Freddie disappeared into the house and came out with a bowl filled to the brim, which must have slurped all over the kitchen floor judging by the language following in its wake.
Alan set to work and the wheel was soon replaced. He also fixed a broken pedal.
‘How long ’ave yer been stuttering?’ Freddie enquired. ‘I used to stutter after I was scalded.’
Alan was all ears. ‘Did you? You don’t now, do you?’
‘Oh no, it went off after a bit. I’ve still got me scars, though – do yer want to look at ’em?’
‘Ooh, yes,’ Alan said, fully appreciating the honour.
Freddie opened his shirt neck, and there stretching from his Adam’s apple was a deep red scar about six inches long.
‘Ooh, I’ll bet that hurt.’ Alan was impressed.
‘Not ’alf,’ Freddie said proudly. ‘I pulled a pot of dripping over me. Me mam wasn’t ’alf mad. We ’ad no dripping for us supper all week.’
‘How long did the stammering last?’ Alan asked without stammering at all.
‘A few months, I think. Don’t worry. If yer stop thinking about it it’ll stop.’
‘I try not to, but it’s the lads at school, they make fun of me.’
‘What lads?’
‘Some of the ones going to grammar school.’
‘Oh, well, yer’ll soon be rid of them then. I’ll tell yer what, when yer come up to’t seniors do yer want to be in my gang?’
Alan couldn’t believe his ears. Freddie Cartwright’s gang was the best gang in all the school. They had the best side at football, and the best bicycle races up on the common on Saturday mornings.
‘Can I? Be in your gang? Are you sure?’
‘Course yer can. We could do with a good mechanic to look after us bikes.’
‘Oh, I’ll enjoy that. And can I join in the races?’
‘Course yer can. And when yer in my gang nobody’ll laugh at yer stuttering or we’ll bash ’em.’
Alan grinned. ‘Do you want to come and see my grandma with me? She’ll have been baking and she’ll give you a bun.’
Freddie propped the repaired bike up against the wall. ‘Come on then.’ He shouted to his mam through the open door, ‘Mam, I’m just going wi’ me mate to see ’is grandma.’
Alan heard a voice shout after them, ‘Bugger off then, and behave thisen or tha’ll gerra good hiding.’
As they set off along the row Alan thought how lucky he was to have a nice clean house and a mother who never swore at him. Oh, and he was looking forward to going to the seniors. As he opened Grandma’s door he hoped she wouldn’t want to kiss and cuddle him today. He was far too old now for all that baby stuff.
Una went to the cloakroom yet again to check on her hair. She was glad now that her mother had persuaded her against having the DA cut. She had styled it instead by curling the hair round her finger and securing it with hair grips. Now it was brushed out so that it hung in natural waves to her shoulders, setting off the halter neckline to perfection. She touched up her lips with a soft peachy lipstick and checked the seams of her stockings were straight, then dabbed a little Evening in Paris behind her ears and tried to still her quickening heartbeat before returning to the dance hall. The band’s vocalist was singing ‘The Tennessee Waltz’ and the dancers were crowded on the floor.
Una was glad the office staff had been given the day off; it had given her time to manicure her nails and soak in the bath, in front of the fire in the kitchen. She had been invited by Mrs Davenport to a coffee afternoon for charity, along with her mother and all the neighbours, but had preferred to be alone. She had tried on the dress Auntie Mary had made at least three times, once to check her bra didn’t slip, as it was the first strapless one she had ever owned; a second time to make sure her shoes looked right; and yet again for no reason at all, except that she felt like a queen in the turquoise taffeta dress, with the nipped-in waist and the swirling circular skirt.
She could sense the heads turning as she glided, even taller than usual in her high heels, across the floor to where her friends were gathered.
‘Only five minutes to go to the contest,’ Jean remarked. ‘You’re bound to win, Una. You look smashing.’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Una could see an older girl who looked far more sophisticated, in a clingy black dress and lots of gold chains about her neck and wrists. She began to wish she had worn more jewellery herself, only Auntie Mary had said it was unnecessary.
‘If you think she’s the main competition you can forget it,’ Jean said, following her friend’s doubtful gaze. ‘She looks as common as muck, and that’s an understatement.’
Una giggled as the band finished with a roll of drums. The MC’s voice came over the microphone requesting the contestants for the 1954 Miss Millington contest to please line up in front of the stage.
Una joined about a dozen other girls, suddenly wishing she had chosen to wear lower heels as she towered over the girl in front. They were each given a number and asked to parade around the dance floor twice, before ascending the steps to the stage.
The girl in front stumbled nervously but Una’s acting experience came to the fore and she smiled confidently, held her head high and revelled in the admiring glances that followed her as she circled the floor.
She could see her mother and father, accompanied by Auntie Mary and Uncle Jack. She could make out the pregnant shape of Auntie Margaret, and Uncle Harry saluted her as she glanced his way. She was glad they had all made the effort to come. Even Auntie Sally had found a babysitter.
The girls lined up on the stage where the judges were seated at either end, mostly councillors and local tradespeople. The MC began to interview each girl in turn, asking questions relating to their jobs, hobbies and ambitions. Una cringed as the high-pitched voice of the second contestant came over the microphone. ‘My ambition is to get married and have at least four children,’ she squeaked.
‘Well,’ said the MC, ‘I’m sure number two will have no problem achieving her aim.’
Una remembered the drama teacher’s advice when she had played Juliet last year, and she lowered her voice as she answered the questions.
‘I work as a receptionist at present, but I would really like to take up acting, dancing or singing.’
‘Well, I’m sure we all wish number six good luck in the future; in the meantime I wouldn’t mind having her as my receptionist.’ The crowd applauded loudly, and the man beamed as though he had made an extremely amusing remark, before moving on to number seven.
The time had come for the judges to decide, and the voting slips were handed to the MC.
‘I will announce the winners in reverse order,’ he said, with the air of a vicar from the pulpit. ‘In third place, number nine.’ The crowd applauded and a section of them broke into cheers. ‘In second place, number seven.’ Una’s heart skipped a beat as she thought he was about to say six, and then she felt deflated. The girl in black was sure to win.
‘And in first place, Miss Millington 1954, contestant number six, Miss Una Bacon.’
The crowd went wild. The judges rose to their feet to congratulate the winner, and the MC took advantage of his position by drawing Una towards him and kissing her far more intimately than was necessary.
‘There’s a dirty old man if ever I saw one,’ Bill whispered to Marjory.
A female councillor then placed a satin sash over Una’s head. ‘Here is a cheque for ten pounds, my dear.’ She handed an envelope to Una. ‘And good luck with your ambitions.’ Una glowed as she thanked the woman, who then proceeded to present the other prizes.
Bill Bacon was proud as a homing pigeon as one person after another congratulated Marjory and himself. His wife turned to him with a smile. ‘I suppose she’s your daughter tonight,’ she said.
‘No, love, she’s ours. You’ve made a right grand job of bringing her up, I must admit. Mind you, I’m glad about one thing.’
‘What?’
‘I’m glad Big Be
ssie opened her mouth and frightened the living daylights out of that Shaunessy bloke.’
‘So am L’ Marjory pulled her husband on to the dance floor. ‘Listen, they’re playing our song. Come on, let’s dance.’
Bill wasn’t much of a dancer but it provided a good excuse to snuggle up to Marjory and that was an opportunity not to turn down.
The band leader came down to congratulate Una. ‘What’s this about you wanting to be a singer, love?’ he enquired.
‘Oh, I don’t suppose I ever shall,’ she said, embarrassed now by all the attention she was receiving.
‘Well, can you sing? That’s the main thing.’
‘A bit. I’ve sung solo at school sometimes.’
‘How about giving us a song tonight? The audience’d love it, and the press would have a ball. Think of the headlines in the Star: Miss Millington 1954 sings with the Tony Tanner Sound.’
Una laughed. ‘I knew there was a catch in it. You’re just after some free publicity.’
‘No, really, will you give us a song? Please.’
‘Well, I don’t know. I mean, what will I have to sing?’ Her heart was already pounding with excitement.
‘What do you know?’
‘“Too Young”, I could sing that. I’ve sung it to the record.’
‘Smashing.’ He took the steps two at a time, and waved the band to silence.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve a young lady here tonight, the most beautiful young lady here tonight without a doubt, who’s given us all an enormous amount of pleasure. Now in return we’re going to make her dream come true. Ladies and gentlemen, the Tony Tanner Sound with Miss Millington 1954, Miss Una Bacon.’
The band struck up the introduction and then the clear melodious voice joined in with the popular love song. The dancers took to the floor, swaying together to the romantic melody, entranced as the young girl made her first appearance with a live band.
Una Bacon’s dream was becoming reality, she was Miss Millington 1954. But much more important, she was on her way to becoming a singer.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jacqueline hated London, finding it difficult to breathe in the thick city air. Nor did she like the way college was changing her individual style, but most of all she was missing her family. She realised the variations in her practical work were a necessary discipline, but thought most of it, for her at least, was a waste of time. The modern abstract designs meant nothing to her and were rumoured to be drug-induced by the beatnik element amongst her colleagues. Gradually she learned to steer clear of the dubious characters and made a small number of friends with whom she had at least a few interests in common, such as a love of nature, music and the galleries. These were a source of quiet solitude where she could browse, or sit alone, contented with her thoughts and her books.
It was on one of these visits that she met Barney Ross, a rather shabby young man, with hair about the colour of her mother’s and a beard to match. She had been enthralled in a painting by Camille Pissaro, one of the Impressionists on whom she was writing a thesis. She was endeavouring to fathom out why he should spoil the beautiful View From My Window by adding the crude red, instead of toning down the roof.
‘What do you think of it?’ he asked over her shoulder.
She shrugged. ‘Mixed feelings, but I do admire his work.’
‘I prefer his Hoar Frost myself.’
‘I haven’t seen it, except in a book, and it’s not the same.’
‘You should visit Paris.’
Jacqueline smiled. ‘Chance would be a fine thing.’
‘It’s a must for a student of art.’
‘How do you know I’m a student?’ Jacqueline queried.
‘I was sitting behind you at the lecture on the history on the Arts and Craft movement.’
‘Did you find it a waste of time too?’
Barney laughed. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I quite agree with the revolt against the pettiness of academic art.’
‘I’m beginning to see what you mean. All I want to do is teach kids to create works of art, and I fail to see how William Morris’s medievalism or John Ruskin’s eccentricities enter into it.’
‘Perhaps a cup of coffee would help us see things more clearly.’
Jacqueline knew she should carry on with her work but the blue eyes seemed to challenge her into acceptance. She gathered her books together and he held her bag while she packed them away, then slung it over his shoulder.
‘There’s a cafe round the corner, and it’s cheap,’ he stressed.
Jacqueline wondered if she should offer to pay. He certainly looked rather poverty-stricken in his faded cords and washed-up jumper. There was something about him, though, that attracted her. His eyes. He had beautiful eyes. She smiled to herself as she wondered what her mother would make of him.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ she said, ‘I’ll let you buy the coffee if you let me buy the beans on toast.’
He looked uncertain and then nodded. ‘OK.’
He held out a chair for her and as they waited for their order he questioned her about her studies. ‘Well, how are you finding it? College, I mean?’
‘Not at all what I expected.’ Jacqueline frowned.
‘Well, what did you expect?’
‘I don’t really know. I don’t suppose I’d really thought about it, I was just so pleased at being accepted. How about you?’
‘Well for a start it’s a great opportunity to meet pretty chicks like yourself, and secondly I didn’t dig the idea of following on in the family firm.’
‘Oh? What type of business is that?’ Jacqueline had never been likened to a chick before.
‘Footwear. Now could you just bear to manufacture shoes for the rest of your existence?’
Jacqueline giggled. ‘Sounds like my mother. All she ever discusses these days is the quality of dress material, or the price of cotton to sew it up with.’
‘It makes you wonder what it is they have between their ears. I mean, who needs shoes anyway? Or clothes, come to that?’
As she didn’t relish the idea of going barefoot, or starkers, Jacqueline didn’t answer, and took a mouthful of beans instead.
‘So I thought, get out of the rat race at the first opportunity, man. Make your mark on the world by all means, but at your own pace. So I’m here to create, do my own thing, not imitate the work of the normal run of the mill artist.’
‘What did your family have to say about that?’
He laughed. ‘Oh, they consoled themselves by believing I’m here to get it all out of my system. Besides, they reckon I’ll go back with new ideas for the designer’s department.’
‘Well, it should help. I’ve designed quite a few patterns for my mother.’
‘But I’m not going back. Now I have my own pad I can do what I like. There’s no way I’m joining those squares again. Anyway, that’s enough about them. Let’s talk about you.’
Jacqueline wondered where the money was coming from to pay for the pad, suspecting that the squares he held in such contempt were probably the benefactors.
‘What’s your title?’ he asked.
‘What?’
‘Your name?’
‘Jacqueline Holmes. What’s yours?’
‘Barney Ross.’
‘You’ve a slight accent similar to my grandparents’. Are you from the north?’
‘Scotland originally, we’ve still a factory up there, but we moved down to Derby when I was so high.’ He indicated a height of about three feet with his hand. ‘Started up a second firm there.’
Jacqueline thought they must be a very wealthy family.
‘What do your folks do apart from make useless garments.’
‘My father’s a miner,’ Jacqueline said.
He shook his head in disbelief. ‘How can a man follow such an incredible path?’
‘I don’t think he had any option. He needed a job,’ Jacqueline pointed out.
Barney didn’t seem to have an answer to th
at, and they finished their lunch.
‘I’ll have to go,’ she said. ‘I’ve a class at two.’
He rose and picked up her bag, taking her arm as they walked round the corner in the direction of the college annexe. ‘What do you do Saturdays?’ he asked.
‘Not a lot. Go to the park if it’s fine, do some studying.’
‘I’ll go with you. Meet me here at eleven,’ he demanded. ‘So long, chick, I’ll see you.’
She wouldn’t go, she told herself. Nobody was going to tell Jacqueline Holmes what to do. But she knew she would. The blue eyes seemed to be still piercing deep into hers, even though the man himself had already disappeared from view, and she knew she would be unable to resist the chance of seeing Barney Ross again.
Jacqueline did see Barney Ross again, and the more she saw of him the more he fascinated her. It was only after a couple of months that the doubts set in, although Avril, her room-mate, mistrusted him from the start.
‘There’s something about him I can’t fathom, and he’s definitely not your type,’ she said on first meeting Barney Ross. Jacqueline knew deep down her friend was right. He wasn’t her type, but that didn’t prevent her from becoming infatuated by him. The situation was made more difficult by Jacqueline’s lack of experience, and the man wasted no time in taking advantage of her naivety.
She had been back to his flat on a number of occasions and, unable to stand the mess, had given the place a thorough going over. It was during the cleaning that she came across a white powder in a small transparent packet, and though she had never seen anything like it before she was suspicious. However, she said nothing and kept the knowledge of its whereabouts to herself. That was Jacqueline’s first mistake. She should have forgotten about Barney there and then.
Her second mistake was to fall in love. Barney was charming most of the time, but on other occasions he seemed to care nothing for anything or anybody. Jacqueline brooded on the problem and believed she had only to offer Barney her undying love in order to bring out the best in him. Avril had no such illusions and tried to warn her friend against becoming further involved, but it was already too late.
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