“Okay then. Straight after the interval,” said Don.
She wasn't bad at all. She did a set of four numbers to begin with then came back for a couple more at the end of the session. It was her delivery that made her good. She had a deadpan, bony face with big eyes and wide mouth, and although her features hardly changed expression, her eyes suggested as much as a stripper could have done with both hands. I got a good view of all this because she moved the mike next to the piano so that she could hear the chords that Hamish and I made. Instead of facing the crowd, she looked directly across the front line and, seemingly, out of the window in the side wall.
When she came back for the second time, she asked if we could do “Come Rain or Come Shine”. Don and Simon hadn't played it before, so we dropped the banjo and the rest of the rhythm section plus Harry did the backing. She was much better with this song than with any of the others, in spite of it being more difficult to sing.
She was slim, about five-foot-four or five. She had small breasts and good legs and a small flat stomach. She wore a white shirt, styled like a man's, and a grey pleated skirt.
Hamish leant over to me while we were doing “Come Rain or Come Shine”.
“Christ,” he said. “She's got it.”
“Not yet she hasn't,” I said.
“We'll see what we can do.”
Hamish shifted himself upright again. She turned slightly and looked from me to Hamish. It was as if she'd heard because she gave us the frankest come-one I'd ever seen. I turned away from the piano and looked at Don, silently splayed out on his seat, holding his clarinet. His mouth made an “o” and he narrowed his eyes. He lifted his clarinet slightly, then let it fall again. The girl saw him do that. Still singing, she moved a leg forward, at the same time slipping her foot out of her shoe. She could just reach the bottom spindle of Don's chair. She curled her toes onto it and flexed them. Then unflexed them. Flexed them again. Slid her foot from one end of the spindle to the other. Back again. Hell, I thought. Hey up. Most of the crowd had noticed what she was up to but she just carried on singing. And the rest.
We finished the last number. Some members of the crowd began to filter away, but the majority stayed put, finishing their drinks, talking, not wanting to leave.
“You were great,” said Don to the girl.
“Thanks. I was a bit off tonight.”
“That's what you call it,” said Hamish.
“No, you were really good,” said Simon. “Do you ever get over our way?”
“Not often. Not to sing.” She smiled suggestively.
“Pity,” said Hamish. “Although I don't know.”
“What don't you know?” she asked.
“What I don't know isn't the point. What I do know is more interesting.”
“It all depends how much,” she said.
“There's one way of finding out.”
“You think you're up to it?”
“He's always up to it,” said Ivan.
“Anyway,” I said. “Are you on your own?”
“I was.”
“Oh. Well, how about having a coffee with us before we drive back?”
“All right.”
“Yeah,” said Don, “but let's get this gear carted outside and into the van first.”
Paul was waiting outside for us. The back doors of the van were open.
“Where are we off, then?” he asked at everybody.
“Best place is the Wimpy. It's not far. Back of the station in Deansgate,” said the girl. She had her coat round her shoulders. She pulled it tight at the neck and shivered.
“Oh, I know,” said Paul. “We passed it on the way in.”
“Well, love,” said Hamish, “you'll have to sit on my knee. There'll be no more seat room after we've all got in.”
“She'll have to sit on somebody's knee, anyway,” said Don.” “Well, let's get in, for Christ's sake. It's bloody hunch.”
We got in, pressed tight together, trying to keep our feet from going through the bass or scratching the drum cases. When we were all more or less settled, the girl climbed in after us.
I was sitting at the opposite end to the back doors, directly behind the driver's seat. I was hemmed in by the centre of the bass. Its neck protruded over the back of the driver's seat, almost touching the windscreen. The rest of the bass on my side rested on the larger of the drum cases. I could really only move my top half because my legs were crammed into what was left of the gangway. Next to me was Don, then Bill the banjoist. Hamish, Simon and Ivan were opposite. Harry was up front with Paul.
The girl got in and sat on the nearest lap which belonged to Ivan. The van began to move. Ivan put his arms round her.
“Hey, you've got it wrong,” Hamish shouted to her. “I'm over here.”
She had been kissing Ivan. Her back was to the aisle. She turned her head in Hamish's direction. Her coat slipped from her shoulders with the movement.
“So you are,” she said. “Fair shares.”
She pulled herself off Ivan, via Simon, crawling, more or less, until her head and shoulders were with Hamish, her middle was with Simon, and her legs were across Ivan. Hamish had to bend double to reach her face. They kissed. Then she drew up her legs, slowly, deliberately, so that her grey skirt slid down almost to the top of her thighs. Ivan began stroking the lower parts of her legs. She had her arms thrown round Hamish's neck, but she removed her right arm, clung on to his wide neck with the other, arched her back, and pulled the skirt back further until it was solely round her waist. She let her body relax back onto Simon's lap and instead of returning her arm to Hamish's neck, reached up and touched Simon's face, running her fingers across his cheek, then down onto his neck. She took hold of one of his hands and put it against her breasts. She let go of his hand and began unbuttoning her blouse. She drew up her left leg until it was almost under Simon's chin. Ivan moved his hands to another place.
“Christ!” said Simon.
Harry turned round in his seat.
“Well, there's a thing now. Heavens above.”
Don and I consciously (I could feel it from him, too) didn't look at each other.
The van stopped. We were in a side street next to the Wimpy. The girl sat upright, quite abruptly. She pushed her skirt down and began fastening her blouse. Nobody knew where to look for a second.
Then Hamish said: “Trust me to get the wrong bloody end.”
The tension spurted out in our laughter.
We got out of the van, shakily, I suppose, and went into the Wimpy. It was full of Friday night drunks, Teds, tarts, people the Friday night had used up, people who were in the place only to prolong an already shabby, previously beery evening.
We found a table, but there was only enough room for three people to sit down. Hamish and Harry and the girl took the seats.
“Coffees all roundies?” I said.
“Milk, for me please,” said the girl.
“And a large Wimpy for me please, Victor, thank you,” said Harry.
“And me,” said Hamish.
“Oh, âell,” I said.
I managed to get a waitress and she took the order. For a few minutes, talk went on between us as though what had happened in the van hadn't happened at all, but then Hamish said:
“I must say you must be bloody pleased about your legs the way you offered them for universal inspection just then.”
“I must?”
“And not just your bloody legs. Your little bum and everything else, hey?”
“Do you think so?”
“You're a little hot-arse, aren't you?”
I expected her to throw the milk in his smiling face or something, anything.
Instead she said:
“And aren't you bloody well pleased?”
“I am, love. I am that. And all the rest of the lads are, aren't you, lads?”
Don smiled.
Simon said: “I should bloody say so.”
I looked at Harry. Harry took a bite of his Wimpy and picked a bit of onion off his thumb with his teeth. Bill sipped his tea. Paul said:
“Everybody's a hot-arse under the skin.”
Ivan said: “A thing of beauty is a thrust forever.”
“So where do we go from here?” said Hamish. “Do you live at home? Or by yourself?”
“With a friend.”
“Male or female?”
“Like me.”
“How much like you?”
“Enough like me to suit you.”
“So when do we get asked back to hear your record collection?”
“In about five minutes. When I've finished my milk.”
“That's nice.”
I offered my cigarettes round. Everybody took one, including Ivan, who didn't smoke.
“Is your old man expecting you back at any particular time?”
Don asked Paul.
“I dunno. I want the van back before he gets up.”
“That's okay then.”
The girl finished her milk. Hamish stood up. She twisted round in her seat, pulled her coat from the chair-back and draped it round her shoulders. She stood up.
“Are we right then?” said Hamish.
“I'll sit up at the front this time,” said the girl. “You don't know the way. I'll have to show you.”
“Right,” said Paul. “Come on, Harry. No more Wimpys.”
“All right then.”
He got up. Everybody began to leave. A waitress passed close to me.
“Another coffee please,” I said.
“Right love. In a minute.”
“You what?” Hamish said to me.
“I just ordered another coffee.”
“But we're all ready for off.”
“I know. I'm staying here.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I'll wait for you. This place is open till four. I'll wait here.”
“Are you bloody mad?”
The others were over by the door, looking at Hamish and me. They hadn't heard what we'd said.
“Yes. Look, don't bloody well worry about it.”
“What makes you think we're coming back? We've got it made for the night.”
“Paul's got to get the van back. Right?”
“Come on, Vic. Pull the other one. We're waiting.”
“I mean it Hamish.”
Harry came over.
“What's up?”
“He's bloody mad. He says he's staying here.”
“Does he?”
Hamish walked away.
“I'm not coming Harry. I don't know why.”
“Okaden. See you later. We'll pick you up here. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“One coffee, love,” said the waitress.
Harry walked away and joined the others who were already outside and getting into the van.
I wish I could have believed I didn't want to go. It wasn't that the scene in the dormobile hadn't made me feel like everyone else had felt. It had. In fact, the minute Harry had gone through the door, I almost went after him. And it hadn't been until the girl had begun to get up from the table that it had occurred to me that I wasn't going to go. There had been no conscious thought process, no analysis. One minute the thought had been a million miles away, together with the rest of the thoughts I've yet to think in my short life. Then suddenly it clicked into my mind like the third lemon in a fruit machine. I didn't want to go because I had thought of Janet.
I looked at the clock on the wall. It was twenty past three. There were about a dozen people left in the place. I resigned myself to waiting for another hour, some of it out in the cold, but while I was having the thought, the dormobile drew up outside. Through my reflection in the dark plate glass I could see them get out of the van. They came through the door and approached my table. Hamish was the first to reach me. He sat down; then, one by one, so did the others.
“Well, Victor,” said Hamish, “you missed a scene there. Bloody hell.”
“I've never been in a scene quite like it,” said Don.
“Yeah,” I said, smiling as though the reason I hadn't been with them was because, somehow, it hadn't been humanly possible.
The waitress took the order.
“Not only her, but her friend, too,” said Ivan. “A pair of raving nymphos.”
“What happened?” I said.
“We took it in turns or in turns of pairs,” said Hamish. He laughed. “Or in threes or all together. No, we got there, she introduced us to her mate, put a record on, made some coffee. We all sat round on the floor. There were only a couple of chairs. Her mate was lying on the bed, reading, when we got there. Dee's bed was in the other room. While the coffee was being made, I got up and sat on this bird's bed. She was lying on her stomach, like, so I put my hand on her back and started stroking her. She just rolled over and we started necking. Well, I had my hand up in no time flat, but the thing was, Dee, who'd given out the coffee by then, came up and sat on the bed as well and started having me off. Straight up, didn't she Simon?”
“She bloody well did. I didn't see why he should have it all, so I reached up and pulled her down, Dee that is, onto the floor, between me and Ivan. I started necking her and Ivan stripped her off. Stark. She sort of divided her attention between me and him.”
“And so it went on,” said Don.
“Bloody hell,” I said. “It's fantastic.”
“Yeah, and I'll tell you what,” said Ivan. “She was only fifteen.”
“Fifteen?”
“Straight up,” said Bill. “I asked her. Fifteen.”
“Christ.”
I took a sip of my coffee.
“They had some good records, too,” said Harry.
We'd been travelling toward home for about twenty minutes. Bill and Simon were asleep. I was looking out of the window, smoking. Nobody had been saying anything. Darkness sped past us, swishing and rattling.
“I can't understand why you didn't go along with us, Victor,” said Hamish. “I mean, knowing you.”
“Don't ask me. I don't know either. Don't get me wrong, though. It wasn't that I didn't want to.”