by Sharon Owens
Where would they go? It was too common to kiss in the street, with the outline of house bricks pressing into your back. She couldn’t bring him to her own tiny bedroom with its pink floral wallpaper, small single bed with a homely patchwork quilt on it, and the rickety dressing table piled high with junk jewellery, satin roses and diamanté clips in a cracked china dish. Not to mention the pop posters, which she was really too old for. The atmosphere would be all wrong, far too personal. And finally, there was her bossy mother, her nervous father, all the kitsch holy pictures from the mission stall, and the carpet that was threadbare at the top of the stairs.
His house? No. She would worry about his parents coming into the room. Wealthy people made her uneasy. They might start talking about golf, exotic holidays or the stock market. Shirley didn’t know the first thing about money. And if she had to drink tea out of expensive china cups, she’d be sure to drop hers and break it and disgrace herself.
They could go to the most lavish suite of the most expensive hotel in the city. The room would be booked already, and waiting for them, stocked up with fancy coffee and fresh flowers. Maybe that would be too intimidating? Okay, then, just an ordinary hotel; but with a friendly feeling about it? No. Still too impersonal.
A garden? Yes, a beautiful garden with a tall hedge all around it, full of rhododendron trees in full bloom. Shirley liked rhododendrons. The rich scent of them, and the sheer size of the flowers, made them seem somehow magical.
It would begin to rain. Suddenly. Heavily. Shirley loved rain. Rain made people scurry indoors and she had the streets all to herself. When it was raining, no young boys bothered to snigger at her lovely costume jewellery. They were far too busy trying to keep their cigarette butts dry. Shirley could just be herself, on rainy days.
Right. Back to the fantasy. Declan and Shirley, in a garden full of huge purple rhododendrons. It’s raining heavily. Hollywood rain. They would have no umbrella. They would laugh about getting caught out in the downpour, and his face would be soaked, and it would suit him. He would look reckless. She would watch the raindrops trickle down the neck of his open shirt, and be sad that she could not see them running down his chest. Hand in hand, they would race across the lawn towards a niche cut into a box hedge. In some secluded part of the garden, where it was dark and quiet. And maybe there could be a statue or two, for dramatic effect?
He would press her against him, and kiss her softly. They would have their eyes open at first, and then, as they began to trust each other, they would close their eyes and give themselves up to the moment. As they fell into a hypnotic rhythm, their mouths opening and closing, he would unbutton her coat and put his hands on her back to warm them up. Where her face was numb with cold, he would kiss it with his warm lips. Slowly, ever so slowly, his hands would move around to her sides, and then rest there for a while, before resuming their gentle caresses upwards. She would touch his blond hair gently, and maybe even have a little feel of those narrow hips that moved so beautifully in charcoal-coloured combats. A little rattle of thunder would be good at this point.
They were two young people. In love. So in love that wars around the globe would suddenly stop, as a mark of respect. He would find the top of the zipper of her black sweater, and kiss her again, and then… and then…
She wasn’t sure what would happen then, but she was usually too exhausted with desire to even speculate. Would they kiss and talk for hours? Declan Greenwood, the one and only? And little old Shirley Winters herself? Against all the odds? A real, bona-fide romantic couple. Would it ever happen? Would she be able to cope if it did?
She had asked Kate’s advice on what to do if she ever found herself in a heavily sexual situation. Kate wasn’t too forthcoming on her own love life, except to say that if the two people involved were kind and considerate with each other, then the physical side of things just happened naturally. No need to worry at all. Booklets and instructions were okay on technical and health matters, but not very useful where attraction and true love were concerned. There were no reliable guidelines on those subjects. Kate always said that it was easy getting a man’s interest and seducing him. The trouble was getting rid of him when you decided that the relationship did not have a future. Then, he followed you around the place with flowers and cards and pestered you with endless desperate phone calls. That was why she liked Alex Stone so much. Because he wasn’t as easy to snare as the others had been. He dallied with all the girls, spoke to everyone, but spent most of his spare time working out with Jim at the Northside Gymnasium.
Shirley had her own theory about Kate choosing to remain single: she was simply too comfortable in her all-white palace of a bedroom, with clean laundry and hot meals provided by their hard-working mother. It was hard to picture Kate living in a home of her own.
And, even for Shirley, it was nice to just dream about kissing Declan Greenwood – much safer than going out into the real world and risking rejection, embarrassment and failure.
So! Declan’s thumb and forefinger closed around the zip, and pulled. Shirley took a deep breath, held in her stomach and her breath, and then…
Beep-beep-beep-beep – the alarm clock went off: 8 a.m. End of fantasy. Shirley sat bolt upright in the single bed in her parents’ house.
‘Come on, Shirley, daughter,’ called her mother, from the bottom of the stairs. ‘Do you want a slice of bacon before you go to work? All the hot water’s gone again. That Kate one!’
8. The Dear Old Dole-ites
Kate and Shirley raced along Royal Avenue, to the government offices where they worked, reading and filing letters from the unemployed. The proper term for the office was the Department of Health and Social Services, or the DHSS. Or the ‘dole’. People who were unemployed were described as being ‘on the dole’ or, as Kate liked to call them, ‘the dear old dole-ites’. She insisted it was a term of endearment, but Shirley thought it was disrespectful. It wasn’t the fault of the dole-ites that there weren’t enough jobs to go round.
A lorry breaking down had caused traffic jams all over the south of the city.
‘We’re going to be late, again. Blast that bus!’ grumbled Kate.
‘They can’t help it,’ gasped Shirley, as she tried to keep up with her sister. ‘What’s eating you?’
‘Well! That’s four Saturday nights in a row that I never got to talk to Alex. Just when you think that Hollywood Hogan is safely holed up in his office, he appears behind the bar or in the foyer. How can I get close to Alex, with Hogan creeping around the place like some kind of a tiger?’
‘Look on the bright side. Louise didn’t get to talk to him, either.’
‘Oh, don’t bring up her name, Shirley.’
‘Well, if you can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen, as they say. I told you Louise would find out.’
‘I wonder who told her?’
‘That Jim, I’ll bet. He’s stirring it, Kate.’
‘Why would he bother himself?’
‘I don’t know. It must get pretty boring, hanging around the doors all night. Maybe they spread rumours just to pass the time?’
‘Oh, no! There’s Bingham going in the main door. She always checks the post table, first thing. Hurry up, Shirley! Take the other lift.’
The sisters ran straight to the post table in the main office and hid their coats in the stationery cupboard. The other staff in the section were polishing off some breakfast scones and cups of watery coffee, carried to their desks from the staff canteen.
‘Old Battleaxe is on her way,’ said Kate. ‘Quick! Get busy. Let’s see how many begging letters we have today from the dear old dole-ites. God bless their ragged little socks!’
‘Kate Winters! We don’t use negative words like that any more,’ said the supervisor, coming into the room behind her. ‘I think you’ll find you mean, “Let’s open today’s correspondence from our valued customers.”’
‘Yes, Miss Bingham.’
‘I hope you can develop a better attitude to tho
se less fortunate than ourselves, Miss Winters. If you don’t like your position here, you know what you can do about it. I’m sure one of the dear old dole-ites would be glad of it.’
‘Yes, Miss Bingham.’
‘Well, then. Hurry up and open the bag.’
Kate promptly loosened the string around the neck of the sack, and emptied the huge bundle of letters onto the table. The tight-lipped clerks pulled slithering piles of envelopes towards them, opened them and began to read, sorting the letters into boxes, according to surname. Miss Bingham gave Kate a disapproving stare, and then marched on through to the Fraud department to see if anything interesting had happened on the weekend’s spying operations.
Shirley opened one rather grubby letter. It was from Alex Stone.
Dear Sir,
I am shocked that you could even think I was doing the double. I declare truthfully that I was not working as a bouncer and claiming benefits at the same time. The person who informed on me must have been my ex-girlfriend; you didn’t say who it was. She has been pestering me and phoning me for weeks now, so I think it was her. She is just trying to get me in trouble because we broke up. You know what women are like. They think they own you. I do not work as a bouncer in Hogan’s or anywhere else. I go there a lot because I am a very sociable person. That is all.
Yours very truthfully,
Alex Stone
Shirley kept the letter in her pocket and showed it to Kate when they were having lunch. Kate was picking over a hefty portion of cod and chips, and didn’t seem to realize the significance of the information.
‘Are you not eating that?’ said Shirley, nodding at the fat fish steak.
‘It looked nice under the spotlights,’ said Kate, absentmindedly, ‘but I’ve lost my appetite now.’
‘Well, listen. This letter from Alex Stone – do you realize the situation he’s in?’
‘So what? Some jealous girl sent in a letter about him. And do you have to button that shirt right up to the neck? I’m suffocated just looking at you.’
‘Kate, he’s sexist. “You know what women are like.”’
‘Who cares? Not all women are perfect, you know. Just look at Louise Lowry. The big vicious lump!’
‘You’re missing the point, Kate. Again.’
‘I’m not missing any point, Shirley. Half of Belfast is cheating the system. Everybody knows that. It’s a low-wage economy, and a conflict-torn industrial wasteland to boot. How in God’s name do you expect Alex to live on a bouncer’s wages? We both live at home, don’t we? We can’t afford to move out and get places of our own.’
‘It’s not just the dishonesty.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Kate set down her knife and fork. She felt nauseous and jittery.
‘No, of course not. This is a very small city. He’ll be caught.’
‘Well, excuse me, Maggie Thatcher. When did you turn into a bloody Tory? You try living on the peanuts he gets at Hogan’s. It’s all right for them snobs in the government, with their country houses and their inherited millions. They don’t know what it’s like to be hungry.’
‘That’s not the point, Kate. If he’d told the truth about his situation, he’d still get something towards his rent. You know I’m no Tory, for God’s sake. Everyone we know is struggling to make ends meet. But he could end up in court. They’re cracking down on fraud, you know. Or have you missed this month’s newsletter?’
‘Who’s the letter addressed to? Is Fraud really going to check this out?’
‘I expect so. I have to pass it on to them today.’ Shirley folded up the letter.
‘Give it here, you little class-traitor,’ snapped Kate. She put the letter in her pocket. ‘I’ll bin it later. They’ve little to do, so they have. Chasing poor Alex Stone, for a few measly quid!’
‘You can’t bin it,’ said Shirley. ‘It’s been registered. Fraud sent him a letter in the first place, you idiot. Even if there’s no reply, they’ll still follow this up.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! Right. Well, I’m glad you told me about this, Shirley. You’ve been a great help.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to warn him that they’re on to him. That they might send someone round to check if he works in Hogan’s. It will be the perfect opportunity to get to know him better.’
‘I give up. You’ll get into hot water if they find out. Sacked, for sure.’
‘He’s only getting by as best he can, Shirley, until the inheritance comes his way. This is the real world, you know. We can’t all get by on daydreams and charity shop cast-offs, like you do.’
‘Well, I hope you know what you’re doing. Get someone else to tell him, at least, so you’re not seen talking to him.’
‘Ach! You’re paranoid. Sure, no one will ever find out. They’re all half-dead in this godforsaken place. Any tea left in that pot? My stomach’s in a right knot.’
Shirley shook her head and pushed the pot across the table.
9. Kate Gets Her Man
Louise Lowry’s face was a picture. Mary was not able to console her friend, no matter how many times she told her it was all for the best. Alex Stone had his arm round Kate Winters’s waist, and the two of them were talking away, their mouths going like machines. Even when Hollywood Hogan was spotted making his rounds, they went on talking. The staff all knew that Johnny Hogan had something on his mind these days; he was not as sharp with them as he usually was. Louise and Mary weren’t to know, but Kate had just played her trump card, and Alex was very grateful indeed.
‘You’re a special kind of girl, Kate. That was very decent of you to tell me about those DHSS Nazis. No offence, now. Yes, very decent.’
‘Well, Alex, I hate to see the low-paid suffer in this way. I can’t just stand by and do nothing.’
‘Ah, you’re a great girl. You know, the humble circumstances are only temporary. I won’t always be ducking and diving. No way.’
‘Oh, I know, Alex. I know. And I won’t always be stuck in that dump. It’s not exactly my dream job.’
‘Yeah, babe. You and me are destined for higher things.’
‘Oh, I hope so, Alex. I’m tired of that place, and everybody in it.’
‘So, what can I do to say thank you? Would you like to go out for a meal sometime? Next Saturday night, maybe?’
At last, thought Kate. At last.
‘I’d love to, Alex. Will you not be working?’
‘No. I’ll take a few weeks’ holiday from here. There’s another place I can work in till the heat’s off me. Why don’t you give me your phone number?’
‘Well, I think I will. You won’t forget, now? Will you?’
‘Not at all. I won’t forget.’ She told him the number and he wrote it on his arm. ‘Now, off you go before Johnny gets my length, that’s a good girl.’ And he patted her on the back.
Kate joined Shirley in the hot-food bar, where she was half-heartedly sipping a scalding coffee the colour of old tights. Kate dusted some burger-bun crumbs off a vinyl-covered chair and gently lowered her leather-covered backside onto it. She had to be very careful how she sat down sometimes, wearing skirts that were so shamefully short.
‘Well,’ said Shirley. ‘Tell me all the gory details. Have you got a date? More importantly, have you had all your vaccinations, before you get up close and personal with that creature?’
‘Give it a rest, Shirley.’ Kate was in a better mood tonight than she had been for days, but she was still cautious and a little short-tempered. Her mystery symptoms might reappear at any time.
‘Do you know any good vets?’ Shirley laughed. ‘Just in case?’
‘Shut up, I said. He’s going to ring me.’
‘Okay. It’s your life. I won’t say another word about it.’
‘Good. Louise Lowry is over there, watching everything. She nearly fell over, trying to get a good gawp at us. She’s fit to be tied. Oh, it feels good to be a winner. It feels good, good, good to get your man!’
�
��I wouldn’t know.’
‘I’ll tell you something that’ll put the fizz back in your bottle. Declan Greenwood is in the building.’
‘Kate! Are you joking? Where is he?’
‘At the main bar. He came in with another fella, while I was talking to Alex. He recognized me. I saw him looking at me as if he knew me. He must have seen us in Quigley’s, that day. Why don’t you swap that dishwater for a double vodka, and flirt with him?’
‘Oh, God. I’m going to check my make-up. Wait here.’
‘Hang on, don’t go. Some sleazeball’s coming over to us. Bloody hell, it’s Kevin McGovern!’
‘So it is. You wouldn’t know him, out of the overalls.’
Kevin approached the table gingerly and asked the sisters if he could buy them a drink. Kate was temporarily lost for words. Kevin seemed to have had a makeover of some kind. Gone were the dull tartan shirts and grey drainpipe trousers of old. He was wearing a loose-fitting baby-pink suit, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, a bright blue shirt (no tie) and white patent shoes with Velcro straps and long pointed toes. To complete the outfit, he had (yes, it was true) a blue silk handkerchief dangling from his breast pocket. And a Simon Le Bon haircut, with blond highlights and a feathered fringe. What had happened to his flat brown hair?
‘My God,’ said Kate. ‘Is it really you?’
‘In the flesh,’ said Kevin proudly. ‘What do you think of the new threads?’
‘Unbelievable,’ said Kate.
‘Thanks,’ he said. He was delighted with himself. ‘A drink?’
‘Ah, ah, coffee? Maybe another coffee?’ Shirley stammered. She was more than a little overwhelmed by Kevin’s outfit. Even though she was wearing an antique, knee-length dress covered with black sequins, along with red tights and black suede ankle boots. And four bracelets she had made herself, from plaster of Paris and plastic gemstones.