The Palace of Strange Girls (30 page)

“Depends what you mean by ‘better.’ She has nightmares every night, she’s missed the best part of a term and the school says
she’ll struggle to catch up. Some days she won’t talk at all—she just nods or shakes her head. She doesn’t trust anybody,
I can see it in her face. Not that I see a lot of her what with all the overtime I do.”

“She’ll come round. Just wait. Both lasses would be heart-broken if you walked out.”

“You think so? How upset do you think Helen’s going to be when she hears I’ve been in bed with her best friend?”

“Deny it.” Jack shakes his head. “I mean it. Deny everything,” Dougie insists. “It’ll all settle down. Ruth will think that
waitress is nothing more than a teenager with a crush. You’re just having a rough time at the moment. Everything will sort
itself out in the finish.”

“Well, if nothing else, it has solved one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“I may not be able to go out to Crete yet, but I’ve decided to take the manager’s job at Prospect. I’m going to turn down
the Union’s offer.”

“Well, thank God you’re finally seeing sense. You’d be a fool to take less cash with the Union. Principles are all well and
good, but they don’t buy the bacon. Have you told Ruth?”

“No, I’ll tell her tomorrow. We’re due to go over to St. Anne’s for a couple of hours without the girls. It’ll be a chance
for us to have a quiet chat on the way back. I’ll tell her then.”

“Aye, get her told. She’ll be over the moon. What are you going to do with all the extra cash? Buy Ruth one of those new semis
she’s been pining for?”

“I’m not taking out a mortgage to buy a bloody semi.”

“What are you going to do with all the extra, then?”

“I’ll send some to Eleni and the rest I’ll save. I will go back to Crete. I’ve a lad there I’ve never seen.”

It’s late before Jack and Dougie leave the pub. Jack is looking the worse for wear. Dougie offers to walk back to the Belvedere
with him but Jack refuses. The walk along the prom has a sobering effect on Jack. After a few minutes he’s aware of footsteps
running up behind him.

“Why, if it isn’t the resident fucking gigolo.” Jack carries on walking. “Are you deaf? I’m talking to you, you bastard.”

Jack finally stops and turns round to face the voice. The man’s face is familiar but Jack has trouble remembering where he’s
seen it before. The speaker is slight but muscular, red hair, pasty white face scattered with freckles. He’s already got his
fists clenched as he closes in on Jack.

“What’s biting you?” Jack asks, raising his hand to ward the man off.

“I’d run off quick if I was you. After all, you’ve a talent for running off, haven’t you?”

“I don’t know who you are or what you want. You need to get home. It’s too late to be spoiling for a fight.” Jack turns away.
A second later he feels a blow land on the back of his head, forcing his skull sideways, making him stagger forward. Jack
grabs on to the railings to steady himself and turns again to look at his assailant. The man is bearing down on him, both
fists clenched and guarding his face as if he were a trained boxer. Jack finally recognizes the face—it’s the chef from the
hotel. Jack fumbles for the man’s name. “It’s Andy, isn’t it? You work at the hotel, don’t you? What are you playing at, you
daft bugger?”

“It’s you doing all the playing around. What about Connie? She’s in a right mess because of you. She’s less than half your
age, you dirty bugger. What sort of twisted bastard gets a young lass into bed and then drops her like a hot cake the next
day?”

“Bugger off. It’s none of your business.”

“I’ve made it my business now. You’re a miserable bastard. Once you’d got what you wanted from Connie you couldn’t even remember
her name. You haven’t even got the guts to tell her to her face. She’s been waiting all night for you to turn up.”

“It’s nothing to do with you. Connie was keen enough. I can’t remember hearing her complain.”

Andy throws another punch at Jack’s face. This time his fist connects with Jack’s right temple and there is a thud as the
blow lands. Jack raises his hand to the right side of his face, the skin around his eye humming with pain. Finally he is roused
to retaliate. Jack may be a good ten years older than the chef and a damn sight less agile, but he’s powerfully built. He
swings a punch to the man’s jaw and follows it with a cut to the stomach as the chef falls. It is all over very quickly. Looking
down at the figure of the chef sprawled across the promenade, Jack resists the urge to stick his boot in the man’s ribs. He
has been seen—there’s a small crowd gathered across the other side of the road and the sound of a whistle in the distance.
Jack breaks into a run, dodging down the nearest side street and nearly knocking over a couple locked in beery union in the
process. He turns sharp left down a cobbled back alleyway punctuated by dustbins and littered with discarded refuse. Jack
covers some distance before stopping to catch his breath. The police are streets behind him and it’s hardly likely that the
chef will press charges—not if he wants to hang on to his job at the hotel. Jack slows to walking pace and considers his options.
It’s well past midnight. Thank God he’s remembered to take the front-door key. He can feel the right side of his face swelling
up, now he’s stopped to catch his breath. There’s nothing for it. He’ll have to let himself in quietly and hope no one sees
him.

If you go to a big holiday resort you might see a Big Wheel. They’re awfully important, they make a lot of noise and they’re
known to ordinary people for miles around. But do remember, children, a Big Wheel can be dangerous and there’s no such thing
as a free ride! Score 50 points for spotting a big mover.

“I hope your kids aren’t hungry! You’re tied on for a fair wait this morning, Ruth.” Following their heart-to-heart yesterday
Florrie now regards Ruth as an intimate friend. She has been waiting with growing impatience for the Singleton family to come
down for breakfast. Now that they have arrived she is anxious to share the gossip.

“Why’s that?”

“It’s Andy. You know, the chef. He hasn’t come in this morning and the manager has had to step in. We’ve been waiting ages
and Connie has only just taken our order. You’d think they’d be better staffed midseason. You’ve got to get what cereal you
want from that table over there. By the left, your Jack looks as if he’s been through the mill. Picked up a right shiner there,
hasn’t he?”

“It’s nothing. Just a bump,” Ruth says.

“Been a bit busy with your fists, have you, Jack?” Florrie bellows over Ruth’s head.

Jack gives her the nearest he can get to a smile.

“I’d hate to see what state the other bloke is in,” Florrie adds. She winks and nudges Fred, from whom she’s already had the
whole story.

Fred had been drinking late when Jack had walked past the entrance to the hotel bar. When Fred had seen the state Jack was
in he’d pulled him into the bar, sat him down in the corner and ordered a brandy. The bar steward had looked none too pleased,
the Belvedere has strict rules. Residents wishing to take advantage of the hotel bar must be properly attired. Fred had ignored
the barman’s objections and grabbed a bar towel to wipe the worst of the blood off his face. Fred had thought that the steward
was going to throw them out, but the wound had looked worse than it was. Jack had said that he’d lost his footing on the prom
and he’d given the steward such a look that the lad had pulled down the shutters on the bar and switched off the lights, leaving
Fred and Jack to nurse their drinks in the semidarkness. Fred had recounted the tale to Florrie, who’d pressed for all the
lurid details. But Fred had said there weren’t any—looking back, it hadn’t been funny at all. He’d seen a despair in Jack’s
face that was even deeper than his own.

This morning he catches Jack’s eye and nods his support before turning to Florrie and muttering, “Drop it, Flo. Let the man
eat his breakfast in peace.”

Connie breezes up to the Singleton table and lifts an impertinent eyebrow. She doesn’t even bother to write down their order
when Ruth gives it. Helen looks up and smiles at Connie, but the waitress looks away. When she brings the Full English, Connie
virtually throws the hot plate down in front of Jack and, passing behind him, mutters, “Hope it bloody chokes you.”

Ruth gives no indication that she has heard the comment. Indeed, any bystander would find it difficult to believe that Mrs.
Singleton is anything less than completely satisfied with the service.

Five minutes later Connie appears again with a tea tray complete with teapot, hot water, sugar and milk. This too is slammed
on the table with the words, “Manager apologizes for the delay. Chef was beaten up last night. In case you didn’t know. He’s
off work today with his hand in plaster.”

Jack and Ruth studiedly ignore the information and continue breakfast in silence. Under normal circumstances Ruth would be
prompted to complain about the lukewarm tea but she has put two and two together. Whatever Jack was up to last night, it has
resulted in the chef needing hospital treatment.

“Now, don’t you worry about your girls, Ruth,” Florrie says. “We’ll keep an eye on them. Our Alan reckons they’d enjoy a walk
on the pier, depending on the weather, of course. Though it looks to have fined up after all that rain yesterday.”

Ruth has been listening with mounting horror. At last she can stand it no longer and interrupts Florrie’s flow. “I don’t let
the girls on the pier. It’s too rough and there’s nothing for them to do there anyway.” Florrie looks scandalized and opens
her mouth to protest but Ruth carries on. “I’ve told the girls to stay in the hotel. Helen has plenty of postcards to write
while Elizabeth is having her nap.”

Jack starts the minute they leave the dining room. “I can’t say I’m keen on St. Anne’s. It’ll mean getting a tram to Squires
Gate and then walking. I don’t know why you have to see Cora anyway. You can see her any day of the week at home. Why don’t
we forget about it and just have a couple of hours to ourselves?”

“After last night I don’t think you’re in any position to complain about anything. From what that silly waitress said, I wouldn’t
be surprised if it wasn’t the chef who gave you a black eye.”

“I told you what happened. It was nothing to do with the chef. Dougie got into a fight. He was outnumbered. I stepped in to
help him, that’s all.”

“It doesn’t make any difference. We’re going. It’s all settled. Cora invited us.”

“Where is the bloomin’ place, anyway?”

“It’s at the far end of St. Anne’s. Right by the golf links.”

“Well, it’d have to be, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t think Ronald plays that much.”

“I’ll bet he doesn’t. Too much like hard work. No, he’ll be sat in the clubhouse doing business with all the other bastards
with funny handshakes.” Ruth gives Jack a warning look. She doesn’t hold with swearing—it’s a bad example to set for the girls.
But Jack knows Ronald Lloyd well enough to avoid him if at all possible. “You should have seen him at infant school. He thought
he was the Big Wheel even then.”

Ruth ignores him and continues, “Cora says the hotel does afternoon tea in the conservatory. Cream cakes baked fresh every
day and fancy sandwiches. And there’s music. You’ll enjoy it.”

“I’m surprised you asked Mrs. Clegg to look after the girls. I’d have thought that was the last thing you’d want.”

“I’ve told Helen to stay in the hotel and ignore whatever Florrie Clegg says. They’ll be all right. I don’t think I’m being
unreasonable taking a couple of hours off from looking after the girls. After all, Helen is sixteen, Jack. She’s old enough
to keep her eye on Elizabeth. We’ll take the girls out this morning. It doesn’t look like rain.”

Since it is the last day of the holiday, Jack decides to treat the family to a trip up the Tower. Ruth has no head for heights
and spends the morning reading the paper on the prom. Jack glances at Beth as they are queuing for tickets. What has got into
her? She is chattering ten to the dozen and skipping from foot to foot. She’s a different child. Jack reckons it must be taking
Gunner for a walk yesterday that has been the turning point. Victor mentioned it to him and Jack was at pains to keep the
news from Ruth. Heaven knows what a fuss there’d be if Ruth found out that Beth had been wandering the streets with a dog.
When Jack asked Beth about her walk she said that she’d gone to see Tiger Woman and she’d had a hot dog, and she was going
to be a Tiger Woman when she grew up. Jack had retied the ribbon in her hair and told her that she was the best storyteller
he’d ever heard.

When they reach the top of the Tower Beth looks down and tries to spot her mother but it’s impossible. She could be any one
of the thousands of dark specks swarming along the promenade below. From this height the trams crawling along the prom and
the horse-drawn landaus look like dolly mixtures. A ragged fringe of bathers hugs the water’s edge, advancing and retreating
with the waves, and the sea stretches long and wide like a great blue flag rippling in the breeze. Jack urges Beth to take
big breaths of the fresh air. He demonstrates, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chest, breathing in through his nose
and out through his mouth. Beth looks up at him in admiration. He’s like a giant. No matter how cold it gets up the Tower
the huge hand that safely holds hers is always warm.

Beth’s view is limited to the sight of rusty brown ironwork until Jack lifts her and takes her on a tour of the viewing platform,
pointing out all the distant coastlines. “That’s the Westmorland Fells, the start of the Lake District, and that’s Scotland,”
he says, pointing north.

“How far away is it?” Beth asks.

“The Lake District? About forty miles, as the crow flies.”

“How does a crow fly?”

“Like this,” Helen says, flapping her arms.

Jack and Beth both laugh, ignoring the people who have turned to stare.