Bye Bye Love

by Patricia Burns

  She hurried upstairs to the sanctuary of the mean little flat, shut the door behind her and leaned on it, panting. She was safe, for the time being. She had pulled back from the edge.

  But when she went to bed, her unsatisfied body kept her awake long into the dark night.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  RICKY turned up at the flat on Thursday evening.

  ‘Oh!’ Scarlett said as she opened the door. ‘What are you doing here?’

  It was a shock to see him there at the top of the attic stairs. Someone else in the house must have directed him up.

  ‘Nice welcome, I must say,’ Ricky responded.

  All that week she had been wondering if he would get in touch. Now he was here, dangerously close to her territory, lounging against the landing rail with his hands in his trouser pockets and his brooding eyes running over her body. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to see him again after all.

  ‘What do you want?’ Scarlett asked.

  ‘Well, I ain’t come to deliver the milk, have I?’

  ‘Ha, ha.’

  Scarlett was acutely conscious of the musty smell of the hallway and the fact that, behind her, there was no-one else in the flat. She didn’t want Ricky to know she was all alone.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Stop mucking about. Get your bag, we’re going out.’

  ‘I told you, I’ve got a boyfriend.’

  ‘So what? Give him the elbow. You know you want to.’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Come out with me anyway.’

  Just looking at him was doing odd things to her insides. She recalled what it felt like to be kissed by him and nearly reached out to him then and there.

  ‘I’ll ask my dad,’ she said, and shut the door in his face.

  She turned up the radio to mask the fact that there was no father there to ask, and stood biting her lip and trying to come to a decision. Go out with Ricky or not? She looked at the table, where Jonathan’s latest letter lay, waiting for her reply. If she went out with Ricky, she would have to lie to Jonathan. She took a deep breath, marched to the door and opened it about a foot.

  ‘He says no,’ she told him, and shut the door again before he could get another word in.

  A mocking laugh came through the flimsy wood.

  ‘I’ll be back, babe.’

  She spent the rest of the evening wondering whether she had done the right thing.

  On Friday and Saturday evenings she went dancing, but found that somehow the shine had gone off it. The boys were boring and stupid. Even her old friend Pete, the ace dancer, annoyed her. She kept catching sight of young men she thought were Ricky, only to be disappointed.

  On Sunday afternoon, just as he had promised—or just as he had threatened?—Ricky was back.

  ‘Come on, babe,’ he said. ‘I’ll take you down the speedway.’

  It was a beautiful afternoon and the point in the week when Scarlett felt most alone in the world. She had nothing but The Billy Cotton Band Show on the radio to keep her company at a time when everybody else was with their families having Sunday lunch with all the trimmings.

  ‘All right,’ she said, before she could persuade herself otherwise.

  As they walked down the street, she asked why he wasn’t at home with his family.

  ‘My mum and dad have gone to my gran’s.’

  ‘But didn’t they want you to go with them?’

  Ricky made a dismissive noise. ‘Yeah, but I wasn’t going to. Mad old bat. And she smells. Said I had better things to do.’ To prove it, he pinched her bottom.

  Scarlett yelped and slapped his hand. ‘Get off!’

  He didn’t know how lucky he was to have a grandmother, she thought. If only she had more family, she wouldn’t feel so very alone in the world.

  Going to the sea front with Ricky was a strange experience. Everything was so familiar, but being there with him instead of Jonathan made it utterly different. It was as if a line was being drawn between now and the past. Young Scarlett, with her plaits and her white ankle socks, lurked there, just the other side of the line. She laughed and held hands with Jonathan, she cried for her mother. It made Scarlett realise how much things had changed. She still missed her mother every day, but the grief was blunted. She still missed Jonathan, but he was far away. She no longer expected anything from her father, who started each day now not just with a cigarette but with a drink as well. She was on her own. And here was Ricky, who could have any girl he wanted, going out of his way to chase her.

  She could see other girls eyeing him up wherever they went, even girls who were with their boyfriends. It made her feel very superior. She was the chosen one, the lucky girl with the boy who looked like a singing star. The boy who might well turn out to be a singing star. Ricky had no doubts on that score.

  ‘We’re getting known in Southend, but that’s just the start,’ he told her as they licked their ice creams. ‘Next we got to play up in London. The Two I’s coffee bar, that’s the place to be. That’s where Tommy Steele got discovered. All we need is for an agent to hear us play and we’re made. Rock ’n’ roll’s the thing, babe. It’s our music. It belongs to us.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Scarlett agreed. ‘Once I heard Elvis, all that stuff by Johnny Ray and Perry Como was dead. It’s really square.’

  But Ricky wasn’t interested in her opinion. All he needed was his own, which he aired at length.

  After the speedway they went on the big wheel. When their chair stopped right at the top to let someone on at the bottom, Ricky rocked it until Scarlett squealed. Then he got hold of her and kissed her. Fear made her all the more responsive.

  When they got off, he looked around Peter Pan’s Playground with that James Dean sneer.

  ‘This is tame. Let’s go to the Kursaal and ride on the Cyclone. That’ll make you scream.’

  It did make her scream. The vertiginous drop made her feel as if her stomach had been left behind on the top. After that he took her in the Caterpillar. By the time they came out, her legs would hardly hold her up.

  They had frothy coffee at the brand new coffee bar that had opened up in the High Street. Ricky fed money into the jukebox and told her about the singers he had chosen and why they were the best, and why the Riptides would soon be up there with the established stars. Right on cue, a couple of girls behind them started squeaking and whispering.

  ‘Look, it’s Ricky from Ricky and the Riptides!’

  ‘I saw him the other week. He’s really good.’

  ‘Looks all right and all.’

  As they left the coffee bar, Ricky gave them a passing wave.

  ‘Hi, babes.’

  The girls dissolved into delighted giggles.

  Scarlett drank it all in.

  Ricky delivered her back to the flat at about teatime.

  ‘You inviting me in, then?’ he asked.

  Even in her weakened state, Scarlett knew better than to fall for that one. She’d already broken one of the rules of courtship—no kissing on the first date. In fact she’d more than broken it in allowing not just a quick touch on the lips but proper deep kisses. But ask a boy in when you were all by yourself? Oh, no.

  ‘You must be joking,’ she said, reaching up to give him a peck on the cheek. ‘Thanks for—’

  She got no further. Ricky wrapped his arms round her and kissed her passionately. Behind them, the tenant of the downstairs front room rapped loudly on the window. Ricky waved two fingers.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘You know you want to.’

  Her body wanted to. Her head was more than aware of the dangers.

  ‘No,’ she insisted. ‘Idon’tknowwhat you think I am.’

  ‘I think you’re the hottest babe I ever met.’

  ‘Oh, yeah? And how many girls have you said that to?’

  ‘Only you. You’re the best.’

  Somehow, she managed to get free and once more slam the door in his face.

  Of course, playing hard to get was the surest way of sharp
ening his interest. But it was a game two could play. Ricky would be all over her, asking her out, taking her to gigs with the band, even bringing her flowers and chocolates, then he would disappear for a week at a time, leaving her wondering whether he would ever show up again.

  One Saturday evening at the end of September, Scarlett was dancing at the Kursaal as usual when she glimpsed him through the crowd. As always when that happened, her insides turned painfully. She looked again, expecting to find she was agonising over a perfect stranger, and found that it really was him. What was more, he was wrapped round a common-looking girl with a very low-cut blouse and too much make-up. She was gripped with murderous jealousy.

  ‘Look at that!’ she hissed at Brenda. ‘He’s here—Ricky’s here—with that little tart.’

  ‘Swine,’ Brenda said.

  ‘I’ll scratch her eyes out!’

  She really wanted to. Her fingers ached to pull the girl’s hair out, to do her some damage. She stepped forward. Brenda caught hold of her.

  ‘Don’t give him the pleasure,’ she counselled. ‘He’d love that, wouldn’t he? Two girls fighting over him.’

  ‘I don’t care. How dare he two-time me?’

  Brenda had the sense not to mention Jonathan’s name at this point. Instead, she gripped Scarlett’s arm even tighter.

  ‘Don’t be a bloody idiot. He’ll have you just where he wants you then, won’t he? Give him a taste of his own medicine. Dance with Pete or someone.’

  Enough of the rage dissolved for Scarlett to see that she was right. She danced every dance, and when she was with Pete she made sure that Ricky was close enough to notice how brilliantly they performed together. It felt like the longest evening she had ever spent there. She left early, before Ricky could see that nobody was taking her home, and waited for the last bus weeping tears of anger and disappointment. Her evening had been ruined. Her enjoyment of the Kursaal had been ruined. She would never feel the same way about it again.

  ‘I hate you, Ricky Harrington,’ she muttered to herself. ‘You’ve spoilt everything.’

  Footsore and exhausted, she let herself into the flat. A revolting smell hit her. She fumbled for the light switch and cried out loud. Her father was slumped on the floor in a pool of vomit. She rushed forward, turning her ankle painfully in her high heeled dancing shoes. She kicked them off, bent and got her hands under his armpits to drag him away from the mess. It was heavy work, as he was a dead weight. She managed to get him out of the worst of it, found a newspaper to put under his head and went downstairs with a bucket to get some water. At first she couldn’t decide what to do first. Clean up her father or clear up the sick? He was still unconscious and the smell was making her heave, so she decided on clearing up. She toiled up and down the stairs with newspapers and cloths and buckets, scraping and scrubbing until the smell of bleach overlaid that of vomit. Then she got yet more clean water. She eased her father’s soiled shirt and jumper off, then gently wiped the mess from his face and hair.

  ‘Oh, Dad,’ she wailed. ‘What have you done to yourself?’

  She tried to remember the strong, happy father who used to hug her and her mother and joke with the customers at the Red Lion. Where had he gone? This defeated man with his shabby clothes and bloated face was a different person. As she washed him, he began to regain consciousness, first moaning, then muttering odd words. He seemed afraid.

  ‘It’s all right, Dad. You’re safe, you’re at home,’ she told him.

  Victor opened his eyes. He stared at her blankly.

  ‘Joan. Where’s Joan?’ he croaked.

  Tears welled up in Scarlett’s eyes. ‘It’s Scarlett, Dad. I’m here. Can you get up?’

  She tried to help him up but he made no effort to move.

  ‘No, no. Leave me. I want Joan.’

  Scarlett opened up the put-u-up and tried again.

  ‘Come on, Dad. You can’t stay there on the floor. You’ll be more comfortable in bed.’

  By degrees she managed to get him off the floor and on to the bed. She covered him with a sheet and blanket and placed the bucket beside him. She stroked his damp head.

  ‘There’s a bucket there if you feel ill again, all right? Now you go to sleep. It’ll look better in the morning.’

  She went down to the bathroom one more time to scrub the smell out of her hands. Then she fell into bed and cried herself to sleep. She had never felt more alone.

  The morning brought fresh trials. Victor woke with a massive hangover and insisted on hair of the dog to help cope with it. Scarlett made him tea, which he refused, then found the last drop of whisky in a flat bottle in his jacket pocket and went and flushed it down the toilet. After a massive row, Victor slammed out of the flat.

  ‘You’re no daughter of mine!’ he shouted through the door, and stumped off down the stairs.

  Scarlett wrenched the door open again.

  ‘Don’t you dare come back drunk!’ she yelled at his departing back.

  Which brought complaints from three of the neighbours.

  ‘Oh, shut up!’ she snapped at them, and went back inside.

  She looked round the dreary flat—at the gloomy greenish lino, the rickety furniture, the patches on the peeling walls where it got damp in winter. It was horrible, horrible, horrible. And so was her life.

  ‘You got to do something, girl,’ she said out loud. ‘You can’t go on like this.’

  The first thing was to find a better flat. She ran a comb through her hair, put on some lipstick and went off to the newsagent’s to get a Southend Standard. Just making the decision made her feel a hundred times better. With the paper under her arm, she started to walk back with something like a spring in her step. Perhaps when they moved, her father could be persuaded to turn over a new leaf. Then, if he could hold down a better job, she could get away from doing factory work and try something less well paid but more interesting. Just as she had come to this conclusion, a van pulled up beside her.

  ‘Hey, babe!’

  It was Ricky, in the TV repair van that one of the Riptides had the use of.

  Scarlett hardly paused in her stride. ‘I’ve got nothing to say to you.’

  ‘Oh babe, you know you don’t mean that.’

  Ricky stopped the van and got out. He jogged round in front of her. He was dressed in a snappy suit and tie and carrying a bunch of pink carnations.

  ‘For you,’ he said, holding them out to her.

  Scarlett thrust them back at him. ‘I don’t want them.’

  ‘Ah, babe, you’re not jealous, are you?’

  ‘Don’t flatter yourself.’

  Scarlett made to dodge round him, but he sidestepped back into her path.

  ‘You haven’t really got a boyfriend, have you?’

  ‘I have!’

  ‘So where is he, then, if you’re not with him on a Saturday night?’

  He had never been that interested before and, when he had asked, Scarlett had fobbed him off with some glib answer.

  ‘Busy,’ she said.

  ‘Too busy to go out with a cracking bird like you? He don’t deserve you.’

  ‘He’s…tied up.’

  ‘He’s inside, ain’t he? Doing time.’

  That shocked her.

  ‘He’s not! He’s on his national service.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Malaya,’ Scarlett admitted.

  ‘Malaya! Blimey, he’s not much use to you there, is he? Look—’ for once, his voice became serious ‘—be my girl, Scarlett. Come out with me. I got the van, look. We can go for a ride right along the sea front and have lunch in a café, all nice, like. What do you say?’

  After the dreadful time she had had with her father, it was just too tempting.

  ‘All right,’ she said.

  Which opened up the second part of Ricky’s campaign.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  JONATHAN sat on a folding chair outside his hut with Scarlett’s latest letter in its envelope in his hand. Giant moths flut
tered round the hurricane lamp on the table beside him and from the dense greenery beyond the compound came the night sounds of animals. His surroundings were so familiar now that he hardly noticed them. What concerned him was the letter.

  A couple of nurses coming off-duty waved to him as they passed.

  ‘Hey, Jonno, coming to the teashop?’

  ‘Yeah, in a minute,’ Jonathan answered.

  He took the letter out and read it again. It was difficult to pinpoint why it made him so uneasy. It was just—wrong. And it wasn’t the first time. This feeling had been growing in him for a few weeks now. There was something Scarlett wasn’t telling him.

  He gazed in the direction in which the nurses had disappeared. The teashop was a cross between a bar and a café in a little bamboo hut just outside the compound. It was run by a whole Chinese family and offered tea, dim sum and home-brewed beer as well as a break from army life. Jonathan sighed, put the letter in his breast pocket and got up. It was no use sitting here brooding. That wasn’t going to solve anything.

  The usual gang was sitting round a low table, swigging beer, sipping jasmine tea and snacking on plates of steamed Chinese delicacies by the light of red tasselled lanterns. Chinese music tinkled from the gramophone. A place was found for Jonathan in the circle and a beer put before him. The conversation was mostly about the forthcoming cricket match between the hospital team and one from a camp a few miles away. Tactics were being aired. Jonathan tried to join in but his heart wasn’t in it.

  The girl next to him, Judy, touched his knee.

  ‘What’s up, Jonno?’ she asked. ‘You’re not with us at all, are you?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Jonathan said automatically. Then on impulse he changed his mind. ‘Well, yes, actually there is something. I don’t know whether you can help me.’

  He and Judy were old allies. She had a fiancé back in Scotland to whom she was fiercely faithful, so they tended to pair up on the strict understanding that it was friendship only.