‘Huh! That makes a change.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Karen replied defensively.
‘Well, they’re only interested in rich blokes for their girls.’
Karen sighed. ‘You really have got Vicki’s parents all wrong, you know. They just want their daughters to be happy, to be with boyfriends who’ll look after them and treat them well. Money doesn’t come into it. Sure, it helps if their boyfriends have got a few quid but it’s not their biggest concern.’
‘Mmm.’ Rhys was clearly not convinced and took a gulp of his beer while Karen took a swig of her coke. He looked over the rim of the glass at her and took another large gulp. He had nearly finished his pint already. The conversation had gone off on a tangent and Rhys was keen to bring it back onto the subject of Vicki, which Karen had cleverly side-stepped, Rhys thought, like one of his favourite rugby players, the brilliant, twinkle-toed Welsh wing, Gerald Davies. The extra gulp of beer was for courage. ‘So, what do Vicki’s parents think of Tommy Slater then? It must have come as a hell of a shock when they found out Vicki was seeing him?’
‘I think it was at first, as you can imagine, but they’ve got used to it by now. I think they find it stranger seeing Vicki’s name and photograph in the newspapers every so often. I haven’t seen much of them lately so I don’t know what they really think. At the end of the day, it’s up to Vicki what she does and who she goes out with.’
Rhys took Karen’s comment as Vicki’s parents not being overly enthusiastic about Tommy Slater, but, then again, he thought he might be reading too much into it. Ultimately, he was just looking for the finest of threads to hang onto.
‘And how is Vicki?’ As before, Rhys could barely get the words out and he looked down at the table top like a schoolboy waiting to hear the teacher’s report opposite him.
‘She’s okay,’ Karen replied in a neutral voice. ‘She seems happy enough and has got used to living in Tommy’s flat, just about.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, the flat, or apartment, as Tommy insists you call it, is very big and in a nice part of London, but his taste is pretty naff and Vicki found it hard at first to feel at home in it.’
‘I’m sure Vicki would have added her own touches by now. She’s got a great eye.’
‘That’s the thing, though. Tommy won’t let her. He has the flat the way he wants it and Vicki doesn’t get a look in. He can be very selfish.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yeah. I suppose that’s how he’s become a top footballer. He’s very single-minded and obsessed at getting his own way.’ Karen took another swig of her coke before continuing. ‘I could tell he didn’t really want me around this weekend; I was afraid to touch anything, to put anything out of place. He seemed to keep his eye on me all the time whenever I went to do something. It was hard work. I could tell Vicki was a bit embarrassed.’
‘Mmm. Knowing Vicki as I do, I wouldn’t have thought she’d like that very much?’
‘Yeah, you’re right. She’s mentioned it to me a couple of times now, this selfish streak of his. She finds it a bit disconcerting sometimes.’
‘Really!’ Rhys’s tone was higher pitched than he planned it to be but it reflected his excitement at knowing that perhaps Tommy Slater wasn’t Mr Perfect after all. Karen’s next words excited him even more.
‘Oh, by the way, before I forget, Vicki knows I’m seeing you today. She gave me your number in fact. She asked me to pass on her love and she hopes everything is going well with you.’
Rhys couldn’t reply. It was as though someone had superglued his lips together. This was the first piece of communication he had received from Vicki since the day they parted and he struggled to find the right words to answer Karen back. He was in a tizz and feeling the best he had felt by a million miles since that fateful day. Without thinking or knowing it, he finished his beer, stood up and went to the bar to order another. It was only when he was there that he turned round and asked Karen whether she wanted another coke herself. But, as he waited for his pint to be pulled, he regained a semblance of rational thought and realised that Vicki was only being polite, but so miserable had he been for so long, he was desperate to read the most positive intentions into even Vicki’s most mundane, friendly words.
‘Here you are.’ Rhys placed the two glasses on the table and rammed the change into his back pocket.
‘Thanks.’ Karen took a sip and, looking over the rim of her glass, saw Rhys sink half his pint in one go.
‘So, is it President Mitchell yet?’ Rhys resumed in a happy mood.
‘Sorry?’
‘Sorry, I should have explained. It’s a private thing between me and Vick. If she gets to become the managing director of her company in London, she’ll be called president. It’s something to do with the fact it’s an American company and that’s what they call the top boss over there, apparently. It’s got nothing to do with her becoming the US president or anything like that. By the way, what a crook that Nixon turned out to be! Good riddance to him, I say.’
‘Yeah. All that Watergate stuff was incredible. I couldn’t take my eyes off the telly last year. I agree with you. Good riddance to Nixon, another shyster.’
‘You certainly know your shysters?’
Karen laughed. ‘I like to think so. I think I’ve got good intuition when it comes to men.’
Rhys couldn’t resist it, the alcohol loosening his tongue and unlocking the chest containing his private thoughts which began to spill out. ‘And Tommy Slater? Is he a shyster?’
Karen looked at Rhys and their unblinking eyes met. She half-smiled and took an age over a sip of her drink. She appeared to be deep in thought and prolonged his agony by taking another sip. Finally, she put the glass down and sat on the fence. ‘The jury’s out.’ Rhys grinned and took a swig of his beer. That was good enough for him. ‘I don’t know anything about this president thing but Vicki’s doing really well in her job. She’s the sales and marketing director now.’
‘What! At her age? That’s incredible. Do tell her I’m really chuffed for her when you speak to her next … and tell her I think about her all the time.’ Rhys lowered his head in slight embarrassment for admitting this last sentiment. Karen smiled back sweetly but said nothing. ‘I told Vicki she’d be president before she was thirty. She thought I was mad but I believed in her. She’s only one step away now. By the sounds of it, I think I was too pessimistic. She’ll get there way before then.’
‘She could, ’cos, how old is she now? Twenty-six?’
‘Yeah, twenty-six,’ Rhys took another swig before adding poignantly, ‘six months and seventeen days.’
Karen smiled sadly at Rhys and if she didn’t know it already, she knew it now. He was still hopelessly in love with Vicki. ‘Let’s hope she makes it then, as she loves that job, and they must think the world of her.’
‘Definitely. She’d make a brilliant president.’ They both laughed for the title sounded so un-British and they couldn’t get their heads round to the idea that their friend would be a ‘president’. ‘Another drink?’
‘No, thanks, Rhys,’ Karen replied, looking at her watch. ‘I’m going to have to make a move in a minute. I don’t want to be late for my train and I’d better leave now ’cos I’m bound to get lost on the Underground.’
‘Paddington’s quite easy from here. Get the train round the corner to Victoria and then the Circle Line to Paddington.’
‘You’re right. I’ve got it scribbled down here somewhere,’ Karen replied, looking at a scrap of paper which she had removed from her holdall.
‘Let’s hope they’re not working on the lines like they often do on Sundays.’
Karen threw him her most worried look. ‘I’d better get a move on then, just in case,’ she declared, stuffing her scarf into the holdall. She stood up straight and looked at Rhys, who had risen from his chair at the same time, thinking he might have another pint for the road when Karen left. ‘It’s been lovely seeing you again and
thanks for the drinks and roll.’
‘Yeah, it’s been great. Keep in touch and, you know, whenever you’re down this way, give me a call.’
‘I will. Same when you’re in Wales. Here’s my number.’ Karen grabbed a beer mat, rummaged in her bag for a pen, and scribbled down her telephone number. She passed it to Rhys, who looked at it quickly, before folding it in half and stuffing it into the front right-hand pocket of his jeans. Looking sheepish, but emboldened by the beer, Rhys had one final request to make of Karen.
‘Umm, I don’t know how to say this, but if you’re speaking to Vicki, tell her that it’d be nice if she got in touch and, you know, we could even meet up for some lunch or a drink sometime, for old time’s sake, like. Nothing heavy, you know. I do miss her.’
Karen put her holdall back down on the floor and her expression turned sorrowful. She could see how much Rhys was hurting. ‘I don’t know, Rhys,’ she answered after a palpable hesitation, unable to look him in the eye.
Rhys was uncertain whether Karen meant she could not pass on the message or whether Vicki was unlikely to take him up on the offer. He didn’t reply as he didn’t know what to say. But then, what Karen said to him next only served to confirm that she had waited until the very end to impart the worst of the news. She had wanted to tell him earlier, but, witnessing his misery, she had bottled out. It wasn’t any of her business after all, but now it didn’t seem fair. Rhys had to be told, however much it would hurt him; he would find out soon enough, anyway. Plucking up every ounce of courage she possessed, she looked at him with a resigned look and sighed. This time, she did reach out for his hand and held it.
‘I’m really sorry, Rhys, but it’s probably not a good idea because Vicki and Tommy are getting married in the summer.’
Rhys’s whole body shook as if the Americans and Soviet Union had finally unleashed their nuclear war.
July 1975
CHAPTER 13
‘Phew! Thank God for that. Home sweet home.’ A perspiring Vicki dumped the heavy suitcase and shoulder bag onto the hallway floor. Tommy followed close behind but walked straight into their bedroom before depositing his two suitcases onto the floor. He, too, was perspiring for it was thirty-two degrees outside with high humidity thrown in to further discomfort them.
Tommy tore off his Hawaiian short-sleeve shirt, patterned with cavorting yellow, red and blue dolphins, and flung it on top of the luggage. He kicked off his tassel loafers and jumped onto the bed where he stretched himself out on the jet-black, gold-trimmed satin spread with multi-coloured dragons breathing red and yellow forked fire embroidered full-length. He turned his head to the side to look at himself in the mirrored sliding doors of the fitted wardrobe that ran the full length of the wall. Vicki hated the bedspread and black satin sheets underneath and couldn’t bear to look at herself in the mirrors. The room was like a brothel, she thought, but when she had suggested replacing the doors one day, Tommy had been sharp with her, saying that he liked them the way they were. He made up with her afterwards with a loving cuddle and kiss, but he got his way as he always did.
Vicki closed the front door behind her, picked up the suitcase and shoulder bag and joined Tommy in the bedroom. She put the case back down and blew on her hand, the palm of which was lined, red and sore. She slung off the shoulder bag and, observing Tommy out of the corner of her eye, sensed that he was in the mood for sex. She wasn’t. Perhaps she could just toss him off quickly to reduce his ardour and leave her alone, she pondered.
They had just returned from their honeymoon on the French Riviera where they had stayed in the wonderful Carlton Hotel on the seafront in Cannes for two weeks, with fabulous views overlooking the Mediterranean. The hotel was the epitome of chic, luxurious splendour and Vicki adored it, but Tommy thought it ‘old’ and overrated. He was often surly with the staff despite their being highly courteous and professional. Vicki noticed how Tommy liked to throw his weight around, being a well-known personality, much more than he ever did when she had first met him. It had led to an angry confrontation with the hotel’s manager one day when, unusually, the staff had forgotten to leave the customary bowl of fresh fruit in their room. It was the most minor of mistakes, which was rectified immediately, but, to Tommy, it was as if the end of the world had arrived. Vicki had been embarrassed beyond words at his foul-mouthed rage at the manager. It had to be perfect for Tommy, and he had to have his way.
‘I’m just going to run myself a bath,’ Vicki advised, stepping smartly into their en suite and locking the door behind her before Tommy had the chance to suggest she joined him in bed. She normally took a shower but a bath would take longer and, with a bit of luck, Tommy might have a wank in the meantime.
She kicked off her wedges and stripped out of her long linen trousers and cheesecloth shirt. Her bra and knickers followed quickly. Taking one pace to the bath tub, she turned on the two taps. They were painted gold and the water gushed out of the open mouth of a similarly-coloured fish. Vicki hated a lot of the things in the apartment and these bathroom fittings were at the top of her list. The fish’s eyes were so unattractively bulbous, they reminded her of Marty Feldman and, with its mouth open wide, the fish looked as if it had just been caught and was struggling for breath on the river bank. When sitting in the bath, it seemed to just stare at her, which was extremely off-putting, and gave Vicki the creeps.
After sprinkling a few Lux flakes into the rushing water, Vicki turned round and looked at herself in the mirror. She sighed and shook her head in disappointment. What she saw was the svelte body of a beautiful young woman but while her face, arms and legs glowed a healthy golden brown, her torso was a pasty white. When they had decided on their honeymoon destination a few weeks earlier, Vicki was excited at the prospect of lapping up the glorious Mediterranean sunshine. She had purchased the most minuscule of bikinis and was eager at some stage to sample the beaches of St Tropez further along the coast where topless bathing was all the rage. But when she and Tommy crossed over the promenade in front of the Carlton for the first time and sought out their private loungers and umbrella on the beach opposite, he became angry when she slipped off her towelling robe to reveal the bikini.
‘No man is going to see you wearing that. Take it off and put on your one-piece.’
‘But I don’t have a one-piece.’
‘Well, go and buy one, now!’
Vicki recalled this conversation as she stared at herself in the mirror. Thankfully, her patchwork body began to fade from view as the glass steamed over but not before it reflected the bath tub filling up rapidly behind her. She angled her body round and turned off the taps. She was about to step in when she glanced down at her linen trousers. She kicked at them hard and they flew across the room, landing at the foot of the bidet. She couldn’t stand the sight of them anymore for she had worn them on far too many occasions during the honeymoon. She had so looked forward to wearing the three pairs of hot pants she had taken with her to show off her hot legs, but, once again, Tommy had been aghast when she had put on one of the pairs for the first time the evening they had decided to spend in Nice, ordering her to take them off as if he was bellowing a command at a dopey full-back. Observing the slim young women parading down the Promenade des Anglais in their hot pants, brimming with confidence, made Vicki feel like a frumpy middle-aged woman.
Stepping into the bath tub, Vicki sat down, slid her bum forward and leaned back so that only her head, breasts and knees were visible above the water line. However hard she tried to relax, she still felt on edge, not helped by the fact that she struggled to avoid the stupid, gormless stare of the fish nozzle in front of her. She lapped some soapy water over her porcelain-white breasts and then repeated the action a couple more times.
‘St Tropez? What a laugh!’ she exclaimed quietly. ‘My tits look like a couple of iced buns.’
No, it had not been the honeymoon of her dreams and indeed she craved returning to work on Monday, to the job she found so challenging and rewarding and whi
ch she loved so much.
Her thoughts quickly turned back to Tommy, however. He had changed, of that she was certain. At the beginning, he had been so much fun to be with. They had attended numerous functions together and she had met many interesting people including, during one jaw-dropping occasion, the ravishing Marc Bolan. Incredibly, when sharing a word with him, the equally gorgeous David Essex had joined them. At that particular moment, Vicki looked around her and truly thought she was in Heaven.
Tommy seemed to know everyone and meeting so many people of achievement was a million miles away from the life she had led with Rhys. Vicki also enjoyed the trappings of success. Even if she did not share the same tastes as Tommy, the apartment was spacious and immaculate, with Rosa, their cleaning lady, carrying out all the chores she used to hate doing herself. There was always a table available at whichever restaurant they fancied going to at a moment’s notice and theatre tickets for the most popular of shows were never a problem. Tommy gave her his attention and showered her with clothing and jewellery, though she often wished he hadn’t for, at times, it just seemed wasteful. But at least he cared for her. And she did love him … or thought she did.
But, bit by bit, and without Vicki truly understanding why, Tommy appeared increasingly insecure around her, which, for the captain of West Ham and England, with the plaudits of the whole country ringing in his ears, seemed incredible to Vicki. If anything, it should have been the other way round, for Vicki never failed to notice the female attention around Tommy whenever they were out together socially. And who knew what he and his teammates got up to when they were staying away in hotels? But none of this bothered Vicki. She knew what Tommy felt for her and she trusted him implicitly. No, for whatever reason, the insecurities were the other way round.
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