From The Moment I Saw Him ....

by MacDonald, Catherine

  From The Moment I Saw Him ....

  by

  Catherine MacDonald

  Copyright © 2015 Catherine MacDonald

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored, in any form or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  KINDLE edition

  PublishNation, London

  www.publishnation.co.uk

  For Sally

  Remembering happy days at OHS and onwards

  Chapter 1

  November 1967

  If I had known anything at all about boys, I would have realised that this one was trouble.

  Slim, handsome, dark haired, his expressive brown eyes met mine as we rose to leave, and when he smiled, I felt as though a hurricane had hit me.

  Thank goodness I was at the meeting - I almost hadn’t made it. There was a dangerous moment as we were about to depart for the uncharted territory of St Peter’s School for Boys.

  “Eva? Eithne? Are you girls wearing make-up?”

  Miss Grimsby paused as she unlocked her little car, and scrutinised my friend Eva and me through thick-lensed spectacles. She sounded scandalised, and for a moment, I had visions of being returned to my classroom in disgrace.

  Luckily, Eva had her wits about her.

  “No, of course not, Miss Grimsby,” she lied swiftly, opening the back door of the car and shoving me inside. “We know it’s against school rules.”

  Beresford High School for Girls was bristling with all sorts of regulations designed to make our lives less pleasant. In fact, we had both applied mascara and a dusting of eyeshadow, plus a generous dab of musky perfume, because there was no way we were going to appear before a group of sixth-form boys without improving our schoolgirl looks as much as possible.

  We had already hoisted our skirts as high as we dared, regretting that our legs were clad in navy wool rather than something more seductive. We planned to leave our horrible velour hats in the car, in order to display our flowing tresses. Our friends were relying on us to make a knockout impression.

  Miss Grimsby hesitated, but eventually climbed, muttering, into the car, and we were on our way.

  The instructions of Miss Hayman, our headmistress, resounded in my head.

  “I require two sensible, trusted girls to attend the planning meeting for the sixth-form dance with St Peter’s. I have selected you, Eva and Eithne, for this task......”

  It was the fashion to be blasé and dismissive about the annual Christmas dance. Chaperoned by gowned masters and mistresses, pupils stumped round the hall in a clumsy attempt at ballroom dancing, and the most exciting thing to drink was lemonade. It was rumoured that every year, a few hardy students would slip out to snog in the bicycle sheds, although I found this hard to believe, considering the freezing December weather.

  However, it was an opportunity to meet and talk to boys.

  Our school was single sex, and very few of my friends had brothers. As a result, we were unbelievably ignorant and silly about young men, especially now that adolescence had us in its obdurate grip.

  Occasionally, Eva would remind me that I had actually kissed a boy. This was a prime - and as yet unfulfilled - objective of hers.

  “Yes, but it was a horrible, sweaty fumble after the Scouts Barbecue. I didn’t enjoy it. I really hope it’s going to be better when I kiss a boy I like,” I replied.

  The trouble with studying English Literature at school was that my head was stuffed with dreams of Messrs Rochester and Darcy, and great romances. My burning desire was for a passionate, sweeping-off-the-feet kind of love, but I didn’t think I would get that with any old boy from St Peter’s. Sitting in the panelled reception area of the school, I wondered doubtfully whether any of its sixth-form pupils would be capable of inspiring even a hint of romance.

  I was trying to ignore the smell of sweat and elderly gym shoes wafting in from the corridors, when a tall, fair boy appeared and shook Miss Grimsby’s hand, before conducting us to the room where the meeting was to be held. Eva’s eyes brightened at the sight of him.

  “It’s Teddy Clifford,” she mouthed at me, giving my arm a small, hard squeeze.

  Teddy Clifford was the head boy of St Peter’s, the subject of countless crushes - and not just amongst the girls, by all accounts.

  The overhead light was harsh, and we stood there blinking for a few seconds. Across the table, a nondescript master sat, flanked by three other sixth-form boys. Teddy took his place, and there were some brief introductions - I was too nervous to take in anyone else’s name - and the meeting began.

  It was monumentally dull. The teachers outlined the schedule, and we were invited to fill in the details of how many would be in attendance, and which dances we had practised, and then there was a discussion about the desirability of including some disco dancing (there was a concern that this might be too inflammatory for the assembled adolescents.) Eva’s voice was wobbly when she spoke, and I felt myself blushing like an idiot when it was my turn. The boys also seemed embarrassed when they had to make a contribution. Why had we got ourselves so worked up for this?

  After a while, the information was collated, and I felt I could examine the opposition, so to speak, while the adults looked over their paperwork. Teddy Clifford smiled frankly at us. He was rather like a prize bull, curled and golden, I thought, and he seemed to be taken with Eva, who was returning his grin with one of her own. There were two other prefects, one plump and bespectacled, the other dappled with acne, and I could raise no enthusiasm for either. At the end of the table, I saw a slim, dark boy with long hair swept across his forehead, who seemed to be bored by the proceedings. He had given us the most cursory of glances, and appeared to be doodling on the paper before him.

  Miss Grimsby refused the offer of tea, and I was glad. I could not feel very excited about the dance, if this was what was on offer.

  Then it was time for us to leave. The boys and master rose to their feet politely, and the master uttered a creaking pleasantry about our next meeting and the delightful circumstances - he meant well, but it sounded archaic.

  It was at that moment the dark boy looked up, and caught my attention. Our eyes met, and he smiled at me. I saw that he had beautiful, white and even teeth, a dimple in one cheek, and deep brown eyes, and the impact of his smile was devastating. I felt I would never forget it.

  Eva seemed more delighted than the occasion warranted on the drive back. I had recovered from that spellbinding moment, and was thinking eagerly about the dark boy, and whether he would dance with me in December.

  Back in the school cloakroom, she thrust a screwed up bit of paper at me.

  “Eithne, look here - Teddy Clifford passed this to me on the way out.”

  It was a note inviting us to meet him and some mates at Presto’s, a local coffee shop, on Saturday afternoon. “Bring some of your friends,” it said.

  “Fancy Teddy Clifford asking to meet us. Who else shall we take?” she demanded.

  “No one very pretty. We could mention it to Charlie or Belinda, I suppose.”

  My heart beat painfully. I wondered whether the boy with the smile would be there. If so, I didn’t want competition.

  “Who was that dark haired boy at the end? I didn’t catch anyone’s name,” I said, in what I hoped was
a nonchalant tone.

  “What - at the very end? He’s called Nick Delilah or something. Don’t tell me you fancy him. He’s supposed to be a very bad boy indeed.”

  “Bad? Why, what’s he done?”

  I was intrigued, and alarmed.

  “Didn’t he sleep with Shona McQueen last summer? I think I remember someone saying it was him. And my cousin said he’s gone through loads of girlfriends from St. Faith’s.”

  Although we were keen to have some physical contact with boys, sleeping with one was a big taboo. Every year, some ashen faced and unfortunate girl would leave mysteriously - abortion was very hard to obtain, and the pill only just becoming available on prescription - and it was only the brave or desperate who went all the way. Shona, a girl in the year above us who had now left school, had a certain reputation, and we didn’t approve of her.

  It seemed an interminable wait until Saturday, but it was pleasurable all the same as we planned and plotted and dreamed about our first meaningful encounter with the opposite sex. We had decided only to take one other girl along, a friend of ours called Belinda, who was a lot of fun, but plainer than we were, so we would have more of a chance to impress.

  The longed-for afternoon arrived. My bus into town had been early, and I had plenty of time to go into the Ladies at the bus station, where we girls were due to meet, to check my make-up and arrange my hair again.

  I hadn’t been sure how much make-up to wear. All the teen magazines cautioned us not to overdo it, but then they displayed models who were bedecked with spidery false eyelashes, thick eye liner, and dramatic cheekbones sculpted with blusher, something a seventeen-year-old like myself couldn’t begin to emulate. I wasn’t even sure I had cheekbones. In the end, I put on eyeshadow and mascara, and hoped for the best. Luckily, my skin was very good, I never got spots, and it barely needed a brushing of powder.

  There was a clacking of heels on the tiled floor, and I turned to see my friends. We gazed at each other in admiration - it was funny to see them all dressed up, eyes bright with anticipation.

  “Eithne, you look fab!” Eva exclaimed. “That mac really shows off your hair.”

  I was wearing my Dollyrockers dress under a shiny black mac, together with knee-high boots, and I felt grown up and trendy. My golden brown hair was long, thick, and very wavy, and I was proud of it.

  As a finishing touch, I had added a pair of my mother’s dangly op art earrings. The clips were agony, but I was not allowed to get my ears pierced until I was eighteen, so I had no other choice.

  Eva and Belinda were both wearing miniskirts. Belinda really didn’t have the legs for a mini, but we couldn’t tell her that, and in any case, her jokey personality was her strong point. I noticed that Eva was flaunting a new push-up bra.

  “God, that bra’s amazing, Eva, your bust looks enormous,” I said, with a pang of jealousy, making a mental note to get one for myself as soon as I could.

  We stood there, admiring our reflections in the mirror, hoping that we would pass muster as embryo adults. Did we know what we were doing? Suddenly, I felt like a small girl dressed up in her mother’s clothes, and was tempted to turn tail and run home again, but I knew that Eva wouldn’t let me.

  “Come on, let’s go and knock them out,” said confident Eva. “And remember - hands off Teddy, he’s mine.”

  Giggling, we minced down the street. Eva had decreed that we should be fashionably late, and Teddy and two other boys were already sitting there at the big table in the window.

  “I hope the whole school sees us,” whispered Belinda delightedly.

  However, when we went in, disappointment flooded over me. There was no sign of Nick Delilah, just the boy with acne I recognised from the meeting, and another sporty looking type, who was evidently a good mate of Teddy’s.

  I sank into a chair, smiling automatically as introductions were made. The sporty type - Peter - went to get us some coffee, and I tried not to think about the waste of hope and energy I had put in to appearing pretty for a boy who wasn’t there.

  We had built up boys into such a big thing, but now we were faced with them, it wasn’t what we had expected. They didn’t appear to be quite so godlike at close quarters, and seemed as nervous and unsure as we were - forced laughter, clumsy fumbling with cigarettes, coughing as they inhaled the smoke like adults did. It was a bit of a let-down, and I wondered whether boys constructed misleading fantasies about girls in the same way, and whether we might be a disappointment to them. It was a sobering thought.

  Teddy certainly had his eye on Eva. She squeezed in next to him, and was telling him something confidential and funny, because he laughed, and casually draped an arm around the back of her chair.

  Which of the other two was meant for me? I realised with dread that I was supposed to flirt and possibly get off with one of them, but the idea appalled me. Belinda seemed quite happy with things, but I wanted to get out of there.

  Mumbling something, I slipped off to the Ladies. I stared into the cracked glass above the basin - I did look nice, it was such a waste. But I would make up some tale about how I was feeling unwell......then, as I threaded my way back through the tables, I saw a dark head where I had been sitting.

  “Nick’s always late for everything,” explained Teddy as I stood there, wondering where to sit now. Nick looked up at me and nodded, but made no attempt to move. Peter, however, produced another chair, and I sat down primly. I began to think that Nick Delilah was rather rude.

  I could feel him staring at me, and this made my cheeks grow hot, which was the last thing I wanted. I turned to say something - anything - to Peter, but Nick demanded,

  “What did you say your name was?”

  “Eithne - it’s Irish”.

  “Eithne. Are you Irish?”

  “No, but my mother liked it.”

  It was hardly the stuff of romance. I decided I would not be intimidated, and stared back at him. He was good-looking, he had a lean jaw and his cheekbones were most definitely visible, his floppy dark hair fell casually over one eye. But he did not seem very approachable.

  “Eithne.”

  He pronounced my name in a soft, breathy way, which made it sound sexy. “Why don’t you straighten your hair? Isn’t that the fashion now?”

  This time I flushed with annoyance.

  “Why should I? I like it like this, it’s got a natural wave. Most people think it’s very attractive.”

  I was conscious of a faint ripple of embarrassment around the table, and Eva said loudly,

  “I hope you boys are coming to this dance. All the girls are looking forward to it.”

  I was grateful to her, and the others started speaking enthusiastically, as if to cover up an awkward moment. I thought “what a rude, opinionated boy”, and turned to converse with Peter with some animation.

  How things would have ended, I don’t know, but Eva and Teddy, who had been deep in whispered giggles, suddenly announced they were going to the cinema. When he heard this, Nick, who had been slouched in his chair, sat up.

  “Eithne and I are going to see the ducks,” he announced. He pulled me to my feet, helped me on with my coat, and took my hand purposefully. I just had time to look back at the surprised faces of the others as he propelled me out through the door and into the street.

  Chapter 2

  We began to walk away from the cafe. Nick dropped my hand, and lit a cigarette, whilst I stood there feeling awkward and unsure what to do. I wanted him to hold my hand again.

  He blew out a mouthful of smoke.

  “Well, Eithne.”

  This time he really looked at me, and smiled that dazzling, heart stopping smile. I gulped. Was it an accident, a chance combination of physical features that made it so attractive? Did he know the effect it had on people? I was pretty sure he did.

  “Why do you smoke? It’s awfully bad for you,” I said, then wished I hadn’t sounded so prissy.

  “Most things that are nice are bad for you. Don’t you know t
hat yet?”

  To my joy, he reached for my hand again, and I felt an electric thrill run through me. His hand was cool and dry, quite unlike the sweaty palms I had held on a few previous occasions.

  Now we were walking along the road to the park. Perhaps we were going to see the ducks.

  “Don’t tell me you were enjoying that little scene in there,” he said.

  “Why are you so rude?” I countered. I wasn’t sure what I had hold of, but even to my inexperienced eyes, it didn’t seem like the average boy.

  “It’s tedious - that dating stuff,” Nick said. “I can’t be bothered with the preliminary moves.”

  “Well, I suppose most people have to start somewhere,” I murmured. My brain felt frozen, and I wasn’t sure how to respond to him.

  We walked slowly down the path to the lake. It was a crisp, clear winter afternoon, with the smell of wet leaves and chimney smoke in the distance, and my heels rang cheerfully on the asphalt.

  “I’m holding hands with a boy I really fancy,” I told myself. “I must remember this moment and this scene for ever.”

  The skeletal park trees made a darkening frieze against the low winter sun, and it seemed a suitably romantic setting. I racked my brains for something interesting or witty to say, but nothing would come.

  “Did you enjoy our little get together about the Christmas dance, Eithne? Are all you girls gagging for it then?” Nick asked, giving my hand a little squeeze. I was tempted to remove my own.

  “No - and no again. It’s some kind of ritual we seem to have to go through,” I said.

  In fact, I had already got my dress, and had spent the last few days dreaming of dancing with the boy whose hand I was holding.

  “In future, they’ll stop this old fashioned nonsense, and just hold a disco,” Nick pronounced. By now, we had reached the lake, and he pulled me down to sit with him on a damp and chilly bench. I couldn’t see any ducks on the water, which looked dark and fathomless. “Like his eyes,” I thought, with a burst of girly romanticism.