Her thoughts wandered as her hands worked deftly, snipping at the blooms and the greenery. She felt a little vexed with Kevin. He had seemed all right at first, then he had laughed at her and made her feel like a stupid child, goodness knows why! And what did his father want with her?
She went to find Mr Hill at eleven o’clock when Mrs Hill sent her for her morning break. ‘That’s a superb arrangement, Debbie,’ she told her. ‘Well done! I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s snapped up in no time.’ They didn’t make all that many arrangements as most people preferred to buy bunches of flowers and make their own displays.
Mr Hill had a cup of coffee waiting for her when she joined him in the office, which was really just an annexe to the living room in the family home, adjacent to the garden centre.
‘Hello there, Debbie,’ he greeted her. ‘Sit down, pet. Here; have a biscuit.’ She took one from the plate of chocolate digestives.
‘Now, I’ve a little favour to ask of you,’ he began. ‘We’ve got a new girl starting on Monday, and I wondered if you would take her under your wing and help her to settle in. She’s a bit shy, you see; but she’s really keen and she’s got such an affinity with plants, like you have. She’s the daughter of a friend of ours; she’s just left school and this will be an ideal job for her. Especially as you’ll be leaving us soon, won’t you, when you go back to school? It’s been great having you here for the whole of the summer holidays, but we need someone to take your place … Is something the matter, Debbie?’
She realized that her dismay must show on her face. She had been so happy this morning, working with the flowers. Mrs Hill had complimented her, and she felt she was where she wanted to be, surrounded by plants and flowers, things of the earth; helping to nurture them and make them grow. The idea of another girl coming along and taking her place was … well, it was something she couldn’t imagine at all. She knew she had been wavering about returning to school since she had got those good results, but this had brought her streak of determination – it might be called stubbornness – to the fore.
‘Er … I hadn’t actually decided about going back to school,’ she said.
‘Hadn’t you?’ Mr Hill looked at her in surprise. ‘Why not, Debbie? You’re such a clever girl, and you’ve got a great future ahead of you. I met your father not long ago, and he was telling me how proud they are of you, and how they were looking forward to you going to college one day …’
‘Oh yes, my parents!’ She shook her head crossly and almost stamped her feet. ‘But that’s just their idea …’ She looked at him pleadingly. Surely he would understand. ‘I like working here, Mr Hill,’ she went on, ‘and I was thinking that I might be able to go on working here all the time. I mean … you did say once, didn’t you, that you’d give me a full-time job?’
‘Did I?’ He looked surprised. ‘Well, yes … I suppose I might have said something of the sort, but I only meant that I would if I could. But a job like this is not for the likes of you, Debbie, We’d still want you during the holidays, of course; that is, if you’d like to carry on with us?’
‘Yes, I might …’ replied Debbie. ‘I must have misunderstood you. It’s just that I’m doing exactly the job I want to do; working with plants, an’ all that. I can’t imagine wanting to do anything else.’
‘There’s nothing to stop you making a proper career of it,’ said Mr Hill. ‘There are all sorts of openings for a clever girl like you. You can take courses and degrees in horticulture and agriculture. Or have you thought about landscape gardening? My wife tells me you’ve an eye for design and colour. Would something like that appeal to you?’ He smiled understandingly at her; she could see he was trying to help.
She smiled back, nodding her head. ‘Yes, maybe it would …’ She knew she must hide her disappointment and her annoyance that other people thought they knew best about what she should or shouldn’t do. Besides, it wouldn’t do to make Mr Hill aware of the other – not so nice – side to her nature, what her mother called ‘nowtiness’.
‘Anyway,’ Mr Hill went on, ‘your love of gardening will always be there, won’t it? Whatever job – or career, I should say – you take up, it would still be there as a hobby. There’s nothing quite so pleasurable as watching things grow.’
‘Yes, thank you, Mr Hill,’ she answered politely. ‘And I’ll look after the new girl for you; what is she called?’
‘Julie,’ he said. ‘Julie Harper. Like I said, she’s just left school. Not your school; she went to the secondary modern, but she’s a bright little girl. She’ll just need a bit of encouragement, that’s all. Now, I’ll leave you to finish your coffee in peace … Thanks for everything, Debbie. You’re a great help to us here, you know.’
But you can manage quite well without me, she thought. She was still feeling miffed, and now she was to act as nursemaid to this new girl. She put on a cheerful face, though, when she returned to the shop; and she was gratified when her floral arrangement was sold, not long afterwards, to a posh lady who said it would make a lovely table centre for a dinner party she was having.
Kevin appeared at the shop when it was time for his midday break, and they found a sunny spot to eat their sandwiches together. At least he had come to find her, she reflected. Maybe he was regretting being so peculiar with her earlier.
‘What did my dad want?’ he asked.
‘Nothing much,’ she shrugged.
‘He must have wanted something,’ he persisted.
‘Oh, all right, then. He asked me if I’d look after some new girl that’s starting here on Monday. Julie … something or other.’
‘Oh yes; Julie Harper. She’s a nice kid; a bit on the quiet side, though. But you’ll bring her out of her shell, won’t you?’
‘I might,’ she answered. ‘It all depends on whether we like one another, doesn’t it?’ Then, aware that her ill humour was getting the better of her, she decided to change the subject. ‘I’m really looking forward to the party on Saturday,’ she said. ‘Will you call for me Kevin, or shall we meet outside the hotel?’
‘No, I’ll call for you,’ said Kevin. ‘I was thinking I might borrow my dad’s car and go in style … but perhaps better not, eh? There’ll be drinks laid on, won’t there? Best not to drink and drive. Anyway, it’s doubtful if he’d lend it me.’
Nobody could accuse Kevin of being reckless, Debbie pondered. ‘Perhaps we could have a taxi,’ she suggested. ‘I know it’s not all that far to walk, but I’ll be wearing my new dress, and might be raining, you never know.’
‘OK then. Anything Your Ladyship wants.’ He made a mock bow at her. ‘I’ll come round for you in a taxi. About half past seven?’
‘Yes; thanks, Kevin.’ She smiled at him; he really was trying to please her. ‘I don’t know all that much about the party except that’s it at the hotel that Carol’s parents own. Carol says they’re having a band. I expect there’ll be drinks, although a lot of us aren’t eighteen yet, are we?’
‘You speak for yourself; I am!’ said Kevin. ‘I’ll look after you. I dare say Mr Robson’ll get round the licensing laws as it’s a family party, and no doubt he’ll keep an eye on what’s going on.’
‘It’s a fabulous hotel,’ said Debbie. ‘Carol’s parents must be loaded.’
Sandylands was, in fact, one of the largest hotels on the promenade of Whitesands Bay. It was privately owned by Mr and Mrs Robson, the parents of Carol, who was in the same form as Debbie, and Sandra, two years older, who had just finished her two years in the sixth form and planned to go to Durham University in September. Her recent A level results had made this a certainty.
To celebrate their daughters’ successes their parents had agreed to throw a party for their friends at school and elsewhere, although most of them did attend Kelder Bank. Debbie had been delighted to be sent an invitation, especially as it said she could take someone else along with her, who would, of course, be Kevin. Shirley and Ryan were also invited. There would be around fifty in all, mainly from the f
ifth and sixth forms of Kelder Bank.
Mr and Mrs Robson had agreed to keep just a cursory eye on the proceedings from time to time, to make sure that things were not getting out of hand. But they trusted that their girls would invite only those who would behave themselves, and Carol and Sandra had agreed with this. The hotel had a good reputation; the functions held there were always first class affairs, and the same guests came back year after year for holidays to enjoy the hospitality of a family run hotel.
They had hired a group; four local lads who called themselves the Groovy Guys. They sang and played guitars and drums, in a mixture of the style of the Beatles, and of the rather more outlandish Rolling Stones. Beatlemania as such was now a thing of the past, but their songs were still widely played. A female vocalist called Sally Diamond – an aspiring Cilla Black – would be performing as well.
Debbie and Shirley had been shopping in Newcastle to buy new clothes for the party. Debbie had saved up quite a lot from her earnings at the garden centre; she had to admit she was lucky because her mother let her keep most of it for herself. Shirley had a Saturday job at a newsagents’ shop near her home, and she did a spot of babysitting now and again for neighbours.
First of all they went to C and A. They didn’t know whether to go for minis or maxis, but as Carol had told them it would be quite an informal occasion they decided on mini dresses. Debbie chose one in bright orange, almost what they were calling psychedelic, with a swirling pattern in black and white. Shirley, always more conservative in dress, went for a plain shift-style in kingfisher blue with lace at the sleeve edges and neckline.
They went to Stead and Simpson’s next for new shoes. Heels were becoming thicker and not so high now; possibly less flattering to the legs, but fashionable and certainly easier to dance in. They both chose black patent leather. Shirley’s had ankle-straps, and Debbie’s had squarish toes with a large petersham bow decoration. They both already had shoulder bags with chain straps, and large white clip-on earrings from Woolworth’s added the finishing touch.
‘You look very nice, pet,’ Debbie’s mother told her when she came downstairs, ready for the evening out, after more than an hour spent in the bathroom and bedroom. Perhaps she glanced a mite critically at her daughter’s make-up and hairstyle, but she did not pass any comment. It had taken Debbie ages, backcombing and lacquering and teasing her fringe into shape to get the desired effect, and she was wearing more eye make-up than usual. She had used the mascara and green eyeshadow liberally, and had experimented with eyeliner, which she hadn’t tried before.
Her mother nodded, whether in approval or disapproval Debbie was not sure, but at least she smiled at her in a cosy, motherly sort of way. ‘Won’t you be cold, though, in that sleeveless dress?’ she enquired. ‘Hadn’t you better take a cardigan in case it turns chilly?’
‘A cardigan! Nobody wears cardigans, Mum.’ Debbie laughed. ‘They’re dead old-fashioned. No; I shall wear this.’ She held up a shawl that she had bought from a second-hand clothing shop. It was a lacy design, crocheted in black wool, and where there were one or two larger holes that shouldn’t be there she had mended them with black cotton. ‘It’s a stole,’ she said, draping it round her shoulders. ‘It looks great, doesn’t it?’
‘Well, it’s what I would call a shawl,’ smiled her mother. ‘But … yes, it does look rather nice.’
There was a ring at the doorbell. ‘That’ll be Kevin with the taxi,’ said Debbie. ‘Bye, Mum.’ She kissed her briefly on the cheek. ‘Bye, Dad.’ Stanley was hidden behind the evening paper.
‘Bye, pet. Have a nice time,’ he called.
‘Don’t wait up for me,’ said Debbie to her mother, who had insisted on going to the door with her. It’ll probably be late … ish.’
‘You know I always wait up,’ said Vera. ‘I wouldn’t sleep anyway, until you were safely back home.’ She opened the door to Kevin. ‘Hello, Kevin. I hope you both have a lovely time.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Hargreaves; I’m sure we will,’ he said politely, adding, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll look after Debbie.’
Debbie scowled a little. It wasn’t the first time he had said that recently. Did he think she was a child in the infant school? ‘I can look after myself, you know!’ she hissed at him as they got into the taxi.
‘I know you can,’ he replied, putting his arm round her in the back of the cab. There was no hint of reproach in his voice, and she realized she was taking it out on him whereas it was her mother she was annoyed with. Waiting up for her indeed! ‘I was just trying to show your mother that I’m not such a bad sort, that’s all.’ He grinned at her. ‘And I must say you look lovely tonight, Debbie.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, snuggling closer to him. ‘You don’t look so bad yourself. New jacket, eh?’
‘Yes, d’you like it? My mum said it was a bit too mod, but that’s mothers for you, isn’t it?’ He was wearing a suede jacket in a russet brown colour, with a fringe at the bottom edge, teamed with black trousers with a slight flare, a pale blue shirt with a high collar, and a wide ‘kipper’ tie with a floral design in black and blue. She had never seen him look so trendy.
‘I think it’s fab,’ she told him, her ill humour fading away.
She had never been inside Sandylands, before and she was impressed by the grandeur of the place. As they entered through the swing doors into the spacious foyer both Carol and Sandra were there to greet them. She noticed they were both wearing long skirts rather than minis, and wondered if she might have made the wrong decision, but then she noticed some more girls, in short dressed such as hers, standing near by.
‘Hello! So glad you could come!’ Carol flung her arms round Debbie in an effusive manner. ‘And you too, Kevin.’ She smiled at him.
‘Hello, Carol,’ he said. ‘And … Sandra. D’you remember me?’ he asked the older girl. ‘Kelder Bank, but I left two years ago.’
Sandra looked at him before exclaiming, ‘Kevin Hill! Yes, of course I remember you. You went to work for your father, didn’t you, at that garden place?’
‘Yes, Sunnyhill, that’s right.’
Sandra looked from him to Debbie. ‘So, you and Debbie … you’re going out together, are you?’
‘Yes, we are,’ said Debbie, with a confident nod.
‘Er … yes, sort of,’ added Kevin. He heard Debbie’s indrawn breath. ‘Well, yes, I suppose we are. Debbie works at our place in the holidays. That’s how I met her and we … got friendly.’
Debbie got hold of his arm to pull him away.
‘Catch up with you later then, Kevin,’ called Sandra.
‘Yeh … see you,’ he answered.
Carol showed them into a large room at the rear of the hotel. There were small tables round the sides, a large table with drinks at one end, and at the other end the band members were setting up their equipment.
‘Come on, let’s bag some seats while we can,’ said Kevin. ‘They’ll soon fill up.’ Debbie was already heading towards the table where Shirley and Ryan were sitting.
‘May we join you?’ she asked.
‘Yes, please do,’ said Shirley, throwing an angry sideways glance at Ryan, who was standing up to greet Kevin. ‘Me and Ryan have had words,’ she whispered to her friend.
‘Then that’ll make two of us,’ Debbie whispered back. ‘Honestly! I could kill Kevin!’
‘Why, what’s he done?’
‘Tell you later … What’s up with Ryan?’
‘Can’t say just now …’
The two lads were standing there chatting in a friendly way. They had met before a couple of times and had seemed to get on well together. They smiled at the girls now as though there was nothing wrong.
‘What do you two girls want to drink?’ asked Ryan. ‘Carol says her dad’s laid on plenty of booze for us … Well, Babycham and lager, shandies and fruit juice; all that sort of stuff. No spirits though. He says there’s enough to last us the night, but when it’s done then that’s your lot! He’s making sure thin
gs don’t get out of hand.’
‘Quite decent of him all the same,’ said Kevin. ‘Come on, Debs,’ he said in an aside to her. ‘Snap out of it! What do you want? A Babycham?’
‘No; just an orange juice, please,’ she answered primly.
‘OK; suit yerself!’
‘I’ll have a Babycham, please, Kevin,’ said Shirley.
The two lads went off to the drinks table leaving the girls to have a hurried conversation.
‘Would you believe it!’ Debbie began. ‘He actually hinted to Sandra Robson that we’re not really going out together. After all this time! I think he fancies his chances with her, actually.’
‘No, he couldn’t! And what about Ryan, eh? He’s only going hiking with some friends next weekend, and he’d said he’d go to my cousin’s wedding with me, in Whitby. I thought it was all arranged, but he said he never promised. Anyway, they’re not going to spoil our evening, are they? We’ll show them we can still enjoy ourselves.’ Shirley put a conspiratorial arm around her friend.
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ said Debbie. But she was still very vexed with Kevin.
It was a lively party with Jeff, one of the Groovy Guys, acting as compère. Dancing was very much a case of doing your own thing. Quicksteps and foxtrots – dances they had heard their parents talk about – were things of the past. There were communal dances, like ‘March of the Mods’, and the still popular hokey-cokey when everyone stamped and shouted, getting into the party mood. But the dancing mainly consisted of twisting and shaking, gyrating and arm waving and rolling of hips. You could dance opposite a partner, or in a group, or on your own.
Families and Friendships Page 12
