Tickled Pink

by Christina Jones

  The organ burst into ‘Sabre Dance’. Everyone danced playing air guitars.

  Posy placed her fingers across his lips. ‘Don’t. Vanessa is great. She loves you and she’s playing this just right. We’ve got to do the same . . . and don’t look at me like that because I might just have to –’

  ‘Pose!’ Dom appeared at the bottom of Queen Mab’s steps. The lights reflected a trillion times in his rimless specs. ‘Sorry to interrupt, but Dad’s first on in Stars In Their Eyes. He’s being Meat Loaf, although we’re not supposed to know it’s him, and you’ve got to come and cheer him on.’

  ‘Yes, of course I have.’ She reluctantly wriggled out of Flynn’s arms. ‘See you later.’

  ‘You bet.’

  Inside the pub, Norrie had been totally transformed by Malvina. Up on the karaoke dais he was Meat Loaf. He had a long flowing straggly wig, and a leather waistcoat and motorcycling boots over his jeans. As soon as he started singing ‘Bat out of Hell’, with all the right movements, The Crooked Sixpence erupted.

  ‘God, he’s good,’ Lola mouthed as Posy slid behind the bar again. ‘Everything okay out there?’

  ‘So-so,’ Posy mouthed back, staring at her father with awed pride.

  Norrie was simply astounding again. He’d lost none of his oomph and certainly deserved the double standing ovation. As he came off stage Dilys and Dom hugged him and everyone tried to shake his hand. Posy flung her arms round his neck and told him he was a superstar.

  ‘Thanks, love . . .’ he beamed. ‘This has been the best day of my life.’

  Funny, Posy thought as she fought her way back to the bar, everyone had said that. It must be true, then.

  There was a rush for drinks as the vicar waited for the pub to calm down and then announced the Village People.

  ‘Who are they?’ Vanessa mimed as she undulated past Posy with a clutch of G&Ts.

  Posy shook her head. ‘No idea – oh, but look at them!’

  The Village People – cowboy, cop, Indian, construction worker, biker and GI – were absolutely authentic. Malvina, Posy reckoned, was a genius. The costumes and the make-up were one hundred per cent right.

  The pub roared and screamed in delight as the music kicked in and The Village People stomped, hands on hips, on to the stage and proceeded to perform a raucous version of ‘YMCA’ with all the arm movements, and even managed the perfectly coordinated macho dance routine.

  Lola was wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. ‘Stupendous!’ she yelled at Posy. ‘And the only way we’ll know who they are is to see who’s missing!’

  Posy glanced round the pub . . . Crikey! Surely not?

  The only familiar faces no longer visible were the three Pinks, Glad, Rose and Vi.

  ‘Er, I think it’s the Pinks and the coven.’

  ‘No way!’ Lola shook her head. ‘Dear God, they must all be over seventy-five! They’ll all need mouth-to-mouth . . . Oh, this is brilliant.’

  Steeple Fritton evidently thought so too. The applause as The Village People left the stage was absolutely deafening.

  Posy’s face ached from smiling, her arms ached from pulling pints, and her feet just ached. She wasn’t even thinking about her heart.

  ‘And now,’ the vicar was growing hoarse, ‘you may think there’s no way we can follow them! Well, I believe our next act will be able to do just that! Ladies and gentlemen – Adam Ant!’

  ‘Oh, wow, I always rated him!’ Vanessa clashed two bottles of Bacardi Breezer together in her excitement.

  ‘So did I,’ Posy admitted. ‘Although I was far too young to really appreciate him at the time, I loved the music when I was a kid, and he was definitely the most drop-dead sexy bloke around in the eighties. This should be good.’

  Instantly, the sensual rhythmic throb of Ant doubledrumming rocked the pub’s floorboards, and then, with a yell, the Adam lookalike leapt on to the stage.

  Dressed in skintight leather trousers, thigh-high boots, a white shirt slashed to the waist and a fancy highwayman’s coat, Adam preened and posed. His black hair was tied back, with just a few tendrils falling into his eyes, and adorned with odd bits of coloured beads and feathers. One long exotic earring hung to his shoulder and the elaborate make-up was perfect.

  Malvina had got it absolutely spot-on again.

  ‘Holy crap!’ Vanessa breathed. ‘Look at him!’

  Posy was looking. So was Lola. And every other woman in the pub. Sonia had even eased herself away from the Wrinkly Rocker.

  The pulsing staccato drumming was joined by a throbbing guitar bass line, then by a loud and jaunty brass section. Adam, all flawless made-up skin, heavily kohled eyes, pouty pale mouth, and with the trademark white slash across his cheeks, moved like he was making love.

  As one, Vanessa, Lola and Posy stopped serving and stared open-mouthed.

  ‘I think Pm being unfaithful . . .’ Lola gulped.

  ‘Me too, honey.’ Vanessa didn’t blink.

  Posy chewed her thumbnail in excitement. The hairs on her arms were on end. Her stomach had dissolved with lust. Everything inside shivered.

  The insistent intro halted for a split second, then Adam launched into the raunchy, toe-tapping ‘Goody Two Shoes’. Not only could he dance like a dream, his voice sent shudders of delight through Posy’s body.

  Amanda and Nikki and dozens of other girls were stampeding towards the stage.

  ‘Maybe he’s one of the guys from the Cressbeds,’ Posy muttered, not taking her eyes from him. ‘Amanda and Nikki have some gorgeous blokes living in their road.’

  ‘Not that gorgeous,’ Lola whispered. ‘We’d have noticed.’

  ‘Isn’t anyone else serving?’ Ritchie looked at them in disgust.

  ‘Shut up!!!’ Vanessa, Lola and Posy all yelled together.

  Hypnotized, Posy watched every sensual movement, listened to every perfectly executed erotic word. He was the most beautiful boy in the world and his performance was like a slow, perfect seduction.

  When the last note died away, Adam made a theatrical how, leapt off the stage as easily as he’d leapt on, and disappeared through the wall-to-wall throng. The pub, as one, stood on their chairs and clapped and screamed; roared and whistled.

  Amanda and Nikki and the other Fritton maidens galloped off in hopeful hot pursuit towards the lavatorial changing rooms.

  ‘He’ll be lucky to get outta there alive,’ Vanessa said, squirming away to join them. ‘Jeeze! What a guy!’

  ‘If I wasn’t a responsible, sensible, grown-up landlady I think I’d be in there with them,’ Lola groaned. ‘Mind you, I’m not sure he went that way. Posy, I said . . .’

  But Posy wasn’t listening. Ducking under the counter flap, she shoved her way through the erupting, applauding crowd and out of the pub.

  Nell and Jack were taking their break, sitting, arms round each other, on the front of the Limonaire. Queen Mab, still surrounded by hundreds of people, rocked slowly backwards and forwards in the illuminated darkness. Mr D and Mr B, grinning broadly and humming a duet of ‘Goody Two Shoes’, were just climbing down the steps, gingerly clutching empty Malibu glasses.

  Posy ignored everyone and hurtled through the crowds. She pulled herself on to Queen Mab’s foot plate, up the steps, jumped into the cab and stared at Flynn, very out of breath, and still dressed as Adam Ant.

  ‘Sussed.’ He held his arms open and grinned at her. ‘How did you know? I thought the full make-up and this –’ he flicked at the ornate hair braids, ‘were a great disguise.’

  ‘Not for a connoisseur like me. I’ve spent months looking at your face, watching you move. Sadly, I’ve also memorized every inch of your body, but I still wasn’t absolutely one hundred per cent sure . . .’ Posy stepped into his arms, took his beautiful face between her hands, and kissed him. ‘That was the most seriously sexy thing I have ever seen.’

  Flynn kissed her back, passionately, making love to her with his lips.

  Eventually, Posy looked up at him. ‘It’s really funny
kissing someone wearing more mascara than me and loads of lipstick.’

  ‘But not unpleasant?’

  ‘Nah . . . A huge turn on, actually. You’ll have to give me a private performance sometime.’ She smiled shakily into his dark, smudgy eyes and kissed him again. ‘Flynn Malone, I love you.’

  ‘Me – or Adam?’

  ‘You definitely, but Adam comes a pretty close second. You were phenomenal, how, I mean, when . . . ?’

  ‘That was down to split-second timing. I knew I had to be outta here and getting ready as soon as Meat Loaf went on – oh, you mean when did I learn the Adam Ant stuff?’ Flynn ran his fingers tantalizingly slowly up underneath the Madam Za-Za vest top. ‘Well, I was heavily into Insect Nation stuff in the eighties when I was a kid. I loved the New Romantics. And I was in all the musicals at high school. Adam always seemed to get the girls going, so I thought it’d be right for tonight. I did it for you.’

  Oh, wow. ‘So why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I wanted it to be a surprise, and I wasn’t sure if I could pull it off –’ he looked down into her eyes. ‘I love you, too. You know that, don’t you?’

  She nodded. She knew. And it still wouldn’t be enough to keep him in England if Vanessa had her way.

  Flynn pulled her against him. She could feel his heart beating beneath the ruffled shirt, feel the warmth of his body through the leather. She’d recovered from Ritchie marrying Sonia. She’d never recover from Flynn taking Vanessa back to Boston.

  ‘Oi!’

  A raucous growl echoed up from the car park and made her peer down into the ever-growing crowd underneath Queen Mab. A huge lumbering figure was forcing his way through the jostling crowds.

  He paused in bewilderment, and for a moment his shadow fell across the spilled light from The Crooked Sixpence’s open door. Posy blinked. Ignoring the noise surrounding the engine and organ and the roar from the pub, she looked up at Flynn in horror.

  ‘Holy shit! It’s Hogarth!’

  Chapter Thirty-two

  ‘What the bloody hell is going on in here!!!?’

  Hogarth lumbered into the pub just as the Dusty Springfield-alike was reaching the poignant bit in ‘Son of a Preacher Man’. Despite his voice being at its usual decibel level, no one heard him.

  Looking round as though he’d stumbled into Sodom and Gomorrah on a bad day, he tried again. ‘Have you all gone bloody mad!!!?’

  Still no response. All eyes and ears were on Dusty.

  Watching him, Lola froze behind the bar. For weeks she’d been rehearsing all the things she’d say to Hogarth when he came back to the village: the trouble was, all the imaginary scenarios had been played out in peace and quiet and relative sanity.

  Improvisation seemed to be the only answer.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ she shouted cheerily across the heads as Dusty got into her stride again. ‘How lovely to see you. This is a nice surprise. Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘No you bloody can’t,’ Hogarth growled, shoving people aside. ‘I wants to talk to you. Now!’

  ‘Now is not the best time, actually. As you can see we’re right in the middle of the busiest night of the year. Look, go and sit down and I’ll bring you a pint across.’

  ‘Cheeky wench! This is my damn pub!’

  ‘You left me in charge. As manager. I still am. I’ll get you a drink and we can talk later. But definitely not now, I’m far too busy. Who’s next?’

  Grizzling and grouching, blinking at the goings-on around him as though he’d suddenly emerged from a Tardis time-travel trip, Hogarth staggered away looking for a vacant seat.

  ‘Nicely done,’ Ellis said, passing Lola a couple of Newcastle Browns.

  ‘Thanks. I’m shaking, though.’

  ‘I usually have that effect on women.’

  Lola shook her head. ‘Don’t. Please. I can’t bear it. It’s much easier if we just ignore one another.’ She looked across at Tatty and the kiddies. ‘What else can we do?’

  ‘Christ knows,’ Ellis slammed away to serve Amanda and Nikki in their skimpy dresses and didn’t even try to look as though he was enjoying it.

  Lola watched him with a lump in her throat. She knew he was hurting as much as she was. The sooner she left Steeple Fritton the better for both of them. Or so she kept telling herself. Still, now Hogarth was back she probably wasn’t even going to have a choice. It was definitely going to be sooner rather than later.

  Dusty Springfield vibrato’d her final notes to tumultuous applause, and the vicar hopped up on to the karaoke podium announcing a half an hour break before the next session of Stars In Their Eyes.

  Ellis reached across her for the Tia Maria. ‘Hogarth seems to have found a seat. Do you want me to – oh, hi, Posy. Decided to join us again, have you?’

  ‘I’ve got to tell you!’ Posy, looking strangely dishevelled and wild-eyed, elbowed her way towards Lola. ‘Hogarth’s here! I’ve just seen him outside! I thought Pd better warn you in case –’

  ‘Too late,’ Lola motioned with her head towards the far corner beneath the grandmother clock where Hogarth now sat blinking like a large perplexed bear. ‘Thanks for the thought though, and, um, what on earth have you got all over your face and neck and chest and hands and –?’

  ‘Oh, er . . .’ Posy scrubbed at her cheeks and mouth and looked at the pan-stick smeared across her fingers. ‘Um . . .’

  Ellis grinned. ‘You found him then?’

  ‘Who? No! Not Adam Ant?’ Lola’s eyes widened. ‘You fast cat! You’ve been snogging Adam Ant in the car park? You’ll be lynched by every other woman in here. They’re still baying for him outside the lavs. Come on then, who was he, and more importantly, how was he?’

  ‘Simply stupendously, wondrously, fantastically out of this world.’

  ‘Fairly okay, then?’

  Ellis winked at Posy. ‘Oh, come on. Are you going to tell her or shall I?’

  ‘You knew?’ Posy stared at him. ‘And you didn’t tell anyone?’

  ‘We men like to keep some things secret. Who do you think put him through his paces night after night in the cottage after Gran had gone to sleep? And we had to scour every bloody fetish shop in Berkshire to get the costume together. He did it all for you, seemed to think you’d enjoy it. The bloke’s as smitten as hell, even though I’ve told him he must be mad.’ Ellis beamed proudly. ‘Pretty bloody good though, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Sensational.’

  ‘Will one of you tell me what’s happening here?’ Lola interrupted, I’m beginning to feel as dazed and confused as Hogarth.’

  ‘It was Flynn,’ Posy said, clearly trying not to smile.

  ‘Flynn? Our Flynn?’ Lola leaned across the bar. ‘Flynn? No! Really? Wow! Dear God. Okay, now let me give you a word of advice, Posy. You hang on to that boy. He is amazing. No one has the right to be that damn sexy, and fully dressed and in a crowd. Just think what he’d be like in, I mean . . . Well, don’t you let that get away.’

  ‘No, Mum,’ Posy grinned. ‘Oh, and has Hogarth said anything, you know, about this place?’

  ‘Not yet, I didn’t give him the chance. But we’re going to talk later when this is all over. Now, are you capable of working, or has the devastating Mr Malone robbed you of all your senses?’

  ‘Pretty much . . .’ Posy smirked as she ducked under the counter. ‘By the way, does Vanessa know about, um, Adam Ant’s alter ego?’

  Lola shook her head. ‘Not an inkling. She’s still trying to break down the lav doors to get at him.’

  ‘Shame,’ Posy giggled, ‘because all she’s likely to get in there is Baz from Basingstoke turning into Tommy Steele. Right, who’s next?’

  The evening roared on. With the karaoke inside and the Limonaire out, all conversations were held at Concorde-thrust level. Lola, helped by a dreamy Posy and a sulking Vanessa, a sad Ellis and a bad-tempered Ritchie, served drinks, exchanged mimed banter, took money, and knew that when she closed The Crooked Sixpence’s doors at the end of the night, it may we
ll be for the last time.

  When the Cressbeds Estate Seekers, last up on the karaoke dais, were mournfully informing everyone in harmony that ‘The Carnival Is Over’, Lola was sure she wasn’t the only one with tears in her eyes.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ The vicar squawked excitedly, his voice growing louder and louder. ‘We’ve come to the end of Stars In Their Eyes! I didn’t know we had so much talent in our village! I’m sure you’ll all agree that each and every one of our acts should be packing them in nightly at the Palladium! Well done to everyone who took part! And I’m also sure you’ll agree with me that it has been a huge and spectacular success, and something we should add to all the regular Steeple Fritton events!’

  There was a roar of approval. Lola didn’t dare look across at Hogarth.

  ‘The voting papers have been collected and we’ll be announcing the winner and presenting the prize in about fifteen minutes, so there’s just time for you to replenish your glasses.’

  There was the usual stampede to the bar.

  Vanessa, who had returned from the lavatories looking very disappointed, shrugged at Lola. ‘It’s got to be Adam Ant, hasn’t it? Whooo! What a babe.’

  Lola didn’t meet Posy’s eyes and tried to keep a straight face. ‘Um, well, they were all very good.’

  ‘It won’t be Adam Ant,’ the vicar’s wife paused in collecting three sweet sherries. ‘I know that for a fact. Too many complaints from the cricket team and the bowls club. The old boys didn’t like their wives coming over all frisky over some ponce in make-up.’ She blushed. ‘I’m quoting there, you understand. Actually, if it were down to me I’d have given him the prize there and then and whisked him off to a four-poster bed for a fortnight. I voted for him six times, but I don’t think it’ll help.’

  Lola and Posy were in helpless giggles.

  Florian Pickavance stepped up on to the stage and held his arms Messiah-like in the air. Everyone clapped dutifully. Sonia was beaming and clapping louder than most.