‘Let’s just say we were both at fault,’ Vicki replied as they arrived on Lavender Hill, the Supreme just to their right across the road. They stopped for a moment outside a newsagent, with full metal shutters daubed in graffiti barring anyone’s entrance. ‘It was a bad time,’ Vicki resumed. ‘Let’s just put it behind us and move on. We’re better, more mature people now, I know. I appreciate what you said back there and I want you to know, Rhys, that I’ll never mess you around again. You’ve got my word on that. I love you, Rhys, I always have done.’
On hearing this, a lump suddenly rose in Rhys’s throat and he had to turn his face away to prevent her from seeing tears forming in his eyes, though he could not hide the trembling of his body. After all the years of searing pain, anguish and depression, he could never have dreamt he would hear Vicki say such words again and the moment overwhelmed him. Witnessing Rhys’s gamut of emotions triggered the same in Vicki and her eyes moistened. They held and hugged each other without saying a word as if the world would end in any minute and it was fully ten of them before they let go.
‘Tell you what, let’s see whether some poor sod is living in our old flat,’ Rhys suddenly declared in a bright tone, wiping his eyes with the corner of the blanket.
They crossed the road, walked a short distance along Lavender Hill past the Supreme, and then turned left into Latchmere Road. A few yards further along, they stood outside the entrance to the building of their flat. They looked up at the top window and saw a Jamaican flag serving as a symbol of pride as well as the occupants’ curtain, not that it was strictly necessary for the window was grimier than ever.
‘Well, I know I never liked the place, but good luck to you, whoever you are,’ Vicki said, staring upwards.
‘I wonder if all the ganja they’re smoking will finally dry it out,’ Rhys commented with a smile. Vicki turned to look at Rhys and they laughed.
They left the building and strolled over to where Vicki had parked her car with Rhys trying to convince her that the bedsit he had moved to afterwards was even worse than their old flat. Vicki didn’t believe him for she thought it impossible. They finally arrived beside the MG. It had crossed both of their minds whether they should spend the night together, but, with neither of them having to say it, they knew that the day had been so immense that it would be better if they just went away separately at this stage to let it all sink in and see what it meant.
‘I couldn’t have asked for a more wonderful day, Rhys. It’s been fabulous. Thanks for the picnic and everything.’
‘My pleasure, and same here. I’m going to pinch myself when I get in to see if this is all for real. We could do something similar next Sunday if you’re around? Perhaps we could go into the West End or take a walk in Richmond Park?’
‘I’d love to,’ Vicki replied, the picture of happiness.
‘Thing is, I don’t know if I can wait till then. How about we go to the pictures one evening? I’ve been meaning to see Annie Hall for ages. Everyone’s raving about it.’
‘Yes! That’s a great idea. I love Woody Allen.’
‘Good. I’ll check it out and give you a buzz at home to arrange it.’
Just as Vicki went to unlock the driver’s door, Rhys eased her gently round to face him and nestled her lovingly in his arms. He kissed her cheek and then twice on the lips before letting go of her. With the reluctance of a young girl being dragged away from Disneyland, Vicki finally got into the car. She started the engine and, with a radiant smile, drove away.
Rhys stood rooted to the spot. For some strange reason, an old primary school teacher’s image appeared in his head, solely because he remembered her requesting her pupils to write an essay on their perfect day. Rhys smiled. Whatever he had written all those years ago would never have compared to the day he had just experienced, for today had truly been his perfect day.
A couple of miles away, haring home down the A3 with her smile having never left her face, Vicki thought exactly the same.
December 1978
CHAPTER 20
‘Hey, Vick, you’re gonna be popular taking that into the theatre,’ Rhys commented, locking his gaze on the large, stiff-sided Selfridges bag she was carrying. ‘There’ll hardly be any leg room in there and the play’s always a sell-out.’ He gave her a quick kiss on the lips and stroked her arm with affection.
‘I know,’ Vicki replied sheepishly, her breath misting in the freezing air, ‘but the coat is so beautiful I just had to have it. It’s so cold this winter, I need one,’ she continued, trying to justify her purchase.
Rhys peered into the bag and cast his eye over the long suede coat with cream fur collar. ‘You’re right, it is lovely, but what’s wrong with the one you’ve got on and the two back at the flat?’
‘But there was twenty per cent off this one. It’s a bargain! The sales have started early.’
‘Mmm, if you say so.’
‘Oh, you men never understand anything,’ Vicki retorted with a playful thump on the arm. Rhys didn’t say a word. It was true. There were some things about women and shopping he would never understand.
Pulling up his coat collar, Rhys hooked one arm around Vicki’s and, taking the bag from her, carried it in his free hand. It was late afternoon, the Saturday before Christmas, and the West End was heaving, the bustle of the crowds intense. Rhys had left the Supreme early for once to meet Vicki outside the famous department store, with its imposing stone columns standing guard imperiously over Oxford Street, for they were meeting up with Karen and Ian for an early dinner before they all moved on to St Martin’s Theatre to watch The Mousetrap.
Their walk along Oxford Street was painfully slow as the pavements were so full of shoppers and festive season revellers that it was impossible to take two strides without someone blocking their path. It did not help matters that Vicki stopped outside virtually every shop to peer in the window to see whether there were any other goodies she could buy. It frustrated Rhys a little for they were running late but he loved seeing Vicki so happy. Despite the cold, the whole scene before their eyes gladdened their hearts. Lights of every colour imaginable shimmered against a background wall of darkness and light flurries of snow only added to the Christmas ambiance. Finally arriving at Oxford Circus, they stopped for a moment to observe with immense curiosity some Hare Krishna, with their shaved, painted heads and pink robes, chanting their mantra. Wondering how they had not frozen to death in their thin garb and open sandals, Vicki and Rhys eventually turned right down Regent Street where they were able to make quicker progress, the Christmas decorations even more impressive across the much wider road.
‘It’s great how Karen and Ian are getting on so well. I do hope something comes of it,’ Vicki stated, stopping briefly to marvel at the enormous, multi-coloured Lego castle in the window of Hamleys.
Rhys was equally impressed with the long, intricate lay-out of the Scalextric track with new racing cars and pit complex on and beside it. ‘Yeah. I hope so, too. Ian’s pretty keen, I know.’
‘Yeah, Karen, too.’
‘Do you think the theatre lets punk rockers in?’ Rhys asked semi-seriously.
Vicki laughed. ‘I’m sure they do. Well, if they don’t, she’ll just have to wait outside.’
‘Maybe she could go off for a pogo somewhere and find someone to flob on?’
Vicki thumped his arm. ‘That’s disgusting.’ They left Hamleys, still arm in arm, and carried on down Regent Street. ‘I still can’t get over Ian booking The Savoy this evening, though,’ Vicki continued. ‘He must be keen, rooms cost a bomb there. I know Karen is really excited. I never took him to be such a charmer, Ian. They could easily have stayed with us at the flat like before.’
‘Yeah, I suppose so, but it is Christmas after all. He just wanted to do something special.’
‘I wonder if they let punk rockers in there?’ Vicki surmised, looking at Rhys.
He looked more worried. ‘There’s a point. It is quite posh.’
‘Perhaps we
should have made up a spare room after all.’ They burst out laughing.
They continued their progress down Regent Street, Vicki glancing quickly through the entrance of the Café Royal to see if there was anyone she knew inside, before following the sweep into Piccadilly Circus, where the lights were the brightest of all. The snow was falling more steadily now and if it had not been for all the pedestrians, a fine carpet would have formed quickly on the pavements. They pulled up their coat collars even higher as a sharp cold wind whistled up Lower Regent Street, the other side of the Circus, to greet them.
‘How was the Supreme today, by the way? Busy?’
‘Yeah, like mad. The two girls never stopped. I left Mario in charge and to close up.’
‘He’s a good person, Mario. I like him a lot.’
‘Yeah. He’s my right-hand man and a great chef. I trust him implicitly. He brought his young son in today to help Beryl with the washing up and didn’t even ask me for any money. I will slip him a few quid though when I see him next.’ Vicki pulled Rhys closer and leaned her head into his shoulder in recognition of his generosity and kindness. But then, as they wandered past Eros in the direction of Leicester Square, Vicki stopped and looked over her shoulder. ‘You still think someone’s following you?’ Rhys asked in a concerned, deadpan tone, turning round himself and looking, for what, he did not know.
Vicki scanned the area but observed nothing untoward. If she was being followed, he or she had hidden back in the crowd. ‘I dunno, it just feels like it sometimes. But something funny’s going on, I can sense it.’
‘Hi Karen, hi Ian,’ Vicki shouted from afar, waving at her two friends who were standing outside the Angus Steak House near Leicester Square. They looked frozen, particularly Karen, who, despite the temperature, was wearing ripped fishnets under her leather miniskirt. At least her heavy leather jacket provided some warmth, aided by her only other concession to the weather, a long, thick woollen scarf.
Vicki approached them first, open-armed, her slave, Rhys, still carrying her Selfridges bag two steps behind her. She hugged and kissed them both before Rhys did the same with Karen, though his greeting of Ian was more perfunctory.
‘You been waiting long? Sorry we’re late,’ Rhys asked apologetically.
‘Not that long, only a few minutes,’ Ian lied.
Karen turned her head sharply towards him, droplets of water flicking off her close-cropped bright ginger hair, her face cross. They had been waiting twenty minutes. ‘We were wondering where you’d got to?’ Karen butted in more sternly.
‘Only looking in every shop window between Marble Arch and Piccadilly Circus, that’s all,’ Rhys exaggerated, nudging Vicki lightly with his elbow. Vicki’s elbow back was considerably firmer. Karen and Ian looked at each other slightly bemused. They did not know London well so were ignorant whether the distance was a great one or not. They assumed the former.
‘I bet you one day we’ll all be carrying mobile telephones, you know, like walkie-talkies, so that everyone can keep in touch more easily,’ Ian threw in as if he would be the inventor of such an incredible device.
‘Don’t be so ridiculous,’ Rhys scoffed, the two girls nodding in agreement, thinking Ian had gone mad.
‘Come on, let’s go in before my lips turn blue,’ Karen implored, shivering.
‘But your lips are blue!’ Vicki retorted and they all burst out laughing.
Inside the restaurant, a waitress showed them to a table for four by a window. The two couples sat opposite each other on pillar-box red, crushed velvet banquettes. It was clearly a corporate colour for the sign outside, carpet, staff shirts and menus were all in the same shade.
‘Right, what are we having?’ Rhys began, contemplating hard the menu he was holding. They were so large, Karen and Ian opposite him were hidden from view. ‘Time’s pressing so I think we should skip the starters or we’ll miss the play. If there’s time, we could have a dessert instead. Everyone agree?’
‘Yep.’
‘Sounds good.’
‘Alright with me, though the prawn cocktail looks good,’ Ian advised with the look of a child arriving outside Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory only to find the gates locked.
‘Sorry, mate, no time.’ Rhys glanced sideways at Vicki with a playfully stern look. He received yet another elbow in the ribs for his trouble.
‘Mate! You really have been living in London too long!’ Ian exclaimed, putting down his menu.
Rhys laughed. ‘You’re right there. Sorry, butt.’
‘That’s more like it,’ Ian returned, both he and Karen nodding their approval. Vicki smiled, feeling decidedly like the English runt of this particularly Welsh litter.
The waitress arrived, pencil and pad at the ready.
‘We all decided?’ Rhys asked. His friends all nodded. ‘Karen, you go first.’
‘I’m going to have the quarter chicken with chips and peas, thanks.’
The waitress scribbled away.
‘Vicki?’
‘I’ll have the gammon and pineapple, please, with chips and peas.’
‘I was tempted by that, myself,’ Rhys commented. ‘Ian?’
‘I’ll have the plaice, chips and peas, thanks.’
‘Tartar sauce?’ the waitress asked in a broken accent, still scribbling.
‘Yes, please.’
‘And I’ll have half a roast chicken with chips and peas, thanks. Oh, and some onion rings as well, please.’
‘Any drinks with your meals?’ the waitress continued.
Rhys motioned to Karen.
‘Half a lager for me.’
‘Vicki?’
‘A glass of dry white wine, please.’
‘I’ll have a pint of lager,’ Ian followed.
‘I’ll have the same,’ Rhys finally concluded.
The waitress struck her pad sharply once with a final full stop and gathered up the menus before walking away. Ian and Rhys followed her tread automatically, without being conscious of doing so, for she did have a lovely behind.
As they began to chat away, Rhys made a quick scan of the restaurant. It was so busy he knew it had to be making a small fortune. At the entrance, a queue of at least twelve people, he estimated, had formed, waiting for tables to become free. He breathed in the aromas of grilled meat and fried potatoes, ketchup and mustard. The whole mix was intoxicating and he loved it. Why can’t I own a place like this one day? he thought, knowing that there was no reason at all why not.
‘Hey, Rhys, you not checking out the competition again, are you?’ Karen wondered, seeing how his attention was momentarily elsewhere.
‘If only! Be hard pressed for the Supreme to compete with this,’ Rhys replied, but, after a brief pause, he added, ‘One day, perhaps.’ The look in his eye was so steely that his three friends knew that that day would not be too far away. Vicki stroked his thigh with pride beneath the table.
‘It’s certainly a lovely place, this,’ Karen replied, looking around. ‘You can’t beat a good steak house for proper food.’
‘You’re right there,’ Vicki agreed, ‘but the irony is that none of us is actually eating steak!’
The whole table broke out into laughter.
‘Oh, congratulations, by the way, on the promotion, Vicki. Rhys told us all about it,’ Ian cut in, changing the subject.
‘Thanks, Ian. It’s strange having my old job back but at least I know what to expect.’
‘I’ve never known you to work so hard, what with you being the sales and marketing director again. God knows what it’ll be like when they make you president?’ Rhys threw in, breaking open a bread roll and unwrapping a tiny oblong of butter.
‘That’s a long way off, if at all! That’s a massive step. They’ll probably ship someone in from their parent company in the States should the position become vacant.’
‘Nonsense. You’ll get it next.’
‘I wish I had your confidence, Rhys,’ though once more Vicki felt emboldened at his support for her a
bilities.
‘Though if you come in drunk like you did last night, they might wonder whether they want a pisshead for the top job!’
‘Oh, don’t remind me. I’ve only just about got over my hangover.’
‘Why so drunk?’ Karen asked, all ears, just as the waitress returned carrying a tray with their drinks.
‘It was our Christmas party, in a wine bar not so far from here down the road. We booked the whole place and everyone got pretty merry, as you can imagine. Our president, Brad, was the worst of the lot and the word is he left with one of the accounts girls. Can’t wait to find out what happened on Monday.’
‘Looks like you might be president by Tuesday then at this rate,’ Rhys interrupted and everyone laughed.
‘Nah. He’s really good is Brad. He likes a drink and a good time.’
‘Any jobs going? Sounds like the sort of place I might enjoy,’ Ian threw in to further laughter. ‘By the way, we’ve got a wine bar now in Ponty. Going all posh, we are. But, thing is, it’s a bit like us and steak houses. Everyone goes there to drink beer!’
Their laughter was now loud enough to turn the heads of those dining close by to wonder what was going on.
‘Cheers, everyone,’ Rhys said when the laughter subsided and they clinked each other’s glasses before taking a sip.
‘You two had a nice day then?’ Vicki asked, picking up the conversation, directing her remarks at Ian and Karen opposite.
‘Yeah, really nice,’ Karen answered. ‘We were up at the crack of dawn and caught the early train in Cardiff. We managed a few sights, you know, Big Ben, the Houses of Parliament, Trafalgar Square. We’ll do a few more tomorrow before going back. I fancy Harrods but he wants to go to Soho,’ she went on, looking daggers at Ian.
‘I wonder why! You men are so obvious!’ Vicki broke in with a loud sigh.
‘I think it’s important to experience all the cultural delights of London when you’re here,’ Ian replied with mock pomposity.
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