‘The walls are red, a velveteen red. I’d forgotten that, the colour of the walls.’ She raises her wrist, looks at an imaginary watch. ‘I’m waiting for Paula. It’s gone midnight, she said she’d meet me here at half-eleven. She’s always late – I never am.
The club is a rabbit warren of rooms, dance floors surrounded by little alcoves where people sit and talk, where couples kiss and grope.’ Her face transforms, brightens. ‘The big dance floor is my favourite place. I say big, it isn’t as big as The Palais on George Street – that’s huge. This one, the one at the Connaught, is barely big enough to hold a hundred people, but, if you get there early, you can have the floor to yourself for a while. There’s masses of people, all milling about. It’s like they’re all waiting for something to happen. Something always does. A fight, a tussle, broken hearts, wounded egos.’
An adult voice creeps in. ‘The lights are dimmed. It’s a shit hole, really.’ Her nose wrinkles. ‘Filthy. The air is thick with smoke. It gets worse as the night goes on. Those little rooms are like ovens. The condensation rises up to the ceiling and then drips back on to the dance floor. It’s like a skating rink.’
The smile again. ‘I love it – finally I found a place where I can be me. Where I fit. When I’m alone, at least.’ She moves her head side to side. Give Me Just A Little More Time blares out from speakers hung above the dance floor.’ She starts to hum the tune, then laughs.
‘I’m under orders, from him, to wear the dress, the red one.’ Her voice drops to a whisper. ‘You never ignore his orders, no one does. Beautiful eyes,’ the teenager again, ‘that’s what people told me I had – beautiful eyes. An illusion, but there you are.’
Is that Lily or Veronica speaking, Mel wonders?
‘That’s always been the nature of the female form. We colour ourselves in. False eyelashes, olive green irises like the rings on Saturn, large dark pupils, glitter sparkles on my eyelids. Long silver earrings that dangle from my ears. A present from Mum and Gran for my eighteenth birthday. I never take them out. Hundreds of teeny weeny freckles cover my face. The disco lights pick them up, too. I’m high. Another present from him. It’s my weekend ritual, all-night clubs, sometimes all-dayers in Blackpool.’ She frowns, ‘Paula still hasn’t turned up.’
She breathes out, there’s a weird tone to her voice. ‘I’m not the girl she met in September, she’s made sure of that. She’s given me a complete make-over. Before, I was just freckles, blonde eyelashes and an inferiority complex. Now I’m part of the crowd that everyone wants to be in.’
Then sadness. ‘Until that is they find out what it’s really like to be in it; to be subject to his moods.’
Her eyes glance around the room, Mel is confident that Veronica is there, in the nightclub, at that very moment.
‘I walk onto the dance floor, drop my bag in the centre by a group of girls that I vaguely know. It was all vague back then, shallow conversations about drugs and where you’d been the night before. They see me, the girls. They smile at me. I want you to know that they see me, and I know they have because they smile back at me. Thin smiles forced out. Every single one of those girls sees me. They will deny it later.’
She points into the distance, ‘That one, Jacky, with the auburn hair tied back into a ponytail, she always says hello, she’s always taking pictures with that little Kodak camera of hers. He has his eye on her, too. I’ve seen it. She has the thickest Liverpool accent I’ve ever heard and dances like she’s got bolts through her knees.’ A sly look crosses her face, ‘I smile back. They move away a little, give me space to dance. I spin around on one heel. It’s like I’m hovering above the floor. The hem of my red polka dot dress splays out around me. I lean backwards, bend my knees, fling my right arm out behind me, momentarily my fingers drag along the floor before I spring back up again. I look at no one, not even the boys, although they often try to catch my eye. It is all about the music, about moving, about becoming. I stare at someplace in my head. Somewhere where I am alone on the dance floor.’ Veronica shifts on the bed, ‘My head nods, my shoulders sway from side to side in time with the beat. I slip and slide across the floor, spin – my arms outstretched. I catch my reflection in the eyes of the girls that line the edge of the dance floor. I’m the queen of Northern Soul. ’
Her voice trembles, she blinks.
‘He’s there. His fingertips run along my spine. I don’t turn to look. It’s him, right now I can’t remember his name. It’s a blur, even the sound of it. I think it was Jimmy. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he was called Derek or Stephen. There were a lot of Dereks and Stephens back then. Jimmy, that’s what I’ll call him, it’s either that or snake face.’
Mel writes those words down.
Veronica’s mouth twists into a smile.
‘Snake face doesn’t make me sound very nice, does it? He’s not very nice. I carry on dancing. Those girls I mentioned earlier, they blend into the walls, they disappear. Even the auburn-haired girl. He has that effect. Jimmy and I circle each other, shoulders moving, feet shuffling over the floor. Papa was a Rolling Stone fills the room. We kick, dip and spin. The beat gets faster. More people cram onto the dance floor. The room gets hotter and damper. Two of the other boys join us. One slides onto the floor, his arms outstretched. The other drops into a push-up. The competition is on. Sweat rolls down my back. I kick, they spin, I dip, Smithy does a backflip.
Jimmy shakes his head and moves off towards the bar. Towards Jacky. She’s minding his drink. Paula turns up two hours later, strutting across the floor. The bruising on her cheek has faded, her face is covered in makeup. I don’t ask her where she’s been. She’s wearing that chocolate brown hot pants all-in-one she bought last week from Vamps. It cost a bomb. You should see the heads turn as she makes her way through the crowd. It’s always the same – and I can’t really understand why. It isn’t as though she’s good looking. It’s just something she exudes, something that catches their attention.’
Veronica’s eyes narrow, her voice changes, there’s a bitter edge to it, ‘Boys, that is. And men, there are plenty of them in here. They can’t take their eyes off her. Paula has this availability gene that’s always switched on. She wants to know where Jimmy is. I nod towards the bar. I have no real idea of where he is. He’s always in corners doing business. She said she’d see me later.’
Veronica’s mouth twists again, the northern tones leak out, ‘What she really means is goodbye. Gone very unreliable she has. Ever since I had that problem with the LSD she gave me. And since that other thing with Jimmy. Away to her new best friend, Jacky she is. The girl with auburn hair and bolts through her legs. Paula always has to have a new friend in the pipeline. A protégé.
It’s then that I notice him, on the dance floor.’ She lets out a long slow breath.
‘Notice who?’ a disembodied voice in the background – the American.
‘The boy with the beautiful dark skin.’ A small smile comes to her lips, her body moves. ‘His arm brushes against mine. He’s not wearing a shirt; his skin glistens with sweat. His face is covered in tiny grains of salt. I feel my heart go thump, thump; something tingles at the base of my stomach. His scalp is covered in ringlets of jet black corkscrew hair. He has eyelashes like my baby sister, long and thick.
I look away, but it’s too late. He knows I’ve been taking him in. He leaps up in the air, drops and spins. As he puts his arms out I notice that the palms of his hands are white. I want to ask him why that is, but I don’t. I pull myself away, turn my back, move away, look over my shoulder, his eyes are off their stalks, he looks straight at me, drops down into a half split.’
The tremor in her voice comes back, she blinks. ‘Wrong, wrong, wrong. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You never know who’s watching. Jimmy hates black people, he says he likes Jamaicans, but that’s it. But that boy in Blackburn, he was Jamaican, so that can’t be true. Jimmy carries. A knife, that’s what I mean. He’s nasty with it. I don’t know where this boy is from. I’ve never seen him before.
’ She closes her eyes, gives a sleepy smile, ‘I only know that he is the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen.’ She touches her face. ‘I wonder what he looks like now?’ She swings around, sits upright on the edge of the bed, it freaks Mel out. ‘He might not even be alive. Jimmy was very strict about the rules. His rules. He was like a magician, made people disappear. One minute they’d be there, the next gone, erased from our memories by fear. I never found out where they went.’
Hastily, Mel scribbles a note on the pad in front of her, a name in large letters. JIMMY.
On the screen, Veronica’s eyes flick around the room, at ghosts the viewers cannot see. ‘A slow record comes on, so I disappear, up to the ladies’ toilets on the next floor. For safety’s sake. I don’t want anyone to ask me to dance. Definitely not the dark-skinned boy—that would be too big a risk.’
Her face darkens. ‘Paula’s up there with a group of girls. She’s leaning back against the wall, pulling a lipstick out of her handbag, a cigarette hanging off her lower lip, the ash dropping down onto her chocolate brown hot pants.’ Her eyes flash. ‘God, at that moment I hate her. Jacky stands next to her, laughing, a small bottle of sherry from Yates’s Wine Lodge in her hand. Australian – real cheap it is. She’s offering Paula a swig. I’m flabbergasted. Paula never drinks. Her predilections are of the chemical kind.’ She whispers the words out. ‘I walk back out. Don’t talk to them or anything. I hate Paula even more. It wasn’t my fault she couldn’t… I don’t want to say it, so I don’t. Anyway, it wasn’t my fault he hit her. I know what she’s like now.’
Seconds tick by before she starts again.
‘The dark-skinned boy is waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. He must have seen me go up there. He has his shirt on now, a brown Ben Sherman with a white collar. Two drinks in his hands. He parts his lips in a smile, his teeth almost perfect. The front two cross each other, just a little. It is as though someone so beautiful needs a flaw. And that is his. Something happens inside of me, not in my head, in my body. It starts in the soles of my feet. Not a tingle, that sounds stupid, electricity, that’s what it is. Up through my legs and right into my solar plexus. I smile back. Stuff them, who cares about Jimmy and Paula. He offers me a glass. It’s lemon and lime. He’s bought it for his mate, but he’s buggered off somewhere. He sounds just like me. I don’t know what to do. Then I think about Paula and the girls, and Jacky, her new best friend. I take one of the glasses out of his hand. He asks me if I’ve ever been to an all-nighter.
I tell him yes and that I’ve been to the Torch, too. And Blackpool, for the all-dayers. Suddenly I feel superior – special.
Veronica blinks. ‘He looks around, I keep my head down, not wanting to call attention to myself. He might be Jamaican. If he is that will be alright.
He asks me if I fancy a sit-down, and gestures towards one of the booths on the other side of the dance floor. The place is still heaving with bodies, Bobby Womack’s What Is This? is blaring out of the speakers. I can see Del leaping about – he’s off his head. Sweat streaming down his face, his chest is bare, KEEP THE FAITH tattooed in big letters between his nipples. The leatherette seat sucks against my bare back.
The dark-skinned boy leans forward, puts his mouth against my left ear. I feel the warmth of his breath. He tells me his name is Benjy and asks me what mine is. I pull back a little, just enough.
Veronica, I say my name is Veronica. That my mam likes Veronica Lake, that I was named after her. He looks back at me blankly. I explain that she’s an American film star – my mam’s favourite film star. But that everyone calls me Ronnie, though.
He smiles politely at me. I ask him if Benjy stands for Benjamin. He tilts his head, tells me it’s a nick name. It’s because his dad is from Bengal. He said, my real name is Krishna.’
Veronica lifts her hand to her mouth, her face flushes. Mel hears the panic in her voice.
‘I inch away from him. I can feel their eyes on me. Everyone knows but me. I put the drink down on the table. Hang my head, I want to hide my face. I feel a flush of shame; my dad hates racists. In that moment, I hate myself more than I ever have.
He leans forward, the tips of his fingers glide slowly over mine. I jerk my hand away. Across the table, I feel the heat from his body. I can hardly breathe. I want to get up, get away. I don’t know what to say to him. He tells me that I’m really pretty. He slides along the seat towards me. I move away. If I don’t move quick one of the boys will have him.’
Veronica’s eyes are wide open. She seems to look at Mel through the screen.
‘They’ll be on him like dogs. They hate Pakis and Hindus. No one is allowed to touch a white girl. Not one of their girls. The polka dots on my dress feel like huge big targets. For one stupid, stupid moment I wonder what it would be like to kiss him. I’ve never kissed a boy like him. I go to stand up, he looks up at me. He knows.’
There’s emotion in her voice, a terrible sadness, her eyes pool with tears. ‘He knows I can’t sit and talk to him. Then he smiles, a big smile, as though it’s a joke. As though he’s played a joke on me. As though it’s a big joke between him and Jimmy. A test. Yes, he knows about Jimmy. At that very moment I’m sure of it.
Then I change my mind. No, it’s Paula. It’s definitely Paula. It’s the sort of thing she’d do.’ There’s a wail of anxiety in Veronica’s voice, ‘It’s payback time. The bitch has set me up. The walls shrink in on me; my heart beats like a hammer in my chest. I have to get out.’
The words rush out of her, her eyes are wide open staring into the distance. ‘I get up, push my way through the crowd. A voice roars up in my face, Jimmy, red raw with hate. No, No, it’s a mistake! I want to scream that out, but the words freeze in my throat.’
Veronica becomes more agitated; she tugs at the sheet beneath her. ‘I try to push him off. He grabs me by the hair, drags me off the dance floor. He twists my arm up my back, properly, not a little bit, all the way up. I cry out, tell him that we only talked.
‘He doesn’t hear, I feel the muscle tear in my shoulder.
I beg him to let me go.
He slaps me across the mouth. Tells me to shut up.’
Tears glide down her cheeks.
‘I plead for someone to help me. No one does, I’m suddenly invisible. I can see her, Paula. She sees me, her eyes glaze over; a smile crosses her face. She’s wrapped around some second-rate football player. His hands stuffed down her blouse. She gives me the finger. Benjy, he’s disappeared, too. Those mates of his, they’ll have dragged him off somewhere.
Jimmy shoves me through the crowd, forces me up the staircase, out towards the exit. The bouncers disappear into the cloakroom, big lads with black Crombie coats on, their backs turned, their hands stuffed down deep into their pockets. Cowards, that’s what they are, and he pays them money, Jimmy pays them money to look the other way. And the drug squad too. I’ve seen him do it. He paid that copper.’
A sob shudders through Veronica’s chest, she rubs the tears away with the back of her hand, pushes herself back against the wall. Her words choke out. ‘He drags me out onto the street by my hair, I try to fight back. I do. It’s raining. Freezing. I don’t even have a coat. My whole body is trembling. It’s really cold.’
Her face is drenched in sweat, she blinks, shivers repeatedly. ‘I… I’m sorry, I’ve got a pain in my chest. I can’t talk anymore. It really hurts. It really hurts just remembering all of this.’
‘Can you see his face, Lily?’ The psychiatrist’s voice is calm.
‘You know I can’t see his face; I’ve told you that before. Just bits of it, like a mirror, like a mirror that’s been smashed.’
The camera lens draws back, the woman sitting in the seat by the bed comes into view. She’s leaning forward, her long legs are curled beneath the chair, her thick brown hair is tied back with a satin bow. ‘Are you sure?’ her voice is calm, distant.
Veronica’s face pales; tears glisten on her cheeks.
‘Yes.’
‘His name, before, you said his name was Jimmy, is that true?’
‘I think so, I can’t remember, I don’t want to remember.’ Veronica lies down on the bed. Her back to the psychiatrist; her knees curled into her chest. ‘All you do is pump me full of drugs and hurt me. Have you ever had that thing done to you? You’re no better than he is.’
The woman doesn’t react, seems unperturbed. ‘We need to know everything, those memories are like viruses, Lily. If we don’t root them out, they spread.’
Veronica sits up, looks the woman directly in the face. The words rush out of her mouth. ‘His name is Jimmy.’ She hesitates for a moment. ‘I don’t know his last name. I don’t care whatever else I forget,’ Her hands ball into fists, ‘I can’t forget him, his name, his smell. He’s going to stand there in front of me one day—’ She frowns, a look of confusion flits across her eyes. ‘Why do you keep doing that, calling me Lily? I’m not Lily. I keep telling you I’m not Lily.’
‘Would you like something to calm you down?’ the voice is saccharine. Mel wants to hit her.
‘No, I don’t want anything to calm me down.’
She goes to stand up, two pairs of hands push her down by the shoulders. The picture freezes, her face void of colour.
‘That’s the end of the mind wipe session.’ The spell is broken. Badger’s voice brings everyone back to the present. ‘I don’t know about you lot,’ Badger grimaces, ‘but it bloody well freaked me right out.’
‘I know what you mean,’ says Mel, her knuckles prodding the base of her spine. ‘God, it feels like months since I’ve had a good sleep. This case is keeping me awake at night.’ She knows snatching an hour or two isn’t doing her any good. ‘Were there any notes that went with it?’
Jenny shakes her head.
‘No date?’
‘No,’ Jenny points at the TV, ‘I played through the whole session just to make sure.’
‘Does anyone think she’ll be able to tell us more about him when she wakes?’ she voices the question that is on everyone else’s lips.
She Lies Hidden: a spell-binding psychological suspense thriller Page 23