Baby Love, page 9
In spite of my hurt feelings I found myself getting so absorbed in the book that I jumped when the phone rang. My heart started thumping. Don’t be such an idiot – it’ll just be a wrong number, I told myself. But it was Nina.
‘Hi you,’ she said. ‘Right, it’s all settled. We’re going to see The Nun’s Story at the Granada.’
I hated the way she calmly carried on our interrupted conversation. Why did she want to go to the pictures on such a sunny day? Why not another picnic? Why not a game of tennis for that matter? Daniel had suggested I come to their tennis club. He’d never want to go and see a woman’s film about a nun, not in a million years.
But I actually wanted to go and see it. I’d read about it in Mum’s Picturegoer. It was meant to be very moving and dramatic, and Audrey Hepburn was beautiful, even in a nun’s veil and habit. And I wanted to see Nina too, though I despised myself for going along with her little games.
‘So, shall I meet you outside the Granada this afternoon?’ I asked.
‘Well, you could. But don’t you want to have lunch together first? There’s the Black and White Milk Bar opposite. It’s a bit of a dive but they do nice chips,’ said Nina. ‘See you there half twelve?’
She rang off without waiting to see if I’d say yes. I very much wanted to go to the Black and White. A ‘bit of a dive’! Mum had taken me there for a treat once, though she was horrified that they charged five shillings and sixpence for a plate of sausage, beans and chips. They were very good chips though, crisp and golden and very fluffy inside.
I had to tackle my piggy bank again, scraping its insides until there was just one solitary coin left so at least it could still rattle. Then I changed clothes. I’d been wearing my shorts and a V-necked T-shirt and white socks and plimsolls, a suitable outfit for another trek, but they made me look childish. I thought The Nun’s Story was probably an X-rated film. I’d need to look sixteen.
My stomach lurched, remembering Léon and the Lido, but I thumped my head fiercely, trying to knock all thoughts of that day into oblivion. I caught sight of myself in my bedroom mirror. I looked like a crazy person. A crazy much-too-young person.
I took my shorts off and put on a flared cotton skirt. I rolled each sock up and stuffed them carefully into my bra cup so it looked as if I had a proper chest. I didn’t have any unladdered nylons so I went bare-legged, putting on my one and only pair of grown-up shoes, though the heels were barely an inch high and very stubby.
Then I thought about make-up. I had a pale pink lipstick that hardly showed, nothing else. Mum said I was too young for full make-up. Perhaps she thought she was too young herself, because she hardly ever wore any. I went into her bedroom and peered in the drawer of her dressing table. She had some loose powder with a giant powder puff, a Christmas gift from Aunt Susannah, but only used once. I tried applying the powder on my own face but had to brush most of it off because I looked as if I’d tipped a flour bag over my head.
I opened a little floral bag and discovered a rouge compact and some blue eyeshadow. I applied a little of each, but my face looked like a china doll now, so I rubbed most of that away too. There was also a small tin of mascara with a brush. It was very dried up, so I had to use a bit of spit, and then carefully applied it to my eyelashes, being careful not to smudge. That seemed more effective.
I peered at my face critically, practising expressions. I tried to look knowing, like Nina, but couldn’t manage to make my eyebrows tilt in the right way. I attempted a flirty sideways glance, fluttering my newly defined eyelashes, but I could see I looked ridiculous. I gave a sigh, brushed my hair hard until it crackled, and then read some more Madame Bovary, glancing at my watch every five minutes until it was at last time to set off for the town.
My shoes were biting my feet by the time I got to the Black and White Milk Bar, and I was walking with a limp. I knew I was getting a blister on either foot. I crouched down to examine the little red weals and nearly toppled over when Nina pounced on me.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ Nina said.
‘Nothing! Just getting a stone out of my shoe,’ I said, feeling silly.
I looked enviously at Nina’s soft footwear, those French canvas shoes with soles made of rope. She looked marvellous in a navy shirtwaister belted tightly, showing off her curves. She didn’t need to use any socks as padding. I prayed mine would stay tightly tucked inside my bra. I’d die if one worked its way up and started poking through my V-neck.
‘Hey there, Laura!’ Daniel looked incredible, in a glowing white T-shirt and fawn khakis. He wore espadrilles too, fawn to match his trousers.
‘Hey, Daniel,’ I mumbled, trying to sound cool.
Nina was staring at me. ‘Why are you wearing all that make-up when we’re only going to the cinema?’ she demanded.
I blushed like a fool, making my rouge totally redundant.
‘I always wear make-up,’ I said.
‘No you don’t! It looks a bit weird,’ said Nina.
‘No, it doesn’t. I think you look great, Laura,’ said Daniel.
I knew he was only being kind, but I was thrilled. I smiled at him, hoping I hadn’t got lipstick on my teeth.
‘Will you two stop gurning at each other?’ said Nina. ‘Let’s go and eat. I didn’t bother with breakfast and I’m starving.’
I spent ages reading the laminated menu when we were sitting down in a booth, but decided on sausage, beans and chips again. Daniel chose that too.
Nina barely glanced at the menu. ‘I’ll have a cherryade and a Knickerbocker Glory, please,’ she said to the waitress.
I stared at her. Were we having puddings too? And what a pudding! I’d seen pictures of Knickerbocker Glories – glamorous film stars were often photographed tucking into a towering glass of ice cream, generally licking the cherry on the top. But weren’t they desperately expensive? I knew exactly how many coins I had in my purse and they weren’t enough. I still had to pay to get into the cinema. I’d have to pretend I wasn’t hungry and see if the waitress would let me just have a glass of water with my meal.
‘What about your main course, miss?’ the waitress asked Nina. She looked only a couple of years older than us, if that. She was wearing a frumpy black frock with a white apron, and a tiny white cap on her head like a frilly Alice band. I wondered what she felt about wearing that waitress uniform and calling girls like Nina ‘miss’.
‘No main course, thank you,’ said Nina. ‘I’ll steal their chips if I fancy something savoury.’
The waitress shrugged her shoulders and walked off. She was wearing black shoes a little too big for her, so they slipped every time she took a step. I thought her feet must be hurting as much as mine. I surreptitiously slipped both my shoes off under the table. The relief was incredible.
‘Don’t think you’re having any of my chips,’ Daniel told Nina.
‘Or mine,’ I said.
‘Well, you two aren’t getting any ice cream, even if you beg,’ said Nina.
I felt like begging when she was served. It was even bigger than I’d imagined, the fluted glass reaching right up to Nina’s chin. There seemed to be three types of ice cream, vanilla, strawberry and chocolate, with slices of peach, and an enormous whirl of cream with the cherry on top.
‘Yum!’ said Nina complacently, picking up her long spoon and tucking in.
The sausages, beans and chips were OK, but ordinary. I couldn’t help watching Nina eat. She was enjoying herself, licking her lips, even rolling her eyes.
Daniel laughed at her. ‘Stop acting like an idiot, Nina.’
She stuck out her pink tongue. ‘You’re just envious, wishing you’d thought of ordering one,’ she said.
‘Not me,’ said Daniel cheerily.
‘Yes you are. And Laura’s positively drooling,’ said Nina.
Daniel looked at me. ‘Would you like one too, Laura?’
‘Oh, no thank you. I’m not hungry enough for pudding. I mean, dessert.’ I wasn’t sure which was the right word.
‘Tell you what, let’s share one, you and me,’ said Daniel. ‘It’s my treat. I went car-washing up and down our road on Sunday and earned a fortune. Go on, say yes.’
He ordered another Knickerbocker Glory and two spoons, while Nina had a frothy coffee, a little put out. It was so strange sharing with Daniel, taking it in turns. I took tiny spoonfuls at first, but he told me off.
‘Tuck in properly! And you can have the glacé cherry – I don’t like them,’ he said.
He manoeuvred most of the cream to my side of the glass too. I ate and ate and ate. I was truly full now, but the sweet soft ice creams easily slipped down my throat.
‘This is utter bliss,’ I said.
‘It’s a big ice cream, that’s all,’ said Nina. ‘Come on, you two greedy guts, we’ll miss the start of the programme.’
It was agony slipping my feet back into my shoes. They seemed to have risen like dough in the hot cafe. I wondered if I was going to have to go to the cinema barefoot with my shoes in my hand, but at last I managed to cram them on my feet. It was torture walking across the road, but I strode out determinedly, feeling like the little mermaid in the fairy story. It was worth the pain to be with Daniel – and Nina too, of course.
He insisted on paying for the cinema tickets as well as our meal. Nina took it for granted, but I was fervently grateful.
‘I told you, I’m really flush at the moment. Don’t worry, Laura.’
I hoped I might get to sit in the middle, but I ended up beside Nina, at the end of a row. It was a disappointment, but I decided it was maybe just as well, as I was starting to feel a little sick from all the ice cream. At least I’d be able to make a dash for the Ladies room if necessary without disturbing anyone.
I felt unpleasantly queasy throughout the black and white film, a silly detective story, and not much better during the Pathé News, but when The Nun’s Story began I became so absorbed in the film I forgot all about my lurching tummy. Audrey Hepburn was so beautiful – even more beautiful in her nun’s habit, her little elfin face so pure, her eyes enormous and long-lashed. She led such an extraordinary life in the convent. It was so hard and harsh, worse than the strictest school ever, and yet it was somehow glorious too. My heart started thumping. I suddenly desperately wanted to be a nun too.
I felt it would be marvellous to embrace Jesus and live in a House of God. I wanted to lead a simple life with no messy problems. I wouldn’t have to worry about wearing the right clothes and making friends and kissing boys. I’d wear the same traditional outfit every day and I’d be friends with all the sister nuns. There wouldn’t be any boys, especially not French ones who fumbled with me in the dark.
I supposed I would be sad to say goodbye to Mum and Dad, but we seemed to get on each other’s nerves nowadays. I would miss Nina, but when I was a nun I’d shun her as a bad influence. I would miss Daniel too, especially now he seemed to like me, but perhaps we could spend one beautiful day alone together before I went into the convent. When we parted he might kiss me gently on the lips and tell me no other girl would mean so much to him. Then we would wave a sorrowful goodbye and it would be bitter-sweet and splendid.
I was so caught up in this dual romance, with Audrey on the screen and with Daniel in my head, that I cried a little, and had to mop my eyes quickly when the lights went up at the end of the film. I was worried that Nina would mock, but she seemed surprisingly moved herself.
‘That was so wonderful,’ she said, stretching. ‘Do you know, I rather think I’d like to be a nun myself.’
I frowned at her. This was my fantasy! Now if I said anything about wanting to be a nun she’d just think I was copying her.
Daniel laughed. ‘You’re a scream, Nina! You, a nun! You’d be thrown out of the convent the first week for corrupting all the others.’
‘No I wouldn’t. I’d learn all my prayers and chants and what-have-you quick as a wink, and I’d sing so beautifully in chapel that Mother Superior would fall in love with me and promote me to head nun within weeks,’ said Nina, punching him.
‘I thought pride is meant to be a sin,’ I said. ‘Not to mention personal vanity.’
I got punched too, right in my solar plexus. When we went home – the Bertrams’ home, not mine – Daniel suddenly burst into the living room wearing a white tea towel on his head.
‘I want to be a nun too!’ he declared. ‘Don’t you think I’d make a beautiful Sister Daniella?’
We were having so much fun that I actually dared say, ‘See you both tomorrow?’ when I left.
‘Of course,’ said Daniel.
‘No you’re not,’ said Nina.
I thought she was just playing silly games again, but Daniel thumped his head with the palm of his hand.
‘Sorry, Laura, I forgot. Dad’s got a couple of days off, and we’re playing golf,’ he said.
‘Oh. Well. Never mind,’ I said lamely. I couldn’t hide my disappointment.
Nina frowned when I looked at her. ‘And I’m tied up too, not that you seem interested,’ she said sharply. ‘Though I daresay Little Richard might want to play with you if you bribe him with doughnuts.’
‘Don’t be such a cow, Nina,’ said Daniel. He smiled at me apologetically. ‘How about Saturday? We’ll go to the tennis club, OK?’
‘Yes, that would be great,’ I said. ‘Bye then. Bye, Nina.’
She didn’t bother replying. I pretended not to notice. I walked back to Shanty Town with the word Saturday spinning round and round in my head like a broken record.
Mum was already back from work, making a shepherd’s pie in the kitchen. The prefab was thick with the meaty smell of it. Our whole home was as hot as the oven.
‘Shepherd’s pie when it’s eighty degrees outside?’ I said, blowing out my lips dramatically.
‘It’s your father’s favourite. He likes a hot meal when he gets home. You know he has to make do with sandwiches for lunch,’ Mum said reproachfully. She got up early every morning and made them for him: one round of corned beef, one round of fish paste, packed in an Oxo tin, their strong flavours mingling, plus a thermos of almost black tea.
‘Well, I don’t want any, thanks. I had a big lunch out,’ I said without thinking.
‘What do you mean? The Bertrams took you out for lunch?’ Mum said, opening a tin of peas clumsily and catching her finger on the jagged top.
‘It was just Daniel and Nina and me,’ I said.
‘So where did you go?’
I shrugged elaborately. ‘Just a cafe,’ I said.
‘Which one?’ Mum demanded, sucking her finger.
‘For goodness’ sake, does it matter?’ I said.
‘Don’t take that tone with me! And of course it matters! I’m not having you hanging out in some unhygienic greasy spoon, picking up germs,’ said Mum.
‘Well, you’re being unhygienic bleeding all over the peas!’ I said. ‘And it was the Black and White Milk Bar, if you must know.’
‘You went there?’ said Mum. ‘What, just for one of those frothy coffees? They’re a total waste of money if you ask me. And where’s the sustenance in that? You should have had a proper meal!’
‘I did!’ I said, and carried on recklessly. ‘I had sausage, beans and chips and a Knickerbocker Glory.’
‘You never!’ said Mum.
‘Well, half of one. I shared it with Daniel,’ I said.
‘You never!’ Mum repeated, literally at a loss for further words.
‘So what?’ I said boldly.
Mum’s words came back in a torrent. ‘How on earth could you afford to eat yourself silly at the Black and White? They paid for you, didn’t they, those Bertrams! How can you shame me like that? They’ll think your own family can’t afford to feed you. And you mustn’t ever share food from the same dish, especially in a restaurant. It’s far too intimate, even if you’re courting. Which you’re absolutely not, even though you’re standing there like the cat’s got the cream. You’re still a little girl for all your showing off. You’re waiting till you leave school before you start on boyfriends – and there’s no point setting your cap at someone like that Daniel Bertram. He might want to play around with you and get your hopes up, but that sort would never want a girl like you.’
‘He’s taking me to his tennis club on Saturday,’ I blurted out defiantly.
‘Oh no he’s not!’ said Mum.
‘Yes he is,’ I insisted.
‘You can’t play tennis,’ said Mum.
‘Daniel’s giving me a lesson,’ I said. ‘I’ve got my white Aertex blouse and my shorts so I’ll be properly kitted out too. And Nina or Daniel will lend me one of their old racquets. It’s all sorted.’
‘Well you’ll jolly well have to unsort it, because you won’t even be here,’ said Mum, running her bleeding finger under the tap. ‘You’re going on holiday, so there!’
‘Don’t be daft, Mum! On holiday? What are you on about now?’ I said, sighing.
‘Don’t you dare talk to me in that stuck-up manner!’ said Mum, and she seized hold of me by the shoulders and shook me hard.
I was stunned. I jerked away from her, brushing at my blouse. ‘You’ve made me all wet! And there’s a smear of blood, look!’ I said shakily.
‘Well, I’m the one who’ll have to soak it in cold water, not you. You never dream of giving me a hand with the washing even though I’m out at work and you’re just mooning about with the blooming Bertrams. Anyway, we’re going on holiday on Saturday. It’s all fixed.’
‘But how can we? We can’t afford it – and you and Dad have got to work,’ I said.
‘There’s been a last-minute cancellation on the Coast and Castles trip around Wales, so two seats are empty. Dad’s boss says we can have them for nothing, you and me. They’re not best pleased at Wallis Modes that I haven’t given them proper notice, but I haven’t taken any leave all the time I’ve been working there. And your dad and I thought it would be a lovely treat for you to have a proper holiday,’ said Mum.
