Mary George of Allnorthover

by Lavinia Greenlaw

  The dancing spread. The eleven and twelve-year-olds, allowed to accompany their parents for the first hour or so of the evening, began with giggling imitations of the grown-ups. The girls in versions of their older sisters’ outfits, rushed from one corner to the next, watching everything avidly. The boys stuck close to the kitchen hatch, clubbing together for another fizzy drink and grabbing handfuls of crisps and cake when no one was looking. As the rock ’n’ rollers began to falter, Terry played novelty songs, ‘The Laughing Gnome’ and ‘Lily the Pink’, which brought some of the younger ones into the middle of the room, parading, gesticulating and singing along. The adults queued up to buy plastic glasses of white wine or lemonade, or beer poured from a big tin with two holes punched in the top. The women gathered up chairs and arranged them in circles, balancing their drinks and cigarette packets on their knees, while the men leaned against the walls.

  The room began to get properly dark by eight thirty. The children were taken home and most of the older adults left too. More and more teenagers arrived from the surrounding farms and villages, and soon the hall was full. Most people there were between the ages of fourteen and twenty-four but even if they lived next door to or had known each other all their lives, under Terry Flux’s coloured lights and revolving mirror balls, they were abashed.

  Terry Flux wanted to bring the crowd together, so he started with the girls and some hard funk that would have them united on the floor. Earth, Wind & Fire’s ‘Saturday Nite’ brought them forwards, gesticulating and singing along, punctuating the staccato blasts of brass with jutting hips or jabbing fingers. Each cluster of girls threw down their clutch bags or shoulder bags, nestled their drinks among them and formed a tight ring. They danced to please themselves and to entertain one another, giggling and clowning, and very simply happy. To break open the circles, Terry Flux switched to ska – ‘Johnny Reggae’, something with a straight enough beat for the boys to start moving to, and then, faster, ‘Al Capone’, the screeching, squealing brakes that announced the song, the warning: ‘Al Capone’s gun don’t argue!’ bringing gangster imitations and echoes from the boys, and yelps of recognition from the girls as they worked themselves into a long line down the room and set about a dance somewhere between tribal and country, right over left foot, back and forth, left over right, back and forth again, but only half a skip each way, all stomping their feet on the wooden floor, then a jump and a quarter turn, landing heavily together on their platform shoes. Their hips and bellies were undulating but their upper bodies and raised arms were stiff. Terry led them into something slower but just as punchy, ‘Me and Baby Brother’, to which they adapted the same dance, three heavy sways then the jump and turn to punctuate the chorus: ‘Me and baby brother’ – SLAM! 1–2–3 – SLAM! In the middle of the row was Julie Lacey in a glittery halter top and slithery pencil skirt, big curls and high stiletto heels, hardly dancing at all, just making small mocking gestures that captivated everyone watching her. At the near end, June Hepple followed the others by watching the feet of a neighbour, caught her long skirt on the heels of her clogs, flung her arms out and never quite managed to get in time. By the door was Mary George, swaying a little. Terry could see her mouthing the words of the song and noticed her look along the line, smiling but resisting, and then turn back to the people she had arrived with, the art-school lot. Mary looked neater than usual, more sophisticated, in a short black dress and high heels. She had smoothed back her hair and made it look particularly glossy and dark. She set off across the hall, glancing anxiously back at her friends, only to be reeled in by Julie, who shoved her into the line. Mary, for all her shyness, loved to dance and knew these steps from the time, only three years earlier, when she had tried to hang around with Julie at Youth Club discos and on Saturday nights.

  After a couple more crashing dances, during which Billy, already drunk, whirled into the line and was half swaying, half being held up by June, Terry cooled things down with a slow punk number that had the familiarity of a reggae beat – ‘Police and Thieves’ by The Clash. Then he sped it all up again, differently this time, bringing in the boys and the art-school lot. He found a song that counted as New Wave, but that still gave the girls already on the floor a rhythm they could dance to – Blondie – and before anyone could go and sit down again, he ran it straight into Disco Tex and the Sex-O-Lettes and ‘Get Dancin’: hard enough and camp enough to count as ironic. It worked – the art students were rolling their eyes and raising their eyebrows at one another but they stayed on their feet. The girls carried on bumping and grinding, oblivious. A few songs later, everyone was looking red-faced and frayed, and the local boys were spending longer outside. Someone out there was selling the cans of cider they had brought into the hall inside their jackets and poured it into the plastic cups in which they’d bought their squash. Terry Flux lowered the lights and began the slow dancing with a number that had a long and subtle enough intro to give them all a chance to decide what to do.

  As the first bars of The Chi-Lites’ ‘Have You Seen Her?’ filled the room, the girls were quick to disperse and make themselves busy, not looking or waiting. Mary wandered over to where Daniel, Clara and Paulie were sitting, deep in conversation. Each of them had their hands in the air, a drink in one and a cigarette in the other. Mary hesitated, not knowing how to find a way in. She was about to tap Daniel on the arm, when somebody caught her shoulder.

  ‘Mary, my love!’ It was Martin Lacey and even though Mary knew now that he was not her type, she still felt the attraction that had led to her long adolescent crush on Julie’s brother. He wrapped Mary in his arms and moved her forcefully into the centre of the floor. Martin was confident and he danced well. Nothing could detract from his good looks, not his tight white cap-sleeved t-shirt with the cigarette packet tucked into one sleeve, or his streaked jeans, his sprayed hair or the citrus and soap smell of his aftershave. As he twirled her round, Mary tried to catch a glimpse of her friends each time they came into view. Once, she saw Daniel and Clara looking towards her, smiling or laughing. Then Paulie and Clara were dancing next to her. Clara had her eyes shut, her head flung back and her long arms reaching straight into the air on either side of Paulie’s neck; her odd profile quite lovely, her clasped fingers exaggerated by their black-painted nails. Paulie’s face was impassive as he stared rigidly past Clara’s shoulder but he was transformed by his dancing, which was so elegant that it made him appear mysterious and sexual, unlike his everyday self.

  Mary was so fascinated by this that she forgot to look for Daniel, and then the record finished and she saw he was standing alone, looking awkward with his long black raincoat still belted and buttoned up, lighting another French cigarette and staring, not at her, but at Paulie’s hand on Clara’s bottom. She, too, was wearing a black dress and it ended not above the knee, like Mary’s, but high on her thigh, just meeting the top of her fishnet stockings. Her loose hair was cut at the front so that sprays of ringlets framed and almost hid her face. As the next song started, Chicago’s ‘If You Leave Me Now’, Martin turned from Mary without a word and started towards Clara who smiled and reached out a hand but moved past him. Mary saw Martin tense and swerve away, and Daniel stub out his cigarette and come forward. Confused, Mary turned slowly round on the spot and was relieved when Paulie appeared (‘Dance, sweetheart?’) and drew her lightly to him with one hand, the other holding his cigarette away to one side. He did dance beautifully, but he kept his head turned towards his cigarette. Again, as they revolved, Mary tried to watch Daniel and saw, as if in a series of photographs illustrating how to do something step by step, Clara undoing the belt of Daniel’s coat, then the buttons, and then shucking it off his shoulders and letting it drop. He looked entranced as she wrapped his arms round her waist and began to dance. The song ended, Paulie and Mary drifted apart, but Clara kept hold of Daniel till the music began again.

  Terry Flux had his eye on the girls who’d had nothing to do for the last half hour and gave them a fast-paced dance num
ber, an excuse for some energetic shaking and twirling – more Blondie, ‘X Offender’. Clara broke away into a scything, sinuous dance of her own. For a while, Daniel tried clumsily to mirror Clara and stay with her but he soon got lost, and when he looked to her with a pleading smile, she shrugged and turned her back on him and found herself opposite Martin Lacey who caught her by the hand and easily matched her. Mary went and sat down where she was joined by Daniel, who had been to the bar and came back with four glasses of orange squash. He reached a hand into a black velvet bag – Clara’s – and produced a bottle of vodka, with which he topped up each glass. He handed one to Mary, ‘Cheers’. The music was too loud to talk over, so they watched the dancers: Clara with Martin Lacey, Paulie absorbed and on his own but attracting a small crowd, and Julie at the centre of her gang.

  Daniel leaned over and said something in Mary’s ear.

  ‘What? I couldn’t hear you!’

  This time he shouted: ‘I said look at those old hippies over there!’ He pointed, and she saw he meant Billy and June who had slung their arms round each other and were executing an unsteady can-can at the back of the hall. They were laughing and staggering, and Mary knew that another time, she would have joined them. She blushed.

  Clara broke away from Martin in the middle of a song, and dashed over. She threw herself into a chair next to Mary and took a gulp from a glass. ‘Thank you, darling,’ she gasped. ‘I’m worn out! That boy’s quite something, isn’t he, Mary? An old flame?’

  ‘No!’ She was horrified. ‘He’s just … we only …’ but Clara wasn’t listening.

  ‘Quite a freak show, isn’t it?’ Her voice, always loud, carried over the music. ‘That yokel wanted to take me out the back for some “cider”! Oooh, look at Hippy Corner! And that fat tart with the frizzy perm. She’s falling out of her tinsel top!’ Mary pretended not to hear.

  Paulie joined them. ‘God, this is a dump!’ He looked livid. ‘I went for a piss and there were these animals in there who went all shrieky and limp-wristed when they saw me. One tried to grab my earring!’

  ‘Jealous, darling,’ shrugged Clara.

  ‘And then he groped my balls!’

  ‘They’re all dying to grope you, really,’ Clara drawled. ‘What did they say when you got your cock out?’

  ‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding. I went outside instead!’ They were both laughing. ‘Let’s go,’ Paulie stood up.

  ‘But it’s just getting interesting!’ Clara tugged at his sleeve. ‘I’ll find you a nice girl to pursue. There’s a fabulous blonde …’ They set off across the floor together.

  Mary had sat through this saying nothing, and concentrating on her drink. She was shaking as Daniel turned her head gently towards him. ‘They don’t mean it.’

  ‘They’re such fucking snobs!’ Mary was furious. ‘And anyway, Julie’s hair isn’t permed, it’s natural!’

  ‘I expect your friends can give as good as they get.’

  ‘They’re not my friends!’

  ‘Then why are you …?’

  ‘I mean, Oh, for god’s sake!’ Mary was shocked to find she was crying. She rushed off to the toilet where she found both Clara and Julie in front of the mirror.

  ‘Mary! Come here, you daft baggage! Your eyeliner’s all over the place!’ Julie saw her first and began rummaging in her handbag.

  ‘Here, I’ve got a tissue.’ Clara dipped it under a running tap and wiped hard at Mary’s eyes.

  ‘My lens!’ The one in her left eye had slipped. The two girls huddled round, tipping her head back and forth.

  ‘Oh my god, it’s halfway round your eyeball,’ Julie murmured.

  ‘Let me see.’ Clara pulled Mary’s head back towards her. ‘Oh, yes, there it is. Yuck! Your eye’s going all bloodshot!’

  Mary shook them off and squinted into the mirror. She coaxed the lens into place then stood back and took in her red face, limp hair and the smears beneath her eyes. ‘I look a state!’

  Clara and Julie considered her and then set to work. Clara held her wrists under the cold tap to cool her down while Julie fussed at her hair, back-combing and twiddling strands which she then set with hairspray. They turned her round and cleaned her face with Julie’s cold cream and another of Clara’s tissues. Then Julie patted on some powder, and Clara relined her eyes. They both produced lipsticks and Mary took them both, smudging Julie’s shiny pink over Clara’s red. Last of all, Clara produced a vial of perfume and used her little finger to dot a drop behind Mary’s ears. Mary sniffed and muttered thank you, then went back into the hall. Julie and Clara returned to the mirror in silence, finished what they were doing and left one after the other, not having exchanged a word.

  The room was beginning to empty and those who remained were all drunk. Terry Flux turned down the lights, a kindness to the couples who’d found themselves a corner. Terry had his eye on Billy and June, who were sitting on the floor, smoking a joint, something June had never done before. June could drink anyone under the table, and remain as prim and sober as ever. She felt different now though, elated and unsteady.

  June’s hair was long and straight and centre-parted just like Billy’s, only hers was dark and coarse. Until this summer, she had dressed to oppose Sophie, her feminine mother, choosing heavy fabrics and staid cuts and colours. If she added anything fashionable, it was to pacify Julie and the gang. Then with Tom coming back and her having to live at Aunt May’s, and being in Camptown after school while Julie was still busy at work, she’d begun to choose for herself. And what June found she liked was what the shop assistants called ‘peasant’ or ‘ethnic’. She had an embroidered cheesecloth smock and a maxi skirt with little mirrors sewn round the hem. She pulled her hair forward from behind her ears, across her face, and dabbed what Julie called her ‘pulse points’ with patchouli oil. Tonight Billy had called her hair ‘wild’ and said she looked like ‘Janis’.

  Terry Flux put on the Moody Blues’ ‘Nights in White Satin’ and, sure enough, Billy pulled June up onto her feet and they slumped against each other and inched round. Paulie had persuaded Julie to dance, and found he was enjoying himself at last. ‘God, you smell wonderful!’ he sighed into her hair, meaning it. Julie sniggered and put her hand on his bottom.

  Although Daniel had been holding and kissing her since she had sat back down, Mary couldn’t get rid of her uneasiness. She kept wanting to look over at Paulie or Clara, or Billy and June, Julie, even Martin. When Daniel got up to go to the toilet, she escaped outside and then felt unable to go back in. There were too many different people all in the same place and Daniel – to be drawn so powerfully to someone she barely knew, to whom she found it difficult to speak and whose friends were so glamorous and awful – it was all too confusing to bear.

  Her heart was racing and her skin prickled in the damp, electrified air. She concentrated on slowing her breath and held her hands to her cheeks in an effort to cool them.

  At last, the pressure that had weakened over the last few days gave way and the sky broke with a splintering of thunder. A strange warm wind gusted through the trees and Mary drew back along the side of the hall. She heard the doors open. It was Daniel. She could see his face caught in the light and was shocked again that she could have a boyfriend, if he was her boyfriend, who was so lovely. It frightened her. Everything he made her feel, frightened her.

  There was another slam of thunder as he disappeared back inside. I love your voice, I love your face, Mary whispered into her fists. The place shook as those who remained stamped and sang. Terry Flux had decided to enjoy himself and finished the evening with a wild combination of his favourite punk, jazz, reggae, glam rock and funk. Mary crept along a ledge and looked in and saw Daniel with Clara, but not very clearly as the window was dirty and the hall half-dark. They were dancing together again and Daniel looked more animated than she ever felt he was when he was with her. Clara reached up and smoothed his hair, or ran her fingers through it; she stroked his cheek; she whispered in his ear or was it a ki
ss? Mary’s tired eyes strained to make sense of the flickering scene. Watching them, she felt pain fill her chest and cramp her gut. Uncontrollable tears were coming to her eyes again, as the thunder returned with such endless deep thuds and slams that Mary thought buildings were falling down. There was going to be a storm and Mary was not about to go back inside when the weather matched her feelings so exactly. She turned away from the window, closed her eyes and lifted her head, but the rain didn’t come.

  Terry played the final track, cutting the volume for the chorus as he had done at the end of every disco he’d DJ’ed, and leaving the drunken, overwound girls and boys to bellow ‘And it’s hi ho silver lining …’ Then they knew it was time to go home.

  People came drifting out of the hall, stumbling and shouting. Somebody was arguing and someone else managed only a few steps before being sick. Mary wanted to get home quickly, before Daniel appeared.

  ‘Mary, are you alright?’ It was Billy, carrying two crash helmets.

  Mary was overjoyed. ‘Thank god, Billy. Take me home!’ She grabbed one of the helmets. ‘Where’s the bike?’

  Billy hesitated. ‘Just behind you, further up the alley, but I was …’

  June Hepple appeared from behind him, and gave Mary a firm smile. ‘Well, I’ll be getting off!’ She turned to go, but Billy caught her arm.