Bobby's Girl

by Catrin Collier

  ‘Sounds like you’re afraid I’ll end up in an American police cell.’

  ‘The American police don’t mess about when it comes to people protesting against government policy, civil rights or the Vietnam War. You might think you were treated badly in Bow Street. Believe you me, you would have been treated a lot worse if you’d been arrested in the States. And be extra careful if you visit the Southern states. Everyone knows about Martin Luther King’s assassination. What hasn’t received quite so much press coverage in Europe or America is the treatment of ordinary civil rights protesters in some of those states. Students, housewives and working-class men and women have been beaten, shot, hung and occasionally disappeared from the face of the earth. The Klu Klux Klan isn’t history. It’s alive and horribly active.’

  ‘They murder people?’ Her voice dropped to a whisper.

  ‘Probably, and even if the local police departments and authorities aren’t directly involved, they occasionally turn a blind eye.’

  She started at a knock at the door.

  ‘There’s no need to look so serious. Just be more careful there about what you say and do than you are in this country.’ Haydn left the sofa to open the door to the waiters who’d brought their sandwiches. ‘Keep a low profile, and you’ll discover America’s a great country for young people. You’ll have a wonderful time.’

  ‘If Mam and Dad allow me to go there after today.’

  ‘Today was a mistake. Wasn’t it, Pen?’

  The waiters rolled in a trolley loaded with covered dishes. Haydn signed the chit they handed him.

  ‘Thank you, we’ll serve ourselves.’ He slipped the waiters a tip and closed the door. ‘You weren’t really protesting against America’s involvement in the Vietnam War, were you?’ he pressed.

  ‘I wasn’t. But when I saw the students in the square, I wanted to,’ she confessed.

  ‘I understand how you feel,’ he sympathised. ‘I can’t bear the thought of young men being forced to fight far from home and getting killed any more than the next man. Nor do I understand what the war is about. But I’ve also asked myself what I’d achieve by protesting. Other than earn myself a police record. And, frankly, one of those won’t do me or you any good, Pen, when you look for work after you’ve finished college.’

  ‘I’ve seen films and photographs of you on civil rights marches with other film stars, writers and entertainers. Weren’t you afraid of being arrested or attacked for taking part?’ She took the plate of sandwiches he handed her.

  ‘No, because questions would have been asked if a public figure had been beaten or spirited away by the police. And, when it comes to civil rights, I feel it’s worth trying to make a difference. You wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve seen in South Africa and the Deep South of the States. Segregation on any grounds is stupid; on racial or religious grounds it’s criminal. Even more so if it’s “legalised segregation” by government order. But it remains to be seen whether peaceful protest will achieve anything now Martin Luther King has been murdered.’

  ‘I’d like to make a difference.’ Realising she was hungry she bit into a cheese sandwich.

  ‘So, we have another firebrand in the family.’

  ‘Another? Like you?’ Penny looked at him quizzically.

  ‘I’ve been too selfish and concerned with my career to make a serious difference in the world. But you’re not the first one in the family to get banged up.’

  ‘I know Dad was a prisoner during the war.’

  ‘Of the Germans, poor man,’ Haydn suppressed a smile.

  She knew there was tension between her father and uncle but she’d never plucked up the courage to ask her parents why.

  ‘I wasn’t talking about him. That was noble imprisonment in a just cause. At least we all knew what we were fighting for in the last war, unlike the poor souls who’ve been shipped out to Vietnam. Hasn’t your mother told you about your Uncle Eddie who was killed at Dunkirk?’

  ‘She said he was a successful boxer.’

  ‘He was, but he also had a foul temper, which he once took out on your father. The police arrested him and he spent quite a few hours in a cell before your father convinced the police not to press charges.’

  ‘Mam’s brother beat up Dad?’ Penny asked in amazement. ‘What on earth did Dad do to him?’

  To her annoyance her uncle refused to elaborate. ‘If you want to know more ask your mother – or …’ he grinned, ‘your father, but when you do, don’t mention my name.’ He glanced at his watch and lifted the covers from the plates. ‘I wish I didn’t have a plane to catch so I could stay longer with you. But time and planes wait for no man.’

  ‘I can’t thank you enough for getting me out of that cell. I was terrified.’

  ‘Anyone but a fool would have been, Penny Piece.’ He finished his sandwiches and whisky, brushed crumbs from his jacket and rose to his feet. ‘Got a good old Ponty hug for your uncle?’ He opened his arms and she embraced him.

  ‘I’ll tell Mam what you did. Dad will want to pay you back for this room and the train tickets.’

  ‘I wouldn’t hear of it.’ He took out a billfold and removed a couple of banknotes. ‘I know you’re not supposed to take more than fifty pounds in cash out of the country, but call this your mad money. If my wives and daughters are anything to go by, women can always find somewhere to hide money where it can’t be found by customs officers.’

  ‘Two hundred dollars,’ Penny gasped. ‘I can’t take this from you. Mam and Dad would be furious.’

  ‘Your Mam and Dad don’t have to know about it. And this,’ he peeled off another two notes, ‘is for Kate. You’re lucky to have a friend like her, Pen. Look after her.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘This,’ he gave her ten twenty-pound notes, ‘is for both of you to go shopping tomorrow. You’ll be backing Britain to the hilt if you buy the latest Mary Quant designs and wear them in the States. Fashion exports will soar.’

  ‘Uncle Haydn …’

  ‘Money is everything to a poor student. When you reach my advanced age you realise how little real value it has. My card – there’s an American number on there. It’s my agent’s. They always know how to reach me. Slightest sign of trouble, telephone. If I can’t help, I’ll send someone who can. Say goodbye to Kate for me.’ He opened the door. The bellboy and a young woman entered. ‘The cases are to go to my car, Stephen.’ He tipped the boy. ‘Anna, make sure that my niece and her friend have everything they need for the night.’

  ‘I will, Mr Powell.’

  ‘Bye, Pen. Love to your mam, and everyone back in Ponty, and yourself and Kate.’ He blew her a kiss and left.

  That’s when she realised that like her, her uncle hated goodbyes.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Swansea, June 1968

  ‘If you really loved me you wouldn’t go to America.’ Rich’s voice broke the silence. The quietest time in the boys’ hostel was between supper and pub closing.

  ‘I’m sick and tired of you trying to blackmail me into not going to the States.’

  ‘It’s a joke,’ he snapped.

  ‘An unfunny one.’ She moved away from him, which wasn’t easy in a single bed.

  He wrapped his arm around her waist to prevent her from leaving.

  She tried to read the expression on his face but he’d pulled his curtains against the sunset glare and the room was shrouded in shadows. Freeing herself from his arm, she swung her legs out of the bed. ‘I’m packed and set to leave tomorrow and I’m going.’

  ‘Unpack and cancel your ticket. If you’re worried about losing the money I’ll take a part-time job.’

  ‘I’m more concerned about you behaving like a two-year-old than money. “If you loved me”,’ she mocked, mimicking his Welsh accent which was more pronounced than hers, ‘you wouldn’t ask me to give up a trip I’ve been planning for months. You know how much time I’ve spent reading up on the exhibitions in the New York and Boston galleries and museums.’


  ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to America for art’s sake. It’s not going to take you four months to walk around galleries and museums,’ he scoffed. ‘You could see all you want to in a catalogue. You’ll be having a good time with Kate and the boys you’ll pick up.’

  ‘You make us sound like tarts.’

  ‘I know Kate.’

  ‘No you don’t,’ she contradicted. ‘I told you she’s taken a job as a nanny. I’ll hardly see her once we’re there.’ She hadn’t admitted it to Kate, but she was disappointed that Kate had accepted a position in Scarsdale, a suburb outside New York. Kate had tried to persuade her to apply to the agency for a nanny’s job as well, but she was determined to keep to her original plan and look for a waitressing or barmaiding job in Manhattan or Greenwich Village.

  The thought of her living alone in New York terrified her parents, especially as she didn’t have a job lined up. But she’d consoled them by promising if New York didn’t work out she would look for a nanny’s job when she was there.

  ‘No doubt Kate will be spending her days off with you,’ Rich persisted sourly. ‘And in between you’ll be alone. Anything could happen. Considering the mess you got yourself into in London—’

  ‘London wasn’t my fault.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  Furious, she shouted, ‘IT WAS A MISTAKE! The police swept up protesters in Grosvenor Square. I didn’t move out of their way fast enough. My uncle sorted it in a couple of hours.’

  ‘Your rich influential uncle might not be around to sort out the next lot of trouble you get yourself into.’

  She picked up her bra and pants from his bedside locker and began to dress.

  He plumped the pillows behind his head, sat up and watched her. ‘I mean it, Pen. You go to America, we’re through.’

  ‘Then we’re through.’ She pulled on her jeans. As he was in the bed she lay on the floor to zip them up. She and Kate had each bought two pairs of jeans in London and shrunk them by wearing them while sitting in baths of hot water. As a result, she could only fasten hers when lying on the floor.

  ‘I’m serious.’

  ‘So am I.’

  ‘While you’ve been gallivanting with Kate in London and going on endless shopping trips, I’ve been seeing someone.’

  She’d caught her head in the polo neck of her skinny-rib sweater. Tugging it viciously down, she yanked her long hair. When she finally disentangled herself and emerged, Rich was grinning.

  ‘Who is she, Rich?’

  ‘What’s it to you?’

  ‘I’ve a right to know who you’ve been seeing behind my back.’

  ‘So you’re saying you have rights over me but I don’t over you?’

  ‘I don’t have the right to tell you what to do, any more than you have the right to order me around. But given that we’ve been going out together for seven years and you’ve asked me to marry you, I believe I do have the right to know if you’re two-timing me. Who is she, Rich?’ she reiterated.

  He shrugged. ‘A girl; one who appreciates having a boyfriend and knows how to treat him,’ he taunted.

  ‘I’m glad I found out what you were like before you put a ring on my finger.’

  ‘You’re the one leaving me.’

  ‘To work abroad,’ she reminded. ‘I’ve never two-timed you.’

  ‘What was I supposed to do when you and Kate went up to London for a couple of days? And all the afternoons and evenings you two spent in your hostel making plans? Did you really think I sat around here twiddling my thumbs, waiting for you to give me five minutes of your precious time?’

  ‘I’m not your court jester, Rich. I assumed you were old enough to amuse yourself.’

  ‘But evidently not to amuse you.’

  ‘You’re stifling me, Rich.’

  ‘By loving you, I’m stifling you?’ he retorted. ‘Well, that’s not how Judy—’ He fell silent after saying more than he’d intended.

  ‘Judy? Judy Brown?’ Shoes in hand Penny whirled round and faced him.

  ‘What’s wrong with Judy Brown?’ he challenged.

  ‘Nothing. I hope you’ll be very happy together.’ Judy was a first-year student who boasted about her ability to drink any boy under the table. The cattiest girls said that Judy prided herself on her ability to down alcohol because she had no other talents, or looks, to fall back on. But that had been after Judy had won a reputation for stealing other girls’ boyfriends.

  ‘If you don’t go to America, I’ll finish with Judy,’ Rich coaxed.

  She unlocked the door. ‘For Judy’s sake, I hope you’ve been more honest with her than you have with me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You just said you’d finish with her if I stayed.’

  ‘You’ll stay?’ He sat up eagerly.

  ‘If I wouldn’t stay before you told me you were two-timing me, I certainly won’t now. You’ve just given me all the more reason to go. Does Judy know she’s your second string?’

  ‘She knows about you. The whole bloody college has known we’re an item since the day we arrived.’

  ‘We were an item, Rich.’ She wrenched the door open.

  ‘Pen.’ He jumped out of bed, realised he was naked, and grabbed the sheet to cover himself before following her into the corridor. ‘Please, don’t go to America …’

  ‘Have a good summer, Rich.’ She hit the lift button, the door opened and she stepped into it.

  * * *

  ‘I’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve quarrelled with Rich.’ Kate pushed her chair back from her desk and faced her. She was sitting cross-legged on Kate’s bed, ostensibly looking through a collection of brochures on New York.

  ‘He’s never admitted two-timing me before.’

  ‘He took Carol Howell home from the Regent Ballroom last summer when you were on holiday with your family. You were furious when I told you, but you forgave him afterwards,’ Kate reminded.

  ‘He was drunk.’

  ‘Not that drunk. I was there, you weren’t.’

  ‘Do you think he’s gone out with other girls besides Carol and Judy?’

  ‘Why ask me? You’re the one who’s almost engaged to him.’ Kate looked her in the eye. ‘You really mean it this time? This is the end for you and Rich?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘No regrets?’

  ‘None.’ She shuffled the brochures into a neat pile.

  ‘No tears?’

  Ignoring the burning sensation in her throat she shook her head. ‘The only emotion I feel right now is relief. As to whether I cry later, that remains to be seen. We’ve been going out together for seven years.’

  ‘Out of habit, if you want my opinion. And seven years is longer than some marriages.’ Kate ducked when she threw a cushion at her. ‘It’s true. One of my cousins went home to her mother after the honeymoon and hasn’t seen her husband since. She says she doesn’t intend to until they’re in the divorce court.’

  ‘Rich and I talked about marriage.’

  ‘I know,’ Kate murmured in a ‘martyr’s’ voice.

  Penny felt guilty. ‘I’ve put upon you over the years with my ups and downs with Rich.’

  ‘You’ve always been there for me. Although I’ve never hit anything like the downs you hit with Rich.’ Kate screwed the top back on her fountain pen.

  ‘And now I’m stopping you from working.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Her guilt didn’t prevent her from carrying on the conversation. ‘Your love life has always been more straightforward.’

  ‘Straightforward and several degrees colder,’ Kate conceded. ‘I keep boys at arm’s length, except physically when I’m in bed with them. Emotionally, I’ve always kept my distance.’

  ‘Why? No – forget I asked,’ she amended. ‘It’s obvious when I think of how Rich tried to control my life. You’ve always been the independent sensible one.’

  ‘It’s my mother’s influence. She does what she wants, when she want
s, and dresses and behaves to suit herself. After seeing the way some of the men on our estate treat their wives it’s what I want. Independence and no lord and master to bow and scrape to.’

  ‘You make it sound as though we’re living in a feudal society, not the 1960s.’

  ‘The way most men carry on we could be in the Middle Ages. How many times have you heard a woman say “if his dinner’s not on the table when he gets in from work, there’s ructions”; or “it’s his job to bring in the money, mine to keep the house clean. He goes up the wall if he finds a speck of dust”? They even say it proudly.’

  ‘Often enough on Pontypridd market.’

  ‘As for going out, it’s not an option for the downtrodden.’ Kate had begun to lecture on one of her favourite topics and wasn’t about to abandon her tirade halfway through. ‘“He doesn’t like me going out without him and it’s more than my life’s worth to try”,’ Kate mocked in a strong Valleys accent. ‘Then there’s the one that really makes my mother see red. “His mother’s never entered a pub in her life and he says no decent woman should”. That came at her from all directions when she tried to organise a ladies’ night in the social club on the estate. The way some of the men carried on you’d think she’d suggested putting a red light outside the door and running a brothel.’

  ‘I’ve heard women talk like that but not in our family. My father’s never insisted on his meal being on the table when he walks through the door. If no one’s in he’ll make himself a sandwich or scramble a couple of eggs.’

  ‘I bet your father hasn’t had to make himself a meal very often. You’ve always had help in the house.’

  ‘I suppose we have,’ she agreed. ‘But my father’s never tried to tell my mother, my sisters and I what to do or how to live. He encouraged all of us to take an interest in things outside of our home.’

  ‘Unlike Rich. Given his attitude to our trip to America, I bet he’d expect things to be run his way if you two married.’

  She had a vision of Rich’s mother, known to everyone in Pontypridd as ‘Mrs Evans’. She realised she didn’t even know Rich’s mother’s Christian name. Her husband, like her sons, referred to her as ‘Mam’. Mrs Evans dressed in brown and grey tweed skirts and twinsets, thick lisle stockings, low-heeled lace-ups, modest jewellery and shapeless hats on top of unflattering perms, eyes always downcast and manner self-effacing.