‘But you love that car,’ Mrs Smith said.
‘Well, if what’s happened is what we think has happened, I’m in deep financial doo-doos. I’ll just return the car to the manufacturers. It’s got less than a thousand miles on the clock.’
‘And I’m going to send back my sewing machine,’ Angie said.
‘No, you’re not,’ said Doreen. ‘That’s just mad. You will do nothing with that sewing machine until we see how bad it really is.’
‘But it was expensive and I owe . . . I owe Gene all the money.’
‘Who’s Gene?’ Mum said.
‘The bloke from the boutique,’ Doreen said. ‘She goes out with him.’
‘What happened to Roger?’
‘She dumped him,’ Doreen said.
‘I had to,’ Angie said. ‘I’ve got Gene now.’
‘Gene? Is that the fella with the Italian name?’ Mrs Smith said. ‘Works near Harry’s place on New Street?’
‘How do you know Gene?’ Angie said.
‘Your dad was having his hair cut in there one day and met him. He tried to sell him a shirt.’
‘Oh God!’ Doreen said.
‘Gene never said anything,’ Angie said.
‘So, who’s going out with him?’ Mrs Smith said. ‘I thought you were the one who liked him, Doreen. Your dad said you were all over him in the Fleece one night. He said he saw you across the bar.’
There was a silence. Mrs Smith reached over the table for the marmalade. Angie stared at Doreen.
A faint pink rose on Doreen’s cheeks. ‘For God’s sake, I don’t think so! You sure it wasn’t Angie? You know what Dad’s like.’ She got up. Why now? She thought. Why did you have to mention it now, Mum? Why couldn’t you have said something when we were in on our own, watching Armchair Theatre or Emergency Ward 10? ‘Anyone want another cup of tea?’ No one answered. ‘He’s Angie’s bloke,’ she said, with her back to them, filling the kettle. ‘I’ve hardly ever spoken to the man. I haven’t got time for small town shopkeepers!’
‘I don’t think Gene would do that,’ Angie said, frowning. ‘Go out with my sister.’
‘If it was anyone, it was probably Janice,’ Doreen said. ‘He’s more her type.’ Shut up, she told herself. Shut up! Shut up!
‘Janice?’ Angie’s eyes widened.
‘No, of course not!’ Doreen said. ‘Dad needs glasses. It probably wasn’t even Gene. It was probably Cliff Evans.’
‘Who?’ Angie said.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake. I’m messing about. Why would I go out with Cliff Evans? I haven’t been out with anyone.’ Shut up! Just shut up!
‘So now you’re going out with this Italian fella,’ Mum said.
‘Yes,’ said Angie. She looked at Doreen. ‘I don’t care what he does. After today he probably won’t want me anyway.’
‘Don’t be stupid.’ Doreen filled the teapot. ‘He wanted you before you were rich, he wanted you when you were rich and now you might be poor again, he’s still going to want you.’ She put the teapot back on the table and sat down. ‘Why wouldn’t he?’ Doreen took another cigarette from the packet and lit it with the one she had laid in the ash-tray. She inhaled, stubbing out the old cigarette. What am I doing? she thought, Gene’s the most unreliable person in the world. After Dad of course. Yes, today was a bad enough day, without Angie having to worry about Gene. With the fresh rush of nicotine she felt calmer. ‘The big question is – what about Dad?’
‘I’m going to ring all the aunties,’ Mum said, ‘to see if they’ve heard anything.’
‘Better do it quick, before they cut the phone off,’ Doreen said.
‘Oh Doreen. Well, I’ll ring up his friend Barney who he drinks with in the Ship. And Dennis in the Dolphin. See if they know anything.’
‘They’d better not,’ Doreen said, ‘or they’re definitely off my Christmas card list.’
‘You never send Christmas cards,’ Angie said.
‘Well, they’re not getting one if I ever do,’ Doreen said.
Mum pushed back her chair and stood up.
‘Before you start ringing half the world,’ Doreen said, ‘I’d better tell Bolingbroke’s I’m not coming in. I’ll tell them there’s been a family tragedy. For once it’s true.’
Angie stood up. ‘I’m going to have a bath. Before the electric gets cut off and we haven’t got any hot water.’
Mum sank back into her chair. ‘Oh, no. The bill’s going to be enormous. I’ve been keeping the rooms so warm and the immersion heater’s been on non-stop since he won.’
‘You won, you mean,’ Doreen said. ‘They were your choices. He never even filled it in.’
‘He put the x in the box,’ Mum said sadly.
Doreen and Angie walked into the hall.
Mum called out, ‘Switch off the immersion heater.’
Angie ran up the stairs, saying, ‘I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it.’
‘Believe it.’ Doreen said. She sat down and looked in the phone directory for the Bolingbroke’s phone number. The phone rang and made her jump. ‘If that’s for me,’ Angie called from the bathroom, ‘I’m not in.’ She slammed the bathroom door.
Doreen picked up the receiver. ‘Chelmsford 5135.’
‘Is that Doreen?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m glad I caught you.’
‘Who is this?’ she said, but she knew who it was.
‘It’s my birthday today,’ Gene said.
‘Really?’
‘How about a date?’
‘Aren’t you going out with Angie?’ Doreen whispered. Why was she whispering? Why wasn’t she just telling him he’d got the wrong person? Why wasn’t she calling Angie downstairs to talk to this . . . this two-timer? Was he really asking her out on a date? Was she really contemplating going? This was terrible. But what was more terrible was that her dad had just left home and taken all the money. All the money. He’d left them, abandoned them, her dad. She wanted to wail at the sky. They were all going to drown in debt. Did debtors’ prisons still exist? She remembered learning about it in school.
‘No, she’s going to see some terrible group at the Corn Exchange that no one’s ever heard of. I’ll be all on my own in Chelmsford on my birthday. That’s not right, is it?’ His voice was deep and rich, with that romantic edge of a London accent.
‘Well . . .’ Doreen murmured.
‘So, how about a slap-up birthday meal?’
Birthday Meal? Date? She couldn’t take the words in. It was as if he was speaking another language. In the kitchen her mum was crying, and upstairs Angie didn’t know what had hit her . . . God, what was Angie going to do? She’d have to give up her wonderful new job. If her suspicions were correct and Dad really had taken all the money, they were going to lose everything. All the dreams she had had of what the money could bring; a small flat of her own, some really modern furniture, a deep rug to walk on with bare feet, they’d all gone. Her dad had taken them away, packed in his suitcase with his flamingo covered shirt. They’d all been spending like mad, she’d encouraged them. How would they pay off their debts? At this rate, they’ll end up homeless, and she’d be the one who had to sort it all out. Mum was in no fit state and Angie was too young. It wasn’t fair. Her shoulders sagged. Suddenly she needed to get out, go anywhere, get away from her life.
‘Still there?’ Gene’s voice purred in her ear.
‘Oh! Yes,’ she murmured.
‘So what do you say? A nice, expensive meal, with a gorgeous girl by my side. I couldn’t think of a better birthday present.’
‘Yes!’ she said with a firmness that shocked her. It was a bad idea. She knew it was a bad idea, but she didn’t care.
She heard the bathroom door open, and the sound of taps running. ‘Who is it?’ Angie called.
Doreen put her hand over the mouthpiece. ‘No one! Have your bath before the water gets cold. You may never be clean again.’
The door slammed once more.
>
‘Where?’ Doreen spoke softly into the receiver.
‘I was thinking of upstairs at the Golden Fleece.’
‘We can’t go there. People we know go there,’ Doreen said. She saw herself as her dad must have seen her, laughing with Gene, clinking glasses, sitting close, letting her skirt ride up.
‘But there’s nothing to see, is there?’
‘You know what people will think.’
‘All right, how about the County Hotel?’
‘You like that place, don’t you?’
‘It’s not bad. For Chelmsford. And you know, it’s a hotel.’
‘We’re just going out for a meal,’ she said firmly.
‘Yes, ma’am. For a meal.’
‘One night only.’
‘I’ll see you in the Railway Tavern.’
As she put the receiver down, Doreen looked up the stairs towards the closed bathroom door. She wondered what Gene would have said if Angie had answered the phone.
‘Right!’ she called. ‘We’re all going out for the day. We’ll . . . we’ll catch the bus up to Galleywood Common and pick blackberries or have a picnic or something. Or just go into the pub there and get drunk. We’re not going to think about this anymore today. We’ve got fifteen minutes before the bus goes!’ And tonight she would see Gene and forget about everything.
*
Gene was already in the Railway Tavern, standing at the bar, in his sheepskin. There was so much of him, with that big coat and then his beautiful face, that strong nose, those dark eyebrows, his thick brown hair. She shouldn’t have come. She should have left well alone, left him to Angie. But she had to get away from the mess that was her real life and . . . she had wanted to see him. She wanted to talk to him. She fancied him. She felt it in the pit of her stomach as she looked at him. What was it about him? She just wished she didn’t feel so guilty. But she was guilty. She was doing the dirty on Angie. And so was he.
And there he stood – Gene, Gerry, whatever his bloody name was. Perhaps, she thought, as she crossed the room, calling him Gerry was a good thing, as if he was someone else, someone different, nothing to do with Angie and her swooning over Gene. Tonight she, Doreen, would be with Gerry, another person. She wouldn’t actually be hurting Angie.
He looked up as she approached. He smiled at her, his big warm generous smile. He was pleased to see her. It’s just dinner, she told herself. We’re not doing anything wrong. I didn’t tell Angie so as not to upset her. But I could have done, because it’s just dinner. It was all perfectly innocent. Oh God, but they’d done it. They’d done it in the back room of the shop, on the bloody camp bed, with a half empty bottle of champagne on the floor, and boxes full of Fred Perry shirts in the corner. And she’d enjoyed it.
Now he put his arm round her and kissed her cheek. ‘Hello, gorgeous.’ She could smell alcohol on his breath.
She shook her head as he called the barman. ‘Get the lady whatever she wants.’
‘I’ll have a gin and tonic.’
‘And I’ll have another one of these.’ Gene pointed to a small glass of something that looked like whisky. ‘Do you want to sit down?’ he said.
She thought of sitting down with him, how he would be so close, sliding his arm along the back of the seat, pulling her to him. ‘No,’ she said, ‘I’m all right here.’
He began to make light easy small talk; the man who’d come into the shop for a belt and gone out with a jacket and slacks, a box of shampoo meant for Harry that he’d hung on to for a month thinking it was a box of shirts, the barman in the Saracen’s Head who’d got a special bottle of whisky out because he said Gene was a special customer but then took a nip himself. She began to relax, to enjoy herself. Yes, this is where she should be tonight. She needed to be here. Gene glanced at his watch, a chunky expensive silver thing. ‘Shall we go?’ he said.
Outside the pub he moved to the outside of the pavement and took her elbow. ‘I’m looking forward to this, a nice birthday meal with my best girl.’
‘One of your best girls,’ she corrected him.
‘How can you say that? After what we’ve . . . shared?’ he said.
‘Just one of your best girls,’ she repeated.
‘As you like,’ he said. ‘I’m still looking forward to a nice meal.’
In the large, dimly-lit room the tables still had the white tablecloths and big heavy cutlery she remembered from the evening when she’d seen Gene in here with his wife. A powdery looking man in a tired black suit took her coat and showed them to their table. She thought she recognised him. They passed other couples, older couples, women who had had their hair set for the occasion, and lightly perspiring men in shirts and ties, with hand-knitted V-neck jumpers under their suit jackets. She pitied them. They were so old and so past it. She watched them watch her, the line of her sweater outlining the curves of her body, down to the tight pink trousers. And her red hair, tonight caught back in a French pleat. She knew that every man in the place wished they could be Gene. And she knew that Gene . . . Gerry was proud to be with her. It felt good to be noticed.
Gerry murmured something to the waiter and they were seated at a discreet table behind a large plant. She was rather sorry. She would have liked to be a visible presence, to be a beautiful visible presence, to cause a bit of a stir because surely there was no danger that anyone here was going to inform on her to Angie, they were all too old.
‘This all right?’ he said. ‘Nice and inconspicuous. No risk of anyone seeing us here.’
‘I didn’t think you were worried about that,’ she retorted. ‘As you said, we’re not doing anything wrong.’
‘Really?’ he said. ‘With you in that sweater?’
She stared at him. ‘Don’t get your hopes up,’ she said.
‘I can dream, can’t I?’ He laughed. ‘So, what will you have?’
She picked up the leather-bound book that was the menu. ‘I don’t know. What are you having?’
‘Prawn cocktail and a well-done steak,’ he said.
‘Then I’ll have grapefruit and lamb chops,’ she said.
He laughed again. ‘This is why I like you, Doreen. You’re always ready to have a go. What do you want to drink? Shall we get a nice claret?’
‘Do you mean red wine?’
‘Yes, to go with the steak. And your lamb.’
‘Why do people make such a fuss about the colour?’ she said. The wine arrived and Gene filled her glass.
As they ate he told her another story. ‘I had a customer in this afternoon. Came in with his wife. She was so insistent her husband was six feet tall and needed longer trousers. He was standing there! He was five foot eight at most.’ They both laughed.
‘Well, last week I had a customer who wanted a dress with a veil attached and a head-dress with another veil and a cape with a veil. We put them all together and she looked like a meringue. She changed her mind when she saw herself in the mirror.’ They laughed again.
There was a pause and they looked at each other. He raised his glass, ‘Cheers.’ They clinked glasses.
This was nice. Conversation flowing freely and being the absolute centre of Gene’s attention. When she was with him she could believe she really was his one and only.
‘Now what are you smiling at?’ he said.
‘Nothing, nothing.’ She didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.
After the meal Gene examined the bill, balancing his cigarette on the side of the ash-tray.
‘Unfortunately, I can’t pay a penny towards this meal,’ Doreen said.
‘And I wouldn’t expect you to! Why do you even say that?’
‘You don’t want to know.’
‘Don’t I?’
‘Our dad’s run off and taken all the money.’
‘Oh, Reen, I’m so sorry. Where’s he gone?’
Doreen shrugged. ‘I don’t know and I don’t care. I never liked him anyway.’ She gave a small laugh. ‘It’s left all of us in deep shit.’
‘No!’ she said, although part of her wanted to say, ‘Yes, yes please.’
‘Sure?’
‘Yes. And I hope you didn’t get those out of your till!’
‘My shop, my money,’ he said.
‘Has it gone through the books yet?’
‘Give over,’ he said.
They walked back into town, past the Pavilion cinema and the bus station, to the railway station to get a taxi.
On the way he pulled her into the doorway of the Cumf tea bar, closed at this time of night, and kissed her. ‘God, I’ve wanted to kiss you all evening,’ he said.
‘Look Gene, Gerry, I like you and everything, but there are other people in your life. You’re going out with my sister and you’re married. Basically, you’re taken.’
‘I thought we’d resolved that one. No one says anything, no one gets hurt.’ He lifted her chin with his finger. ‘Don’t tell me you didn’t like what happened. You did, I could tell.’
‘Yes, I did,’ she said and her stomach flipped. There was certainly something between them, even now.
‘So, when am I going to see you again?’ He leaned into her and he kissed her once more. She kissed him back, pressing her body against his. Here, in this moment, she could forget everything that was wrong in her world. It was the first time she’d felt anything as normal and as good as this all day. She didn’t want to let go of the feeling.
How could he do this to her? She was trying so hard to be fair to Angie. Angie was her sister and she was really suffering now. Angie needed Gene, even if he was the most unreliable person she’d ever known. But his arms were still round her, holding her close, keeping her safe. She knew it was madness.
‘All right,’ she said, breathless. ‘We might go out again. But no more hanky-panky.’ She had to think of Angie. ‘Definitely, no more hanky-panky.’
‘If you’re sure.’
They walked past the bus station, under the railway bridge. A car hooted. A scooter beeped. ‘Anyone you know?’ Gene said, putting his arm round her protectively.
‘I hope not,’ Doreen said. She shivered against him.
They walked round to the taxi rank beside the station. Gene was looking at his watch. When a taxi came, he opened the door and pressed a pound note into her hand. ‘I’ll see you soon. I’ve enjoyed tonight. Best birthday for years.’ He blew her a kiss and walked away.
The Girls from Greenway Page 21
