his elbow for Sarah to take, and after a moment’s awkward hesitation, Billy does the same to me.

  “We shall,” Sarah grins, slipping her arm through Jack’s. “Laurie still doesn’t know what we’re doing, so don’t say anything.”

  I laugh, self-conscious as I take Billy’s proffered arm. “I think I’m getting the picture.”

  “Oh, you’re really not.” Her eyes sparkle as she looks over her shoulder at me and we move with the throng of people. “But you will.”

  * * *

  I can’t quite believe what I’m seeing.

  “What is this place?” I say, fascinated. We’re in a zig-zag queue of people in various Grease costumes, everyone buzzing and overexcited. A prim American school radio voice crackles through speakers telling us not to run in the halls, and that heavy petting in the queue will get us detention, and as we reach the entrance we pass beneath a huge, arched college sign welcoming us to Rydell High, poppy-red, lit up with old-fashioned lightbulbs.

  “Do you like it?”

  Sarah has my arm now rather than Jack’s, and she half smiles and half grimaces, holding her breath as she waits for my verdict on my big birthday surprise.

  “Like it?” I grin, giddy at the scale of the event unfolding before me. “I don’t have a clue what’s going on, but I bloody love it!”

  Barnes Common, usually home to dog walkers and Sunday cricket matches, has been transformed into a magical wonderland of American fifties kitsch as far as the eye can see. Roller-disco queens serve Coke floats to tables in the open-air marquee and gleaming silver Airstream diners line the edges of the field. All around, people lounge on picnic blankets, girls in frilly dresses and sunglasses basking on their backs in the sunshine, propped up on their elbows blowing bubblegum balloons. Music is everywhere; a live brass band belts out fifties rock and roll for the energetic couples on the wooden dance floor in the marquee, and elsewhere familiar songs from the Grease soundtrack ooze from tall speakers set all around the perimeters. I even glimpse a pop-up Beauty School where you can get your nails painted or your eyeliner freshly flicked by girls in fitted pink overalls and matching wigs. People shout and jostle on cherry-red bumper cars, and a huge, glittering Ferris wheel presides over the whole affair, its gleaming ice-cream pink and white seats swinging lightly in the warm breeze.

  “If we do nothing else, I want to ride that wheel,” I sigh.

  It’s the biggest, craziest birthday surprise I’ve ever had. My heart feels feather-light, as if it’s tied to a helium balloon.

  Jack

  This place is off-the-scale weird. I don’t know how Sarah does it; most people buy someone a cake or take them out drinking for their birthday. Not Sarah. She’s managed to find this extravaganza, and somehow she’s roped Billy and me into being their T-Bird escorts for the day. There aren’t many women I’d do this for; I grumbled and almost backed out because, to be honest, it sounded like a bit of a nightmare, but actually it’s kind of cool now that we’re here. Secret Cinema, she said it’s called. I expected an open-air cinema with a burger truck or two, and there is a huge screen set up for later, but jeez, this place is something else. I feel as if I’m actually in the movie rather than at it, and I reckon we’ve bagged ourselves the two best-looking Pink Ladies at the whole gig.

  Sarah…Christ. She never does anything by halves. She’s walking a little way ahead of me; her legs seem to be twice as long as normal in those spray-on black leggings. I’ve always got off on the feeling that I’m running to keep up with her, it keeps me on my toes, but lately she’s sprinting so fast that sometimes I feel like I lose sight of her altogether. It’s disconcerting, a low-level niggle that I stamp down every time I catch up again.

  Laurie looks cool too; it’s like a magazine article about how the same outfit can look completely different on two different girls. Sarah’s high heels and ponytail say most popular girl in class, whereas Laurie’s Converse and bouncy curls are more low-key cute. If we were high-school kids, Sarah would scare the pants off me and Laurie would be my best friend’s sister. I don’t even know where I’m going with that thought. They’re just different, that’s all.

  “What do you think? A kiss in the cards for me and the birthday girl?” Billy says, strolling beside me. “Reckon I’ll try my luck at the top of that thing.” He nods toward the Ferris wheel.

  I flick my eyes toward Laurie briefly and feel a bloom of protectiveness. Billy’s one of those guys who will do anything to add a few more notches. I don’t really know why I asked him—other than he was the only one of my friends egotistical enough to spend a day playing dress-up.

  “No heav
y petting, Bill. You heard the rules.”

  “This is high school, where rules are made to be broken, my friend.” Billy winks at me as Sarah turns to us and points across the field, interrupting before I can say anything else.

  “Come on, you two. I want to go on the bumper cars.”

  * * *

  I’m starting to wish I’d asked anyone other than Billy to come today. So far he’s rung the strong-man bell three times when no one else on this whole common could manage it even once, and now he’s got his arm around Laurie as he expertly maneuvers their bumper car around like an F1 driver.

  I mimic him, slinging my arm around Sarah as I glance back over my shoulder and reverse right into them, sending them spinning away in a fizz of electric sparks. Sarah screams, laughing beside me as Billy comes straight back at us, jolting our car violently into the wall of tires, subtly giving me the finger over Laurie’s shoulder as he drives away. What would John Travolta do right now, I wonder? And who is Sandra Dee in this scenario? Sarah’s too sassy by far; Frenchy all the way. Not that I’m saying Laurie is Sandy to my Danny, because that would be fucked up. Maybe Billy is more Danny anyway, with his Popeye muscles and leader-of-the-pack mentality. I watch him help Laurie clamber out of their car as the engines cut out, the way he hangs on to her hand and spins her against him, a blur of dark curls in pink satin. I hope she isn’t fooled by him.

  I mean, it’s her business, but he can be a bit of a clown—everything’s a lark and a laugh. Maybe that’s what she likes. Fuck, what if he decides to come back to Camden with us? Ha! Her cell phone’s just started to ring in the pocket of her pink jacket. Phonus Interruptus, mate.

  Laurie

  This is shaping up to be one of my favorite days ever.

  I’m tipsy on Pink Lady cocktails, I’ve laughed until my sides ache, Billy is more fun than I’d anticipated, and everyone is in a silly, carnival mood. Even the weather has played ball, bathing us in the best kind of lazy English summer warmth, the sort that always brings freckles out across the bridge of my nose.

  If I’d thought the event looked good in daylight, it looks even more razzle-dazzle now that the evening is beginning to draw in. On the T-Birds stand a show plays out; a bendy troupe of male dancers in black leather are bouncing all over the impressive line of imported muscle cars, singing into chrome microphone stands as they dance across the hoods. Everywhere people dance and loll under the rainbow haze cast by the glittering pastel lights from the fairground rides, and there’s a growing sense of anticipation for the movie itself to begin around ten.

  Sarah discovered just now that she has a natural talent for rock-and-roll dancing (well, of course), and after Jack laughingly backed out, claiming two left feet, Billy has been cajoled into taking part in the master-class competition as her partner.

  As Jack and I stand on the fringes of the crowd watching them, I see that glitter-grit crackle through Sarah; it’s there in the extra sassy flick of her ponytail and the high jut of her chin. Thank God Billy seems to have hidden snake hips. I don’t know if it’s all the cocktails I’ve sunk, but he’s starting to look a lot more attractive than he did at the beginning of the day. When we were lining up for the bumper cars he showed me photos of his little brother, Robin, a very unexpected surprise to his fortysomething mother. Not that Billy minded going from an only child to a big brother so late in the day; he proudly flashed me a shot of Robin blowing out the birthday candles on the cake Billy had made him with his own bare hands. It was no masterpiece, but any girl wondering if Billy might make a good father himself one day would only need to hear him talk about Robin to know there is marshmallow beneath those muscles. I watch him up there with Sarah, pure concentration on both of their faces. They’ve got their A-game on for sure; I feel almost sorry for the other contestants.

  “Sarah loves this kind of stuff,” I say, sucking lemonade through a red-and-white-striped straw because I’m taking a cocktail break.

  “I just hope they win.” Jack laughs. I know what he means. A happy Sarah means a happy all of us.

  My phone vibrates; that’s the second time Mum’s tried me today. I already told her that I was out all day, but I think she finds it difficult now me and Daryl have both left home. I consider calling her back, but I don’t want to interrupt this moment.

  I look out toward the Ferris wheel. It looks even bigger illuminated. “I hope there’s still time to ride the wheel before the movie starts,” I say.

  Jack frowns, checking the time. “We’re cutting it fine.”

  I nod. “Especially if they get through to the dance-off.”

  “Which they will.”

  He’s right. There is not a shred of doubt in my mind that Sarah’s dancing shoes will see this thing through to the end.

  He pauses for a beat, looks away and then back at me.

  “I could take you on it now, if you like.” He half laughs, embarrassed. “Call it a birthday present, seeing as I forgot to get you one.”

  It’s curiously old-fashioned of him to offer to take me on it, as if I need to be escorted, but the question works perfectly in this curiously old-fashioned setting. I stand on my tiptoes to catch Sarah’s eye to let her know we’ll be back in ten, but she’s fully engaged in listening to the master-class host. I look behind me again at the beautiful Ferris wheel.

  “I’d like that very much, Jack. Thank you.”

  * * *

  A guy in white chinos with a Rydell High college sweater knotted casually around his shoulders lowers the chrome bar across our knees, raising his eyebrows at us as he gives it a rattle to make sure we’re secured.

  “You might want to put your arm around your girl, fella. It can get a little scary up there at the top.”

  I’m sure he must say variations of the same to every couple he loads onto the ride, but all the same we both wade in to correct him.

  “Oh, we’re not…” I stammer, at the same time as Jack rushes in with “She’s not my…We’re just friends.”

  Sweater boy winks knowingly. “Pity.”

  The wheel lurches a little to move around one place for the next car to be filled, and I close my eyes for a second because I have no clue what to say next.

  “Don’t tell me you’re a scaredy-cat, Laurie?”

  “No, siree!” I laugh. Curling my fingers around the bar, I settle back into the deep raspberry-vinyl padding of the swing seat, my feet resting in the chrome footwell. “You’re not scared of heights, are you?”

  He leans in to the corner of the car and glances at me sideways, his arms flung out across the top of the seat, hands upturned as if I’ve asked a stupid question.

  “Do I look like someone who scares easily?”

  Danny Zuko eat your heart out; but the way he drums his fingers on the top of the car close to my shoulder tells me he’s not as relaxed as his outward appearance might suggest. I don’t know what it is that’s making him uptight: being on the wheel without Sarah, or being on the wheel at all, or being on the wheel with me. I sigh, about to ask him, and then the familiar, swoony opening bars of “Hopelessly Devoted to You” strike up and the wheel begins to rotate.

  I shelve my question. It’s my birthday, after all, and I love Ferris wheels, and I’m with Jack, who I can’t help but genuinely like more and more each time I see him. And that’s good. I mean it, hand on heart, I mean it. It’s good, because he and Sarah are undeniably great together, and because I love her like a sister.

  For the most part I’m pretty accepting of the situation. It is what it is. Perhaps if things had been different, if I’d found him first maybe, then he’d have his arm around me right now and be about to kiss me stupid as we crest the top of the wheel. Maybe we’d be deliriously in love. Or maybe we would have been a terrible romantic match, and the very best outcome for all of us is exactly what’s come to pass. He’s in my life and I�
��m glad of him. It’s enough.

  “Wow,” I murmur, distracted by the view as we climb higher. Barnes Common is festooned with bunting and lights: neon writing over the Airstream diners, disco flickers from the dance tent, tea lights on trestle tables as early settlers claim their spots on the grass close to the huge screen. We go higher still, and we can see beyond the common, over the spindly streets of South West London picked out by creamy streetlamps.

  “Stars,” Jack says, flipping his head back to look up as we near the top. I do the same and stargaze with him, and for a few seconds we hang there right on the brow of the wheel, the only two people in the world.

  “Happy birthday, Laurie,” Jack says, quiet and serious when I turn to look at him.

  I nod and try to smile but find that my face muscles can’t do it, because my mouth is trembling as if I might cry.

  “Thank you, Jack,” I say. “I’m glad I got to spend it with you—” I break off, then add, “you guys,” for clarity.

  “Me too.”

  Our car crests the summit and jolts over the brow of the wheel, rocking as the breeze catches it, making me squeal and grab hold of the bar with both hands. Jack laughs easily and puts his arm around me, the side of his body a warm press against mine.

  “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

  He gives me a brief, bolstering squeeze, his fingers firm around my shoulder, before he lounges back and lays his arm along the back of the seat again.

  My stomach backflips slowly as I sit back too, and I’m ashamed to say it had nothing to do with the fact that we’re suspended high in the sky over Barnes Common and everything to do with the feeling of being alone on this beautiful old Ferris wheel with Jack O’Mara. Vintage pink and mint-green bulbs light up the spokes of the wheel as it turns, dancing shadows over his features as we slowly move.