Bobby's Girl

by Catrin Collier

  ‘Thank you, but I’ve everything I need.’

  He glanced at his watch. ‘I’ll be back in an hour.’

  ‘No you won’t,’ she warned. ‘Now Kate’s organised an unpaid tour guide for the group, they’ll keep you for as long as it suits them.’

  ‘And if the guide has better things to do?’

  ‘They’ll bribe him.’

  ‘I’m not easily bribed. Lock the door and put on the safety chain.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘That means you have to stay until I return.’

  ‘The door locks when you close it.’

  ‘It’s more secure double-locked.’

  ‘I doubt anyone will try to break in if I return to my own room.’

  ‘You’ll have more privacy in this room, plus a free bathroom,’ he pointed out.

  ‘Only until your return.’

  ‘Give me a break,’ he pleaded. ‘I’m a wonderful guy when you get to know me. And, I promise, as soon as your friends no longer need my services you’ll get to know me very well.’

  He left, closing the door behind him. She opened her bag and took out clean underclothes, jeans and T-shirt. Forgetting Bobby’s advice about the safety chain, she went into the bathroom and started running the bath. The water flowed sluggishly but steamed hot.

  A black leather toilet bag stood next to a paper-wrapped glass on a shelf below the mirror. Mindful of Bobby’s directive to help herself to his toiletries, she opened it and discovered Bobby’s bath salts were French and, judging by their smell, expensive. The pack was three-quarters full but she poured barely a teaspoonful into the water. The room was instantly filled with pine forest fragrance.

  It was heaven to strip off the clothes she had put on more than twenty-four hours before and step into hot scented water. There was a bar of soap and a bottle of shampoo in the ceramic dish next to the bath. She picked up the soap. It had the same scent as the water, as did the shampoo when she unscrewed the top.

  She lay back, soaked her hair, washed it and closed her eyes … She woke with a start when she heard the bedroom door open.

  ‘Hey, man, you’re in danger of turning into a girl, splashing about in the tub this time of day.’

  The bathroom door opened. Too late she realised she’d forgotten to lock it or put the chain across the bedroom door as Bobby had advised. She jumped up and grabbed a towel from the rail as a dark-skinned face peered down at her. It could have been Bobby with a heavy tan.

  ‘Wow – I mean, I’m sorry.’

  The stranger closed the door quickly, but not quickly enough. She burnt crimson before turning the key in the lock.

  ‘You didn’t have to do that. I’ve been brought up properly. I’ll mind my manners and stay this side of the door. Although, I’ve never been so tempted to jump into a tub fully clothed.’ The voice had the same accent as Bobby, but it sounded less cultured.

  ‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’ she demanded.

  ‘I could ask you the same question, but knowing Bobby, I don’t need to. I’m a friend of his. Name’s Sandy. You?’

  ‘An acquaintance.’

  ‘You must know him reasonably well to use his tub.’

  ‘I’m only here because my room-mate has fallen asleep in our bath. Bobby offered me the use of his.’

  ‘Lucky Bobby. “Bath” – you’re English?’

  ‘Welsh,’ she corrected. She put on her best teaching practice voice. ‘What do you mean “lucky Bobby”?’ She grabbed another towel and wrapped it around her hair before drying herself.

  ‘Girls have a habit of falling at his feet and into his room. I wish I could persuade someone as gorgeous as you to use my tub. Not that I have a tub to offer.’

  ‘You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here,’ she reminded.

  ‘Bobby and me have been friends since we were kids. I’m in town so I decided to pay him a visit.’

  ‘He didn’t know you were coming?’

  ‘No, I thought I’d surprise him.’

  She looked around for her clothes. She remembered taking them from her bag. Had she left them on the bed …? To her relief she saw them piled on the window sill.

  ‘Are you sharing his room?’

  ‘Most certainly not,’ she retorted indignantly. ‘I’m only here—’

  ‘You said – to use his tub. Good, if you’re not staying with him, I can. Are you the Brit girl he’s chasing?’

  ‘I’m Welsh, remember.’

  ‘You have a Brit accent.’

  ‘I’m still Welsh.’

  ‘What’s Welsh?’

  ‘Wales is a part of Britain, like Scotland and Ireland.’ She pulled on her underclothes.

  ‘I’ve heard of Scotland and Ireland, but not Wales.’

  ‘You heard of Tom Jones?’

  ‘The “Not Unusual” guy? First time I heard him sing I thought he was black. That’s some voice he’s got.’

  ‘He’s Welsh. From Pontypridd, the same town as me.’ She pulled on her jeans but she had to lie on the floor to zip them up and when she did she could scarcely breathe. She looked in the mirror anxiously, wondering if she’d put on weight during the flight. Fluid retention? Did people expand in the air? After all that vomiting she’d expected to be pounds lighter than when she’d left the UK.

  ‘But you’re the girl Bobby met in London, right?’

  She donned her T-shirt, slipped on her shoes and picked up her toilet bag. ‘I met Bobby in London but he’s hardly chasing me.’

  ‘Oh yes he is. He just hasn’t told you how hard in case he frightens you off. You didn’t think he was here by chance, did you?’

  Her tired mind groped to make sense of what Sandy was saying. Had Bobby really planned this meeting? Had he tracked her down to this hotel and this orientation course from the short conversation they’d had about her and Kate’s planned trip to America after they’d been arrested? It was ridiculous. Or was it? Bobby hadn’t seemed surprised when he’d seen her leaving the bus outside the hotel. She slid the bolt back on the door and opened it. Sandy was lying on Bobby’s bed, reading the room service menu. He glanced up at her.

  ‘When did you get here?’

  ‘A couple of hours ago.’

  ‘From Swansea College?’

  ‘How do you know what college I’m from?’

  ‘Bobby studied the orientation schedule to see when you’d be arriving. When he discovered the date he checked the staff list until he found someone he knew on it. There was a guy called Arnie who’d been at tennis camp with him. Bobby paid him a hundred dollars to take his place on the staff for forty-eight hours.’

  ‘Why would Bobby pay someone to take his place on the staff?’

  ‘So he could be here to meet you.’

  ‘Then Bobby isn’t on the staff of the orientation course?’

  ‘Nope. And it’s anyone’s guess what he’s going to talk about when he gives the “welcome to the states” speech tomorrow. Now you know the effect you’ve had on him. After seeing you I understand why. I would have raided my piggy bank for a chance to meet a girl like you. Not that there’s a hundred dollars in it.’ He sat up and held out his hand. ‘Sandy Buttons.’

  ‘Penny John.’ She shook his hand before bundling her washing into her laundry bag.

  ‘So where’s Bobby?’

  ‘Showing my friends around Central Park.’

  ‘Bobby loves that place, he could be gone hours. You hungry?’

  ‘I’ve just eaten.’

  ‘I’m starving.’ He dropped the menu. ‘Change your mind. They have great burgers here. We’ll stick them on Bobby’s bill. Or we could go down to the coffee shop.’

  ‘I’ve just been there with Bobby, thank you.’

  ‘Then it’ll have to be burgers in the room. Sure you don’t want anything?’

  ‘Quite sure. But thank you for asking.’

  The door opened and Bobby walked in. ‘I thought I heard voices. What are you doing here, Sandy?’

  ‘Stealing P
enny. Finders keepers, remember.’

  ‘Hands off. I’ve staked my claim. You should be digging latrines.’

  ‘I was digging latrines but our leader—’

  ‘The Bishop or Pill Face?’

  ‘The Bishop,’ Sandy answered.

  ‘“The Bishop” is the nickname we give to the guy in charge of our section of the summer camp. Pill Face is his wife, so named because she always looks as though she’s swallowed a large one,’ Bobby explained.

  ‘Your section of the camp?’ She’d tried to keep up with the conversation, but whether it was exhaustion or Sandy and Bobby’s bizarre mention of latrines, bishops and pills, she was confused.

  ‘Summer camp – the one we’re working in,’ Bobby continued. ‘It has three sections, one for five-to-ten-year-olds; another for ten-to-fifteen-year-olds and one for sixteen-to-eighteen-year-olds.’

  ‘We’re working with the sixteen-to-eighteen group.’ Sandy held up his hand, Bobby slapped it. They shouted ‘Pioneers’ in unison.

  ‘And the latrines?’

  ‘It’s a camp.’

  She knew they were teasing her. She’d seen photographs of American summer camps in the brochures Joe had shown her. They’d all been like Butlin’s with tarmac walkways between wooden chalets and plumbed-in bathrooms and kitchens.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be somewhere else?’ Bobby asked Sandy.

  ‘Nope. I’m staying the night.’ Sandy lay back on the bed.

  ‘Who said so?’ Bobby demanded.

  ‘The Bishop. He decided we need another female counsellor for the other side of the lake besides the one you told him you’d be bringing back.’

  ‘You’ve found a counsellor?’ she asked.

  ‘I told you on the bus in London I’d help you find a job. Remember?’ Bobby was so carried away with his plans, he either didn’t notice, or ignored her lack of reply. ‘It’s a great camp in a beautiful area of Connecticut, you’ll love it. It’s on the bank of a lake; you can swim, sail, canoe—’

  ‘I can do all those things in Wales,’ she interrupted. ‘I’m here to see the galleries and museums, not experience the outdoor life.’

  ‘Great, we’ll travel into New York and Boston on our days off. You’ll have your own personal tour guide – me. I know all the best sights and places culture-wise and fun-wise in both cities. We’ll have a ball.’

  ‘This orientation is about finding jobs for us, isn’t it?’ she checked.

  ‘It is,’ Bobby allowed warily.

  ‘Then there’s bound to be something going in New York I can do.’

  ‘Low-paid jobs in catering and hotels. Waitressing and chambermaiding for less than fifty cents an hour,’ Bobby dismissed.

  ‘I only need to earn enough to keep myself.’

  ‘Have you any idea what it costs to rent a room in this city? It’s one of the most expensive places in the world to live,’ Bobby informed her.

  ‘Which is why I’m bunking in with Bobby tonight,’ Sandy chipped in.

  ‘You said you were staying. I didn’t realise you meant my room. Go get your own,’ Bobby retorted.

  ‘No cash. Besides, the Bishop told me to bunk in with you.’

  ‘How generous of him to allocate my room space. Don’t you have to meet him?’ Bobby asked pointedly.

  ‘Not until tomorrow. He’s dining at his club and staying the night.’ Sandy pulled a face. ‘I wasn’t invited.’

  Bobby burst out laughing. ‘Did you expect to be?’

  ‘A man can live in hope. Even a Hispanic. He told me he’d be here for the employers’ afternoon seminar tomorrow at three.’

  ‘Aren’t there any live-in jobs in the city?’ she asked. ‘Kate’s found one as a nanny in Scarsdale. She’s getting twenty dollars a week and her keep.’

  ‘And she’ll be expected to work 24–7 for it with no time off,’ Bobby warned. ‘I know the type you get in Scarsdale. Couples who complain about the influx of illegal immigrants into the States from Mexico, but are first in line to employ one as a domestic. They’ll pay her ten cents an hour while proclaiming it doesn’t reflect on them as a family because they only took her in “out of charity”.’

  ‘Kate’s not an illegal immigrant and she’s more than capable of looking after herself. If she doesn’t like it, she’ll leave.’

  ‘They may not let her. Scarsdale people can be vicious.’ Sandy spoke as though he’d had personal experience.

  ‘You’re letting life pass you by here, Sandy.’ Bobby picked up Sandy’s arm and tried to pull him off the bed. ‘If you go to Central Park you’ll meet Penny’s friends. Kate’s your type. Grey-eyed blonde, delicate features, long legs …’

  ‘I’m too exhausted from all that latrine digging to walk.’ Sandy fell back on the pillows.

  ‘What the hell. It’s only money. Book yourself a room and put it on my bill.’

  ‘There’s no need for Sandy to go anywhere. I’m going to my room.’ She picked up her bag.

  ‘I didn’t offer to pay for his room so we could be alone.’

  ‘No?’ Sandy raised a sceptical eye.

  ‘No,’ Bobby repeated. ‘Tomorrow’s a big day. I’m giving the opening lecture. I need a good night’s sleep and you snore.’

  ‘Why don’t we all go to Central Park to look for Penny’s friends?’ Sandy suggested.

  ‘You’re too tired to walk, remember?’ Bobby emphasised the last word.

  ‘So I am.’ Sandy settled back comfortably and closed his eyes.

  ‘And you’re exhausted from all that travelling.’ Bobby turned to Penny.

  ‘It’s odd, but I feel quite awake after that bath. Although given the horrors and length of the journey here I might collapse later.’

  ‘We’ll make it a short walk round the park. And if you collapse I’ll carry you back.’ Bobby took her bag from her. ‘Leave this here.’

  ‘No way. Because I’ll have to come back here to get it.’ She wrenched it from his grasp.

  ‘At least let me carry it for you.’ Bobby tried to take it from her.

  ‘Children, stop quarrelling.’ Sandy lifted the pillow from beneath his head and punched it into a more conducive shape. ‘You’re disturbing my beauty sleep.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The early evening air in Central Park was hot and humid and strangely seductive after the ‘canned’ air in the hotel. But not as seductive as Sandy’s assertion that Bobby had paid someone a hundred dollars to take their place at the orientation course so he could see her again.

  She stopped and looked around. ‘It’s lovely here. So green and peaceful. Block out the skyscrapers and you’d never think you were in the middle of a city.’

  Bobby reached for her hand as they strolled towards Conservatory Water and the Alice in Wonderland statue. ‘This is one of my favourite walks to one of my favourite places. Do you have any?’

  ‘Dozens. There’s a beautiful park in Luxembourg and a stunning one in Rome … What’s so funny?’ she asked when he started to laugh.

  ‘You. Your favourite places aren’t even in your own country.’

  ‘Pontypridd – that’s the town I come from − has a wonderful park too. It’s huge and right in the centre of town. And we’re surrounded by mountains. My brothers, sisters and I used to pack a picnic in the morning, take our bikes or horses and roam for miles when we were small.’

  ‘You ride?’

  She nodded.

  ‘And have your own horse?’

  ‘My family had a few. My father arranged for them to be stabled at a farm near our home.’

  ‘And you’ve travelled?’

  ‘That’s down to my father. He loves Europe. Especially France and Italy. He used to drive us there every summer when we were children to show us the palaces, cathedrals and museums. Although there never seemed to be enough time to see everything properly. I remember one fortnight—’

  ‘That word is so Shakespeare.’

  She looked up at him. ‘You don’t have fortnights here?
’

  ‘No, but we will now you’re here to tell us about them.’

  ‘Where did you go on holidays with your parents?’ she asked curiously.

  ‘Nowhere.’

  ‘You stayed home all summer?’

  ‘All my holidays were spent in camps. Tennis, sailing, chess, riding, skiing in winter − you name it, I was sent there. Which is why I’m an expert on absolutely everything.’

  ‘And modest with it,’ she mocked. ‘You couldn’t have spent much time with your parents.’

  ‘None. I see my grandmother occasionally. But before I went to boarding school it was mainly nannies.’

  ‘You were brought up by nannies?’

  ‘A succession of them, because my grandmother didn’t like me getting too close to any particular nanny. She was also always on the lookout for a stricter version of my current one. Why do you find that strange?’ he asked. ‘Nannies are a British invention.’

  ‘You do have parents?’ she checked.

  ‘My mother’s dead.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I had no right to pry,’ she apologised.

  ‘You don’t have to look sad, I can’t remember her.’

  ‘She died when you were a baby?’

  ‘Three years ago, but she’d been in and out of nursing homes for years for drink and drug addiction.’

  ‘That must have been dreadful for you and your father. No wonder he sent you away to camps.’

  ‘He didn’t send me anywhere. My father’s stepmother − who I suppose is my step-grandmother, but I refer to her as my grandmother, to save time – did. I haven’t seen my father since I was one – or so my grandmother tells me. He’s just divorced wife number seven and lives in a hippy commune in Mexico. My mother was wife number one. When my father divorced her, my grandmother drew up the settlement. She gave them cash and annuities in exchange for me.’

  ‘Your parents handed you over to your grandmother for money?’ She was aghast.

  ‘My grandmother wanted to groom me as her heir. My parents didn’t want me for anything in particular.’

  ‘I can’t imagine any parent just handing over their child, especially for money.’