Rock a Bye Baby

by Mia Dolan

  After the film was over he waited outside with her while Garth went to the toilets – his third visit since they’d entered the Ritz two hours before. Alan offered her a lift home.

  She shook her head. ‘It’s only five minutes. We’ll walk. I’ll tell Dad you offered though.’

  Alan looked very concerned. ‘No. No need to do that. You know how jealous he gets about you nowadays, now you’re grown up. No need to tell him I was here at all, actually. Your old man can get nasty when he’s been on the beer. Best say nothing at all until he’s sober.’

  ‘I’m sixteen and grown up,’ Marcie said petulantly.

  ‘Of course you are.’ Alan saw his chance to charm and took it. Placing his hands on her shoulders he held her at arm’s length and looked her up and down.

  ‘Yes. You’re certainly grown up now. Awkward age, sixteen. Nobody seems to understand how you feel. But rest assured any time you need a shoulder to cry on or someone to talk to, come see Uncle Alan. Right? Think of me as a second dad if you like; just like I think of you as a second daughter, you and my Rita being so close.’

  Alan Taylor spoke affectionately and made Marcie feel extra special. She smiled at his words and agreed that she would come running if she needed to. It felt so good when he hugged her and kissed her on the head as he might a child. It didn’t occur to her that a moment before she’d riled at being called a little girl. This felt good.

  Garth came out of the Ritz, his eyes shining. He’d been totally engrossed in the film. Through the characters and events he’d entered another world, one far more appealing than the one he lived in.

  ‘I’m going to ask my mum if I can have a motorbike. I’m going to drive fast. I’m going to race like the boys in the film!’

  Marcie laughed. ‘That’s lovely, Garth.’

  She knew perfectly well that Garth’s mother would certainly not let him have a motorbike. He didn’t even have a bicycle. She never bought him anything and quite frankly he wasn’t really capable of riding a bicycle. His limbs didn’t move like other people’s did.

  Alan Taylor eyed Garth with a certain misgiving. ‘Tell you what, son. Tell no one that you saw me tonight and I’ll see what I can do for you. I might be able to lay my hands on a BSA Bantam or something. How would that be?’

  Garth’s eyes shone even more brightly. His mouth gaped and his throat and chin moved as though he was trying to say something.

  ‘I’ll make sure he doesn’t say anything,’ said Marcie. ‘Though now you’ve promised him a bike, I’m sure he’ll say nothing.’

  Relieved, Alan patted her cheek. ‘You’re a right little sweetheart, Marcie Brooks. A right little sweetheart, just like … you should be.’

  Alan knew he’d almost blown it and said she was like her mother. Thankfully he’d got away with it. ‘You knew my mother, didn’t you?’

  His mind worked quickly. If there was one thing Alan Taylor excelled at above all else it was the gift of the gab. It was said that Alan Taylor of the silver tongue could flog an Aston Martin to a geriatric. That was his reputation and it wasn’t far wrong.

  He gazed at her face which seemed to glow despite the fact that the Ritz had turned off most of its lights.

  ‘Yes. I knew her.’

  ‘What was she like? Do you know what happened to her? Did she run off like my grandmother said? Did my dad hit her too?’

  Her questions took him off guard, but he rallied swiftly.

  ‘Look, Marcie,’ he said, his voice low and sounding genuinely sincere. ‘I don’t think we should be discussing family affairs in public.’ He glanced meaningfully at Garth, as though that poor sod was likely to gossip about things. ‘What say you we meet up in private and I could tell you all I know? How would that suit you?’

  Marcie nodded avidly and told him how much it meant to her. ‘You’re so kind, Mr Taylor.’

  ‘Alan. Call me Alan.’

  ‘Alan.’ She smiled then stood on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. He liked that.

  ‘Get off home now.’

  Garth ambled along beside her. She didn’t want him to be there. Her thoughts alone were good enough company. But Garth was incapable of taking the hint.

  ‘Can I come round and see you tomorrow night, Marcie?’

  ‘I expect I’ll have things to do,’ she replied. She’d arranged to look after Annie in exchange for half a crown. Extra money went into a china pig she kept on her bedroom window ledge.

  ‘I’d like more things to do,’ echoed Garth.

  He sounded lonely. Her heart went out to him. All the same, she didn’t really want him tagging along behind her everywhere she went.

  ‘Tell you what. Why don’t you ask Mr Ellis if he needs a hand with that shelter he’s digging? It’ll never get finished before the Russians invade if he’s got to keep digging it all by himself.’

  Garth brightened. ‘Yeah! I know how to use a shovel.’

  Marcie believed it. Although Garth wasn’t too strong of mind he had a brawny enough body. And while he lacked co-ordination enough to ride a bike, he was handy enough with a brush or a spade. Digging would keep him occupied. She smiled to herself at the thought she may have done him a good turn.

  Alan watched them walk away. It irked him to see her wander off into the darkness with the daft devil she’d come with. But never mind. The seeds were sown and the way was now clear as to how he could best gain her total trust – and ultimately much, much more.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Alan Taylor watched Tony Brooks pacing up and down. They were in his office, Alan was smoking his third Castella of the day and Tony was pacing. That was it.

  ‘Tony, you’re wearing out the carpet.’

  Tony barely changed the tempo of his pacing. ‘My mother wants to get rid of the chicken hutch.’

  Alan Taylor burst out laughing. ‘Is that why you’re pacing up and down like an expectant dad in a maternity ward? Don’t look so worried, Tony. She’ll have to get rid of the chickens first.’

  He slapped Tony on the back. Tony stopped pacing. His expression was grim when he looked at Alan. ‘She’s already got rid of them. Screwed their necks.’

  Alan’s humour departed. He pulled a face.

  ‘Your mother’s a tougher old bird than the chickens, I reckon.’

  Tony resumed pacing the floor of Alan Taylor’s office. Alan had the best new and used car dealership on Sheppey. Cars, premises and salesmen were all well presented. Even the mechanics with their oily black hands and greasy faces were expected to change their overalls once a week.

  But he made the serious money from the nightclub up in London – that and a few other less-than-lawful enterprises.

  ‘I’m worried that she knows.’

  ‘She’s your mother. Family don’t give you away – not unless there’s something in it for them. Can she be bought?’

  Tony shoved his hands in his pockets and shook his head. His mother was the last person on earth who’d take money to betray him. But this wasn’t about that. He didn’t want her to know, though sometimes he truly believed that she saw a lot more than she let on. Never mind the talking to the dead bit, she was a shrewd old lady. You didn’t easily pull the wool over her eyes.

  ‘We could move it,’ Alan offered. ‘We’d have to wait for a grim night when there’s no one about, but it could be done.’

  Tony nodded. If the worst came to the worst, that was exactly what they would do.

  Marcie’s working week continued in a kind of limbo. She kept mulling over what Garth had said and wondering what to do next. Should she confront her father? Ask her grandmother? But ask what? And on Garth’s say-so? The poor sod wasn’t all there.

  She couldn’t help but be churlish, especially to her father. In fact, she couldn’t bear to look at him.

  ‘I hate my dad,’ she blurted out to Rita.

  They were in Woolworths at the time, perusing the array of bottled hair dyes. Rita had used one the week before on her mousy brown hair. She’d been dis
appointed when her hair had stayed its mousy self, and her parting and ears had been stained navy blue.

  Rita was in a world of her own. ‘I still want it dark. P’raps I should try a mid-brown or a chestnut brown. What about deep auburn?’

  ‘Not before you’ve tried Sunlight soap and a scrubbing brush on your ears.’

  ‘Ouch!’ said Rita with pretend pain.

  The girl behind the counter looked directly at her. ‘Are you that bird going out with Pete Risdon?’

  Rita pouted. ‘Might be. I know a lot of Petes. Might have to check my little black book.’

  ‘Rides a motorbike. Comes down from the smoke at weekends. I used to go out with him. Didn’t last long though. Hands like a bleeding octopus.’

  The girl was chewing gum. Marcie wondered how she got away with it. Babs was a supervisor and always going on about how the girls should appear neat and tidy in front of customers. Chewing gum, Marcie recalled, was strictly forbidden.

  Rita puffed up with pride when she answered. ‘I’ve been going out with him for a while. We’re quite serious as it happens.’

  The girl sniffed. ‘As I said, I went out with him, but turned it in when I realised he only wants what he can get, and I’m not that free and easy.’

  Rita’s face looked punctured along with her pride. ‘What you trying to say? That I’m cheap? Is that it?’

  She was poised as if to gatecrash around the back of the counter. Marcie grabbed her arm and attempted to drag her away.

  ‘Leave it, Rita. It’s not worth it.’

  Rita tried to shrug her off, but Marcie clung on.

  ‘Tart yourself,’ Rita shouted out. ‘Wait till you’re outside work. I’ll have you, accusing me of being a tart!’

  It was on the tip of Marcie’s tongue to say that the girl wasn’t far wrong. She herself had been surprised at Rita’s total abandonment of self-control. She was besotted with Pete; whether he was besotted with her was another matter entirely. Boys being boys bragged of their conquests and Sheppey was a small place; word was bound to get round. Rita was lucky that Pete came down only intermittently from London. Still, if the girl behind the counter at Wool-worths knew, how long before a lot more people did?

  She told herself that Johnnie wasn’t like that. He made no attempt to have his way with her – not since that first time. She liked to think she had his respect; in fact she was sure she did.

  A loud voice interjected. ‘What’s all this racket?’

  Babs had arrived.

  The salesgirl pleaded that Rita had called her names. Rita wasn’t given the chance to explain.

  ‘I want you out of here,’ said Babs, who was showing an imperious side Marcie had never seen before. That, she thought, is what being in charge at Woolworths does for you.

  ‘Out, out, out!’ she proclaimed, a nicotine-stained finger pointing at the dark-framed doors.

  ‘Come on,’ Marcie said, dragging Rita towards the doors and the street. Her face was beetroot red. The last thing she wanted was to give Babs reason to repeat what had happened to her father.

  ‘Promise you’ll wait here,’ she said to Rita, plonking her outside the door.

  ‘Don’t be so bloody bossy.’

  ‘I have to be bossy,’ Marcie grumbled. ‘It’s me that’s got to apologise to Babs and stop her from mentioning it at home.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ said a defiant Rita.

  ‘But I do,’ returned Marcie. ‘I most definitely bloody well do! My dad’s not like yours, spoiling you to bloody bits.’

  Rita gaped at the comment. ‘I am not spoilt.’

  ‘Yes you are. Now shut up and wait here while I go back in and see Babs. Alright?’

  Rita grumbled an agreement that she would stay.

  Taking a deep breath Marcie pushed open one of the series of glass doors. She saw her stepmother straight away, exactly where she’d left her. The girl behind the counter seemed to be doing all the talking.

  ‘Babs?’

  She had never ever called her stepmother anything but Babs. They’d never been close enough for Marcie to call her mother.

  Babs looked pretty formidable in her Woolworths uniform and you could see she was in charge.

  ‘Well! Look what the cat’s dragged in!’ snapped her stepmother. ‘Where’s that cheap little mate of yours?’ she asked, dodging her head from one side to another in an attempt to see past Marcie.

  ‘She started it.’ She pointed at the girl behind the counter. ‘Rita likes Pete and he likes her too. That’s all there is to it. She shouldn’t have called Rita a tart.’

  A lip-curling smirk preceded her stepmother’s biting words.

  ‘Is that so? Well, I’m not so sure about that. From what Maureen tells me she’s been throwing her favours around a bit freely. That girl’s going to end up in trouble if she don’t watch it. Though I s’pose she’ll get through that alright. Knowing Alan Taylor, he’ll pay whatever it takes and any way he can to sort things out.’

  ‘He’s a good dad to her,’ Marcie blurted out. ‘Why shouldn’t he do what’s best for her? Better that than being told what to wear, what to do and where to go by a dad who drove my mother away and set up with a … a … an old brass from the East End of London!’

  It was only the fact that she was in work that Babs didn’t blow her top. Marcie could see that she looked about to explode. So explode, she thought. Have it out right here and now in the middle of Woolworths.

  Marcie became aware that all eyes had turned in their direction. Customers had stopped in the middle of paying for their purchases; shop girls’ heads went together behind the wide wooden counters.

  This had not gone the way Marcie had wanted it to go. She wished she could disappear into the cowl neck of her bright-mustard top.

  Babs grabbed her arm, her red claws digging deep. ‘Just you wait ’til your father hears about this!’ Marcie winced. The digging fingernails were bad enough. The wrath of her father was something she wished to avoid – at least for now. She wasn’t ready to confront him with what Garth had said. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe Garth, but what he’d said was hardly proof. He got easily confused. She also didn’t have the confidence to spill the beans. It took guts to accuse her father of murder. Somehow, each time she was on the point of accusing him, the words just wouldn’t come. Leave it for now.

  Marcie pointed. ‘That girl’s chewing gum!’

  Babs sneered. ‘So? I’m still going to tell your old man what you and your cheap meat mate have been up to.’

  ‘I haven’t been up to anything,’ Marcie protested. ‘Not like you. When my dad was inside you didn’t exactly sit at home and knit.’

  It was a shot in the dark. She’d heard rumours but had no evidence whether Babs had strayed from the straight and narrow while her dad was in prison. Judging by the look on her stepmother’s face it was very likely that she had. Marcie didn’t ponder about who she might have been unfaithful with. Babs had had the opportunity – once a week she’d gone out to bingo, or so she said, with girls from work. Maybe her father had had more than one reason to knock his wife around.

  ‘Is her chewing gum one of your mates from bingo?’ Marcie asked pointedly.

  A silvery pallor shone through the thick Pan Stick on Babs’s face. Marcie knew she’d hit a raw nerve. Was Babs going to admit to anything? Not likely, she thought.

  Lashes clogged with black mascara flickered. She prayed that her stepmother was definitely thinking things through.

  Suddenly she knew things had changed. Babs spun on the girl chewing gum.

  ‘You should know better than that. No chewing gum behind the counter. Now get it out of your mouth or you’ll find yourself out of a job!’

  ‘You look pleased with yourself,’ said Rita when she got back outside.

  ‘I fixed her good and proper,’ Marcie said, her grin widening. ‘Fixed the girl chewing gum too. Likely she’ll get the sack.’

  Far from being grateful, Rita looked terrified. ‘Do you
know who that is? Maureen Phelps. Her and her mates were bullies at school. They’ll come after you now – and me. You might be able to cope but I certainly can’t. Christ! What am I going to do?’

  Marcie didn’t know quite why but no way was she afraid of Maureen Phelps or any of her mates. She’d fixed her stepmother good and proper, and that alone made her feel good. The one aspect of her denunciation that stayed with her was that her stepmother had played around while her dad was away. She couldn’t help wondering who she’d been playing with.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Rosa Brooks watched her son mowing the front lawn, although the effort was hardly worth it considering that the dingy patch of grass was barely enough to stretch out on.

  The boys sometimes played on it but not very often. Babs sometimes put Annie out there in her coach-built pram. It was more to do with showing off the ‘Pedigree’ pram with its fringed canopy and cat net rather than for Annie’s benefit, which was understandable really: the child was a reminder that Babs wasn’t all that she should be – fur coat and no knickers, as they said up in London.

  Tony had caught her out with a brawny Dutch sailor and had given her more than just a good hiding. Annie was the result – that, at least, was the story Rosa’s son had spun her.

  The child could not help it, but continued to be a brooding reminder of what her mother had done. Babs didn’t hurt the child – Rosa would not stand for that – but she had less affection for her than for the boys. Not that she showed that much for the boys.

  Rosa tilted her head sideways as she gave the lawn further contemplation. Tony was only mowing it with his new lawnmower so she wouldn’t get rid of the chicken house. He’d put other stuff in there as well, even an old deckchair he’d ‘borrowed’ from the beach.

  Marcie was the only member of the family likely to lie on the lawn. She’d seen a tanned Bridget Bardot in a magazine and decided she wanted to be bronzed and blonde like her. Rosa had refrained from advising that the starlet’s eyes were dark brown and her hair was no doubt the same colour, therefore she tanned easily. Marcie’s hair was naturally blonde and her eyes were blue. Just like her mother’s. She’d inherited little from the Maltese side of their family.