Ben (4 page)

And then one day a stranger arrived.

I noticed him because he looked different. Not wild or over the top like I could be, just not like the rest. He wore dark Farah trousers and a Fred Perry top, while all the others were in unmarked ‘man at C&A’ gear bought by their mums. He was tall, about six foot, and skinny, so whatever he wore would have looked good. And didn’t he know it. I could tell he was cocky without speaking to him. The problem was I really wanted to, because he also had something else the others didn’t.

A Yorkshire accent!

His name was Simon Ward. He was a year above me, in the fifth year, and his parents had just retired to Chapel St Leonards from Sheffield. And I was right: with all his designer labels and big-city experiences, he thought he was the bees’ knees. I couldn’t stand him for it. I’d spent enough of my life hanging out with little kids; I didn’t need to spend my free time with teenagers who acted like it.

Fortunately, there were many other distractions. Beer was the latest one. And dancing. The clubs on the caravan sites had discos every night so those of us who looked old enough started sneaking into those. My favourite was the one in the Kings Oak caravan park. The bouncer on the door was a friend of my dad’s so when he let us in he said, ‘I’ll keep an eye out for you.’ I knew then that no harm could come my way: if any boy or bloke tried it on, he was only a few yards away.

Unfortunately, there were things Dad’s pal couldn’t control. Like, for example, the amount I drank. Normally I preferred dancing to drinking, but, on one occasion, I was sitting at the bar chatting to someone, letting them buy me a lager or wine, and by the time it came to leave I’d forgotten how to walk. That was when I needed my own friends: they were the ones who called the
cab and poured me into it. But even as I got in, I knew Dad’s mate was feet away. I was safe. Daft, but safe.

I just wish Mum and Dad saw it that way. Waking them up as you try to get your key into the lock is no way to prove you’re okay. It was only the fact Stephen and Danny were still asleep that stopped Dad shouting the place down. But even quietly, and in the state I was in, I heard the words.

‘You’re grounded.’

I argued, of course. Probably only made matters worse. And the next morning I felt terrible. But from the booze, not the punishment, because I had a plan …

It was a couple of days later, at breakfast, when I asked if I could go out that night. Mum shook her head. Dad jabbed his fork in my direction.

‘Have you forgotten our agreement, young lady?’

I shrugged.

‘You’re grounded until further notice.’

I didn’t push it. I went to school, stayed for the whole day, came home, prepared tea, ate with my family, then retired to my room in a sulk. Or so it appeared. I just wanted an excuse to leave the table. An hour later, I was in my best make-up and dressed to the nines listening at the door. One by one, I heard my brothers, my father and then my mother head off to bed. They all called out ‘goodnight’ to me, but no one came in when I didn’t answer. They must have assumed I was asleep. In fact, I was already by the window, throwing my handbag out onto the grass and beginning to climb out after it. The advantage of living in a bungalow!

And so life went on. Sometimes I stayed at school and sometimes I didn’t. Sometimes I stayed in at night and other times I
just pretended to. I didn’t think I was doing any harm. I certainly wasn’t getting into trouble with boys. We were all too young to be serious. I, particularly, wasn’t in the mood to be pinned down. I’d always dreamed of a family of my own but there would be plenty of time for that. Right then, after years of being a surrogate mum, I just wanted to stretch my wings for a while and be as carefree as I could for as long as possible. But, as each day passed, that became harder and harder. The reason was about six foot tall and had beautiful blue eyes.

Just being part of our crowd meant Simon and I came into contact and, over the months, I realised his bravado was just a front. When you actually listened to him, he spoke a lot more sense than a lot of the guys I’d known for years. And so, when he asked me out one day, I said yes.

We didn’t last long together but no one’s relationships at that time had any staying power. We all drifted around: no hard feelings, no hearts broken. That’s how everyone was. That’s how I had always been. Yet, going to bed over the next few weeks I found myself thinking more frequently about the boy so skinny his eyes seemed to bulge: I didn’t mind the others calling him ‘frog eyes’, and I didn’t care about his bad teeth. I even ignored the fact that he was so obsessed about wearing the latest fashion labels. There was something about this Simon that I couldn’t get enough of. And so one day I told him.

I’d been Eddie Needham’s little girl, Stephen Needham’s babysitter and now I was Simon Ward’s girlfriend. It was official.

Being in love – or at least infatuated – at fifteen, even if you don’t realise it yourself, is a powerful thing.

I suppose it sort of crept up on me. Darren Seabrook had been the most popular guy when I went out with him, as was Mark Williams when we dated. And by the time Simon and I got together, a year or more after he’d arrived, he was the cool one to be around. But he was nice, too. He didn’t brush me aside when he was with his mates. He included me, made me feel part of everything. And he seemed more mature as well. He looked a jack-the-lad but he’d been brought up with strong family values and morals. Just like me.

Simon had joined the Earl of Scarbrough just in time for exams, then left. By the time my final term came around I spoke to my teachers, then had the same conversation at home. I’d been missing from school more than I’d attended. I had no chance of passing any CSEs or O-levels. There really was no point in me even turning up.

As much as they tried to argue, I think everyone agreed I was right. Very quietly, I dropped out of school without a qualification to my name. I only got away with it because I’d said I had offers of work. That wasn’t strictly true at the time, but I’d had a weekend job for a while. One conversation with the bosses later, and within a fortnight of taking off my school uniform for good, I was in full-time employment.

‘Working on the land’, they called it. Basically, I was part of a team that worked for the Etchers Brothers – Pete, Mick and Roy – who had contracts with farmers all over the east of the country. If a farm in Boston needed carrots picking, half a dozen of us would be driven out and that’s what we would do. Or if a place in Spalding had cabbages needing cutting or daffodils planting, we’d ride out there. It was back-breaking stuff and you were only
paid for what you did. But on an average week I could take home £200 – £250 if I pulled out all the stops. It was serious money for a sixteen-year-old. Serious money for anyone, as it turned out, because I hadn’t been doing it long before Mum gave up her post at Wilkinson’s to join me!

I loved having free time and money to spend on myself. The giant East Gate Market on a Saturday was a must-visit place for me. I soon had a hundred shoes and clothes galore. We went out at weekends to pubs and clubs. Even after paying my parents twenty quid board money, I still had plenty left for going out with Simon.

We hadn’t been going out for long when Simon first said, ‘When I’m eighteen, I’m getting out of here.’

‘Oh. Where will you go?’

‘Sheffield. My brothers and sister are there. They’ve all got good jobs. I can go and work with them.’

He kept saying things like that, even once we were an item. I never thought too much about it: boys were always boasting they were going to do things. I never thought any of them would. Then we were at the shelter across the dunes from Sandy Lodge one night and Simon said it again, this time adding, ‘Will you come too?’

I was blown away. We were having fun, that’s all, I thought. No one had said anything about packing up and moving out.

‘Go to Sheffield?’ I said. ‘What would I do down there?’

Simon didn’t have an answer to that. I think it was just his dream to go there. He hadn’t thought it through any further. He didn’t even plan to tell his parents.

‘But you can’t just run away,’ I said.

He shrugged. Obviously he thought he could.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘It will be an adventure.’

I think he saw it as romantic. Us two, packing our bags and making a new life together. He had three brothers and one sister and they’d all made a go of it in Sheffield. They all had partners and houses and, apart from his housewife sister, Jane, decent jobs. He was young, he was seventeen and he just wanted to follow in their footsteps. His parents had brought him up to value hard work and a settled family life. That was his dream, and he wanted me to be part of it – just not here. On top of that, he thought he was missing out on real life by living in a village.

I laughed it off and the subject didn’t come up again for a while. I was sixteen, still trying to have fun. Why would I tie myself down so young?

As winter came, another birthday passed, the land work became harder and I got a part-time job waiting tables; then another working in a bar on one of the caravan sites. I enjoyed seeing other people out and about, even if I was only serving them. In the bar, strangers would talk to me and I liked that. Some gave me tips or bought me a drink as a result, but I wasn’t working there for the money. I still felt like I’d been denied fun earlier in my life. Mingling with drinkers, even when I was sober, was just a nice thing for a seventeen-year-old to do.

And then one day Simon mentioned Sheffield again, and I knew I’d made up my mind. I hadn’t even been aware I was thinking about it. But as soon as he said his eighteenth birthday was in a couple of weeks, I just knew I’d be going with him.

I was terrified of telling my parents. But I did, and their response was exactly as I’d feared:

Devastation
.

I told Mum first. She begged and begged me not to go. ‘Don’t,
Kerry. It will be the biggest mistake of your life. Don’t rush into anything.’

She was crying and holding on to me like I was going to disappear that minute.

‘What if it doesn’t work out? It’s such a long way!’

In other words,
‘What if you split up with Simon?’

I didn’t think we would but, honestly, that didn’t matter. Even more than being with him, I wanted to be in Sheffield. Chapel St Leonards was a ghost town in winter. There was nothing for me there apart from my family. And in Sheffield I had plenty of family and a city full of opportunities. My grandma and granddad and aunts and uncles and cousins were all in Sheffield or thereabouts. I knew Ecclesfield and Chapeltown as well as I knew Skegness. What’s more, Simon’s family was there as well. If anything, I’d know more people in Sheffield than I did at home. On top of that, I was growing up; I needed independence. As lovely as my parents were, the idea of not having them looking over my shoulder all the time was something I relished.

I didn’t say this to Mum – or Dad, when he came in later. But when he’d come down from the ceiling and Mum had wiped her eyes, they both said the same thing.

‘Well, if that’s what you want to do, Kerry.’

‘It is.’

‘Okay. But if anything happens, anything at all, you know you can always come back, don’t you?’

I wish I’d listened …

They still kept trying to talk me out of it. Even now, my dad would have us all live under the same roof if he could. He missed out on a lot of our childhoods while he was working, and he still
wants to make up for that. I was their little girl in their eyes. They didn’t want me to go. On the other hand, Dad had worked on the fairgrounds. He had that wanderlust and he saw the same in me. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t stand in my way.

Eventually, that day in January 1989 came. Simon’s brother, Steve, had been up to visit their parents and he was going to drive us south in his silver Scirocco. Neither of us had anything other than clothes – no kitchen appliances, white goods or electronics – so we travelled pretty light. I could almost smell the freedom as I kissed Mum and Dad and the boys goodbye. I was so focused on my independence that it didn’t even occur to me to wonder where we were going to live. Simon had said he’d sorted it, and that had been fine.

In fact, he’d arranged for us to stay with his sister Jane, her husband Shaun, and their daughter. I didn’t care for Shaun much, but Jane was nice and I’d always liked her visits. The main thing, though, was being in Sheffield. With Simon.

All the way down the A1, following the coast, Simon and I couldn’t stop chatting about our new life. We were buzzing. And Steve added to it. He promised Simon that there was a job working for him as a builder for as long as we wanted it. It really seemed like a dream come true.

And then we pulled up outside Jane’s maisonette, and it turned into a nightmare.

I’m not a snob. I’ve lived in bungalows, chalets and caravans. I was born into a council house. I’ve got nothing against any of them. But I had never seen anything like this street or the whole surrounding estate. Grey, dark, dirty and oppressive, it was like something out of the bleakest science fiction film. And the noise! There were kids of all ages, from two to sixteen, running and
shouting and swearing, with mums hanging over the balconies or out of front doors swearing back, even louder. It was terrifying.

I sat in the back of the Scirocco and stared, open-mouthed. My family was poor, we were working class, but we were clean. This lot looked like they hadn’t seen soap in months.

I couldn’t help thinking,
I’ve left a lovely, quiet, beach-front bungalow with beautiful gardens to come and live in this, a concrete jungle. I must be mad!

I honestly wanted to turn back there and then.

I think Steve picked up on my mood, but one look at Simon’s beaming face told me he couldn’t see anything wrong.

‘That’s us,’ he said, grinning from ear to ear. I couldn’t spoil it. Whatever I thought, it was Simon’s dream come true.

The weather didn’t help. It had been pretty grim all the way down and we got soaked carrying our bags in. But at least the locals got a wash, even if they didn’t shut up.