by Kitty Neale
Penny had clearly forgotten the plan as when Rhona turned around to check what she wanted, her friend was already chatting to someone, their heads pressed close together. Rhona sighed in annoyance. This was no good. Their eyes hadn’t had time to get accustomed to the dim lights of the bar, and the man could be anybody. She stared at Penny’s bright blonde hair, willing her to look up, concentrating hard.
Something in her attitude must have got through because Penny glanced up and saw her, and then turned to the man in the shadows and pointed at Rhona. She moved away, giving him a little wave.
Good, thought Rhona. She didn’t recognise the bloke but she didn’t think much of his dress sense. He wasn’t sharp enough to be a Mod, looked too conservative to be a rocker and he didn’t have any of that cool air of the jazz fans. So he was ruled out on every count. ‘What are you drinking?’ she shouted at her friend when she was close enough to hear.
‘What are you having?’ Penny shouted back. She wasn’t sure what to choose. She didn’t want to look a fool by asking for the wrong thing.
‘Babycham,’ shouted Rhona. ‘Have you ever had it? The bubbles go up your nose, you’d like it.’
There was a brief pause as one track came to an end before Wayne Fontana’s ‘Game of Love’ began to play. Penny swayed around to it, teetering a little as her knee-high boots had higher heels than she was used to. ‘Lovely. I’ll try that.’
‘You stay here, and remember what we agreed,’ Rhona said, before turning and expertly wriggling her way to the bar. The vivid pattern of her minidress stood out against the dark jackets of the men – and Penny noted that it was mostly men doing the buying the drinks, with most of the women sipping from glasses. Some seemed to have halves of beer, which Penny didn’t fancy. Too bitter for her. She didn’t mind shandy but thought it would be much more sophisticated to have Babycham like her friend – if Rhona was having it, it must be all right. She tapped her foot to the rhythm of the music and, bearing in mind their agreement on the bus, tried not to catch the eye of any of the men. The man who’d first approached her had been OK but she was sure she could do better.
The song was over by the time Rhona reappeared with two glasses of the sparkling drink. ‘Here you go. A filthy sod at the bar tried to pinch my bum. I told him what he could do.’ Rhona knocked back a gulp. ‘Right, let’s find a good spot and check out who’s here. This way.’
Penny once again allowed herself to be led through the crowd, smiling at the people whose gaze she met but not stopping, taking her cue from her more experienced friend. Finally Rhona found somewhere acceptable. They stood with their backs to one of the walls, a little behind a row of tables, and from there they could see all of the dance floor and most of the people sitting around it.
Something by the Kinks came on. Rhona nodded in approval. She didn’t like clubs where they played anything as long as it was in the charts – she preferred music that sounded new, as if it had been written for her generation. She found herself singing along again, lost in the sounds, but then reminded herself to concentrate. She was here for a purpose, and if she didn’t watch out Penny would wander off and get picked up by any old idiot. It was fine to appear to be lost in the music – some men liked that – but you had to be fully alert behind the mask.
‘What about them?’ Penny nodded to a table where two young men were sitting, both in sharp suits, deep in conversation.
‘Hmm, let’s wait. No, they’re no good.’ Rhona pointed to two young women weaving their way to the same table, both in tiny miniskirts. ‘They’ve just got back from the cloakroom over there. Nothing doing for us in that direction.’
Penny scanned the dance floor. ‘Him? I like the way he dances … oh no, maybe not. Look, he thinks he’s on the telly, look at him go.’ The two girls stared at the strange dance and then burst into laughter. The man carried on oblivious, clearly convinced he was God’s gift to women everywhere.
The song ended and another one started up, with some dancers returning to their seats and other people taking their places. The floor grew more crowded and the spotlights moved around, illuminating geometric patterns on the dresses and shirts, light catching the more bouffant hairdos, or picking out the glossiness of the hair gel favoured by some of the men. Penny finished her drink and clutched the empty glass.
‘Fancy another?’ A slim-hipped young man approached them, smiling broadly.
Rhona met his gaze and cocked her head. ‘You asking her, me, or both of us?’
The man’s grin grew even wider. ‘Oh, both of you. Definitely both. How could I choose between you two lovely ladies?’
Rhona assessed him even as she continued flirting. ‘That’s cheesy, that is. You got to do better than that.’
‘I’m wounded,’ said the man. ‘I meant every word from the bottom of my heart. What’ll it be?’
Penny giggled but said nothing, waiting to see if Rhona would allow him to buy them their next drinks.
Rhona made her decision. The shirt was good, the trousers were the right shape and hugged his body quite promisingly, and the hair was almost but not quite like Brian Jones’s. He’d do. ‘Seeing as you’re so sincere, we’d like Babycham,’ she said, giving him her best upwards glance. Then she looked away, as if suddenly shy.
‘Coming right up.’ He took their empty glasses and as he did so, his fingers brushed Rhona’s. ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Gary.’
Jean clocked on at the factory on Monday morning and looked around for her team. She was early and so didn’t really expect to see everyone there but it was a shock all the same to find she was the only one in, with ten minutes to go until the shift was due to start. She tucked her straight brown hair back under her scarf, buttoned her overalls and pitched up her sleeves. After Rhona’s outburst at the end of last week, and the way Penny clearly looked up to her and followed her every move, Jean was concerned that the two young women wouldn’t make it in.
As if he’d been listening to her thoughts, Mr Forsyth, the foreman, came whistling through the door to the factory floor. His round red face shone in the few beams of sunshine that penetrated the dusty windows.
Jean groaned inwardly. As if Mondays weren’t bad enough, she now had to deal with the boss in chirpy mood, who was definitely a morning person, which she wasn’t. ‘Hello, Mr Forsyth. Did you have a good weekend?’ She reached in her pocket for her headscarf and shook it out.
‘I did indeed, Miss Barker, I did indeed.’ He rubbed his hands as if he couldn’t wait to start work. ‘We saw my brother and his family. I think you know my nephew Andy?’
With a sinking feeling Jean wished she’d never asked what she’d thought was a harmless question. ‘Not well, no,’ she said, ‘but I’ve heard of him.’
‘And would that have been from your young colleague Miss Foster?’ The foreman didn’t wait for an answer.
Jean nodded and made a noncommittal noise. From what she knew of him, Rhona was better off without Andy Forsyth. He was good-looking, as all her boyfriends seemed to be, but he had a vindictive streak and could be thoroughly unpleasant when crossed.
‘And where is Miss Foster this morning?’ Forsyth went on. ‘Here come our two most reliable ladies, but I don’t see Miss Foster anywhere.’ His eyes narrowed. The good mood hadn’t lasted long.
‘Oh, she’ll be here, don’t you worry,’ said Jean, crossing her fingers and hoping she was right. ‘Morning, Margot, morning, Alma.’ The two older women nodded and moved away to hang up their coats. It was still chilly and spring seemed to have forgotten it was due to arrive.
‘Well, she’d better be,’ said Forsyth. ‘I’m keeping my eye on that young woman. But I’m needed for an important meeting with the manager, so I shall leave you to it for now.’ He bustled off, all importance and swagger.
Important meeting with the manager my arse, thought Jean. With the biscuit barrel more like. Still, Penny and Rhona were cutting it fine.
They burst through the outer door together with a minute to g
o. Rhona looked as if she hadn’t had time to brush her hair, her coat was done up the wrong way and she was breathing heavily as if she’d been running.
‘Blimey, you’re taking a chance getting here with only a minute to spare,’ said Jean. ‘You do realise Forsyth has got it in for you after you dumped Andy? He’s been down here checking. You’d better watch your step or you’ll be out on your ear.’
‘Oh, I’m not worried about him,’ gasped Rhona. ‘I just overslept a bit, that’s all. We’re here now. Go on, Jean, pass me my overall and I’ll be ready in a tick.’
‘Good weekend, was it?’ Jean did as she was asked, arching an eyebrow. She could make a fair guess at why the girl was in such a state.
‘The best,’ grinned Rhona. ‘Thanks, you’re a star. Right, I’m ready to go.’
Jean wondered if her colleague would be safe to work near machinery but decided it wasn’t her problem. ‘OK, let’s make a start. You and Penny get down to the packing end of the production line.’
Rhona and Penny set off to their appointed places, Rhona leaning heavily on her friend.
‘You could have landed me in it,’ hissed Penny. ‘I’m all right to work even if you aren’t. I never should have waited for you on the corner.’
‘But you wanted to hear what happened yesterday, didn’t you?’ Rhona laughed. ‘Just as well ’cos I never would have told this lot the details.’ She grinned. ‘It was worth it, even if I can hardly stand up today.’
‘Rhona! That’s disgusting.’
‘I only meant with tiredness. Seriously, we didn’t go all the way. Not on our first real date, and that in the afternoon.’ Rhona smiled dreamily at the memory. ‘I didn’t mean to stay up half the night with Gary, and we were only talking. Well, and having a drink. Or several.’
‘You better suck on some more mints before Forsyth comes by,’ Penny advised her. ‘I can still smell it on your breath. He’ll notice it at once and you don’t want to be giving him any excuse to fire you. Turning up half drunk when you’re operating machinery is asking for trouble.’ She pulled out a stool and sat down at the conveyor belt.
Rhona collapsed on to the stool next to her. ‘Sorry. But you did enjoy the other night, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah,’ Penny admitted. ‘It was great. Shall we go again or will you just want to be with Gary?’
Rhona jumped to catch a tin that almost made it past her. Damn, she thought, she really was going at half speed today. She’d better sort herself out or it wouldn’t just be her who was in trouble; it would mess up the whole shift. She liked her co-workers and didn’t want to get them in hot water if she could help it – but she wouldn’t be giving up her nights out for anybody.
‘No reason why you can’t come along when I next go out with Gary,’ she said kindly. ‘He might have other friends for you to meet. He’s bound to have, he knows lots of people. We’ve definitely got to go back to the Talisman. They play all the best music. How about next weekend?’
‘You sure I won’t be a gooseberry?’ Penny wasn’t completely convinced. ‘I don’t want to cramp your style or anything.’
‘Not much chance of that,’ said Rhona, tossing her head.
Chapter Five
‘Next time your van breaks down on a Friday for God’s sake don’t wait until Monday to tell me,’ groaned Tommy. It was all very well handing over the day-to-day work of signwriting to his team but that relied on them having some common sense. Now it looked as if Jerry had none. The big man stood by the stationary van, looking helpless.
‘Didn’t want to bother you,’ he muttered.
‘Well, you were going to have to bother me at some time and if you’d done it on Friday we could have fixed it over the weekend and had it up and running this morning,’ Tommy told him, wondering if the message was getting through. ‘Now we’ve got a client who’s going to think we’re unreliable. That’s the last thing we want.’
Jerry shrugged. Clients weren’t his problem.
Tommy thought fast. ‘Right, you’d better have my van. Come back to the yard with me, and bring your stuff.’
‘What, do you mean I have to carry it all?’ asked Jerry, frowning. ‘It’s heavy.’
Tommy gave him a straight look. ‘It’s not far. Good job you only live a couple of streets away. The exercise will do you good.’
He set off without looking back to check that Jerry was following him. He certainly wasn’t going to offer to help carry anything after all the trouble the big man had caused.
Turning into his yard, Tommy ran into the office which stood at the back of the premises and came out with a set of keys to the van parked beside the main gate. He opened the back doors and took out some boxes. They contained his own materials, which he still sometimes painted with, but he didn’t want Jerry to use them. The man was a good signwriter when it came down to it, which was why he’d taken him on in the first place, but he was always losing things and was completely disorganised.
Jerry came puffing along the pavement and nearly collapsed as he staggered into the yard. ‘That’s all I’m taking. I couldn’t manage it all. Shall I sling it in there?’ He nodded to the open van doors.
‘Yeah, better put your foot down.’ Tommy watched as his employee threw his gear into the vehicle, his thinning strands of sandy hair plastered to his head with sweat despite the chilliness of the day.
‘I’ll be off, then.’
Tommy nodded, watching as Jerry backed the van up to the office and turned it before leaving the yard. He realised he’d better ring the mechanic straight away or else he might not get the broken van ready for tomorrow, and they had a lot on.
Before he could go into the office to use the telephone, a voice called out to him.
‘If it isn’t Tommy Wilson. It is you, Tommy, isn’t it?’
Tommy turned around and looked at the figure, whose face was indistinct because the late morning sun was behind him. The voice was sort of familiar but he couldn’t place it. He shielded his eyes and could see it was a man, almost as tall as him and heavily built. There was no point in denying who he was as there was a big sign over the gate saying ‘Thomas Wilson and Company, Signwriters’, so he went towards the stranger and said, ‘Yeah, that’s me. Who wants to know?’
The man stepped forward. ‘Don’t you recognise me, mate?’
Tommy squinted and moved so that the shadow of the overhead sign fell across the man and suddenly he could make out the features on his face. He was definitely familiar but he just couldn’t place him. ‘Yes, of course, it’s …’ He ransacked his memory but nothing came.
The man laughed. ‘It’s me, Larry. Larry Barnet.’
The penny dropped. Tommy gasped in surprise. He hadn’t seen Larry since they were about fifteen. He thought about telling his former friend that he hadn’t changed a bit but that would be an out and out lie. The man had filled out, of course he had, but he was carrying a lot of weight around his middle and his hair now formed a widow’s peak. His nose was a bit red, the sign of a heavy drinker most likely. But his clothes were tidy and he wore a tie, which looked new.
‘Larry. What brings you back here? I thought you’d gone for good.’
Larry shook his head. ‘Long story, mate. You got a minute? This is your place, isn’t it? You done well for yourself.’
‘Yeah, well, not bad,’ said Tommy, unsure if he wanted the man on his premises or not. The two of them had hung around together when they were schoolboys but it was a time he’d have preferred to forget. They had terrorised some of the local girls and he was now deeply ashamed of what he’d done. Now he was older he could see that it had been cruel and the thought of anyone doing something similar to Grace made him very angry. But maybe Larry had changed, as he himself had.
‘Come on in to the office if you like,’ he said. What harm could a quick cuppa do, he thought. ‘It’s just across there.’ He led the way through the yard, with Larry right behind.
‘Nice place you got here,’ he said admiringly. �
��Good location. Bet it brings in a fair amount of business.’
‘We do OK.’ Tommy switched on the kettle as his old friend sat down on a swivel chair. ‘Milk, sugar? Yes, we’ve been here for a couple of years or so. I was a one-man band for a while, but it’s better with a team. I don’t have to work seven days a week anymore for a start. How about you?’
Larry shook his head and laughed. ‘Bit of this, bit of that. You know. Import, export.’
Tommy leaned back against a filing cabinet and raised his eyebrows. In some circles that could mean anything from selling a few black market cigarettes on a stall to major smuggling and tax evasion. He’d no reason to think Larry was involved in anything criminal and yet the man’s father had been sacked for stealing from his place of work, which was why the family had disappeared from the Battersea area to start with. Larry had always been a chip off the old block and close to his dad. Well, it was none of his business. He didn’t intend to get sucked in to Larry’s schemes and once they’d had their tea he’d wave him goodbye and that would be that.
‘Ever think about the old days, Tommy?’ asked Larry, stretching out his legs and putting his arms behind his head, making himself at home. ‘I missed the old place something rotten for ages when we moved. It’s good to have an excuse to come back. Not that I’ll be back here to live, we’re out in Kent now. Me mum – remember her? – she won’t ever want to breathe in this smoggy air again, she loves it out there. But you can’t live on fresh air so I’m doing a bit of business round here for the time being. We should get together one evening for old times’ sake.’
Tommy smiled noncommittally. ‘Maybe.’
Larry cocked his head. ‘We had some good times back then. Used to enjoy ourselves, didn’t we? Chasing all those girls? Remember flashing them in the park and hearing them scream?’