Vintage (7 page)

It's freezing. Two hours. Standing on the sidelines, watching some sad girls play hockey.

This is not my idea of a Saturday morning. Could be snug under the duvet. I don't even know which side I'm meant to be cheering. The girl points it out. She jabbers away, but I keep forgetting. Not as if I care or anything. But I manage to keep quiet.

“Come on, Gateway!” she shouts. There's a few other girls watching. A few parents too, kitted out in hats and scarves. The women are wearing some kind of hijab. This scarf that covers their heads completely. Ties under the chin. Different colours and patterns.

I must remember this. For my project. Should start taking notes. This will be a totally authentic project. Should get an A* at least.

If I ever get back.

I don't know the rules of hockey. Looks vicious. Sticks are hard. So's the ball. Girls' legs are all blotchy from the cold. And the pleated shorts. Cellulite quivering. Running up and down clutching sticks. It's almost medieval.

I'm not into sports myself.

Too much competition.

Half way through the match there's a break. They give out pieces of orange to the players. None for us. No burger stands anywhere I can see. We just stamp about a bit to get warm. And wait.

The match finishes. Eventually. I'm frozen solid.

We seem to have won. I completely lost the plot when the teams changed ends.

We head off home.

“What are you wearing tonight?”

She seems to be a bit of a control freak. Kind of useful. It helps me to fit in.

“Don't know. What do you think?”

“How about that empire line dress you made – Simplicity, was it?” Never heard of them. Terrible name for a designer. Sounds like stuff made in a cottage.

“Which one?” Playing for time.

“You know, the navy blue one.”

It sounds terrible to me. The words dress and navy blue kind of make sense. Empire line sounds like a ship.

Maybe some kind of sailor costume.

Cringe.

“Tell you what, I'll come round to yours after the game, then we can have a look. You must have something. There's no time to make a new one. It'll be a laugh anyway.”

“Come and have lunch with us then.”

The invitation is out before I notice. My mum wouldn't care. Just look in the freezer. Use whatever we want. She's probably out on some date. Or pulling the kitchen apart.

I think about the note behind the cupboard. Want to go home. Again.

“Lunch? That sounds posh. Sure your mam won't mind?”

“No, I could text her…”

“What do you mean, text her?”

“No, it's fine. She won't mind. I'm sure.”

But I'm not sure. Don't know what the rules are here. So many hidden rules. Suppose there are hidden rules everywhere. But you kind of know them without being told. You don't even realise they're rules. You just do them. Or maybe if you know what they are, you don't do them.

Because you don't do rules.

I feel really sorry for this girl, Marilyn. She's a total disaster. No wonder she wants to get out of here. Go to uni. But how will she get on? When she's there? Will she cope on her own? Mum says I wouldn't cope on my own away from home. Anyway it's not safe. So I'll have to apply to local places. Much cheaper that way too. Less loan to pay back.

Can't believe it. I'm sounding sensible.

Not sure whether I'm feeling bad for Marilyn or bad for myself.

I remember the rest of her diary entry.

There's one thing I'll do for her tonight.

I'll get her kissed.

I've got to do it.

Even if it's some totally disgusting boy I'd never look twice at. It's one of those random acts of kindness Mum's always talking about. Marilyn can't be seventeen and never kissed a boy. Or a girl of course. But I think it would be safer with a boy. Don't think they've heard of being a lesbian in 1962.

I'll do it. Tonight. I'll never forgive myself if I don't help her out while I'm here.

And who knows, I might enjoy it. If there's anyone remotely fit.

We're walking up the path to the house. I realise I don't know this girl's name.

I don't know how Marilyn's mum will take her coming round.

I remember I don't know anything.

Saturday morning. Marilyn turned over in bed and decided to go back to sleep. It was safe in bed. Nobody would disturb her. She was sure she could sleep on till lunch time. Then Kyle would come over and they'd go out to the youth club. She'd see Saleem again.

She drifted off towards a beautiful dream of her and Saleem. They were holding hands, walking on a golden beach at sunset.

A shout from the landing woke her up.

“Holly! Holly! It's ten past nine, and you've got to be at the coffee shop by half past. Come on, get up!”

It was Holly's mum.

Marilyn sighed and rolled over. She pulled the duvet up over her head. Why should she want to go to the coffee shop? She didn't drink coffee. It was bitter and powdery.

“Holly!”

Marilyn groaned. Holly's mother knocked, then came in.

“Have you washed your apron?”

“Washed my apron?” Marilyn never washed anything at home.

“For work.”

Holly's mum sighed, one of those mock sighs.

“You'll have to go without it today. Mrs L will have a spare one. Do put on something decent or she'll give you the push. And have a shower before you go.”

“Shower?”

Holly's mother frowned and turned to go.

“Sorry, I didn't hear you.” Marilyn didn't want to be on her bad side.

“Okay, you can have one later. She'll put up with you being dirty for once.”

A shower was obviously something you got clean with. Marilyn was used to having a bath once a week. She followed her brother into water scummy from his soap and shampoo.

“I'll – do it later.”

She got dressed in a black top and trousers, tight round the hips and baggy at the bottom. She looked at all the shoes, and decided she couldn't possibly work in those heels. She could hardly walk in them. The old gym shoes at the back of the wardrobe would have to do. The trousers should cover them up.

Then she realised she had no idea where the coffee shop was. Was it in town, down the road, somewhere else?

Holly's mother was downstairs, sitting at the kitchen table in a dressing gown that looked like it was made of towels, reading the post. Marilyn desperately tried to think of a way of asking where she should go. But nothing happened. So she left the house and walked to the left. That was where the local shops used to be.

The trousers flapped along the ground, tripping her up. They were far too long. She saw the coffee shop on the corner, across the main road. It was the place with the café downstairs where Sheila used to live with her parents. They lived in the flat upstairs.

Seeing the place again brought back lots of memories, of Sheila in her immaculate bedroom full of rose pink satin and frills, with the kidney shaped dressing table covered in a flouncy pink skirt. Marilyn envied her that room. It seemed years ago since they'd been there together, giggling over something, it didn't really matter what. But that was years ago. A lifetime ago.

There was nothing for it – she'd have to go in and see what happened. If nobody knew her, she could just ask the way somewhere and get out again. If they handed her a tea towel or something, she was in the right place.

A bell sounded as she opened the door. The place was full of pine chairs and tables – nothing like the café Sheila's parents had run. There were plants everywhere, and a glass counter with a black machine behind it. The place smelt of coffee. There were no customers. There was a radio on.

A woman bustled in from the kitchen, carrying a tea towel. She was a big woman, with comfortable breasts hanging down over her comfortable stomach. The white apron marked some kind of waist, but it hardly existed. Her cheeks were red, and her wispy grey hair was tied back. She looked familiar, like someone Marilyn had known all her life.

“There you are, Holly. I was beginning to wonder. I tried your mobile, but no reply.”

“No, it's lost. I'll have a new one later.”

The woman shook her head.

“Come on, shut the door and get your coat off. I'm not paying you to let the heat out.”

Marilyn took her coat off and wondered where to put it.

“What have you got on your feet?”

Marilyn looked down at the dirty gym shoes.

“I… hurt my foot.”

The woman sighed.

“You'll have to do kitchen duty. I can't let the customers see you waiting in those shoes.”

Marilyn looked round at the absence of any customers to disapprove of her shoes.

“Get back here where they'll only see your top half. I'll do the waiting for a change. You know, in my day, I'd never have turned up late for work in the wrong shoes. You young people today, you don't know you've been born.”

Marilyn knew she'd been born, and it was in 1945, but she thought it would be better not to say that.

“While nobody's here, you can give the floor a bit of a sweep. But if anyone comes in, you get behind this counter. If Health and Safety saw those shoes there would be hell to pay. Shut me down, they would. Nothing but rules and regulations these days. They'll be regulating breathing next.”

Marilyn picked up the brush and began to sweep up. There didn't seem to be any dust on the floor. The woman picked up a spoon and started polishing it.

“So – what's happening in your life?”

“Happening?” Marilyn realised she was beginning to sound like a parrot.

“You know, boyfriends and stuff. Any news? I like to hear your news. It takes me back to when I was young. You'll never end up an old maid like me. You know, I was asked to marry, twice. Good men, hardworking, decent. But I never did.”

“Really?” Marilyn was clutching at straws. She had no idea if Holly had a boyfriend. She hoped she didn't, because Marilyn wouldn't know what to do with one. Except what she read in her library books, and that couldn't be real. In one she'd read last week, a man put his tongue in his girlfriend's mouth. That was disgusting. What if he hadn't cleaned his teeth?

Mrs L went on.

“I'll tell you a secret. I'm not married. The name's there to protect me. And the ring's my mother's.”

She waved a thick gold band on her wedding finger. “I wouldn't want anyone to know there was just me in this building at night – they'd be in here like a shot, stealing and trashing everything.”

“Really?” Marilyn was genuinely shocked.

“Nowhere's safe these days. I'm surprised your mother lets you out at night, the streets aren't safe for young girls like you.”

Then Kyle walked in. Marilyn and Mrs L looked at him, stunned. He was wearing a long black cloak, black trousers, black boots, and under the cloak Marilyn could see a military jacket which looked as if it had bones painted on it. He had loads of eye make up under his eyes. The darkness was still there, but Marilyn could see he was playing a part now, enjoying the attention. He pulled the cloak over his face so they could only see his eyes glittering. He looked from one side of the room to theother, sweeping the cloak behind him.

Marilyn laughed. She couldn't help it. He looked so stupid.

“You laugh now. But you may die later!” Kyle swirled the cloak round, almost knocking over the salt and pepper on the nearest table, then sat down on a chair in a heap.

“Get me a cappuccino first though, I'm so dry.”

“I'll get it,” said Mrs L. “You keep that boyfriend of yours under control, Holly. And get your feet out of sight, will you!”

“What are you doing here?” Marilyn asked Kyle. She was glad to see him, even though he did look terrible.

“Your mum said you were at work. I came over early, to do the research. I'd forgotten you were working. And I couldn't text. So I thought I'd come down and cause some trouble. What's wrong with your feet? And how's the old cow this morning?

“Shh, she'll hear you.” But the coffee machine was gurgling and Mrs L was busy with her back turned.

“She doesn't like my shoes. She's okay though.”

“That's not what you said last Saturday. You nearly walked out. What are you doing in those shoes?”

Marilyn sat down at the table, hiding her feet.

“The other ones hurt.”

“Hurt? Since when did you care about your feet hurting?”

Mrs L turned round with a cup and saucer in her hand and put it on the counter.

“Here's your cappuccino. That will be £1.80.” Marilyn watched Kyle get some strange money out of his pocket and pay Mrs L. The coffee had something brown on top, like the scum on her brother's bath before Marilyn got into it. It didn't look good. But Kyle sipped his way through the froth.

“I'm not paying you to sit and chat. Come on, get in the kitchen!”