When you have a clear picture of what it is you are searching for, it tends to be much easier to find it and so it wasn’t long before we were mixing with somewhat more knowing girls. Andrew Hoare’s sister had accepted a summer job before heading off to university. She was working in a newsagent’s just off Ripon Market Square. Because it was conveniently located between the school exit and Joe’s house we’d pop with invented messages for her to pass onto her brother - aware she was the most likely person we knew to let us buy cigarettes. Hanging around with her younger brother’s friends wasn’t cool, so she soon introduced us to a couple of her co-workers who were employed to cover weekend shifts. We’d seen them both at school, but didn’t know them well enough to talk to. Lucy Drew was a little younger than us, while her friend Bronwen was in the sixth form. Neither of them had a tattoo, but they did strike me as just the sort of girls who would. Not exactly lawless teenagers in a feral kind of way; but unquestionably a bit wilder than the upstanding young women I’d dated up to this point. Lucy and Bronwen were both sharp, socially confident girls who, for whatever reason, gravitated towards everything their parents disapproved of. They smoked cigarettes and tended to like cooler bands such as The Rolling Stones and the Sex Pistols. Combine this with the fact they were known to be sexually active was precisely what made them so interesting. These were the clever girls who had a bit of a reputation, the ones who tested the rules and were most likely to be either in detention or close to being excluded.
Lucy was by far the easiest to read. I could imagine precisely what she was like growing up, undoubtedly the impetuous junior school girl who shook bottles of fizzy drinks on long car journeys and then passed them to her little sister to open; the unfettered teenager who would wait until you were ready to deliver the punch line of a well-rehearsed joke, before jumping in to steal your thunder. Now a young woman she was attractive, yet not especially so; however she was strangely alluring. Physically she was slightly less shapely than many of her peers, of average height and had shoulder length mousy brown hair. Overall, she looked very much like the average sixteen year old schoolgirl. While Lucy appeared to be healthy and well turned out, she gave out a vibe that she was already slightly jaundiced about life, a little crumpled in her thinking. From time to time, when tired, her left eye became a little lazy which made her momentarily cross eyed. I found this quite endearing, as if the fault somehow humanised her. Because Lucy loved to tease the boys about their faults (her principal flirting mode), I foolishly attempted an ill-advised jibe about her intermittent strabismus. My attempt at bonding was savagely rewarded by a thunderous slap to the face, followed by her stonewalling me for the rest of the week – or possibly until Lucy needed something from me again. Either way it did nothing to dampen the crush I was developing on her.
Lucy wore her bad girl status like a badge of honour and enjoyed all the attention she received from pinning it to her lapel, right in the place where the rest of her peers were fastening their own prized prefect badges. Although still adolescent by most standards, Lucy seemed to both despise men and adore them at the same time. She enjoyed playing with the affections of every young man she attracted; demanding their trust and their loyalty before undermining both. Lucy was also unusually sexual for her age. Corrupted and corrupting while still so young. Rumour was that she had already bedded most of the older hip sixth formers, including hipster Jez Calvert. JC was something of a legend at school – a good looking older lad, who had a reputation as a lothario. Lucy had been just fourteen at the time.
The fact she was promiscuous obviously added to my teenage attraction. Lucy knew this and used it to her advantage. On numerous occasions she told me how much she loved the smell of sex. These discussions invariably took place when we were alone together, but well before I became involved with her. Such frankness about an unfamiliar and taboo subject was disarming. This was not the everyday language of most of the girls I’d known up to this point and it was enticing. By openly relating sex to one of the less frequently associated senses it made the act of copulation even more real, more possible and potentially easier to imagine.
Unfortunately for me Lucy already had a boyfriend. Neil was older than her, had passed his A-levels and was already working. This was unheard of at RGS. A Ripon Grammar A-level student who didn’t progress to university was an abomination. Such insurrection on his part wasn’t down to rebelliousness, or because he was fighting a particular convention; instead he simply wanted a weekly wage - which said a lot about him. Neil had left school with a handful of decent A-levels with the sole intention of applying for a two-year trainee assistant manager programme at the local supermarket. Not that retailing isn’t a perfectly upstanding career choice, but come on, training – for years - to one day become an assistant manager! All that education, short-changed by the draw of a weekly wage and the promise of discounted bread rolls.
He was an inoffensive, but boring individual. The short-lived deference to his age, status and financial independence couldn’t detract from this verifiable truth. I knew he had little to offer the mercurial Lucy beyond the contents of his weekly pay packet. Dull Nelly, must have been about nineteen, but already looked to be in his late twenties. I’m sure I may have been a little jealous at the time due to my captivation with his girlfriend, but I swear Neil was one of the least attractive blokes you were ever likely to encounter. He looked pale – as if he never went outside, dressed like someone fifteen years older than himself (who had no style) and wore the most basic NHS glasses. Whatever the lens prescription was in those cheap frames, they failed to help him keep a good eye on Lucy.
Dissolute Lucy was not especially loyal to her beau and she enjoyed openly flirting with numerous boys. She once boasted to me that she had gained a tactical advantage over Neil by getting her friend Bronwen to tell him she’d missed her period. The lie was fabricated as a simple distractor – a device to diffuse some tension between them which had been created by her decision to abandon Neil at some party and disappear into the darkness with another hapless lad. The manner in which Lucy had concocted the story without any concern for the impact on herself, her family, or her now petrified dunce of a boyfriend was bad enough; but the way she freely propagated news of the phantom foetus around the school was truly terrifying. Quickly picking up on the notoriety she had caused for herself by sharing her alibi with a couple of close friends, she was soon encouraging the entire upper school to share in her sensational story without a flicker of remorse.
If steady Neil wasn’t around she would flirt with most males and this would include me, if it entertained her to do so. If she had no one to buy her a coffee I would suffice. I knew all this, but was still happy to fulfil my duties to whatever standard was required. As this pattern became more established, Lucy treated me like the doting little puppy I willingly evolved into, until eventually I found myself completely beguiled. Her detachment and lack of availability, combined with a slightly mean, manipulative streak made her the perfect accessory for my tattered esteem.
Living out of town she often convinced me to skip lessons so we could hang out and listen to records back at my parents’ empty house. She would obediently take off her shoes on arrival at the house, but then later struggle to fasten them back up whenever we were required to walk the short distance back to school. We both knew the routine, Lucy would provide a feeble excuse as to why she was unable to lace them back up properly and I would be required to gently prise each foot into the shoe in the manner of the subservient serf I had gladly become, spending as long as I possibly could to get each bow just right. It was a game which provided both of us with a great deal of enjoyment. Lucy sat provocatively on the edge of a tall kitchen stool, while I floundered around by her ankles pretending not to be at all aware of her lovely legs.
As you can imagine, I was thrilled to be asked to go to camping with her and a couple of the other girls from the newsagents, to Robin Hoods Bay during the Easter break. This would turn out to be the trip wher
e I lost my virginity, although as ever, the landmark event would happen on Lucy’s own demanding terms. On this much anticipated evening, I’d been granted permission to spend the night inside her tent. The proviso was that I understood as soon as any other lads arrived during the next few days I would have to vacate the tent and find somewhere else to stay. The reason, which was spelt out to me in very clear language, was in case she fancied any of the new lads. During our first fumble together in her tiny tent, Lucy laughed her way through all my clumsy attempts at pleasuring her.
“I do hope you’re going to be up to this, I’m starting to feel a little horny.” Lucy said.
“Course I am, now what is it you want me to do next?” I asked.
“Well, I’m not on the pill and hate using Durex, so you are going to have to remember to pull out”
“What?”
“Pull out – you know, withdraw at the last minute so I don’t get pregnant”
“I’ve never done it like this so you’ll have to…”
“No Mr Virgin, you mean you’ve never done it at all. I’ll show you how to put it in, but it has to be down to you to know when to pull out. Keep it going for as long as you can, but as soon as you feel like you are about to come inside me, pull it straight out. Don’t hang about either ‘cause if you’ve never done it before it’s not likely to take very long.” Before adding “You do at least know what it feels like to come don’t you?”
Since Lucy had only just quashed her own ‘phantom foetus’ rumour which had been the hot topic at school all term, I was quite relieved that she’d even remembered to consider contraception. While the unreliable method in question probably put far more pressure on me, I didn’t mind in the slightest – the promise of one brief moment of tenderness was enough. Soon I was overwhelmed by the significance of the moment, while she lay on her back singing the chorus to the Stones’ The Last Time, quietly (but with lots of intonation on the word ‘last’) in my ear just to let me know this situation would probably never happen again.
What I didn’t anticipate was that the ‘pulling out’ method would create such a sticky mess. Lucy on the other hand, was completely un-phased by the outcome. As soon as our short lived embrace was over, she reached out across the tent, picked up one of her own tops for a split second then discarded it in favour of a friend’s prized tee shirt she’d just borrowed for the night. In one precise scooping movement she wiped her lily white stomach down with all the familiarity of a city centre barmaid being tasked with clearing another dozen mucky tables. Job done.
Always thinking of others, Lucy even had the grace to provide what she called full, fair and fast feedback. She took no time to rate my performance, ranking it against the glut of other lads she’d been with. Instead of being upset by the immediacy of these post coital comments, I relished every humiliating description of my own ineptitude, like a needy child pleased to be in receipt of some bona fide attention. I was delighted to simply be lying next to the half-naked Lucy. My awkward attempts were inevitably scored very poorly and positioned (with each embarrassing reason celebrated by Lucy to authenticate her marking scheme) right next to the bottom of her long list. My ‘next to last’ result didn’t matter, I was over the moon I hadn’t actually been considered the most atrocious person she’d ever slept with. In typical low-esteem fashion, I forgot to ask what I should to do to improve my performance and instead wanted to know all about the poor lad who’d come last – just precisely what had he done or not done to achieve his ‘last in a very long list’ accolade?
4. Indelible Pen
The first time I ever saw Pennie Fenton was because of Lucy. This was always going to be the case. After all, it was Lucy’s role to prepare the way for Pennie. She’d always referred to Pennie in a reverential way and this made me intrigued to discover what she was like. The date was Saturday June 30 1979. Andrew Hoare, Smithy, Paul and I had all been invited round to Lucy’s house to celebrate the end of our exams. I was surprised to have been included in the invitation and then excited when I heard the infamous Pennie Fenton was going to be there.
On arrival, I was gutted to see Lucy back on good terms with Neil. I tried hard to avoid catching her eye as I glanced over enviously at them intertwined in the middle of the sofa. Just to their left, nestled on the arm of the sofa was Pennie Fenton. From the moment I entered the room I sensed she was there. Although there were plenty of unfamiliar faces present, I recognised her immediately. It is said you can’t miss what you’ve never had, yet at that moment, I realised I’d missed her during all the years building up to that day. She was immaculately presented and reminded me of a 1960s waif. Both were dainty, with slender frames and the whitest skin imaginable. Just like a fashion model, Pennie was a little taller than I’d expected. Since no-one I’d arrived with had met her before I kept my distance, remembering how awkward I was at breaking the ice with new people. Recognising that she appeared to be somewhat flirtatious, I decided to avoid direct conversation, concerned that my under-confidence may be exposed. I was initially wary that someone apparently so worldly-wise might reveal I had nothing of value to talk about.
When, later in the afternoon I did eventually pluck up the courage to go over and introduce myself, my nose began to bleed. This didn’t seem important at the time, but looking back it now seems to be a rather foreboding response. I’d had loads of nose bleeds as a young child, but hadn’t experienced any problems for years following the cauterization of the inside of my nose by my old friends at Blackpool Hospital. I had no idea of the significance I’d later impose on this extreme reaction. Instead, I ignored this symbolic ‘red flag’ and shuffled both of my embarrassed feet into Lucy’s kitchen while pinching the bridge of my nose. For almost an hour, I was effectively marooned in there. Stuck next to the sink, re-applying one cold compress after another, I prayed for the bleeding to stop. It was so frustrating. Even through closed panel kitchen doors, I could tell that most of my friends had soon built up the courage to go over and meet Pennie. By the time the gathering was drawing to a close, I could definitely hear Andrew, Paul and Smithy all attempting to recite the wittiest of Joe’s offbeat jokes as they vied for her attention.
On the walk home, observations about Pennie dominated the conversation. I listened intently, intrigued to find out what everyone else thought about her.
“She wasn’t what I expected,” said Paul.
“What were you expecting?” asked Andrew, curious as to the image he’d constructed.
“I don’t know, but she was just… different. Probably softer - a bit less serious.”
“I think I’d heard Debbie go on about her so many times, I’d got a picture in my mind as to what she’d be like,” replied Paul.
At this point, I felt compelled to join in. “And, for those of us stuck in the bloody kitchen for the entire duration, while you were all sucking up to her, tell me, what was she like?”
“Hot!” shouted Smithy, before being shot down by Paul.
“You know, you’re a real prat sometimes Smithy – ‘hot’ makes you sound like you’re twelve. “
“Just ignore him,” Paul continued. “I’ll agree that she was … interesting.”
“A bit … out there,” Andrew added, flicking his left arm into the air. “I can see why people enjoy having her around, but reckon you’d get fed up with her after a while.”
“I’d never get sick of her,” defended Smithy, clearly smitten. “I thought she was great fun. Hey, why don’t we invite Lucy and Pennie over on Friday nights? It’d be a right laugh.”
Before any decision could be made about this, it was time for me to take my turning home. Now walking alone, I continued to reflect on the party. I concluded my first encounter with Pennie Fenton probably hadn’t left the same impression on me as it had on everyone else. What I did manage to take away was a blood stained shirt and a rather unsettling (and still unexplained) sense of déjà-vu.
Andrew turned out to be strongly against inviting anyone else ove
r on a Friday, although Pennie did appear at a few other parties over the summer invariably arriving with Lucy. I’d often catch sight of her and sometimes managed to secure a peripheral role in a conversation she was contributing to, but never really felt I connected with her. The one day I managed to spend any prolonged time with Pennie turned out to be the last occasion I’d see her for about seven years.
Following a solo shift at the newsagents, Lucy’s partner in crime and best buddy Bronwen was at a loose end. She contacted me to see if she could pop round to my house and asked me invite Joe Morrit. In return she would find out if Pennie wanted to come along. While Lucy was callous, selfish and often misguided, she was also relatively harmless. Her friend on the other hand was a total fruitcake. She was the girl who sneaked a half bottle of vodka to every lesson she was unable to skip. Lucy may have pushed boundaries and tested her luck at school, but Bronwen genuinely knew no limits whatsoever. If Lucy skated skilfully around institutional rules and procedures, her best friend bulldozered her way through every restriction, invariably spending most of her time in detention. Bronwen was instantly recognisable. At seventeen she was already taller than most of the male teachers at school. On her ungainly frame, all clothes looked just a little bit too small, which itself had the effect of making her look even more statuesque. She had a cute little snub nose which was framed by her badly cut, raggedy blonde hair. She was definitely attractive, but seemed to deliberately do everything she could not to be.
Drowning in the Shallow End Page 4
