The Girls from See Saw Lane Read online

  ‘Why would he, Mary?’ I asked as gently as I could. ‘I don’t think boys talk about things like we do. They’re more direct than girls. You know that, you know what your brothers are like.’

  Mary snorted. ‘My brothers are Neanderthals.’

  I scraped a bit of icing from the top of the bun with my finger and sucked it off.

  ‘What I mean is... I think... Well, if Elton wanted to say something to you, he’d say it to your face. He wouldn’t send a message through Ralph and me.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Mary said. ‘Would you ask him? Ask Ralph if Elton’s said anything?’

  I sighed. I thought maybe it was time to take the bull by the horns. I thought it was time I gave her a little push away from him.

  ‘Mary, there are plenty of other boys in Brighton apart from Elton, you know.’

  ‘What would you feel like if you lost Ralph?’

  Mary was right. It was easy for me to give out sage advice when I had the boy I loved.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said.

  Mary rested her chin on her hand and stared out of the window to the sea.

  * * *

  When I got home, Mum looked up from the sink where she was peeling carrots.

  ‘You all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. Then I pulled up a chair at the kitchen table and sat down. ‘Actually, no I’m not really. I don’t know what to do about Mary.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘She wants to be with Elton and it’s not that he doesn’t like her, I think he likes her, but he doesn‘t want to go steady with her. He knows she likes him, she makes that pretty obvious, but he’s not careful about her feelings, he thinks it’s quite okay to walk into the cafe with a girl on his arm even though he knows that Mary might be there.’

  ‘And it’s getting you down?’

  ‘Yes, because she keeps getting hurt.’

  Mum scraped away at a carrot.

  ‘You can’t really do much about it,’ she said. ‘It’s between Mary and Elton, nothing to do with you.’

  ‘I know.’

  Mum smiled at me. ‘Mary will be all right,’ she said. ‘These things have a way of sorting themselves out, you’ll see.’

  * * *

  The autumn wore on. A storm blew all the leaves off the trees and made the pavements slippery. People had fires in their back gardens and the air smelled of coal-smoke in the mornings. Our house was freezing cold except for the kitchen and the living room when the fire was lit. Aunty Brenda said it was the same round her house. I noticed her legs were all red and patchy from sitting too close to the fire. It looked as if she had some sort of deadly disease. Dad read something in the paper saying the council was going to put central heating in all their properties and he said about bloody time and if they didn’t hurry up it’d be too late and we’d all be frozen to death. Mum rolled her eyes, but I had chilblains on my toes and Clark had a terrible cold. Rita and I took to wearing socks and jumpers to bed at night. The sight of one another wrapped up as if we were going on an Arctic expedition made us laugh.

  On bonfire night, Ralph invited me round to his house for a party. I asked Mary if she wanted to come with us and she said she didn’t. I thought that was a bit sad as the year before I remembered her running around our back garden holding a blazing Roman candle with her scarf trailing behind her, shrieking at the top of her voice. I wanted the old Mary back, even going out with Ralph wasn’t making me feel any better about it, being so unsure about Elton was stopping her enjoying life.

  When Ralph came to pick me up, I asked if we could just go round to Mary’s to check on her first.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Ralph. ‘My mum and dad are waiting for us to get back before they light the fire.’

  ‘Please, Ralph,’ I said. ‘I’ll only be a minute. I’ll just knock on the door and make sure she’s all right.’

  ‘And what if she isn’t?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said, miserably.

  So we walked up the twitten and I knocked on Mary’s door while Ralph hung around out by the hedge. Mary’s mum answered. She was looking pretty flustered, but then I expect most people would look flustered if several of their sons were having a jumping jack war in the street and somebody had just set a Catherine wheel off on the front door. I could tell because the paint – which wasn’t in the best nick anyway – was now all dramatically scorched in a big circle.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Pickles, is Mary in?’ I asked.

  ‘No, dear, she went out earlier,’ said Mary’s Mum. ‘Have you seen the cat?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Dear God, I fear for that poor animal.’

  ‘Do you know where she went?’

  ‘No, dear, she usually hides under the bed.’

  ‘No, I mean Mary. Do you know where Mary went?’

  ‘I thought she said she was going to your house,’ said Mrs Pickles.

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘If you see her,’ said Mrs Pickles, ‘throw a jumper over her and put her in a cardboard box and bring her home.’

  Back out on the pavement, Ralph took hold of my hand. ‘She isn’t in,’ I said.

  ‘Well you can stop worrying about her now,’ he said. ‘She’s probably with Elton.’

  Actually, that was making me worry even more.

  * * *

  When I got to Ralph’s, I forgot all about Mary. His mum and dad were really friendly. His dad gave me a glass of hot toddy which he said would put hairs on my chest, and his mum gave me a hot dog, and it was a proper hot dog sausage out of a tin in a bread roll with ketchup, like the Americans ate in the films, and then we went out into the garden. Their garden was separated from its neighbours by a wire fence and all the neighbours were out in their gardens too, so it was like being at a very big, outdoor party. Everyone had helped make the bonfire, which was amazing; it had tyres and all sorts on it, and even a guy. Ralph’s dad sloshed it with petrol before lighting it and it went up with a great whoosh. Soon it was burning so fiercely that we had to stand back, and when I looked up at Ralph’s face it was glowing orange in the light of the fire. He looked down at me and smiled, and squeezed my hand through my glove. We walked down the garden until we were out of sight of the others. It was a clear crisp night and the sky was full of stars, we stood together looking up at them.

  ‘I love nights like this,’ said Ralph. He was quiet for a while and then he said, ‘See those three stars all in a row?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I said, gazing up at the sky.

  ‘Just look for a while and you should see them,’ said Ralph.

  I stared at the hundreds of stars, trying to find three in a row and then I saw them, ‘I’ve got it,’ I said.

  ‘That’s Orion’s Belt,’ said Ralph.

  ‘Just his belt?’ I said, smiling.

  ‘Just his belt,’ said Ralph, putting his arm round my shoulder and laughing.

  Suddenly one of the stars shot across the sky.

  ‘Make a wish, Dottie.’

  I closed my eyes and wished that this perfect night could last forever.

  ‘Well?’ said Ralph. ‘What did you wish for?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that,’ I said. ‘It won’t come true.’

  ‘Technically,’ said Ralph, ‘it’s not really a star.’

  ‘What is it then?’

  ‘It’s a meteor.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s tiny bits of dust and rock called meteoroids that fall into the earth’s atmosphere and burn up.’

  ‘Are you telling me that I just wished on a lump of rock?’

  ‘Looks like it,’ said Ralph, laughing.

  Then he leaned down and he kissed me. The kiss was gentle, as if a soft breeze had barely brushed my lips. We smiled at one another and I felt something change inside me then. I wasn’t sure what it was. I’d never felt like that before, but the feeling was that I wanted to be with Ralph always, standing next to him, the two of us, together.

  That n
ight in bed I dreamt of a skinny red-haired boy cycling up and down outside my house and a kiss that tasted like a summer’s day.

  Mary’s Diary

  Dear Diary,

  Sometimes Elton acts as if he doesn’t even like me very much. Dottie and Ralph are all loved up and even snooty bloody Rita is getting married.

  I wish Elton could be a bit more like Ralph (not that I fancy Ralph Bennett, god forbid, but at least he looks like he actually wants to be with Dottie).

  What more can I do to make Elton love me the way I love him?

  Bloody hell.

  Mary Pickles (feeling unloved)

  AGED SEVENTEEN

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was late November. The nights were closing in and there was a chill in the air. Wedding fever at our house had reached dangerous levels. Mum and Rita were strung tight as bows. They were both very emotional and the slightest little thing could set either of them off. For example, Dad moved his armchair closer to the wireless to listen to the football and where the chair had been was a stain. And when she saw the stain, Mum’s eyes went all red and glassy and she had to fish for the hanky she kept up her sleeve, and she was dabbing at her nose and Dad said: ‘For Dave’s sake, what’s the matter now?’

  ‘How can you be so heartless?’ said Mum tearfully.

  Dad and I exchanged confused glances.

  ‘Don’t you know what that is?’ Mum asked, pointing at the stain. Dad did his best. He racked his brains for a couple of moments and then shook his head.

  ‘That’s where our Rita threw up after her fourth birthday party!’

  We both looked at her for further enlightenment.

  ‘And now she’s a grown woman about to go off and have a life of her own!’ Mum said before collapsing into sobs.

  Dad looked very uncomfortable but he did get up and pat her on the back and say, ‘Glass of medicinal, love?’

  Being with Ralph was easy, but at the same time it was exciting. When I knew he was coming over, my heart would speed up and I’d feel all full of energy, like I used to feel before Christmas when I was little. I would watch out of the bedroom window and, when I saw him coming along the road, I’d have a mad five minutes rushing between the bathroom and the mirror and the window, so that I was always out of breath and pink-cheeked when he arrived. And when I was with him, I still felt energetic and alive, but at the same time I felt calm, as if I was exactly where I was supposed to be in time and place.

  The rest of my family behaved better when Ralph was there too. He got on really well with Clark. And Ralph and my dad were big supporters of Brighton and Hove Albion football club. One Saturday he and Dad went to the Goldstone ground in Hove to see them play a home match. Ralph was becoming part of my family and I liked that. Every moment together was precious, walking along the beach, throwing pebbles into the sea, or leaning on the edge of the pier looking at the ships going by on the horizon.

  Eventually, after what felt like absolutely forever, and after more fuss and bother than anyone could possibly imagine, the dresses were finally finished the day before ‘The Wedding’. It was a Friday and Ralph and I had been hoping to go out and do something on our own, but Mum said we couldn’t until I’d tried the dress on. I was cross about having to stay in, but Ralph pointed out that it was only one evening out of our lives and what was one evening? Also, as he said, it meant a lot to my family that I tried the dress on to make sure it was perfect. He whispered in my ear that he wanted to see it too.

  I didn’t hold out much hope for the dress, which looked like a pink sack with a hole cut out for my head. I made a face when Aunty Brenda held it up and glanced over to Ralph.

  ‘I’m not sure I want Ralph to see me wearing this,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t be ungrateful, Dottie,’ said Mum. ‘Your Aunty Brenda has worked very hard on that dress. Ralph’s going to see you wearing it at church tomorrow anyway. I’m sure it will look lovely once it’s on.’

  ‘On what?’ said Clark. ‘On fire?’

  Me and my cousin Carol went upstairs and put our dresses on. Something happened when I slipped the dress over my head. It changed into something magical, something lovely that fitted me like a glove that slipped over my hips and finished just above my ankles. I turned this way and that in front of the mirror, and Carol, whose dress was too tight, looked at me in awe.

  ‘Whoa!’ she said. ‘You look…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Amazing!’

  It was the only nice thing that I could ever remember Carol saying to me.

  When we came downstairs Mum went all misty-eyed and Ralph stood up and looked at me with the widest smile I’d ever seen on his face. He held out his hand and I walked around the table and took it. He leaned down and kissed my cheek.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispered and for a moment – oh I know I shouldn’t have – but for one moment I wished it was my wedding in the morning. I wished I was going to be walking down the aisle and standing next to Ralph. I wished…

  ‘Nelson!’ Mum called. ‘Come and see the bridesmaids’ dresses!’

  ‘Do I have to?’ Dad called from the living room. He was doing the pools.

  ‘Yes!’

  We heard his slippers flapping along the lino in the hall and then Dad came into the kitchen. A fag was burning between the two yellow fingers of his right hand. He looked at me, standing there beside Ralph, and then he looked at Carol, and it was obvious he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say.

  ‘They’ll do,’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean, “They’ll do”! Can’t you be a bit a bit more enthusiastic about it?’

  ‘What do you want me to say? They’re dresses!’

  ‘They are not just dresses, Nelson, they are bridesmaid dresses that Brenda worked her fingers to the bone to make for your daughter’s wedding. Your daughter who is soon to be the wife of a man who is in the insurance business and they deserve more than a “They’ll do”!‘

  ‘I wish you’d told me all that before I walked into the kitchen,’ said Dad. ‘I’d have a prepared a speech. Women, eh?’ He winked at Ralph.

  Mum opened her mouth to say something else to him and Dad backed off a bit but he was saved by Rita, who burst through the back door looking as white as a sheet and crying fit to burst.

  She threw herself into Mum’s arms and Mum rubbed her back and said, ‘There there,’ and mouthed to Aunty Brenda: ‘Put the kettle on.’

  ‘Sit down, love, whatever’s the matter?’ said Mum. She looked really worried.

  ‘Has Nigel let you down, dear?’ asked Aunty Brenda.

  ‘No,’ sobbed Rita.

  Mum mouthed: ‘Thank Heavens!’ to Aunty Brenda and Aunty Brenda crossed herself and rolled her eyes skywards and filled the kettle with water.

  ‘You’re not in trouble, are you?’ said Dad.

  ‘Of course she’s not in trouble,’ said Mum. ‘Not that it would matter if she was, she’s getting married tomorrow. Make yourself useful and get the best cups out.’

  Rita let out another wail and dropped her head into her arms on the table.

  ‘Now come on,’ said Mum. ‘What’s this all about?’

  Rita raised her head. She looked terrible. Her hair was all over her face and there were great black mascara smudges all around her eyes.

  ‘President Kennedy’s only gone and got himself shot!’ she wailed.

  Beside me Ralph tensed. His hand squeezed mine even more tightly.

  ‘Is he going to be all right?’ I said.

  ‘Of course he’s not going to be all right! He’s dead,’ screamed Rita as if I should have known.

  Aunty Brenda crossed herself again and lifted the kettle off the hob with a tea towel.

  ‘That’s terrible,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Those poor little children!’

  I was really shocked about President Kennedy getting himself shot, but I was even more shocked at Rita‘s reaction to it. I mean, when it came to Rita’s milk of human kindness,
it wasn’t what you would call overflowing, but here she was being really very upset about it.

  ‘And his lovely young wife,’ said Mum. Tears were welling up in her eyes at the thought of the lovely Jackie Kennedy being widowed so young. ‘Oh it’s terrible,’ she said. ‘Terrible!’

  That‘s when Rita blew the milk of human kindness theory out of the window. She stared from Mum to Aunty Brenda and back again. Her mouth was wide open as if she couldn’t believe what they were saying.

  ‘Never mind them!’ she sobbed. ‘What about my wedding?’

  ‘What’s it got to do with your wedding?’ I asked.

  .Rita gave me one of her most withering looks. ‘Everyone will be watching the news on the telly and no one will be out on the street watching me leave the house!’ she said.

  ‘She is such a caring girl,’ said Clark. ‘We are all so proud of her.’

  ‘Shut up, brainless,’ shouted Rita. ‘What do you know about it?’

  ‘Well, brainless I might be,’ said Clark. ‘But at least I’ve got a heart and not a swinging brick, and it seems to me that President Kennedy getting shot will come higher on people’s list of priorities than your stupid wedding.’

  Rita couldn’t really argue with that so she came over all dramatic.

  ‘I want to die,’ she sobbed.

  ‘Don’t talk silly,’ said Mum, struggling to banish the thought of the poor young widow from her mind. ‘And anyway not everyone’s got a telly. I’m sure some people will see you leave the house.’

  ‘I’d be relieved if they didn’t,’ Dad mumbled. ‘I’m not looking forward to walking down the path in a top hat and tails for all the neighbours to have a good laugh.’

  ‘You don’t have to give me away,’ screamed Rita, ‘I can easily get someone else to do it.’

  ‘I'd give you away anytime Rita, just say the word,’ said Clark.

  ‘As if I’d let you walk me down the aisle! I’d rather go on my own.’

  ‘That’s silly talk,’ said Mum, stirring about six spoons of sugar into Rita’s tea. ‘Every bride wants her dad by her side on her wedding day.’