Rock a Bye Baby (17 page)

He sighed as he ran his fingers through his thinning hair, hair that had been corn coloured and thick as a lion’s mane when he was younger. Still, you’re the same man inside, he told himself, and let’s be fair, you’re not bad for your age.

He clicked an appreciative sound at his reflection in the rear-view mirror before turning his attention back to Marcie.

He’d been driving quickly but had slowed down rapidly when he set eyes on her. At first he hadn’t seen the chap she was with. Now he did. Who was that scruffy looking sod with the shuffling gait? It wasn’t the rocker he’d seen before. He couldn’t be her new boyfriend, surely? And she didn’t have a
brother who was a bit slow; Tony would have told him. They were great friends, right?

He narrowed his eyes in order to see the bloke a bit more clearly. He’d been told he could do with glasses. He’d got glasses. Trouble was he couldn’t stand wearing them. It made him look old – older than he should look. He decided she was going to the pictures with the decrepit-looking guy out of pity. Poor girl. Now what sort of a night out was that?

The billboard advertising the film ‘now showing’ caught his eye.
Some People.
Judging by the leather-jacketed boy, the motorcycle and the sexy-looking girl, it was aimed at teenagers. No harm in keeping up with the times, he told himself and made a snap decision, parked the car and crossed the road.

‘Marcie!’

His heart almost stopped when she smiled at him and he couldn’t believe the blueness of her eyes. And they were wide, so wide and full of innocence.

‘I’m her dad. She was keeping our place,’ he said to those about to protest that he was jumping the queue.

Marcie giggled.

‘You’re not going to see this film, are you,’ she whispered.

His smile was broad and his wink was wicked. ‘Why not? I heard it was good. Steph don’t like the pictures.’

He glanced at Garth. ‘Who’s your friend?’

Marcie adopted a long-suffering expression, conveying that she’d been put upon and didn’t really want to do this. Nobody wanted to be seen with Garth. She’d only done so at her grandmother’s insistence. Rolling her eyes she explained how it was, that her grandmother had insisted. All the same, she kept her voice low so Garth wouldn’t hear.

She needn’t have worried about hurting his feelings. He was far too busy counting out some grubby coins he’d found in his pocket, having promised he’d buy two ounces of jelly babies to share with her.

Alan squeezed her hand. ‘You’re a kind-hearted girl, Marcie. Wish my Rita was the same. I give her everything and she’s not grateful. Definitely not.’

Marcie glowed at his approval. She’d always envied Rita and thought how wonderful it must be to have a dad who denied you nothing and was always there for you. Now perhaps she was the one to be envied.

‘I’ll pay,’ said Alan. ‘My treat.’

She’d intended to go into the stalls, the cheapest seats in the house and also the most crowded. Alan purchased three seats in the balcony. He even gave Garth enough money to buy four ounces of jelly babies. He bought Marcie a box of Maltesers.

Marcie felt privileged climbing the stairs to the balcony. The queue for the stalls had disappeared so no one saw her going up in the company of Daft Garth and Rita’s father, though she wouldn’t have
cared much if they had. Not with Rita’s dad going with her.

‘Ladies first,’ said Alan when they got to their seats.

She thanked him and thought how polite and considerate he was, even more so when he stopped a very excited Garth from leaning too far over the balcony to wave at the less fortunate audience below. Garth had far from an easy life and a lonely one too; it was nice to see someone being kind to him.

Alan sat next to her, Garth in the aisle seat on the other side of him.

‘Now,’ said Alan as the lights dimmed. ‘Don’t tell our Rita I treated you and your simple friend. She’ll get a cob on and I won’t ever hear the end of it. Right?’

She promised she would say nothing and took another Malteser from the box.

The colours from the screen lit up Garth’s face. His mouth was chewing relentlessly, one jelly baby after another swiftly disappearing. She sat back in her seat feeling extremely happy. Alan took hold of her hand.

‘Just squeeze hard as you like in the scary bits,’ he whispered.

She muffled her laughter with her hand and whispered back, ‘I don’t think there are any scary bits, only tearful ones.’

‘In that case, take this.’ He gave her a neatly folded handkerchief.

She thanked him. Settling back in her seat she began wondering if she could confide in Alan Taylor. He and her dad were friends. How would he react if she told him the way her imagination was running wild. That she was daring to think the unthinkable – that her father had murdered her mother and buried her under the chicken coop? Would he believe her? Did she believe it herself?

He rested his arm along the back of her seat. It wasn’t like a boy doing it and it made her feel safe.

Garth watched the film avidly. Marcie enjoyed both the film and sharing the box of Maltesers, though they only ate half of them. Garth had finished his jelly babies within half an hour so Marcie handed him the chocolates.

‘That’s it,’ whispered Alan. ‘We’ll look after our figures and the lad can get fat.’

Marcie stifled a giggle.

After the film was over he waited outside with her while Garth went to the toilets – his third visit since they’d entered the Ritz two hours before. Alan offered her a lift home.

She shook her head. ‘It’s only five minutes. We’ll walk. I’ll tell Dad you offered though.’

Alan looked very concerned. ‘No. No need to do that. You know how jealous he gets about you nowadays, now you’re grown up. No need to tell him I was here at all, actually. Your old man can get nasty
when he’s been on the beer. Best say nothing at all until he’s sober.’

‘I’m sixteen and grown up,’ Marcie said petulantly.

‘Of course you are.’ Alan saw his chance to charm and took it. Placing his hands on her shoulders he held her at arm’s length and looked her up and down.

‘Yes. You’re certainly grown up now. Awkward age, sixteen. Nobody seems to understand how you feel. But rest assured any time you need a shoulder to cry on or someone to talk to, come see Uncle Alan. Right? Think of me as a second dad if you like; just like I think of you as a second daughter, you and my Rita being so close.’

Alan Taylor spoke affectionately and made Marcie feel extra special. She smiled at his words and agreed that she would come running if she needed to. It felt so good when he hugged her and kissed her on the head as he might a child. It didn’t occur to her that a moment before she’d riled at being called a little girl. This felt good.

Garth came out of the Ritz, his eyes shining. He’d been totally engrossed in the film. Through the characters and events he’d entered another world, one far more appealing than the one he lived in.

‘I’m going to ask my mum if I can have a motorbike. I’m going to drive fast. I’m going to race like the boys in the film!’

Marcie laughed. ‘That’s lovely, Garth.’

She knew perfectly well that Garth’s mother would certainly not let him have a motorbike. He didn’t even have a bicycle. She never bought him anything and quite frankly he wasn’t really capable of riding a bicycle. His limbs didn’t move like other people’s did.

Alan Taylor eyed Garth with a certain misgiving. ‘Tell you what, son. Tell no one that you saw me tonight and I’ll see what I can do for you. I might be able to lay my hands on a BSA Bantam or something. How would that be?’

Garth’s eyes shone even more brightly. His mouth gaped and his throat and chin moved as though he was trying to say something.

‘I’ll make sure he doesn’t say anything,’ said Marcie. ‘Though now you’ve promised him a bike, I’m sure he’ll say nothing.’

Relieved, Alan patted her cheek. ‘You’re a right little sweetheart, Marcie Brooks. A right little sweetheart, just like … you should be.’

Alan knew he’d almost blown it and said she was like her mother. Thankfully he’d got away with it. ‘You knew my mother, didn’t you?’

His mind worked quickly. If there was one thing Alan Taylor excelled at above all else it was the gift of the gab. It was said that Alan Taylor of the silver tongue could flog an Aston Martin to a geriatric. That was his reputation and it wasn’t far wrong.

He gazed at her face which seemed to glow despite the fact that the Ritz had turned off most of its lights.

‘Yes. I knew her.’

‘What was she like? Do you know what happened to her? Did she run off like my grandmother said? Did my dad hit her too?’

Her questions took him off guard, but he rallied swiftly.

‘Look, Marcie,’ he said, his voice low and sounding genuinely sincere. ‘I don’t think we should be discussing family affairs in public.’ He glanced meaningfully at Garth, as though that poor sod was likely to gossip about things. ‘What say you we meet up in private and I could tell you all I know? How would that suit you?’

Marcie nodded avidly and told him how much it meant to her. ‘You’re so kind, Mr Taylor.’

‘Alan. Call me Alan.’

‘Alan.’ She smiled then stood on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. He liked that.

‘Get off home now.’

Garth ambled along beside her. She didn’t want him to be there. Her thoughts alone were good enough company. But Garth was incapable of taking the hint.

‘Can I come round and see you tomorrow night, Marcie?’

‘I expect I’ll have things to do,’ she replied. She’d
arranged to look after Annie in exchange for half a crown. Extra money went into a china pig she kept on her bedroom window ledge.

‘I’d like more things to do,’ echoed Garth.

He sounded lonely. Her heart went out to him. All the same, she didn’t really want him tagging along behind her everywhere she went.

‘Tell you what. Why don’t you ask Mr Ellis if he needs a hand with that shelter he’s digging? It’ll never get finished before the Russians invade if he’s got to keep digging it all by himself.’

Garth brightened. ‘Yeah! I know how to use a shovel.’

Marcie believed it. Although Garth wasn’t too strong of mind he had a brawny enough body. And while he lacked co-ordination enough to ride a bike, he was handy enough with a brush or a spade. Digging would keep him occupied. She smiled to herself at the thought she may have done him a good turn.

Alan watched them walk away. It irked him to see her wander off into the darkness with the daft devil she’d come with. But never mind. The seeds were sown and the way was now clear as to how he could best gain her total trust – and ultimately much, much more.

Alan Taylor watched Tony Brooks pacing up and down. They were in his office, Alan was smoking his third Castella of the day and Tony was pacing. That was it.

‘Tony, you’re wearing out the carpet.’

Tony barely changed the tempo of his pacing. ‘My mother wants to get rid of the chicken hutch.’

Alan Taylor burst out laughing. ‘Is that why you’re pacing up and down like an expectant dad in a maternity ward? Don’t look so worried, Tony. She’ll have to get rid of the chickens first.’

He slapped Tony on the back. Tony stopped pacing. His expression was grim when he looked at Alan. ‘She’s already got rid of them. Screwed their necks.’

Alan’s humour departed. He pulled a face.

‘Your mother’s a tougher old bird than the chickens, I reckon.’

Tony resumed pacing the floor of Alan Taylor’s office. Alan had the best new and used car dealership on Sheppey. Cars, premises and salesmen were all well presented. Even the mechanics with their
oily black hands and greasy faces were expected to change their overalls once a week.

But he made the serious money from the nightclub up in London – that and a few other less-than-lawful enterprises.

‘I’m worried that she knows.’

‘She’s your mother. Family don’t give you away – not unless there’s something in it for them. Can she be bought?’

Tony shoved his hands in his pockets and shook his head. His mother was the last person on earth who’d take money to betray him. But this wasn’t about that. He didn’t
want
her to know, though sometimes he truly believed that she saw a lot more than she let on. Never mind the talking to the dead bit, she was a shrewd old lady. You didn’t easily pull the wool over her eyes.

‘We could move it,’ Alan offered. ‘We’d have to wait for a grim night when there’s no one about, but it could be done.’

Tony nodded. If the worst came to the worst, that was exactly what they would do.

Marcie’s working week continued in a kind of limbo. She kept mulling over what Garth had said and wondering what to do next. Should she confront her father? Ask her grandmother? But ask what? And on Garth’s say-so? The poor sod wasn’t all there.

She couldn’t help but be churlish, especially to her father. In fact, she couldn’t bear to look at him.

‘I hate my dad,’ she blurted out to Rita.

They were in Woolworths at the time, perusing the array of bottled hair dyes. Rita had used one the week before on her mousy brown hair. She’d been disappointed when her hair had stayed its mousy self, and her parting and ears had been stained navy blue.

Rita was in a world of her own. ‘I still want it dark. P’raps I should try a mid-brown or a chestnut brown. What about deep auburn?’

‘Not before you’ve tried Sunlight soap and a scrubbing brush on your ears.’

‘Ouch!’ said Rita with pretend pain.

The girl behind the counter looked directly at her. ‘Are you that bird going out with Pete Risdon?’

Rita pouted. ‘Might be. I know a lot of Petes. Might have to check my little black book.’

‘Rides a motorbike. Comes down from the smoke at weekends. I used to go out with him. Didn’t last long though. Hands like a bleeding octopus.’

The girl was chewing gum. Marcie wondered how she got away with it. Babs was a supervisor and always going on about how the girls should appear neat and tidy in front of customers. Chewing gum, Marcie recalled, was strictly forbidden.

Rita puffed up with pride when she answered. ‘I’ve
been going out with him for a while. We’re quite serious as it happens.’