The music faded and Louisa peered through the mesh at the couples on the other side. She recognized several regulars. Boys with the same girls; boys and girls who swapped partners from one week to the next; and one particular boy who seemed to have a different girl every time.
As she watched them necking and fondling each other in the semidarkness, she wondered what it would be like to kiss a boy. In her head it was always the way it was in the films. Sometimes she would lie in bed at night, close her eyes, and try to picture kissing Elvis Presley or Dirk Bogarde. But she couldn’t imagine ever being in the back row of the Odeon with a real boy.
When the film ended and the lights went up, she could hear the groans of disappointment from the gropers.
“Lou!” She heard a loud whisper from the other side of the curtain. The voice belonged to Ray, the junior projectionist. She drew back the curtain, blinking in the brightness. Ray was eighteen, taller than her but only just, with large blue eyes smiling eagerly from a face marred by a volcanic spot on the left-hand side of his nose.
“What time are you finishing tonight?” His tone was casual, matter-of-fact. She wondered if his father, who managed the cinema, had sent him down to check up on her.
“Ten o’clock.” She frowned. “Why?”
“Oh.” He looked at the carpet. “It’s only that I’m going over your way later to pick up some stuff for Dad. Thought you might like a lift home.”
“Oh . . . er, thanks.” Louisa felt herself blushing. “It’s okay, though—my dad’s coming to meet me.” She looked at him and saw that he was blushing too.
“Oh, right.” He thrust his hands in his trouser pockets and shrugged. “Another time, maybe?”
“Er, yes,” she gulped. “Another time.” She watched him as he wove in and out of the crush of people making for the exits. He reminded her of a big puppy, all legs and eyes. She swallowed again and felt her mouth go dry. What was she going to say if he asked her again?
Gina coughed as the lid came off the box of Coty’s loose powder, sending a small white cloud shooting up her nose. “Oh no! It’s gone over the bedspread!”
“It’s okay—it’ll come off.” Louisa leaned across the bed and smacked the cover, sending the powder flying out onto the lino beneath. “Are you sure your sister’s not going to mind us using her stuff?” She lay back on the pillow, her face plastered with a layer of foundation.
“She won’t find out as long as I put it all back before she gets home.” Gina dipped the huge powder puff into the box and dabbed it onto Louisa’s forehead, cheeks, and chin. “Right: no looking!” She rummaged in the makeup bag. “Eye shadow next, and then some mascara.”
“Gina.” Louisa tried not to move her face too much as she spoke. “What do you think of Ray Brandon?”
Through half-closed eyes Louisa saw Gina’s mouth split into a grin. “He fancies you! I knew it!”
“He does not!” Louisa raised herself on her elbows, sending the mascara sliding off the bed.
“Oh yes he does!” Gina smirked, bending down to retrieve the mirrored box, which had parted company with the little brush when it hit the floor. “My sister told me!”
Louisa frowned. “Told you what?”
“That Ray Brandon wants to ask you out: he plays football with Donna’s boyfriend.”
“Well, I don’t fancy him!” She wasn’t sure if she meant it or not. Ray was not like the screen idols she kissed in her fantasies. But since the night he’d asked to take her home, she’d found herself stealing glances at him when she was at work. Once she’d even made an excuse to go up to the projection room, just to check how she felt when he looked at her.
“He’s going to the Christmas Ball at the Civic Hall.” Gina wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “What will you do if he asks you for a dance?”
Louisa shrugged, studying her new face in the mirror.
“Could be a bit awkward, couldn’t it,” Gina said, “with you both working at the same place, I mean.”
Louisa’s head dropped. “I might not be working there much longer. My parents want me to give it up so I can spend more time studying.” She sighed. “They never wanted me to take the job in the first place.”
“Really! I’ve always been dead jealous of you, getting to see all the films.” Gina spat on the black cake of mascara and rubbed the brush in it. “What will you do when you finish school?”
“Dad wants me to go to teacher training college.”
Gina pulled a face.
“I know. Every time he says it, I get this mental image of myself in thirty years’ time looking all gray and woolly like Miss Pudney—remember her?”
“Oh, please! Promise me you won’t turn out like her!” Gina applied the mascara brush to Louisa’s eyelashes, turning them into spider legs. “What about doing something really glamorous? Acting, maybe. Wish I could do that.”
“Hmm,” Louisa murmured, trying to keep still. “Don’t think I’d be much good at that. I wouldn’t mind being a dancer, though. In a film like West Side Story.”
“Yes, I can just picture you.” Gina laughed. “You’ve got the legs for it—not short and fat like mine!”
Louisa smiled, suddenly transported back to her childhood days at the farm. Dancer’s legs. That was what the shearers used to say.
“You’d have to move to London, though,” Gina went on. “No chance of doing that round here!”
“Well, that’s out, then.” Louisa shrugged and smiled, blinking as her eyelashes stuck together. “I couldn’t possibly leave my parents.”
Gina frowned. “You mean you’re going to carry on living with them till you’re an old lady? Not get married or anything?”
“No, I don’t mean that—not that anyone’s ever likely to want to marry me—I mean I couldn’t ever live far away from them.”
“Why not?”
She closed her mouth momentarily as Gina homed in to apply a coat of sugar-pink to her lips. “I had a brother, but he died.” She felt a twinge of guilt at her poker-faced reflection.
“Oh—you never said!” Gina looked embarrassed.
“I don’t remember him: I was only two when he died. But my mum’s never been the same since, according to my dad. From when I was tiny, he’s always said to me: ‘You won’t ever leave us, will you, Lou, because you’re all we’ve got.’”
“Hmm.” Gina dabbed spots of rouge onto Louisa’s cheeks. “Well, my dad always says you’ve got to follow your dream.” She zipped up the makeup bag. “There! You look fantastic!”
“Do I?” Louisa stared uncertainly into the mirror. “I’ll have to wear something with long sleeves: look at my hairy arms!” She stuck out her elbows.
“They’re not hairy!” Gina laughed. “Not compared to Donna’s anyway—did you know she waxes them as well as her legs?”
Louisa winced. “That sounds painful.”
“I don’t know why you’re always putting yourself down.” Gina sat down next to her, the mirror capturing both their faces. “I wish I had your skin,” she said. “Look at me—all spotty!”
Louisa frowned. If only Gina knew how much she hated her own skin. To be spotty was far better, she thought. At least the spots would go.
It was snowing outside, and Louisa was alone in the house. Both of her parents were at work. Her mother had recently started a new part-time job at the town library. It had been her father’s idea. Her mother would never have had the confidence to apply for it. One of his friends at the office had told him about the vacancy, and he had gone to the library himself and come home with the application form.
The effect on her mother had been amazing. For the first time in years she was animated, talkative. And she was being so much—Louisa struggled to find the right word for what she sensed was happening between her parents—kinder. That was it. Her mum was doing thoughtful things that made Dad happy. Like taking him breakfast in bed on a Sunday morning before she went to church, or rubbing his shoulders when he’d been out with a shovel cl
earing snow.
Louisa pushed another shilling in the meter and pulled the table as close to the electric fire as she could without incinerating what she was sewing. She glanced at the clock as her foot worked the treadle of the machine. Her mother should be back from town soon.
She eased the pink taffeta under the foot of the machine. It was tricky stuff to sew, but it would be worth it when it was finished. She was copying Rita Moreno’s dress for the Christmas Ball. And with her new makeup she was going to have Audrey Hepburn’s eyes.
The sound of the doorbell made her slip, the needle almost jabbing her finger. She snapped down the foot and dragged the table away from the fire, worried that the slightest breath of air might blow the precious fabric onto the glowing bars. The bell rang again, followed by a thumping on the door. “I’m coming!” She ran down the hall and turned the handle. Standing in front of her was a tall man in a heavy overcoat, his face half-hidden by a gray woolen scarf. Snowflakes were melting on his black hair.
“Louisa?” His mouth twisted up on one side as his eyes searched her face. She felt a shiver of foreboding, though he looked vaguely familiar.
“Don’t you recognize me, girl? I’m your uncle Trefor. From Wales!” He laughed. A short, humorless chuckle. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
As she took his coat, images flooded her mind. This was the sneering man who had turned up at her aunt’s funeral and called her names, then thrown her and her parents out of the farmhouse when his mother was barely cold in her grave.
“I . . . there’s no one here,” she faltered.
“Well, you can make me a cup of tea, can’t you?” He pushed past her into the front room. Reluctantly she shut the door and followed. She saw the smug look as he took in the decor and the furniture, as if the contrast between her home and the farmhouse gave him immense satisfaction.
“No school today, then?” The smile he gave her now was conspiratorial as his eyes traveled up and down her body.
She shook her head, mortified. “Last day was Friday.”
“Well, get the kettle on, girl: I’ve come a long way, you know. And I’ve brought you something!”
She shuffled wordlessly out of the room, perspiration prickling her skin. The way he had looked at her made her feel dirty. She stayed in the kitchen while the kettle boiled, hoping her parents would be home soon to save her from having to make polite conversation with this horrible man. Then she heard his footsteps coming along the hall.
“The watched pot never boils, Louisa—didn’t your mam ever tell you that?” He took something from his jacket pocket and dangled it in front of her. A silver pendant, the shape of a diamond, with a Celtic cross engraved on it and a violet-colored gemstone at its center. “It’s an amethyst,” he said. “Belonged to your aunt Rhiannon. She wanted you to have it when you were grown up—and you look pretty grown-up to me!”
She didn’t like the look in his eyes as he said it.
“Hold still and I’ll put it on.” He leaned forward, his arms around her neck as he fastened the clasp. She stiffened, feeling his hot breath on her neck. He smelled of sweat and something else. Something sweet and unfamiliar.
“You’re very tense, aren’t you?” He pulled something else from his pocket. A small bottle of whiskey. “Here! Take a slug of this in your tea, girl! Loosen you up a bit!”
She opened her mouth to say no, but before she could get the word out, he was on her, pressing his lips against hers, shoving her against the cold kitchen wall.
“Yes, you really have grown up, haven’t you? Nigger’s child!” He pushed his hand up her skirt and she cried out, struggling to push him away. “Oh, playing hard to get, are we? I like that,” he leered. “That’s nice!”
She tried to scream, but he had his hand over her mouth now. Her head banged against the wall as he pushed her to the floor.
“Now, come on,” he hissed. “Don’t pretend you don’t want it! Like your mother wanted it—from a nigger!”
Chapter 25
The kettle hissed as Trefor pulled away and began buttoning his trousers, oblivious to the sobs that shook Louisa’s body. “Come on!” he barked. “Get up! Make the bloody tea!”
She stared at the ceiling, not hearing, not wanting even to look at him. Her limbs felt numb against the cold, hard lino.
“Get up, I said!” He kicked her in the ribs, and she yelped in pain. She struggled to her feet and cowered against the sink, fearful of more blows. “Come on,” he snarled, “don’t you know how to behave when you have a guest? Teapot! Cups!”
With trembling hands she spooned tea from the caddy and poured boiling water onto the leaves.
“That’s better!” He smirked as she set the cup in front of him.
She stiffened as she felt his hand on her behind.
“I want you to give this to your dad,” he said, reaching into his jacket pocket. “Your uncle Dai died last month, you know.”
She didn’t know. He was looking at her as if he expected her sympathy. She looked away, fixing her eyes on the pattern of triangles on the floor.
“This was left in his will.” He handed her a piece of paper with numbers written on it and the name of a bank. “It’s a check,” he said. “Don’t suppose you’ve ever seen one before, have you?”
She stared at it. Her parents’ names were written in a delicate script on one line and the words “Five Hundred Pounds Only” below.
“A tidy sum, isn’t it?” He looked about him. “Enough to get them out of this dump, anyhow.” He took her chin in his hand, forcing her head around. “Aren’t you going to thank me? I could have contested it, you know!” His eyes were boring into hers. “And I still might if you breathe a word of this to them!”
She could see his teeth between his lips. They were stained brown and lumps of white like chewed bread were stuck in the gaps where they met the gums.
“Did you hear what I said?” He shouted the words, making her jump. She nodded dumbly. “Right, then!” He drained his cup and banged it down on the draining board. “I’ll be off. And remember, not a word!
“Congratulations, young lady!” He looked over his shoulder as he stepped out into the snow. “You’ve just become the most expensive tart in England!”
Louisa was lying huddled under her sheets when she heard the front door open. She froze, thinking he had managed to get back into the house.
“Lou!” It was her mother’s voice. “I’m home!”
Louisa leapt out of bed, smoothed her clothes and grabbed a comb from the dressing table. She glanced at her reflection, afraid of the face staring back at her. She had crawled under the covers like a wounded animal when he left and lain there, paralyzed, unable to think or do anything. She felt dirty. His smell was still upon her. And she was terrified that her mother would be able to read what had happened in her face.
She walked unsteadily to the stairs. “Up here,” she called. Even her voice sounded different.
“I’m in such a state!” Her mother’s short, shrill laugh drifted up the stairs. “I had to wait an hour and a half for the bus! It’s absolute chaos in town.” A pause and then, “Would you make me a cup of tea, love? I’m chilled to the bone!”
Louisa came down slowly, gripping the banister.
“Are you all right, love?” Eva caught sight of her as she draped her coat over the wooden ball that topped the stair rail. “You look a bit peaky.”
“I’m fine,” Louisa mumbled, “just a bit of a headache.”
“Take an aspirin with your tea—it’s all that sewing, you know, that’s what’s caused it!” Eva followed her into the kitchen and saw the two cups on the draining board, one empty and the other full of cold tea. “Has Gina been round?” She took the full cup and poured its contents down the sink.
“No.” Louisa busied herself with the kettle so that her back was to her mother. “Uncle Trefor called.” Saying his name made her feel sick. “From Wales. He brought something for you and Dad.”
�
�Trefor!” Eva gasped. “That devil had the cheek to come to our house?”
Louisa turned and saw that her mother’s face had turned bright red. “He brought this,” she said, opening the kitchen drawer. She grasped a corner of the check between her nails, as if it were contaminated.
“What is it?”
“He said it was a check.” Louisa passed it to Eva.
“Five hundred pounds!” Eva put out a hand, bracing herself against the draining board. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”
“He said it was in Uncle Dai’s will.”
“Will?” Eva blinked. “Dai’s dead? When’s the funeral? We must go!”
“I think they’ve probably had it already. Uncle—” She gulped, not wanting to say the loathsome name again. “He said Uncle Dai died last month.”
“Last month?” Eva echoed, staring at the piece of paper in her hand. She shook her head slowly. “Oh, it must have grieved Trefor to part with this!” She paced the narrow kitchen, clutching the check to her chest. “Your aunt Rhiannon must have wanted us to have it—that’s what it would have been, I bet—but it would all have gone to Dai until . . .” She stopped, looking at Louisa. “How was he? Was he nasty about it?”
Louisa looked away. “He . . . er . . . no, not really,” she mumbled, fighting down the sick feeling welling up inside.
“No wonder he didn’t hang around!” Eva grunted a laugh. “Bet he couldn’t bear the thought of seeing my face when he handed it over!” She disappeared into the hall, returning with her handbag. Unzipping one of its compartments, she slid the check carefully inside. “Wait till your dad sees it! We’ll be able to put down a deposit on one of those lovely new houses in Fir Grove!” She beamed at Louisa, “And tomorrow we’ll go to Beatties and buy you a whole new outfit! Something really stunning for the Christmas Ball!”
The Color of Secrets Page 20
