Angie turned to her mum, who gave her a pleading look.
‘Go on,’ Doreen said.
Angie stepped out into the hall.
‘We’ve had a nice evening out,’ Doreen said, ‘and we thought you were having one too. Don’t spoil it now.’
‘Shut up!’ He swung his right arm towards Mrs Smith, but Doreen stepped forward and the blow hit her on the head.
‘Dad!’ Doreen said. ‘Stop it!’
He raised his left arm and slapped Mrs Smith hard on the cheek. She staggered back.
‘Dad!’ Doreen said. ‘If you don’t stop, I’m going to ring the police. I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again.’
He slapped his wife once more.
Angie peeped into the kitchen. ‘Shall I go to the phone box?’
Her dad roared, ‘If you go out this kitchen, you don’t come back!’
‘Angie, just go to bed,’ Doreen said.
‘But Mum’s crying. I can go.’
‘Angie, love, just go upstairs,’ Doreen said softly. ‘I’ll sort it out, don’t worry. I’ll come and talk to you in a bit.’
A tear rolled down Angie’s cheek.
A pang of fury rose in Doreen’s chest. She smiled at Angie. ‘Go on, lovely. I’ll see you in a minute.’
Angie retreated back into the hall, and closed the door.
‘Dad!’ Doreen shouted. ‘I’m going to put the kettle on and make a cup of tea. If you like I’ll make some toast. You can also have this bit of cake, if you like.’ She took the bag from her mum and held it out to him.
He dashed it to the floor. ‘Cake! Fucking cake! What do you think I am?’
Keeping her eyes on him, Doreen bent down and picked up the cake. ‘I’m going to make a cup of tea,’ she said slowly. ‘We all need a cup of tea.’
She walked in front of her mother, over to the stove. She took the kettle and began to fill it at the tap. She turned to see her dad punch her mother in the eye. ‘Just stop it!’ Doreen shouted. She threw the kettle at him. It hit him above the eyebrow, knocking him off balance. Water poured over him as he fell to the floor. He lay still.
‘Oh God,’ Mrs Smith breathed. ‘He hasn’t done this for months, years. I thought we’d got over it.’
‘Mum, he still drinks like a fish.’ Doreen picked up the kettle. ‘It was only a matter of time.’ She stepped over to her mum and peered at her face. ‘You’d better go upstairs and put a cold flannel on that eye. Don’t worry. I’ll check he’s OK. He can sleep here, but you’d better sleep in my room, just in case. I’ll bring you up a cup of tea.’
‘You’re a good girl, Doreen,’ her mum said. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll sleep in my own bed. He’ll have forgotten about this in the morning.’
‘Oh Mum,’ Doreen said.
There was a snore from the floor. Her dad was asleep. Doreen knelt and pushed him onto his side.
‘Oh, he’s never sick,’ her mum said.
‘It would be just my luck that tonight he would be,’ Doreen said.
Mrs Smith went into the hall and came back with her husband’s winter coat. ‘Put that over him.’ She went into the living room and came out with a cushion.
Doreen covered her father with the coat, put the cushion under his head, and switched off the light. She and her mum walked out of the kitchen and upstairs.
Her mum disappeared into the bathroom.
Carefully Doreen opened the door to Angie’s room. ‘Are you asleep?’ she whispered.
‘No. You can put the light on.’
Doreen switched on the light. Angie was sitting up in bed, her knees drawn up under her chin.
Doreen sat on the bed. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘He’s fast asleep downstairs.’
‘Is it going to start again? He hasn’t been like this for ages.’
‘I think it’s because we were out and then we came in laughing. He doesn’t know how to enjoy himself anymore and he doesn’t like anybody else doing it.’
‘But what about Mum?’
‘She’s all right.’ Doreen sighed. ‘She’s just brushing her teeth. Or putting them in a glass.’ They both laughed. ‘We had a nice time though, didn’t we?’
‘It was lovely,’ Angie said. ‘And fancy seeing that Gene bloke.’
‘Yes, fancy that.’
Doreen switched off the light and went into her room.
CHAPTER 8
DOREEN WAS JUST GOING FOR AN ordinary Saturday night out. The memory of Dad lashing out at Mum the night before was still in her mind, and for Mum’s sake she needed to be anywhere but at home, in case she said something she’d regret later. She might see some of the girls from work, she thought. She might bump into that Gene fellow. Maybe not. But she dressed carefully, a tight emerald green dress that fitted every curve of her body, and stopped just on her knees. She had some green shoes too that matched, pointed, high heeled, that showed off her slim ankles. She put on a coral necklace and chose a lipstick that went with it perfectly. She smiled at herself in the mirror.
She went downstairs as Angie was putting on her coat in the hall. ‘Where are you off to?’ Doreen asked.
‘I could say the same to you,’ Angie said. ‘All dolled up like that.’
‘It’s Saturday night,’ Doreen said. ‘Everyone should look good on Saturday night.’
‘I’ll tell Roger that,’ Angie said. ‘He might stop wearing that parka, get himself a decent leather.’
‘Yes, you do that.’ Doreen reached for her coat.
‘We’re going to the pictures in Maldon,’ Angie said. ‘On the back of the scooter. Don’t tell Mum. Do you think I’ll be warm enough?’
‘Take my scarf,’ Doreen said.
Roger was in the kitchen chatting to Mrs Smith.
‘Evening,’ Doreen said as she and Angie walked in.
‘Evening,’ Roger said. He looked at Angie. ‘Ready?’ he asked, and they left the house.
Doreen picked her car keys up from the table. ‘I’m off now. Will you be OK?
‘Yes, yes,’ her mum said. ‘Don’t worry. He’s gone out. Anyway, he’s been as nice as pie today. He even made a cup of tea this afternoon.’
‘Pretending nothing’s happened. As usual,’ Doreen said.
‘You know what he’s like. He’ll be fine now.’
‘Till the next time.’
‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. You just go out and have a nice evening.’
‘If you’re sure.’
‘I am. Off you go.’
Shaking her head, Doreen walked out to her car.
*
She couldn’t decide if she should go to the Saracen’s or the Golden Fleece. ‘God, I’m turning into my father,’ she murmured to herself. ‘I could write a book. My Life in Pubs.’ She decided she’d go to the car park of the Fleece, and if there was a space she’d park and pop in there, see who was about, see if there was anyone worth talking to, maybe have a drink. And if there was no one around she’d stroll over to the Saracen’s and look in there. Just like a normal Saturday night.
But she knew what she was really hoping was that Gene would be there. She wanted to see him again. He was the most exciting thing that had happened in Chelmsford for a long time. She walked round to the front of the pub and walked into the saloon. And he was there, standing at the bar, chatting to a group of young mods, all eager to talk to the owner of the boutique. She felt herself relax. He looked good, in his sheepskin coat, grinning at some joke one of the boys had made. He was on his own with them, she could see. There was no one with him. He was hers for the taking.
She smiled and walked up behind him. She tapped him on the shoulder. He looked round, saw her, recognised her, then turned to face her. ‘Hello,’ he said, drawing the word out. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’
‘Likewise,’ she said.
‘What are you having?’
She frowned. ‘I don’t know. What are you drinking?’
He looked at the malt brown drink in hi
s glass and whispered, ‘Guinness. Unless you really like it, don’t have one.’
She laughed. ‘I’ll have a G&T.’ She undid the belt of her coat.
He signalled to the barman, who came straight away. ‘Two G&Ts,’ he said. ‘With ice.’
‘You’ll be lucky,’ Doreen said. But the drinks came clinking with ice, the glasses frosting up.
‘I am lucky,’ he said. ‘Lucky to get a decent drink, and lucky to see you.’ He looked her up and down. ‘And lucky that you’re wearing such a fantastic dress.’ He guided her through the room to a small table in the corner and they sat down. ‘So, what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?’
‘I live here. More to the point – what’s a nice guy like you doing here?’ She wasn’t afraid to call him a nice guy. Men liked it, if you said it the right way, confidently, but with a certain irony. Well, some men did, the men she liked did. She looked at Gene to see what his reaction was.
He gave her a big beaming smile. ‘What this nice guy is doing is talking to a nice girl like you.’ He picked up his glass. ‘Cheers.’
The glasses made a light clear ringing sound as they touched. It augured well for the evening, she thought. She sighed and stretched her legs. ‘Well, I’m glad I came out this evening.’
‘So am I,’ he said. ‘You’re not working behind the bar tonight?’
‘No, no. I work in Bolingbroke’s, bridal gowns.’
‘I thought you worked in the Saracen’s Head. I saw you there.’
‘Good memory you’ve got. I used to work there. I help out sometimes. I served you a – what was it? – dry martini? Shaken not stirred?’
He laughed. ‘So you swapped the demon drink for demon brides.’
‘Something like that,’ she said.
‘I can imagine you’d be good at that.’
‘It’s all in the personality,’ she said.
‘Absolutely,’ he said. ‘Personality sells. You’ve got it. And so have I!’
There was a song called ‘Personality’ that was always played on Two-Way Family Favourites and she began to hum it. He joined in softly.
‘God, we’re like two old codgers in the Public Bar,’ she said.
‘That’s all right, as long as you don’t get up and start swirling your skirt in the air.’
‘In this dress?’ she said. ‘Not possible.’
‘I like you,’ he said. ‘You know what’s what. There’s not many people in Chelmsford I’d say that to.’
She purred with pleasure. She moved an inch closer to him. She could smell his sharp cologne.
‘They’ve got a restaurant upstairs,’ he said. ‘Fancy a bite to eat?’
‘Yes, why not?’ she said. The egg on toast was hours ago. She could manage a bowl of soup.
He looked at his watch. ‘Yes, I’ve got time before the last train.’
They went out into the foyer and up the stairs. He put his arm round her waist. She leaned into him. The room was bright and filled with young married couples, presumably having an evening out while the grandparents looked after the kiddies, Doreen thought.
As Gene handed his sheepskin to the waiter, the waiter said, ‘Shall I take your wife’s coat?’
Gene and Doreen looked at each other and raised their eyebrows.
He ordered a steak and she chose an omelette. She pushed it round her plate as he demolished the steak in great mouthfuls.
‘Have a chip,’ he said, as he wiped his mouth with the serviette and pushed back his chair to take out a cigarette.
She shook her head. ‘But I’ll have a cig,’ she said.
‘And coffee?’
‘And coffee.’ This was very nice, she thought. Being with a bloke with money, confidence and nothing to prove.
When he’d finished his coffee, he looked over at the spiky gold fifties clock on the wall. ‘Now I really have got to go,’ he said. ‘Walk me up to the station?’
‘I’ll drive you, if you like,’ she said. ‘I’ve got my car.’ She imagined sitting in the car with him, perhaps having a cigarette together in the dark, perhaps kissing.
‘A gal who drives. Now that I do like,’ he said. ‘But it’s not far enough for that.’
‘All right, walk me to my car then,’ she said.
‘You’re on.’
He gestured to the waiter to bring the bill and he paid from a roll of notes he drew from his trouser pocket. As they walked out to the car park, she felt sharp and alive. Happier than she’d felt for a long time. ‘This is my car.’
‘A Hillman. Nice reliable motor,’ he said. ‘But I had you down as more of a sporty type, something nippier.’
‘In my dreams,’ she said.
Suddenly he was very close to her and his arms were round her. His face was close to hers. Her heart began beating fast. She parted her lips and they were kissing. Yes, this was just what she had wanted.
Then he stepped back, still with his arms round her. ‘All right gorgeous girl, I’d better get going.’ He kissed her lightly on the lips. ‘You and I should have a proper date, you know.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ she said, though inside she knew that was exactly what she wanted.
‘I’ll see you soon, I hope.’
‘So do I,’ she said, because she knew she could say that to him, show him that she liked him, and he wouldn’t think she was desperate and run a mile. They understood each other. It was casual, but it was something they both enjoyed.
She drove home singing ‘Personality’ to herself.
CHAPTER 9
A WEEK AFTER THE NIGHT WHEN her dad had hit her mum Angie dreamed about Gene Battini. She couldn’t remember it all when she woke up, but he’d been there, in their kitchen. He’d smiled at her. Said he liked her dress. He put his arm round her.
As she sat up in bed she felt as if she knew him. She smiled. As she brushed her teeth the feeling stayed with her. She went down to breakfast, and her dad was there, sitting at the kitchen table, reading the paper, smoking a roll-up, and she still smiled.
‘The kettle’s just boiled,’ Dad said. Then unusually he added, ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ He stood up and went to the stove.
‘No thanks,’ Angie said carefully. She looked at his back as he stood at the sink. Even a week on she was torn between fear and rage that her dad could behave so badly to her mum. Making her a cup of tea wasn’t going to make up for that. ‘I’m going into town,’ she said. It was Saturday morning.
On the bus Angie decided to get off at the cathedral and walk through the churchyard. She would go and say hello to Harry. He was family. It was natural. Then she might just pop her head into the boutique, say hello to Gene. Why not? Where was the harm?
Harry was giving a man a shave as she walked in. ‘Watcha, cuz,’ Harry said. ‘This is my cousin, Angie,’ he explained, bending over the other man who was swathed in a white gown and with a beard of shaving foam. ‘The sharpest mod in the whole of Chelmsford.’ He slid his razor up the man’s cheek.
The man in the chair glanced over at her. ‘Hello beautiful! I’ll be with you in a minute.’
She recognised his voice. It was Gene Battini, the man himself. Colour rose to her cheeks. He’d spoken as if he thought she’d come to see him. What a nerve! How would she have known he’d be in here? But she said nothing. She sat in one of the waiting chairs and watched as her cousin smoothly scraped off the shaving cream, from the other cheek, his chin, under his nose, gradually revealing the smooth features of a Londoner running a boutique in Chelmsford. Harry wiped Gene’s face with a flannel and then Rose, Harry’s timid assistant, came across to offer a range of aftershave. Angie was surprised that Gene Battini didn’t choose Old Spice but went for something lavender.
‘Do you like lavender?’ He spoke into the mirror at Angie.
She shrugged. ‘Yeah.’
‘Good.’
‘Do you want a cup of coffee?’ Rose asked Angie.
‘Well . . .’ she hesitated.
&nb
sp; ‘If you’re asking me,’ Gene Battini said, ‘I haven’t got time. I’ve got to open the shop.’
‘Isn’t it open yet?’ she asked. She looked at her watch. ‘It’s gone ten.’
‘No one comes in at this time.’
‘I was going to,’ she said. ‘You’ve lost a sale.’ She felt confident talking to him. The dream was still with her.
‘Why, what were you going to buy?’
‘I’ve changed my mind now.’
‘Tell you what, come into the boutique with me now and we can have a cup of tea in there and let’s see if I can persuade you to buy whatever it was you were thinking of.’
Her cheeks were hot again. She looked at Harry.
‘That’s OK,’ he said. ‘You go on. I think we’ve got a customer. Rose, can you sort out this sink, please?’ The bell over the door tinkled and a man and a little boy walked into the shop. ‘See you later, alligator,’ Harry said.
‘In a while,’ Angie replied.
‘Crocodile,’ Gene said.
Gene and Angie stepped into the street. Gene carefully positioned himself on the outside of the narrow pavement as they walked the three yards to the boutique.
He bent to unlock the door. ‘After you.’ She stepped into the shop. It smelt of new clothes and quietness. ‘So, missy,’ he said. ‘Have you come back for the longer kiss?’
He’d remembered!
‘Ah, you’re blushing! So that is what you’re here for,’ he said.
‘I thought we were having a cup of tea,’ she said.
‘You know that’s not what you came for.’
She looked at him. ‘If I’m truthful . . .’ she said.
‘Of course.’
‘. . . after we saw you in the County Hotel . . .’
‘Oh yes.’
‘Well . . . I had a dream about you. So I just came to see you again. Not for the kissing.’
‘Well, dreaming about me’s a good start. I’m pleased you’re here.’
‘So, let’s have that cup of tea,’ Angie said.
‘And then we’ll see where that gets us.’ He grinned and disappeared into the back of the shop.
She thought about him as she ran her hands over the rails of clothes. She liked how he spoke to her. If she’d told anyone in the Orpheus that she’d dreamed about them there’d have been a whole song and dance, embarrassment, shouting to their mates. But Gene had just accepted it and said he was pleased.
The Girls from Greenway Page 6
