Tickled Pink

by Christina Jones

  Posy shook her head. ‘Not at all. You look like a million dollars. Gorgeous. Ellis will be all over you, not to mention Flynn, and every other man in the village.’

  ‘Just the unattached ones, of course.’

  ‘Oh, of course.’

  They looked at one another and laughed.

  The karaoke news must have zipped round the Frittons like wildfire. By the time Flynn had handed out the song lists, and everyone had made their selections and handed them back, and the machine was wired for sound and vision, the pub was packed to the doors.

  Lola had received so many compliments about her new appearance that she thought she’d burst with the smiling. And Ellis had been right, of course. Once over the initial mutton-dressed-as-lamb anxiety, she felt confident, felt attractive, felt okay inside and out.

  Being fifty really wasn’t too bad at all.

  Dilys and Norrie had duly arrived and had bought drinks, had told her she was a bobby-dazzler, and that with Dom taking care of Sunny Dene – just in case anyone popped in – they were looking forward to a great night out. Mr D and Mr B, dressed in very tight beige trousers and very long lilac jackets and looking like a pair of geriatric Julian Clareys, were flirting heavily with Flynn. The pub was abuzz with laughter and excitement, and money was flowing joyously across the bar, and all the while Lola was aware she had one eye on the door.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid . . .

  With a very professional flourish, Flynn kicked off the proceedings, and Amanda and Nikki instantly became the Spice Girls. Well, almost. They were followed by Rose Lusty doing Alma Cogan frighteningly badly and a scrum of the local youths, tanked up on lager tops, who had a go at massacring Westlife with a certain amount of relish. Neddy Pink accompanied everyone throughout on the accordion, while Martha and Mary took over the Pan’s People role just in front of the fireplace.

  Mr D and Mr B then minced exaggeratedly towards the dais.

  Flynn grinned at them. ‘Shirley Bassey for you guys then, is it?’

  Mr D and Mr B nodded perfectly groomed grey heads in sync.

  ‘Bit underdressed aren’t you?’ Flynn was really at home with the microphone and at playing the crowd. ‘Shouldn’t you be in full flounce and slap?’

  ‘Not today, dear,’ Mr B grabbed the mike and fluttered his eyelashes. ‘We’re going for the natural look . . .’

  The Crooked Sixpence erupted as the opening bars of ‘Big Spender’ trumpeted up to the rafters.

  Most of the karaoke warblers were completely tone deaf, not that it seemed to matter, as they all received riotous rounds of applause. And clearly whether singing or clapping, it was thirsty work.

  ‘With Flynn up there playing ace DJ and compere,’ Posy panted, ‘we need someone else behind this bar.’

  Lola laughed. ‘Well, if you like, I could ring Ritchie and ask him to come in.’

  ‘No thanks. I’d rather die from exhaustion than be pummelled to death by Sonia’s bump. We’ll just have to manage . . . Oh, shit . . .’

  ‘What?’ Lola paused in spurting gin into a glass.

  ‘I think my dad’s going to sing.’

  ‘Thank the Lord it isn’t Dilys,’ Lola said, deftly adding ice and a slice as though she’d done it all her life, then bit her lip. ‘Oh, God, sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. I just mean, after what you said . . .’

  ‘No, no, it’s fine. Dad’s definitely the better option. Fortunately Mum is so unused to going out and drinking that I don’t think she could stand up if she wanted to. Oooh, no, he’s going to do Meat Loaf. Why do your parents always have to embarrass you?’

  ‘At least they’re enjoying themselves.’

  Posy smiled. ‘They are, aren’t they? They haven’t been like this for ages. None of us have . . . isn’t it strange? Still, no peace for the wicked. Yes, what can I get you? Right, two pints of Duck Pond and blackcurrant coming up, and they probably will be again later . . .’

  Lola, busy, happy, and now knowing that Ellis was spending the evening with Tatty and hating herself for minding, stopped short in mixing a Bloody Mary, and listened to Norrie, a tingle creeping up her spine.

  He was absolutely amazing. ‘Bat Out Of Hell’ had never sounded so good. She doubted if Marvin Lee Aday could have done it better himself.

  It wasn’t Norrie up there in his brown cords and his checked shirt and his lovat-green cardigan with sparse strands of hair plastered across his gleaming pate. It was a wild, roaring, raunchy rocker.

  When the last notes died away, the pub was silent for a moment then everyone stood up and stamped and whistled and called for more. Norrie, perspiring happily, obliged with an equally wonderful rendition of ‘Dead Ringer’.

  ‘Wow!’ Flynn yelled into the microphone. ‘A star is born! What are we having next?’

  As Norrie, to a standing ovation, went into a pitch-perfect ‘You Took the Words Right Out of My Mouth’, Posy, moist-eyed, shook her head. ‘My God, he’s brilliant. I never knew . . . It’s like we’re suddenly all discovering hidden talents, isn’t it? Oh, and just in time, our extra barman has arrived.’

  ‘Ritchie? I thought he wasn’t –’

  ‘He isn’t,’ Ellis grinned, squeezing in behind the bar. ‘I am.’

  Lola couldn’t stop the smile stretching from ear to ear. It probably wasn’t really melon-wide, but that’s how it felt, and was totally beyond her control. ‘I didn’t expect to see you . . .’

  ‘What? Tonight of all nights?’ Ellis raised his eyebrows. ‘I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. And you look wonderful.’

  ‘Thank you. I actually feel it, too.’

  ‘Told you, didn’t I?’

  ‘You did. I should have listened. And you don’t have to help out. You can stay the other side of the bar and be a customer, if you’d prefer. I mean, you’re not on the payroll . . .’

  ‘Call it a birthday present, then,’ Ellis winked as he whisked off to serve the Westlife-killers.

  By the end of the evening, the till had been emptied of notes three times, Lola, Posy and Ellis had sprinted up and downstairs to the cellar for restocks more time than they could remember, and everyone had eventually staggered off home, still singing.

  Lola, who had been slightly concerned about whether Ellis would request a karaoke version of ‘Happy Birthday’, or one of the Lola songs which she’d always found so embarrassing, needn’t have worried.

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ He looked quite hurt when she voiced her fears as they clattered empty glasses together and cleaned ashtrays. ‘You asked me to keep it a secret and I will.’

  ‘Sorry. Thanks. And is Tatty –?’

  ‘Full of ideas for advertising the new tattoo parlour, and busy sending off for all the up-to-date regulations and design catalogues and everything.’

  Lola nodded. Ellis was kind. He wouldn’t prick Tatty’s bubble. Not today. Not when she was so happy. Probably not ever.

  The pub was wreathed in cigarette smoke hanging in a blue haze across the emptiness. The echoes of the silent music still throbbed. It had been, as everyone said, the best night anyone could remember in The Crooked Sixpence.

  Lola looked across at Flynn and Posy, who were unplugging the karaoke machine and coiling the wires. ‘Ellis has offered to finish the clearing up with me. You’ve both worked your socks off today, and I really appreciate all you’ve done, so go home and get some rest.’

  Home . . . she’d said home again. Sunny Dene was home.

  ‘Cheers,’ Posy grinned, swiping her curls from her eyes. ‘I’m almost asleep on my feet. So, is the karaoke staying, then?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Lola said, as she emptied the beer dregs from the drip trays into the slop bucket. ‘It’s been brilliant, especially discovering Norrie.’

  Posy laughed. ‘He’ll be signing autographs as he dishes up the full English’s now. Flynn was just saying that we should incorporate the karaoke into the carnival, have a sort of Stars In Their Eyes show.’

  ‘Oh, yes, that’d be great. Wo
nderful. When’s the next parish council meeting? You’ll have to suggest it.’

  ‘A couple of weeks’ time. I’ll definitely put it forward. Then we could have Queen Mab outside in the car park on carnival night, and the soundalike show in here, and –’

  ‘The carnival queen bestowing her favours anywhere she wants to,’ Ellis added happily.

  Lola and Posy gave him matching mock glares. ‘Okay, sorry. Just a thought.’

  Within half an hour everything was tidied, Flynn and Posy had left, yawning, for Sunny Dene, and Lola slumped into one of the hearthside chairs. It had been a truly lovely day. Her best birthday ever.

  ‘Fancy a nightcap?’ Ellis was still behind the bar. ‘Something different for your birthday? I’ll have whatever you choose.’

  Why not? ‘I’d love a Cointreau and bitter lemon.’

  ‘Is that a recognized drink?’ Ellis pulled a face. ‘Sounds more like a punishment.’

  ‘It was a very fashionable drink when I was growing up.’

  Ellis clattered amongst the bottles. ‘Oh, right. In the Dark Ages, you mean. Like mead or wassail. Oh, well, I’ll try anything once.’

  She laughed at him, watching him as he poured liqueurs into two glasses and flipped the top from the bitter lemon. It seemed as though she’d always known him. Sitting here, happily tired, after a day packed with surprises, he was simply becoming part of her life.

  Dangerous thoughts . . . Stupid . . . She shrugged. It didn’t matter. Not tonight.

  She’d done exactly this with Flynn, of course. Sat here, by the fire, sharing a drink in the empty pub. And they’d drunk a toast to friendship. Which is what they had. She and Flynn would always be friends.

  Ellis placed the drinks on the table and sprawled opposite her, his long black-jeaned legs taking up most of the hearth. ‘Happy birthday.’

  ‘Thank you. You’ve made it very special.’

  He grinned and fished in the pocket of his jeans. ‘It’s not over yet. Here . . .’

  She looked down at the tiny purple and silver striped box. ‘I can’t ... I mean . . .’

  ‘Yes, you can,’ he pushed the box into her hands. ‘It’s nothing much. You didn’t give me a lot of warning, and yes, I did buy it at the town hall, and no, it isn’t a desiccated dog turd.’

  Laughing, she lifted the lid on the box. Three slender silver chains coiled against purple tissue paper. Lola picked them up, each one with a different link formation, delicate and exquisite.

  ‘Ellis, they’re gorgeous. Thank you so much. Really ... oh, God, now I think I’m going to cry . . .’

  ‘Don’t do that,’ he leaned forward. ‘I’m just pleased you like them. They all have different properties: these three are for health, happiness and love. They had wealth and prosperity and stuff like that too, but as a child of the sixties I thought you may find them slightly materialistic.’ She smiled at him again. ‘Health, happiness and love sounds like the perfect package to me. Hang on, I’ll unfasten them.’

  ‘You might need a hand putting them on,’ Ellis leaned forward, his spiky hair brushing her face. ‘Shove your foot up on the table, only mind the Cointreau.’

  ‘Uh? What has my foot go to do with anything?’

  ‘They’re ankle bracelets,’ Ellis grinned. ‘Dead sexy.’

  ‘I’m not wearing ankle bracelets! Tarts wear ankle bracelets!’

  Ellis sat back slightly, looking puzzled. ‘I thought that particular premise went out around the same time as the ones about only tarts have pierced ears or wear red nail varnish? And as you’ve already got both of those, you might as well go for the set. Now, put your left foot up on the table, and don’t kick the drinks over.’

  Keeping both feet firmly on the floor, Lola shook her head, ‘I’m not wearing ankle bracelets.’

  ‘Now you really are showing your age. Even my Gran doesn’t think someone’s a floozy just because her ears are pierced,’ Ellis picked up his drink and knocked it back in one, pulling a face. ‘Ugh, it’s like Benylin! And let me tell you that ankle bracelets are discreet, pretty, and very, very alluring against smooth skin. Trust me. It’ll be like the jeans. You’ll feel incredibly sassy once you’re wearing them.’

  Slowly sipping her drink, Lola sighed. It was churlish of her to refuse his present and she could always take them off later, and anyway, wasn’t today supposed to be about all things new? Different experiences? ‘Look, I’m sorry –’

  ‘No –’ Ellis held out his hands. ‘I should apologize. I’ve insulted you. I didn’t think –’

  She laughed. ‘You haven’t insulted me at all. You’ve just given me a glorious present which I was insensitive enough to be rude about because of some preconceived notion probably drummed into me by my mother. I was being stupid, and it highlights the difference in our ages only too well. We’re an entire generation apart.’

  Ellis’s eyes gleamed. ‘I know. Wonderful, isn’t it? I can’t believe you were lucky enough to enjoy Joey Levine and Art Resnick in real time. So, are you going to let me turn you into an ancient floozy?’

  ‘Everyone thinks I’m that already.’

  ‘There you go then. Now, stick your foot up on the table.’

  She did, and watched as Ellis carefully pulled up the leg of her jeans and rolled down the top of the canvas ankle boot. Thank heavens she’d shaved her legs. In her Nigel days, of course, she’d had her legs waxed regularly. Maybe Tatty offered leg-waxing, and maybe that wasn’t such a good idea . . .

  Ellis’s fingers gently brushing her skin as he fastened each of the three clasps made her shiver. Madness. Total madness . . .

  ‘There.’ He sat back. ‘Don’t they look the business? You have such slim ankles, and still tanned. You must have had a great holiday last year.’

  ‘Solarium. Gym. Sauna. Beauty salon.’ Lola admired the three tiny chains slipping silkily against her ankle bone, twinkling in the lamplight. ‘All the trappings of the bored and regularly-neglected mistress. And these look wonderful. You’re right, again, you smug so-and-so. They look gorgeous and feel superb, and thank you.’ She thought that he might lean forward and kiss her. He didn’t.

  ‘My pleasure.’ He pulled the boot and jeans into position, and stood up. ‘And has it been a great birthday?’

  ‘Wonderful. Thanks to you.’ She finished her drink and stood up too. ‘And I’m totally exhausted.’

  ‘That’s because you’re an ancient floozy,’ Ellis said cheerfully, ‘I’ll help you to lock up then I’ll walk home with you.’

  ‘There’s really no need. Steeple Fritton always seems fairly thug-free.’

  Ellis waited nonetheless while Lola put on her coat, then checked the windows and doors, the fire and the ashtrays, as she switched off lights and finally locked The Crooked Sixpence’s front door.

  The night was dark and cold. She shivered and Ellis put his arm round her shoulders. He was much taller than she was, and she fitted against him. It didn’t seem odd at all. It seemed scarily right. She and Nigel had never walked like this: in twenty-eight years they’d rarely walked anywhere together. This was like being a teenager all over again. Heady stuff.

  ‘The ankle bracelets feel lovely. And no one knows they’re there. Like a secret.’

  ‘Glad you like them. It seems sad though, only having one present on your birthday. Did, um, whatshisname buy you loads?’

  ‘Nigel. Oh, yes . . . but rarely on the actual day. And then only through the company accounts. Marionette Biscuits paid for all my presents. He’d never risk Barbara finding anything untoward on the personal credit card statements.’

  ‘If I’d been him, I’d have dumped her and made you official. I’d have been so proud to be with you.’

  ‘He couldn’t. He didn’t want to upset Barbara, or the children, and then there was the business . . .’

  She stopped, listening to herself. Wasn’t that exactly what every ‘other woman’ was told? She’d never doubted that Nigel would one day leave his family and be with her, but now
. . . She shook her head in the darkness. He was dead and it was over and if they hadn’t shared the life she’d imagined it was far too late to mourn it now.

  ‘Someone’s still up,’ Ellis said as they arrived far too quickly outside Sunny Dene. ‘All the lights are on.’

  ‘Probably Norrie taking Trevor and Kenneth out for their last walk and singing Meatloaf’s greatest hits.’ Ellis smiled down at her. ‘Probably. Good night, then. And happy birthday . . .’

  He slid his hands inside her coat, round her waist, pulling her towards him. Then he bent his head and kissed her. Lola remained immobile for a moment, then kissed him back. No one but Nigel had kissed her for twenty-eight years, and very few men before that . . .

  Ellis made her float... made her feel like she’d never felt before ... Ellis was a very experienced kisser, she thought hazily, sliding her hands up into his hair. Gentle ... arousing . . . waking so many buried emotions . . .

  Eventually he moved away from her, smiling. ‘Sorry.’ She opened her eyes. ‘Don’t be. It was wonderful ... the best present.’

  ‘Better than the ankle bracelets?’

  ‘Not better, different . . . And completely mad.’ Trying hard to sound controlled, she touched his cheek. ‘Tatty certainly knows what she’s doing. Good night, Ellis, and thank you for today.’

  He kissed her again, very gently, then watched until she’d closed Sunny Dene’s door behind her.

  Dom was just vanishing into the kitchen and grinned at her. ‘Can I have some of whatever you’ve had? You look like you’re illuminated. I’ve heard all about the karaoke – God, I wish I could have been there.’

  Still floating, Lola beamed at Posy’s gangling bespectacled brother, it’s going to be a permanent fixture so you’ll have plenty of time to have a go. You’re up late, you weren’t waiting for me, were you? I have got a key.’

  ‘No, no, we’ve got another guest in. She arrived out of the blue this evening, so I’ve had to make up the bedroom and prepare a hopefully okay dinner.’

  ‘Never mind, you’ll get your reward in heaven as your mother is so fond of saying. Is she staying long? It’ll be great for your mum and dad if she is.’