Читать книгу Closer than Blood: Friendship Helps You Survive - Julie Shaw, Julie Shaw - Страница 11

Shirley loved going to the Ideal. A purpose-built dance-hall in the same car park as the Red Lion pub in Bankfoot, it was her and Anita’s favourite of all the dance-halls; the place where you could always be sure of a night spent bopping to the latest sounds. It was owned by a local man called Bert Shultz. Bert was only in his late twenties, but everyone knew him – chiefly because he’d lived comfortably off his wealthy parents’ money all of his young life and wasn’t ashamed of it, either; he made no secret of the fact that the Ideal was a gift for him from his mother.

This didn’t go down well with everyone – not at first, anyway. Especially the young local lads, who believed men should look after themselves. But they tolerated him, because in the main he kept out of their business and, whatever anyone had to say about him, he certainly knew his – he always put on a good night.

During the week, Bert would provide entertainment by way of a free juke-box, but at the weekends he moved things up a gear. Local skiffle groups would come along and play songs from the current hit parade, and the dance-floor would really come alive.

Shirley loved going dancing at the Ideal more than almost anything. Loved the atmosphere, loved the sense of excitement and anticipation, loved the way all the girls would sit demurely along one side of the dance-floor while all the boys stood along the other side – eyeing them and trying to pluck up the courage to ask them for a dance. She loved that young people from all over Bradford would be there; that sense that you were at the place everyone most wanted to be. And mostly, if she wasn’t dancing herself, she loved to watch. Loved watching how the couples would look as though they’d come straight out of the movies once they stepped out onto the dance-floor, the men so handsome in their long drape jackets, with their coloured collars and suede brothel creepers, and the girls in their ballet pumps, their circular skirts flying as they pirouetted around to Bill Haley and Buddy Holly. It was magical to watch, and looked magical to do, as well, and though Shirley was happy enough dancing with Anita – John Arnold had never been much of a dancer – how she had ached to be in the arms of a lad so she could properly put into practice all those hours she’d spent secretly learning how to jive with a kitchen chair.

And now she had one. Well, she hoped so. If Anita was to be believed, anyway. Knowing everything about everyone, she assured Shirley that Keith loved to bop and that only last week she’d seen him jiving away with his sister.

The walk to Bankfoot took them a good half an hour, but it was a lovely early summer’s evening and they passed the time chatting about what they’d been up to during the day. Keith was dressed in typical Teddy Boy attire and, from the musky smell she kept catching off him, had dabbed on some aftershave as well, and she was pleased that her new boyfriend had gone to so much effort.

‘Come on then, kiddo,’ he said, grinning as they finally approached the entrance. ‘Let’s go show ’em how it’s done, shall we? Though hang on,’ he added, glancing first down at Shirley’s black pumps and then at her bag, ‘you’re not going to pull a pair of high heels out of that handbag of yours, are you? Only you’re two inches taller than me already, and I don’t want to look stupid.’

Shirley smiled politely, and though she couldn’t have cared less about his height, immediately and instinctively tried to lower her shoulders. ‘Don’t worry. I don’t like wearing high heels much,’ she lied, pleased at her foresight in choosing to put the flats on her feet, rather than one of the pairs of kitten heels she often wore for dancing. It made her smile to herself, even so. Here he was, so concerned about appearances and everything, yet the Teddy Boy suit he was currently sporting was so obviously a couple of sizes too big. In fact – and she stifled a giggle at the thought – at first sight, seeing Keith turn up in it had put her a little bit in mind of Norman Wisdom. But the impression had disappeared almost as quickly as it had formed. No, despite his size, Keith Hudson was nothing like Norman Wisdom. There was a glint in his dark eyes that was nothing like Norman Wisdom’s. Something so manly. Something so sexy.

He was the best-looking lad she’d ever been out with, in fact, and being led into the Ideal on his arm – this lad from the notorious Canterbury estate, no less – made her feel ever so slightly weak at the knees. She could only hope they’d hold up once she was properly in his arms so she didn’t go down like a sack of potatoes.

Bert Shultz was on the door, wearing the same thing he wore every weekend: black suit and dicky bow. He nodded his usual greeting at Shirley, and seemed happy enough to take the two shillings Keith proffered for their entrance, but at the same time he narrowed his eyes. ‘Evening, lad,’ he said, dropping the money into his cash box. ‘I don’t want any of your shenanigans tonight, do you hear? Some of the other lads from your end are here tonight,’ he elaborated, ‘and I’ve already had to eject a couple of them. Best behaviour tonight, lad, okay?’

Shirley turned, expecting Keith to nod politely at this, but instead he walked straight inside, dragging Shirley in his wake, and offering a mild, ‘Get lost, Bert,’ as he did so.

Shirley gaped. ‘But –’

‘I can’t stick that stuck-up get,’ Keith said, once they were out of earshot. ‘I don’t know who he thinks he’s talking to.’

Shirley felt a nervous flutter of excitement in her stomach. It was a feeling she was beginning to become more than a little familiar with; a feeling that was becoming synonymous with being around her new, rather dangerous-seeming boyfriend. She’d never tell her mam and she surprised herself by admitting it, but it was a feeling she liked rather a lot. ‘I know!’ she agreed gaily, as he led her into the dance-hall. ‘What a bloody toff he is, isn’t he?’

Keith tightened his grip on her arm and returned her smile with a wink, and soon they were making their way across the crowded dance-floor towards the gang of people already hanging around the bar area. Not that it was a bar in the usual sense of the word. There was no alcohol served in the Ideal Dance-hall – not to anyone. So sarsaparillas and milkshakes were the order of the day. Hardly any of the girls minded; they were there for the dancing – but with some of the other dance-halls selling alcohol these days, for the older lads it was a real bone of contention.

Not that they couldn’t get hold of some if they wanted it. For those in need of a bit of Dutch courage, there was always the Red Lion next door, the pub which Bert Shultz’s parents owned, and in whose car park the Ideal had been built. So the older lads would usually get a pass-out from Bert during the band breaks (or as often as they felt thirsty), down as many pints as they could afford and then come back in again, better placed to chat up any girls they’d had their eye on and – assuming they could still stand up reasonably straight – hit the dance-floor again. For fear of any drunken uprisings that might follow, Bert had no choice but to encourage it as, after all, it was money in his parents’ pockets.

‘Hey up, Shirley,’ Keith said, pointing to where two lads were standing at the far end of the bar. ‘There’s Bobby and Titch – sorry, my mates Bobby Moran and Titch Williams. Let’s go stand with them for a bit, shall we?’

Shirley’s face fell. For one thing, wasn’t Keith planning on getting her a drink? And for another, she wasn’t sure she wanted to go and stand with them anyway. She’d seen the one Keith called Titch a few times before, and he was bad enough – loud and raucous and loved to think he was a bit of a ladies’ man (which he wasn’t) – but Bobby Moran was much worse. He looked a good few years older than Keith and she’d seen him around several times, and every time he’d been drunk and staggering around the place. He liked to fight, too – Anita had told her that before, and if she was honest, she found him rather scary. ‘Do we have to?’ she asked Keith. ‘That Bobby gets right on my nerves.’

Keith laughed and carried on walking across the dance-floor, which was currently half empty, as the band hadn’t started yet. ‘Oh, he’s all right really,’ he reassured her. ‘Once you get to know him. He fancies my big sister, Margaret, you know. Had a right crush on her, he did.’

‘But isn’t she in her thirties?’ Shirley asked him, bewildered by this.

Keith laughed. ‘Well into,’ he said. ‘But that didn’t stop her going on a date with him once – strictly out of pity, of course, but he’s never stopped going on about it ever since. Still can’t understand why she married her Bob and not him.’

Shirley followed Keith, as there didn’t seem much else to be done. ‘Well, I obviously don’t know anything about Bob,’ she whispered, as Bobby Moran raised an arm and waved at them, ‘but I imagine your sister made the right choice.’

She meant it, too; Keith’s friends looked like they’d come to the Ideal straight from a jumble sale – well, via the Red Lion, of course. Bobby Moran was wearing a funny little hat that wouldn’t have looked out of place on Charlie Chaplin, and the other one – Titch Williams – was in a blue drape jacket with a black collar, which wouldn’t have been too bad on its own – well, if it had fitted him – except that sticking out of the bottom were a pair of horrible brown trousers.

Titch wolf-whistled as they reached them, looking her up and down as he did so. ‘You’ve done all right for yourself, young Hudson,’ he said, treating Shirley to the sort of smile that made it clear he thought his get-up was the bees knees, even if no one else did. ‘She looks like bleeding Betty Boop!’ he added brightly.

Shirley wasn’t sure whether this was supposed to be a compliment or an insult, though she was sure of one thing; that this wasn’t quite how she expected her and Keith’s first date to be panning out. She hoped it wasn’t indicative of how the rest of it was going to go. Nothing to drink, and having to stand around with a pair of gawping idiots. Where was the romance in that?

‘Leave her alone, Titch, or I’ll bleeding bop you one,’ Keith said, equally brightly. ‘Anyway, where’s your birds, then? Mislaid them somewhere, have you?’

Shirley stood by Keith, keeping her arm tucked in the crook of his, and wondered what sort of girls would want to go out with either of them. ‘As it happens,’ Titch answered, puffing himself up importantly, ‘Jayne Mansfield was tied up tonight and I told Doris Day I was having a night in. Thought I’d come and check out some local talent for a change.’

‘Course you did,’ Keith said, squeezing Shirley’s arm. ‘And fortunately for the rest of us, the local talent know an ugly little bleeder when they see one.’

This little quip seemed to invoke some sort of laddish primeval instinct, because she was then forced to step aside as the three of them started shadow boxing with each other, and right in the middle of the bar queue as well. She scanned the room, hoping that Anita might be in too, but she wasn’t – not yet, anyway. And this wasn’t at all the sort of night out she’d had in mind with her new boyfriend.

Perhaps reading her thoughts, Keith stopped messing about with his friends and finally got her a milkshake but, to her surprise, ordered nothing for himself. Did that mean he was sloping off to the Red Lion now? If so, what was she supposed to do?

‘Aren’t you having a drink?’ Shirley asked him. She sincerely hoped he wasn’t about to up and leave her there.

He shook his head. ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘I’ll get one in a bit. Later on, once I’ve got a bit of money.’

Shirley felt dismayed all over again. Didn’t he have enough money now? Had he really come out with only enough money to pay for them both to get in and buy one measly drink? She wasn’t sure what to do – she did have a few bob of her own tucked into her bag, but she hadn’t expected to have to spend it. And he might be offended if she suggested it, anyway. ‘I’ve got enough for us both to have one,’ she decided to suggest anyway, wondering where he imagined he might be getting this ‘bit of money’ from, exactly.

Keith shook his head a second time. ‘Don’t need it,’ he said, smiling. ‘Thanks, but no thanks. Just wait a bit – till the band gets going – and then I’ll have plenty. Just wait and see.’

The band duly started and the floor began filling up. ‘Come on,’ Keith said. ‘It’s the Four Pennies. I like this one, don’t you?’

Shirley didn’t have a clue what he was on about, but now the music was playing and they were up and dancing along to it, she didn’t care. They danced to that song, then the next, then jived to Buddy Holly, and, at last, she felt entirely in her element. Anita had been right – Keith really was good enough to show them how it was done, and before long she was aware that a space had cleared around them, not so much to watch, exactly, just to give them sufficient room. And she was loving it, feeling a million dollars in the lemon blouse and polka-dot skirt she’d made herself, loving the way the colours blurred into one as she danced, and the swish of the frilly underskirt that peeked from under the hem. Loving how, when Keith sent her into a spin, it mushroomed out so prettily all around her. But what she most loved was how Keith was such a brilliant, brilliant dancer and how she was getting such envious looks from all the other girls. Keith Hudson, she realised, must be a bit of a catch.

All good things had to come to an end, however, and when she spied Bobby Moran waving at them both about half an hour later, she knew their turn on the dance-floor was done. At least for the moment. ‘Quick!’ Keith whispered to her as Bobby acknowledged that he’d seen him. ‘What’s your favourite song?’

Shirley was confused. ‘Um, er … I don’t know. Why? What do you mean?’

‘Your favourite singer? Your favourite song? Both, if you like. What is it?’

‘Um …’ Shirley began, wondering what the hell was going on. ‘Er, how about “Why” by Anthony Newley?’ she suggested. ‘But Keith, why d’you want to know, anyway?’

Keith grinned at her. ‘Right then,’ he said, not answering her question. ‘You go stand over there and you’ll see.’

‘Over where? And what about you? Where are you going, then?’

‘Go on. Go over by Titch,’ he said nudging her in the general direction. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t be long.’ Then, to her dismay, Shirley found herself left alone in the middle of the dance-floor as her new date turned around and marched off.

What the hell’s going on? She thought crossly as she stomped back towards the bar. Titch, indeed. What kind of a name was that, anyway? Yes, he was tiny – really tiny – but he had a not-at-all titchy nose. Which looked like it was broken. And though she was willing to concede that he had a friendly enough smile, she was in no mood to be friendly in return. ‘What’s Keith’s bloody game?’ she demanded when she reached him.

Titch laughed. And that was another thing. Why did they all seem to find everything so funny? Why did there seem to be this permanent joke that she wasn’t allowed in on? ‘Hark at you!’ he said, apparently not remotely concerned to have her scowling at him. ‘You sound like one of them posh birds off the films. Keep yer knickers on, love. He’ll be back soon enough.’

He nudged her as well. Then he pointed towards the stage, where the band were setting up and testing their sound, and where – to Shirley’s horror – Keith was standing now as well, holding a microphone. What was he doing up there? She couldn’t imagine anything more excruciating. Standing up there, with everyone staring. But, from the look of him, he didn’t seem to be self-conscious at all. They were obviously about to start performing as well, because the music from the juke-box was starting to fade out.

‘Is he going to sing?’ she asked his friend, but the question was answered before he could. Keith was indeed going to sing. In fact, he was already singing. Singing ‘Why’ by Anthony Newley.

Crooning the words, he smiled down at the growing cluster of girls at the front. The room had fallen silent, and those who had been dancing were now shuffling towards the stage, forming a semi-circle at the front.

Good grief, Shirley’s thought, her mouth hanging open as she listened. He sang even better than most of her favourite singers, Cliff included. How had she not known this about him? How come he hadn’t said? She was so shocked, she even found herself smiling at Titch. ‘Shall we go up there to watch?’ she asked, feeling a sudden urgent need to get to the front herself, so that he could sing to her.

‘Sure,’ he said, leading the way proprietorially as they threaded through the crowd. And it was a crowd, too. Keith Hudson was obviously very popular. He was definitely popular with Shirley right now. In fact she was almost bursting with pride at this new boyfriend of hers. Just getting up on stage and singing like that! Imagine! She couldn’t have done anything like that in a million years. And nor, more to the point, could John Arnold. And as they reached the front, Keith immediately began to sing directly at her.

He could have carried on in that vein all night, Shirley decided, but the song came to an end and his turn on the stage was obviously done, to a deafening round of applause. Keith was obviously popular; Shirley noticed that his other friend, Bobby Moran, had taken off his silly hat and was now walking among the crowd, holding it out, and that they were actually putting coins into it as well. ‘Is that for Keith?’ she asked Titch, already half-knowing the answer.

‘What else do you think they’d be doing it for?’ he replied, as if she was mad. ‘Sings like a nightingale, our Tucker does, doesn’t he? That’s how it works, love. Bit for him, bit for Bobby – bit for me an’ all; he’ll always stand me a drink or two.’

Shirley found this ‘Tucker’ thing as bemusing as she ever had. She recalled John Arnold telling her about it when they’d first got together; how all the Hudson boys, from Charlie down, had always been known as Tucker, and that it wasn’t complicated, because there was only one ‘top’ Tucker on the streets at any time, and if there was another, they were simply ‘young Tucker’.

But why ‘Tucker’ anyway? She made a mental note to ask Keith sometime. He had so many brothers and sisters she was already all at sea without them all being called the same thing as well.

‘Don’t you worry,’ Titch continued, patting Shirley’s arm with a clammy hand. ‘He’ll treat you as well. Course he will. His little posh bird.’

This brought Shirley up short. If there was one thing she hated more than her father telling her she didn’t know her own mind, it was anyone – anyone – referring to her as that. It had irritated her almost all her life. She had even been teased about it at school in Clayton, and it was simply because she was an only child and had that bit more than her friends with lots of siblings. ‘I’m not a bloody posh bird!’ she snapped. ‘I’m just the same as the rest of you.’

Titch laughed out loud. ‘Yeah, course you are, love. And if me auntie had balls, she’d be me uncle.’

‘I am not posh!’ she persisted. Who was he to tell her what she was or wasn’t?

‘Where d’you live, then?’ he said.

What did that have to do with it? ‘Clayton,’ she huffed.

Titch swept his arm down and across his body and bowed his head for good measure. ‘Then I rest my case, Your Majesty. Anyway, there’s nowt wrong with posh. You want to have some pride in where you’ve come from, lass, you do.’

Shirley didn’t know about that – it wasn’t as if she wasn’t proud of where she came from, exactly. She just didn’t want people making assumptions about her all the time, thinking she was stuck up and unapproachable when she wasn’t.

And tonight, in her new role as Keith ‘Tucker’ Hudson’s ‘bird’, she suddenly felt like flavour of the month. She didn’t really know why, but she felt as if she’d suddenly been granted membership of an exclusive club. Once Keith had brought soft drinks for her and all his friends, and been congratulated by one and all – especially the girls – it began to feel like she’d known everyone for ever; girls and lads she’d never met before being so welcoming and friendly as, one by one, Keith introduced her to everyone. And it really felt as if he knew everyone, as well.

The atmosphere was great, the music was great and, by the time the band broke again, she found she didn’t even mind when he said he’d be nipping over to the Red Lion for a bit.

‘I won’t be long,’ he promised. ‘An’ it’ll give you a chance to get to know some of the girls. I’ll just have a quick pint and I’ll be back before you know it.’

Shirley wasn’t a nervous girl, in fact she loved nothing more than meeting new people and joining in, despite being an only child. Or perhaps because of it. She’d had a lifetime of practice in having to make friends. Even so, she didn’t want him running away with the idea that she’d be standing for any nonsense. She was never going to be like her mam, treating her dad like some sort of criminal for so much as speaking to another female, but she wasn’t having him thinking she was a pushover, either. ‘Okay,’ she said, nodding, ‘but don’t leave me too long. Don’t forget I have to be home for ten and my dad’ll be waiting for me.’

‘Ten minutes,’ he promised, planting a kiss on each of her cheeks in turn. Would tonight be the night when he properly kissed her? She hoped so. And as he headed off out of the front doors with Titch Williams and Bobby Moran, she caught another lingering whiff of his aftershave.

Was this how it was for her mam? This jittery feeling? Was that why she gave her dad hell all the time? For a moment, though she knew she’d never be jealous like her mam, ever, she thought she understood how she felt.