The Saturday Girls

by Elizabeth Woodcraft

  ‘You what?’ said Sandra.

  ‘Me?’ I said.

  ‘Oh, Danny,’ Barbara sighed. ‘That’s so typical of you.’ She looked down at her shoes, half-submerged in mud. She shook her head. Then she took a deep breath, as if she had decided something. She looked up and slapped his face with a great crack. ‘That’s it!’ she said. She shook the hand that had hit him. ‘I don’t care what you want, I don’t care how much you need me. I just don’t care.’ Her voice was getting louder. ‘And if you ever, ever try to come near me again, I will break every bone in your body!’

  Danny rubbed his cheek. ‘Babs,’ he said in a wheedling tone, ‘don’t be like that.’

  ‘I’ll be any way I fucking like,’ she said. ‘And don’t think this means you don’t have to pay me the fifty quid you owe me. It was all your fucking fault.’

  Sandra and I looked at each other. Fifty pounds. Big money.

  ‘Fifty quid?’ he said. ‘I thought we were square.’

  ‘No, you didn’t. I told you to bring it today.’ She clenched her fists at her side. She turned to Sandra. ‘I knew there was someone. I just knew it. Well – you’re welcome to him! I only hope you like losers. And you!’ She swivelled round to Danny again. ‘You can just – just fuck off! All of you!’

  She turned and squelched away past the shooting range, knocking someone’s arm so his shot went wild and he shouted, ‘Hey!’

  Danny watched her go. Then he said, ‘Right!’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘What shall we go on now?’

  ‘We’re not going on anything,’ Sandra said stiffly. ‘There’s a funny smell round here. Come on Linda, we’ve got to – to catch the bus. We don’t want to miss it.’

  I stared at her. We both knew her dad was paying for us to take a taxi home. She returned my glance. I understood. A taxi we could get any time; the bus would require a departure now. She needed to make a point. I loved it when we had these silent conversations. I loved that she’d stood up to Danny for once.

  Danny turned to Ray. ‘Fancy a drink?’

  Ray looked at me. ‘That’s OK,’ he said to Danny. ‘I’m just going to walk her up to the bus station.’

  ‘I’ll come too,’ Danny said.

  ‘No one is walking anyone up to the bus station,’ Sandra said. ‘Linda and I are going on our own.’

  Ray frowned and so did I. I rolled my eyes, trying to tell him that it wasn’t my idea at all. He bent down and kissed my cheek. ‘I’ll be seeing you, Linda.’

  I turned my face quickly and kissed him on the mouth. I could see his eyes open in surprise but he kissed me back, putting his arms round me and pulling me to him. Danny murmured, ‘Ooh, lovebirds.’ I slid my arms round Ray’s waist. It was a long kiss. A lovely kiss. Gently, his tongue played on my lips. I opened my mouth. I pressed my tongue against his. I opened my eyes. We looked at each other.

  ‘Bye,’ he said.

  ‘Come with us,’ I whispered.

  ‘I’ll walk up to the bus station with you,’ he said aloud. ‘I’m going that way anyway.’

  ‘Not you,’ Sandra said to Danny, giving him a little push.

  Ray, Sandra and I made our way back over the cables and through the mud to the railway arches. Sandra glanced behind us.

  ‘Come on, then,’ she shouted. Danny shambled up to her side and draped his arm round her shoulder. She shrugged it off. ‘I’m not speaking to you for another two minutes,’ she said.

  Oh, Sandra, I thought, this is just so . . . so boring. I wanted to shake her. I wanted to say, ‘At least Cooky’s not a jailbird. At least you know where you are with him. Even if he is a Conservative.’

  As we approached the bus station Danny said, ‘Hey, Sandy, what about these shoes?’ They ducked into the deep doorway of Finch’s shoe shop. ‘The two minutes isn’t up yet,’ I heard Sandra say. Then there was silence.

  I looked at Ray.

  ‘We could find a shop doorway of our own,’ he said.

  ‘We’d better stay here,’ I said. ‘I’ve got to make sure she’s all right.’

  ‘Does she really like him?’ Ray said.

  ‘Oh, don’t start that again.’

  He put his arm round me and kissed the top of my head. ‘I like you.’

  I turned towards him. I was about to say, ‘And I like you,’ when Danny shouted, ‘What’s the time?’

  ‘It’s half past eleven,’ I said. ‘And we’re still out in the open air, having an exciting evening.’

  ‘You what?’ Danny said.

  ‘Out in the –’ I started.

  ‘Half past eleven? Fuck me, my train!’ He set off running towards the station. Sandra ran after him, and Ray and I followed Sandra. Danny was grabbing at his jacket. ‘Where’s my travel warrant?’

  Sandra said, ‘It’s here.’ She picked up a piece of paper and he snatched it from her hand.

  ‘Gotta go, gotta go. Be good,’ he said. ‘See ya!’ and he disappeared through the ticket barrier and up the stairs.

  ‘What happened there?’ Sandra said. We were still standing under the railway bridge. I knew she’d been hoping for the big Goodbye scene, the kiss, the love, the promises.

  I turned to Ray. ‘We’re actually going home in a taxi,’ I said. A taxi rolled towards us.

  ‘Sure?’ he said. ‘I meant it when I said you could sleep round at ours.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’ But staying at Sandra’s didn’t seem quite so thrilling now. ‘You could come in the taxi with us,’ I said uncertainly.

  ‘No, it’s OK. I’ve got to see a man about a dog.’

  ‘Well, you can open the taxi door for us if you like.’

  He clipped his heels together. ‘Yes, ma’am!’ He pulled my fringe. ‘See ya.’ He kissed my forehead. ‘I had a good time tonight,’ he murmured, and he was gone.

  In the back of the car I said, ‘How can Danny be going back to prison at this time of night?’

  ‘Don’t ask me,’ she said. ‘At least we know he hasn’t gone off with Barbara. She had to be serious – no one would walk into that mud in those shoes just for show.’

  We were both silent for a while. I was thinking of Ray and laughing and being on the dodgems, and how I’d kissed him. ‘I never got to go on the big wheel,’ I said.

  ‘You chose the wrong bloke,’ Sandra said, looking out of the window.

  ‘I didn’t. You did,’ I said.

  ‘Not necessarily.’

  The taxi drove along Broomfield Road, past our school. I said carefully, ‘That all sounded a bit serious with Barbara. And what was the fifty pounds about?’

  Sandra did a little flick of her head. ‘I don’t know, and nor did he. He’s just trying to close the door on that part of his life. She’s upset. He’s upset.’

  ‘So, what’s happening?’ I said. ‘Between you and him?’

  ‘Quite a lot, actually. I’ve got this.’ She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out a large battered-looking ring with a small dull glass stone. She felt at the neck of her cardigan and pulled out her silver chain. ‘Undo this for me,’ she said.

  ‘What’s this? Whose ring is it?’

  ‘Mine.’

  I unfastened the chain and she threaded the ring onto it. She wound the chain back round her neck.

  ‘He actually gave you this?’ I said.

  She smiled.

  ‘That was quick. Where was I?’

  She grinned. ‘I don’t know. Being crazy with Ray? Linda likes boys in blue jumpers!’ she crowed.

  ‘No, she doesn’t,’ I said. ‘Well, it depends on the blue.’

  The taxi was passing the Avenues. ‘Remember when we came along here in the car with Danny?’ Sandra said. She slid the ring back and forth on the chain. She started to hum the Wedding March.

  ‘So is that it?’ I said. Could this really mean she’d get married, move away and have kids? With Danny? She couldn’t be serious. ‘Are you engaged?’

  ‘Yes!’ She paused. ‘Well, unofficially engaged.’

  ‘
What does that mean?’

  ‘I know and he doesn’t. He knows I’ve got the ring, he gave it to me, but he doesn’t know we’re engaged.’

  As the taxi turned into Sperry Drive she gave a little sigh. She spoke almost to herself. ‘I don’t care about Barbara. She’s out of the picture. And now I’ve got this.’ She slid the ring back and forth on the chain.

  ‘It looks a bit scratched,’ I said. ‘A bit, you know, second-hand.’

  ‘It was his mum’s.’

  ‘You hope.’

  ‘I don’t care where it came from. I’ve got it now.’ She rubbed the ring between her fingers, smiling to herself. ‘I said I’d look after it for him.’

  ‘So is that your New Year’s Resolution resolved?’

  ‘No, that’s still on the go. He’s got to get down on one knee for it to be really real.’

  ‘What about Cooky?’

  ‘Who knows? Cooky’s nothing, really.’

  ‘He looked a bit more than that on the big wheel,’ I said.

  ‘I suppose he’s a sort of back-up. You know, if Danny gets life for something.’

  ‘But you just left him there.’

  ‘They’ll chuck him off when they close up.’ She turned to me. ‘Don’t look like that, he knows where he stands. He knows all about Danny. Well, he should do, he’s been driving him round in his car long enough.’

  The taxi pulled up outside her house. We clambered out. Sandra tucked the ring back under her cardigan. She unlatched the gate and held it open for me.

  I wanted to say, what was Danny doing walking round with a ring in his pocket? but I didn’t want to talk anymore about Danny or the ring or Cooky. I was staying the night. We began to talk about the best music played at the fair.

  CHAPTER 19

  The Search

  MY APPOINTMENT AT WANDA’S HAIRDRESSERS was for five o’clock. Although I had decided to grow my hair – a lot of people were doing it, Cathy McGowan was even doing it – it wasn’t really working. I needed to tidy up the ends, and I had to do something definite with my fringe. After school I walked into town with Cray. When she’d caught her bus there was an hour before I needed to be at Wanda’s. I had time to go into the library.

  I loved our library. I loved the quietness and the sock sock sock of the librarian’s heels on the wooden floor as she moved round the shelves putting books back into their rightful places.

  Today she was sitting at her desk, sorting membership cards. I leaned across the counter and whispered, ‘Do you have street directories of America?’

  ‘Whereabouts in America?’

  I shook my head. Such difficult questions, so soon. ‘Arizona? California? Where do they have white trash?’ I floundered.

  She frowned. I didn’t know anything. I didn’t know where he lived.

  I wanted to find Bob. Sylvie needed him. Mansell needed him. If I found him he could explain himself, he could shoulder his responsibilities and maybe they would fall in love again and Sylvie would be happy and Mansell would be safe. ‘Would a telephone directory help?’ she said.

  I didn’t know if he was on the phone. I didn’t know if they had phones in caravans in America. They certainly didn’t in Clacton.

  ‘Well, we don’t keep American directories here, and we can’t order them in unless we know some of the details. And there are hundreds, probably thousands of directories, just in the states you’ve mentioned.’

  ‘Well, I know he’s not Canadian.’

  ‘That’s something, dear, but it’s still not enough, I’m afraid.’ She had a thin face and wispy pale brown hair, but I still felt stupid. I wondered if she knew anything about love.

  ‘I think his surname’s Stanforth or . . . Stanferd.’ What had she said? ‘He was a soldier, in Great Yarmouth. Or Wethersfield.’

  ‘An airman, then,’ she corrected. ‘Well.’ She paused. A small frown creased her forehead. ‘Well . . . if you don’t have much to go on, your best bet may be to ask there.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Wethersfield.’

  ‘The air base? But who would I ask?’

  ‘A commanding officer?’

  The task seemed enormous. ‘I don’t even know where Wethersfield is,’ I said. I knew it existed, I knew it was an American air base, I knew my mum had marched from there and that sometimes she and other CND members went up there to talk to the servicemen. But I didn’t know where it was.

  ‘Ah, well that is something I can help you with,’ she said. She led me out of the lending library into the reference room. This was an altogether more serious room. The books were all huge and the silence was thick. The smell of floor polish filled the air. The librarian reached up to a shelf and pulled out a book about Essex. She found a map and I stared at the expanse of green her clean, clipped nail was pointing to. I read the words ‘Wethersfield aerodrome’. I still didn’t know where it was, but then I saw the words ‘Braintree’ and ‘Halstead’ nearby. Braintree was where Sylvie’s grandmother lived. Braintree and Halstead were the final destinations of the buses we caught home on Saturday nights. If our buses dropped us off then lumbered on to Braintree at eleven o’clock, it couldn’t be too far. I felt I was almost there.

  I walked to Wanda’s feeling like someone out of 77 Sunset Strip. I wanted to click my fingers. I was on the trail.

  *

  ‘You paid three and six for that?’ Mum said, staring at my newly cut hair. ‘There’s hardly any difference. How much did she take off?’

  ‘Some.’ I wasn’t concentrating. I had a journey to organise.

  We were in the kitchen and Mum was frying eggs. I was standing at the side of the cooker, keeping an eye on the toast under the grill. ‘Mum,’ I said casually, ‘you know Wethersfield?’

  ‘Yes.’ She slid an egg into the pan.

  ‘Will CND be going up there soon?’ I hoped I sounded as if I was interested in going with them.

  ‘I’m sure they will.’

  ‘Will you go?’

  ‘I’ve told Helen I’m not going for a while. There are a lot of church meetings coming up. If you want to go you should ring her, they’re always pleased to have new recruits.’

  That was good. I didn’t want my mum there. So I had two possibilities – to ring Mrs Grenville and ask to go with the CND group on a visit to meet the USAF, and then somehow drop in some questions. Or to go with Sandra.

  I rang Sandra to tell her about my afternoon at the library.

  ‘Well, if you’re talking about Bob Stanferd,’ she said, ‘he comes from Texas.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Mrs Weston told my mum.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Why didn’t you ask?’

  I felt really stupid. ‘What else does Mrs Weston know?’

  ‘Nothing. You know more than she does. She just says Sylvie said something about Texas once.’

  ‘And Bob’s the father? Does he know?’

  ‘Probably not.’

  ‘Don’t say he’s the unofficial father.’

  ‘I don’t know if he is or not. Mrs Weston doesn’t know. But he is American.’ We were both silent, remembering what Peter had said at the football match.

  ‘It is Bob. It’s got to be Bob. But was he at Wethersfield?’ I said.

  ‘We’d better go there and find out.’

  I hadn’t even asked her. I’d hesitated because I expected she’d say she was too busy planning an engagement party or writing letters to Wormwood Scrubs, but now she said it would be a laugh, why not, and we had nothing else to do. She was happier now she had the ring.

  *

  The next Saturday afternoon, when I finished work, Sandra and I caught the 311 to Halstead. When we got off the bus we followed a sign that said USAF Air Base. It was advertising an Open Day, but not today. We walked through the countryside. ‘Do you know where we’re going?’ Sandra said.

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it have been easier to go with the CND people
?’

  ‘Well, CND don’t go into the base. They stand at the entrance, demonstrating. You said you wanted to come.’

  ‘I didn’t know we’d be actually walking to America. It’s so hot, and I’ve got ladders in both stockings. Are you sure there’s a public entrance?’

  ‘They have dances and this Open Day thing that anyone can go to. There must be a way in.’

  ‘You hope. And when we get there, what are we actually looking for?’

  ‘I don’t know – his address, or a phone number, or some way of contacting him. We might even find Bob himself.’

  ‘Why didn’t you just ask Sylvie?’

  ‘I don’t think she has that information. Anyway, it’s a surprise.’

  ‘Do you think she’ll like it?’

  ‘Everyone likes surprises.’

  ‘Not if it’s a horrible surprise. What if she doesn’t want to know?’

  ‘She does.’

  ‘You sure? He might be the reason she put her head in the oven.’ Sandra couldn’t decide how outraged she was that Sylvie had tried to commit suicide.

  ‘No, he wasn’t, she would have told me,’ I said, although I wasn’t convinced that was true. ‘And Mansell needs to know his dad.’ I stretched my toe to pop a tar bubble in the road. ‘I know Sylvie tries not to sound concerned about him, but that’s just the way she talks. When she tells me her stories you can hear how much she loved him.’

  ‘Right. Loved him. Then. In the past. Like you used to love Tommy Steele.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind meeting him now, though.’

  ‘All right. Say we find him. Not Tommy Steele, idiot. What are we going to do then? Are you going to invite him round to Sylvie’s to have a cup of tea and meet the baby?’

  I wasn’t really prepared to actually find him, in person, flesh and blood, in his uniform. I hadn’t really thought past getting the 311 at the bottom of our road. But how could Sylvie not want to meet him again, after all she went through? ‘You think it’s all rubbish anyway,’ I said. ‘How they met, who he was, where they were.’

  ‘All right, I know she’s been to Great Yarmouth. Mrs Weston said something about that. But then I’ve been to Yarmouth too. And I didn’t come back with a baby. But I could make up a good story about it. Oh well, fingers crossed we’ve got the right bloke. And you never know, we might meet some interesting Yanks of our own,’ she said, perking up. ‘As long as they don’t care about a few ladders. And here we are.’