Marion checked her make-up in the mirror. It was perfect. Eddy would be calling in soon to join her for lunch. They always spent Monday lunchtimes together. It was just one of the hundreds of little things Eddy did all the time to make her feel special. As soon as she thought of him, he was there, smiling and waving at her through the glass, carrying a huge bunch of white tulips in one hand and a small box of cream pastries in the other, tied neatly with string.
She went to open the door, and he kissed her gently.
‘Hello, my darling, how are you?’ he said.
‘Fine, fine. What lovely flowers, Eddy!’
‘You deserve them. Oh, I’d love a cuppa! What a morning I’ve had, it never stopped in the bakery. We ran out of eclairs and cream horns, and the soup got spilt over the wheaten bread.’
‘Eddy, that’s not like you.’
‘We had a new girl starting with us, she’s still learning the ropes,’ laughed Eddy. ‘No real harm done.’
‘Was Declan in on time?’
‘Yes, indeed he was. He’s been serving behind the counter all morning.’
‘Good. I don’t want him lazing about this summer, even if he does deserve a rest after his exams.’
‘Marion, don’t worry about him,’ said Eddy. ‘He’s fine.’
‘Well, he told me that his degree is getting tougher by the day. He might drop out, or something, and settle for working in the family business.’
‘If he wants to do that, sweetheart, we’ll have to let him, okay?’
‘No, no. He’s going to be a doctor, definitely.’
‘It’s very hard work, Marion, to qualify in medicine. Would it be so bad if he worked for me? He could manage the restaurant section? A little bit of independence for him?’
‘Listen, Eddy. All medical students consider dropping out from time to time. His tutors assured me he’s got what it takes. Otherwise, I wouldn’t push him.’
‘Well, then. What’s the problem?’
‘You know what the problem is. He might… be like…’
‘His father?’
‘I’m sorry, Eddy.’ She put her arms around his waist, and kissed his cheek; then leaned her head against the warm tweed of his jacket. ‘I can’t help worrying about him. I wish he was your son.’
‘He is my son, pet. I’ve always thought of him as mine.’
‘I love you, Eddy. I love you so much.’
‘I know, darling, and I love you.’
‘Are you glad we got married, Eddy?’
‘Of course I am. I couldn’t live without you, Marion. We’ve had a wonderful twenty years together since then. What’s brought all this on? Have you seen Hogan?’
‘No, I haven’t. Honestly. It’s just that I worry about Declan, he’s restless.’
‘All young lads are restless. It’s their hormones.’
‘I wish he’d settle down with a nice girl. The phone never stops ringing for him.’
‘So that’s it? You think he’s going to be a heart-breaker?’
‘Maybe. He’s far too good-looking. Even with those awful clothes he wears.’
‘Come on, darling,’ said Eddy, laughing. ‘He’ll grow out of it. And he’ll grow out of it a lot sooner if we pretend we aren’t bothered either way. Young people are only looking for a reaction, most of the time. Let’s put the kettle on. I’m gasping for a cuppa. Everything is going to be okay.’
‘Promise me?’
‘I promise,’ he said.
Marion kissed him tenderly, then went to put the kettle on, her heart already feeling lighter.
7. Fantasies are Free
Shirley’s daydream was always the same, perfected over recent months to a crystal-clear picture. She could begin to spin the reel in her head whenever she was bored, which was most of the time, if she was honest.
They would meet in the ballroom, in a dark corner, preferably. Yes, a dark, quiet corner; far away from the indignity of the plastic trees and the cigarette machine. He would be on his own, maybe on his way to the bar? Certainly not standing with a crowd of other boys. And she would have just come in with Kate. Her hair would be immaculately trimmed and wonderfully shiny, blow-dried poker-straight, and lightly waxed, the way the hairdresser always did it. Kate would be busy checking in the coats, or talking to Alex at the foyer doors.
There they would be, Shirley and Declan. Together at last. She would be perfectly relaxed and confident. Yet still retaining an air of elegant mystery. He would smile shyly, pleased they had met. They would stand quite close to one another. He would admire her outfit, a beautiful gold and red brocade evening coat worn over black flared slacks, and an Art Nouveau bracelet with pewter fairies on it.
And
a fistful of silver rings set with semi-precious stones. A lock of her hair would fall into her eyes, and he would reach out, tenderly, and put it back. And then he would smile, because the huge gulf between them would have suddenly diminished. She would say something bright and breezy, something casual. ‘Hello, there!’ But he would know instinctively that she really liked him; more than liked him. And he wouldn’t be worried that he was getting himself involved with a limpet-girl. He would be flattered and delighted that a lovely girl like Shirley Winters wanted to get to know him better. And of course, he would fancy her, too. He would have to close his eyes with the sheer strain of stopping himself from falling on her and tearing the brocade coat off her pale and tender shoulders, like a vampire seducing a willing virgin in a Hammer horror film.
She would like him to do that, of course, but he would wait. He was a gentleman. He would savour this time before any intimacy took place, because afterwards there would be no going back. They would be a couple for life. The gods would make sure of it. For the moment, they would begin their courtship in the usual way; they would dance.
What would they dance to? A selection of songs appeared in Shirley’s head; a romantic jukebox of the mind. Japan would be the band. There was nothing to match their mixture of bitter-sweet longing. ‘I Second That Emotion’ would be the song. He would hold her hand, and lead her onto the floor as if they were professional dancers. They would melt into each other’s arms and begin a smouldering dance together. Even the worldly Kate would be suddenly awestruck.
They would sway beautifully, still without speaking, their fingertips buzzing with chemicals, their eyes maintaining contact all the time, moving around the floor, his arm firmly around her waist, or a hand placed gently on her back, sometimes touching her face. She would be graceful and dignified; not the opinionated daydreamer she usually was. (Saying too much, too soon, and then running out of steam.) Afterwards, Kate would applaud them, then they would say goodnight to the ballroom and collect their coats, and walk along the streets of Belfast, holding hands. And there would be no one else on the streets; no drunks, hooligans, layabouts, wasters, troublemakers, clowns or losers of any description. And the streets would be clean of chips and cigarette butts and political slogans and hungry dogs. The council sweepers would have washed all the dust away, just for them. Everyone in the city would be happy for them. It was a fantasy, after all.
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?’