Going Dutch

by Katie Fforde

  ‘A whole bottle?' Dora was horrified.

  ‘It's much more economical than buying it by the glass and I've already taken a taxi today. I need to save where I can.’

  Dora put an elbow on the table and rested her head on her hand. 'You're amazing. No wonder you and my mother were never really friends.'

  ‘Oh, but I like your mother very much!'

  ‘Yes, but she'd never suggest sharing a bottle of wine on the grounds that it would be cheaper.'

  ‘That's because she's sensible and I'm not. Now, what shall we eat? I think maybe I won't be on a diet today.'

  ‘Do you think I'd be copping out if I checked out the job in the boatyard?’

  Dora and Jo had nearly reached their station. They hadn't discussed Dora's job prospects since her first description of her interviews, but it had obviously been in the back of her mind all the rest of the day as they rather merrily tripped round Selfridges and walked off their lunch.

  ‘I mean, I'm not going to get paid very much, am I? The money would be far better in London.’

  Jo took a breath, to give the impression she was thinking about her answer and not just replying impulsively – although the answer was the same. 'The thing people forget is that it costs money to go out to work. There are your fares, lunches out, smart clothes, all sorts of things. Which is not to say people – for example mothers -shouldn't go out to work, but they should make sure they've done their costings if they're only doing it for the money.'

  ‘So what are you saying?'

  ‘I'm saying that taking a local job, for less money, when it's unlikely they'll want you to wear sharp little suits and have French manicures, could work out almost as well paid as temping in London. And far less stressful.’

  Now Dora sighed. 'Should I be going for "less stressful" at my age? I'm young!'

  ‘Yes, but you have just had a trauma of sorts, and working in a boatyard isn't exactly going into a convent for a life of contemplation. You'll be having all kinds of stress. Probably. Just not the same kind.’

  Dora warmed to this idea. 'And maybe I should break myself into my new life. I mean, I'd had the same job ever since I left college. Now I'll get a new one. Maybe I'll onlystay there for – a couple of years. Hardly any time at all, really.’

  Jo laughed. 'Have you got a number for them?'

  ‘No, but I've got Tom's number. He'll have theirs,' Dora said as they headed to the mooring.

  ‘Give him a ring now. No time like the present.’

  Dora hadn't telephoned any boy other than John for a hundred years; or at least, that was how it felt. But she was asking for a job, not a date, and with Jo watching her, she felt obliged to be brisk about it.

  ‘Hi, Tom, it's Dora.'

  ‘Yes I know.' His voice was amused. 'Your name came up on my phone.'

  ‘Of course. Listen, you know that job you told me about? Do you think it's still going?'

  ‘Yeah. Sure.' He sounded enthusiastic.

  ‘Well, could you give me the number of the boatyard? I want to ring them first thing tomorrow and arrange an interview.’

  There was a short, scary silence. 'Tell you what, come out to the pub with me for a drink later and I'll give it to you then.'

  ‘Are you that pushed for company?’

  He chuckled. 'Yes, as it happens.’

  She couldn't help laughing back at him. 'OK. I'll check with Jo. I can't come if she's got anything planned.’

  ‘She could come too, if she wanted,' he said.

  ‘Jo? Tom has invited us to go to the pub with him this evening?’

  Jo shook her heard. 'Sorry, love. After a day in London shopping, I'm not really up for going out again. Could you go by yourself?'

  ‘Of course! If you don't mind. If you'd rather I stayed in and cooked you scrambled egg on toast, I'll do that.’

  Jo was touched and patted Dora's shoulder. 'Make your arrangements with Tom. I can make my own scrambled egg and some for you too, if necessary.’

  Chapter Eight

  ‘There's been a change of plan!' said Tom, the moment he saw Dora.

  He was at the doorway of the pub, and Dora hoped her relief didn't show. On the way there she'd remembered how nervous she usually was about meeting people in them.

  ‘Hello, Tom,' she said.

  ‘I've borrowed a car,' he said.

  ‘Why? The whole point of local pubs is that you walk to them. Don't drink and drive and all that.’

  Tom seemed unreasonably excited. 'We're going to a different pub.'

  ‘It's a different pub every night of the week with you, isn't it?’

  Now she studied him more closely she realised that Tom was disgustingly pleased with himself for some reason.

  ‘I saw an ad in the paper and thought of another dare for you,' he said. 'That's why I had to borrow the car.' Dora stopped. 'What is it?' she asked warily.

  ‘You'll see. Come and see the car.'

  ‘Is getting in it the dare?' she asked when they'd come to a halt in front of a very old, bright green VW Beetle.

  ‘Nope, although driving it's fairly hairy. If you offer to drive home, that could be a dare.’

  He was obviously testing the water, not sure if she could drive at all, let alone an ancient but venerable vehicle like this.

  ‘I'll drive home!' She was a good driver and the thought of driving a strange car didn't faze her, although she didn't even know if this one was third-party insured.

  Tom shook his head. 'I've changed my mind. You're too keen, which means it won't challenge you, and you certainly won't want to do what I have in mind sober.'

  ‘What is it?’

  But Tom just shook his head and opened the door of the car for her. This wasn't so much an act of chivalry but neces sity. It was a big and very heavy door, and slightly stuck. Dora slid on to the cracked and peeling leather seat and was overwhelmed by the smell of Old Car, which included petrol, very ancient cheese sandwiches and something indefinable that was probably derived from animal origins.

  ‘Can you manage your seatbelt?' Tom watched as Dora untangled miles of webbing and strapped herself in.

  ‘Just about, although I'm surprised this car is young enough to have seatbelts. Who did you borrow it from?'

  ‘Hamo. It is insured and so am I, in case you were wondering.'

  ‘You must think me a total worry-wart,' she said, admitting to herself that she was.

  ‘I'm going to cure you of that. And some of your old-fashioned expressions whilst I'm at it, endearing though they are.' And they lurched off into the night.

  ‘I hope it's not far,' Dora said. 'I want to be able to walk home if we break down.'

  ‘Oh, ye of little faith! We won't break down. They're dead reliable, these old Beetles.’

  After a few yards of incident-free travel confirmed this for Dora she said, 'Tom, you haven't forgotten about me needing the boatyard number, have you?'

  ‘Well, to be honest, Dora, I've already rung Fred. I'd told him about you before. I had to speak to him anyway, about something else, so I just mentioned you were interested.'

  ‘Tom! That was very high-handed of you!' Indignation and relief vied for dominance. 'How did you know I'd want it, and anyway, he'll think I'm a complete wimp, not applying for my own job.'

  ‘No he won't. It's all very casual. Honestly. He wants you to come in for a trial next week. It's not quite a run-of-the-mill office job.'

  ‘That's OK. I don't want run-of-the-mill, as long as I'm not required to have Tipp-Ex nails and a fake tan.’

  ‘What?'

  ‘I mean, as long as it's not terrifically high-powered.’

  Tom started to laugh so much he was shaking, although that might have been partly due to the car's dodgy suspension. 'Not exactly.'

  ‘What's so funny?'

  ‘You'll see when you get there. And you'll be paid by the hour to begin with, but eventually he'll want to put you on a salary. I should try and be paid by the hour for as long as possible.' />
  ‘Oh, why? I mean, if I have to work out the wages, it's probably less work if I'm on a salary.'

  ‘Most of the men are self-employed and get paid by the hour. You'll end up doing loads of overtime. If you're on a salary, you won't get paid for that.'

  ‘Oh. Right. Well, we'll see how it goes. He might not like the look of me.'

  ‘Oh, he'll like you all right. They all will. Do you mind doing the wages?' he added before she could reply. 'It sounds like hard work to me.'

  ‘I used to do them before. I'm good at figures and if you've got the right computer program, it does most of the work for you.'

  ‘You may have to be firm with Fred. He's not much into computer programs.’

  Dora smiled. 'I'll try to persuade him.’

  Tom grinned. 'I don't suppose you'll have much problem. Ah, here it is.’

  There was nothing about this particular pub that was noticeably different from any other and Dora got out of the car feeling moderately confident. Maybe he wanted her to take a turn behind the bar or something. That would be quite embarrassing, having never pulled a pint in her life, but she was good at mental arithmetic, and anyway, tills did it all for you nowadays.

  When she saw what was written on the blackboard outside, however, she allowed herself a small, restrained scream. 'No, Tom, not never, nohow.'

  ‘It's not life-threatening. I'd do it. In fact, I'll do it first. Come along. You can have a stiff drink before you get up there.'

  ‘But, Tom,' she wailed, as he dragged her into the pub, 'I can't do karaoke!’

  He didn't let go of her wrist until they had got to the bar and were so hemmed in by people her chances of escape were nil. 'Now, what's your favourite strong drink? No point in having lager, there's just not enough alcohol in it.’

  Dora had had time to think. It would be useless telling Tom she point blank refused, at least, for now. She would appear to go along with it and devise an exit strategy. 'I'll have a double whiskey – Irish, please.'

  ‘Oh. Expensive.'

  ‘You said it had to be strong, and I got a taste for whiskey the other day. And it serves you right, you deserve to pay a lot for my drink.’

  He chuckled. 'Fair enough. But you've got to do it! I don't want my investment wasted.'

  ‘Just as long as I'm wasted,' she muttered.

  He bought their drinks and they made their way to a table that had two spare stools. They perched on these and Dora looked at the stage.

  The karaoke hadn't started yet but the equipment was being sound-tested and people were writing their names down on a list. Discovering that this was necessary, Dora looked at Tom. He had arranged a job interview for her, had he also booked her a karaoke spot? She asked him.

  ‘No. Couldn't, or I would have done. Have you ever done it before?’

  Dora considered lying. If she declared herself to be an old hand at singing he-done-me-wrong songs, would he change his mind about the dare? No. She hadn't a hope of being convincing. She shook her head regretfully.

  ‘You may love it!' He sipped his pint and she sipped her whiskey.

  ‘I'll hate it. But I will do it. I hope nothing else you ask me to do will be as hard.’

  Tom's brow crinkled a little. 'Don't do it if it will make you miserable.’

  She looked up at him. 'No. It's a dare, I said I'd do it, and I survived a typing test today. It couldn't be any worse.' She frowned suddenly. 'You don't have to remember the words, do you?’

  Tom relaxed again. 'No! They have coloured words that move as you're supposed to sing them. It gets tricky if it's too high and too fast, so don't get too drunk or you'll never keep up.’

  `So you're an old hand at this then?'

  ‘I've done it once. It's cool! Look, they're starting. You'd better get your name down.’

  The first few acts were stunning. They had obviously done this many times before and they seemed to a terrified Dora to be practically professional. She sipped her drink and sank lower in her chair.

  Tom sent her an anxious look. 'They're good, aren't they?’

  She nodded.

  ‘You'd be better off getting it over quickly, or you'll just get more and more nervous.'

  ‘Probably.' She didn't move.

  ‘After all, you don't want to sit here all night until it's only the no-hopers.’

  She frowned at him. 'What do you mean, no-hopers? It's not a competition, is it?’

  He looked very shame-faced. 'Might be. I think if you do well you get to go on first next week. But I may be wrong.’

  Dora finished her drink. 'I'm going to the loo,' she said. 'I may be some time.’

  Fighting her way through the crowds she contemplated getting a taxi home or, better, stealing the Beetle and letting Tom get a taxi home. Those old cars would be pretty easy to break into. She'd just ask a passer-by to help her open the door, and then give her a bump start. Could you do all that without the keys? she wondered.

  Then, as she reached the door marked 'Venus', which, after a moment's thought, she realised was the Ladies, she concluded that doing karaoke would be easier than all that malarkey.

  There was no respite, even in the Ladies. There were two girls checking their make-up and their identical wigs and they'd spread themselves over both washbasins and on to the floor. They were obviously an act. Dora slipped into the cubicle. They were still there when she came out, and she had to edge her way to a tap.

  ‘Sorry, love,' said one of them, gathering up a make-up bag from the sink. 'We're taking up all the space.’

  ‘It's OK,' she said huskily.

  ‘Hey, are you all right? You look kind of pale.’

  ‘I'm all right! It's just nerves.'

  ‘Nerves?’

  Dora nodded, knowing these feisty, confident women would not understand. 'Yes. I said I'd do karaoke for a dare but I don't dare, really.’

  The two women exchanged glances, obviously wonder ing what sort of an idiot they were sharing the Ladies with. 'We could ask,' said the one who had talked to her. 'Listen, we're a band. We're just trying out some new numbers, to see how they go down. Covers, obviously.’

  Dora took time to wonder how a new number could also be a cover. A cover was an old song by definition, surely?

  ‘There are three of us usually, but Christine couldn't make it tonight. We've got a wig and dress and everything. Do you fancy going on with us? It would look better with three. We've got a guy who'll sing the verse, but the chorus is more important, really.’

  Dora forced enough saliva into her mouth so she could swallow.

  ‘Can you sing at all?' asked the one who hadn't spoken yet. 'It's no good asking her if she's tone deaf,' she muttered to her friend.

  ‘She doesn't have to sing at all,' said her mate. 'She only needs to mouth the words.'

  ‘I was in the choir at school,' said Dora, trying to sound as if she actually wanted to get up on the stage and sing. Part of her felt that she wouldn't have agreed to the dare if she really couldn't sing.

  ‘That'll do,' said the one who'd first taken pity on her.

  ‘We only want you to sing the chorus, with us. It's "Hit The Road Jack". Do you know it?'

  ‘Ray Charles?' Dora said tentatively.

  ‘That's it.'

  ‘Well, I don't know the verses-'

  ‘You don't need to know them. You don't even need to know the words, it's karaoke, isn't it? What size are you? Get your kit off. It might be a bit tight.’

  *

  Dora looked for Tom the moment she got on stage. He was drumming his fingers on the table and constantly looking around. Would he recognise her when he did look up at the stage? She was wearing a stiff black wig, glossy as paint, that didn't move and made her look completely different. The dress was very short and the shoes very big, high, with platform soles. She'd had to borrow a disposable razor to deal with some stray armpit hairs and had submitted herself to the combined make-up bags of both women. The fact that her own mother wouldn't recognise he
r was a relief, but she did want Tom to realise what she'd suffered for his stupid dare.

  ‘Remember, you don't have to sing, you can just mouth the words,' said the girl closest to her through the side of her mouth. 'But try not to look at the words if you can help it.'

  ‘OK, we're on.’

  A man in a Teddy-boy draped jacket, drainpipe trousers and a wig quite similar to the ones the girls were wearing appeared from the other side of the stage.

  He started to sing. "Oh woman, oh woman don't you treat me so mean…" ‘

  The girls tapped their feet and swung their hips and Dora tapped and swung along with them. When the timecame, Dora sang with feeling, "Hit the road, Jack…" ‘

  She saw Tom and realised he'd seen her. At first he was a picture of incredulity, but then admiration took the place of disbelief. He raised his glass to her and in return she sang, "Don't you come back no more, no more."‘

  They were a hit, Dora had to acknowledge, and she also had to acknowledge that she'd really enjoyed herself. It was wonderful being someone quite different to who you were normally. She came off the stage with the others and went to Tom's table.

  ‘The prize for these dares had better be good,' she said.

  Tom sprang up from the table and hugged her. 'You were fantastic! I couldn't believe my eyes when I realised it was you up there. That skirt length is really you, darling,' he added wickedly.

  ‘I'm going to get changed,' she said firmly. 'And then I'd love a drink of water.'

  ‘It should be champagne, really, but I can't afford it, and it would be crap here, anyway.'

  ‘A pint of water and half a pint of lager will be fine. I've been sweating golf balls.’

  Dora was quite sad to say goodbye to the brassy, loud and dominant woman she had been for a few minutes, and was very sad to say goodbye to her fellow backing singers.

  ‘You were good,' they said. 'You should do more of it.'

  ‘I don't think so, thanks, but thank you so much for saving me. I could never have done it alone.'

  ‘Well, make sure your boyfriend comes up with some thing good as a reward,' said one.

  ‘Otherwise, you know what to tell him..