Summer Daydreams

by Carole Matthews

  ‘I don’t think punk and disco go in the same sentence, Nell,’ he retorts before he continues with his rant. ‘You just can’t dump everything at the drop of a hat. Not when you have a family to consider.’

  ‘It’s the first time I’ve ever had to do this. Don’t give me a hard time about it.’ Goodness only knows I feel bad enough already. But this is business. Can you see entrepreneur Karren Brady or Ultimo bra lady, Michelle Mone, turning down an invitation to the Palace? But then I bet they both have nannies to fall back on and that their husbands don’t have to do two-bit discos for the princely sum of fifty quid a night.

  I pull on my dress and turn to offer the zip to Olly. He zips me up, but rather crisply. Slipping on black velvet gloves that were my mum’s and black patent kitten heels at the same time, I check myself in the mirror.

  Suddenly, Olly is still. All the fight goes out of him. ‘You look sensational,’ he says softly.

  ‘Thanks.’ Now I feel ashamed for shouting. For the first time in my life I’m torn between duty and ambition.

  A car pulls up outside the house and I hear the hoot of a horn. This is more than likely my ride.

  ‘Go on,’ Olly says. ‘Have a wonderful time.’

  Perhaps it’s also due to the fact that I’m driving off into the night with a rather fabulous man to a rather fabulous do. I’m sure I’d feel put out if the boot was on the other foot.

  ‘What about Petal?’

  ‘I’ll sort something out,’ he says. ‘Don’t you worry. Just go and knock them dead for the team.’

  ‘I’ll try to.’ I go and kiss him. ‘This is all for us, you know.’

  ‘Sometimes I have to remind myself of that,’ he says.

  Petal comes in, the cartoon-on-television babysitter clearly having finished its shift. ‘Were you shouting at Daddy?’

  Ah. I’d hoped the noise of the telly might cover that. ‘No,’ I tell her. I flash a glance at Olly. ‘We were just having a grown-up talk.’

  ‘Well, you were making too much noise.’

  I kneel in front of Petal. ‘Mummy’s going out now. Give me a kiss.’ My daughter hugs me and I have the urge to never let her go.

  ‘I don’t know how late I’ll be,’ I say to Olly. This feels weird because I could count on one hand the amount of times I’ve been out in the evening without Olly in the last five years.

  He comes and winds his arms round my waist. ‘I’ll be here,’ Olly says. ‘Whatever time it is. You know that.’

  Tod toots his horn again. I pick up my handbag and blowing a kiss over my shoulder, I rush out of the door.

  Chapter 25

  We speed down to London in Tod’s car. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a vehicle so plush. I have no idea what it is, but the soft-leather seats mould around you and it whooshes when every other car I’ve ever been in rattles. There’s some sort of soft jazzy music on the stereo, which isn’t really my kind of thing, but tonight it hits the spot. If there was a drinks cabinet in here with a bottle of chilled white wine in it, I would be in seventh heaven. I sink back into my seat with a shuddering sigh.

  ‘Nervous?’ Tod asks.

  ‘Terrified.’ I’ve never been to anything like this before and don’t know what to expect.

  ‘No need to be. You’ll be fine. The Prince’s Trust has helped hundreds of businesses just like yours get off the ground. Plus, I hope we’re going to make some important contacts tonight. All you need to do is be charming and keep your fingers crossed.’ He casts a glance at me. ‘Loving the look, by the way.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Tod doesn’t look too shabby himself. He’s wearing a dinner jacket with a Nehru collar and it has a dragon embroidered in black thread on one side. Out of the blue, I think that we fit well together. Discomfited, I wonder where that thought came from.

  ‘What was your news?’

  ‘Oh.’ In the excitement I’d forgotten all about that. ‘I’ve organised myself a market stall. I start next week.’ It hardly feels groundbreaking now that I’ve said it out loud.

  ‘That is good news,’ he says with a smile. ‘Well done. Great initiative, Nell.’

  I love the way that Tod is always so encouraging. I don’t, however, tell him that I was spurred onto it because of the lack of enthusiasm from Betty.

  ‘I’ll give you any help that I can.’

  It feels good to know that Tod has got my back.

  Before long, we sweep up the broad expanse of The Mall and the magnificence of Buckingham Palace looms ahead of us. My knees start to tremble. Tod parks up in a side street and then, casually, takes my arm as we walk the short distance to the imposing gates of the palace.

  We’re stopped at the gates by armed policemen and Tod shows our invitation. We’re waved in and we follow the rest of the guests heading towards the Grand Entrance. There are footmen in red and gold livery to show us the way. We enter a large quadrangle and make our way across and up the red-carpeted stairs and into the palace itself. My grip on Tod’s arm tightens.

  ‘OK?’

  I take a deep breath. ‘A bit wobbly.’

  ‘You’re doing fine.’ He puts his hand on top of mine.

  We’re shown into an impressive hall decorated in white and gold with red carpet. This is quite the most sumptuous room that I’ve ever seen. It’s thronging with people and is babbling with welcome noise. They all look like they know what they’re doing, whereas I don’t. When we’re offered champagne by a liveried butler, I take one and try to sip it demurely while resisting the urge to knock it back in one. Tod, probably quite wisely, sips an orange juice.

  There’s a clap of hands. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ a man says. ‘Please make your way to the ballroom.’

  We’re escorted up a stunning staircase decked with enormous, sparkling chandeliers and into a long gallery that has a high, glass ceiling and is lined with pictures of past royalty. The excitement inside me is rising to fever pitch and I don’t know how I manage to keep myself walking beside Tod at a sedate pace. It opens into a vast ballroom hung with dazzling chandeliers. At one end is a canopy of red velvet drapes embroidered with gold, beneath which are the thrones for the Queen and Prince Philip. The walls are lined with tables, laden with trays of canapés and fabulous flower arrangements. Music wafts from the gallery at the other end, provided by a string quartet.

  ‘This is the room where they hold the Investiture ceremonies,’ Tod whispers to me.

  I don’t think I’m ever likely to get a knighthood so this may be my only ever chance to be in this room.

  ‘Impressive, eh?’

  Mind-numbing, speech-robbing, breathtaking. ‘Oh, yes,’ I finally manage.

  I notice that Prince Charles is in the middle of the crowd and I’ve only ever seen him on the telly before. I’ve never even seen a member of the royal family in the flesh, let alone been in the same room as any of them. I get a star-struck head rush. ‘Wow,’ I breathe.

  ‘Let’s work the room,’ Tod says. ‘We’ll see if we can get nearer to the Prince later.’

  Still clinging to him, I trail in his wake as he approaches people we don’t even know and introduces us.

  As the night wears on and the champagne starts to loosen my tongue, I find myself talking to other people who are just like me and have been helped by The Prince’s Trust to start their own business. I meet a woman who runs a small tea room, a young man with his own landscape gardening business and someone who designs funky stationery. I even find myself talking to the Ambassador for Nigeria about diamanté sparkles of all things.

  Tod introduces me to a woman called Della, who I have a real laugh with as I tell her all about my business. She asks me to send her a sample handbag and slips me a business card. She’s from a PR agency, but I’ve never heard of it. They are all suitably impressed with my handbag.

  Just as the evening is drawing to a close and my jaw is aching from smiling and my head is spinning from too much champagne, one of the footmen approaches us and ushers us tow
ards Prince Charles. We stand in a short line and then I’m presented to His Royal Highness. I have no idea what he says or what I say back, but I shake his hand and I think I curtsy, even though I’m not sure if I’m supposed to. Before I have the chance to do anything else, I’m whisked away again.

  ‘Did that really happen?’ I ask Tod.

  ‘Feel good?’

  ‘I feel fabulous,’ I tell him. ‘Thank you so much for bringing me.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ he says.

  I leave the palace and the Prince behind me, walking on air.

  Chapter 26

  The small club where Olly did his punk gigs was painted primarily in black.

  ‘It’s dark in here, Daddy,’ Petal said.

  ‘Don’t worry, sweet pea. I’ll put the lights on.’

  Against what every fibre of his being was telling him, he’d brought Petal along to his gig tonight. What else could he do?

  Nell said that she’d trawled round their friends to try to find a babysitter and, just in case she’d missed anyone, he’d tried them all again. She was right.

  He flicked on the lights that, to be quite honest, just made the place look seedier. His daughter wrinkled her perfect nose.

  ‘It’s only for a few hours until Daddy has finished work and then we can go home. Will you promise me that you’ll be a good girl?’

  Petal nodded, her butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth face firmly in place.

  He had already dressed her in her favourite little pink pyjamas and she was swaddled against the night air in her matching fluffy dressing gown. She’d sat quietly in the taxi he’d had to call. Unfortunately, Petal wasn’t quite old enough yet to go on the back of the Vespa.

  ‘I want you to sit under here and be really, really quiet.’ Beneath the mixing desk was a large, vacant space. Just perfect for hiding a small child. He pushed away the thought that this was a really stupid idea. ‘No one must know that you’re here,’ he whispered. ‘It will be our special secret.’

  ‘Mummy says that you shouldn’t have secrets,’ Petal expounded. ‘It’s naughty.’

  ‘She’s right,’ Olly agreed. ‘Absolutely right. Usually. But this is an extra special secret for one night only.’

  His child didn’t look convinced.

  ‘We can tell Mummy,’ he assured her. ‘Just not anyone here.’

  She looked moderately appeased.

  ‘I want you to slide under here. I’ve brought Dude’s bed.’

  ‘But where will Dude sleep?’

  ‘I’ve left him his cushion. He’ll be fine. The minute we get home, Dude can have his bed back.’ He placed it under the desk and hurried on. ‘Your favourite blanky is in there and I want you to keep yourself nice and snuggly. Can you do that?’

  Petal sucked her thumb and nodded.

  ‘Good girl. That’s great.’ He kissed her smooth, warm cheek. ‘You’re Daddy’s big girl.’

  He could kill Nell for putting him in this position. If he’d have thought quite how awful this would be, he should have asked if Phil would have minded Petal being at the chip shop for a couple of hours. That would be better than this. As it was, Constance was on standby to come to the house in case Nell wasn’t back in time for him to go on his night shift.

  But it was too late to be thinking like that now – the place was about to open up and he was due to start in five minutes. No time to dash Petal off to Live and Let Fry before kick off.

  It was unusual that he hadn’t seen the owner, Jimmy, yet and he was thankful for small mercies. No doubt he’d be putting in an appearance soon. He normally opened up, cleared off into the back room for the duration of the evening, and then put his face out again at closing time. For someone who ran a music venue, he didn’t seem all that keen on it.

  ‘You need to settle in there now,’ Olly said to Petal. ‘People will be arriving in a minute.’

  ‘Don’t want to,’ Petal said.

  ‘Remember what we agreed?’

  She nodded.

  ‘It’s just for a short while and you have to be as quiet as a mouse. It’s like a little game.’

  That brightened her face up considerably and he hated the fact that he was doing this. Petal slid under the desk and climbed into Dude’s bed.

  ‘Comfy?’

  It was fair to say that his child didn’t look impressed.

  ‘I’ve brought these and when the music starts you must put them straight on.’

  ‘I don’t want to wear my ear muffins,’ she complained.

  ‘Ear muffs.’

  ‘I had them when I was a baby.’

  ‘The music will be very loud.’ And some of the lyrics very ripe. ‘They’ll help to protect your ears.’

  Petal put on the pink piggy ear muffs. God, she looked adorable enough to eat. Every time he looked at his child his heart contracted with love – though she was currently looking back at him with something bordering on contempt.

  ‘I’ve brought some colouring books and pencils for you.’ He handed them over. ‘Happy?’

  She shrugged her indifference.

  ‘Daddy… ’

  ‘Yes, sweet pea?’

  ‘I need a wee wee.’

  ‘Not now, Petal,’ he said. ‘You went just before you came out.’

  ‘I do need one. I can’t hold it in.’

  A sigh. ‘All right, all right,’ he said. ‘Quick, quick. Come out.’

  She clambered out from beneath the desk and he scooped her up and rushed her towards the loos. The gents was definitely a no-no and he just hoped that the ladies was considerably cleaner and with less lurid graffiti.

  Thankfully, it was.

  ‘Can you manage?’

  ‘I’m not a baby,’ Petal insisted. It was a recurrent complaint.

  He waited outside the cubicle while his daughter seemed to take ages doing what she needed to do. ‘Hurry up, Petal!’

  ‘You can’t hurry up wee wee, Daddy!’ Voice indignant. ‘It comes when it has to come.’

  Why did women always take so long in toilets? It seemed that it started at a very young age.

  ‘Finished!’ she trumpeted eventually, and he rushed her back to the safety of the mixing desk.

  He’d settled her with her books and piggy ear muffs just as Jimmy appeared. ‘All right, Olly?’

  ‘Yeah, mate. Good.’

  ‘All set for tonight?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He was willing Petal to keep quiet and not pop her inquisitive little head out to see who it was.

  ‘Let’s get the punters in, then.’ Jimmy wandered off to open the door.

  Three hours. That’s all he needed to get through. Just three hours. Then he and Petal would be home and dry.

  Two hours in and all had been going quite well. Relatively. The dance floor had been jumping – or, more accurately, pogoing – with punk throwbacks enjoying tracks by Stiff Little Fingers, The Damned, Dead Kennedys and the obligatory Sex Pistols. If he played this stuff for long enough, he might even begin to like it – even though it couldn’t compare to the likes of The Kinks, The Who and The almighty Beatles.

  Petal had stayed in the hidey-hole, reading books and giving him an angelic smile every time he bent down to wave at her. She’d even kept her ear muffs in place and although she’d kept up a constant stream of chatter while she coloured in her books, it was completely inaudible above the rest of the noise. Now, unfortunately, she was getting restless.

  As the club was getting warmer, she’d kicked off her blanket and now the dressing gown had been tugged off too. It was difficult trying to keep a close eye on her as he mixed the tracks. He had hoped, in vain, that she might have been so tired by now that she’d have nodded off to sleep. No such luck.

  ‘Daddy!’ Petal tugged at his trouser leg. ‘Da-dee!’

  Olly crouched down. ‘What, Petalmeister? Just be a good girl for a little bit longer.’

  ‘But Daddy, I’m bored.’ She rolled her eyes to prove just how bored she really was.

  He could
n’t help but smile. ‘I’m nearly done. Then we can go home and you can have a lovely treat for being so good.’

  ‘What?’

  He racked his brains. ‘Ice cream?’

  ‘Play me a song.’

  ‘Now? I can’t do that, sweet pea.’

  ‘Glee,’ she said. ‘I want Glee.’ Her face said, I’ve listened to this crap all night; you’d better come up with it.

  ‘I haven’t got any Glee.’ The song that was her very favourite was ‘Don’t Stop Believing’.

  ‘It’s in your box, Daddy,’ his daughter informed him. ‘I put it there.’

  ‘Really?’ His heart sank. How could a child of his loins possibly have such awful taste in music? He rummaged in his bag and, sure enough, Petal’s favourite Glee CD was safely secreted in here. Petal smiled smugly at him. ‘It won’t work in here.’

  Her expression said, liar.

  ‘I can’t, Petal.’

  Now we’d moved on to, ‘If you loved me… ’

  He could feel himself weakening. ‘OK, OK,’ he said to her, holding up his hands in resignation. ‘Then you promise to be a good girl until we go home?’

  ‘Yes.’ The nod was adamant.

  Olly sighed to himself. ‘For one night only, a break with tradition. A little lady has specially requested this tune, so bear with me for three minutes.’

  For better, for worse, he put on the cast of Glee singing ‘Don’t Stop Believing’. It seemed that most of the stunned audience couldn’t begin to believe it. They began to jeer as Petal sang along happily under the desk. They were barely into the chorus when Jimmy burst through the door at the back.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ he demanded. It seemed that he did listen, after all.

  ‘I’ll take it off,’ Olly promised.

  ‘Are you taking the fucking piss?’

  ‘Right now. It’s off. It’s off now.’ And the cast of Glee screeched to a premature halt. The audience cheered.

  It was then that Petal decided to pop her head out. ‘Hello.’ Jimmy looked at her open-mouthed. ‘Finish tonight,’ he snapped. There was froth forming at the corners of his mouth. ‘Don’t come back. Ever. This isn’t a bloody crèche.’