Red Sky in the Morning (26 page)

Tony had taken her into the village, not on his motorbike but in his father’s truck. When they arrived outside the hall, he got out and opened the door for her, just as if she was royalty.
‘In you go then. Have a good time. I’ll pick you up at eleven.’

‘Aren’t you coming in?’ Her disappointment was obvious.

Through the darkness she heard his chuckle. ‘I reckon I’m a bit old for the village hop now. I’ll leave it to you youngsters.’

‘Don’t be silly. Of course you’re not old. Auntie Pat still goes sometimes. She told me.’ Maisie put her hand through his arm and tried to pull him towards the door.
‘Please come in, Tony. You can go if you don’t like it. But – but please just come in with me.’

Tony glanced down at the girl. In the light from the doorway, he could see that she was biting her lip nervously.

‘All right then. Just for a bit, eh? But I can’t do all this fancy jiving stuff.’

Maisie giggled. ‘Neither can I.’

‘Wait while I park the truck.’

She stood near the doorway whilst Tony moved the vehicle a little way down the road and parked it on the grass verge.

‘You goin’ to stand out here all night?’ Chris Wainwright, Joe’s son, swaggered past her on his way in. He was dressed in tight trousers – drainpipes – and a
long jacket, which almost reached his knees, and thick-soled suede shoes. His black hair was greased into a hairstyle like Elvis’s. But there, sadly, the resemblance ended. Chris had a large,
almost hooked nose and a spotty face. But he had other redeeming features. He was nice. He wasn’t a bully or unkind and Maisie liked him. She grinned at him. ‘I’m waiting for
Tony.’

Chris’s smile wavered as he said, ‘Oh. He’s coming, is he?’

‘He wasn’t. It’s – only ’cos I asked him to come in with me.’

‘You could have come in with me if I’d known you were coming. Anyway, I’ll save you a dance.’ Clowning, he said, ‘Course me card’s full, you know, but
I’ll squeeze you in somewhere.’

Maisie laughed and gave a mock curtsy. ‘Thank you, kind sir.’

Chris went into the hall as Maisie turned to see Tony coming towards her.

‘Who was that?’ Tony asked, frowning after the disappearing youth.

‘Chris Wainwright.’

‘What did he want?’

‘A dance later on.’ Maisie laughed. ‘Least I’ve got one.’

Maisie had more than one dance. A lot more. In fact, she hardly missed one and then only because she was completely out of breath.

Tony stood leaning on the temporary bar at the end of the big room. They were serving soft drinks only and Tony would dearly have loved to go across the road to the King’s Head, but he had
no intention of leaving Maisie to the tender mercies of this lot. He glanced around morosely, half envious of their youth, half disgusted at their style of dress. Fashions reached the countryside
much later than in the city and the village lads were now heavily into the Teddy boy look, complete, in some cases, with bicycle chains and knuckledusters. One or two even carried flick knives, but
it was all for show – just bravado, Tony believed. He knew most of the kids here and that they would run a mile if anyone raised an ‘offensive weapon’ in anger. He almost laughed
as he watched the boys congregating on one side of the room, the girls on the other. Every so often a brave male would leave the pack and venture across to the female herd to pick a partner. And
most of them seemed to make a beeline for Maisie, he thought morosely.

Tony had attended one or two of the dances in his teens, but it had never really been his scene. He was much happier with his own company or about the farm with the animals or going over the
hill to see Anna and Maisie . . .

He sighed now as his eyes still followed the whirling, laughing figure of the girl who filled his thoughts and disturbed his dreams.

If only
, he thought for the umpteenth time,
I knew the truth about her
.

Maisie did not answer her mother, but turned away before Anna could see the defiance in her eyes. The girl had had a wonderful time, and best of all had been driving home
through the July night with Tony. He’d parked the truck in the farmyard and insisted on walking with her up the track, right to the door of the cottage.

‘Mam’s still up,’ Maisie had said as they reached the top of the rise and saw the light glowing in the cottage window.’

Tony laughed. ‘Well, of course she will be. It’s the first time you’ve been out as late as this and to a dance. What can you expect?’

‘Does your mam still wait up for you?’ It had been a long time since Maisie had spoken of Mrs Bertha, so deep went the hurt that his mother had inflicted.

‘No, not now. But she used to until I got to twenty-one.’

Maisie sighed. ‘It must be nice to be older and be able to do what you want.’ She was silent for a moment as they descended the slope. Then, after a pause, she said, ‘I wish
Mam would let me go out a bit more.’

Carefully, Tony said, ‘She’s worried you might get into the – the wrong company.’ Silently, he sympathized with Anna. He had never experienced such a mixture of emotions
as he had watching Maisie dance with one lad after another. Concern, envy and, yes, he had to admit it, jealousy. And yet he didn’t agree with Anna keeping her daughter shut away from the
world like a hermit.

‘They’re only lads from the village and one or two from town,’ Maisie interrupted his thoughts, answering his comment. ‘I go to school with most of them. Oh, I know they
dress a bit daft. All this Teddy boy stuff. But they’re harmless.’

‘I know,’ he had to admit, ‘but your mam doesn’t know that, does she?’

‘Suppose not,’ Maisie admitted grudgingly. She sighed heavily. ‘I don’t suppose she’d let me go to a show in Lincoln. Sal says Billy Fury and some other stars are
coming to do a live show at one of the cinemas there in October. I’d love to go.’

In the darkness Tony grinned and, feigning ignorance, asked, ‘Who’s Billy Fury?’

‘Oh he’s smashing. Ever so good-looking. He’s a singer. Sal gave me a picture of him. I’ve got it beside my bed.’

‘Huh!’ Tony feigned indignation. ‘I thought you’d’ve had my picture on your bedside table.’

Maisie grinned. ‘I would – if you gave me one.’

After a moment’s pause, Tony asked, ‘Would you really like to go to see this chap then?’

‘Oh yes,’ Maisie breathed and even through the darkness he could hear the longing in her voice.

‘Then I’ll take you.’

‘Will you? Oh Tony, will you? Really?’

And before he realized what she was doing, she had flung her arms round his neck and kissed him firmly on the lips. ‘Oh thank you, thank you.’

‘S’all right,’ he said gruffly. ‘You’d better get inside now. And don’t tell your mam. She’ll not let you go if you tell her. We’ll just go.
Right?’

With breathless excitement, Maisie said, ‘Yes, yes. All right.’ As she broke into a run down the last few yards to the cottage, she shouted through the night. ‘Thank you, Tony.
You’re the best. Oh thank you. I love you.’

‘I’ve told Mam I’m going home with Sal after school on Wednesday,’ Maisie told Tony as they planned their outing.

‘And I’ve told Dad that I can’t help with the evening milking ’cos I’ve got to take me bike into a garage in Ludthorpe.’

Maisie’s eyes clouded for a moment. ‘Have you?’ If there was something wrong with Tony’s motorbike, the whole trip might be off.

‘Course not,’ Tony was saying cheerfully, ‘but if you can get out of school at dinnertime, we can get to Lincoln in the afternoon. You’d like a look round the shops,
wouldn’t you?’

Maisie’s eyes shone. ‘Ooh, yes, please.’

Her childlike excitement at the thought of such a simple pleasure touched Tony. Anna had no right to keep a young girl like Maisie shut away. Their life was little better than a hermit’s.
No wonder Maisie had rebelled at last.

‘Mind you wear something warm,’ he reminded her.

‘I’ll take my clothes to school with my games kit and hide them in my locker in the changing room.’

They grinned at each other, enjoying their secret. Now Tony had no qualms about helping the girl deceive her mother. Maisie deserved a bit of fun.

The following Wednesday afternoon Maisie was waiting round the corner from the school. As she climbed onto the back of his motorbike, she said resentfully, ‘I thought I
wasn’t going to make it. Mam didn’t even want to let me go to Sal’s tonight.’

‘How does she think you’re going to get home from there?’

Maisie giggled. ‘I told her I’d asked you to fetch me home.’

Tony chuckled. ‘You crafty monkey. Well, I will be, won’t I? We should make it back home by eleven and she need be none the wiser. Hold tight, off we go.’

For the first time in her life, Maisie was on her way to see the city of Lincoln.

The shops and the hustle and bustle of the High Street entranced Maisie.

‘Just look at all these people,’ she marvelled, standing almost open-mouthed on the pavement. ‘Wherever have they all come from?’

Tony chuckled as he held on tightly to her arm. He was afraid that she would be swept off the pavement and under the wheels of a bus, unused to crowds as she was.

‘Oh, and look at the swans.’ The excited girl leant over the parapet of High Bridge.

‘Come on, it’s time we were making for the cinema.’

As they walked along the street, Maisie saw the queue of young people, mostly girls, outside the building. Her face fell in disappointment. ‘We’ll never get in. Oh, Tony . .
.’

‘Don’t worry.’ Tony patted his pocket. ‘I got the tickets two weeks ago. Our seats are reserved.’

Feeling important, they marched to the head of the queue. Standing on the steps outside the doors was a man who appeared to be marshalling the queue.

‘Now, now, ladies,’ he was saying jovially. ‘No need to push. You’ll all get in.’ He pretended to glance down the length of the line snaking along the pavement.
‘Oh I don’t know, though.’ He laughed loudly. ‘It might be standing room only by the time we get to the end.’

‘Don’t matter, Mister,’ someone shouted. ‘Long as we see Billy.’

‘Oh you’ll see him. You’ll see him,’ the man promised. He was tall, in his fifties, and he was dressed flamboyantly like an old-fashioned music-hall star. His eyes were
dark brown and the hair that showed from beneath his trilby was grey with a tinge of the ginger colour it had once been. He sported a pencil-thin moustache, which he kept stroking with the fourth
finger of his right hand.

Maisie heard Tony’s soft chuckle. ‘He looks like Max Miller, ’cept for the ’tache.’

‘Who’s Max Miller?’ Maisie asked innocently. The man must have heard her remark, for he smiled down at her from the top step. ‘Max Miller, young lady, was one of the
greatest comedians this country’s ever seen. Now I could tell you a thing or two about the great Max Miller . . .’

‘Ne’er mind about ’im,’ a girl at the front of the queue shouted. ‘When are we going to get inside? It’s draughty standing out here.’

‘All in good time, miss. All in good time. The doors will open in five minutes.’

‘’Ere—’ The girl was still not satisfied. ‘What about them? They’re queue jumping.’

Tony fished in his pocket and produced the tickets and waved them. ‘No, we’re not.’

‘What a sensible fellow,’ the big man boomed and, putting his hand on Maisie’s shoulder, he ushered them towards the door. As she passed him, the man touched Maisie’s
curls and murmured, ‘What pretty hair you’ve got, my dear. What a lovely colour.’

Maisie smiled up at him and then followed Tony through the door and into the cinema, excitement bubbling just below her ribs.

As they climbed the steps to the circle, Maisie giggled. ‘Did you hear what that man said to me? He said, “What pretty hair you’ve got, my dear.” He sounded like the wolf
out of “Little Red Riding Hood”.’

Tony laughed with her, but he glanced back over his shoulder to see the man watching them climb the stairs and his gaze seemed to be fastened on Maisie.

‘Well,’ Tony murmured, ‘I wouldn’t be too sure he isn’t.’

The show wasn’t quite what Tony would have chosen to see. One of the few males sitting amidst a crowd of screaming girls, he felt very out of place. But Maisie’s
delight was obvious. She screamed with the rest until she was hoarse and even Tony was forced to admit that Billy Fury was charismatic. Suddenly, at twenty-six, Tony felt an old fuddy-duddy.

At the end of the performance, Maisie pleaded, ‘Do let’s go round to the stage door and get his autograph. I’ve brought a book specially.’

‘Oh I don’t know. It’s late now—’

‘Please, please, please, Tony.’

‘All right then, but we mustn’t stay too long.’

Outside, special police patrols and even a police dog were waiting in case of trouble from hysterical fans. But the queue in the yard outside the stage door was orderly. This time, though,
Maisie and Tony were obliged to tag on at the end of it and wait with everyone else. The minutes dragged by and no one came out of the stage door. Then there was a sudden flurry and the man who had
been at the front of the building before the show emerged. A photographer was with him and at the man’s direction he began to move down the queue taking pictures. ‘For the
Echo
. Like to see your name in the paper, wouldn’t you?’ He paused every so often and jotted down a few names.

‘I don’t want me face in the paper,’ Tony muttered. ‘Come on, Maisie. It’s time we were going. He’s not going to come out. You can’t blame him, love. He
worked hard on that stage, I’ll give him that.’

‘Just another minute, Tony,’ she begged. ‘Please.’

The photographer was moving closer. ‘What’ll your mam say if she sees your name in the paper. She’ll go spare.’

Maisie grinned. ‘She’ll not see it. She never takes a paper. You know that.’

‘Aye, but someone might see it who knows you. What then?’

But at that moment the camera flashed and Maisie and Tony blinked. ‘Now, love, what’s your name,’ the photographer asked, pencil poised above his notepad. ‘And where are
you from?’

‘Maisie Woods,’ she blurted out, answering his question automatically. ‘From near Ludthorpe.’