‘Is she married?’ asks Tina.
‘Well, she’s a Mrs.’ Kate pulls a retching face. ‘Urgh. Imagine. Poor bastard. Mind you, bet he can rest his cup of tea on her head, so at least she’d be of some use.’
Sarah puts her board down and goes to the back of the room to find an orange crayon. As she digs through the pastels box, bony fingers pinch her ribs, making her leap back.
‘Looking a bit scrawny, Sarah.’ Mrs Minor stands motionless by her side, speaking quietly. ‘Your mum not feeding you?’
She gasps at the mention of her mother. Mrs Minor’s expression is pinched and Sarah stares down at her, feeling her pulse racing.
‘Well?’
Sarah grips the orange pastel and pulls herself up to maximum height. ‘Well, you’re looking a bit short, but I’m too polite to say so.’ She marches back to her seat, her heart thudding in her chest.
Sarah’s group turns to look back at Mrs Minor, who pretends to be tidying up the pastels box.
‘What happened?’ asks Kate. ‘We saw her put her arm round you.’
‘Nothing,’ says Sarah, cautious of Kate’s change of tone.
‘You said something to her,’ says Tina, fiddling with a hole in her thick black tights.
Sarah starts filling in her carnations. ‘I told her she was a bit short.’
‘Classic!’ laughs Kate, leaning over to slap Sarah on the knee. ‘Oh, man. You’re brilliant.’
Tina snorts and gives Sarah a dry smile, and Marianne nods at her gratefully. I didn’t do it for you, Sarah wants to shout, and she looks away, avoiding Marianne’s gaze. The girls get on with their sketches, scribbling away at their drawing boards, smudging orange into yellow into green. No one talks much, but the group is unified in animosity towards Mrs Minor. She knows it, and she sits quite still behind her desk at the front, looking smug and raising an eyebrow to any girl stupid enough to look up and meet her eye.
When the bell rings, Sarah’s group are last out of the door. They’re still moaning and making fun of Mrs Minor, when suddenly she’s right there among them, her black eyes moving from one girl to the next.
‘Eek!’ Kate cries out, startled to find her right up close at her side. Mrs Minor drops back, smirking like a midget Mona Lisa. The girls turn the corner and clatter down the wide wooden staircase. They pass Mr Settle on the stairs, in his depressing brown suit. He stands back against the handrail to let them pass, clutching his white paper bag and frowning disapproval.
‘Doughnut,’ whispers Sarah as they rush past him.
Kate laughs, looking back up the stairs to see his polished shoes disappear beyond the last rail. ‘Doughnut,’ she repeats, still giggling to herself.
The sun is out, so they collect their coats and lunchboxes from the lockers and head for the field where they can eat under the oak tree. Sarah’s lunch is usually the same: cheese in white bread, a packet of crisps, an apple and a bottle of tap water. Kate always seems to have plenty of money on her, and most lunch breaks she races off to the canteen and returns with a synthetic cream bun, which she eats before she has her sandwiches.
‘Where d’you get all your money?’ asks Tina, as Kate drops her bag against the tree trunk. It’s a favourite spot of theirs, far enough away from the main building, and edging on to the boy’s field next door.
‘My dad.’ Kate runs her finger down the length of the bun, watching the strawberry jam and cream concertina up to her knuckle.
Tina nibbles away at her Ryvita and Marmite. ‘Is it pocket money?’
‘No. I get pocket money at the weekend. This is just for food and stuff.’
It’s a wonder Kate looks so good, what with all the junk she eats. She never even has a single spot on her face.
‘You’re lucky,’ says Tina. ‘I just get two pounds a week. What about you, Sar?’
Sarah is rubbing an apple against the nylon of her green skirt. It shines up nicely. ‘I’ve got my job at the chemist’s, so I don’t get pocket money.’
Kate stuffs the last of the cream cake into her mouth and stretches out her long legs. ‘What d’you spend it all on?’
‘Not much. Magazines. Chocolate. Clothes.’
‘You buy your own clothes? You’re kidding!’
Sarah bites into her apple, a satisfying wet crunch. ‘At least I get to choose whatever I want.’
Kate kicks her shoes off and looks at Tina, who’s still gnawing away at her cracker. ‘You on a diet or something, Teen? No wonder you’re so bloody skinny if that’s all you’re having.’
‘Yeah, but I had an orange this morning. It’s not like I’m starving myself.’ She chucks the last corner of her Ryvita into her lunch box and snaps it shut irritably. ‘My dad’s just bought us a SodaStream.’
‘God, they’re so old hat now,’ sneers Kate. ‘And the Coke tastes like treacle. You’re better off buying the real thing. Do you remember when your dad bought that CB radio? That was about two years after everyone else got one. What was your “handle”, Teen?’
‘Hong Kong Phooey,’ Tina mumbles, rolling her seagull eyes.
Kate snorts with laughter. ‘Hong Kong Phooey! Oh, my God, and what was your dad’s? Oh yeah! I remember – ’
‘Kojak. He said it was ’cos he liked lollipops.’ Even Tina breaks into a smile now as she folds her thin arms across her flat chest. ‘But my mum said it was because he was an ugly baldy.’
‘Go on, Teen – give us a bit of the lingo.’ Kate leans back on her elbows, smirking.
Tina picks up her yoghurt spoon for a microphone. ‘Breaker – breaker. This is Hong Kong Phooey, coming at you from Sundale Avenue. Do you read me? Over and out. 10-4, 10-4. Message received, loud and clear.’
The three girls sit side by side around the trunk of the tree, looking out across the field.
‘Well, at least you’ve got your career all mapped out, Teen,’ sighs Sarah.
‘What’s that, then?’ asks Kate.
‘Dirty trucker.’
Tina gives Sarah a soft thump with the heel of her hand, and for a few moments the three of them are harmonious, happy to be together again.
When they return to school after half-term, Dante and Sarah walk in together, hugging openly outside the school gates in the last few minutes before the bell rings.
‘Meet you here after school?’ she asks.
Dante lets go and pauses at the entrance gate to the boys’ school, twiddling his ear hoop. ‘Sorry, can’t. I said I’d go back to Ed’s tonight. We’re gonna do some taping and stuff.’ He holds up the carrier bag of albums he’s carrying.
‘Tomorrow, then?’
Dante gives her the thumbs up. ‘Yeah, I’ll see you in the morning. Same time, same place.’ He hugs the bag of albums to his chest. ‘Better go,’ he says, checking his watch, and he sprints through the gates and out of sight.
When Sarah finds the others, they’re in the toilets next to their form room. Kate is talking about November Night at the local youth club. Her dad runs it with a couple of the other parents, and he’s given her four free tickets.
‘You and Teen can have one, then there’s one spare. Dunno who to give it to, though.’
Kate stretches over the sink, bringing her face up close to the mildewed mirror. She reapplies her lipstick, rotating it over the ‘O’ of her mouth, once, twice, three times. ‘Twilight Teaser,’ she says, smacking her lips. ‘My new lipstick. It’s called Twilight Teaser.’
It’s been raining for days now, and heavy drops rap loudly against the toughened glass windows.
‘What about Marianne?’ suggests Sarah, pulling down her lower eyelid and drawing on to the inner rim with her black pencil.
‘You are joking!’ Kate snorts. ‘Teen, did you hear that?’
The sound of flushing comes from the far cubicle, and Tina comes out to join them at the sinks. She holds her mouth beneath the tap, rinses water around her teeth, then spits. ‘What?’
‘Sar reckons we should invite Marianne next week.’
‘No way! Sh
e’s so embarrassing. And completely square.’
‘She’s not that bad,’ says Sarah. ‘She’s just a bit shy, that’s all.’
‘And completely sad,’ adds Kate. ‘I’m not having her dragging around, showing us up. Have you seen her shoes? They’re like Cornish pasties!’
Kate and Tina cackle.
‘Loik an old Cornish fisherman!’ says Kate in a West Country accent.
‘Yeah, all meaty and chunky!’ adds Tina.
‘And not that tasty.’
‘Oh, my God,’ gasps Kate. ‘I’ll never be able to look at her again without seeing a big meat pasty.’
Sarah half-laughs with them. ‘All right, I get the picture.’ She closes her bag, slings it over her shoulder and leans back into the sink with a huff. ‘Who’re you going to ask, then?’
‘Dunno.’ Kate hitches up her skirt and readjusts it in the mirror. ‘Thought you might wanna ask Dante?’ she says, with her eyes firmly fixed on her reflection.
Sarah looks sideways at Kate, then back at the floor. ‘Yeah?’
‘Mmm,’ Kate ponders as she rearranges her hair in the dirty glass of the mirror. ‘I suppose I could let him have a ticket.’ She turns to look directly at Sarah. ‘But he’ll have to buy me a Coke when we get there.’
‘Are you sure?’ Sarah asks the back of Kate’s head as they exit the loos and amble down the cold tiled walkway towards their afternoon lessons.
‘Sure. Why not?’ replies Kate. They reach a fork in the corridor and go their separate ways.
The weekend before November Night, Sarah cooks her father one of his favourite meals.
‘Superb!’ He inhales deeply as she places the dish on the table in front of him. ‘Poor man’s banquet. Bangers, mash and a glass of good wine!’ He pats his round stomach and pours himself a glass of burgundy. It glows like a jewel under the light of the overhead lamp. He swills the wine in its glass, holding it up for examination, before taking a first sip and flushing it around his mouth appreciatively.
‘Care for a small glass, mademoiselle?’ He always offers Sarah a glass, and she always declines.
‘Salt?’ she asks, holding it out to him.
‘Naturally,’ he replies.
‘How’s school?’ he asks. ‘Looking forward to your exams?’
She gives him a sarcastic smile across the table. He’s in high spirits, which usually means that his research work is going well. Sarah can map out his progress through the highs and lows of his moods. Without asking, Sarah picks up his plate and fetches him the last two sausages from the kitchen.
‘Magnifique,’ he says, slicing them up into mouthfuls before stabbing a piece with his fork and holding it above the table. ‘My compliments to the chef! Is the chef in the house? Chef? Chef!’
Sarah puts her hands over her ears and shakes her head. He’s so embarrassing, even when they’re alone. ‘No more!’ she screams, watching him pop the sausage slice into his mouth elaborately.
He stretches back into his chair to savour the last mouthfuls in silence. ‘Divine,’ he says eventually, closing his eyes as he links his fingers together, resting them on his full stomach. He looks like Father Christmas when he’s happy like this, all white-haired and round-bellied.
Sarah clears the table and returns with two bowls of Arctic Roll. ‘It was on special offer,’ she tells him as he cuts into it with his spoon.
‘Very good,’ he says.
After a few moments’ silence, Sarah rests her spoon in her bowl and looks across at her father. ‘Kate’s got tickets to November Night. On Friday. She’s asked Tina and me to go with her.’
He licks his spoon clean and places it carefully on the table beside the bowl. In the bowl! she wants to yell at him, Put it in the bowl! His eyebrows are bunched towards each other in concentration.
‘And where exactly is this November Night?’ He stresses the last two words, as if they’re ridiculous.
‘The youth club,’ Sarah mumbles, watching his face change as she speaks the words.
He shifts in his seat and props himself up on his elbows, mirroring her own posture. ‘And have you seen the kind of “youths” that hang around outside the “youth club”? The “Borstal club” would be more appropriate in my opinion.’
Sarah stares into her bowl. ‘They’re not all like that,’ she says, eventually looking up, desperate to keep the emotion from her voice.
‘You’re not like them, Sarah-Lou.’ His voice is plaintive now, almost apologetic. ‘You’re a classy girl, and I don’t want you throwing that away on the wrong crowd. God knows, if I’d had the money, I would’ve sent you to a better school. But we don’t have that kind of money, and I can only thank God you’ve weathered the storm of Selton High.’ He pauses, waiting for Sarah’s response, but sees only the rage rising into her face.
He slams his fist on the table, hard enough to bounce Sarah’s spoon right out of her bowl. ‘The youth club,’ he whispers, suppressing his voice. ‘For Christ’s sake, Sarah. The youth club!’ He pushes his chair away from the table and strides furiously from the room.
Sarah gulps back the scream which clings to the pit of her stomach. She leaps from her seat and violently kicks her shoe at the open doorway her father just passed through.
‘I’m going!’ she shrieks down the hallway.
‘You’re not!’ he booms back from his study.
Ted cowers next to the sideboard, viewing Sarah through his guilty-sad eyes. She clips the dog lead on to his collar and marches to the front door, pausing briefly with her hand on the latch.
‘I am! And I’ll get drunk, take drugs and have sex! Because that’s obviously what you think I’ll do anyway!’ She slams the door behind her, and flees, down to the dark sea-front, shivering though her thin blouse and school jumper. There, beside the rusted mass of the great water pipe, she rages into the wind, drowned out by the crashing waves which smash against the gleaming pebbles, dragging them up and out before casting them aside once more.
The next morning, Dad concedes. Sarah may go to the youth club on the condition that she leaves at 10pm, at which time he will be waiting for her on the bench across the road. He agrees that under no circumstances is he to enter the club. She must keep ten pence aside for the phone box, to use in the event of an emergency. He must learn to trust her to make sound judgments when it comes to friendships. Both consent to the terms grudgingly, each equally fearful of the other’s potential to punish.
When Tina and Kate call for Sarah on Friday night, her father remains in his room.
‘10pm!’ he shouts through the closed door to his study.
‘God,’ whispers Kate. ‘What’s up with him?’
‘Just ignore him,’ grumbles Sarah. ‘He’s in a foul mood.’
Kate’s dad is the DJ for discos and party nights like tonight. It’s not his real job, more a hobby. ‘He’s an estate agent,’ Kate told Sarah when she first arrived in Selton. ‘When we were in Branham he was the top agent in his office, which meant he always got the best bonuses. He makes an absolute fortune some weeks.’ Sarah didn’t really know what to say to that.
Once the girls are through the entrance, Kate rushes straight over to her dad, with Sarah and Tina in tow. He’s fiddling with the disco lights at the front of the mixing desk, and he seems pleased when he looks up and sees the girls there.
‘Hello, ladies!’ He smiles widely, hooking his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans. Sarah notices the small silver hoop in his left earlobe. ‘Glad you could make it.’ He kisses Kate and nods at Tina, before turning his slow smile towards Sarah. ‘Now, I know Tina, of course. So that means you must be – ’
Sarah feels self-conscious under his gaze. She’s struck by how young he seems compared to her own father.
‘You must be – Sarah.’
Sarah smiles back. ‘Hello, Mr Robson.’
His face drops into a frown, and he shakes his head deliberately. ‘Sarah. I’m not that old, you know. You can call me Jason. Or Jase. Your c
hoice, sweetie.’
Sarah turns to Kate, who rolls her eyes. Tina giggles.
‘So, my lovely ladies! Give me your requests. Two each, and I’ll be sure to play them for you.’
The girls huddle around the mixing desk for twenty minutes or more, debating which singles they most want to hear. The hall begins to fill up, and, having sorted out the disco lamps, Jason sprints over to the far wall to shut down the overhead strip lights.
Small clusters of boys and girls are dotted around the hall, the younger ones congregating at the tuck shop.
‘That’s Jo Allen’s mum running the tuck shop,’ Kate says, her voice lowered. ‘My dad reckons she’s a right tart.’
They all turn to get a better look, and see her standing behind the sweets and Tip Tops, chatting with the kids like anyone’s mum.
‘How does he know?’ whispers Tina.
Kate shrugs. ‘He just does. How do you think Jo Allen ended up like she did, knocked up at fifteen?’
‘But her mum looks alright,’ says Sarah.
‘Well, that’s what my dad says, anyway,’ says Kate, as her father walks back across the hall and takes the list from her hand. They’ve scribbled their names next to each track. ‘You’d better play them,’ Kate growls, pulling a mock fist under his chin.
‘Or what?’ He gives her a little shove.
‘Or I’ll knock yer block off!’ she says.
‘You and whose army?’
Kate runs her fingers up through her backcombed quiff and leads the girls away, with Tina giggling uncontrollably.
‘D’you think he’ll play them?’ Tina asks, twisting the cord strap of her shoulder bag, first this way then that. She looks back over towards Jason.
‘Of course he will,’ replies Kate. ‘Or there’ll be trouble.’
The first of Kate’s requests comes on almost immediately.
‘This is for a feisty young lady I know… Katie Robson! It’s “Cruel Summer” by Bananarama.’
The girls cheer and sprint on to the dance floor, adjusting their outfits as they go. Sarah’s wearing a black Lycra miniskirt with wool tights and a striped T-shirt. Her purple suede ankle boots are new, and the plastic soles slip on the polished floor as Kate drags her over to dance.
Hurry Up and Wait Page 5
