Rock a Bye Baby

by Mia Dolan

  If he’d arrived earlier he might have caught them at it. He could have watched for a while as their young bodies writhed together. At least that would have been some compensation. He smiled at the thought and was calmed. Besides that another angle had sprung to mind: Marcie wouldn’t like her father to find out about this and he could help her prevent that from happening. He could also demand that Rita keep her mouth shut – she’d told him and that was quite enough. ‘You wouldn’t want to damage your friendship, now, would you, Rita?’

  ‘And you, Marcie. You wouldn’t want your old man to know, now, would you? So be nice to your Uncle Alan. Be nice or he could get you in bad trouble. Very bad trouble.’

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Marcie knew what sort of day it was going to be the moment she walked into work. Besides the fact that it was beginning to rain, someone had broken in and taken a box of peppermint lollipops. Worst of all Rita was pouting.

  The rain put off all but the most hardened day trippers, mostly the elderly who marched resolutely along wearing plastic hoods and eating home-made sandwiches. The younger generation headed for the amusement arcades or an amble around the shops.

  The owner of the stall was not best pleased that a box of lollipops had gone missing, and even less pleased that the intruders had ripped a hole in the boxwood back wall.

  ‘Little sods. If I ever lay my hands on them …’

  Mr Tytherington, the owner, ambled off, shoulders hunched, fists clenched like pork chops swinging at his side.

  The weather and Mr Tytherington were bearable; Rita and her glum countenance would be more of a struggle. The rounded peak of a tartan cap hid the look in her eyes, but not the rosebud pout.

  Marcie had decided by Sunday evening that she wasn’t going to admit to Rita that she knew Pete had dumped her. She and Johnnie had made love twice more before lying naked in each other’s arms, his fingers tracing silkily across her back. Johnnie wanted to see her again and, of course, she wanted to see him.

  ‘Fancy coming away with me for a weekend in Ramsgate? We can take the tent.’

  She knew what he was saying. He wanted a repeat performance of tonight. There was no denying that she wanted it too. But, despite him promising that he’d be careful, there was a risk … unless …

  ‘So Rita won’t need her birth control pills.’

  Johnnie was taken aback. ‘She’s on the pill? But I thought …’

  ‘She lied.’

  ‘I thought only married women could have the pill.’

  ‘Her dad got them for her.’

  ‘Wow! We wouldn’t need to worry, would we?’ He cupped her chin in his hand. ‘Cos I can’t stop loving you – and wanting to show you how much I love you.’

  She’d caught the excitement in his voice. If Rita wasn’t seeing Pete, chances are she wouldn’t need to take the birth control pills. Now if only she could get Rita to hand them over …

  ‘So! How did it go?’ she asked, feigning innocence as she spread pink sticks of rock over the area designated for the missing lollipops.

  ‘How did what go?’ Rita snapped.

  Marcie pulled a face and managed to hold back an exasperated sigh. This was never going to be easy but she had to try.

  ‘You and Pete. Did you tell him you were up the spout?’

  ‘Nope!’ said Rita as she handed an old gent change from the half a crown he’d just tendered for three sixpenny sticks of rock. ‘I said I didn’t want to see him again.’

  There was a lying look in Rita’s eyes, but Marcie went along with it. ‘I thought you loved him.’

  Rita scowled at her accusingly. ‘Yeah! You deaf or something?’

  ‘But I thought …’

  ‘Rockers are out. Mods are in. I’ve decided that I’m only going to go for lads on Vespas or Lambrettas.’

  ‘Scooters?’

  ‘Whatever. They’re more with it. I might even ask my dad if he’ll buy me a Lambretta. I’ve seen girls riding them. Don’t see why I can’t ride one. How difficult can it be?’

  Marcie wasn’t at all sure how difficult it was, but she couldn’t see Rita’s wide girth balancing on two wheels of any sort. Still, knowing Alan Taylor, if his daughter wanted a scooter, his daughter would have a scooter.

  To Marcie’s relief she didn’t ask about her and Johnnie. Marcie had expected at least an ‘I know what you’ve been up to’ kind of smirk.

  On-and-off silences were the order of the day, or at least the morning. Lunchtime and the smell of fish and chips lured Rita out from the deep pit she’d dug herself.

  ‘I could eat a horse,’ she said, three feet in front of Marcie as they made their way to the chip shop.

  Marcie accepted a solitary chip when it was offered. After a liberal sprinkling of salt and vinegar, Rita scoffed the lot, her gaze fixed on a freighter chugging its way through the rippling sea.

  ‘I’m going spending this weekend. I want some new gear. I’ve still got the twenty quid Dad gave me for my birthday. I saw Roslyn Coates wearing the same skirt as me. I hate that. Time to splash out, I reckon. Wanna come?’

  Marcie swallowed the mouthful of chicken sandwich she’d brought from home. ‘OK.’

  She didn’t add that there were so few shops catering for young style on the island that wearing the same as someone else was likely to happen again. She hadn’t banked on the rest of the plan.

  ‘We’ll have to leave on Thursday night and come back on Friday, so that means we’ll both be off work.’

  ‘What are you on about?’

  ‘London! Dad’s taking me up to London to do some shopping. Well? Are you coming or not?’

  Was she? Of course she was! ‘I hear the King’s Road is the place to go.’

  ‘Nah! My dad says forget that. It’s overpriced. There’s other places around – even in Battersea, according to my dad. Boutiques. That’s what they’re called. Booo-tiques!’

  Marcie wasn’t sure where Battersea was as opposed to the King’s Road, but perusing racks and racks of clothes was instantly appealing.

  ‘No need to worry. My dad will tell your dad that you’re coming with me and staying overnight at Aunt Kitty’s.’

  ‘What about Mr Tytherington? He won’t like both of us being off at the same time.’

  Rita sniffed dismissively. ‘He’ll just have to lump it then, won’t he!’

  The prospect of a shopping trip to London lifted the subdued atmosphere that had pervaded all morning. The rain kept falling and even that turned matters to their advantage. The roof sprung a leak. Droplets of water dripped onto the nougat display. More rain dripped through a secondary leak. Soon there were five or six buckets and bowls strategically placed to cope with what had become a deluge.

  Mr Tytherington pulled up in his dark-blue Ford Zephyr. By the time he’d surveyed his small business and saw the damage he was almost pulling his hair out.

  ‘This is really terrible, Mr Tytherington. It’s going to be raining all week,’ said Rita.

  She sounded and looked genuinely concerned to his face. Behind his back she threw Marcie a conspirational wink. They’d made most of the holes themselves. If the stall wasn’t fit for opening then they needn’t come to work.

  Mr Tytherington ran around swearing under his breath, his usually stiff grey hair sticking like plaster to his head.

  ‘Box up everything! And I mean everything! Store some under the counter. I’ll take the rest in the boot of my car.’

  ‘Quick as lightning, Mr Tytherington!’

  ‘Like Jack Flash,’ echoed Marcie.

  They jumped to it. If Mr Tytherington had not been so agitated he might have noticed that they were uplifting his goods with far more enthusiasm than when they were selling them.

  ‘You’ve done a good job,’ he said gruffly. ‘Now get off home and don’t come back ’til Monday. I’ll have everything fixed by then. Damned nuisance though. I could do with every bit of trade up until the end of October. You do know you girls will be laid off early, don�
�t you?’

  They said they did. A summer job was a good filler after leaving school at fifteen. They’d had a whole summer to work out what they wanted to do, and selling candy floss and speciality rock to summer visitors wasn’t it.

  After shrugging themselves into their coats, the girls ran off giggling as they jumped the puddles.

  ‘Silly old sod! Now who’s going to buy rock in this weather?’ Rita laughed.

  Marcie laughed too. As they headed for the bus stop Marcie considered asking Rita about the birth control pills. Rita seemed outwardly to be her usual bouncy self, but Marcie wasn’t totally convinced. Beneath the surface she might still be hurting. It was pretty obvious that she hadn’t dumped Pete at all. She’d told him she was pregnant – which she most certainly was not – and he’d told her to get lost. Perhaps she’d flushed them down the lavatory, but perhaps she had not.

  ‘I’ve five pounds in my piggy bank. I’d like a black and white dress and pair of strappy shoes with a chunky square heel. I’m seeing Johnnie again on Saturday and it would be nice to wear something new.’

  Usually Rita would have bounced back with something like, ‘What’s the point of wearing anything. You’re only going to take it off.’

  There was a telling pause before Rita responded. ‘Oh yeah.’

  Oh yeah.

  It was all she said. She sounded as though the words had scratched her throat.

  Marcie made an instant decision. There was no gentle way to do this and Rita must realise how much it would mean to her. They were friends. Right?

  It all came out in a rush.

  ‘Look, Rita. Those pills. You don’t need them now you’ve split with Pete, do you …? So how about letting me have them.’

  An ominous crack sounded as Rita opened her umbrella. The rain was starting to fall heavily again. Marcie put hers up too.

  ‘Well?’ she asked as they hurried along. It worried her that Rita was taking her time answering.

  ‘I’ve only got three months’ worth and they cost a lot of money.’

  Marcie thought of the five pounds she’d saved over a period of three months. Three months’ savings. Three months’ supply of pills. Three months of blissful and carefree lovemaking. Should she offer it?

  Rita made the decision for her. ‘Five pounds.’

  It meant going without the dress and shoes she craved, but Marcie didn’t care. She was giddy with desire. Every night alone in her bed she lay with closed eyes reliving each caress, each spiralling thrill.

  ‘Alright. Five pounds.’

  It meant watching enviously as Rita chose new clothes in the London boutiques, but Marcie reckoned she could get over that. She had something that Rita would dearly love to have. She had a boy who loved her.

  That night before she went to bed, Rita stood before the bathroom cabinet mirror. A scowling face looked out at her. Rita was used to getting everything she wanted. She’d wanted Pete but Pete hadn’t wanted her. His rejection had hurt her deeply. Especially as he wasn’t to know she’d been lying about missing her period. The hurt had turned into anger and now she wanted revenge. Pete was the one who deserved to be hurt now, but he wouldn’t be back to Sheppey. He’d told her that in no uncertain terms. The need to lash out and take revenge would not go away. Someone had to suffer and it shouldn’t – it really should not be her. She was hurt enough.

  Before scrutinising her reflection she had taken the three packets of birth control pills and a large jar of aspirin out of the cabinet. She’d thought of an easy excuse to give Marcie for taking the pills out of their original packaging – she would suggest that Marcie’s dad and her grandmother would have a fit if they thought she was taking birth control pills. As a kind and considerate friend Rita would say she’d put the pills in an empty aspirin jar to disguise them. Then if anyone did discover them they’d be none the wiser. What Marcie wouldn’t know is that she’d substituted the pink birth control pills for aspirins which were white. She knew Marcie wouldn’t have a clue what the pill was supposed to look like. She was such an innocent in so many ways. Well, now Miss Goody Two-Shoes would be playing with fire and might even get burned.

  She’d give the jar to Marcie on Thursday and in return would get five pounds. Someone had to share her pain. It might as well be her best friend.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Marcie picked her way along the back lane rather than go through the front garden where her father was mowing the patch of grass he called a lawn. He hadn’t seen her pass and she didn’t want him to. Just lately she’d made a point of avoiding contact simply because it was difficult to be civil. Every time her eyes met his she saw a man who might have done something terrible to her mother, and still she couldn’t confront him. She kept asking herself why that should be so, but couldn’t come up with an answer.

  She exchanged a wave with Mr Ellis as she passed his back gate. The smell of turned earth was strong in the air. No big surprise really. Mr Ellis, his bald pate gleaming with sweat, was leaning on his shovel. He was dwarfed by a mountain of earth excavated from his nuclear fallout shelter. She wondered whether the shelter would ever be completed in time for the Third World War that everyone insisted was coming.

  The back garden of number ten, Endeavour Terrace, was a lot quieter than it used to be since the demise of the chickens. Tony Brooks was now using their shed for storage and his new lawnmower. Marcie had never known him do any gardening whatsoever before and certainly not mowing a lawn.

  The old wooden gate gave its customary squeal as she pushed it open. Raindrops trickled from the shed roof and brushed onto her skirt from the rough grass growing against the fence.

  On a fine night her grandmother would be sitting outside knitting, popping peas or shredding cabbage. The rain had kept her inside this evening.

  Marcie wondered what she would say about her going up to London – not that she was quite so keen on going now that she had no money to spend. She had to consider telling Rita that she wouldn’t be able to go. Somehow she didn’t think she’d be that disappointed. Her father, Alan Taylor, would spoil her rotten. He doted on her, as her gran would say. She only wished her father was like that. At least Rita knew for certain that her mother had died of an illness. She must have been as lovely a mother as Alan was a father, she decided. Just like her mother. From what everyone said she was lovely too.

  A sound from the chicken house made her slow her steps. There was giggling coming from inside. Resting her hand on the rough wood, her ear close to the felt-covered roof, she heard the giggling again plus low, boyish laughter.

  Archie and Arnold were in the shed. They’d been talking about making a den out of it – that’s if their father couldn’t be persuaded into digging a nuclear fallout shelter. Tony Brooks was of the opinion that the Russians were never coming; the Kennedys had scuppered their game, he reckoned. Besides, they’d probably bypass the Isle of Sheppey. In fact it was likely they didn’t even know it existed.

  Marcie smiled. The boys hadn’t heard her approach so she decided to surprise them.

  The hen house roof had a flap that could be opened. Carefully, so they didn’t hear, she undid the catch, counted to three and snapped the flap open.

  ‘BOO!’

  Two startled boys nearly jumped out of their skin. Two sticky faces – two very sticky faces – looked up at her. Each was holding a lollipop. A few more lay in a small box on the ground between them. The situation was plain as day.

  Marcie pointed an accusing finger at the evidence. ‘Archie! You little thief! I know where you got those.’

  ‘Don’t tell, Marcie! Please don’t tell!’

  The wire enclosure leading off the chicken coup had been removed. Marcie went round to the front of the hen house and opened the door. Leaning forward, she snatched the box from between them.

  ‘We’re not the only ones,’ Arnold protested. ‘All the kids have got some.’

  Marcie slapped each of their faces. ‘That’s for stealing.’


  ‘We didn’t steal them,’ said Archie, his eyes misting over as he rubbed the red spot her hand had left on his cheek.

  ‘Don’t lie to me. A big box of lollipops just like these were stolen from where I work. What am I to think?’

  ‘All the kids have got some. Bully Price said to come quickly and take what we wanted.’

  Bully Price lived up to his nickname. His real name was William so he should have been called Billy, but Bully suited him better.

  ‘Right,’ said Marcie, heading back towards the gate. ‘I’m going to have a word with Bully Price and then I’m taking him to see his parents. If they don’t sort him out I’ll leave it to the police!’

  She could hardly believe what she’d just said. Bully was not easily intimidated – he was best avoided. At thirteen he was the size of an eighteen-year-old.

  The boys were impressed.

  ‘Great! I’ve got to see this.’ Archie scrambled to his feet.

  Equally thrilled to watch his sister face the local answer to Al Capone, Arnold followed.

  Marcie was full of trepidation. She didn’t like confrontation and Bully Price had a reputation. As well as being big for his age, he swore like a trooper. His parents were as offensive as he was. But she couldn’t back down now. Her brothers were expecting some drama and her being brave. She had to go through with it.

  Bully Price was smoking a cigarette when she found him hanging around in the bus shelter. The tips of three more cigarettes peeked from a grubby-edged breast pocket. Four other boys accompanied him.

  ‘Hey, Bully. You got a bit of skirt come to see you.’

  Marcie cuffed the speaker’s ear. ‘Less of your cheek! I’m not a bit of skirt. I’m a young lady!’

  The others gasped and looked at Bully for a lead.

  A slight movement crimped the corners of Bully’s mouth.

  Marcie tensed. Would he lash out at her, set his gang on her? Archie and Arnold, bless their cotton socks, stood firmly close to her side. Although Arnold must be quivering in his boots, he braved voicing a warning.

  ‘This is our Marcie. Touch her and you’re for it.’