Playing Around (16 page)

Angie could do nothing. She was powerless as she watched this Jill making herself into a couple with Martin right there in front of her.

‘I wondered if you’d like to come back to my flat later,’ Jill was saying to him, as she straightened his
collar
, and stroked the side of his neck with the back of her finger. ‘You could stay if you like.’

‘Jill,’ Angie heard him murmur. ‘You know how much I’ve wanted that.’

It was as if everyone else at the party except Angie, Martin and Jill had disappeared, melted away to some other place. There was no music. No laughter. No talking. Just the gut-wrenching sight of Martin taking Jill in his arms and kissing her.

Angie turned slowly away.

When Angie woke the next morning, it took her a few moments to figure out that she was in Jackie’s bed. It took only a few more to remember the humiliation of the previous night.

When Jackie came into the bedroom with a tray of tea and toast, two glasses of water and a bottle of aspirins, tears were rolling down Angie’s cheeks.

‘That bad, is it? I thought you’d need some of these,’ Jackie said, offering her two of the tablets. ‘This hangover lark’s getting a bit of a habit with us.’

Angie took the aspirin and Jackie plonked down on the bed beside her.

‘That Richard said he wants to see me again. What do you think? Bit too gormless? And I think he’s a bit of a snob.’

Angie ignored her question. ‘It’s not a hangover,’ she said, rubbing away her tears with the back of her hand. ‘I’m angry. That’s all.’

‘No puzzles, eh, Ange?’ Jackie pleaded, holding her head. ‘I can hardly remember getting home last night, let alone working out what you’re going on about.’ She closed her eyes self-pityingly. ‘I just hope Mum never finds out we came home in that bloke’s van.’

Angie wasn’t listening to her. ‘I might not be going to
college
,’ she sniffed. ‘I might not even have a single O level to my name. But I’ll show them. I’ll show everyone. I’m going to make something of myself. I’m going to live life more than that lot ever will.’

JACKIE SAT BACK
, tongue clamped between her teeth and an eyeliner brush held aloft, and admired her handiwork. ‘That looks fantastic, Ange. If I say so myself. I reckon I’m a bit of an artist.’

Jackie had spent nearly half an hour making up Angie’s face as a mirror image of her own: she had covered her friend’s face and neck with the palest Sheer Genius foundation, then had dotted white Mary Quant highlighter on to her cheekbones, between her eyes, and on the point of her chin, and then she had stuck false eyelashes on to her top lids. Next, she had painted an exaggerated line of matching lashes, with stark black eyeliner, along Angie’s bottom lids, and then dotted a sprinkling of light-brown freckles over her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Jackie had then finished off the whole, sooty-eyed, child-woman face with the palest of pink lipsticks.

‘Get those rollers out,’ she said, lifting Angie’s chin with the back of her hand, ‘and I’ll back-comb the top for you, then you can iron my fringe.’

Finally, satisfied with their make-up and hair, the girls took off their housecoats and got dressed.

They had chosen identical outfits: bottom-skimming, black PVC miniskirts with matching braces that crossed over their black and white polka dot shirts, and white mid-calf boots over white, lacy tights.

The girls stared admiringly at themselves in the mirror.

Jackie’s hair hung to her shoulders in a straight blonde curtain, with the thick, heavy fringe almost touching her spidery, artificial lashes, while Angie’s chestnut hair swung in a glossy, geometric bob that tapered away to points which brushed against her carefully highlighted cheekbones.

Angie turned her head to one side, trying to get a glimpse of her profile.

‘Nice work, Jack.’

‘Not bad, is it?’ Jackie turned round and looked over her shoulder, checking out the back view. ‘Are you still sure about this? It’s not going to be cheap, you know.’

‘I told you, after that party, I’m going to start doing things with my life. Going to start living a bit. And it was you who said you wanted to go somewhere like the Tiles or the Canvas Club.’

‘Yeah, but the cost.’ Jackie reached under her skirt and hitched her tights up a bit higher – uncomfortable, but it showed off the lace pattern to the best effect.

‘I can afford it, with all the commission I’m earning. And after everything you’ve done for me, I want to take you out to say thank you.’

Jackie shoved her in the side. ‘Good job really, who else would be good-looking enough to go out with a beautiful girl like you?’

Angie thought for a moment. ‘Marilyn?’

‘I’m not joking.’

‘No?’ Angie was preoccupied, inspecting her teeth in the mirror for stray streaks of lipstick.

‘Seriously, Ange.’ Jackie took a deep breath. ‘The girls from school. They never really used to want you to go out with us.’

Angie straightened up and affected a look of shock. ‘Never?’

Jackie shook her head. ‘Never.’

‘I’m not an idiot, Jack. I know you used to pretend they all wanted me to go along.’

Jackie shrugged. ‘It’s different now. Now they wouldn’t dare.’

‘Really?’

‘Really. They couldn’t compete.’ Jackie pointed at their reflection. ‘With either of us. We’re flaming gorgeous.’

‘You’re right. I reckon if we set our sights on a bloke, we could have anyone we fancied.’

‘Paul McCartney?’

‘No trouble.’

‘Roger Daltrey?’

‘Easy.’

‘That bloke who wears the teddy boy clothes up the shops?’

‘Even I’m not that adorable, Jack.’

’I can’t believe they charged you that for just two drinks.’ Jackie sipped at the watery glass of gin and tonic that Angie had just handed to her, trying to hide the involuntary shudder at the horrible taste. ‘And that barman. He looked like he was doing you a flipping favour serving you.’

Both of them had sworn that they would never let a drop of vodka and orange, or lager and lime, anywhere near their lips ever again, and had had to wrack their brains for suitably sophisticated drinks that they could order without making themselves look like clueless kids from out of town. The barman’s weary attitude, as they dithered and considered, hadn’t helped.

‘And the entry price. We could have bought the new Stones album, all the top five, and still have had enough left over for a Wimpy each.’

‘It would have been even dearer if we’d come later,
when
it gets busy. But when you think what they’re charging for.’ Angie pointed to her lap, and lowered her voice. ‘We are sitting on bar stools in the Canvas Club in Soho. The stools you see in photographs in the Sunday papers and all the magazines.’

Usually Jackie would have made some sort of smart comment, but she was as impressed as her friend.

‘Just think, Jack.’ Angie gestured at the mirrored walls with a lift of her chin. ‘Pop stars have sat here looking at themselves.’

‘It is amazing.’ Jackie stared, wide-eyed over the rim of her glass. ‘Shall we go and have a dance, do you think?’

‘Let’s wait a bit. Till it gets busier, so we’re not on show.’

‘Good idea. We can have a look round first. See what the others get up to. So we can act like we’re used to it.’

The girls studied the people in the club as closely as explorers trying to fathom the behaviour of a previously undiscovered tribe: noting the steps of the first tentative dancers; listening to the casual laughter of the coolly jaded; and watching the approaches of peacock males fluttering around their cruelly judgemental female targets.

Jackie jerked her head towards a crop-haired boy of about nineteen, who was standing by the door to the men’s lavatory. ‘Over there,’ she spluttered into her drink, her attempts at subtlety completely failing.

‘What?’

‘He’s just handed’, she leaned forward and breathed out the words, ‘something to that red-haired bloke with the glasses. And taken money off him.’ She sat up again and added authoritatively, ‘They’ll be French Blues he’s selling. Or Black Bombers. I’ve read all about them. All the mods take them. To get blocked.’

‘I bet Martin doesn’t,’ Angie snapped nastily. ‘Your mum’d kill her precious little boy if he did.’

‘What’s got into you?’

‘Nothing.’

Jackie grabbed her hand. ‘Don’t look, Ange.’

‘What?’

‘This might be the last drink you’ll have to buy tonight.’

‘Why?’

‘Look – slowly – in the mirror. Them blokes over there. They’re watching us.’

‘Which ones?’

‘The cross-eyed one with the wooden leg and the green teeth, and his mate with the bag over his head. Which ones do you think? The fab-looking one with the suit who’s walking your way, and his friend in the mohair jacket. Quick, look all pleased with yourself.’ Jackie gulped back what little of her drink she hadn’t managed to spray all over the place and jabbed Angie in the shoulder. ‘Angie, you are so funny, you always say things that make me laugh so much.’

Without a beat Angie let out what she hoped was a tinkling, charming giggle. ‘You know me, Jackie, always know all the latest jokes.’

‘Any clean enough to tell me?’ The one with the suit checked the bar top for any signs of wetness, then, satisfied it was up to his standards, he rested his arm between the two girls.

Angie dropped her chin and looked up at him through her long, false lashes. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘If you won’t tell me a joke, how about a dance?’

Angie glanced at Jackie, who swivelled her eyes at his friend, and nodded encouragingly.

‘I’d love to.’

‘Ray,’ he said, holding out his hand to help her down
from
the bar stool.

‘Angie,’ she replied, letting him lead her on to the floor, where just two other couples and a few huddles of girls were dancing.

‘I like the record,’ she mouthed.

‘Spencer David Group,’ Ray mouthed back. ‘It’s nearly finished. Fancy another drink instead?’

Angie looked over at Jackie, who was being chatted up by his friend, and smiled her agreement.

Ray bought the drinks and then steered her to the other end of the bar from where Jackie and his friend were now both sitting.

‘Not much goes on in here till about half nine,’ he said, leaning close to her. ‘So why don’t we go outside for a while?’

‘Outside?’

‘You know, round the back.’

Angie didn’t actually know what he meant but she had a good idea.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Come on. Your mate’s all right.’ Jackie, who had just got up and was now on the floor dancing with his friend, was giving every impression that she was really enjoying herself. ‘And you don’t have to worry. I’ve got a rubber.’

Angie didn’t want to seem juvenile, or silly, but she knew she definitely didn’t want this – rubber or not. She also knew she had no idea how to handle the situation. ‘Let’s have a dance,’ she suggested, more in panic than through any logical reasoning.

Ray looked at her, weighing up the chances of being able to wear her down.

On balance, he thought it was worth spending a bit more time and flattery on her. Maybe even shelling out
for
another over-priced drink. She looked very tasty, and he liked being seen with girls who dressed right. It was good for his image.

‘OK,’ he said. ‘Let’s show them how it’s done.’

Bobby stopped the Jaguar outside a coffee bar, close to the entrance of the club. There would be no complaints. Local tradesmen knew better than to protest if David Fuller took their parking spaces.

David, who was sitting in the front passenger seat, twisted the rear-view mirror round and checked his tie. ‘I’m just popping in to see to a bit of business. Won’t be long.’

‘Make sure you’re not.’ Sonia snapped from behind him.

Bobby sat impassively in the driver’s seat. He was as deaf, dumb and blind as the three wise monkeys – until David addressed him personally.

‘Who’s on duty tonight, Bob? Jeff?’

Bobby thought for a moment. ‘Half-a-lung Cassidy.’

‘Lovely. Having him coughing all over me.’

The far wall of the Canvas Club’s office, even though it was only a few feet from the door, was almost obscured by a thick fug of smoke. Cassidy, who stood in for Jeff on his one night off in ten, was choking and spluttering on one of his ever-present Senior Service cigarettes.

‘Blimey, Half-a-lung, are you sure?’ David gestured with a nod towards the cash box. ‘Open it up, and open that window and all while you’re about it.’

Half-a-lung fiddled around with the window catch, slipping his big meaty hand through the narrow space between the security bars, and then held the open box out for David’s inspection.

‘Still full. Mikey not been in yet?’

‘I’ve not seen him, Dave. Not tonight. Mind you, according to Jeff, he’s been getting like a right blister lately.’

Half-a-lung’s jokes and puns drove David barmy, but he’d been a loyal worker, even once having taken a stabbing protecting his boss, so he tolerated his nonsense more than most people would have credited. ‘Like a what?’

‘A blister. Only shows up when the work’s finished.’

David smiled automatically. ‘Yeah. Very funny. Nice one. Jeff told you what to do, did he?’

‘Yeah. And, like the famous Memory Man, I have it all tucked away for future reference.’ He stopped speaking in order to choke a bit more, then, having lit a fresh cigarette, he went on. ‘I know exactly what to do, Dave.’

‘Good.’

David was about to leave when the unmistakable sound of breaking glass – something every club owner dreaded: fights were bad for business, they brought the sort of publicity that kept celebrities away – crashed through from the other side of the wall.

David threw open the door and scanned the room. ‘What’s going on out there?’ he demanded from Cassidy. ‘Where’s the poxy doormen?’

What was going on was that Ray had lost his temper with Angie for daring to reject his advances again, and Jackie had started shouting at Ray for upsetting her friend, Ray’s friend having disappeared, more interested in what the young man by the lavatory had to sell. The row, on the now-crowded dance floor, was beginning to reach boiling-point – the glass had been thrown by someone who fancied a bit of action, something more serious than a dreary little ruck between a bloke and his bird.