The Girls from See Saw Lane Read online

  I stared back at Elton. ‘But what about when your mum went to the bingo and Mary came round to your house? I thought…’

  ‘Mum went with a neighbour. The neighbour got a headache. They came back early. We never did it.’

  Then I remembered asking Mary about it and her telling me it was too embarrassing to talk about. I thought she was talking about the sex, but perhaps she wasn’t. She hadn’t wanted to tell me that nothing had happened, that her great passionate love affair hadn’t exactly been that.

  Elton pushed back his hair again. His chest was flushed, and his neck. I felt a stab of pity for him.

  ‘If it wasn’t you… then who?’

  If it wasn’t Elton, then it meant that Mary had cheated on him. If it wasn’t Elton, then who on earth was it? She’d never mentioned anyone else to me. She’d never breathed a word about anyone else. Elton and I stared at one another in mutual horror as we both realised that Mary must have lied to us both, if not directly, then by omission. We were so wrapped up in one another, so frantic were our thoughts, that neither of us had paid any attention to Ralph. It was only when I heard him scrape back his chair that I looked up.

  He was standing beside the table, as white as a sheet.

  He rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand, then he looked at Elton. ‘I’m sorry, mate,’ he said. He had tears in his eyes as he turned to me. ‘I’m so sorry, Dottie,’ he said.

  And it was then that I knew.

  Mary’s Diary

  Dear Diary,

  Don’t ask. Just don’t bloody ask.

  Mary Pickles (trapped.)

  Aged Eighteen

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Mary and Ralph were married on a rainy August morning at Brighton Town Hall.

  Since learning the truth about Mary and Ralph I was all over the place. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t bear to have the radio on. The only place I felt safe was in my room. I felt so empty inside and so hurt. I still couldn’t believe what they had done to me. I would have trusted them both with my life, but they had ruined my life. I hadn’t only lost the boy I loved; I had lost my best friend. If ever I had a problem, no matter how small, I could talk to Mary about it. We would talk it through and somehow make it all right.

  Time meant nothing to me. I’d spend hours staring out of my bedroom window, not seeing anything, just going over and over what had happened. Reliving all the wonderful times I’d had with Ralph. Remembering Mary and our lives together. Tormenting myself with it all. It was like having a tape recorder in my head that just kept going round and round.

  Ralph had asked me to marry him knowing what he had done with Mary. How could he have done that? I went from being so angry I wanted to kill them both and then myself to missing them so much that I could hardly breathe. I wanted so badly to hate them and there were times when I almost convinced myself that I did. But how do you stop loving someone? How do you switch off love? The truth is you can’t.

  I hadn’t spoken to Ralph or Mary. In my heart I knew that they would be missing me as much as I was missing them. I knew they would be wanting to see me, to try and explain why they had done what they had done, but I wasn’t going to let that happen. I would make them suffer as I was suffering. I wasn’t going to make it easy for them.

  On the morning of the wedding I was lying on my bed in a kind of stupor. I’d woken early and as soon as I woke up the tape in my head started again. I was literally driving myself mad. I couldn’t bear it. I knew this was going to be the hardest day of my life. I buried my head in the pillow and cried and cried.

  I heard my bedroom door open and felt someone sit down on the bed. They didn’t speak, they just gently rubbed my back. It felt good, nice. I thought I hadn’t needed anyone, but this human contact made me feel I was not alone. I didn’t have to go through this alone.

  ‘Mum sent this up,’ said Rita eventually.

  ‘I don’t want anything,’ I mumbled.

  ‘Come on, sit up,’ she said. ‘You can’t spend all day in bed.’

  I pulled myself up the bed and Rita handed me a cup of cocoa. I sipped the hot sweet liquid and it felt nice.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ said Rita.

  ‘There’s nothing I can do, is there?’ I snapped back.

  ‘Well, you could have a bath for a start.’

  ‘And that’s going to solve everything, is it?’

  ‘No, but at least you’ll smell better.’

  ‘That bad, eh?’ I said.

  ‘Worse,’ said Rita. ‘It’s beginning to smell as if someone died in here.’

  I took another sip of cocoa and smiled.

  ‘Well that’s a start,’ she said.

  ‘They’re getting married today.’

  ‘I know,’ said Rita. ‘Mum said.’

  ‘I don’t know how I can get through it.’

  ‘Well, if you can’t do it for yourself, do it for Mum; she’s worried sick about you.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said begrudgingly, ‘I’ll have a bath.’

  ‘It won’t last forever, you know,’ said Rita.

  ‘What won’t?’

  ‘The pain you’re feeling now. It won’t last forever.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘His name was Clive. He went to the grammar school. He was my first boyfriend and we loved each other, or at least I thought we did.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘His family emigrated to Canada. He said he would write but he never did.’

  ‘I don’t remember that.’

  ‘Well, you wouldn’t, would you? You couldn’t see left or right of Mary Pickles.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It was a long time ago,’ said Rita. ‘I was only sixteen.’

  I had a vague recollection of Rita wandering round the place like an Anna Karenina cut-out, but Rita was always being dramatic about something, so I don’t suppose I took much notice.

  The sweet cocoa and listening to Rita was beginning to have an effect.

  ‘Perhaps you should go the wedding,’ said Rita.

  ‘Why on earth would I want to do that?’

  ‘Because it might be better than mooching around here all day, imagining the wedding to be all hearts and flowers and happy ever afters. Because that’s not how it’s going to be, is it?’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘Of course it’s not. They don’t love each other, do they?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘When Clive went to Canada I imagined him doing cartwheels over the Rocky Mountains and having the time of his life.’

  ‘And wasn’t he?’

  ‘No, they had a rotten time. They came back after a year and by then I’d got over him.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right.’

  I dragged myself out of bed. I felt light-headed and my legs felt heavy, as if I was getting over a long illness. I ran the bath and as it was filling up I cleaned my teeth. My face in the mirror above the sink was white, with dark smudges under my eyes.

  I stepped into the tub. The warm water on my body felt comforting and I was beginning to feel a bit more human.

  By the time I got back to the bedroom, Rita had laid some clothes out on the bed for me. I barely registered what she had chosen; I just put them on. I was dressing to go somewhere I didn’t want to go, and I didn’t care what I wore.

  We went together, me and Rita and Mum, and we stayed out of sight until everyone had gone in. Ralph arrived first, with his parents, then Mary with hers. Only the twins out of all of Mary’s brothers were there, and I thought that was sad.

  We waited until the wedding before Mary’s was over. That looked as if it had been quite a jolly affair, because a load of people came tumbling out onto the wet pavement. They were all laughing and talking, and the men were slapping the groom’s back and the groom was wearing a Beatles suit and the bride really was blushing, wearing a flowery dress and carrying a bunch of pink roses. They kissed as they came out and they looked so happy. I wished I
could go with them, wherever it was they were going.

  Once we were sure they had all gone in, we slipped in the back of the room.

  There weren’t many people at Mary and Ralph’s do. They hardly took up any space in the room; they just filled a few of the padded seats at the front. I sat between Mum and Rita. It was nice having them warm on either side of me. It made me feel safe.

  Ralph and Mary stood at the front, like naughty children who were about to be punished. I was staring at Ralph’s shoes that were brown and very shiny. It made me feel sad to think that he had polished his shoes so that they looked nice even though I knew in my heart that he didn’t want to be there.

  The registrar was a small, thin chap with a receding hairline. He was wearing a brown, badly fitting suit and his shirt looked as if it was in need of an iron. He spoke so softly it was hard to hear him and he didn’t smile once. It was more like a funeral than a wedding. Once Ralph and Mary had said their vows, Rita and Mum and I left. We went outside and we stood there, huddled together.

  It was still pouring with rain. People tramped past in raincoats and umbrellas, and the buses sprayed water with their wheels.

  ‘I’ve got to get back to work,’ said Rita.

  ‘You took time off work?’ I said.

  ‘Well you don’t have to sound so shocked,’ said Rita, going all huffy. ‘Contrary to popular belief, I do have some feelings, you know.’

  ‘Sorry, and thanks for today.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ said Rita.

  Mum and I watched Rita totter off in her Stead and Simpson’s stiletto heels. Then Mum turned to me. ‘What about you, love?’ she asked. ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘Would you mind if I just had a bit of time by myself?

  Mum put her hand on my cheek. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Of course I wouldn’t mind. Take as long as you want. When you come home I’ll have something nice ready for your tea.’

  She kissed me goodbye and she went one way and I started walking in the opposite direction downhill towards the sea. When I got to the promenade I couldn’t find a dry bench to sit on so I leant over the railings. The tide was in, the sea looked grey and cold and it was bashing and splashing against the wall. It reminded me of when me and Mary were kids, how we used to love it when it was stormy and the sea was rough and angry-looking. We would stand at the railings and wait for the waves to hit the wall, then we’d run back screaming as the spray crashed over on to the prom. I stood looking out over the water. You couldn’t even see the horizon; there was just greyness where the sky met the sea.

  In my whole life, I’d never wanted to run away from home before, but now I did. Everywhere I went, I was reminded of Ralph, or Mary, or both of them, and I didn’t think I could bear it. I wanted to be a million miles away. Mary and I had walked every single pavement on the estate where we both lived. We’d been in every shop in town, we’d ridden every bus route. The places I hadn’t been with Mary, I’d been with Ralph. He and I had walked up to the Downs so many times while we were making plans for our future. We’d been to the beach, dawdled on the pier, walked home from the cinema together, his hand holding mine, our shoulders bumping together. Now all the friendly places, the happy places, the places I thought would become part of our history had changed their temperament. I’d imagined telling our grandchildren fond stories about the places Ralph and I had visited while we were courting. I’d imagined saying: ‘This is the bench where we sat; holding Granddad’s coat over our heads to protect us from the rain,’ or ‘This is where the seagull swooped down and stole Granddad’s ice cream.’ Now it hurt to remember the good times and every time a thought or a memory flashed into my mind, it was like being stung and the stings didn’t get better, they just accumulated until I felt as if I was carrying a huge, lead ball of hurt around inside me. I had never been so lonely. Never.

  Mary’s Diary

  Dear Diary,

  Yesterday was the worst day of my life. I married Ralph Bennett. I feel like I’ve been trapped in a box and someone has closed the lid and locked me inside with Ralph bloody Bennett and I’m stuck in here for the rest of my life. I don’t love him and he doesn’t love me, he loves Dottie and I love Elton.

  I’ll never marry Elton now. We’ll never go travelling together. I’ll never sleep beside him on a plane or climb the Eiffel Tower or visit New York.

  I’ll never live in Paris and be an artist. Instead I’ll be living in a grotty flat on a grotty estate with Ralph Bennett and a baby. A baby!!! I don’t even like babies. I’m going to be living the life that Dottie dreamed of living.

  And worst of all I have broken my best friend’s heart. I am so sorry, Dottie, I am so very sorry. I don’t think I can do this without you.

  Bye bye diary.

  Mary Bennett (prize idiot)

  Aged eighteen.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Mary’s life more or less mirrored mine and I couldn’t avoid seeing her pretty much every day. We were both still working at Woolworths and, according to Mum, Mary was still living at home

  All this meant that we still had to travel the same routes, we still had to see one another at work and, sometimes, when I was walking along the pavement towards home, I’d look up and there would be Mary coming the other way.

  It was awful. It was really awful.

  When I saw her I was so full of anger that part of me wanted to go up to her and shake her and hit her and hurt her to give her a tiny taste of how much she had hurt me. I hated her sometimes, I really did. She’d taken something I knew I loved, not because she wanted it, but just because she could. She’d taken away my future. I should have been the one carrying Ralph’s baby, I should’ve been the one planning a future with him. He should have been mine!

  But there was another part of me that, even while I was hating her, still loved Mary. She had been my best friend for most of my life. She knew me better than anyone else in the world and I missed her so badly.

  When we saw one another in the street, either she would turn around and walk away from me, or she’d pretend to drop something, or turn her face away, anything to avoid having to look at me or talk to me or so much as catch my eye. I was the same. If I saw her before she saw me, I’d go the other way. I didn’t want to have to speak to her. I didn’t want to look at the lump that was forming beneath her clothes.

  It was more difficult at work. On the days when we were busy it wasn’t so bad, but on quiet days it was hard to avoid one another completely. Once, when I was in the stockroom looking for a box of pocket mirrors to restock the shelves, I saw Mary come in. She looked around but couldn’t see me because I was crouching down. She came in and shut the door and I heard her sit down and sigh, and then she started to cry, quietly. I held my breath and didn’t move and I listened to her sobbing and I felt as if my heart was breaking. And at the same time I wanted to go over to her and slap her face and say: ‘Shut up! It’s your own fault you’re in this mess!’ I squeezed my hands tightly together and dug the nails of one into the fleshy part of the other to try to stop myself from screaming at her. The other part of me wanted to put my arms around her and promise her that everything was going to be all right.

  After a few minutes the door opened from the outside and Sally called out ‘Mary, are you all right?’ and Mary made a sort of hiccupping noise and replied ‘Yes, fine, I’m just coming.’

  I counted to forty after she’d left before I went back into the shop with the box in my arms. I walked straight past her and did not look at her puffy face or the blotchiness around her eyes. How could I say anything to Mary when I couldn’t sort my own feelings out, when I couldn’t tell the difference between love and hate, when I was so mired in grief for the future that Mary had stolen from me?

  One Saturday lunchtime when I had nothing to do – I never had anything to do any more – I walked down to the cafe, and I sat in a seat by the window and watched the drops of rain chasing each other down the windowpane.

  ‘Is anyone s
itting here?’

  I turned and there was Elton. He looked tired and awkward, but I couldn’t be bothered to ask if he was okay. So I just shrugged. He pulled out the chair and sat down. He hunched over the table and made a big performance of stirring sugar into his coffee then he pushed a plate towards me and said: ‘Do you fancy a chip?’

  I gave him a little smile and took one and dipped it into the puddle of ketchup on the side of his plate.

  ‘Ralph’s desperate about you,’ Elton said. I didn’t answer. I ate another chip. Water was dripping off Elton’s leather jacket on to the top of the table and he smelled very strongly of aftershave. ‘He’s eaten up with guilt.’

  ‘That’s hardly my problem, is it?’

  ‘No,’ Elton said. ‘It’s not. But I thought you ought to know.’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  I ate another chip.

  ‘He was out of his mind at that party, you know.’

  I didn’t respond.

  ‘I’ve never seen him so drunk. He didn’t know what he was doing.’

  ‘He’s an idiot, then.’

  ‘Yeah, but…’ Elton sighed. He took a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and began to play with it, turning it over and over between his fingers. ‘You ought to talk to him, Dottie.’

  ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘Just give him a chance to explain.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I think… I think I am partly to blame for what happened,’ he said, taking another chip and blowing on it. ‘Mary wanted to know what I was doing all the time. I told her I didn’t want to go steady but she kept acting as if we were. I was fed up with it. I wanted to have fun at my party, and Gemma’s fun.’

  ‘Is that the girl you came into the cafe with?’

  ‘I shouldn’t have done that, I suppose.’

  ‘You hurt her,’ I said, ‘you kept hurting her.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I didn’t mean to, so it doesn’t count.’

  ‘Are you going out with Gemma?’ I said, glaring at him.