by Jo Verity
Miriam laughed. ‘What are you on about?’
‘Rugby’s just an excuse for boys to touch each other up. It’s a well-known fact.’
Miriam watched as her best friend leaned toward the mirror, fussing with the flicked-up ends of her hair. Scowling and pouting. Checking lipstick and mascara. She’d given up measuring herself against Frankie. Blond hair that stayed where it was supposed to. Neat nose. Slim ankles. Size four feet – D-fitting.
‘Let’s get back,’ Frankie said. ‘Barbara’s been making eyes at Bing all evening. Sly cow.’
On Saturday evenings they came to Betty Hudson’s School of Ballroom and Latin Dance. Not to learn to foxtrot or tango (although Miriam had convinced her parents this would be an asset) but for the ‘modern free’ which came after the soft-drinks break. This boiled down to a selection of singles played, full blast, on an ugly but efficient record player. Hardly cutting-edge stuff but it gave them the opportunity to flirt. To hold sweaty hands. To rub against each other. To become aware of the lumps and bumps that lay beneath their Saturday best. To get a hint of mysteries yet to be revealed.
Although Miriam wasn’t keen on these febrile Saturday evenings, she was conscious that friendships were forged through collective experience. Friday evening youth club. A Saturday job. A place in the tennis team. But she was excluded from these activities because she wasn’t released to join her friends until after lunch on Saturdays. This made coming to Betty’s all the more important. Frankie called her a ninny for putting up with the curfew. Told her she was old enough to decide how she lived her life. But Miriam had watched her father and Danny fight over the self same issues until things became so bad her brother stopped coming home. She couldn’t put them through that again.
The girls linked arms and made their way to the far corner of the hall where the others – Bing, Barbara, Colin, Little Pete, Emms, Lisa and Judith – were standing in a loose circle. The boys were laughing about something, and the girls were laughing because the boys were laughing. Frankie uncoupled herself from Miriam and took her place at Bing’s side, standing close to him, their arms touching.
Neil Sedaka was next up and Frankie took Bing’s hand and dragged him onto the dance floor. Lisa and Judith were already jiving together. They spent hours rehearsing their routine – a sequence of quirky, jerky manoeuvres repeated with single-minded precision and blank faces. Without debate, the rest of the group paired up, leaving Miriam to the mercy of Emms.
Glyn Emms – a gangly, narrow-faced boy with chewed finger nails – had made it known that he ‘wouldn’t mind going out with’ Miriam Edlin. Of course he hadn’t said as much to her. Such propositions were conveyed by a third party (in this case Colin) who acted as go-between until the matter was resolved, one way or the other. She wasn’t flattered by Emms’s attention. He wasn’t desperate to go out with her. He was desperate to go out with a girl. Any girl – as long as she had lips and breasts and something mysterious in her knickers. That’s what all these boys were after. It was demoralising and depressing.
‘Dance?’ Emms directed his invitation over her shoulder, as if he were talking to someone a few feet behind her.
With no good reason to refuse, she nodded and they spent the next three minutes dancing a foot apart, avoiding each other’s eyes. As they danced, Miriam edged nearer Frankie and Bing, grimacing and mouthing ‘help’ when she caught her friend’s eye.
As soon as the music stopped, she pulled Frankie to one side. ‘Keep talking. Don’t let Emms muscle in.’
Emms was watching her, a soppy smile on his face. ‘Oh, God,’ she said. ‘He winked at me.’
‘He’s such a creep,’ Frankie said. ‘I’ll get Bing to warn him off.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know. He could tell him you’re… you’re… frigid. That should do it.’
Miriam wasn’t clear what frigid meant but she knew it wasn’t complimentary. To be on the safe side, when the last dance started up – the smoochy number that established pairings for the coming week – she made sure to be in the ‘Ladies’.
They spilled out of Betty’s and headed for the coffee bar next to the bus station. For years and years it had been a seedy little café where people went to keep warm while they waited for a bus. Recently it had changed ownership and had been fitted out with leatherette seats and a flashy Italian coffee machine, and now it was called ‘Presto’.
They ambled along, Miriam and Frankie arm in arm, Bing and Emms lagging at the back, probably discussing her frigidity.
‘Is Bing okay with this?’ she said.
‘Of course,’ Frankie said. ‘My every wish is his command. Besides, he thinks you’re too good for Emms.’
She was surprised to hear this. As Frankie’s best friend, she was often in Paul’s company but she couldn’t recall ever having a conversation with him. In fact she’d always felt intimidated by Paul – ‘Bing’ – Crosby, the golden boy of the Lower Sixth. As well as being handsome, he was clever. And sporty. And he’d passed his Grade 7 piano exam.
At the coffee bar they squeezed into adjacent booths. Miriam sat with Frankie, Bing and Colin. Emms was on the next table, facing away from her. (Whatever Bing had told him had done the trick.) She wasn’t keen on coffee but she ordered it just the same, spooning in enough brown sugar to offset its bitterness. Again the boys dominated the conversation, making jokes she didn’t always understand but laughed at anyway. It was fun being here in the coffee-scented warmth with her friends, knowing that Bing thought she was too good for Emms.
Frankie nudged her, nodding towards two young men who had come. They were older – perhaps in their early twenties. One wore his dark hair in a ponytail. The other had a moth-eaten crew cut. Both were wearing donkey jackets and the orange boots favoured by workmen and art students. Crew-cut sat at the table across the aisle, reading a tattered paperback, while Ponytail went to the counter.
‘Time for another coffee, I think,’ Frankie said and, manoeuvring past Bing, she went up to the counter and stood behind the young man as he placed his order.
Miriam saw her friend tap the man on his shoulder. He turned around and, smiling, took something from his pocket, swapping it for whatever she had in her hand. She’d asked him for change. Then they were chatting away as if they were old friends. Bing was grumbling about his father’s refusal to pay for driving lessons, talking too loudly, pretending not to notice that his girlfriend was flirting with a stranger.
‘Where’s your coffee?’ Bing said when Frankie returned empty-handed.
‘Changed my mind,’ she said. ‘I’m allowed to, aren’t I?’
Miriam was in her bedroom when the doorbell rang.
‘Someone to see you,’ her mother called.
She hurried down, expecting to find Frankie in the hall. But it was Bing.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Am I disturbing you?’
‘I was getting ahead with some reading for next week,’ she said. ‘Nothing that can’t wait.’
‘Can I get your friend something to drink?’ Her mother directed the question at her as though Bing weren’t there.
‘Not for me, thanks,’ Bing said. ‘I’m Paul, by the way. Paul Crosby. I’m at school with Miriam.’
‘She’s never mentioned you.’
‘Paul does science, Mum,’ Miriam said. ‘We don’t have lessons together.’
‘Ahhh. So you’re going to be a scientist.’
Bing cleared his throat. ‘Actually I’m hoping to become a doctor.’
‘A doctor. Goodness me.’ Her mother’s lips, squeezed in a prim smile, conveyed her scepticism.
Miriam shot her a go-away glare but she stood her ground.
‘Miriam very kindly lent me bus fare the other day,’ he said. ‘I was passing so I thought I’d drop it in.’
He jangled the coins his pocket which appeared to satisfy her mother. ‘I must get on,’ she said and disappeared into the kitchen.
‘I don’t think she likes me,’ he said.
>
‘It’s not you. She’s the same with everyone.’
Bing ran his hand through his hair. ‘You can guess why I’m here.’
She nodded towards the kitchen where her mother was clattering pans. ‘Let’s go outside.’
She slipped on her coat and they went into the front garden and sat on the wall.
‘Frankie and I have had a bit of a set-to,’ he said. ‘I assumed she would have told you.’
When they’d left the coffee bar she’d seen Frankie and Bing standing in the corner of the bus station and it was obvious they were arguing. ‘No. I haven’t spoken to her today,’ she said.
He swivelled to face her, the dressing on his eyebrow making him look simultaneously heroic and vulnerable. ‘Apparently I’m boring. And immature. And uncreative – whatever that means. Oh, and possessive. I almost forgot possessive.’ He looked up and down the street. ‘Fancy a walk?’
‘Okay,’ she said, suddenly and unaccountably wanting to spend time with this boy whom she scarcely knew.
‘Shouldn’t you tell your mum?’ he said.
It was considerate of him to suggest it, but her mother would probably raise an objection and she didn’t want to risk it.
‘It’s fine,’ she said.
He levered himself off the wall and dropped down onto the pavement. ‘Where shall we go?’
Wanting to prove she had a mind of her own she said ‘Let’s go to Bellevue Park.’
‘The park it is.’ He offered her his hand as she jumped down. ‘Blimey. You’re freezing.’ He pulled a pair of woolly gloves from the pocket of his duffle coat. ‘Here.’
They walked, and talked about Frankie. He wanted to know about the Slattery family and what Frankie was planning to do when she left school. She was surprised how little he knew about her considering they’d been together for months. She answered as best she could, careful not to let slip anything that showed Frankie in an unfavourable light – or herself to be an unreliable friend.
Bellevue Park – a grand Victorian endeavour – dropped down the hill towards the canal. It was a popular destination for a post-Sunday lunch stroll, offering a tropical greenhouse, ponds with water lilies, goldfish and miniature waterfalls, tennis courts and a bandstand. A notice stated that the play area was for ‘under twelves’ but the park keeper was nowhere to be seen and she and Bing sat on adjacent swings, swaying back and forth whilst, all around, children slid and jumped and twirled and yelled.
They urged their swings higher. Leaning backwards, legs extended; bending forwards, legs tucked under. The swings were soon out of synch, and they exchanged snippets of conversation as they flew past each other.
‘I used to come here with my brother,’ she said. ‘Once he got flung off the roundabout and broke his collar bone.’
‘You have a brother?’
‘Yes. Danny. He’s five years older than me.’
‘What does he do?’ he said.
The truth was, she had no idea what Danny did, or where he was. The last time he wrote, he was in California ‘with a group of like-minded pilgrims’. (When her father read this he’d hit the roof.) That was months ago.
‘He’s travelling,’ – as she flew forward. ‘You have two older sisters,’ – as she plummeted back.
‘How d’you know?’
‘Frankie told me.’
He dragged his feet on the tarmac, bringing his swing to a standstill, waiting for her to do the same. ‘How come you two are friends?’ he said. ‘I don’t get it.’
She could ask him the same question but from what she’d just heard he and Frankie weren’t friends. Not friend friends, anyway. So she didn’t, instead describing her first nervous day at grammar school. How she and Frankie had ended up sitting together. How, although they weren’t the least alike, neither of them quite fitted in. Frankie – opinionated and rebellious. She – a bit ‘square’ and from a different culture. How they complemented and supported each other. She told him how she sometimes did Frankie’s homework for her and recounted several of her friend’s crazier escapades, embellishing the stories to make them more amusing. She made him laugh, and she liked that she could do that.
‘Watch out. Parkie.’ Bing pointed at the park keeper who was blowing his whistle and heading in their direction. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her off the swing seat and they ran, laughing, out of the play area, along the terrace towards the bandstand, keeping going until they could no longer hear the shrill whistle.
Monday morning, and the girls’ cloakroom was buzzing with weekend gossip.
‘Guess who I was with last night,’ Frankie said as they were changing into their indoor shoes.
Miriam shrugged. ‘Who?’
‘Remember the guy in the coffee bar? The one with the ponytail?’ Frankie rolled her eyes. ‘And guess what? He’s got a car.’
‘But Bing? You can’t just—’
‘Mim. We’re seventeen. We can do whatever we like.’
Throughout the week, Frankie talked of little else but Gregg. She’d cheated on previous boyfriends but never on Bing – not to Miriam’s knowledge, anyway. She couldn’t help wondering why a man like Gregg would bother with a schoolgirl. But she said nothing, and it was several days before she discovered that Frankie had told him she was nineteen and had a job as a secretary in a solicitor’s office.
‘So what about Bing?’ Miriam said.
‘What about Bing?’
‘He’s bound to find out.’
‘Only if someone tells him.’ Frankie said.
The week trundled by. Miriam saw Bing in the distance – twice – and he smiled and raised his hand but they didn’t speak. When she asked Frankie if she was going to Betty’son Saturday, she came back with a vague ‘That depends.’
‘On…?
‘Whether I get a better offer. And I’ve been thinking, Mim. Maybe Gregg could fix you up with his friend.’
‘Absolutely not.’
Frankie grinned. ‘Only joking. Will you go?’
She’d never gone to Betty’s without Frankie. The other girls could be stand-offish and, when it came to the boys, she lacked Frankie’s confidence.
‘Depends,’ she said.
‘You should,’ Frankie said. ‘You can keep Bing company.’
On Saturdays, Frankie worked on the counter at Swift’s Bakery and, as soon as the Edlins had finished lunch, Miriam went to find her, loitering outside until the shop was empty.
‘Did you get your better offer?’ she said.
‘Indeed I did.’ Frankie glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. ‘We’re going to a party. Can I tell Mum I’m staying at yours?’
Mrs Slattery was a careworn woman – nothing at all like Frankie. Mr Slattery had walked out on the family (Frankie had two younger brothers) before the girls met and Frankie never spoke of him. Miriam guessed this went a long way to explaining her friend’s two-fingers approach to life. Danny’s leaving had taken its toll on the Edlins but, if anything, it had made them cling together more tightly. Grow more inward-looking. But it might have been very different had her father been the one to leave.
‘I don’t know…’
‘Come on, Mim. What’s your problem?’
‘My problem? I rather think it’s your problem. What if there’s an emergency and your mother phones my house? And there’s Bing. What if he asks where you are?’
‘What if… what if an asteroid – or do I mean a meteor – smashes into the earth?’
The shop door opened and two women came in, curtailing the girls’ conversation.
Frankie dropped a jam doughnut in a paper bag and handed it to Miriam. ‘I’ll ring you when I finish here.’
The class was ten minutes into the foxtrot when Miriam arrived. She’d hung on at home as long as she could in case Frankie changed her mind.
Pairings for the ‘ballroom’ session were more to do with matching heights than romantic intent. If you didn’t sort yourself out, Betty did it for you. This evening, girls we
re in short supply and, as soon as she walked into the hall, Betty pushed her towards a boy she’d not seen here before. He was nondescript and had nothing to say for himself but he had a good sense of rhythm and was able to count in his head – quite a bonus. As they moved around the room – slow, slow, quick, quick – she took stock. Lisa and Colin. Judith and Little Pete. Emms, standing in the corner. And was that Bing over there, with Barbara?
The foxtrot led on to the waltz, and the waltz to the tango. Everyone kept the same partners. When it came to the half-time break, the boy thanked her and wandered out of the door.
‘Where’s Frankie tonight?’ Lisa said.
She’d rehearsed her story. ‘Babysitting. It came up at the last minute.’
‘Well someone’s pleased she’s not here.’ Lisa inclined her head towards Barbara.
Miriam gazed at Bing, willing him to look her way. Almost at once he glanced at her, smiled and came to join her. She felt dizzy with the nearness of him.
‘I won’t ask where she is,’ he said.
‘She has these mad moments, Bing. I’m sure she’ll come to her—’
‘I don’t want to talk about Frankie.’
Clattering signalled the lifting of the roller shutter and with that everyone began drifting towards the counter where refreshments were on sale.
