Page 82 of Lessons in Life

‘Oh? And what’s that supposed to mean?’ The redhead turned, squaring up to Janice, who stood her ground.

‘It means judging someone on their skin colour, not on what’s inside them.’ Janice’s face was almost the colour of the other girl’s hair. ‘It means you’re uneducated…’

‘Oh yeah? You’re just as uneducated as me, Janice Atkinson, leaving school at fifteen, so don’t get all high and mighty, full of yourself, with me.’

‘Yes, well… well… I’m doing O levels at night school…’ Janice trailed off as Jean, Gail and Eileen all turned in surprise.

‘Are you?’ Gail said, giving Janice such a look, Eloise almost wanted to laugh. ‘What for?’

‘Because I want to travel. I want to be a travel agent. I don’t want to work at Hudson’s all my life, get married and have a load of kids while my husband’s down the pub. Or…’ Janice paused ‘…I might even try to be a teacher.’

‘A teacher?’ Eileen laughed out loud. ‘You’re mad. What do you want to be a bloody teacher for? We hated school.’

‘Ididn’t. I liked it.’

There was silence for a split second before the girls who’d obviously been at St Mede’s Sec Modern with Janice started to laugh. ‘Oh, you daft bugger, Janice.’ Eileen took her arm. ‘Cut it out. Come on, “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” is on. I need to dance.’

* * *

Eloise spent the next hour trying to work out how she should be dancing. She followed the moves of the other girls as they bopped and gyrated in a big circle, handbags in the middle of the dance floor. Lads gathered at its edge, watching, laughing and occasionally breaking free from their group – usually in a pair – to herd a couple of girls they obviously fancied out of the circle. Goodness, Eloise thought, it was all a bit different from marking your dance card at the start of the evening. She watched as, one by one, Eileen, then Jean and then Gail were separated from the group, had a couple of token dances with their captors before following them down to the bar where they remained.

She and Janice were left on the dance floor with several other girls Eloise didn’t know and, after Janice had rebuffed the attention of several potential suitors, Eloise realised the other girl was not prepared to leave her. When Eloise recognised, at the edge of the dance floor, smoking and laughing with his mates, the boy from Hudson’s, the one who Janice obviously had a thing for, Eloise made a decision.

‘Look, go and say hello to him,’ she instructed Janice. ‘I can look after myself. I’m desperate for the lavatory, to be honest.’ With an encouraging smile in the boy’s direction, she picked up her handbag and moved through the crowd back to the stairs and the ladies’ restroom. Once in there, she leaned her head against the cool mirror and then, as the door opened and a gaggle of girls came in, fled into one of the cubicles.

‘Did you see that beautiful blonde girl on the dance floor?’ one was saying. ‘Hair up in a ribbon to match the fabulous pink flowered Mary Quant dress? It must have cost a fortune.’

‘Do you think she was a model? Up from London or Manchester?’

‘All the lads were looking at her.’ The girl laughed. ‘Not one of them dared to make a move on her. Oh, to be as gorgeous and upmarket as that…’

‘In your dreams, Barbs. Come on, I’m going to get more lagers down me and then I’m going to ask Kevin Conlon to dance…’

The restroom door banged shut and Eloise, who’d been holding her breath, slowly exhaled then left the cubicle while wondering how to make an exit from the club. She stole a look in the long mirror, smeared now with make-up. Had those girls been talking about her? She looked at the blonde hair, the pink ribbon, at the pink-and-white Mary Quant dress. Her face, alive and pretty, seemed to belong to someone else.

‘Hello, Eloise Hudson,’ she murmured at her reflection and then, feeling foolish, looked at her watch – 10.30p.m. Granny Maude would be getting worried. She left the restroom, standing at the top of the stairs to watch the people down below. The crowd was thinning out, probably heading to the bar for last orders. She scanned the room looking for Janice and was delighted to see she was now chatting to the boy she’d had her eye on. Good, she could make her goodbyes and get herself a taxi from the rank outside the nightclub. Or would one of the doormen do that for her? Or was that just at Claridge’s in London? She smiled, remembering a trip to the capital city with Maude a couple of years back when they’d stayed at the hotel. They’d been to the theatre and had dinner at the revolving Post Office Tower restaurant where Mick Jagger and Chrissie Shrimpton were also dining. Gosh, that had been exciting. Maude had become quite animated, and Eloise had had to restrain her from going over for a chat with the pair.

Eloise headed for the door, wanting to catch Janice’s attention, worried suddenly about how she was going to return the dress. What if Janice wanted to wear it the following day?

‘Oh, are you going?’ Janice was immediately by her side, concern etched on her face. ‘Are you all right? I thought you must be with the others.’

‘No, no, honestly, please, don’t worry about me. I’m going to get a taxi.’ Eloise could see the other girl was torn between going with her to the taxi rank and accompanying the boy as he began to turn away. ‘I’m fine, really.’

‘You’ve got money for a taxi?’

‘Yes. I’m just worried about your dress.’

‘Why?’ Janice laughed and the boy caught hold of her hand, smiling down at her. Eloise felt a flash of something. Envy? Lust? Sadness? The recurring dream that so often was there, the images always tantalisingly disappearing before she could form them into a tangible memory on waking? ‘Just bring it with you to work on Monday. You sure you’re OK?’

‘Oh, absolutely! Utterly fine.’ While she did her best to smile and reassure Janice, Eloise herself wasn’t convinced. How ridiculous, here she was at seventeen and had never taken a taxi by herself. Did she have to jump out into the road and shout ‘Taxi’ as Maude had done so efficiently and imperiously on Bond Street?

Eloise made her way past a couple locked around each other on the stairs, the boy’s hand burrowing under the girl’s skimpy shirt in the manner of an enthusiastic mole; on past a pair arguing, the girl sobbing as she pulled at the boy’s reluctant hand. She skirted round Roy the doorman, who suddenly jumped out at her, leering, his own red sweating face just inches from her own.

‘Where’s your mates, love? If you hang around for another half an hour, I’ll give you a lift home.’ Eloise smiled politely, declining the man’s offer as she left through the main exit. Avoiding a pool of vomit and three football-chanting men, she set off towards where she thought the taxi rank was.

She walked through the Saturday-night revellers, the bus queues full of hot-dog-eating men and women, and Eloise, who’d always been censured that to eat in the street was appallingly bad manners, was quite taken aback. She really had no idea where she was going and eventually braved a posse of girls, asking if they could point her in the direction of a taxi rank.

‘What’s wrong wi’t’bus?’ one of them jeered through a mouthful of fried onion and tomato ketchup, a couple of specs of masticated hot-dog landing on Eloise’s neck and dress.

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