A Family Affair (6 page)

‘I apologise for him,' the man called Steve said. ‘He's had too much to drink.'

‘Friend of yours, is he?' Heather asked, recovering herself.

He shrugged his massive shoulders. ‘I suppose so.'

‘Then you ought to keep him under control!' Heather said tartly.

‘I try.'

He turned and walked away between the dancers, the light from the twirling globe making his hair gleam like spun gold.

‘Well!' Heather said. She was still shaking a bit. ‘Well.'

She made her way back to her seat, carefully avoiding anyone else who looked as if they might be about to ask her to dance. But almost without realising it she was scanning the crowded room, trying to catch a glimpse of her rescuer.

‘You should have won,' Heather said to Julia.

‘Well I didn't.' Julia was trying to look as if she didn't care. ‘I'm second attendant anyway. I shall get a dress – and get to ride on the best side of the coach.'

‘You should have won!' Heather said again. ‘I can't understand it. You were the obvious choice. They were playing politics, I expect. Spreading it round the villages.'

‘They aren't supposed to know which one we represent.'

‘But they do, don't they? I suppose they think they daren't give it to Hillsbridge
again.
Especially with Harry Hall being one of the judges, and him born and bred in Hillsbridge.'

‘Maybe. It doesn't matter.'

‘It matters to me. I wanted
you
to win.'

The girls were waiting in the queue to get their coats. It was just after one a.m. but they were both too hyped up to be tired. As they went down the stairs one of a gang of boys managed to get alongside Julia, only falling back to join his friends when they reached the street.

‘I just walked down the steps with a beauty queen!' he boasted

It was a fine night and much warmer than of late. The stars were shining and a full moon bathed the street in a soft light and reflected in the slowly moving water of the river which ran its full length, disappearing only briefly beneath the little bridges which had been constructed to join the walkway on the Palais side to the road beyond. The girls walked towards the town centre and stopped outside Wiltons, a big grocery store which occupied the entire corner at the junction with the main road. They had ordered a taxi to pick them up here. Though they had known they would have plenty of offers of lifts home they had decided that both the lateness of the hour and the elaborate nature of their dresses would make it a more suitable option.

There was no sign of the taxi. It should have been here and waiting, but it wasn't. Heather and Julia stood back in the shop doorway, watching the other revellers drift past and looking up and down the street hopefully.

‘It's not like Jim Fisher to be late,' Heather said. ‘You did remember to book him, didn't you?'

‘Of course I did! He'll be here in a minute.'

But he wasn't. The stream of passers-by thinned to a trickle.

‘I don't think he's coming,' Heather said.

‘It is peculiar,' Julia agreed.

‘What are we going to do? We can't walk all the way home in
these
shoes!'

‘If he doesn't turn up we won't have any choice.'

‘We could ring and find out what's happened to him.' There was a phone box on the corner. ‘Have you got any money?'

They both turned out their purses, but they had used the last of their change to pay the cloakroom dues. The pound and ten-shilling notes they had saved for the taxi fare would be no use in a phone box.

It was twenty past one now and the streets were almost deserted.

‘He's not coming,' Heather said. ‘Let's go back and see if anybody is still at the dance hall who could give us a lift.'

‘They'll all be gone by now.'

‘The organisers might still be there.'

They started back up the street. Heather's feet were already beginning to hurt in her high-heeled sandals and the thought of having to walk the three miles back to Hillsbridge was not a pleasant one.

The doors of the Palais were still open. Light spilled out on to the pavement – and with it shouts and the sounds of a scuffle.

‘Oh no – there's a fight!' Julia said.

She backed swiftly away from the doorway, just in time. Two young men came tumbling out. They were back on their feet again almost as soon as they hit the ground, rushing at one another, punching and grabbing. Behind them the stairway was full of fighting youths. Frightened, Heather and Julia retreated into the doorway of the nearby Drill Hall. The two lads who had fallen out of the doorway were now struggling against the rails that guarded the river, others were spilling out around them.

‘Oh my lord!' Julia said. ‘We don't want to get mixed up in this!'

Heather had recognised several of the lads – Brian Jacobs amongst them.

‘It's the Purldown boys after the ones from South Compton. They're mad their girl didn't win.'

‘Stupid fools!'

‘You'd better not let them see you. After all, you came third. Their girl didn't come anywhere.'

A lone policeman on a bicycle came into their line of vision – PC Dark, stationed at South Compton. He waded into the mêlée but the lads were in no mood to have their fun spoiled. As Heather and Julia watched in horror one of the lads grabbed the bicycle and threw it into the river, then, as PC Dark turned on him furiously, several more grabbed him and threw him in after it. One minute he was bent backwards over the rails, arms and legs flailing, the next there was a great splash and a cheer from the watching crowd. Apart from a few scuffles on the outskirts the fighting had stopped, and as the policeman's head appeared over the river bank the immediate crowd began to disperse, making a run for it before they could be recognised. PC Dark clambered out of the river – which fortunately was less than a foot deep despite the recent rain, water dripping from his heavy cape in a steady stream. He gave chase up the High Street and the girls crept out of the doorway, unable to resist the temptation to see what happened.

At that precise moment a car they recognised as Jim Fisher's taxi cruised down the High Street on the opposite side of the river.

‘There he is! Come on!'

They began to run away from the scene of the fight, towards the corner by Wiltons'grocery store where they had arranged to be picked up, but in their high heels and flowing skirts it was like trying to run in a bad dream. The taxi had stopped outside Wiltons, but they were still thirty yards from it when it began to pull away again.

‘No! No – wait!' Heather was running and waving wildly at the same time, but it was no use. With no sign of his fares waiting where they should be and gangs of rampaging youths the length of the High Street, Jim Fisher had no intention of hanging about and becoming involved in the trouble. As Heather reached the broad part of the pavement where the river ran under the road, the taxi accelerated away and disappeared around the corner.

Breathless, almost sobbing, Heather stood looking helplessly after it. Some way behind her Julia was hobbling to catch up. In the mad dash she had broken the heel of her shoe.

‘He's gone without us! Why did he go without us?'

‘I expect you told him half past one, not one o'clock,' Heather said, despair making her angry.

‘I didn't!'

‘Well, he's gone, anyway. He thought we weren't here, and he's gone.'

‘What are we going to do?' Julia, too, was close to tears.

‘I don't know. We can't go back up the High Street with all those louts fighting.'

‘They pushed the policeman in the river! Did you see … ?'

‘Perhaps we ought to dial 999 and tell somebody. Then maybe
they'd
give us a lift home.'

There was somebody in the telephone box. Incredibly they hadn't noticed before, intent as they had been on trying to catch their taxi. Now, as he opened the kiosk door, Heather recognised the young man who had rescued her from the unwelcome attentions of Brian earlier. He recognised her too. He let the door slam to behind him and stood staring.

Julia caught Heather's arm in panic.

‘It's one of them! Come on!'

‘No – he's all right,' Heather said. She went up to him. ‘There's a fight. They threw the policeman in the river. We want to dial 999.'

‘Don't worry – I already have.'

‘Oh!'

‘Why are you still here?' he asked. The unfamiliar accent sounded even thicker now than it had in the Palais.

‘We missed our taxi. We're stranded.'

‘You should not be here. At this time of night, on your own.'

‘You don't have to tell us that!' Julia wailed.

‘We don't know how we're going to get home,' Heather said.

He only hesitated a moment. ‘OK – I'll take you.'

‘You've got a car?' Heather asked.

‘An old one, yes. But it goes. Come on.'

Julia grabbed Heather's arm again. ‘Heather! We don't know him!'

‘He's all right, I tell you.' She turned back to the tall young man. ‘Where's your car then?'

‘Over there. In the Island.' He nodded towards a square, surrounded by shops, on the other side of the road.

Yells and the sound of running feet from the direction of the High Street announced that some of the rampaging gangs were heading back towards the town centre.

‘Come on!' he said sharply. ‘You don't want to get mixed up in that.' He began to cross the road and this time Julia did not argue.

The car – an Austin Seven – was the only one still parked in the Island. He unlocked the doors and Julia tumbled into the back seat whilst Heather got into the front. Looking over her shoulder she saw that the fight had started up again in the very spot where they had been standing minutes before.

‘You'd better tell me where you live,' he said, starting the engine.

‘Hillsbridge,' Heather said, and sank back against the battered leather seat shivering with relief – and something else. Though she didn't have the time or the inclination to analyse it yet, it felt rather like excitement.

She couldn't stop thinking about him. She couldn't remember when she had last felt this way – well, actually yes, she could remember, but it was so long ago it seemed as if it had happened to a different person, not to her at all. To wake in the mornings with a sense of anticipation bubbling inside, to go to sleep at night picturing his face, hearing that heavily accented voice speaking in her head, and feeling a glow that began in the area around her heart and spread little shivers of warmth into her veins.

She knew his name now – Steven Okonski – and she knew that he was Polish. That much she had learned from David by questioning him discreetly. But that was all she knew. Since Steven was a miner and David worked in the carpenters'shop there was no real point of contact. Each day after lunch she set off eagerly down the hill, hoping to see him there squatting under the wall opposite the colliery waiting for his coach, and each day she was disappointed. He must be on a different shift, she supposed. And what good would it do her if he
was
there? He was hardly likely to say anything to her in front of the other men. She just wanted to see him. For the moment, with the thrill of attraction new and exciting, that would have been enough.

On the night of the dance he had dropped off first Julia and then her. He had been pleasant and polite but that had been the end of it. In the slight pause when she got out of the car – he had come around and opened the door for her – she had thought – hoped! – he might ask to see her again. But he hadn't.

That, perhaps, was part of the attraction. Used as she was to being chased and propositioned, the fact that he showed no sign of interest posed a challenge. And yet she had the unmistakable feeling that, contrary to the evidence, he
was
interested. There was a spark in the air between them, a frisson that she was sure wasn't all one-sided.

Well, there was nothing she could do about it except perhaps try to be in the places where he might be too. But she didn't think he was much of a one for the social whirl of the young and unattached in Hillsbridge and the surrounding villages. She couldn't remember ever having seen him at the weekly dance at the Palais – and if he'd been there she felt sure she would have noticed him. No, he was definitely different, and the difference and the slight air of mystery that surrounded him helped to make him a romantic figure, the stuff that dreams were made of.

After a week or so of savouring her new-found emotions, impatience and a nagging feeling of helpless impotence began to set in. If it had been summer she would have gone for walks in the general direction of Purldown, but it wasn't summer. It was November, and no-one in their right mind would be going for walks in the cold and the dark unless they had a good reason. Heather didn't want to be so obvious and, in any case, the chances of bumping into Steven in those circumstances were practically nil.

By the night of the carnival she was close to despair. She was going with a crowd of others, a big loose group who ‘got around together'as Carrie called it. Some of them met up in the centre of Hillsbridge, on the corner outside the Rectory, and gathered up several more as they walked towards South Compton.

The road was thronging with people all with one objective in mind, and the carnival spirit was already evident even before they reached the outskirts of the town and the first of the booths selling candyfloss and hot dogs.

Heather and her friends made their way back along the route the carnival would take. They wanted to get an early view of Julia riding in the Queen's Coach and later, when the procession had passed, they could slip through a short cut to the town centre, catching the tail end of it again and being in the right place to enjoy all the attractions of the street fair and the squibbing – the ritual setting off of firecrackers – which would follow.