The Vintage Guide to Love and Romance

by Kirsty Greenwood

  I hold my breath.

  No appalled shouting. No call for security.

  Phew.

  I exhale in relief and hold out my hand, eyeing Leo Frost in what I think is an enigmatic way. He doesn’t get a chance to shake my hand though, because the rink lights start flashing on and off – our signal to drive. Music suddenly blares out from the massive speakers round the rink: ‘Driving in My Car’ by Madness.

  Nice choice! OK, I can do this.

  I gently press my foot down on the pedal and we slowly move forward round the rink.

  ‘Hiii,’ I say to Leo in a nice, low, soothing-type voice. ‘I’m—’

  Crap! Who am I? I can’t reveal my real name. He’s only met me once, I know, but he might have an extra-good memory – I did chuck champagne all over him, after all. Cockwaffle, why didn’t we think of this? I have to think of a brand-new fake name and fast. I rapidly flick my eyes about the place for inspiration. Ferris wheel, fortune teller, bouncy castle, portaloo . . . loo . . .

  ‘Loo, er, I mean . . . Lucille,’ I finish in my low voice. ‘I’m Lucille.’ I spot a little wooden food cart declaring itself: Darling’s Roasted Chestnuts! ‘Darling! Lucille Darling. I’m very pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Yeah, hi, Lucille,’ Leo Frost says absent-mindedly. I meet his eyes to see if I’m charming and bewitching him. They are focused entirely on my breasts, which are so pointy they’re almost touching the steering wheel of the car. Pointy boobs for the win.

  Right. Time to make some gentle opening conversation. I clear my throat. ‘It’s a lovely fair, isn’t it? I do so love the—’

  CRASH!

  From behind, another bumper car smacks into us. Leo and I are thrown forward in our seats.

  ‘Shiii—’ I instinctively yell, but thankfully stop myself just in time. Instead I say ‘Shimmy!’ and give a little wriggle of my shoulders. Leo’s eyes widen at my chest-wiggle. I whip my head round to give my withering glance to whoever bumped our car so hard. It’s those bloody teenage boys from before – the ones who shoved into me when I was trying to drop the glove. One of them – a skinny doofus wearing a sleeveless vest that shows off a shit barbed-wire tattoo – does a ‘wanker’ motion at me with his hand. Absolute chumps! They laugh at my angry expression. I long to flip them the bird, but I’m pretty sure that’s not in Grandma’s guides.

  I take a deep, calming breath and drive once more round the rink. Turning to Leo again, I give him a simpering smile. And then his phone starts to ring. Checking the number, he answers it. Rude. He turns slightly away from me, talking into the phone. I hear him say ‘dodgems’ and ‘account’ and ‘good show’ but it’s not fully clear because of the excited squeals of the other drivers and the sound of tinny fairground music blasting out around me.

  BAM!

  I’m jerked forward again by the teenagers and this time my left boob actually hits the steering wheel.

  Ow. Fuck.

  Right, enough is enough!

  I side-eye Leo – he’s clearly engaged in his phone conversation and paying no attention to anything else whatsoever. As delicately and subtly as I can, I turn round my car so that I am now in pursuit of the oafish teenagers.

  ‘She’s a fat cow. And old,’ I hear Leo saying on the phone beside me. ‘She’s clearly of no use to anyone. Get rid of her, she’s served her purpose.’

  What the sweet hell? I can’t believe my ears. Is he advising that somebody should be sacked because they’re ageing and may have put on a few pounds? Ugh!

  A dark flame of rage rises up throughout my chest, spurring me to step down on the pedal a little more forcefully. I block out the sound of horrible Leo Frost and chase after the horrible teenagers.

  BLAM!

  I bump into the side of their car with glee. The lads startle in fear.

  ‘Serves you right, you little fuckers!’ is what I want to say. But a Good Woman would never say that. So I say it with my eyes. I say it so well with my eyes.

  The teenagers gasp. Oh yes. The weirdly dressed woman with the nonsensically tiny waist is going to show you what happens when you mess with a Beam.

  I whizz and dodge once more round the rink – Leo still oblivious on his sexist phone call – and bash into the teenagers’ car again. I love the bumper cars! I can’t help the giggle of joy that escapes me. I suspect it comes out as a little manic.

  One of the teenagers whimpers, ‘Muuuuuum’.

  OK. Maybe that’s enough. I reckon they’ve learned their lesson now. The chumps give me a very wide berth for the rest of the rink and it’s only when the cars slow to a halt that Leo finally ends his conversation, putting his phone back into his inside jacket pocket. Out of the corner of my eye I spot the event organizers approaching, ready to continue Leo’s never-ending tour of the fairground. Dammit. I’ve completely missed my chance to bewitch and charm him. Fuck.

  ‘Lucille, is it?’

  I look up in surprise to see Leo’s smug face staring at me.

  ‘Um, yes. Lucille. Lucille Darling,’ I reply in the breathy, soothing voice.

  ‘I’m Leo. I have to tell you, that was some rather excellent dodgems driving you just did.’ He grins, one eyebrow raised. ‘You certainly showed those two little shits what for. I got caught up in an important call, but on the inside I was very much cheering you on.’

  I laugh out loud in spite of myself.

  ‘They were a tad raucous,’ I say faux shyly, patting down my perfect hair.

  ‘Yes, and of course one of them had a barbed-wire tattoo, which was quite reason enough for your fury.’

  He holds his hand out to help me from the car. I take it, and as I step out I catch him checking out my bum, lifted considerably by the Spirella girdle. I smile at him as if I am mysterious and interesting and Good and refined and sexy and alluring and maybe a woman he could fall in love with. It’s not an easy smile to perform. Is it working or do I look a bit crazy? I think it might be working. Leo Frost half smiles back, a spark of amusement in his green eyes.

  ‘This is a little unorthodox, but . . . would you like to accompany me to the Ferris wheel?’ he says eventually, with a glance at his fancy-ass watch. ‘Perhaps get a drink? I’ve some business to attend to, but then I’m free for a little . . . fun.’

  What the hell? It worked? I did it? It must be the boobs and waist. Or was it the soothing voice? Either way, he is well interested.

  I recall Grandma’s parting advice: Keep it brief. The aim of this evening is simply to bewitch and charm Mr Frost into obtaining your telephone number. Nothing more.

  ‘I am so sorry, but I have a prior engagement this evening,’ I respond, as if I really am utterly fed up about this made-up prior engagement. ‘But you may have my telephone number to arrange a date at your convenience.’ I bat my eyelashes and tilt my head to the side.

  Arrange a date at your convenience? Where the fuck did that come from?

  He smirks. ‘Excuse me?’

  I tuck a non-existent strand of hair behind my ear and bite my bottom lip. ‘Would you like my telephone number, Mr Frost?’

  He blinks in a mildly startled manner, then looks at me with interest, eyes travelling slowly over my body, pausing at my boobs and finally resting on my face. Ew. I try to hide my disgusted squirm.

  He hands me his phone with narrowed eyes as if he’s not quite sure why he’s doing so. ‘OK. Put it in then, Lucille,’ he says. ‘I’ll call you sometime.’

  ‘Wonderful! I’ll look forward to that,’ I giggle. It’s a real drippy, tittering giggle. I hate it.

  He gives me a wide grin, showing off straight white teeth with a tiny gap between the front two. I will admit that, as grins go, Leo’s is an impressive one. I can sort of see how so many less knowing and far more foolish women could maybe get a bit lusty for it.

  I type in my number, gazing up at him serenely.

  Leo Frost, you are going to get sooo played.

  Rose Beam’s Diary

  18th May 1985

  Tonight
Thom and I made love for the first time. It feels even too personal to tell you about, but I will tell you this: it was perfect. If I was in any doubt that Thom is the person I’m supposed to always see life with, tonight has totally changed that. Afterwards, we both cried and said that we were in love. Thom told me that when he is with me, it feels like someone turned the brightness up on his life. I love that.

  He asked to meet Mum and Dad. I said it’s too soon in our relationship, although that’s not really the problem. My parents will hate him, and for no other reason than where he’s from and what he does. I’m embarrassed by their snobbery. This can’t be spoilt yet.

  R x

  Chapter Eighteen

  Telephone calls are not the place for long conversations – you wouldn’t want to bore a good chap by going on and on! Keep chatter light, brief and to the point. Make sure your tone of voice is soft, alluring and interested.

  Matilda Beam’s Good Woman Guide, 1959

  As the final rays of blush-pink sun dip down over London, I make my way back to Kensington, a buzz of achievement quickening my step. I may have super messed up with the glove (which I later found in the bin, splodged with hot-dog juice and ketchup), and I definitely disliked every minute of having to speak to that sexist div Leo Frost again, but I did what I was asked to do: I made sure he absolutely didn’t recognize me and I got him to take my number. Plus I didn’t even have to read the whole chapter of Grandma’s book! Go me!

  As I arrive at Bonham Square, I notice Jamie lumbering out of the front door of the building, talking animatedly on his mobile phone. His doctor’s coat is slung over his arm and he’s wearing a faded khaki T-shirt that says ‘Abernathy Canal Centre’ on it above a picture of a barge.

  When I reach him, he does a slapstick double-take at my outfit, signalling that he’ll be finished in just a moment.

  ‘All right then, snotface.’ He smiles into the phone. ‘Love you all the world. See you soon.’

  ‘Snotface?’ I raise an eyebrow once he’s hung up.

  ‘My nephew, Charlie. He’s seven.’ His dark eyes sparkle. ‘Look.’ He hands me his phone on which there’s a picture of a skinny young kid in a Leeds United football kit. ‘He’s coming to visit me this weekend. Brilliant little bugger, isn’t he?’

  ‘Adorable,’ I nod vaguely, even though, to me, Charlie looks pretty much like every other seven-year-old-boy on the planet.

  ‘He’s bloody obsessed with science,’ Jamie chuckles proudly. ‘I bought him one of those kids’ chemistry sets for his birthday last year and it’s his favourite thing. Well, after the Wii. And farts.’

  ‘Oh. Cool.’

  Jamie’s smile drops a bit. It’s not that I don’t want to hear all about his kid nephew. Well, actually, I don’t, really. But it’s just . . . what’s the point? Family talk is for people in relationships, a way to bond by revealing intimate life details and shared experiences. And that’s not what’s happening here.

  ‘Nice outfit.’ Jamie gives me a pointed look.

  I do a daft twirl. ‘It’s for Grandma’s project. Stoopid, I know. I’m wearing a chuffing corset.’

  ‘A corset, eh? Well, yes, that is ridiculous. Also . . . kind of bloody sexy.’ He takes a step closer so that we’re only centimetres apart.

  ‘It’s actually mega painful,’ I huff. ‘Anyway, Doctor, we shouldn’t be fraternizing. My grandma has forbidden me from seeing you again . . .’ He frowns slightly. I grin. ‘But . . . I reckon what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.’

  ‘Aha.’ He steps closer, wrapping an arm round my restricted waist. ‘Are you suggesting we run around in secret? Conduct an, um, illicit affair?’

  ‘Something like that . . . ’ I wiggle my eyebrows. ‘Could be hot . . . ’

  ‘Would you like to start right now?’ He trails his warm hand up my back, sending a shiver right to the pit of my stomach. ‘The clinic’s empty. We could get you out of that corset, if you like?’

  ‘Oh God, yes please.’ I rub my stomach in anticipation of the beautiful moment when I will be able to fully breathe out once more.

  ‘Come on, then,’ Jamie whispers, holding out his hand and glancing up and down the street with an over-the-top worried expression. ‘Before someone spots us out here.’

  He’s such a plonker. I laugh and take his hand, dragging him inside to the clinic.

  Carrying my plethora of vintage underwear in my arms (including the tights Jamie ended up ripping in his eagerness to get them off me), I sneak back up to Grandma’s house at midnight, being careful to let myself in stealthily so as not to wake anyone. The house smells really strongly of popcorn. That’s odd. I’m far too knackered to remove my make-up and so simply flop onto the bed fully clothed, where I pass out in a matter of seconds.

  It feels like my eyes have only been closed for a few minutes when I’m awoken by a firm knock on the bedroom door.

  It’s morning already?

  Noooo.

  Grandma’s voice is bright and breezy from the landing.

  ‘Jessica, dear, rise and shine! We are most eager to hear all about last night! Breakfast is ready. Peach and I will be waiting downstairs. Do hurry!’

  ‘Mnnghg.’ I turn over to where Mr Belding is curled up beside me, purring like he doesn’t even care that it’s crap o’clock in the morning. ‘You go downstairs, make an excuse for me will you, Mr Belding?’ I ask him. ‘Take one for the team, eh?’

  In response he puts his cold nose against my nose and swipes his paw at my face.

  Gad, why can’t anyone just let me have a tiny little lie-in? Why? WHY?

  With a sigh, I reluctantly climb out of the bed, change into tracksuit bottoms and a blue cotton vest and trudge downstairs. I blearily make my way into the kitchen and, plonking down at the huge oak table, pour myself a black coffee from the pot.

  ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Was Mr Frost charmed and bewitched by you?’

  ‘Did he take your number?’

  ‘Where are my gloves?’

  I am bombarded by questions. I take a huge gulp of coffee and rub my eyes. Then I do a really long stretch and a massive yawn just to wind them up.

  ‘What happened, Jess?’

  ‘Tell us, for heaven’s sake!’

  I raise an eyebrow. ‘Oh, you know,’ I say nonchalantly, putting the coffee cup back on the table. ‘Gave him my digits, didn’t I?’

  Peach laughs out loud in astonishment. Grandma tries to look unsurprised and cool but completely fails. Her eyes sparkle with excitement and two spots of pink brighten her high-boned, pale cheeks. ‘Which of my Good Woman tips was it, Jessica?’ she asks. ‘Which one worked?’

  I bite my lip. I can’t bloody tell her that I totally failed at dropping the glove. She’ll probably start crying again. Instead I say:

  ‘The glove! I dropped it and sauntered past Leo just like the book said to and he came right over. It was, um, it was like magic.’

  She claps her hands together. ‘And you managed not to curse?’

  ‘I didn’t even say shit. I was the very image of a demure woman.’

  I tell them about the whole night, how I called myself Lucille Darling, about Leo asking to take me for a drink and how I said I had a ‘prior engagement’. I conveniently leave out that I pretty much made a mess of it and the fact that he took my number was probably a fluke and nothing to do with Grandma’s tips, possibly more to do with my unavoidable boobs and most amazing dodgems driving.

  ‘I hope he rings soon,’ Peach mumbles, spooning Tesco Value cornflakes into her mouth.

  ‘Oh, he will,’ Grandma tells us confidently. ‘Though we will probably have to wait a few days.’ She chuckles in a knowing way. ‘Men do not like to diminish their power by telephoning a lady immediately, lest they appear overeager.’

  As it turns out, Matilda Beam is completely wrong on that one. Because just twenty minutes later my phone rings. And it’s Leo Frost.

  Grandma and Peach hurry over to join me on the sofa as I pres
s answer on my iPhone.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Good morning, Lucille. This is Leo Frost speaking.’

  Leo Frost. Artist. Thinker. Man. On the phone.

  ‘Hi there, Leo,’ I say in the low, soothing voice. ‘How terrific to hear from you. I do hope you enjoyed the funfair last . . . ’

  I abruptly stop talking as I notice Grandma and Peach staring at me in horror. They gesticulate wildly, waving their hands up and down like mad people. What’s wrong? What are they trying to say?

  ‘Excuse me, Leo, please hold the line for just a moment.’

  I press the secrecy button. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Your voice! What on earth has happened to your voice?’ Grandma’s chin trembles.

  ‘Er . . . it’s a soothing voice. Like you said? Throaty and that.’

  ‘It’s much too deep! A soothing voice should be light and enticing!’

  ‘What do I sound like?’

  Peach grimaces, not quite meeting my eye. ‘You sound sorta demonic. Like you might be planning to murder him.’

  Grandma pats my knee. ‘Soften it a little, dear. Speak to him as if you’re keeping a scrumptious secret.’

  I nod, clear my throat and try again, making my voice softer, higher and more melodic. I sound like a twat.

  ‘Sorry about that, Leo,’ I breathe, clicking the phone onto loudspeaker. Grandma gives me a thumbs-up. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘Yeah, I thought we could get together. I have a dinner meeting this evening but I’m free as a bird afterwards. Coffee at my pad sound good? About eleven?’

  Oh. My. God. I am well versed in the art of the bootie call and this is an outright boot-ay call. I didn’t put out any of my usual super-casual vibes last night, I’m sure of it. Must have been the boobs sending out a very specific kind of message. I don’t know why I’m surprised – according to Valentina this is Leo Frost’s MO, after all.