As she rolled into the car park of The Oaks, she could hear music coming out of the open doors of the big room at the back. A guitar was strumming and someone was singing Rock Island Line in the nasal style of Lonnie Donegan. He broke off, there was laughter and a roll on the drums, then the song started again. A rehearsal was in progress.
Scarlett parked her bike and made her way through the back corridors until she found a bar. A woman in her thirties was running a bar towel over the beer pumps.
‘We’re not open yet,’ she said.
‘I know. I’m Victor Smith’s daughter. I’ve come for his wages.’
‘Victor—? Oh, you mean Vic. The pot man.’
‘I…er…yes…’ Scarlett said, stunned.
Her dad was the pot man? That was the lowliest job in the pub. Most places employed a pensioner to do it. It involved picking up the empty glasses and emptying the ashtrays and any other dirty work going, like…and then she realised why he was working from ten in the morning. He went in to swab out the toilets.
‘Well, you’re a turn-up, to be sure,’ the woman was saying. ‘I would never of guessed you was his daughter, a bright pretty girl like you. I suppose you don’t want a job here, do you?’
‘I’m under age for bar work,’ Scarlett told her.
‘Pity. Still, I suppose you wouldn’t want to anyway. It’s hard to get decent quality staff here. I’ll go and fetch his envelope.’
She was back in a couple of minutes holding a small brown wage packet.
‘How ill is he? Is he going to be back tomorrow? Only I can’t keep him on if he’s not going to be reliable. There’s plenty willing to do his job.’
‘He’s had a stomach upset,’ Scarlett told her.
The woman made a sceptical face. ‘Stomach upset, is it? Nothing to do with whisky chasers, I suppose?’
Scarlett glared at her. The cheek of it! Her father had been really poorly.
‘No, nothing to do with them. He wanted to come in today but he wasn’t well enough,’ she stated, and reached over the bar and took the envelope from the woman’s hand. ‘Thank you. He’ll be in tomorrow, don’t worry.’
And she made off, fuming, with the landlady’s parting shot of, ‘He’d better,’ ringing in her ears. She blundered along a badly lit passage, opened a door and found herself in the music room. It looked scruffy and tawdry in daylight, but Scarlett hardly noticed. There, on the stage, was a rock ’n’ roll band consisting of two guitarists and a drummer. A home-made banner above their heads proclaimed them to be Ricky and the Riptides. But it was not that which held Scarlett’s attention. It was the guitarist who was also the singer. He was a slim young man with dark hair and a brooding face and a mouth as sensual and snarling as Elvis Presley’s. He was halfway through Singing The Blues and as he saw Scarlett enter the room he immediately targeted her with his dark gaze and sang to her. Scarlett was transfixed.
The song ended with him striking a final chord. Scarlett clapped with shining enthusiasm. The singer—surely this must be Ricky himself?—gave a mocking bow.
‘Thanks, babe. Join the fan club.’
That brought Scarlett to her senses. She wasn’t falling at his feet.
‘I’ll join yours if you’ll join mine,’ she told him.
Ricky laughed. ‘Which band are you in, babe?’
‘You don’t have to be in a band to have them queuing up for you,’ she said.
The Riptides hooted and whistled.
‘That told you, Rick.’
Ricky ignored them. It was as if they didn’t exist. The only two people in the room—in the world—were Ricky and Scarlett.
‘What’s your name, sweetheart?’
‘Scarlett.’
She left the doorway and walked casually to the centre of the room, where she stood with a hand on her hip and a challenge in her eyes.
‘And please don’t say yours is Rhett. I’ve heard it all before.’
She was enjoying this. She knew she looked good and she knew she was holding her own with Ricky. At least, she was so far. There was something about him—an air of danger—that called out to her. She had to test herself against it.
‘Oh, Ashley, Ashley!’ the drummer warbled in a very bad southern states accent.
‘I’ve heard that too,’ Scarlett said without taking her gaze off Ricky.
Ricky’s brooding eyes ran over her with open appreciation.
‘What would you like us to sing for you, Scarlett?’
‘Be Bop a Lula,’ Scarlett said without hesitation. It was her current favourite. She listened out for it every night on Radio Luxembourg.
Ricky gave a slight nod. ‘OK. Be Bop a Lula it is.’
He clicked his fingers to set the beat, and counted the band in.
Scarlett stood just where she was in the middle of the floor, watching and listening. However much she tried to stay cool, she couldn’t help moving her shoulders to the beat. And, however much she tried to resist it, she found Ricky fascinating. Everything about him—his stance, his voice, the way he held his guitar, the look in his eyes—drew her in. The song flowed around her. The thud of the drum went through her chest. She fought against the spell.
The last notes died away and Scarlett gave half a dozen claps, her head to one side as if assessing the performance.
‘You’re not as good as Gene Vincent,’ she said.
‘No one’s as good as Gene Vincent. He’s the greatest. But we’re the best band singing his songs in Southend,’ Ricky claimed. ‘You coming to hear us play tonight?’
Scarlett knew she shouldn’t. It was like standing on the edge of a precipice. If she jumped she might fall, but then again she might fly. Either was dangerous.
‘I’m going dancing,’ she told him.
‘There’s dancing here.’
‘I’m going down the Kursaal.’
‘Why? We’re much better than that square stuff down there.’
‘I’m going with my boyfriend,’ she lied.
Ricky did an imitation of the famous Elvis thrust. ‘Has he got what I’ve got?’
‘All that and more,’ Scarlett said. ‘Thanks for the performance. Bye.’
She turned and walked towards the outer door, swinging her hips as she moved. She knew she looked good from the back in her tight Capri pants with her long dark ponytail bouncing on her shoulders. There was a thud behind her as Ricky took off his guitar and jumped down from the stage. He ran and slid to a halt in front of her. Scarlett felt a spurt of triumph. She was enjoying this game.
Ricky put his hand into his jacket pocket and produced a couple of tickets. He gave one to Scarlett.
‘We’re playing at the Rugby Club dance next Saturday. You might like to come along.’
Scarlett glanced at it, shrugged and shoved it into her pocket with her father’s wage packet. ‘I might. And, there again, I might not,’ she said.
Ricky gave her a knowing smile. ‘Just think what you’ll be missing if you don’t.’
‘Yeah, a whole lot of trouble.’
She stepped round him and went out of the door. Once round the corner and out of his earshot, she jumped up and down and gave a squeal of exhilaration. That had been fun! She felt alive and tingling all over, like she did when doing the rock ’n’ roll. She sang Singing The Blues and Be Bop a Lula all the way home.
All the next week she thought about the Rugby Club dance. Would she or wouldn’t she go? She couldn’t make her mind up. She knew she shouldn’t. Ricky had ‘bad boy’ written all over him. But that was the attraction. None of the boys she met at the Kursaal tempted her in the least, however good-looking or charming they were. She enjoyed dancing with them, but that was all. Her heart was Jonathan’s. It had been from the moment she’d met him. She could dance with Pete and the others all evening long, but when she went to bed it was Jonathan’s arms she imagined around her.
She told Brenda all about it.
‘Give it a whirl,’ she advised. ‘I would.’
‘I know you would. But what about Jonathan?’
‘What about him? He’s on the other side of the world, ain’t he? He can’t stop you.’
‘I know he can’t stop me, but that’s not the point—’
‘You want to live a little, mate. You’re only young once, y’know.’
‘But I love Jonathan.’
‘Well, then, you’re safe, ain’t you? You’re not going to fall for this other bloke. Just go along and have a laugh.’
It all sounded fine. Brenda wasn’t saying anything that Scarlett hadn’t thought of for herself.
On Thursday a letter arrived from Jonathan, with an account of a Chinese wedding he had been to. It was so strange to think of him being part of something so very alien. And it was still so long until she would see him again. Scarlett took out the ticket and looked at it again. After all, where was the harm in it? She wouldn’t even be dancing with Ricky, seeing as he and the band were playing. She would just go along and hear him sing.
Saturday evening saw her changing into her one and only dance dress. She had saved up for weeks to buy it and it was her pride and joy. Made of blue nylon taffeta, with a tight bodice, sweetheart neckline and yards of gathered skirt, it made her feel like a princess. The ponytail looked far too unsophisticated for such a special dress, so she pinned her hair into a bun on the top of her head. Lots of make-up and white stilettos finished the look.
It felt odd to be going out all by herself, but Scarlett wasn’t going to let that get her down. Now that she was committed to this evening, it was a big adventure.
She found the Rugby Club and joined the throng of noisy young men and women queuing at the door. The clubhouse was hardly more than a large hut, but there was a real sense of occasion amongst the people going in. They had all been looking forward to this and were out to enjoy themselves. What she hadn’t bargained for was how posh they all were. Horsy laughs and middle-class accents came at her from all around. Scarlett just lifted her chin a little higher. She was more than a match for this lot. She had on her dance dress and she felt wonderful.
Inside, the club had been decorated with streamers and balloons to make it look festive, the bar was in full swing and a small stage had been made at one end for the band. And there they were, Ricky and the Riptides, giving their all to Hound Dog while couples danced and non-dancers clapped and tapped their feet and all around people were drinking and greeting each other. Scarlett felt a great burst of excitement. It didn’t matter that she was a stranger here. The star of the show had invited her and that was enough. She stood at the edge of the small dance floor, looking at Ricky, waiting for him to see her.
When he did, a grin of triumph passed rapidly over his face. So, he thought he had won this round. And maybe he had. She was here, after all. That had to prove something. Scarlett immediately turned to the girl who happened to be standing next to her and struck up a conversation. She wasn’t going to let Ricky think she was just going to gaze at him all evening.
‘It’s good, this, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘I haven’t been to one of these dances before.’
‘Oh, you’ll love it,’ the girl said. ‘Everyone always has such fun. And the band’s terrific, isn’t it? It’s the first time we’ve had them. The committee wanted some boring old trio doing ballroom stuff. They’re such a bunch of squares! The boys in the team all said they wanted something with a bit of life. “Give us rock ’n ’roll”, they said.’
Hound Dog came to an end. Everyone clapped and whistled. A beefy young man came up to Scarlett’s new acquaintance and handed her a lemonade. Scarlett turned her back on the stage and chatted to both of them while Ricky thanked the audience and announced the next number.
‘Excuse me.’
Another even beefier young man joined them, a pint jug of beer clasped firmly in his large hand. ‘Are you Mike’s new girl?’ he asked Scarlett.
‘No.’
‘Oh, good. Would you dance with me, then?’
He wasn’t good-looking or remotely charming, but he would do to prove to Ricky that she wasn’t waiting around for him.
‘As long as you’re not welded to that,’ she said, nodding at the beer glass.
‘Welded to—? Oh! No—I’m sorry, would you like a drink? I should have asked—’
‘Let’s dance first,’ Scarlett said.
This one was going to be easy to control. Not at all like Ricky.
It was as Brenda had said that first time Scarlett had gone to the Kursaal. You just had to get yourself seen on the floor and then it was easy. All the young men who hadn’t come with a girlfriend soon realised that Scarlett was unattached and from then on she hardly sat down. Every now and again she glanced at Ricky to make sure he had noticed how popular she was. If he did, he gave no sign.
When the interval was announced, Scarlett’s last partner went to buy her a lime and soda. While he was caught up in the queue at the bar, Ricky appeared at her side.
‘Hi, babe. You couldn’t keep away, then?’
‘Seemed a shame to waste the ticket,’ Scarlett said.
‘Yeah, right. What about this lot, then? Right bunch of posh cretins.’
‘They’re very nice.’
‘Ah, come on. Grown men who hang onto each other’s shorts and roll in the mud together? Where’s their style?’
Looking around, Scarlett had to admit that, when it came to style, Ricky won hands down.
‘There’s more to life than style,’ she argued.
Ricky gave a disbelieving smile. ‘Admit it, babe, you’re just dying for a bit of excitement.’
The trouble was, he was right. Just being near him made her insides churn and her legs go to string. She was repelled by and attracted to him in almost equal amounts.
Her last partner came back with her drink. Ricky casually draped his arm over Scarlett’s shoulders. The rugby player’s eyes flicked from Ricky to Scarlett and back again.
‘She’s with me, mate. I’ve bought her a drink,’ he said.
Ricky stared back at him. He didn’t look aggressive. He simply had arrogance oozing from him. ‘I don’t think so, mate,’ he said. Reaching out, he took the glass and gave it to Scarlett. ‘Thanks for looking after her for me. Bye.’
The weight of his hand on her shoulder, his arm across her back was doing strange things to Scarlett. She tried to speak, swallowed, tried again. Her voice came out as a squeak. ‘Thanks. I…I’ll dance with you again later.’
The rugby player said nothing. He hunched a shoulder and went off in the direction of the bar.
‘Oh, dear. He didn’t like that, did he?’ Ricky remarked. ‘How d’you like the music, babe?’
Scarlett took a swig of her drink. The pause gave her time to gather her senses a little. ‘Not bad,’ she said.
Ricky lifted his hand and ran the back of his fingernail down her spine. Scarlett practically groaned with painful pleasure.
‘I like you,’ Ricky told her. She could feel his hot breath on her neck. ‘You’ve got plenty of go in you.’
‘Doesn’t mean to say it’s going for you,’ Scarlett countered.
‘Oh, I think it is. What would you like me to sing for you in the next set?’
‘Heartbreak Hotel,’ she said. It was the first thing that came into her head.
She was glad when it was time for him to go back and play again.
At the end of the evening she was going to slip away before the band had finished, but she was thwarted by one of her earlier partners grabbing her and insisting that she had the last dance with him. Then there was a huge scrum of girls in the cloakroom and by the time she had found her raincoat there was Ricky waiting for her.
‘The others are taking the van home,’ he told her. ‘I’m taking you.’
This was it. Decision time. She tried to think of Jonathan, but he seemed so vague and far away that she could hardly conjure him up in her mind.
‘I don’t think so,’ she said, making a last effort.
‘I do t
hink so,’ Ricky stated.
She was caught like a rabbit in the headlights.
They set off for her road with Ricky’s arm once more slung round her shoulders. As they went along, he held her closer, so that she either had to fold her arms or put one round his waist. She folded them. Every now and again he leaned over and nuzzled the back of her neck. Her efforts at stopping him were very half-hearted.
They reached the corner of her street.
‘I live down here. You don’t have to come any further,’ she said, trying to back out of his grasp.
In answer, Ricky put both arms round her, pulled her to him and fastened his mouth on hers.
Months of being faithful to Jonathan swelled up and burst inside her. Her young body answered the urgency in his as she clung to him, her mouth and lips and tongue devouring his. The world spun around her until there was nothing but the hot pleasure of his kiss and the yearning down the whole length of her body.
They came up for air, gasping and panting.
‘God, Scarlett, you are so hot,’ Ricky growled.
Scarlett knew she ought to stop, but wanted it to go on.
‘I’ve got to go,’ she said.
‘Not yet.’
He kissed her again, bruising her lips against her teeth. Scarlett dug her nails into the back of his neck, making him stop for a moment.
‘Bloody hell. You wildcat,’ he yelped, and backed her against the blank side wall of the end house.
It was only when he started reaching under the many layers of her net petticoat that Scarlett came to her senses. It was now or never. She must stop.
‘No!’ she said, struggling to get free from the weight of him pinning her to the wall. ‘No. Let me go. I want to go home.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying it.’
Ricky gave her one more bruising kiss, then released her.
‘Till the next time, babe,’ he said with a laugh in his voice.
Scarlett tottered down the road on her stiletto heels and turned in at her gate. He was still there on the corner. He knew where she lived.
Bye Bye Love Page 16