‘Like you?’
‘Yes.’
‘No. Never.’ I said.
‘What?’
‘I quit.’
I took off my white coat and threw it at her. I stormed past my confused father who was lugging a huge ham, and out onto Marylebone High Street. The freezing wind was blowing diagonally, and sliced across my legs but I kept running. After a few minutes my run became a trudge and I found myself back at the phone box behind Oxford Street. I yanked open the door and went in out of the wind. I pulled some two pence pieces from my pocket, lifted the receiver and dialled the number Daniel had given me. After a few rings I heard the beeps and pushed the money in.
‘’Ello… Catford six, seven, nine, free, two…’ my heart lurched. I hadn’t thought Daniel’s mother would answer. ‘’Oo’s this?’ said the voice.
‘Oh, erm, hello. Um, I’m Karen, Coco, I’m a friend of Daniel’s. Could I please speak to him?’
There was a muffled sound as she covered the phone.
‘’Ere Meryl love, there’s some plummy girl on the blower for Danny…’
‘He’s gone up the shop for matches and tobacco…’ said a younger reedier version of Daniel’s mother. The sound un-muffled and she came back on the line.
‘He’s gawn up the shops for a packet h’of cigarettes,’ she said suddenly sounding posh.
‘How long ago did he leave?’ I said.
‘Abaht fifteen minutes h’ago.’
‘And is the shop far?’
‘Not v’hery, a mere hawp skip and h’ajump.’
‘How long does it usually take him?’ I said, now feeling desperate to talk to him.
‘’Oo d’ya think I am, Doris Stokes?’ snapped the voice dropping all pretence of poshness. ‘’E’ll be back when ’e’s back!’
I said I was waiting in a phone box, gave her the number and asked if he could phone me as soon as he was back.
‘Are you in the family way?’ she said.
‘What?’
‘Ringing ’im from a phone box?’
‘No, I…’
‘’Cos my Danny, ’e’s a good boy. ’E got into university and what with ’is modules, an essays, ’e ’asn’t got time to go round putting girls in the family way.’
I explained I was at university with Daniel and that I just wanted to wish him a happy Christmas. She reluctantly said she’d give him the number and put the phone down.
Snow had started to fall outside and the sky was getting dark. I tried not to feel gloomy. I was hungry and cold in a stinking phone box. A car pulled past and its headlights firing off the ice crystals on the window dazzled me. And then the phone rang! I picked up the receiver.
‘Hello, is this the halfway house for girls in the family way?’
‘Is that you, Daniel?’
‘Of course it is, Coco. Why are you in a phone box?’
‘I ran away from my mother.’
‘Coco, how old are you?’
‘I’m nearly nineteen.’
‘Exactly. Which means that you are free to do what you want.’
‘But you don’t understand…’
‘I think I do. You’re a damsel in distress who needs rescuing?’
I laughed. ‘Are you going to come and rescue me on a white steed?’
‘Well close, I’ll get my sister Meryl to drive me over to you in her new Ford Anglia.’
‘To go where?’
‘To come here.’
‘You want me to come to your house?’ I said.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I want you to meet me mum.’ I heard his mother in the background say, ‘’oo d’ya want me to meet? I’ve still got the turkey to pluck!’ Daniel put his hand over the receiver.
‘Mum you can pluck it later!’ He came back on the line. ‘Where are you?’
‘Are you sure it’s okay?’ I could hear Daniel’s mother still moaning in the background.
‘’Course it is, and my sister Meryl wants to get out for some fresh air and show off her new car.’
I gave Daniel the address of the phone box and replaced the receiver. Blimey. I was about to meet his family. He must be serious about me. Then I was filled with terror – what if they hate me?
Forty tense, freezing minutes later, I heard a low whining noise a bit like a plane coming in to crash-land. A pea-green Ford Anglia zoomed round the corner of Hanover Square with steam escaping from beneath the bonnet. A young woman with long brown hair was poking her head out of the driver’s window trying to see past the steam. Daniel’s head appeared out of the passenger window. I came out of the phone box and waved at them.
‘Here she is, pull in here Meryl,’ said Daniel. The car swerved and came to a stop beside the pavement. When the engine was off, the car let out an exhausted hiss and even more steam. Daniel opened the door and grabbed me in a big hug. I put my hand up and ran my fingers through his hair, which smelt divine. His sister Meryl got out of the driver’s side and came round to the front. She was only in her twenties, a little older than Daniel, and dressed like a beatnik in a donkey jacket, brown chord trousers and a long green roll neck jumper.
‘Fiddlesticks!’ she exclaimed slamming her hand on the bonnet.
‘She’s stopped swearing since she joined the young conservatives,’ said Daniel out of the corner of his mouth. I smiled at her and said hello. Meryl turned and gave me the once over.
‘So this is Coco,’ she said. She seemed surprised, like maybe she was expecting a stripper in nipple tassels and not the nice winter coat I was sporting. I suddenly wondered what kind of girls Daniel usually went out with. I got the impression he was more experienced, and he certainly hadn’t needed a map the first time we…
‘Hello,’ I said snapping out of my head. ‘Daniel’s told me so much about you,’ I said automatically.
‘Has he? What?’ said Meryl heaving up the car bonnet. I realised Daniel hadn’t really told me anything about his older sister, other than that she was a bit weird and frigid.
‘I hear you’re a Tory?’ I said hopefully.
‘Which means you’re not,’ she said. ‘I thought a nice girl like you would shy away from Socialism - I can’t imagine your family, being as well-to-do as they are, would contemplate going back to the eighty-three per cent tax rate and the frankly potty policies bandied about by that old fool Michael Foot!’
I stared at her. ‘Um, I don’t really follow politics,’ I said. There was an awkward silence as she opened the bonnet and we all peered at the workings of the car engine.
‘I think it needs some water,’ said Meryl finally. ‘Daniel, see if that pub will give you some.’
Daniel grinned and went off. We stood there in silence for a moment as the car began to make a ticking sound.
‘What do you do, Meryl?’ I said.
‘I’m a typist at my local doctor’s surgery,’ she said, a little defensively.
‘Oh. Do you find you get a lot of bugs?’ I asked.
‘No, I’ve been there for a few years now, and I’ve built up my immunity…’ I wondered why she’d agreed to come all this way and pick me up. I wasn’t getting much warmth from her.
Then I asked her about the car and she started to talk proudly about how she’d saved up for it. It had cost five hundred pounds, which was over two months’ wages.
‘Did it take you a long time to save all that?’ I asked, pleased I’d hit on a good topic of conversation.
‘Yes, although my housekeeping takes a dent out of wages; Mum doesn’t get much from her job as a cleaner. How much do you pay your mother in housekeeping?’ she asked.
‘Um… I’ve never had to,’ I said sheepishly.
‘So you get to keep all your wages?’
‘I’m a student… and my parents give me an allowance,’ I blushed.
‘Aren’t you lucky,’ said Meryl giving me an icy stare.
‘I do work, when I’m home,’ I added. ‘My father owns a butcher’s in Marylebone.’
‘I’ve hea
rd,’ said Meryl. There was another silence, she pursed her lips and tapped her nails impatiently on the pea-green paintwork of the car’s bonnet.
Oh God, I thought. She hates me. Luckily Daniel came running out of the pub with a huge glass lemonade bottle full of water and a funnel. He unscrewed the cap on the radiator and filled it up. Meryl looked on proudly as he leaned into the car and started the engine with a roar.
‘Marvellous!’ she said closing the bonnet with surprising force. A very pretty young blonde barmaid in a low-cut white shirt and too much makeup came out of the pub.
‘Daniel… Have you finished with my funnel?’ She grinned. ‘The landlord needs it back.’ Daniel went over to her.
‘Could her skirt be any shorter?’ I muttered as she put a hand on his arm and took back the bottle with the funnel. She pulled out a sprig of plastic mistletoe and held it above their heads. Daniel did that faux if I must shrug I’ve seen men do when they’re confronted by a pretty girl, and leant in for a kiss – on the cheek admittedly – but rage boiled up inside me.
‘Daniel, your sister is waiting and so am I!’ I snapped, sounding horribly like my mother. Daniel came running back with lipstick on his cheek. Meryl looked at us both with a wry smile and we got into the car, me in the back. As we drove off, the barmaid was still standing at the edge of the kerb. Her pointy little breasts were poking through her tight little blouse. ‘So, we’re all good?’ said Daniel.
‘Who was she?’ I said.
‘I dunno, a barmaid,’ he grinned.
‘Well…’ I huffed and stared out of the window. Meryl glanced at me out of the corner of her eye and handed Daniel a tissue. He grabbed it and scrubbed at the lipstick.
‘She was just being nice,’ he said.
‘It’s fine,’ I huffed trying to sound carefree. I was coming across badly. I wanted Meryl to like me.
London was very drab, everyone looked bored and pale struggling under the burden of shopping bags and the decorations seemed flaccid. The tinsel strung along Oxford Street was thin and drooping like the elastic that had gone on a large pair of pants.
‘What are you saying about a large pair of pants?’ asked Meryl. I’d been talking out loud.
‘That’s just Coco,’ grinned Daniel grabbing my hand. ‘She’s very creative; she’s going to be a writer.’
‘Well I write, so I am a writer,’ I said.
‘Oh. What have you had published?’ needled Meryl.
‘Nothing yet,’ I said blushing.
‘I’ve read her stories, she’s great,’ said Daniel.
As we got closer to his house I realised how ridiculous I was. I’d run away from my mother as if I was ten years old. I should have just told my parents about Daniel, and then had him over for a cup of tea – or arranged to do something properly with him.
When we’d crossed the river south, I noticed how run-down the houses were becoming, brickwork blackened from hundreds of years of coal fires, and there were kids on swings, mothers in curlers with housecoats poking out under their winter coats. Meryl turned into a street with a broken sign and parked by an end-of-terrace house. It was almost dark and many of the houses had switched on their Christmas lights but still hadn’t drawn the curtains.
We didn’t walk up the front path to the door, but swung round the side of the house and Daniel reached up and undid the latch on the back gate. We went through and down a long dank passage between the two rows of terraced houses. We came to another gate and Daniel reached up again for the latch. It opened onto a concrete yard that can’t have been more than eight feet square. There was a coal house with a spade resting outside covered in a fresh layer of coal dust. A bit in the corner was fenced off with some twisted chicken wire, and inside was the most enormous turkey! His black and grey plumage was stunning and glinted as he scrabbled about in the dirt with a powerful red-clawed foot. Standing beside the pen was a woman, similar in height to Meryl. I’d say she was in her fifties. She had jet-black hair (obviously dyed) and swept back from her face in a little beehive. She had on those pointy glasses from the 1970s and a winter coat over a flowery housecoat.
‘I din’t expect you back so quick,’ she said quickly closing her coat and putting her hand up to her mouth.
‘Thas' alright, Mum,’ said Daniel. ‘This is Coco.’ I held my hand out.
‘It’s lovely to meet you Mrs. Pinchard, you’ve got a beautiful home.’ I don’t know why I said that, I was so nervous.
‘’Ow do you know?’ she asked suspiciously, her hand still in front of her mouth. ‘’Ave you ’ad ’er up in yer room? Danny, what ’ave I told you?’
‘Mum! No,’ said Daniel. ‘No. Coco’s just being nice,’
‘Yes, what I meant is that… Um…’ I cast my eye around to find something to compliment, but the squalid back yard made it hard. ‘You’ve got a lovely turkey…’
‘Yeah, ’e is lovely…’ she said dropping the accusing tone. ‘By rights ’e should be dead an’ plucked but ’e’s… clever, sensitive.’
I could see her point, turkey’s usually have cruel little eyes, but this one had a soft mournful stare.
‘I call ’im John-Paul,’ said Mrs. Pinchard.
‘After the Pope?’ I asked, wondering if Daniel came from a strict Catholic family.
‘No! Not ’im… John Paul Belmondo.’
‘The French actor?’
‘Ooh yeah, ’e’s lovely. If I were a few years younger I’d bugger off to France for the chance to meet John Paul Belmondo.’
Meryl rolled her eyes. I put my hand out and John Paul the turkey let me lean in and touch his feathers, which were so soft. He sniffed at my hand and then looked up at us again with his mournful eyes.
‘Meryl, Danny, I think we’re jus’ gonna ’ave chipolatas tomorrow,’ said Mrs. Pinchard.
‘I’m on a diet mum, I told you,’ said Meryl moving past to the back door.
‘As long as we get pud, I don’t care,’ said Daniel. ‘Come on Coco, let’s go inside.’ Mrs. Pinchard got all flustered and told us to wait in the yard whilst she cleared up.
‘It’s really no problem,’ I said, but she bustled off and Daniel followed her inside closing the door. I just caught her saying, ‘You din’t even give me a chance to put me bloody teeth in!’
I looked up at the row of terraces. Lights were going on and tantalising smells of baking wafted over the fences towards me. The snow began to fall more heavily and John Paul shifted on his huge feet and leaned into me from his side of the chicken wire. I know it’s an odd thing to say about a turkey, but he really was sweet. I undid the latch on the makeshift little gate and I went into the pen. He let me gently brush the snow off his shiny black feathers, and he put his beak in my pocket then nibbled at one of my buttons. I thought guiltily of the rows of turkeys I’d seen earlier in the walk-in freezer.
‘How could anyone eat you?’ I said. He stopped nibbling and rested his head against my jacket blinking. I had never suspected this morning, that by the afternoon I’d be talking to a turkey in Daniel’s back garden. I noticed there was a little wooden shelter in the corner of the pen and I fluffed up the pile of straw underneath it and John Paul walked over and made himself comfortable. Suddenly the back door opened and Daniel said I could come in. I gave the turkey another cuddle and followed him indoors.
The back door led into a small and beautifully clean kitchen decorated in orange and black patterned wallpaper. Blue Formica cupboards and work surfaces lined the walls and a matching blue Formica table filled the centre of the room. There was a warm smell of freshly-baked fruitcake mingled with gas from the stove that had just been lit. Daniel’s mother was now wearing a smart blue dress and a cream cardigan, she also had her teeth in. She put a kettle on the gas and pulled out a tea caddy. Three Cadbury’s advent calendars were propped up on the windowsill above the sink and there was tinsel strung around the glass lampshade, which hung above the kitchen table.
‘Have a sit down,’ said Daniel. ‘Cup of tea?’
>
‘Yes please,’ I said pulling out a chair.
‘Not that one,’ snapped Mrs. Pinchard shoving the chair back in. I noticed a small tear in the plastic of the seat cushion. She pulled out the chair opposite.
‘You get the view outside,’ she said. I nodded and sat down, the snow was now swirling in eddies outside the window.
‘You must be used to a much bigger place,’ said Daniel helping me out of my coat and hanging it by the back door. I noticed his mother smoothing back her hair in the reflection of the boiler as she busied herself drying teaspoons with a tea towel.
‘This is nice, cosy…’ I enthused. I didn’t know if that was a compliment or not, but I meant it. It was a lovely, warm and friendly place. Mrs. Pinchard carried on getting the tea ready. I had the feeling she didn’t like me. Daniel went to the cupboard and started pulling down some mugs.
‘Sit down Danny,’ she ordered. ‘She’ll ’ave a cup an' saucer, like we usually ’ave!’ She put the mugs back and left the room. Daniel reached across the table and grabbed my hand.
‘I don’t think your Mum likes me,’ I whispered.
‘No. You’re getting the best crockery, this is good,’ he grinned. ‘We never use it,’ he added with a whisper.
‘’Ere we are,’ said Mrs. Pinchard coming back in with a tray of china cups, a milk jug and sugar bowl. ‘I ’ad it out this morning for elevenses with friends.’
Daniel grinned at me and shook his head. I noticed a small fireplace under a mirror in the corner, wood and coal were built up neatly, with some newspaper and ready to be lit. Meryl came in and threw the post on the kitchen table. She grabbed a box of long matches and struck one. She lightly touched it to the newspaper and the fire burst to life, blazing within seconds.
‘My Dad is hopeless at building fires,’ I said breaking the silence. ‘He’s there for ages feeding it with wood and re-lighting it. That’s a great fire. Did Mr. Pinchard build it?’
‘You mean, Danny? Yes, ’e did,’ said Mrs. Pinchard. The kettle began to whistle and she lifted it off the stove and poured a little hot water into the teapot.
‘No, I meant Daniel’s father, Mr. Pinchard.’ I added. She swilled the hot water round the teapot, warming it up, and then tipped it into the sink with a practised move.
A Very Coco Christmas Page 3