The Palace of Strange Girls

by Sallie Day

  “You go on Beryl,” Red Hawk whispers. “She’s the best, but you have to give her a good kick to get her going.”

  Beth is shocked. She wouldn’t dream of kicking a donkey. Beryl’s mane is several shades darker than her creamy white coat and it stands as stiff as the bristles on a yard brush. Her name is in metal lettering across the front of a bridle that tinkles with half a dozen bells every time Beryl moves. She is young and flighty, prone to clearing off at full speed given half a chance. Beth hesitates, suddenly overwhelmed by the magnitude of what she is about to do. She can imagine the look on her mother’s face if she ever found out. It is such a vivid sensation that she turns round, believing for a moment that her mother is actually there, her mouth twisted with anger and her tongue sharp with reproach. The donkey man has already taken the money for the rides and helped Red Hawk into the saddle. He steps forward and catches Beth under her arms to lift her on to the nearest donkey. Beth twitches with pain from her scar and grits her teeth until the sensation passes.

  When Beth is settled on Beryl’s back she leans forward and buries her nose in the donkey’s short fur. The smell is a sour mixture of sweat, manure and sweet hay, and another smell Beth can’t quite identify. Beryl is warm to the touch but she’s restless. Her legs twitch and her hooves shift in the sand. The saddle is smooth under Beth’s thighs but her legs aren’t long enough to reach the stirrups. Beryl shakes her head when she senses Beth’s weight and a tremor runs all the way down her back. When Beth takes the reins the donkey snatches her head into the wind and snorts. And then they’re moving. The donkey man takes hold of Beryl’s bridle and the group sets off with all the other donkeys trailing behind. Beth hangs on to the metal handle at the front of the saddle and laughs as Beryl sways from side to side, making her way through sand strewn with litter and droppings. On the way back the man asks if she wants a gallop. Beth nods furiously, too excited to speak, and the donkey man directs a sharp slap to Beryl’s rump. A cloud of dust and sand rises as he lets go of the bridle. Beryl completes the rest of the ride at full pelt and is only caught and led back to the ring of waiting donkeys by the prompt action of the donkey man’s assistant. Beth’s heart thumps and lurches in her chest, and she’s covered in sweat, but it’s the most exciting ride she’s ever had.

  The two children wander back across the sands. Central Pier rises like a monster, high above their heads. Beth can hear the rattle of stilettos and thump of crêpe-soled Teddy boys on the planking above her. “Here Comes Summer” is playing at full volume. The song is familiar. She’s seen Helen jive across the flagged scullery floor when it comes on the radio. To her right, further into the shadows under the pier, sand-locked lovers wrestle in a muddle of legs and discarded clothes. Beth pulls out her I-Spy book and stares at the picture of a rock pool on the front cover. There are dozens of points to be earned from a decent rock pool. A whelk scores ten, a whelk with a hermit crab inside scores a dizzying thirty-five. But Beth must find a rock pool if she is to stand a chance of earning points.

  “I’ve seen loads of those,” Red Hawk says, pointing to an anemone.

  “Where?”

  “Over there.” The boy points to a pool of water that has collected round the base of the iron pier supports. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

  The rock pools are confined to the cool dark strip under the pier where salt water is marooned in crevices and hollows from the morning tide. Beth looks up and is relieved to spy Helen’s pink-and-white skirt billowing out between the pier railings above her head. Helen has her arms crossed behind her back and her hands grasp the sky-blue railings. Beth shouts and waves but Helen is deep in conversation with Alan. Beth can see her sister’s blonde hair lift in the breeze when she tilts her head back and laughs.

  Beth imagines that all rock pools will be crammed with exciting finds like the one on the cover of her book. It is filled with brightly colored fish and shells, scarlet anemones, aurelias, sea gooseberries, seaweed, limpets and periwinkles. She only needs to see one rock pool today to spot at least nine different things and so earn more points than she can easily count. It stands to reason—everything else, the birds, the boats, and the seaweed all look the same as in the book—why shouldn’t the rock pool? But still she hesitates. The pier is out of bounds. She’s already come far too close. But Red Hawk is older than her and knows the beach a lot better. And it would be exciting to see all the different types of fish. Perhaps, if she could find a jam jar, she’d be able to catch one and show her sister. Then it would all be worth it, worth getting into trouble for.

  Red Hawk has climbed halfway up the pier’s dark geometry of rusted stanchions and he’s tired of waiting. He climbs back down and runs over to where Beth is standing. “Come on,” he says, and when she fails to move, he takes her hand and drags her with him into the darkness.

  It’s sunny and bright on the beach but dark and dank under the pier with the fierce smell of rotting seaweed and the taste of salt. The iron supports bedded in rough concrete are covered with barnacles sharp enough to rip the delicate skin of a child’s foot or hand. Water drips from the planking of the pier overhead and there is the constant rumble of holidaymakers’ feet passing back and forth. The rusting iron flakes off in her hand as she threads her way through the bars and supports. The sand is damp and the rocks are covered with seaweed.

  Beth is glad of Red Hawk’s hand to steady her. “Watch out here,” he warns, “it’s slippery.” When they come to the place where the iron bars cross the supports he says, “Mind your head.”

  His voice echoes around the maze of rusted iron. The salty darkness under the pier is the retreat of courting couples. The girls’ summer dresses are whipped up by the breeze and the men in joke hats, with shirtsleeves rolled up, reveal a straining of muscles under sunburnt skin. Beth picks her way unnoticed past the couples wrapped in each other’s arms. She pauses, waiting until her eyes become accustomed to the gloom. The first rock pool they come to is a disappointment. It’s empty except for a few pebbles and a piece of seaweed. Red Hawk shrugs and leads her on, confident that the next rock pool will contain enough wonders to fill in the whole two pages.

  22

  Punch and Judy

  If you can spot lots of children sitting cross-legged on the sands in front of a tall striped box it means that there’s a Punch and Judy show. Children love to see Mr. Punch losing his temper and hitting Judy with his stick until she cries. What a laugh! Score 10 points for some typical family fun.

  What’s the panic?” Ruth asks the minute they’re out of earshot of their husbands. Cora tips her head towards an arrow pointing to “Ladies’ Powder Room” above a curvy silhouette of a woman with powder puff poised. There are two swing doors to negotiate before they enter the powder room proper. It’s an ode to femininity with its cream porcelain, flower arrangements, cotton-wool balls and low-lit mirrors. Cora slumps on a heavily upholstered button-back turquoise velvet chair and puts her head in her hands.

  Ruth feels a rush of annoyance. “Don’t you start that, Cora Lloyd. You’ve no reason. You’d have a good enough reason to put your head in your hands if you were me. Jack has been offered a really good job and he’s dithering about taking it! He’d be earning more than enough to cover the cost of a mortgage on that semi I’ve been looking at. You’d think he’d have the wit to consider what would be best for his family instead of suiting himself. But no. He has to have everything his own way. Now I have to continue struggling to bring up the girls crammed in a miserable terraced house just because he doesn’t want a better job. I’m that frustrated with him I could scream. If it wasn’t for the girls I’d leave him. See how far his principles would get him then. You’re lucky with your Ronald. You wouldn’t catch him getting up on his high horse over some silly principle, would you?”

  Cora slips the sunglasses from her face.

  “Anyway, I’ve told him straight. An end terrace may be good enough for him but it’s not for me or the girls. I—” Ruth is cut short by the ex
pression on Cora’s face as she raises her head. There’s silence while Ruth takes in the sight. Even in this subtle lighting Cora’s face is a battlefield. Ruth takes her friend’s chin carefully in her hand and tilts Cora’s head to the light. “What happened? Who did this?”

  “It’s my fault. I got into an argument with Ronnie a couple of days ago.”

  “So that’s why you rang and asked me to come over. You were frightened he was going to start knocking you around. Dear God. What did you say to him to deserve this?”

  “I can’t remember now.”

  “How can you not remember?”

  “I mean it could have been anything. It doesn’t take a lot.”

  Ruth is incredulous. She struggles to take it all in.

  Cora grabs Ruth’s hand and says, “You won’t tell anyone, will you? I couldn’t stand it if people were pointing to me and saying ‘her husband knocks her around.’”

  “It’s too late, Cora. They’re already saying it. Irene Sykes said as much to Helen the other day.”

  Cora puts her head in her hands again and rocks forward in her chair. “Oh, God. And I suppose it’s common knowledge that he spends time down Liverpool Road as well.”

  “Does he? But why would he bother with some prostitute from Liverpool Road when he has got you? I can’t credit it. How dare he use his fists on you? You should call the police. For two pins I’d give him a taste of his own medicine. I can’t believe it. I always thought—you always said—you were happy. I believed you. I mean, you’ve got everything: a wealthy husband, a big house. For goodness’ sake, Cora, you even have a housekeeper. And you’ve no children. What is there left to argue about?”

  “He’s out every night with one thing and another. If it’s been a bank do he comes home the worse for wear and anything I say aggravates him. It’s nothing new, Ruth. He’s been doing this since we were married. I haven’t told anyone. When people say how lucky I am it’s easier to agree. I mean, everyone looks up to him and thinks he’s a real gentleman. I must be in the wrong for aggravating him in the first place. He wouldn’t shake me about if I didn’t deserve it.”

  “This is more than a shaking about. He’s been using his fists on you.”

  “Well, it started with him grabbing hold and shaking me, but then he’d give me the odd kick and I’d lose my balance. He only started using his fists this last week.”

  “Why?”

  “He thought I was being too friendly with the waiter. You know, smiling too much. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I won’t do it again.”

  “So he gave you a black eye?”

  “Oh, that was yesterday. He’d had a bad day on the golf course. He was annoyed. I’d been stuck in the hotel room and hadn’t seen anyone all day and I started chattering at him when he wanted to relax and be quiet. And he always says sorry afterwards.”

  Ruth takes hold of Cora’s hand. “Call the police.”

  “Don’t make me laugh. They’re as bad as he is. Ronnie has got friendly with a few policemen since he joined the Freemasons. I’d a split lip last time he invited them over for dinner and not one of them said a word. I can’t see them charging him with assault, can you?”

  “Then leave him.”

  “And go where?”

  “Anywhere. You could go back and live with your dad.”

  “I can’t. Do you think he’d have me back? He’d say, ‘You’ve made your bed, madam, now lie on it.’ I told him Ronald was knocking me about the last time I saw him and he said, ‘Well, learn to keep your mouth shut then.’ There’s nothing for it, Ruth. I’ve just got to hang on until things get better. It’d be different if I could just get pregnant. He wouldn’t lay a finger on me if I was pregnant. I can’t leave. I have to stay put. That’s the way it is.”

  “But it’s not fair,” Ruth says.

  “Oh, Ruth, don’t be so naive. Nothing’s fair.”

  Ruth is offended. After all, she’s seven years older than Cora and she’s given birth to two daughters. If anyone could be accused of being naive surely it’s Cora. “But why can’t you leave? Even if your dad won’t have you, you’ve enough to live by yourself. You could go anywhere you wanted. After all, you’re hardly short of money, are you?” Ruth struggles to keep the envy out of her voice.

  “I don’t have any money,” Cora says and, seeing the look of total disbelief on Ruth’s face, she adds, “I don’t! I haven’t a penny. Do you think I’d have let you pay for tea and scones on Wednesday if I’d had any money? Why do you think I had the Tupperware party? Everything is in his name. I was better off when I worked six looms at Fosters.”

  “Well, then, what was the point in marrying him if it wasn’t for the money?”

  “Is that all you think of me, Ruth? You think I married for money? That I’m nothing better than a prostitute with a marriage certificate? I married Ronnie for the same reason you married Jack. I was in love with him. I thought he’d look after me.”

  “Well, you were wrong there, weren’t you.”

  “You needn’t sound so pleased.”

  “I’m not! I’m just saying.”

  “Has your marriage turned out exactly as you expected? Has Jack never disappointed you? You were calling him all the names under the sun not ten minutes ago.”

  “Well, at least he doesn’t keep me short of money, he doesn’t spend time on Liverpool Road and he doesn’t knock me around.”

  “No. He’s not the type, is he? No, that’s not Jack’s way with women. Jack’s way with women is to look after them.”

  “It’s true, he’s a very protective husband,” Ruth says with a self-congratulatory smile. She could almost forgive Cora for calling her naive.

  “Well, he was certainly looking after the woman he was walking along the prom with a couple of nights ago. She had his jacket round her shoulders when I saw them.”

  “That’s a lie.”

  “I’m not lying, Ruth. I saw them when Ronnie was driving me back from the restaurant.”

  “You’ve made a mistake. It was someone else. It’s easy to mistake people in the dark.”

  “He was under the lights. And anyway, I’ve known Jack all my life. I could spot him a mile off.”

  “Well, there must have been something wrong. An accident maybe. Jack’s not like that. He went out to see Tom Bell on Wednesday. They had a chat about a Union job that’s coming up.”

  “A Union job? But Ronnie said—”

  Ruth interrupts her: “They had a couple of pints and then he came back to the hotel.”

  “So what time did he get in? It was around eleven when I saw him and that girl.”

  Ruth pauses, remembers Jack coming in at half past twelve. “I’ve forgotten,” she replies. “I’m not watching him all the time. Why should I? Jack would never go with another woman. Just because your marriage is a disaster there’s no need to start throwing mud at mine. Anyway, it’s time I got back to the girls.”

  “Oh, Ruth. Come back. Don’t leave like this. Don’t let’s fall out, Ruth.”

  But Cora’s words are drowned out by the sound of the powder room door swinging shut behind Ruth.

  23

  Pier

  The highlight of any holiday at the seaside is the pier. It is an exciting place with lots of things to see and do. It can be decked out with colored lights—a fantastic place where you can play deck quoits, watch a show, admire the view, have a drink or even dance! Score 10 points for walking on the pier.

  Alan is off to the bar again when Helen sneaks a look at her watch. It’s twenty to four. Beth should have been back ten minutes ago. Helen reckons she’s only got another fifteen minutes or so to find Beth and get them both back to the hotel lounge before their parents return. Helen stands up and looks down the length of the pier. It’s difficult to see much with all the crowds. Perhaps Beth has gone down on to the beach? Helen peers over the rail down on to the sands hoping to catch a glimpse of Beth’s yellow scarf. At last she catches sight of a girl about the right size standing
by herself, but the girl is bareheaded and wearing a pretty cotton dress so it can’t be Beth. Helen doesn’t know where else to look. She turns round and sees Alan in the middle of a group of porters and kitchen hands from the hotel. She recognizes them as the group of lads who are usually hanging on Connie’s every word. There’s a lot of laughter and one or two of them keep glancing over at Helen and nudging Alan. Anxious now, Helen starts to walk back down the pier to the entrance to see if she can see Beth on her way back. The further she walks, the more desperate she becomes. Suddenly there’s a jerk on her wrist and she turns, hoping it’s Beth. But it’s not. It’s Alan.

  “’Ang on a minute! Where do you think you’re off to? I’ve just got you another drink.”

  “Beth. I have to find Beth.”

  Alan starts talking, but Helen is in no mood to listen. She twists her wrist out of his grasp and moves forward again, forcing her way through the crowds. Beth isn’t at the pier entrance and there’s no sign of her under the clock. She seems to have vanished into thin air.

  “Don’t panic. She’ll be all right. She’s probably buggerin’ about with our Rob somewhere. She’ll turn up.”

  Helen looks again at her watch. It’s quarter to four. She has less than five minutes to find Beth. “I’ll have a look on the beach,” she decides.

  “What’s the point? If she was down there you’d have spotted her already from up here.”

  Alan puts his arm round Helen’s waist to stop her walking away, then stands in front of her, blocking her escape.

  Helen twists out of his embrace and darts sideways to the pier railings. She looks down again into the seething mass, hoping against hope she’ll spot Beth looking up at her.

  Alan puts his hand across her shoulders and says, “Relax. Have another drink. I’ll bet the crafty bugger has taken her for a UCP.”

  “UCP? What do you mean? United Cow Products? Why would he take her to the tripe shop? She’s not allowed in shops on her own. She’s too young.”