Lonely Teardrops (2008) (13 page)

‘Drat you, Steve Blackstock! See if I care.’ And fired with rebellion, Harriet lifted her chin and walked into the dance hall in Vinny’s wake.

Harriet had to admit that she was having a great time. Vinny was fun, although his mates when they turned up later were a bit of a pain, rather loud and raucous, embarrassing her a bit in front of all her friends. Terry Hall’s skiffle group had been playing for over an hour, beating out several popular numbers including two of her favourites,
Bird Dog
, and
Stagger Lee.

When Terry stepped down from the stage, Vinny and his mates gathered up their guitars and climbed up to take their place. They weren’t very good, being far too loud and slightly out of tune but everyone clapped and cheered and bopped like crazy. What they lacked in skill they more than made up for in the energy they exerted by throwing themselves about the stage. It was a real laugh.

Lizzie Pringle came over to say hello, mentioning how pleased she was that Harriet was going to be working with her. She was often still called by this name, because of the business, even though she’d married her beloved Charlie. ‘Steve not here tonight?’ she asked.

Harriet shook her head, not trusting herself to answer.

Lizzie glanced across at Vinny, standing at the door as he sank a pint of bitter. Alcohol wasn’t allowed on the premises but he was old enough to buy it elsewhere.

‘You can sit with us, if you’re on your own,’ Lizzie said, indicating the group of friends she was with, which, besides Charlie, included Lynda Hemley who was always around when Terry was doing a turn with his group; Dena Dobson with her new doctor friend; and Gina Bertalone and Luc.

Harriet decided she’d feel out of place as the only single. Besides, she told herself firmly, she’d stopped looking for Steve after the third or fourth dance. If he was no longer interested in her, why should she care about him? He wasn’t the only boy in the world.

‘I’m OK, thanks.’

‘You don’t look it, to be honest.’ Lizzie peered closely into her face and glanced across at Vinny as if she disapproved. Then Terry Hall put on a slow record,
It’s All in the Game
, sung by Tommy Edwards, and before Harriet could think of a suitable reply Vinny came right over and pulled her into his arms for a smooch without even asking.

Harriet laughed as he pressed her close against him, running his hands up and down her back. ‘As you can see, I’m having a great time and I’m fine,’ she called out to her friend as they moved away.
 

‘If you’re sure . . .’
 
Lizzie looked unconvinced but shrugged her shoulders and left them to it. It was then that Harriet saw him. Steve had arrived. He was standing at the door glaring right across at her. Determined to show that she really didn’t care about being stood up, she slid her arms tighter about Vinny’s neck and ignored him. If he wanted her, let him show it. Let him make the first move.

The next instant he was standing beside her. He tapped Vinny on the shoulder. ‘You can leave now, mate.’

‘Excuse me?’ Vinny blinked at him, as if he were looking at some worm that had just crawled up through the floorboards.

‘That’s my girl you’re dancing with, so I’d be obliged if you’d hand her over and sling your hook.’

Vinny’s hazel eyes widened in mock surprise. ‘Hand her over? What is she, a parcel? Anyway, who says she’s your girl?’

‘I do.’

‘Is that right?’

‘Yeah, that’s right! So beat it.’

‘Aren’t you even going to apologise for abandoning her, for leaving her standing out in the street all on her own for an hour?’

‘I might apologise to her, not to you, buster. Move.’

Harriet finally found her voice. ‘Excuse me, but would you mind not speaking about me as if I’m not here. Vinny’s right, you did abandon me, quite without warning. You stood me up, so what gives you the right to march in and ask him to hand me over, just as if I were a bit of baggage you forgot to pick up?’

Steve looked surprised by this response. ‘But I can explain.’

‘I’m not sure I want to listen to your excuses.’

‘They aren’t excuses. I thought you’d wait for me, Harriet, not go off with someone else. You’re my girl, so of course you belong to me.’

Vinny stifled a guffaw of laughter, and, still holding Harriet firmly in his arms, quietly remarked, ‘Is that right, babe, do you
belong
to him? And there’s me thinking you were a free and independent-minded young woman.’

‘So I am,’ Harriet hotly protested, inflamed by Steve’s assumption that she’d still be hanging around waiting for him, all pathetic and needy. ‘Sorry, Steve. I’m dancing with Vinny right now. Would you mind getting out of the way as you’re causing a scene. You can ask me again later, when I’m free,’ and resting her cheek against Vinny’s, she let him sway her in his arms, in time to the music.

Tight lipped, Steve whirled on his heels and strode away without another word. When the dance was over Harriet could see no sign of him. Her stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch. She’d obviously upset him by not rushing straight into his arms, as she might eagerly have done only a week ago. But she really didn’t care. He’d let her down by not supporting her against his parents’ disapproval. How things had changed. Oh, but she didn’t want to lose him.
 

‘Take no notice of wonder-boy,’ Vinny was saying as he nibbled her ear lobe. ‘Doesn’t know how to treat a girl. Say what you like about me, I do know how to give a chick a good time.’

Harriet gave Vinny a vague smile, but her mind was on Steve. She couldn’t instantly stop loving him simply because he was in a sulk, or didn’t quite know how to handle this complicated situation. Maybe she was being a bit hard on him. He was confused about it all, and so was she. Then Harriet caught sight of him across the dance floor, and, politely excusing herself to Vinny, began to make her way towards him, unable to resist allowing her beloved Steve one last chance to apologise.

Before she reached him the music started up again and, after casting a furious glare in her direction, he turned away and asked a blonde to dance. The girl almost fell into his arms, obviously delighted to be asked, and Steve eagerly wrapped his arms about her.

Harriet stopped dead, hugely embarrassed that she should be left standing in the middle of the dance floor, so obviously snubbed. Vinny saw her dilemma and was back at her elbow in a second. ‘Come on, babe, let’s get some fresh air.’

Feeling weak, and shaken by Steve’s rebuff, Harriet allowed Vinny to lead her outside. He pressed her up against a wall and started to kiss her with the same kind of energy and single-mindedness that he’d demonstrated on stage earlier. Harriet offered no resistance. At any other time she might have slapped him away, but tonight her self-esteem was at an all-time low.

Harriet was hurting badly, feeling let down by Steve’s thoughtless arrogance. Not only had he failed to support her against his mother’s sarcasm then ignored her all week, but he’d turned up at the dance over an hour late, and taken it for granted she’d still be hanging around waiting for him. What cheek! And to add insult to injury, he now had his arms wrapped around that blonde.

Maybe
she
was the kind of
nice
girl his mother would approve of. Perhaps he agreed with his parents sudden change of attitude towards her, and didn’t feel the need to show Harriet any respect either. She felt a deep sense of shame, as if she’d committed some sin or other, instantly quenched by a stir of hot fury that roared through her veins. How dare Steve treat her with such contempt!

The unexpected anger at least helped to offset the pain that was clenching her heart, and she put her arms around Vinny’s neck and began to kiss him with renewed fervour.

Steve Blackstock could go take a long walk off a short pier, as Nan would say. He’d had his chance and lost it.

Chapter Eleven

On the Saturday morning following her committee meeting, Rose asked, ‘Can we have us tea early tonight? Only I’m off round to Irma’s to have me cards read.’

Harriet didn’t seem to hear as she placed a plate of scrambled eggs on toast before her grandmother. She kept endlessly going over what had happened at the dance the previous night, wondering what became of Steve after he’d waltzed off with that blonde. She hadn’t seen him again all evening. But then she’d spent rather a long time outside getting some ‘fresh air’ with Vinny Turner.
 

Oh, she did hope Steve didn’t see her necking with him. That would be too embarrassing. Harriet was feeling just a little ashamed of her reckless behaviour, already having second thoughts over accepting an invitation to see Vinny again tonight. That had come about as a moment of rebellion because she suspected Steve had gone off with the blonde.

Joyce’s voice intruded sharply upon her thoughts. ‘I asked for salt and pepper. You can’t even set a breakfast table properly.’

Harriet brought the cruet without comment, then turning to her grandmother, finally answered her question. ‘Course we can have supper early, Nan, no problem. Just tell me what would you’d like to eat.’

‘Nay, chuck, I don’t mind. Whatever you cook is allus delicious. Something I can chew easy with these new false teeth of mine.’

‘An early tea would suit me too as I’m going out myself, as a matter of fact, to the pictures with a friend.’

‘It might not suit me,’ Grant complained, in his habitual whine.

Both Harriet and Rose ignored him.

‘You off out with young Steve?’ Rose queried with a teasing wink, but to her surprise, Harriet shook her head.

‘No, not tonight.’

‘Eeh, that’s a turn up for the book, I thought you and him were like that,’ Nan said, crossing her fingers, which wasn’t easy with a piece of toast clutched in them.

‘So who are you going with?’ Joyce sharply enquired.

‘Anyone I know?’ Grant added.

Harriet cast him a vague smile. ‘I do hope not.’

Rose smacked her grandson’s hand as he reached for the last slice of toast. ‘You keep yer nose out, you. Leave the poor lass alone. If her and Steve are having problems it’s nowt to do wi’ you. Anyroad, I’m going to solve all our problems tonight with a throw of them cards. Irma’s ability at fortune telling is unsurpassed.’

Joyce snorted her derision. ‘Lot of superstitious nonsense.’

‘Course it is, and I believe every word.’

‘There’s a fool born every minute.’

Rose laughed. ‘Well, I can’t help how I were born. At least I haven’t made a life-time’s career of being one, like some folk I could mention.’

Joyce glared at her mother, but said nothing further.

Grant simply grinned, thinking that he might make it his business to find out exactly who it was Harriet was seeing tonight. It could well prove interesting.

Joyce endured a long, tiring day at the salon and when finally she shut up for the day, was delighted to discover that everyone, including her mother, had indeed gone out for the evening. Harriet had left supper for her under a plate in the oven to keep warm. She turned it off, her mind returning instinctively that long ago party.

Joyce had been dreadfully upset by what had happened at her friend Eileen’s house. She felt unclean, dirty and despoiled. The first thing she did when she got home that night was to run a bath, far more than the regulatory few inches, and she soaped herself all over, inside and out. Joyce was appalled by what had happened to her, and, once the first shock passed, had sobbed her heart out.

Who would want to marry her now? No respectable man, that was for sure. Certainly not a handsome sailor. She was ruined, desecrated, violated. Her hopes and dreams for a better future were quite gone. She’d end up under the arches with the other prossies.

She’d spent the next hour or two in self-chastisement, berating herself up for being all kinds of a fool, telling herself she should have made a run for it the minute she’d seen what state the young man was in. But then the lad had seemed quite merry, really quite jolly at first, and non-threatening. How was she to know he’d turn nasty?

After a while she dried her tears, pushed back her hair and started to think more clearly. Who knew about this? No one. It became very clear to her in a moment of complete lucidity, that the least said, soonest mended. She didn’t even know his name, and he was so drunk she doubted he would recognise her even if he did ever see her again. The chances were he wouldn’t remember anything about it. With luck, their paths would never cross again and this whole unpleasant episode could be swept aside and forgotten.
 

Joyce made up her mind not to tell a soul, certainly not her own mother who was a strong Methodist and didn’t believe in hanky-panky before marriage, nor strong liquor at any time. Rose would be sure to accuse her of drinking, even though she hadn’t touched a drop. Her mother would castigate her for even being at a party where strong drink was being served, and no doubt blame Joyce for things getting out of hand.

She could almost hear her saying it. ‘You should have had more sense. Boys will be boys. You shouldn’t have even been at a party where there was alcohol.’

It simply wasn’t worth risking the arguments that would surely follow simply for a bit of sympathy. Nor had Joyce any wish to lose her reputation, which was very important to her.