A Family Scandal (18 page)

‘A ninety-nine?’

‘Definitely.’

The two young women stood up, brushed the sand from their frocks and wandered back along to the shops above the beach, to the distant shrieks of the boys trying to save goals as Tommy kicked the football. Gradually the voices were drowned out by the racket of seagulls wheeling above. Jenny tucked her arm through Mavis’s and they sauntered in the sunshine, enjoying the heat and the relaxed air of everyone around them. They had no idea that someone was watching their every movement.

On Sunday evening, Rhona forced herself to get ready. There was none of the excitement she used to feel when she knew she’d be meeting Gary, or before that when she’d prepared with military precision in case she got lucky with a new man. She almost gave up and went back down to sit with her parents to listen to the wireless, but Sunday evening programmes drove her mad. She could hear something that sounded like the strings of Mantovani wafting up the stairs now and that decided her. She couldn’t put up with that sort of noise for a minute longer. She had to get out, mix with people of her own age group who liked the same sort of music – or at least, the nearest Peckham could offer in that direction.

She hastily applied her mascara and didn’t bother with false eyelashes. What was the point – she wasn’t going to Soho now. She debated whether to change into a miniskirt but decided against it, choosing to stay in her dogtooth-check trousers instead. She wasn’t likely to meet anyone who’d appreciate her legs in such a venue. And, she reminded herself, she wasn’t as curvy as she had been. She’d have to get used to the idea of not attracting so much attention. In a way she was glad; she didn’t particularly want to fend off men’s idiotic comments this evening. She was going for the music, and that was all.

‘You off, love?’ Marilyn asked.

‘You could always stay in with us and listen to a bit of the Light Programme,’ Ian Foster suggested.

‘Nah, I’m going to try the open mic night,’ said Rhona hurriedly, picking up her old jacket with the frayed cuffs. ‘It won’t go on too late but don’t wait up. I’ll be fine.’ With that she left them to it, desperate to get away from the cascading strings and syrupy tunes.

The air outside was hot as she made her way along the roads. She slowed down once she’d left Harwood Street behind, figuring there was no point in arriving red-faced and perspiring. She wondered if she might bump into a familiar face but everyone must be inside or else in their back yards. Houses had their windows open to let in any shred of a cooling breeze but nobody was about. Every now and again she caught the sounds of radios playing, some with the same unbearable programme her parents had been enjoying. Other lucky households had a television set. She wondered if they would ever have one. Mavis was going to get one when she got back from holiday and Jean had said she was saving up for one to give her mum as a surprise. Rhona thought she would soon feel left out without one. Besides, if they did get one she would be able to watch
Top of the Pops
.

As she approached the bar she could hear the sound of a guitar being tuned over an amplifier, floating out through the open front door. People stood around the wooden tables outside, drinking beer or, from what she could see of most of the women, soft drinks. As she got closer she recognised a few of them from her days at school, and there were even a few who’d occasionally turned up on the music scene. She breathed out in relief. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

One of the girls drinking lemonade waved to her. ‘Hi, Rhona.’

Rhona smiled and went to join the group. She noticed that they weren’t dressed in the height of fashion, but then berated herself for caring. It wasn’t as if she had bothered to put on her glad rags. ‘Thought I’d try this place for a change. What’s it like? Have you been before?’

The girls fell over themselves to tell her about previous evenings, trying to outdo one another in their knack for spotting the best singer, who was bound to make it as a future star, and who’d managed to get a date with any of the performers.

Rhona smiled and nodded and forced herself to come across as interested, though she quickly guessed that there were no superstars-in-waiting likely to appear, and that the girls seemed desperate to date anyone who could pick up a guitar. She excused herself, saying that she wanted to get a drink, and ducked through the front door into the shady bar. Light was just about managing to filter in through the grimy windows but at least it was cooler in here. Edging round the customers standing and talking she didn’t notice a tall figure making a beeline for her.

‘Rhonda! Fancy seeing you here.’

Rhona squinted up at him, her eyes adjusting to the dimmer light. ‘Hello, Kenneth,’ she said reluctantly. She hadn’t seen him since he’d abandoned her at the Rolling Stones concert months ago. ‘It’s Rhona.’

‘Good to see you, Rhonda,’ Kenneth went on, either unable to hear above the background noise or just oblivious to what she’d said. ‘I always remember a gorgeous face. It’s like you were named after that Beach Boys song, how did it go, “Help me, Rhonda, help me, Rhonda … ”’

‘Yeah, I was born a bit earlier than that, and it would have made you a child snatcher,’ Rhona said, flashing him a smile. No point in picking an argument.

‘Well maybe it’s not
you
helping me, but I can help you,’ he said cheesily. ‘What will you have to drink?’

Rhona shook her head, finding it hard to recall why she’d ever found this fool attractive. ‘Babycham, please,’ she said. At least she could return to her favourite tipple now that she wasn’t pretending to like rum and black.

She waited for him to get back from the bar, where a bored-looking young man in a disgusting nylon shirt was serving the few punters who’d had enough of the sunshine outside. Ken got himself a pint at the same time and strutted back to her, as if he was doing her a favour. He reeked of aftershave.

Rhona accepted the glass and thanked him, knowing that a few months ago she’d have chucked the drink in his face for dumping her like that. Now she figured she might as well get him to pay if he was daft enough. Or perhaps it was his way of saying sorry.

‘So what have you been up to?’ he asked. ‘Been to any good gigs lately?’

‘Nah, not really,’ said Rhona. ‘What about you?’

‘I’ve been taking a break from the big venues,’ Kenneth said grandly. ‘I reckon it’s so much more authentic to see bands at small places like this. That way you really get to feel the music, you know?’

‘Depends,’ said Rhona noncommittally. ‘I quite like the big stages, I like a big show. It’s nice to see something local though, but to be honest I’ve no idea what this is going to be like.’ She swirled her Babycham around. Somehow it tasted sweeter than she remembered it. It had been a long time since she’d had any.

‘That’s the whole reason to come along, isn’t it,’ said Kenneth, nodding vigorously. ‘You might see the next Van Morrison or Ray Davies, on your own front doorstep.’

‘Well that’d be nice,’ Rhona acknowledged, ‘but don’t get my hopes up. Anyway you must go to lots of different venues, you’ve got your bike after all.’

Kenneth’s expression changed. ‘Ah, that’s off the road at the moment. Just temporarily.’

Rhona raised her eyebrows. She knew it had been his pride and joy and one of the reasons she’d felt so cheated at being left to make her own way home that time. ‘Really. What happened? You had a crash or something?’

Kenneth stared into his pint. ‘Not exactly. No, it wasn’t like that. Actually if you must know I got pulled over for dangerous driving and they found out I’ve never taken my test. So I’m banned until pass it, though I’m a good rider so that shouldn’t take too long.’ He shifted uncomfortably. ‘You didn’t feel unsafe on my bike, did you?’

‘I didn’t really spend long enough on it to find out.’ Rhona eyed him balefully. ‘I reckon you owe me big time for that.’

‘Oh come on, I got you into the Stones concert.’

‘Yeah, then you left me when you had the chance to go off and meet them. Had to make my own way home, I did. Anything could have happened.’

‘And did it?’

‘Of course not. I know how to take care of myself.’ Rhona shook back her hair. ‘That’s not the point. You just took off.’

‘You’d have done the same if you got the chance to go to the after-gig party with them,’ he protested. ‘It’s not something you turn down.’

‘Wouldn’t have mattered, would it, ’cos you could still have got home on your bike. I had to take night buses and you know what they’re like.’ She pulled a face.

‘OK, OK, I owe you. What do you want?’

Rhona thought for a moment. She wasn’t sure she’d be up for a party with the Stones these days, even if that was ever to come her way again. It seemed like part of another life. Then she remembered the one thing she’d really missed since splitting up with Gary. In fact, if she was honest, she’d missed this more than the man himself. It had taken the bout of glandular fever to realise the truth of it. This might be a golden opportunity and what did she have to lose? ‘Back in the spring I started learning the guitar,’ she said, her eyes lighting up. ‘I didn’t get very far but I really liked it. I’d love to have my own guitar then I could get a book and teach myself. Do you know anyone who might have one?’

‘What sort?’ asked Kenneth.

‘I don’t know. A normal one.’

‘What, electric? A bass? Come on, there are different kinds.’

‘No, a wooden one.’ Trust Kenneth to start showing off and putting her down. She wondered what she’d ever seen in him, other than a way into concerts and to meet pop stars.

‘An acoustic, you mean.’ Kenneth nodded, as if to say it was too much for her to understand. ‘Like Bob Dylan plays.’

‘Yes, an acoustic.’ Rhona wasn’t going to be put off. ‘Can you help? Don’t worry if you can’t, I’ll find a way to get one.’

Ken seemed offended at having his expertise doubted. ‘Of course I can help you, Rhonda.’ He smiled as if he’d made a joke. ‘In fact, you’re in luck. I know a couple of the musicians who are on tonight and I think one of them is trying to sell one of his old guitars. He’s doing well enough to get some better models.’ Ken puffed out his chest as if his friend’s success was something to do with him. ‘Shall I introduce you after the evening’s over?’

Rhona beamed. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be a complete waste of time. ‘Yes please,’ she said.

Chapter Eighteen

Stan wandered along the seafront in the evening, savouring having fifteen minutes alone. He loved having his family down here but now and again it was a relief to get a break from them. Greg was overexcited all day every day now he had James with him, and the two of them were up with the lark demanding to be taken to the beach and then reluctant to go to bed. Jenny was having such a good time with Mavis that she let him get on with it. Stan had to admit his wife and her friend both looked stunning with tans and he felt himself lucky to be on holiday with two such gorgeous women, but the fact that Mavis had Grace with her added to his urge to get away for a short while. He was very fond of the child, and knew only too well what her first years had been like, but she never stopped asking questions. Pete and Lily were a help but Bobby was getting even livelier and often took all of Lily’s energy, and when Stan came to think about it, Pete seemed to be lost in his own world for much of the time.

So Stan was in no hurry as he sauntered along, watching the sunset. Red sky at night yet again – it would be a good day tomorrow, Monday. Plenty of people would be returning to work but he had another couple of days to go. He’d timed it all on the advice of Mrs Hawkins, who had warned him that Fridays and weekends would be the worst on which to travel. ‘Everyone goes then,’ she’d said when they were arranging the booking. ‘You want to avoid it if you can. If you’ve got the choice of travelling mid-week, you might as well take it.’

Stan had thought this very sensible and as both Pete and Tommy worked for themselves, it was no problem for them to arrange mid-week dates. He grinned, pleased with himself. This whole holiday was thanks to him, and he’d had the good fortune to meet Mrs Hawkins. She’d done them proud and was already suggesting that they come again next year. She’d taken to Greg and was spoiling him – spoiling all of them when it came to it. Well, he wasn’t going to say no. They deserved a bit of pampering.

Looking up he realised he was on the stretch of road where he’d walked with Jenny that first time he’d brought her down here. His heart swelled at the memory. What a good time they’d had. It had reinvigorated their love life, no doubt about it, and unless he was much mistaken Torquay was working the same magic for Tommy and Mavis. Good for them, taking their chance of a bit of pleasure.

There was that strange shop that he and Jenny had found so funny, with its fussy sign. He’d found out afterwards that this was the very place Mrs Hawkins had spoken about on his first trip, where women weren’t welcome. Good job they hadn’t tried to go in – then again, Jenny was quite capable of taking on anyone who tried to tell her what to do.

He could see a figure moving behind the glass, though the card in the window said ‘Closed’ and something about him – it must be a him after all they’d heard – made Stan pause. He couldn’t see very clearly, as the man was half-turning away, so the view was only of a partial profile, and the lettering on the window obscured much of the room inside. Yet Stan came to a standstill. Some instinct told him not to stare, so he pretended to be winding his watch and checking it, while out of the corner of his eye he observed the man in the shop.

The height was the same, the build was the same, and from what he could tell the hair was the same, though it was hard to decide the exact colour from where he stood. The man was a dead ringer for Stan’s old neighbour, and Mavis’s husband, Alec Pugh. Stan wondered if he should barge in to confront the man, but what if he was here on holiday too and disappeared again. Or what if it wasn’t him after all? Stan wasn’t usually a man to put off until tomorrow something he could do today, but he imagined what Jenny would say if she found out he’d messed this up.