Читать книгу The Doris Day Vintage Film Club: A hilarious, feel-good romantic comedy - Фиона Харпер - Страница 13

They’d already started watching the film when Claire heard someone slide in the door and shuffle into a seat at the back. She waited a few moments then glanced nonchalantly over her shoulder.

Abby. That was a surprise. When she’d been absent at the usual start time, Claire had assumed they’d seen the last of her.

As Teacher’s Pet rolled on, Claire found her thoughts returning to the newest member of the Doris Day Film Club more than once. Although Abby seemed out of place in their little group, Claire couldn’t help thinking that maybe fate had brought her their way. There was a lost quality about her that made Claire think of a scared stray animal.

If Abby’s mother was as demanding as she sounded, Claire suspected they were on a losing mission right from the start. However, Abby had come to them for help, and for that reason alone they would try. Doris herself would almost certainly approve – although the strays she championed since her retirement from Hollywood tended to be the furry, four-legged kind.

In a strange way, Abby reminded Claire of the Clark Gable character in Teacher’s Pet. He played a ‘tough as nails’ journalist who had a chip on his shoulder about other people getting the education he’d been denied. While Claire didn’t think Abby had a chip on her shoulder about being a girl, she’d done what the hard-nosed newspaper man had done – instead of trying, she’d just given up and turned her comfort zone into a fortress.

‘God, how I love that film,’ Candy said, as the lights went back on again and the credits rolled. ‘I love the fact that Doris was playing intelligent career women who could hold their own against any man back in the late fifties, before it was really fashionable. That scene where she tells Clark Gable off in the lift is pure gold dust.’

Bev and Maggs murmured their agreement.

‘Despite the huge age gap between Clark and Doris, it still works as a romance,’ Peggy said, joining the discussion. ‘The characters are unusually three-dimensional for a romantic comedy.’

Kitty giggled. ‘My favourite bit is when Clark kisses Doris in her office, taking her by surprise, and her legs buckle under her when she walks back to her desk.’

Grace sighed. ‘I want to be kissed like that one day.’

Everyone turned and looked at her. It was the most she’d said all evening.

‘Don’t we all,’ Maggs added dryly, and the whole room had a chuckle, including Abby, who then flushed and looked at the floor.

Claire stood up. ‘Before we all head off tonight, I want us to put our heads together and see if we can find a way to help our newest member.’ She glanced at Abby, who now looked as if she was about to slide off her seat and under the table. Claire understood the urge to squirm when one was the focus of attention better than anyone, but there wasn’t any other way, and this was what Abby had asked of them, after all.

‘Watching films is all well and good, and we all know Doris had impeccable style, but I think we probably have it within our small group to offer some practical help too.’ She turned to look at Candy specifically, who had a very sensible head on her shoulders and always looked stylish, but Kitty started bouncing in her seat.

‘We’d love to help, wouldn’t we, Grace?’

Grace nodded coolly.

‘We’ve already talked about it,’ Kitty added.

Abby looked warily from one to the other. ‘You have?’

The vintage girls, both in red and white polka dots this week – Kitty with white on red, Grace with red on white – looked at each other before continuing.

‘If you’d let us … We’d really like to give you a makeover.’

Abby looked shocked, as if she’d just been announced the next Miss Universe, and maybe just as tearful. ‘You’d do that? For me?’

Both girls nodded. ‘You’d be helping us really. We love doing makeovers,’ Kitty said, ‘but Grace says she’s getting bored doing them on just me. What we really need is a fresh canvas.’

‘Fresh meat, more like,’ Maggs muttered under her breath.

‘Are you up for it?’ Kitty asked, nodding encouragingly.

‘Um … I think so.’

‘Great!’ Kitty said, clapping her hands together. ‘How about we do it before the next film club meeting?

Abby looked nervously between them. ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’

‘We’re going to have so much fun,’ Kitty said brightly, as she stood up, and she and Grace linked arms and scurried away, plotting furiously as they disappeared down the stairs.

The rest of the club members started to drift after them, but before Abby escaped, Claire went over to her. ‘Are you okay with the whole makeover idea? It’s fine to say if you’re not.’

Abby looked grim for a few long moments. ‘I’m as fine as I’m ever going to be with it, and I’ll never get those tickets if I don’t, so I suppose I’ll just have to do it, no matter how I feel about it.’

‘Is it a special match?’

Claire expected Abby to nod just as emphatically, but instead she looked flustered and her cheeks grew pinker. ‘Kind of …’ She looked at her trainers as she scuffed the offensively patterned carpet with one of them. Eventually, she looked up at Claire from under her hair. ‘It’s not so much who’s playing, but who I was hoping to ask to go with me.’ And then she blushed even harder.

‘A boy?’

Abby’s eyes stayed on the carpet. She nodded. ‘I’ve known him since we were in primary school together. We bonded over a shared love of football and we’ve been friends ever since, it’s just … every time I look at him, things seem to go a bit weird.’

Claire nodded. She remembered feeling that way about boys when she was Abby’s age, that swirly feeling in her stomach when you thought about them. The little kick of your pulse when you knew you were going to see them.

‘Does he feel the same way?’

Abby’s face told Claire everything she needed to know. ‘I’m just “Abs” to him, his mate with the killer left foot, but I thought maybe if we could get away from the other lads, have some time on our own …’

Ah, it was all starting to make sense now: Abby’s sudden and desperate need to embrace her hitherto undiscovered feminine side, why she’d come back to the Doris Day Film Club.

‘Can’t you talk to your mum about this? If you told her why you wanted the tickets, she might understand.’

Abby shook her head, her lips a thin line. ‘All she wanted after two boys was a daughter she could fuss over and dress up and go shopping with, and instead she got me. I’m just one huge disappointment to her. She just thinks Ricky encourages me in my tomboy ways.’

Claire gave Abby what she hoped was a sympathetic look. ‘Well, we – the club and I – are going to do everything we can to make sure you prove her wrong at that party. If you want our help, we’ll pull out all the stops to make it happen.’

Abby stood up, looking concerned. ‘Do you really think you can help me look like a girl?’

I’m sure we can,’ she said, smiling.

Abby smiled weakly back. ‘Thank you, Claire.’

Claire watched her trail down the stairs, looking slightly less forlorn than when she’d arrived, and then she made sure everything was shipshape, switched off the lights and closed the door.

Much to her surprise, she found Maggs waiting for her on the landing. ‘Well …’ Maggs said. ‘Have you read it?’

Read what? Claire almost said, and then she remembered. She hadn’t used that handbag since last week and she’d made herself forget about the letter. Besides, she’d had other letters on her mind since then – a string of notes going backwards and forwards between her and her cheeky neighbour. On the one hand, he was driving her crazy, but on the other, she had to admit he had quite a way with words, and sometimes he could be quite funny.

No, she thought to herself. Do not be sucked in by surface charm. That was how her mother had got snared by her father. He’d seemed lovely while they’d been going out, courteous, strong, principled. It was only after she’d married him that she’d discovered just how iron-clad those principles were, and just how exacting he could be if anyone failed to meet his standards.

Okay, her downstairs neighbour was nothing like him – mainly because he had no standards whatsoever – but the advice was good all the same. Always look deeper. Always look beneath. Exactly what she hadn’t done with Philip.

Her ex-husband proved her point quite nicely. He’d seemed the polar opposite from her father when she’d met him. He’d been romantic and affectionate and thoughtful, but she’d still fallen into her mother’s trap. Maybe she wouldn’t have if Mum had been around to warn her. Gran had tried, but Claire had pigheadedly refused to listen, and then, after a few years, when she’d really realised what he was like, she’d been too stubborn and proud to admit she was wrong.

Anyway, she didn’t want to think about Philip. It was over. In the past. She was moving on, just as she had done with her father.

They started walking down the stairs, and Claire could feel Maggs looking at her. ‘What?’ she asked.

‘Well? Have you read it?’ Maggs said, rather impatiently. It was only then Claire realised she’d been so lost in thought – hijacked first by Mr Dominic Arden and then her ex – that she’d forgotten to answer her.

‘Sorry,’ she said laughing. ‘Away with the fairies. And, no, I haven’t read it. I don’t intend to. I told you that last week.’

Maggs didn’t say anything. Didn’t mean she wasn’t communicating heaps.

‘I know you think it’s a mistake,’ Claire continued, ‘but I can’t do it. What happened, happened, and I have no desire to revisit it. What was it that Doris’s brother said about her? Something about her never being concerned beyond what the momentary problem was … That’s how she’s managed to say stay so bright and sunny in the face of everything that happened to her, and I think I’m going to adopt that philosophy.’

Maggs just grunted softly. ‘That all sounds very pretty, but don’t forget … the past has a habit of coming back to bite you in the derrière whether you want it to or not.’

‘Don’t you worry about my derrière,’ Claire said, as they emerged into the lounge bar of The Glass Bottom Boat. Kitty, Grace and Abby were sitting at a small table, the vintage girls talking animatedly, Abby looking slightly bemused. George was hovering near the door. He looked as if he was about to say something as Claire and Maggs approached, but Maggs just gave him a little wave and carried on out the door.

‘Claire said she’d give me a lift again this week,’ she said, as she swept past, too late to see George’s expression turn from hopeful to crestfallen. Claire didn’t miss it though.

She almost said something to Maggs, but Maggs was wearing that inscrutable, don’t-try-to-mess-with-me expression that Claire knew only too well. She’d say something, all right, but with Maggs timing was everything. She’d just have to pick her moment carefully.

They walked slowly down the street in silence. This week she hadn’t been able to find a space near the pub, so she’d had to park down the side of the playing fields opposite, but it was a nice night for a walk – warm, not as sticky as recently, and the proximity to midsummer meant that it wasn’t fully dark yet and a slash of turquoise edged the horizon, despite the fact it was past ten.

Claire walked, trying to keep her mind on the sound of her shoes on the cracked paving stones, on the hum of a city summer night – dogs barking, neighbours arguing, someone somewhere playing a radio too loud so the music drifted between the houses and out into the almost-deserted park. But her mind refused to focus on these concrete, present day things. Now that Maggs had brought him up, it kept drifting back to her father, images of him, memories. She felt as if her mind was a runaway car, which kept veering slowly off in the wrong direction and then she’d notice and grab the steering wheel and coerce it into going back onto the route she’d planned for it.

She didn’t want to think of him.

If anything, she should want to think of her mother, who’d been wonderful and loving and resourceful. She’d been gone ten years now. If she’d known their time together was going to be cut short, she’d have asked more questions. Or maybe not. In her twenties, she wouldn’t have known the right things to ask. Maybe it was only now she was older with one bad marriage behind her herself, that she wished she could ask Mum if it had been the same for her.

At least she’d separated from her toxic husband. Why hadn’t Mum left her father? Why had she waited for him to do it to her? Why hadn’t she ever stood up to him? After he’d left, she’d blossomed into being the bright and funny and strong woman Claire would always choose to remember her as.

Suddenly, a question popped free, one she hadn’t realised she’d needed the answer to until it left her mouth. She glanced across at Maggs. ‘Did he ever hit her? My mother?’

They kept walking, but something about the atmosphere between them changed. The air grew stiller, thicker.

He hadn’t ever hit Claire, although she’d always been afraid he might. She could remember a specific look in his eye that had always made her stomach quiver. A tingle of cold ran up her spine now, just thinking about it.

Maggs kept her focus straight ahead. When they reached Claire’s car, she stopped and turned to face her. ‘Honestly? I don’t know … Maybe.’

Claire nodded.

She was starting to fear she’d known the answer for a long time, but just hadn’t dared face it.

She unlocked the car and opened the door for Maggs. When they were both settled inside, before she turned the key in the ignition, Maggs spoke again. ‘I know Laurie was always worried for your mother when he got into one of his moods. We didn’t talk about it. People didn’t in our day. It was the sort of shameful thing you just swept under the carpet, but I guessed she suspected what her son was capable of.’

Claire shook her head. ‘I don’t understand it. How did such a lovely woman as my grandmother raise such a cruel, dysfunctional son?’

Maggs let out a heavy breath. ‘You don’t remember much about your grandfather, do you?’

‘No,’ Claire replied slowly. Just a vague memory of a stern man with white hair.

‘I keep thinking about him recently,’ Maggs said quietly, all the usual sass and sarcasm gone from her voice. It made her sound younger, less invincible. ‘I never liked him, you know, not even right back at the start. Maybe I was jealous he stole my best friend, or maybe I just saw a little bit into Laurie’s future. I don’t know …’ She breathed in sharply. ‘Anyway, I think he had a lot to do with how your father turned out.’

Claire shook her head. She’d never heard Maggs talk like this before. Maybe it was the gin she’d been nipping from her hip flask that evening. In the darkened room while they watched the film, she’d seen little flashes in the gloom as the street lamp outside had reflected off the shiny metal.

She pondered that as she turned the key in the ignition and revved the engine, shattering the fog-like silence that had settled around them.

‘I’m surprised Gran didn’t ever marry again after he died,’ she said, her tone light, as she indicated and pulled away. ‘She was still a very attractive woman, even into her fifties.’

‘I thought the same about Cathy. Your mother wasn’t short on admirers once your father had cleared off, you know.’

Claire nodded. She had memories of a couple of well-dressed men coming to the house with bunches of flowers, of them taking her mother out to dinner while Mrs Winfield from next door babysat, but there hadn’t been many and they’d usually disappeared after four or five dates.

That had been sad too. Mum had been so pretty and funny. She’d had a way of making everyone feel included, as if she’d allowed them entrance to a special club where everything would always feel safe and warm and fun. When Claire had asked if she had a boyfriend, her mother had laughed the suggestion off. She’d said she was much more interested in taking care of Claire, and it wasn’t the right time to get serious about anyone.

At the time, Claire had assumed this was just another selfless act of love on her mother’s part, but now she wondered if there had been another reason.

‘Runs in the family, doesn’t it?’ Maggs said, as they navigated the narrow back streets almost empty of traffic. ‘First Laurie, then Cathy … And you haven’t seen anyone else since Philip.’

That was just what Claire needed to pop her out of this rather maudlin mood she and Maggs had created between them. She chuckled softly to herself. She should have known better than to broach this kind of subject with Maggs. ‘Don’t be daft,’ she replied. ‘It’s completely different. It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just not the right time. I need to focus on the business at the moment …’

She trailed off and her mother’s voice echoed in her ears: It’s just not the right time, Claire, love. I think my focus should be on you at the moment …

She shook that thought away as she craned her head to see out of an awkward junction. ‘Anyway,’ she said, pulling out the trump card she’d almost forgotten about, ‘I’ve got a date tomorrow.’

She could feel Maggs’s beady eyes on her as she concentrated on the road. ‘Oh, yes?’ Maggs said, her pitch as high as Claire imagined her eyebrows were. ‘Anyone nice?’

Yes, Claire thought to herself, but that was the problem. Nice and not much else, but telling Maggs that wouldn’t get her off her back. However, there were a few pertinent facts about the man in question that might.

‘His name is Doug Martin and he’s a client. And before you ask, yes, he’s single. He’s also rich and very attentive. He’s taking me to a party at The Hamilton.’

She risked a sideways glance to gauge Maggs’s reaction. Maggs was looking suitably impressed. Claire smiled to herself. Distraction manoeuvre complete.

‘Sid and I went dancing there on New Year’s Eve once,’ she said wistfully. ‘It was the toast of the town then. Shame that it fell into such disrepair.’

‘It will be again, if the new owner has anything to do with it,’ Claire said, ‘and there’ll be some very useful contacts at that party.’

‘Hmm,’ Maggs said. ‘You’re going out with a rich, attentive man and the thing you’re most pleased about is what it can do for your career. Now tell me, what’s wrong with this picture?’

‘Nothing,’ Claire said haughtily. ‘Mixing business with pleasure is how us youngsters do it these days.’

‘Ouch,’ Maggs said, and let out a reluctant chuckle. ‘Touché, Miss Bixby. But just you make sure there’s more pleasure than business in this scenario, okay?’

She made the turn into Maggs’s road. ‘I’ll do my best.’

‘I know that look,’ Maggs muttered. ‘You’ve worn the same one since you were a little girl. It’s your “I’m pretending I’m listening, but really I’m going to do my own sweet thing” look.’

Claire pressed her lips together and tried not to smile. ‘Learnt it from you.’

Maggs mimed taking a bullet to the chest. ‘And the hits just keep on coming.’

Claire pulled into a space outside of Maggs’s house and yanked on the handbrake. ‘You can’t go all superior on me, otherwise you’ll have to admit you were a bad influence.’

‘All I’m saying, is that you could do with some male company,’ Maggs said, as she opened the door and eased her slightly creaky body from the car. ‘You work all the time and when you’re not working, you’re doing club stuff, or hanging out with girls.’

‘And George,’ Claire reminded her, smiling just a little too sweetly.

‘You’re on a roll today,’ Maggs said, her tone grudging. ‘I shouldn’t have taught you so well.’

Claire got out of the car and came round to where her grandmother’s best friend was standing and gave her a hug. Maggs shook her head, but smiled as she did it, and let Claire press a kiss to her papery cheek.

‘I’ve told you before not to meddle in my love life,’ Claire said, ‘not until you’ve got one of your own, at least.’

‘You’re no fun,’ Maggs said, as they pulled apart.

‘You want me to turn the tables on you? I saw the way George looked when you blew him off this evening. Crushed doesn’t even begin to cover it.’

Maggs shook her head. ‘He’s too young for me.’

‘So? What’s wrong with a toy boy?’

‘I’d eat him for breakfast.’

Claire laughed. Maggs probably would as well. Poor old George. Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. ‘See? You need to start taking some of your own advice, Dr Maggs. You accuse me of not moving on, but I don’t see you doing much of that yourself.’

‘I’m practically in the grave,’ Maggs said wearily. ‘If I “move on” too much, I’ll just fall straight into it.’

‘Now you’re just getting dramatic,’ Claire said, although she knew Maggs was okay when she was hamming it up. It was when she closed right down, didn’t show a thing, that Claire got truly worried about her.

Maggs sighed as she headed up her garden path. ‘I do hate it when you’re like this,’ she said, with more than a touch of the martyr about her.

Claire smiled to herself as she got back into the car. ‘When I’m like what?’ she called out.

‘Right,’ Maggs replied, as she opened her front door and disappeared.