by Sandy Taylor
Mary giggled, and Elton grinned at her. ‘You’d never catch me with my head under a sink!’ he said.
That’s because your head’s too big to fit under a sink, I thought. I sipped my coffee. It was milky and sweet and delicious.
‘What are you doing now, Elton?’ Mary asked, holding her cup in both hands and blinking at Elton. There was a tiny, pale moustache of froth on her upper lip.
‘I work in the offices at the cake factory, but it’s just a stopgap.’
‘Our Elton’s going to be a rock star,’ said Ralph.
‘A rock star!’ said Mary, her eyes nearly popping out of her head. Some of her coffee slopped over the rim of her cup and went onto the table, but she didn’t even notice.
Elton ignored this. He was trying to look cool, but you could tell he was enjoying the attention.
‘I’m in a band,’ he said. ‘We’re called Brainless.’
Figures, I thought.
‘I remember when you won that talent show at the Dome,’ said Mary.
‘He came third,’ I said.
‘Well, you should have won,’ said Mary, ‘you were the best one there by a mile.’
Sometimes Mary said things that hurt me. I knew she didn’t mean to and I really tried not to mind, but sometimes it was difficult. That day, she seemed to have forgotten that I was in that very same talent show, and I had only entered the contest because Mary wanted to get to know Elton better. As it happened, he was pretty good, but he was beaten into third place by ‘The Betty Bounce Dance Academy’ doing a piece called ‘Woodland Frolics’ and a fat girl singing ‘Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam.’ Personally I thought she would have made a better planet. I got highly commended for singing ‘The Merry Merry Pipes of Pan’ unaccompanied.
‘You’re right,’ said Elton, ‘I should have won. I thought at the time it was a fix.’
‘You were amazing!’ said Mary.
‘Thanks,’ said Elton. He was relaxing and smiling at Mary now she was telling him how great he was and she was almost fainting with the effort of trying not to show how pleased she was. She kept glancing at me under her fringe to see if I had noticed that he was looking at her.
‘The band’s playing at the Whisky A Go Go on Friday night,’ said Ralph. ‘Would you like to come and see them?’
‘We’d love to come,’ said Mary. ‘Wouldn’t we, Dottie?’
I wanted to see more of Ralph, I knew that, but I knew my mum wouldn’t like me going into a nightclub – especially not the Whisky A Go Go. It had a reputation. Things went on in there that were sometimes hinted at in the newspapers. In fact, only a year earlier, the owner of the club murdered his wife. I didn’t have to tell her I was going of course, but me and Mum were very close and I didn’t like going behind her back.
Ralph noticed my hesitation.
‘You could think about it, Dottie,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to decide right now.’
‘She doesn’t have to think about it,’ said Mary. ‘We’re going.’
I frowned at her. She pulled a face back at me.
‘Are you mods or rockers?’ said Elton, leaning back in his chair so that it balanced precariously on two legs.
‘We’re neither,’ said Mary.
‘Well, you must be one or the other,’ said Elton.
‘Why?’ asked Mary.
Elton righted the chair, banging it against the table as is landed back on four legs so that all our coffees slopped onto the saucers.
You could see that Elton was lost for words. ‘Because everyone is,’ he mumbled.
‘Well that’s the whole trouble,’ said Mary. ‘We don’t want to be like everyone else. Me and Dottie are individualists.’
This was news to me, but I liked the idea of being an individualist and I was really proud of Mary for saying it instead of trying to impress Elton.
‘What are you then?’ said Mary.
‘A rocker, of course. You wouldn’t catch me dead wearing those poofy mod clothes and riding those pathetic excuses for bikes.’
I looked at Ralph. ‘How about you?’
‘Oh, I can’t afford to be either.’
‘He’s a rocker in his heart,’ said Elton, draping his arm around Ralph’s shoulder.
‘I just can’t afford the uniform,’ said Ralph sticking out his bottom lip and trying to look pathetic. We all laughed, even Elton, which made him look friendlier. ‘So, what clubs do you go to?’ said Elton.
‘We don’t,’ I said, ‘we just come down here to the cafe.’
‘Not very with it then.’
‘We’d sooner be without it, thanks,’ said Mary.
‘But you’ll try to come to the Whisky on Saturday?’
‘Why not?’ said Mary.
‘And you, Dottie?’ asked Ralph. ‘Are you ready to branch out?’
‘Of course she is,’ said Mary. ‘If anyone is in need of a bit of branching out, it’s Dottie.’
‘Good,’ said Ralph, smiling at me.
I smiled back and my heart gave a little jump. I felt my cheeks flushing with heat, and had to stare down into my cup, but I couldn’t stop the happy feeling bubbling up inside me.
‘Can anyone smell fish?’ asked Elton.
Mary’s Diary
Dear Diery
Today I met a girl called Dotty. Shes got a rownd face and rownd glasses She shared her sweets with me
She is going to be my bestest frend forever and ever till the day I die
I am not going to die for a long time I mite be a hundred
Tatty bye diery
Mary Pickles
Aged 8 and a half.
Chapter Four
I’d been Mary’s best friend and she’d been mine since we were both little girls. People used to laugh at us, the big fat kid in the glasses and the tiny little one who looked like butter wouldn’t melt. I was usually described as ‘no oil painting’ and Mary was so pretty that complete strangers used to come up to her and tweak her cheeks and call her a ‘little angel!’
The differences between us never bothered Mary and me. We never even thought about them. It was like that from the first day we met.
It was the start of the summer holidays and my dad had given me a handful of coins and sent me off to the rank of shops on the edge of the estate to buy a packet of Woodbines for him. He’d said I could get myself some sweets or a comic with the change. I was jingling the coins in my pocket and skipping a bit and thinking about what to buy with my windfall. I’d just got to the top of the twitten, which is the alleyway that runs between our road and the road that backs onto it, when I saw this girl hanging upside down on the railings. I couldn’t actually see her face because it was covered by her skirt; all I could see were two skinny legs and a pair of navy blue knickers.
‘What are you staring at?’ she said. I looked around to see who she was talking to and realised that I was the only one there.
‘Are you talking to me?’
‘Well, I can only see one pair of shoes. Unless you’ve got a couple of kids on your back.’
‘No, it’s just me,’ I said.
She suddenly swung down from the bars, and when she was the right way up, I found myself looking into the bluest pair of eyes I had ever seen. I’d lived on See Saw Lane all my life and I’d never seen her before. The girl rubbed the bridge of her nose with her finger and said: ‘I’m Mary Pickles, what’s your name?’
‘Dorothy Perks,’ I said. ‘My mum named me after Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, but everyone calls me Dottie.’
The girl stared at me and then said, ‘Do you wanna be best friends?’
I’d never had a best friend in my whole life. I’d always been what you’d call a hanger-on. I sort of hung around on the edge, hoping someone would ask me to join in their game, and most of the time they didn’t. I prayed every night for a best friend. Well, that and a rocking horse. I had kind of accepted that I would never get a rocking horse, but here was this pretty little girl saying we could be best friends.
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‘Yes, please,’ I said.
‘What school do you go to?’
‘Whitehawk,’ I said.
‘That’s where I’m going,’ she said. ‘I expect we’ll be in the same class.’
‘How old are you?’ I asked.
‘Eight and a half " she said, taking two gobstoppers out of her pocket and handing me one. ‘I’ve only sucked that one a couple of times, it’s still got a lot of sucking left in it.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, putting it in my mouth. I had a good suck and then said, ‘I haven’t seen you round here before.’
‘That’s cos we’ve only just moved here.’
‘Oh.’
‘What’s it like?’
‘What, round here?’
‘No, school.’
I didn’t know what to say to her. I mean, it was just school, and you had to go there every day whether you wanted to or not.
‘Well?’
‘It’s okay, I suppose.’
‘That bad eh?’
‘I get teased.’
‘Why?’
‘Cos I’m fat.’
‘Well they won’t tease you any more, Dottie Perks,’ she said, grinning.
‘Won’t they?’
‘Not if I’ve got anything to do with it.’
We smiled at each other, and in that moment it was as if we both knew that something wonderful and special had just happened.
‘I’d better get my dad’s fags,’ I said.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘See you in a minute.’
I ran over to the shop to get Dad’s ciggies and choose my sweets. I had a whole threepence to spend and you could get a lot of sweets for threepence, so I was humming and hawing about what to buy. Black Jacks made your tongue all gooey and black, but gobstoppers lasted for ages. The people in the queue behind me started tutting, but Mr Orme said ‘The child is a paying customer the same as you ladies, and she has every right to choose her purchases carefully.’
I gave him a big grin and settled on a mixture of Black Jacks and gobstoppers.
‘Could you put them in two bags please,’ I said.
‘Certainly, madam,’ said Mr Orme, winking at me.
I stuffed Dad’s fags in my pocket and walked back to the top of the alley, where Mary was still hanging off the railings.
‘I bought you some sweets,’ I said shyly. Mary swung back up and perched herself on the top bar.
‘Thanks,’ she said. She dived into the bag, pulled out a Black Jack, and unwrapped it. She concentrated hard on chewing for a bit, then said: ‘Do you want to hang upside down next to me? There’s plenty of room if I shift along a bit.’
I looked at the railings and tried to imagine what it would feel like. ‘No, thanks,’ I said.
‘Why not?’
‘My legs are too fat, I’d fall off.’
‘You ought to try it.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s like looking at the world from an upside down sort of place.’
‘I’d just as soon look at it the right way up,’ I said.
‘You don’t know what you’re missing.’
I did a bit of hopscotch on the pavement to change the subject.
‘I’d better go,’ I said. ‘My dad will be wanting his ciggies.’
‘I’ll call for you later if you like. What number do you live at?’
‘Fifteen See Saw Lane.’
‘I live at number forty six.’
‘See you later,’ I said and ran down the twitten. I had a little bubble of excitement in my tummy because suddenly the world seemed brighter and happier and more fun. I was halfway down the alley when I heard Mary calling my name.
‘Dottie!’
I called back: ‘Mary!’ and we continued to call to each other until I was at the other end.
‘Dottie!’
‘Mary!’
‘Dottie!’
‘Mary!’
‘Dottie!’
We called to each other for the rest of our lives.
Mary’s Diary
Dear Diery,
When I grow up I am going to be a famus artist
I am reely good at drawrin.
I like my old skool better than my new one.
The only thing I like about my new one is sittin next to my best friend Dotty Perks.
The art teecher is bonkers
so is the gografy teecher.
Tatty bye diery
Love from
Mary Pickles
Aged 8 and a half ish.
Chapter Five
Mary Pickles didn’t like school. Well, I didn’t like it much either. In fact, I didn’t know anyone who liked it, except perhaps Betty Baxter who was teacher’s pet and ate sandwiches with the crusts cut off. Mary was really good at art but she didn’t like the art teacher. Miss Philips brought in some tatty old jug from home, stuck a few weeds in it and told us to draw it, then leant back in her chair and read a magazine and ate sweets that she kept in her drawer. Every November we had to do a painting of bonfire night.
One rainy afternoon I was happily engrossed, using every colour in the paint pots, trying to create something that vaguely resembled a bonfire. I was concentrating really hard on getting just the right mix of colours to shoot up into the night sky.
By the time I had finished it, I thought it wasn’t half bad; I might have overdone it on the red paint, but Mary had hogged the orange, so I didn’t have much choice.
‘What do you think?’ I said, pushing my masterpiece across the desk.
‘How many times have you drawn that exact same picture?’ said Mary.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘That picture. How many times have you painted it?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, I do,’ she said. ‘You’ve painted it every bloody bonfire night for the last four years.’
‘I suppose I have,’ I said, giggling. ‘What have you painted then?’
She pushed her paper across to me.
I stared at the painting and then at Mary. ‘It’s a plate of beans on toast,’ I said.
‘That’s what I had for my tea on bonfire night.’
Well that explained the orange paint. ‘She’s going to murder you.’
‘Shouldn’t think she even looks at them. I bet that as soon as we leave the room she throws the whole lot in the bin.’
‘Not Betty Baxter’s, she sticks hers on the wall.’
‘Betty Baxter can’t paint for toffee.’
That really surprised me, because one whole wall in our classroom looked like a Betty Baxter private art collection.
I peered at Mary through my paint-spattered glasses, ‘You’re a very strange girl, do you know that?’
‘Oh, I do hope so,’ she said, smiling.
And then there was geography, Mary’s second favourite subject.
One day after a particularly boring lesson, me and Mary were sitting in our favourite spot, under the big tree on the school field. Mary was in a bad mood.
‘I want to learn about countries,’ she said. ‘Not bloody rocks.’
‘What are you on about?’
‘I’m on about bloody rocks, it’s all she ever goes on about. Big rocks, little rocks, black rocks, red rocks, blah, blah, blah. I’m going to travel round the world one day, Dottie, and I want to learn more about countries than what bloody rocks they’ve got.’
I had never really thought much about lessons. I just went into the classroom and did whatever I was told to do, then I forgot all about it. I’d never once thought, Oh, I wish she had taught us about this, or that. I had never met anyone like Mary before. She was still going on.
‘I mean, if I wanted to be some kind of rockologist, then I’d have a head start wouldn’t I? And when I wrote my first book about rocks, I’d give her a mention and say I couldn’t have done it without her.’
Mary was twisting her hair round and round her fingers. ‘You’re gonna get your hair all tangled up doi
ng that,’ I said.
‘But I don’t want to be a rockologist do I?’
‘What do you want to be then?’
‘A travelling artist.’
‘What’s that?’
Mary gave me one of her withering looks. ‘Think about it, Dottie.’
One day Mary put her hand up and said, ‘Miss? When did the Italian civil war start?’
‘That’s history, not geography, Mary,’ said Miss Flowers. ‘Get back to drawing your rocks.’
Mary leaned over and whispered in my ear, ‘I bet if I asked her how many rocks were thrown during the fighting, she’d know down to the last piece of grit.’
You see, Mary knew all about stuff like that, because she went down to the library every Saturday morning. I started going with her and I loved it there. It was only a small library, but it was really nice. It smelt kind of musty and it had a couple of old sofas in the children’s bit that you could curl up in and read the books. I always read the Famous Five books. ‘Five on a Treasure Island’ and ‘Five get into Trouble’ and the Malory Towers books about girls at boarding school. I couldn’t imagine sleeping at school instead of going home.
Mary said she’d outgrown the children’s section and asked the lady behind the desk if she could borrow some of the grown-up books. The lady said certainly not and batted her away as if she was some sort of annoying little fly.
‘People!’ said Mary.
‘Yes, people,’ I said, giggling.
‘Shush!’ said the lady behind the desk.
* * *
Mary was a really fast runner and she became sports captain for ‘Campian House’. She also played centre in netball. I couldn’t play any kind of sports because of my breathing, so I had to give out the balls and hoops and beanbags then clear up afterwards. That was what the bullying was all about. That and the fact that the medicine I had to take made me a bit on the plump side. All the bullying stopped once Mary became sports captain, because they knew that if they bullied me, Mary wouldn’t pick them for the team.
From the moment we met, Mary and I were inseparable; either she was at my house, or I was at hers. There wasn’t a lot of space at Mary’s house because she had six brothers, but, unlike me, she had her own room. It was only small, but it was all hers. Mary said her brothers were jealous because they were all crammed into two bedrooms. She put a sign on her door that said, ‘Private, GIRLS ONLY’, which annoyed them even more.
