Authors: Kitty Neale
‘He must be,’ said Mavis, impressed. ‘You don’t usually talk about your boyfriends like that. Don’t tell me you’ve actually fallen for this one?’
‘He’s different to the others, he really is. I haven’t felt like this before. He makes me tingle all over. He treats me like a princess, he’s a real gent.’ Rhona sighed with pleasure. ‘You’ll have to meet him, you’ll get on. I just know you will.’
‘Maybe.’ Mavis thought she might not have much to say to an up-and-coming musician but if he made Rhona happy then that could only be a good thing. ‘I hope you’re being careful?’
Rhona gave her a direct look. ‘Now you sound like my mum, but I ain’t stupid. If you can’t be good, be careful, that’s what I always say.’
‘And how long have you known him?’
‘Almost two weeks. Two wonderful, perfect weeks.’
‘Almost an old married couple, then.’
‘You’re laughing at me and I know I probably deserve it but you wait and see. Gary’s different,’ Rhona insisted. ‘Talking of dishy men, how’s Tommy? Now you’re in this huge flat are you going to let him move in?’
Mavis’s face clouded over. ‘It’s not that simple, and you know it.’
‘It’s about time you gave in and had a bit of fun.’
‘We do have fun.’
‘Not the sort of fun I’m talking about. You still don’t go to bed with him, do you? Is it the worry about getting pregnant?’ Rhona asked. ‘You needn’t, you know. You wouldn’t even have to tell the odd little lie like I have to. You can go and get the Pill all legit, since in theory you’re still a married women. You wouldn’t have to say that the man you’re planning to sleep with isn’t your husband.’
‘Rhona, it sounds terrible when you put it like that,’ Mavis protested.
‘It isn’t terrible at all,’ Rhona replied. ‘It makes sense. You love Tommy, he loves you. I hate to see you missing out when you could be having such a good time, that’s all. Believe me, it’s really different when you’re with a man you love. I know that now. You’re missing out, Mavis, you really are.’
‘It’s not that simple,’ said Mavis, shaking her head. She had been bossed around all her life, manipulated and beaten, so was it any wonder that the fear of losing her hard-fought independence held her back.
Pete pushed open the door to the public bar and breathed a sigh of relief. He’d come back to his old local in Battersea and was pretty sure that nobody he knew from those days would be in here at this hour of the day. He didn’t particularly want to talk to anyone, just to have a few moments on his own to think over what he’d just been told.
The place was nearly deserted and weak sunshine came in through the grimy windows, falling on the scarred wooden stools that ranged along the length of the bar. The barmaid, not the one he’d known all those years ago, was wiping glasses with a bored look on her face. She took her time finishing her job and coming over to him but he didn’t mind. For once there was no hurry. He watched motes of dust dancing in the narrow sunbeams and vaguely noticed that the whole place could do with a clean, but it didn’t worry him. There were worse things in life than a slightly dirty pub.
‘What can I get you, love?’
Pete paused. He wasn’t much of a drinker compared to some, and certainly not in the middle of the day, but he hated ordering halves and didn’t have to rush back anywhere. ‘Pint, please.’ He nodded to the beer he fancied.
She barely glanced at him as she reached for a glass from the shelf behind her, and ambled to the pump. Slowly she filled the glass and finally wandered back to him. She took his money and gave him his change then turned her back, obviously not wanting to make conversation. Pete was relieved. He took a seat at the end of the bar furthest away from her and went over his meeting earlier that day.
It had begun well enough. He’d come to it expecting to be given a start date for the big new project, in which many of the substandard old terraced houses in Peckham were to be pulled down and replaced with modern ones. His company was perfectly placed to build them and over the past few months he’d been given to understand there were no real competitors for the contract; it was just a case of when it would happen.
On the surface nothing had changed. He’d been welcomed, everyone was all smiles and slapping each other on the back. Yet when he asked direct questions, such as when the all-important start date would be, there’d been a lot of beating about the bush and fudging. He just couldn’t make any headway. It didn’t make sense, and finally he’d said so.
He’d been assured that there was nothing to worry about, it was just a question of the right person at the council signing it all off, no problems at all. Pete wondered if that was all there was to it and wanted to ask if somebody else was being lined up behind the scenes but they’d explicitly told him that no other company was in the running for the job. It was just a question of waiting for the final thumbs up.
So Pete had come to the quiet pub to think things through. He never used to be much of a worrier; he did his work and did it well, took the money and came home to Lily. Now he could feel all that might be changing. He had Bobby to consider; he couldn’t just up and leave for greener fields elsewhere if things went wrong. It wouldn’t be fair on Lily and of course there was Mavis with her two kids too. They all depended on him and more so than ever now they had the big house.
Well, they were safe as long as that contract got signed soon. He sighed. He hated relying on other people. Council politics, politics of any kind, had never been his thing. He couldn’t be doing with all the bureaucracy, the waiting around, the feeling that you had to say the right thing at the right time to the right person. It was all very frustrating, but he’d have to grin and bear it. When it went ahead, the project would bring in the best money he’d ever had.
An internal door from behind the bar opened and he could hear voices.
‘… better if you can start in ten days’ time then,’ a man was saying. Then the speaker came through the door. Pete recognised him as the landlord, who now looked balder and more careworn than the last time he’d seen him, a few years ago. ‘Here, Patty, get this gentleman a drink. You’ll be seeing a lot more of him as he’s going to do the signs when we get this place done up.’
The barmaid nodded in a bored way and reached for another pint glass. ‘This one all right for you, love?’ she asked without any interest in the answer.
‘Thanks,’ said a familiar voice, and Tommy came through the bar door. Pete groaned to himself. Of all the pubs … but it made sense. Tommy’s yard wasn’t far away and the place definitely could do with smartening up. Of course they’d ask the local sign writer. It was just his luck that he’d come in today at exactly the same time.
Tommy caught sight of Pete and did a double take. He made his way over. ‘Didn’t expect to see you in here,’ he said. ‘Not your usual stamping ground, is it? You drowning your sorrows or celebrating?’ He said it as a joke but Pete had to remind himself to smile, as he wasn’t honestly sure which of the two he ought to be doing.
‘Passing the time, more like,’ he said. ‘Cheers, Tommy. No, I had a meeting not too far away so I thought I’d have a look in for old times’ sake. How about you?’
‘Well as you can see, this place isn’t in good nick,’ said Tommy, drawing up a stool to sit beside him. ‘They’re gonna do it up and they need a new sign and lettering for outside as the old paintwork is peeling off and you can hardly read it anymore.’
‘Not changing the name of it, are they?’ asked Pete, keen to get the subject away from why he was in there. ‘I hate it when they do that. I always think its bad luck.’
‘No, it’s staying the same,’ said Tommy. ‘I know what you mean. But they’d have said or I’d have to come up with a new design. No, I just have to do a better version of the old one.’
‘So you coming over to ours later? Mavis didn’t say.’
‘No.’ Tommy shook his head. ‘Not tonight. I’m going to see Jenny and Stan. Something about changes to Stan’s job. I bet they ask me to babysit or something.’
Pete raised his eyebrows. Babysitting was a woman’s job as far as he was concerned, though he never minded looking after the three kids at home. ‘Young Greg’s a good boy,’ he observed. ‘He can always come round to ours and Mavis will see to him. James would love that.’
‘He would. I’ll tell them,’ said Tommy. He drained his glass. ‘Right, best be off.’ He looked at Pete and caught something of his mood. ‘You sure everything’s OK?’
‘Never better,’ said Pete as cheerfully as he could.
‘You seem a bit quiet tonight, babe,’ Gary said to Rhona as she slumped against the wall, apparently glad of something to lean on in the crowded basement. They were waiting for the band to come on, and the place was hot and stuffy. ‘It’s not like you. I’ve known you, what …’ he paused to think ‘about six weeks now, and I’ve never seen you at a loss for words. Don’t tell me you’re not looking forward to the music. It’ll be right up your street.’
Rhona smiled wanly. ‘Of course I’m looking forward to it. I’ve been looking forward to this lot for ages. I’ve just got a bit of a sore throat, that’s all.’
‘Comes from singing along to The Who so loudly,’ joked Gary.
‘That was days ago. It can’t be that. I don’t know, I’m just a bit run-down,’ said Rhona, tucking her blonde hair behind her ear. She felt terrible but wasn’t going to tell Gary that. She’d wanted to come to this basement bar in Soho ever since she got wind of it opening and already it was absolutely the place to be seen in. She would die rather than admit how bad she felt. Perhaps she had been overdoing it – staying out late with Gary and yet still managing to get to her morning shift on time, or almost, but Penny was getting better at covering for her. It meant she didn’t have to go home early, even if she felt like death warmed up.
‘Get you some of that blackcurrant drink you like, shall I?’ Gary offered. ‘Blackcurrant’s good for colds, it’s got vitamin C in it, everyone knows that. So it’ll be like medicine.’
‘Thanks.’ Rhona summoned up the energy to flash him a smile. He was so kind to her, she mustn’t let him down. Maybe he was right and the drink would help. She had to snap out of it or he’d get bored and she couldn’t bear that. She forced herself to stand up straight and look around at the crowd. Everyone was sharply dressed, and nearly everyone was young and good-looking. They had a strict door policy about who could get in, you had to fit, be the right sort and Rhona felt a burst of pride that she was part of this scene, the hippest crowd in the whole city. She’d made it. She had a gorgeous, generous musician boyfriend to get into places like this on his arm, and she knew the sort of envious glances they got as a couple. So why was she feeling so down?
A young man made his way over towards her. He wasn’t very striking-looking – if you were feeling mean you’d call him plain, thought Rhona, wondering why he was heading for her. She hadn’t shown him any interest, and she looked away from him now, while keeping a check on his progress from the corner of her eye. His clothes weren’t trendy, his hair could do with proper styling and his eyes had none of the audacious promise Gary’s had had from the word go. He must be aiming towards some friends near her. All the same he got closer and closer and then he was standing beside her. She didn’t react.
‘Hi. I’m Jeff,’ he said. She pretended she hadn’t heard.
He looked at her and smiled, she noticed while not revealing that she’d seen him. You’d think he’d get the hint, Rhona thought in annoyance. She wanted to save every ounce of her quickly fading energy for Gary, not waste it on some hopeless case.
Gary came back with the drinks. ‘Here you are, doll. Get that down yer, it’ll sort you out,’ he said. ‘This is my friend Jeff. We go back a long way. We were at school together.’
So that was why the man was here. She pretended she hadn’t realised he was standing next to her and turned round. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ she said, her voice a croak.
‘Gary’s mentioned you. You live up in North London too, don’t you?’
Jeff made as if to answer but Gary got in first.
‘You’re getting one of those husky voices,’ he grinned. ‘You’ll be more like Marianne Faithfull than ever. Jeff, you should hear her go on, she thinks girls should write their own songs, don’t you, Rhona?’
Rhona groaned inwardly. She was in no mood to argue that point again and was too tired to make a joke of it. ‘Well I don’t see why not,’ she croaked, smiling brightly as she didn’t want to provoke a row, though she hadn’t changed her mind. ‘If they can sing them, then why not write them as well? I’d be no good though.’ She shrugged apologetically at Jeff. ‘I can only play a few chords and as you can hear I can hardly talk let alone sing.’
Jeff smiled back. ‘I thought you always sounded like that. Nothing wrong with a husky voice …’
‘You’d look the part on stage all right,’ Gary told her. ‘They’d all pay good money to look at you. Lucky I don’t have to.’ He gave her a squeeze. ‘Leave the writing to me and Jeff.’
‘Oh, are you a musician too?’ asked Rhona, more out of politeness than anything. But before Jeff could answer the lights went down and a cheer went up as the band walked out on the small stage. Rhona leant her weight against Gary, glad of his strong arm around her. He shouldn’t tease her like that, but he was only having a bit of fun. She sipped her drink, which she’d almost come to like. She felt worse than ever.
Next morning Rhona could hardly get out of bed – her own bed, not Gary’s, even though he’d asked her to come home with him. If she’d been feeling better she would have really enjoyed the evening before as the music had been fabulous. But if she was honest with herself she’d rather have spent the evening in bed. She couldn’t admit that to anyone. Or maybe she could have said it to Mavis, but Mavis was no longer two shakes away. She’d tell her when she got better, and they could have a good laugh about it.
Meanwhile she somehow had to get herself ready for work, as she wasn’t going to give Forsyth the satisfaction of sacking her. She wanted one day to have the pleasure of telling him where he could stick his job. Her fantasy was that if she hung around the music scene enough she’d be noticed and asked to be a backing singer, or dancer. While she didn’t have a definite plan in mind, Rhona had a growing conviction that she could do something more than hang around looking good. Who knew where being in the right place at the right time might lead? Maybe it could be her ticket out of the factory. Something had to be. She’d die of boredom if she was stuck there for ever.