Vintage (22 page)

“Do you know – I can see you doing it – making something of yourself I mean.”

“The environment, I think. I'd like to do something to help the world. Something green. Whatever.”

“What do you mean?” She's looking at me, curiously.

Maybe they don't know about the environment. Maybe it hasn't happened yet.

But she lets it go. “Keep in touch, won't you?”

I know somehow Marilyn won't keep in touch. When she goes. She'll need to leave all this behind. But it's kinder to say it. So I do.

“Course. And you can come and visit me at uni – whenever you like. You should think about going yourself.”

“Too late now. I've promised.”

“I need to go.”

“Right. See you tomorrow.”

I don't think so. I give her a hug. She gives me that surprised look again. But she doesn't back off this time.

“You did so well, staying with them, building up this business.” Marilyn wanted to lift the sense of greyness in this flat. She wanted to rescue Sheila from her disappointment, dragging her dull life through her mind, her loneliness. What was the point of it all?

“Here, look at the photos.”

Sheila opened the album. It was like looking at yesterday. There were other pictures of sports day – Sheila running, the headmistress giving Sheila a medal for winning, Sheila linking arms with her dad, then her mum, then both of them. Marilyn was hovering in the background – she remembered taking the photo of them all, envying their obvious pride in each other, their closeness. Sheila's dad had shown her how to point the camera, how to see them in the blurry window, how to press the button.

“Are there any later ones?”

“Not many. Let's have a look.”

Sheila flipped through the pages. Most of the photos were of her family. Then there was a group photo.

“Our leaving party. Look, there's all of us.”

“But where's Marilyn?”

Sheila looked at her.

“Why do you care so much about her?”

“I don't know – perhaps I've heard of her somewhere,” Marilyn lied. “And I like the name – like Marilyn Monroe.”

“She's at the front – there.”

Marilyn saw a slightly older version of herself. She wouldn't have expected to be at the front – she always hid at the back of groups.

Marilyn's hair was longer, drifting over her face, parted at the side with a long fringe. She looked different from the others. She was wearing uniform, but the knot of her tie was pulled down so the top buttons of her shirt showed. The top button was open. And her skirt showed halfway between her knees and the top of her thighs, shorter than anyone else's. She was thinner too. And no glasses.

“She was a leader by then, got into all sorts of scrapes, said some strange things. Ended up with Dave Richards for a while, like I said. He wasn't as bad as everyone made out. He went to university himself, later – got to be a teacher with kids who'd got problems. Don't know where he is now. Funny how people change.”

“And Marilyn?”

Sheila flipped through the pages again, and came across a yellowing newspaper cutting with a photo at the top. Marilyn recognised herself, long hair, frizzed out this time.

But suddenly she realised she didn't want toknow. She didn't want to see her life ahead of her, without any choice about what would happen. She might never get back to it – but if she did, she wanted to discover it for herself, fresh, new, all hers.

She picked up the plate and began eating. The food was congealed and greasy, but she didn't care.

Sheila snapped the album shut. “Live in the present, isn't that what they say? Make the most of the life you've got? No good wanting something you don't have. Marilyn's long gone as far as I'm concerned. I wouldn't interest her in the least.”

“I'm sure – she would be interested in you. She'd want to know. She'd want – to help if she could. It's never too late. To be happy, I mean.”

“Happy? I suppose I'm happy enough. It would be good to have someone to run this place with, but I get by. I'll have a pension when I give it up, and it'll sell for a fair bit. I can retire somewhere, with a garden. Maybe down south.”

“She liked plants – Sheila.” Marilyn slipped back into her own world for a second.

Mrs L looked oddly at her. “What do you mean? What is it about you? I recognise something – in your voice I think, in the way you say things. Can't think what it is. I never noticed it before.”

Ewan's voice floated up the stairs. “Mrs L? We need you down here, we're getting busy.”

Mrs L sighed and put the album down on the sofa.

“I'd better go down – nice talking to you though. Can't think who you remind me of. Good to look back at those old days.”

Marilyn recovered herself.

“Thanks for telling me. I'll be getting off. I've got to do my project.”

“What's it about?”

“1962.”

“No wonder you're interested, it was around then the photos were taken. If you want to know any more – about how it was – pop down any time. I'm always here.”

“Thanks, I might do that.”

It was two o'clock. Only two hours to go before she met Holly at the bus stop. Or would she?

She played again with the idea of staying, of turning her back on 1962 and living Holly's life. Starting from here. There were loads of things she liked about now. She was freer than she'd ever been. But she knew the dangers too, from last night. It was so hard to put them together – the freedom, the terrible things people did. And she remembered Holly, stranded in a life she hated, away from Kyle and her friends.

Marilyn left the coffee shop and walked back upthe hill. Her mobile buzzed.

“Meet me at 4, remember? Holly”.

Marilyn stared at the phone. How could this message have come from 1962? She couldn't believe it, but there it was. She opened the second message.

“Be round at 2 4 project. Hope U R OK after lst nite. Kxx” It was already past two o'clock.

Kyle was at the door, waiting for her.

She let him in. “You okay?”

“A bit bruised, but I'll live. Can't let them get to you.” Kyle brushed his hair back from his face. There was a purple bruise on his right eye, and the makeup he'd put on his left didn't match.

I leave Sheila at the top of the stairs. Let myself out through the café. Pull the door locked after me. See Dave sitting on a wall across the road. My heart jumps.

I go to cross the road towards him. Turn back while I wait for a car to go by. Sheila's pulled back the lace curtain. She's watching out of her bedroom window. Then the curtain swings back.

Dave looks up as I cross the road. Like he knew I was coming. He's looking better this afternoon. Had a shave. Clean tee-shirt. I can see the muscles underneath.

“You coming for a ride?”

His motorbike is by the wall. Gleaming.

“Haven't got a helmet.”

“Who cares?”

He's right. Who cares? He's not wearing one.

He kicks the bike off its stand and flips a leg over it. The bike adds to him. Makes him look stronger, taller than he is. “Come on then.”

I climb onto the bike behind him. Never been on a motorbike. Mum would kill me if she knew. Especially without a helmet.

Even with a helmet.

He starts the bike. It roars underneath me. Very sexy. He turns round and takes my hand. Pulls me towards him. So I'm holding on round his back. I hold on. Tight. My body shapes itself to his. I lean my head on his shoulder.

He takes us miles out of the city. My hair streams out behind me. I learn to sway with the bike. Trust him to take corners without coming off.

I love it. The energy of the ride. Excitement. The smell of his jacket. And his hair. The engine between my legs.

I could go on like this for ever.

He slows the bike. Stops at the top of a hill. You can see the countryside all around. Fields and woodland. Spring. Fresh green. City lying beneath us. The sun's shining.

He motions to me to get off. My arms and legs are stiff from holding on. I'm giddy from the ride. He gets off. Puts the bike on its stand.

Steadies me with his arms.

And we're kissing again.

Out here in the wind on top of the hill.

There's nowhere else I'd rather be.

He gets a rug from the box on the bike.

Spreads it out on the ground under a tree.

He smiles at me.

No need for words.

“Holly, where've you been? What's that cut on your arm? I'm so worried.”

Holly's mum was standing in the hallway, as if she'd been waiting for the key in the door.

Marilyn stopped. “Let me get in – here's Kyle. I've been down at the coffee shop – with Sheila, I mean Mrs L. She was showing me some photos. Of the old days. For my project.”

“Kyle, would you help me sort out my daughter?”

Holly's mum caught sight of Kyle's bruised eye and her tone changed.

“What the hell is that? Right, you two, get in the living room – I want to know what's been going on. Now.”

There was no sign of Martin. Kyle and Marilyn sat next to each other on the sofa, and Holly's mum sat opposite, on the edge of her chair, her legs crossed. Her foot kept time to a fast beat that couldn't be heard.

“What have I done wrong? It's this wretched culture, nobody's safe. Go on, tell me – what happened to you both?”

Kyle and Marilyn looked at each other. They'd had no time to construct a story, no time to plan.

Marilyn knew she had to calm Holly's mum down, quickly. “It's fine, mum. Just a little scratch. Nothing. Don't worry.”

Kyle tried a lopsided smile. “Yeah, it's cool, there was this lamp post where I didn't expect one to be and it came up and whopped me in the eye. I'll be suing the council.”

“You expect me to believe that?” But the beat of the foot was slowing down.

“It's true, honestly.” Marilyn looked Holly's mum in the eye.

“You'd been drinking – I know you were. How much did you have? You didn't take anything, did you? Did you watch your drinks to make sure they weren't spiked? What will your dad say?”

This was safer ground. “Yeah, a bit, but not much. Dad doesn't need to know.”

“I'm really sorry,” said Kyle, looking up at Holly's mum through the purple eyes.

“How can I resist that?” Holly's mum uncrossed her legs, relaxed back into her chair and gave him a smile.

“You know, stuff happens.” Kyle shifted on the sofa, and a flash of pain crossed his face. Holly's mum saw it.

“You're not okay – are you hurt anywhere else? I knew something was going on. The truth, now. Has anyone looked at you?”

“No no – I'm fine, really.”

“Kyle's going to help me with my project – come on, let's get on with it.” Marilyn stood up and Kyle followed carefully.

“I suppose I can't expect to know everything. I know you look after yourselves – and each other.”