The Girls from Greenway

by Elizabeth Woodcraft

  ‘You’re too warm now, aren’t you?’ she said.

  ‘I’m just nice,’ he said and grinned.

  ‘Wash your hands,’ she said.

  As he stood at the sink, she put marge on the toast and piled the beans on top. She handed him a towel and pushed him by the fluffy shoulder back into his chair. She put the plate and a knife and fork in front of him then sat down opposite him, with her own cup of tea, and watched as he cut into the bread. He put a mouthful of beans and toast into his mouth. Then another. He was silent as he chewed. Then he said, ‘This is like caviar.’

  ‘When have you ever had caviar?’

  ‘Never. But this is the best meal I’ve ever had.’ He took a mouthful of tea. ‘Honestly, I was starving. All day yesterday, we couldn’t even afford a bag of chips. This is fantastic.’ He put another heap of beans onto his fork. ‘I love you, Angie.’

  ‘Do you?’ she said. Oh Roger, she thought, not now.

  ‘Do you mind if I . . . ?’ He held up his finger.

  ‘Oh, go on,’ she said.

  He wiped his finger round the plate, then sucked off the sauce. ‘Ahh.’ He sat back in his chair.

  Angie looked at her watch. ‘You can’t stay,’ she said, an ache of guilt in her stomach. ‘I’ve got a lot to do. I’ve got to finish peeling these potatoes before I go out.’

  ‘You’re going out tonight?’

  ‘With Carol,’ she said quickly. ‘I’ve made the arrangement. You’re not meant to be here. You’re meant to be in Clacton.’

  ‘But it was raining!’

  ‘I’m not a weather forecaster. I didn’t know what the weather in Clacton was going to be like.’

  ‘Carol won’t care if you’re late, will she?’

  ‘She’ll be hanging round the bus stop. It’s not fair.’ He looked so miserable. ‘You can drink your tea while I peel the potatoes.’

  ‘I could peel them, if you like,’ he offered. ‘My mum says I’m the best at peeling potatoes.’

  She sighed. ‘Yeah, I bet you are.’

  ‘I’m good at scraping carrots too,’ he went on.

  She peeled the potatoes before they spoke again. He was stifling a yawn.

  ‘You’re tired,’ she said. ‘You should go home. You need a good night’s sleep.’

  ‘I don’t mind if I do,’ he said in a silly Goons’ voice. He stood up.

  ‘Here.’ She hauled the parka off the clothes-horse. ‘It’s almost dry.’

  ‘God, it’s filthy,’ he said. He was putting it on.

  ‘Excuse me, I need the jumper back.’

  He took off his parka and pulled off the jumper. As she took it from him she gasped. There was a sheen on the front that looked horribly like an oil stain, and it reeked of something like manure. She looked up at Roger. ‘This is Reen’s,’ she whispered. ‘She’s going to kill me.’

  CHAPTER 16

  GENE WAS SITTING IN THE SALOON bar of the Golden Fleece. It was quiet tonight, the end of the Easter weekend. None of the rowdy out of town kids, or the local mod boys were here. This was good. They must all be at home asleep in bed ready to get up for the next day of their apprenticeships in Marconi’s or Hoffmann’s or English Electric. Then they’d be ready with oozing pay packets to spend in the boutique next Saturday. He’d done his homework before he decided to take a chance on the lease of the new shop. Chelmsford was a successful town with a lot of youngsters who wanted to wear the latest fashions. And it was far enough away from London that he wouldn’t be bothered by any of the complications with Cynthia.

  He should have stayed in London tonight, sorted out some new deliveries, but Angie had said she’d meet him. He liked Angie. He liked her a lot. She was smart and funny and pretty and she had a great body – not that he’d ever seen it naked. Not yet. But she made being in Chelmsford a real pleasure.

  He took a mouthful of beer. He didn’t know why he’d bought it. He’d have preferred a gin and tonic, but he’d learned that in Chelmsford that marked you out as an in-comer, an outsider, a stranger, and he wanted to be accepted as a Londoner with style, but also one of them. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked at his watch. Angie had said she’d be here at eight, eight thirty at the latest. It was already nine o’clock. She wasn’t coming, obviously. He needn’t have come down after all. He thought about the narrow camp bed in the back room of the shop. It would be an uncomfortable night. He wondered if he should get a room. The Saracen’s Head had rooms. The County Hotel, possibly. On the other hand, he could get the last train home. And then almost immediately he’d have to catch an early train to get back here. Would be cheaper than a hotel though. He took another mouthful of beer.

  The door of the bar opened and he looked up. It was an angel in high heels and a belted white coat. Well, well, he really was a lucky guy. He might not see Angie tonight, but Doreen was here, and she was just as good. She was sharper, pushier than Angie, but that wasn’t bad, kept him on his toes. She was another one of his favourite reasons for being in Chelmsford. Doreen was gazing around the bar as if she was looking for someone she was supposed to be meeting, but he knew that look. It was the look of someone who needed a person to talk to.

  He lifted his hand and smiled as if he was the person she was here to meet. Her brief smile of relief showed him he was right.

  He stood up as she approached. She looked gorgeous. She looked like Cynthia had looked in the early days before he had got used to her; smiling, soft, willing. ‘What will you have?’

  ‘I dunno. A Bacardi and Coke.’

  ‘Coming right up. Sit down.’

  She sank down onto the bench seat and unbelted her coat. As he brought back her drink, and a whisky for himself, he took in her tight purple V-necked sweater that showed the beginning of her breasts and the tight blue skirt which had ridden up, showing her thighs.

  He sat down. ‘So, what’s a lovely girl like you doing in a pub like this?’

  She smiled, ‘Hoping to meet a man like you.’

  ‘Well, you’re in luck,’ he said, ‘because I’m here and I’m celebrating.’

  ‘Oh really?’ She laughed. ‘What are we celebrating?’

  ‘The fact we’re here!’ he announced. ‘Cheers,’ he said, and they clinked glasses.

  Doreen was pleased she’d decided to come in here. It was a whim really. She’d spent the afternoon with Janice and then they’d gone for a drink, but Janice’s dreadful boyfriend had turned up in the Saracen’s, just as they were about to order another round. Doreen had said goodnight but she hadn’t wanted to go straight home. That was too depressing on a Saturday.

  She picked up her glass and enjoyed the sweet burning taste as she swallowed a mouthful of her drink.

  ‘You hungry?’

  ‘Maybe – not really. I had a packet of crisps in the Saracens.’

  ‘I tell you what, since we’re celebrating, why don’t we do it properly, with champagne? I’ve got a bottle in the shop.’ He looked at her expectantly.

  ‘I don’t think they let you bring your own drinks into a pub.’

  ‘No, the champagne doesn’t come to us. We go to the champagne.’

  ‘Champagne,’ she said slowly. ‘We’re going to drink champagne in your shop. At ten o’clock at night.’

  ‘It’s the perfect time.’

  ‘In your shop.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where I know you have a room with a bed.’

  ‘Come on, I hardly know you. I’m just offering you a glass of champagne.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘What do you take me for?’

  ‘You don’t want to know.’ Words slithered through her brain – married, smooth, fast and loose. Handsome, sophisticated, exciting.

  ‘It’s just a glass of champagne.’

  ‘I think champagne’s overrated. It’s a bit like cider really, isn’t it?’

  ‘If that’s what you think of it, you’ve been drinking the wrong sort of champagne.’

  ‘May
be.’ She looked at him.

  ‘But you drink it?’

  ‘Yeah, why not?’

  ‘Come on then, put on that fabulous coat, and let’s go and see what real champagne tastes like.’

  She shivered with anticipation and picked up her coat. They walked out of the pub together. Thank goodness I warned Angie off, she thought. I know he’s a rogue. I know what he’s up to. She’s too young.

  He put his hand on her back to guide her across the road into the murky grounds of the cathedral.

  ‘Ooh, it’s a bit spooky at this time of night,’ she said. He put his arm round her.

  New Street was empty on a Saturday night. The shop was in darkness. He unlocked the door and pushed it open and she walked in. He followed, locking the door again behind them and switching on one light that beamed over a rail of jackets. Her suggestion, she noticed.

  ‘Just a minute,’ he said. He went into the back room and she heard the sound of a fridge door opening and bottles or glass jars clinking inside. She didn’t know what was going to happen, but she was looking forward to it, as if a good film with two great romantic stars was about to start.

  He walked back into the room, a bottle of champagne and two slender champagne flutes in his hands.

  ‘I like the glasses,’ she said. ‘Very posh. Where did they come from?’

  ‘I brought them down specially,’ he said. He put the glasses on the counter and unpeeled the foil from the bottle. ‘Look away now.’ There was a loud pop and quickly he poured small amounts of champagne into the glasses.

  ‘Isn’t it meant to fizz everywhere?’ she said.

  ‘That’s for people with more money than sense. I don’t know who you’ve been drinking with, but that’s an unnecessary waste of good champagne,’ he said. ‘Cheers.’ He raised his glass.

  ‘Cheers.’ She sipped her drink. ‘Mmm, not bad.’

  ‘This is good champagne.’

  They sipped their drinks and Doreen looked round the shop. ‘Is that a record player?’ she said.

  ‘Yeah.’ It was sitting on a chair beside the counter. ‘What would you like to hear? I’ve just bought a Dave Brubeck LP.’ He moved over to the record player. He put down his glass and opened the lid. ‘I’ve been playing it all week in the shop. I can’t get enough.’ He put the needle on the record and the soft drumbeat and then the gentle piano notes which opened ‘Take 5’ filled the shop. ‘Let’s dance,’ he said.

  ‘This is a shop.’

  ‘We’re having champagne. Nothing is out of bounds.’

  She put her bag on the floor and placed her glass on the counter next to his. There was a small box there. It had the name Walkers on the lid, Walkers were the local jewellers. ‘What’s this?’ Doreen said.

  ‘Oh nothing.’

  She opened the box. It was a charm bracelet.

  ‘Fancy,’ she said. ‘What’s it doing here?’

  ‘It was my wife’s, I gave it to her years ago. All those charms, meant a lot at the time. She’s just given it back to me. That’s when you know things are really over.’ He looked at her as she played the charms through her fingers. ‘You can have it if you want it.’

  ‘No thanks,’ she said. ‘Not my style.’

  He held out his arms and she moved into his embrace. They rocked silently to the music. She could smell his aftershave, a sort of lavender, and a faint hint of fresh sweat.

  ‘We should be jiving to this,’ she murmured.

  ‘Not tonight.’ When the track ended, he didn’t move. ‘And, now, I think, a celebratory kiss.’

  ‘You and your kissing.’

  ‘It’s a celebration!’

  ‘No, it’s not! We just met in the pub, that’s all.’

  ‘Oh, go on. We’re here, we’re alone, we’re dancing. Just one little kiss.’

  ‘How many times? It’s not a celebration.’ She was laughing. His arms were still around her. She stretched up and pecked him on the mouth. ‘There you are!’

  ‘No, I want a proper kiss.’

  ‘Oh, all right,’ she sighed.

  She put her hands up to his face and pulled him to her. It would be a kiss on her terms. She put her lips to his. The kiss was soft and tender. She closed her eyes. When they drew apart, their arms were still round each other.

  ‘How was that?’ she whispered.

  ‘Oh, that was nice,’ he said. He bent his head to her again.

  ‘One kiss!’ she said. ‘We agreed.’

  ‘Just one more.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ she said. But her heart was pounding.

  They kissed again, this time it was a hard, urgent, exciting kiss. He pressed her against the counter and leaned his weight on her.

  ‘Oh God!’ he breathed. He looked at her. ‘You know what I’m going to say.’

  ‘Oh God.’

  ‘I want you.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yes. And I know you want me. You do want me, don’t you?’

  There was no point denying it. She nodded.

  ‘Come on.’

  She looked over her shoulder as he led her into the back room.

  *

  Angie toiled up Sperry Drive. Every step seemed an impossible struggle. She thought her heart would break. She pulled open the heavy door of the telephone box and dialled Carol’s number. She answered on the second ring.

  ‘Can I come round?’ Angie whispered.

  ‘Yeah,’ Carol said, sounding uncertain. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘In Sperry Drive.’

  ‘Where’s . . . your friend?’

  ‘Oh don’t, don’t.’

  ‘Ange, are you all right?’ Angie was crying. ‘Oh my god. What’s happened? Yes, come round!’

  Angie tapped on the door and Carol immediately threw it open.

  ‘Don’t say anything.’ Angie stepped into the kitchen. ‘I know I look a mess.’ Her smudged make-up and pink eyes were in stark contrast to her glamorous red dress.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Carol asked. ‘Do you want a cup of cocoa?’

  Angie smiled weakly and shook her head.

  ‘Let’s go up to my room,’ Carol said.

  Angie sank onto the bed.

  Carol sat beside her. ‘So what’s happened?’

  ‘Gene.’

  ‘What?’ Carol searched Angie’s face. ‘He hasn’t finished with you, has he?’

  ‘I don’t know. Has he?’

  ‘What? What do you mean?’

  ‘It was all Roger’s fault. It’s always Roger!’ Angie threw her hands in the air. ‘He came round.’

  ‘Round yours? I thought tonight was Gene’s night.’

  ‘It was! I didn’t know Roger was coming. I had to make him beans on toast. So I was late to meet Gene. And I got off the bus at the cathedral and I was just about to cross the road to the Golden Fleece. And then . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Then I saw him,’ she whispered.

  Carol frowned. ‘Where? Is he all right?’

  ‘Oh, he’s fine. He was walking by the cathedral.’

  ‘What was he doing there?’

  ‘He was with someone.’

  ‘Are we talking male or female someone?’

  ‘Female.’

  ‘Are you sure? It’s really dark there at night. Perhaps it wasn’t him.’

  ‘It was him. No one else in Chelmsford has a coat like his.’

  ‘Perhaps he was just going to church and she just happened at that moment to be going too.’

  Angie looked at Carol mournfully.

  ‘Perhaps it was a business associate.’

  ‘He shouldn’t be doing business on Easter Monday. He was supposed to be seeing me. Oh, but I was late!’ She thrust her fist into her mouth.

  ‘But you know Gene, he’s not what you’d call a normal business man. He probably does business on Christmas Day.’

  ‘It was nothing to do with business. Unless you do business with your arm round someone in high heels.’

  �
�Who was it?’

  Angie shook her head. ‘It was too dark to see. I mean I just caught a glimpse. It was an impression really.’

  ‘Perhaps it was a trick of the light.’

  Angie’s chin sank onto her chest.

  ‘How do you know he had his arm round her?’

  ‘He did. I thought about running after them but Mick Flynn came up and wanted to have a conversation about Clacton. He asked me if Roger got back all right, because he’d heard there had been some trouble.’

  ‘Perhaps you had a narrow escape. If Mick knew you were in the Fleece with Gene, word might have got back to Roger.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Angie said.

  ‘Perhaps it was Cynthia.’

  ‘Why would she be in Chelmsford on Bank Holiday Monday?’ Angie paused. ‘Maybe it was her,’ she said hopefully. ‘I could hardly see her. It was really shadowy down there.’

  ‘I bet it was Cynthia,’ Carol said.

  ‘Yeah. But even so, he shouldn’t have had his arm round her. They’re meant to be getting a divorce.’

  ‘Anyway, I bet it’s nothing,’ Carol said. ‘Cheer up! Go and see him tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t want to have it out with him. If it was something he shouldn’t have done, he’ll only lie, won’t he? Or else he’ll pack me up, which I don’t want him to.’ She threw herself back on the bed. Then she sat up straight. ‘Of course, the reason I was late was Roger. My boyfriend. I’d just kissed him goodbye.’

  ‘Mm,’ murmured Carol.

  ‘So really, I suppose, I’d been with another man. So I suppose there’s not really any difference between us is there?’

  Carol nodded silently.

  ‘I mean, Gene’s married to Cynthia. And I’m almost engaged to Roger.’

  ‘Are you?’ Carol asked.

  ‘I’m just saying,’ Angie said. ‘Gene was with another woman, I’d been with another man. Can I really complain?’

  ‘You’re right,’ Carol said.

  ‘But then again, I pushed Roger out of the door. Gene didn’t look as if he was going to push anyone out of anywhere.’ She stood up.

  ‘So what are you going to do?’ Carol said.

  ‘I don’t know. I’m going to sleep on it.’

  *

  The next morning, at the top of Sperry Drive Angie ducked into the phone box again. It was ironic that now they had a phone at home she was using the phone box so often, but she couldn’t afford to let Mum and Dad hear this.