Bye Bye Love (16 page)

All the next week she thought about the Rugby Club dance. Would she or wouldn’t she go? She couldn’t make her mind up. She knew she shouldn’t. Ricky had ‘bad boy’ written all over him. But that was the attraction. None of the boys she met at the Kursaal tempted her in the least, however good-looking or charming they were. She enjoyed dancing with them, but that was all. Her heart was Jonathan’s. It had been from the moment she’d met him. She could dance with Pete and the others all evening long, but when she went to bed it was Jonathan’s arms she imagined around her.

She told Brenda all about it.

‘Give it a whirl,’ she advised. ‘I would.’

‘I know you would. But what about Jonathan?’

‘What about him? He’s on the other side of the world, ain’t he? He can’t stop you.’

‘I know he can’t stop me, but that’s not the point—’

‘You want to live a little, mate. You’re only young once, y’know.’

‘But I love Jonathan.’

‘Well, then, you’re safe, ain’t you? You’re not going to fall for this other bloke. Just go along and have a laugh.’

It all sounded fine. Brenda wasn’t saying anything that Scarlett hadn’t thought of for herself.

On Thursday a letter arrived from Jonathan, with an account of a Chinese wedding he had been to. It was so strange to think of him being part of something so very alien. And it was still so long until she would see him again. Scarlett took out the ticket and looked at it again. After all, where was the harm in it? She wouldn’t even be dancing with Ricky, seeing as he and the band were playing. She would just go along and hear him sing.

Saturday evening saw her changing into her one and only dance dress. She had saved up for weeks to buy it and it was her pride and joy. Made of blue nylon taffeta, with a tight bodice, sweetheart neckline and yards of gathered skirt, it made her feel like a princess. The ponytail looked far too unsophisticated for such a special dress, so she pinned her hair into a bun on the top of her head. Lots of make-up and white stilettos finished the look.

It felt odd to be going out all by herself, but Scarlett wasn’t going to let that get her down. Now that she was committed to this evening, it was a big adventure.

She found the Rugby Club and joined the throng of noisy young men and women queuing at the door. The clubhouse was hardly more than a large hut, but there was a real sense of occasion amongst the people going in. They had all been looking forward to this and were out to enjoy themselves. What she hadn’t bargained for was how posh they all were. Horsy laughs and middle-class accents came at her from all around. Scarlett just lifted her chin a little higher. She was more than a match for this lot. She had on her dance dress and she felt wonderful.

Inside, the club had been decorated with streamers and balloons to make it look festive, the bar was in full swing and a small stage had been made at one end for the band. And there they were, Ricky and the Riptides, giving their all to
Hound Dog
while couples danced and non-dancers clapped and tapped their feet and all around people were drinking and greeting each other. Scarlett felt a great burst of excitement. It didn’t matter that she was a stranger here. The star of the show had invited her and that was enough. She stood at the edge of the small dance floor, looking at Ricky, waiting for him to see her.

When he did, a grin of triumph passed rapidly over his face. So, he thought he had won this round. And maybe he had. She was here, after all. That had to prove something. Scarlett immediately turned to the girl who happened to be standing next to her and struck up a conversation. She wasn’t going to let Ricky think she was just going to gaze at him all evening.

‘It’s good, this, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘I haven’t been to one of these dances before.’

‘Oh, you’ll love it,’ the girl said. ‘Everyone always has such fun. And the band’s terrific, isn’t it? It’s the first time we’ve had them. The committee wanted some boring old trio doing ballroom stuff. They’re such a bunch of squares! The boys in the team all said they wanted something with a bit of life. “Give us rock ’n ’roll”, they said.’

Hound Dog
came to an end. Everyone clapped and whistled. A beefy young man came up to Scarlett’s new acquaintance and handed her a lemonade. Scarlett turned her back on the stage and chatted to both of them while Ricky thanked the audience and announced the next number.

‘Excuse me.’

Another even beefier young man joined them, a pint jug of beer clasped firmly in his large hand. ‘Are you Mike’s new girl?’ he asked Scarlett.

‘No.’

‘Oh, good. Would you dance with me, then?’

He wasn’t good-looking or remotely charming, but he would do to prove to Ricky that she wasn’t waiting around for him.

‘As long as you’re not welded to that,’ she said, nodding at the beer glass.

‘Welded to—? Oh! No—I’m sorry, would you like a drink? I should have asked—’

‘Let’s dance first,’ Scarlett said.

This one was going to be easy to control. Not at all like Ricky.

It was as Brenda had said that first time Scarlett had gone to the Kursaal. You just had to get yourself seen on the floor and then it was easy. All the young men who hadn’t come with a girlfriend soon realised that Scarlett was unattached and from then on she hardly sat down. Every now and again she glanced at Ricky to make sure he had noticed how popular she was. If he did, he gave no sign.

When the interval was announced, Scarlett’s last partner went to buy her a lime and soda. While he was caught up in the queue at the bar, Ricky appeared at her side.

‘Hi, babe. You couldn’t keep away, then?’

‘Seemed a shame to waste the ticket,’ Scarlett said.

‘Yeah, right. What about this lot, then? Right bunch of posh cretins.’

‘They’re very nice.’

‘Ah, come on. Grown men who hang onto each other’s shorts and roll in the mud together? Where’s their style?’

Looking around, Scarlett had to admit that, when it came to style, Ricky won hands down.

‘There’s more to life than style,’ she argued.

Ricky gave a disbelieving smile. ‘Admit it, babe, you’re just dying for a bit of excitement.’

The trouble was, he was right. Just being near him made her insides churn and her legs go to string. She was repelled by and attracted to him in almost equal amounts.

Her last partner came back with her drink. Ricky casually draped his arm over Scarlett’s shoulders. The rugby player’s eyes flicked from Ricky to Scarlett and back again.

‘She’s with me, mate. I’ve bought her a drink,’ he said.

Ricky stared back at him. He didn’t look aggressive. He simply had arrogance oozing from him. ‘I don’t think so,
mate
,’ he said. Reaching out, he took the glass and gave it to Scarlett. ‘Thanks for looking after her for me. Bye.’

The weight of his hand on her shoulder, his arm across her back was doing strange things to Scarlett. She tried to speak, swallowed, tried again. Her voice came out as a squeak. ‘Thanks. I…I’ll dance with you again later.’

The rugby player said nothing. He hunched a shoulder and went off in the direction of the bar.

‘Oh, dear. He didn’t like that, did he?’ Ricky remarked. ‘How d’you like the music, babe?’

Scarlett took a swig of her drink. The pause gave her time to gather her senses a little. ‘Not bad,’ she said.

Ricky lifted his hand and ran the back of his fingernail down her spine. Scarlett practically groaned with painful pleasure.

‘I like you,’ Ricky told her. She could feel his hot breath on her neck. ‘You’ve got plenty of go in you.’

‘Doesn’t mean to say it’s going for you,’ Scarlett countered.

‘Oh, I think it is. What would you like me to sing for you in the next set?’

‘
Heartbreak Hotel
,’ she said. It was the first thing that came into her head.

She was glad when it was time for him to go back and play again.

At the end of the evening she was going to slip away before the band had finished, but she was thwarted by one of her earlier partners grabbing her and insisting that she had the last dance with him. Then there was a huge scrum of girls in the cloakroom and by the time she had found her raincoat there was Ricky waiting for her.

‘The others are taking the van home,’ he told her. ‘I’m taking you.’

This was it. Decision time. She tried to think of Jonathan, but he seemed so vague and far away that she could hardly conjure him up in her mind.

‘I don’t think so,’ she said, making a last effort.

‘I do think so,’ Ricky stated.

She was caught like a rabbit in the headlights.

They set off for her road with Ricky’s arm once more slung round her shoulders. As they went along, he held her closer, so that she either had to fold her arms or put one round his waist. She folded them. Every now and again he leaned over and nuzzled the back of her neck. Her efforts at stopping him were very half-hearted.

They reached the corner of her street.

‘I live down here. You don’t have to come any further,’ she said, trying to back out of his grasp.

In answer, Ricky put both arms round her, pulled her to him and fastened his mouth on hers.

Months of being faithful to Jonathan swelled up and burst inside her. Her young body answered the urgency in his as she clung to him, her mouth and lips and tongue devouring his. The world spun around her until there was nothing but the hot pleasure of his kiss and the yearning down the whole length of her body.

They came up for air, gasping and panting.

‘God, Scarlett, you are so hot,’ Ricky growled.

Scarlett knew she ought to stop, but wanted it to go on.

‘I’ve got to go,’ she said.

‘Not yet.’

He kissed her again, bruising her lips against her teeth. Scarlett dug her nails into the back of his neck, making him stop for a moment.

‘Bloody hell. You wildcat,’ he yelped, and backed her against the blank side wall of the end house.

It was only when he started reaching under the many layers of her net petticoat that Scarlett came to her senses. It was now or never. She must stop.

‘No!’ she said, struggling to get free from the weight of him pinning her to the wall. ‘No. Let me go. I want to go home.’

‘Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying it.’

Ricky gave her one more bruising kiss, then released her.

‘Till the next time, babe,’ he said with a laugh in his voice.

Scarlett tottered down the road on her stiletto heels and turned in at her gate. He was still there on the corner. He knew where she lived.

She hurried upstairs to the sanctuary of the mean little flat, shut the door behind her and leaned on it, panting. She was safe, for the time being. She had pulled back from the edge.

But when she went to bed, her unsatisfied body kept her awake long into the dark night.

 R
ICKY
turned up at the flat on Thursday evening.

‘Oh!’ Scarlett said as she opened the door. ‘What are you doing here?’

It was a shock to see him there at the top of the attic stairs. Someone else in the house must have directed him up.

‘Nice welcome, I must say,’ Ricky responded.

All that week she had been wondering if he would get in touch. Now he was here, dangerously close to her territory, lounging against the landing rail with his hands in his trouser pockets and his brooding eyes running over her body. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to see him again after all.

‘What do you want?’ Scarlett asked.

‘Well, I ain’t come to deliver the milk, have I?’

‘Ha, ha.’

Scarlett was acutely conscious of the musty smell of the hallway and the fact that, behind her, there was no-one else in the flat. She didn’t want Ricky to know she was all alone.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Stop mucking about. Get your bag, we’re going out.’

‘I told you, I’ve got a boyfriend.’

‘So what? Give him the elbow. You know you want to.’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Come out with me anyway.’

Just looking at him was doing odd things to her insides. She recalled what it felt like to be kissed by him and nearly reached out to him then and there.

‘I’ll ask my dad,’ she said, and shut the door in his face.

She turned up the radio to mask the fact that there was no father there to ask, and stood biting her lip and trying to come to a decision. Go out with Ricky or not? She looked at the table, where Jonathan’s latest letter lay, waiting for her reply. If she went out with Ricky, she would have to lie to Jonathan. She took a deep breath, marched to the door and opened it about a foot.

‘He says no,’ she told him, and shut the door again before he could get another word in.

A mocking laugh came through the flimsy wood.

‘I’ll be back, babe.’

She spent the rest of the evening wondering whether she had done the right thing.

On Friday and Saturday evenings she went dancing, but found that somehow the shine had gone off it. The boys were boring and stupid. Even her old friend Pete, the ace dancer, annoyed her. She kept catching sight of young men she thought were Ricky, only to be disappointed.

On Sunday afternoon, just as he had promised—or just as he had threatened?—Ricky was back.

‘Come on, babe,’ he said. ‘I’ll take you down the speedway.’

It was a beautiful afternoon and the point in the week when Scarlett felt most alone in the world. She had nothing but
The Billy Cotton Band Show
on the radio to keep her company at a time when everybody else was with their families having Sunday lunch with all the trimmings.

‘All right,’ she said, before she could persuade herself otherwise.

As they walked down the street, she asked why he wasn’t at home with his family.

‘My mum and dad have gone to my gran’s.’

‘But didn’t they want you to go with them?’

Ricky made a dismissive noise. ‘Yeah, but I wasn’t going to. Mad old bat. And she smells. Said I had better things to do.’ To prove it, he pinched her bottom.

Scarlett yelped and slapped his hand. ‘Get off!’

He didn’t know how lucky he was to have a grandmother, she thought. If only she had more family, she wouldn’t feel so very alone in the world.

Going to the sea front with Ricky was a strange experience. Everything was so familiar, but being there with him instead of Jonathan made it utterly different. It was as if a line was being drawn between now and the past. Young Scarlett, with her plaits and her white ankle socks, lurked there, just the other side of the line. She laughed and held hands with Jonathan, she cried for her mother. It made Scarlett realise how much things had changed. She still missed her mother every day, but the grief was blunted. She still missed Jonathan, but he was far away. She no longer expected anything from her father, who started each day now not just with a cigarette but with a drink as well. She was on her own. And here was Ricky, who could have any girl he wanted, going out of his way to chase her.

She could see other girls eyeing him up wherever they went, even girls who were with their boyfriends. It made her feel very superior. She was the chosen one, the lucky girl with the boy who looked like a singing star. The boy who might well turn out to be a singing star. Ricky had no doubts on that score.

‘We’re getting known in Southend, but that’s just the start,’ he told her as they licked their ice creams. ‘Next we got to play up in London. The Two I’s coffee bar, that’s the place to be. That’s where Tommy Steele got discovered. All we need is for an agent to hear us play and we’re made. Rock ’n’ roll’s the thing, babe. It’s our music. It belongs to us.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Scarlett agreed. ‘Once I heard Elvis, all that stuff by Johnny Ray and Perry Como was dead. It’s really square.’

But Ricky wasn’t interested in her opinion. All he needed was his own, which he aired at length.

After the speedway they went on the big wheel. When their chair stopped right at the top to let someone on at the bottom, Ricky rocked it until Scarlett squealed. Then he got hold of her and kissed her. Fear made her all the more responsive.

When they got off, he looked around Peter Pan’s Playground with that James Dean sneer.

‘This is tame. Let’s go to the Kursaal and ride on the Cyclone. That’ll make you scream.’

It did make her scream. The vertiginous drop made her feel as if her stomach had been left behind on the top. After that he took her in the Caterpillar. By the time they came out, her legs would hardly hold her up.

They had frothy coffee at the brand new coffee bar that had opened up in the High Street. Ricky fed money into the jukebox and told her about the singers he had chosen and why they were the best, and why the Riptides would soon be up there with the established stars. Right on cue, a couple of girls behind them started squeaking and whispering.

‘Look, it’s Ricky from Ricky and the Riptides!’

‘I saw him the other week. He’s really good.’

‘Looks all right and all.’

As they left the coffee bar, Ricky gave them a passing wave.

‘Hi, babes.’

The girls dissolved into delighted giggles.

Scarlett drank it all in.

Ricky delivered her back to the flat at about teatime.

‘You inviting me in, then?’ he asked.

Even in her weakened state, Scarlett knew better than to fall for that one. She’d already broken one of the rules of courtship—no kissing on the first date. In fact she’d more than broken it in allowing not just a quick touch on the lips but proper deep kisses. But ask a boy in when you were all by yourself? Oh, no.

‘You must be joking,’ she said, reaching up to give him a peck on the cheek. ‘Thanks for—’

She got no further. Ricky wrapped his arms round her and kissed her passionately. Behind them, the tenant of the downstairs front room rapped loudly on the window. Ricky waved two fingers.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘You know you want to.’

Her body wanted to. Her head was more than aware of the dangers.

‘No,’ she insisted. ‘Idon’tknowwhat you think I am.’

‘I think you’re the hottest babe I ever met.’

‘Oh, yeah? And how many girls have you said that to?’

‘Only you. You’re the best.’

Somehow, she managed to get free and once more slam the door in his face.

Of course, playing hard to get was the surest way of sharpening his interest. But it was a game two could play. Ricky would be all over her, asking her out, taking her to gigs with the band, even bringing her flowers and chocolates, then he would disappear for a week at a time, leaving her wondering whether he would ever show up again.

One Saturday evening at the end of September, Scarlett was dancing at the Kursaal as usual when she glimpsed him through the crowd. As always when that happened, her insides turned painfully. She looked again, expecting to find she was agonising over a perfect stranger, and found that it really was him. What was more, he was wrapped round a common-looking girl with a very low-cut blouse and too much make-up. She was gripped with murderous jealousy.

‘Look at that!’ she hissed at Brenda. ‘He’s here—Ricky’s here—with that little tart.’

‘Swine,’ Brenda said.

‘I’ll scratch her eyes out!’

She really wanted to. Her fingers ached to pull the girl’s hair out, to do her some damage. She stepped forward. Brenda caught hold of her.

‘Don’t give him the pleasure,’ she counselled. ‘He’d love that, wouldn’t he? Two girls fighting over him.’

‘I don’t care. How dare he two-time me?’

Brenda had the sense not to mention Jonathan’s name at this point. Instead, she gripped Scarlett’s arm even tighter.

‘Don’t be a bloody idiot. He’ll have you just where he wants you then, won’t he? Give him a taste of his own medicine. Dance with Pete or someone.’

Enough of the rage dissolved for Scarlett to see that she was right. She danced every dance, and when she was with Pete she made sure that Ricky was close enough to notice how brilliantly they performed together. It felt like the longest evening she had ever spent there. She left early, before Ricky could see that nobody was taking her home, and waited for the last bus weeping tears of anger and disappointment. Her evening had been ruined. Her enjoyment of the Kursaal had been ruined. She would never feel the same way about it again.

‘I hate you, Ricky Harrington,’ she muttered to herself. ‘You’ve spoilt everything.’

Footsore and exhausted, she let herself into the flat. A revolting smell hit her. She fumbled for the light switch and cried out loud. Her father was slumped on the floor in a pool of vomit. She rushed forward, turning her ankle painfully in her high heeled dancing shoes. She kicked them off, bent and got her hands under his armpits to drag him away from the mess. It was heavy work, as he was a dead weight. She managed to get him out of the worst of it, found a newspaper to put under his head and went downstairs with a bucket to get some water. At first she couldn’t decide what to do first. Clean up her father or clear up the sick? He was still unconscious and the smell was making her heave, so she decided on clearing up. She toiled up and down the stairs with newspapers and cloths and buckets, scraping and scrubbing until the smell of bleach overlaid that of vomit. Then she got yet more clean water. She eased her father’s soiled shirt and jumper off, then gently wiped the mess from his face and hair.

‘Oh, Dad,’ she wailed. ‘What have you done to yourself?’

She tried to remember the strong, happy father who used to hug her and her mother and joke with the customers at the Red Lion. Where had he gone? This defeated man with his shabby clothes and bloated face was a different person. As she washed him, he began to regain consciousness, first moaning, then muttering odd words. He seemed afraid.

‘It’s all right, Dad. You’re safe, you’re at home,’ she told him.

Victor opened his eyes. He stared at her blankly.

‘Joan. Where’s Joan?’ he croaked.

Tears welled up in Scarlett’s eyes. ‘It’s Scarlett, Dad. I’m here. Can you get up?’

She tried to help him up but he made no effort to move.

‘No, no. Leave me. I want Joan.’

Scarlett opened up the put-u-up and tried again.

‘Come on, Dad. You can’t stay there on the floor. You’ll be more comfortable in bed.’

By degrees she managed to get him off the floor and on to the bed. She covered him with a sheet and blanket and placed the bucket beside him. She stroked his damp head.

‘There’s a bucket there if you feel ill again, all right? Now you go to sleep. It’ll look better in the morning.’

She went down to the bathroom one more time to scrub the smell out of her hands. Then she fell into bed and cried herself to sleep. She had never felt more alone.

The morning brought fresh trials. Victor woke with a massive hangover and insisted on hair of the dog to help cope with it. Scarlett made him tea, which he refused, then found the last drop of whisky in a flat bottle in his jacket pocket and went and flushed it down the toilet. After a massive row, Victor slammed out of the flat.

‘You’re no daughter of mine!’ he shouted through the door, and stumped off down the stairs.

Scarlett wrenched the door open again.

‘Don’t you dare come back drunk!’ she yelled at his departing back.

Which brought complaints from three of the neighbours.

‘Oh, shut up!’ she snapped at them, and went back inside.

She looked round the dreary flat—at the gloomy greenish lino, the rickety furniture, the patches on the peeling walls where it got damp in winter. It was horrible, horrible, horrible. And so was her life.

‘You got to do something, girl,’ she said out loud. ‘You can’t go on like this.’

The first thing was to find a better flat. She ran a comb through her hair, put on some lipstick and went off to the newsagent’s to get a
Southend Standard
. Just making the decision made her feel a hundred times better. With the paper under her arm, she started to walk back with something like a spring in her step. Perhaps when they moved, her father could be persuaded to turn over a new leaf. Then, if he could hold down a better job, she could get away from doing factory work and try something less well paid but more interesting. Just as she had come to this conclusion, a van pulled up beside her.

‘Hey, babe!’

It was Ricky, in the TV repair van that one of the Riptides had the use of.

Scarlett hardly paused in her stride. ‘I’ve got nothing to say to you.’

‘Oh babe, you know you don’t mean that.’

Ricky stopped the van and got out. He jogged round in front of her. He was dressed in a snappy suit and tie and carrying a bunch of pink carnations.

‘For you,’ he said, holding them out to her.

Scarlett thrust them back at him. ‘I don’t want them.’

‘Ah, babe, you’re not jealous, are you?’

‘Don’t flatter yourself.’

Scarlett made to dodge round him, but he sidestepped back into her path.