‘There’s enough Eyeties in this town on the up. Our Rosie’s been around a bit. She’s a little too hot for Miss Mercury,’ said Denny.
‘What do you mean? Rosa’s my friend,’ Joy snapped.
‘Keep your hair on. The Mercury wants a fresh face on its front page. A local hero’s daughter makes good copy. You said the right things and pushed the button for yourself.’ He added, ‘Clever girl to play the sympathy vote.’
‘I didn’t mean it to come out like that,’ she said ‘Working for my aunt is not exactly exciting, is it?’
‘So did you really come from Burma?’ he asked.
‘Mama is Anglo-Burmese,’ she replied, ‘half and half.’
‘A touch of the tar brush then,’ he winked. ‘I’d keep that under your hat, if I were you. You look more like Olivia De Havilland than Suzie Wong.’
‘Suzie Wong is Chinese,’ she corrected.
‘Anyway … Who’s the copper nob?’ He turned to examine Connie, hovering on the edge of the floor.
Joy turned and smiled. ‘Just someone I know.’
‘Can I drive you home?’ he smiled, showing perfect teeth and a dimple on his right cheek.
‘I’m not sure. I was supposed to share a taxi with my friends,’ she answered.
‘You won’t mind, will you, ginger?’ he shouted across the floor to Connie. ‘This princess is going home in style,’ he said. ‘I want her all to myself so we can get to know each other before our big date. Do you like football?’
‘Yes, of course. I’ve been watching the team for years, good times and bad,’ Joy laughed.
‘Pity,’ he replied. ‘The boss likes girlfriends who hate the game and don’t bother with matches unless it’s the Cup.’
‘Am I your girlfriend, then?’ Joy was gazing up at his dark eyes, wondering what to make of his cocksure manner.
‘Of course,’ he winked. ‘Miss Mercury was hand-picked just for me.’
Connie was rooted to the spot, sick to her stomach by Joy’s words and an uneasy feeling. All she wanted was for them to be friends again and now they were even further apart.
‘Like a dance?’
Connie turned to see the grinning face of Paul Jerviss holding out his hand.
‘Who’s askin’?’ She looked him up and down.
‘I’m askin’.’
‘No, thanks.’ She shook her head and turned away leaving him standing puzzled and wondering what he’d done wrong this time.
‘Cocky so-and-so,’ she muttered, knowing she’d have loved to have a bop with Mr Swivel Hips. What was up with her? Joy’s dismissal of her had stunned her, that was what.
No sooner had she fled under the balcony when Neville sidled up. ‘You know who you just turned down? Rosa would kill to get in his trousers.’
‘Shut it, Nev, don’t be crude!’ she snapped. Neville was that sharp he’d cut himself one day.
‘Ooh … do I detect a touch of the green-eyed monster? Our Joy getting too much attention, is she?’
‘Don’t talk such rot. I reckon it was a put-up job. That Romeo had his eye on her all night and his father did the rest. Rosa thought it was in the bag and she’s got a face on her like thunder. There’ll be no living with either of them now.’
‘Rosa’s too big for this town. Her turn will come. Our Joy is a regular little Miss Stay-at-Home. She’ll suit Gregsy well enough. He’s a bit too beefy for my liking, but Jerviss is something else,’ Neville sighed.
‘What about me then?’ She felt like a wilting flower out of its vase.
‘The jury’s out still, I’m afraid. You need to broaden your horizons so I’m taking you out on the town.’
‘This is the town, silly.’
‘This is Hicksville. We’re off to Manchester, your taxi awaits. It’s time I showed you how the other half live, young lady, but first you’d better get out of those glad rags. Where we’re going you’ll be mistaken for a drag queen,’ he ordered.
‘A what?’
‘Patience, patience, cousin of mine. All will be revealed in good time … Just another Winstanley secret coming out of the bag …’
‘Now I’m intrigued,’ Connie laughed. ‘Lead on Macduff!’
11
Neville
Neville drove towards the city lights in Ivy’s Triumph Herald, not quite sure he’d done the right thing, but he’d seen Connie’s distress, the sadness in those tired eyes. She and Joy were bickering like whores on a street corner. Poor cow needed cheering up and he needed to share his own secrets with someone he could trust. He sensed of all his cousins, she’d be the one to understand. He’d got it so wrong with Joy and the dieting fiasco. Connie was an orphan and too clever by half, but she’d got it wrong with Joy too and was paying the price.
It was fun managing them all as the Silkies but the future Beverley Sisters they were not. Rosa had the talent, Joy had the looks, but Connie was wooden on stage and lacklustre. She had no allure, too tall and angular, and her hair was neither red nor blonde. He smiled. She must have something, though, for Paul Jerviss was eyeing her up. Poor cow!
But at least they were family and the Waverley was still his safe house. Here he was stuck with parents who couldn’t stand the sight of each other, who coxed and boxed in and out of their house like figures in their cuckoo clock on the landing. He wished they’d just get on with separating but neither was in a hurry to set things in motion.
No wonder he’d always preferred the noise of the Waverley to the silence of his dull home. His dad wore a look of resignation on his face. He’d wanted a football crazy, rootin’ tootin’ pinball wizard for a son, not the apology for manhood that he must appear on the surface. Ivy fussed over him as if he was still in short trousers.
‘Wait till you get in the army, son,’ Levi snapped, not realising he’d been deferred from conscription until call-up was abandoned. Shame! He’d have loved to have been all lads together for a while. Now he was stuck in Grimbleton, nine until six learning the business, such as it was. Things were changing in health foods. There was talk of fitness powders to bulk up muscle, chemists were getting in on the act with herbal shampoos and remedies. They were going to have to fight their corner with some new products to stay in profit.
He’d loved doing Romeo and Juliet. Alex Macauley had shown him and Basil more of the Manchester scene. What an eye-opener that was: all those secret dives and clubs, cafes and bars where boys like him could find their own kind. Basil had a ball and found a fella, but Neville was more of a look-and-learn type. There was a secret code that got you into the right places, an old language, Polari, the queer man’s language which got you admitted to where you felt at home. The famous Tommy Ducks, the Snake Pit, the basement café of Lewis’s, the one in Peter Street, but it was a whispered world.
Danger of discovery meant gaol, a stretch in Strangeways prison, public disgrace. Cottaging in toilets was the worst place to find friends. The police set honeytraps. They’d got John Gielgud, the famous actor, that way, Alex warned.
For Neville it was a relief to know he wasn’t the only poof in the world. Why could his cousins harp on about their boyfriends and love triangles, and he say nothing about the gorgeous GIs from Burtonwood Camp or the chorus boys at the theatre whom he danced with? Why couldn’t he live his life in peace without the threat of arrest over his head?
There was a whole crowd like him who wanted to lead normal lives, have boyfriends, set up home discreetly. How many others led double lives, getting married, going into the Church to hide their true nature but giving him the old one-two bold stare just the same?
There were some queers who you soon learned to avoid. All they were after was young flesh, teenage boys to corrupt, pass around among themselves for group orgies, films and other rubbishy stuff. He was careful when offered a drink by a stranger. He’d heard tales of boys losing a whole weekend in a cloud of drink and drugs, waking tied up, beaten, raped and filmed.
Then there were the sad old biddies who were past their
prime, dressed to the nines, full make-up and dyed hair, slack jowls trying to buy some taut flesh to pleasure. He was young and handsome enough to be noticed, but he found the outrageous queens, camp as a row of tents, not his type at all. They were loud and bitchy, like pantomime dames.
He just wanted to find love, like Rosa and the girls: a gorgeous guy in leathers with a guitar and a great voice, who was not afraid to be himself.
There were very few straight lookers open on the scene. If they were in the music business it would be the death of their rock-and-roll career if they were compromised by bad publicity.
Tony Amos knew the managers who took advantage of straight guys wanting record deals, taking first pickings of eager boys. Most lads would try anything once if it would get them a good deal. They had a bit of fun, saw a new side of life and then went back to their careers and girlfriends. He didn’t want one of them either.
Tonight he was going to shock Miss Connie Prim out of her doldrums. It was time she grew up. She was half-Greek, for goodness’ sake! Home of the gods who certainly swung both ways when it suited them.
He was glad it was all out about Uncle Freddie’s adventures. Mother was furious that Esme was going to give them a share in the business as well as the Waverley.
He wished he’d been in the war. Billy ‘The Handlebars’ told such whopping stories about his life in the RAF, and little ‘Pixie’ said he had had such fun in the desert. Even straight lads take their comforts where they can when under fire. There was a hidden tolerance then that quickly disappeared when the boys returned home. Now everyone was supposed to marry, raise kids, live in boxes and conform, however unhappy they were inside.
Look at his dad, miserable, down the Legion most nights or sneaking off with Shirley from the stocking bar. His mother spent his money like there was no tomorrow. He loved it at Gran’s up Sutter’s Fold. She never asked those awkward questions: Where’ve you been all night? Why do you go into Manchester with that Basil? When are you going to bring a nice girl home for tea?
Never, if he had anything to do with it. He had all the girl friends he needed in his cousins and Rosa. Funny how they’d fought as kids but now he enjoyed their company. Winstanleys stick together and he’d been their manager even if their gigs were little more than church hall dos, youth club venues and talent contests. He was trying to get them on TV but it was another league and that was where Sid Moss might come in handy. They’d met up in a club, had a dance, fooled around a bit, nothing serious. He might introduce him to Connie … perhaps not. He ought to see the Silkies all together and get a pro’s view of their act. They did have something but lacked a good song. Joy needed to be up front with Rosa. He still liked their ‘Chantilly Lace’, but competition for groups now was hotter than ever. Everyone was on the lookout for the next big thing. Their act was old hat.
He turned to Connie but she was flat out asleep. Wait till I take you down the cellar, you won’t know what’s hit you, he smiled to himself.
Connie woke with a start. It was dark and they were parked alongside tall buildings. Where was she?
‘Wakey wakey!’ Neville shook her arm. ‘Time for a party.’
‘Where’re we going?’ She staggered out of the low seat, her hair tangled. She was cold in her black trews and thin top.
‘There’s a club round the corner … not far.’ They slipped down a side street to a dimly lit entrance passing a black-faced doorman, clattering down the steps into a vaulted cellar. Neville waved to one or two men dancing together. ‘Hi, Dudley.’
‘Who’s the palone?’ Dudley replied, pointing at Connie.
‘My cousin Connie,’ Neville yelled over the music. ‘I’m showing her the sights.’ They all grinned and waved.
Connie stuck to Neville like a limpet, her eyes on stalks. The boys were dancing, kissing, fondling in a slow waltz. ‘Where are we?’
‘Never you mind. Enjoy! It’s not everybody who gets to see the haunts of Manchester. The sights you see when you haven’t a gun,’ Nev joked.
‘Is this where you come with Basil?’ She’d heard about such places, where boys met boys. She’d discussed Shelagh Delaney’s play A Taste of Honey in school. This was like the old Coal Hole in Grimbleton, only noisier and more lively, and hardly a female in sight – just one, standing at the bar in a very flashy frock with a fur stole, real mink, and blonde hair like Marilyn Monroe. When she ordered her drink the voice was deep and smoky.
‘She’s a man!’ Connie whispered.
‘What took you so long to figure that out? Diamond Lil … not bad legs. She does Danny La Rue impressions.’
Connie was trying not to stare but everything looked the same as the Coal Hole yet was so different. No one bothered her or tried to chat her up once they’d eyed her up and down.
‘Where’s your friend Basil? I presume he’s one too?’ She nudged him. ‘Neville, you sly fox. All this time …’
‘Didn’t you ever guess?’
‘Come on, I sensed you were always different and more a girl than a fella … no offence but I never gave it that much thought. It’s very cool, though. Wait until I tell the others.’
‘No, you don’t. This’s our little secret. Rosa’s got a gob on her and Joy would be shocked, but I can see you’re not … Funny, I was waiting to see your jaw drop.’
‘Sorry to disappoint you but I’ve read a lot of stuff. In London there’s Soho – very hip but not so funny if you got found out. Promise me you won’t do lavs.’
‘What do you take me for, a fool?’
‘Can we have a jive then?’ she asked.
‘I’ll take you to a better place, a bit more your scene, if you like. This was just for starters.’ Neville edged her back up the stairs.
How different he was here, Connie thought, relaxed, confident … But it would be a hard life if he was found out. Ivy would never accept a homosexual for a son and Levi would have a blue fit if he knew. It wasn’t something any family bragged about. It would have to be their little secret.
What a weird family they were with all these secrets and lies. Their mothers were not war widows but refugees, and now this! She was touched Nev had shared his secret with her. It wasn’t the shock he was expecting. He’d always loved dressing up, gossiping and had never been into sporty stuff. His only friend was Basil Philpot, who had never given them the eye like other boys did.
Out in the smoky night air she clung to his elbow. ‘It must’ve been lonely for you growing up in Grimbleton.’
‘Not really. I always had you lot to go around with. Boys think I’m straight as a plank. Now I’ve found somewhere …’
‘Have you done it?’ she whispered.
‘Don’t be nosy,’ Nev laughed.
‘Just asking ’cos I’m interested. How do you go about it?’
‘Like anyone else, you look, you look again, you dance, you talk and find a quiet corner … do you want all the sordid details?’
‘No thank you,’ she said.
‘That was a tame place. You’re not ready yet for the really big scene. Let’s find the other club, more a jazz and blues place. There’s a gig tonight you might like.’
They paid to get into the next club. On stage were four lads in leathers with long hair. Everyone was singing and swaying to their beat.
‘This lot are from Liverpool; brave souls to venture into Manchester but they’re all still alive so they must be good.’
Connie watched transfixed. None of them was much to look at: one had a baby face, the tall one had a big nose. There was a hollow-cheeked guitarist but they gave their instruments some wellie. What a sound! ‘Roll Over Beethoven’ and then a version of ‘My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean.’
‘They’re good.’ She clapped and bopped. ‘What are they called?’
‘The Beatles … I think. They’ve done a stint in Hamburg. Everyone says they’re the next big thing but I’ve heard better.’
On and on they played until the interval and then they disappeared. The place w
ent wild for them but there was no encore.
‘Probably gone to another gig. They’ve got a record out. I fancy the tall one,’ Nev offered.
‘The dark one with the guitar is for me,’ Connie confided. Suddenly the night was alive. The Press Ball was forgotten, and all those petty jealousies, in that raucous music.
‘Thanks, Nev!’
‘What for?’
‘You know … for taking me out of myself. Mum’s the word, though.’
‘Please don’t tell the others. People like me have to be so careful. Much as I hate my loving parents at times, I’d not want to shame them in public.’
‘You’ve nothing to be ashamed of. It’s just the way you are,’ she replied.
‘I’m afraid that’s not what the law thinks. Being queer’s a crime,’ Nev sighed.
‘Then the law’s an ass. It’ll change in time,’ Connie answered.
‘It has to … for there’s a lot of us about.’
That never-to-be-forgotten night when I saw the Beatles before they were really famous, Connie reminisces, waking from her dosing. What time is it? Neville was the first of us to shock the family to its core with his doings, but not the last. That honour went to me in due course, she sighs.
She stretches her legs and strolls to the Arrivals screen.
‘It’s late again.’
‘Repairs in Manchester and they’ve lost all their slots over Europe,’ says Sally, one of the holiday reps. ‘I’d go for a drive, they’ll be ages yet. Got family coming in? Do you live here?’
Everyone asks that of her. You are either ex-pats, tourists, or flitters like me. Half and half, she usually replies. There is a little stone house in the hills in a village nobody has heard of. It belongs to the Papadakis family and they rent it to her. It’s basic, cool and has a warm fire, for even in spring it can get cold at night.
As for family … It’s all a bit awkward. They’re still in shock at her sudden departure. What she’s doing now must be done first in private. Time enough to spill the beans later.
Mothers and Daughters Page 13