Chapter 22
22
JULY 1968
Eloise
‘Eloise!’ Muriel Hudson’s strident voice flew up the stairs at Hudson House like a pistol shot. ‘Come down from that bedroom. I need some help.’
Eloise, sitting cross-legged on the bed while poring over the photography books she’d borrowed from Beddingfield library that morning, tutted, hoping that if she ignored her mother she might go away. No such luck. There was a rattle of the door handle and then, when Muriel realised it was locked, she rapped smartly.
‘Why are you locking the bedroom door?’ she called impatiently. ‘What are you doing in there?’
Eloise sighed, but went to the door, turning down Emperor Rosko, who was holding forth on Radio 1 on her transistor.
‘What are you doing?’ Muriel repeated once she was in the room, and, seeing the dishevelled bedspread, added, ‘I’m sure they don’t allow sitting on one’s bed in Switzerland. And turn off that infernal noise, do, Eloise. Now, I need some help with these guest lists.’
‘Guest lists?’
‘Eloise, it’s your coming-out ball…’
‘No, it’s not, Mummy. It’s yours . It’s you who wants me out in society.’
‘Out of my hair, to be honest, Eloise. Sitting up here on your bed, listening to this racket. It isn’t good for your posture, your ears or… or your standing in society.’
Eloise actually laughed at that. ‘I don’t think there’s much society here in Beddingfield.’
‘Exactly.’ Muriel smelt victory. ‘And that’s why we’re having the ball in Leeds. At The Queen’s hotel. Now, Mrs Livesey is coming round later for both of our dress fittings.’
‘But the party’s absolutely ages off. Next year! I’m going down to Granny’s. She says I can stay the night.’
‘Why on earth do you want to spend the night with Granny?’ Muriel, at loggerheads with her mother-in-law since the day they’d first been introduced, was genuinely perplexed.
So I can go out with Janice and the others to the Regent Rooms. If I can pluck up the courage. The words, in Eloise’s head, remained unspoken. Instead, she said, ‘Granny actually knows quite a bit about cameras. She doesn’t let on that she does, but?—’
‘Oh, cameras, art, photography. Fiddle. Maude Hudson has always considered herself an artist. Bohemian, I’d say. Anyway, Eloise, I need you here this evening. Daddy and I are off to some do in Bradford.’ Muriel sighed. ‘It will be an absolute bore, the usual bankers and accountants and the like fawning over your father trying to get him to do business with them.’
‘Don’t go, then.’
‘One has to show willing.’ Muriel gave a little on-off smile to convey the graciousness that went hand in hand with being the wife of a wealthy mill owner. ‘So, I need you to look after Michael.’
‘Babysit Michael? You’re not serious, Mummy.’ Eloise felt her pulse race at the unfairness of it all.
‘Totally serious. He’s thirteen. He can’t stay here by himself – he’d eat everything in the larder and the fridge.’
Probably down the contents of her father’s drinks cabinet as well, Eloise mused. She’d mopped up three inebriated adolescents and helped dispose of the evidence back in the Easter vac when Michael’s two friends from St Cuthbert’s had come to stay. So, that was her evening out with Janice and the girls up the swanny, then. To be honest, she knew in her heart, even if she’d gone down to stay with Maude, she wouldn’t have dared take the next step, turning up at the address Janice had written down for her, before telling her to be there at 7p.m. on Saturday. Well, Saturday was here and it didn’t look as if she was going anywhere except watching Opportunity Knocks with Michael. She adored her little brother: there was something very endearing about his naughtiness, about his arrogance. He was a gorgeous-looking, floppy-haired thirteen-year-old, the world his oyster, and one day he’d be out there, ruling it. But until then, he commanded his big sister to bowl endless balls to him down the lawn and to feed him ham and beetroot sandwiches and tell him what she knew about sex. Which wasn’t a great deal. Michael himself had opened her eyes to what went on in the big bad world when he’d surreptitiously passed her a tattered paperback copy of The Perfumed Garden he’d brought back from school. Goodness, there were things in there…
‘Oh,’ Muriel tutted, hearing a door bang and Michael’s voice calling up the stairs. ‘There’s Mrs Livesey now. Why can’t these people keep to their appointed time? I do hope you’ve clean underwear and your roll-on on?’
Eloise sighed but reached into her underwear drawer for her M shows off those fabulous pins of yours. It’s beautiful, love. You’re beautiful. Just let our Janice put you a bit of make-up on.’
‘Right.’ Janice turned from taking out the curlers and brushing her now bouncy hair down to her shoulders. ‘Which dress, Mum? This one I’ve already got out?’
‘How about the little yellow-and-white one I copied from Vogue ? The daisy dress.’
‘Ooh, yes, I’ve not worn it since we went to Blackpool last summer.’
Eloise stared, taken aback at the girly banter between Janice and her mother. Never in a million years could she imagine Muriel chatting to her like her best friend while she stood there in her undergarments. She felt a flash of envy. What must it be like to have a mother like this one?
‘Oh goodness, you look wonderful,’ Eloise breathed once Janice was fully made up and had the yellow dress on.
Obviously not fully. ‘Not got me lashes on yet.’ Janice laughed. ‘Bald as a wotsit without them.’
‘Right, come on, over here, Eloise,’ she ordered two minutes later. ‘Sit down.’
‘Put a towel round her, Janice,’ Norma advised. ‘Your mum does know you’re here, doesn’t she, love? She knows you’re off out with our Janice and her mates?’
‘Granny does.’ Eloise breathed, swivelling round on the little stool to face Janice as a crepe bandage was placed around her hairline and a tan pan stick applied to her cheeks and forehead. ‘I’m staying with her tonight. She’s just dropped me off.’
Five minutes later, once a final coat of Rimmel had been applied to her eyelashes, she was allowed to swivel back to the mirror to view the results. Staring back at her was a face she didn’t recognise, and she almost turned round to view the beautiful girl who must have taken her place on the stool.
‘What shall we do with her hair, Mum? Mum,’ she told Eloise, ‘used to be a hairdresser when she left school. But she gets paid so much more as a mender at Hudson’s.’
‘Better on me legs, but terrible on the eyes.’ Norma smiled. ‘You’ve beautiful thick hair, Eloise. Why don’t we just take it out of the rubber band – never use rubber bands in your hair, worst thing for it – then, let’s see, pull it up off your face, twist this round a bit.’ She secured it with a couple of clips, threaded some ribbon the same colour as the dress into its height before twisting the blonde locks dangling down around her fingers and fixing her handiwork with a blast of Elnett.
‘You, Eloise, could be a model. Have you never thought about it?’
‘I think my mother would see modelling as akin to selling myself on the street.’ Eloise blushed at the near mention of prostitution. ‘How do I stop blushing?’ she entreated.
‘Green powder, love. Here you go.’ Norma reached for the powder and brushed a tiny amount onto Eloise’s cheeks, standing back to see the result.
‘Right, we need to go, or we’ll miss the bus.’ Janice stood, and then frowned as she saw Eloise’s footwear. ‘Scholl sandals? She can’t dance in those.’
‘Well, she’ll have to. You’ve got big feet, love, or we’d lend you a pair.’
‘I know, I know,’ Eloise said, embarrassed as the three of them stared down at her feet. ‘I’ve always been a clodhopper.’
‘Don’t you believe it,’ Norma said as they left the bedroom and headed for the stairs. ‘Now, Janice, you’re to look after Eloise. She’s not used to being out with you lot. And no alcohol. She’s not eighteen yet.’ She turned back to Eloise. ‘I don’t think you’re eighteen yet, are you…?’ Norma broke off, the question left unanswered, as the door on their right opened.
‘Woah, who’s your mate?’ A tall, good-looking boy of around twenty was coming out of the bathroom, booted and suited and ready for Saturday-night revels.
‘Never you mind, Gary. She’s far too posh for you. You stick to your usual scrubbers.’
* * *
‘Your mum’s lovely,’ Eloise said, once they were upstairs on the red double-decker taking them into Midhope town centre. ‘But she seemed to know who I was.’
‘Everyone knows who you are, Eloise. You’ve been the talk of the mill ever since you started there.’
‘Really?’ Eloise digested this little nugget of information in silence.
‘Really. Right. Gail, Jean and Eileen get on here.’ Janice stood, opening the vehicle’s narrow top window before yelling down: ‘Oy, we’re up here, you lot.’
The three of them clattered up the bus’s steps, wobbling slightly on too-high heels, laughing raucously as they did so.
‘Blimey, nearly on me arse there.’
‘You lot had a drink already?’ Janice asked.
‘Yep, we called in for a Babycham at The Albion. Jacko and Ernie from work were in and bought us one each. Heck, you scrub up well,’ Jean went on as if suddenly realising, not only who Eloise was, but that she was with the group. ‘You look great.’
‘Janice’s mum was so utterly kind,’ Eloise explained, her cut-glass vowels, she was painfully aware, terribly out of place on the smoky top deck of the Number 32.
‘Right, I need a fag.’ Gail took out a pack of menthol Consulate, lighting up and immediately blowing smoke rings to the ceiling of the bus.
‘They’re like smoking bloody Polo mints,’ Eileen said. ‘But I’ve run out of me No.6. Come on, give us one. I’ll pay you back.’
Fifteen minutes later the bus, having stopped every two minutes to pick up more and more Saturday-evening revellers, came into the town’s bus station, spewing out its occupants into the warm July evening.
‘Hey, girls!’ A couple of lads in Levi’s and checked Ben Sherman shirts were standing on the pavement outside The Boot and Shoe, drinking pints. ‘Come and have a drink.’
‘They won’t let you into the Rooms in jeans,’ Janice advised. ‘It’s Saturday night. Suits only.’
‘Well, come and have a drink with us first, then, if you won’t be enjoying our company down there. Who’s your mate?’
‘Shall we?’ Eileen asked. ‘Come on, we’re too early to be going down to the Rooms. We don’t want to be the saddos in there first.’
‘You all right with that, Eloise?’ Janice asked.
‘Oh, don’t worry about her ,’ Gail said slightly cattily. ‘She’s fine. If she’s out with us, she needs to join in with us.’
‘Really, yes, lovely,’ Eloise stuttered. Maude had pressed a couple of pound notes into her hand – ‘For a taxi back if you need one,’ she’d said. ‘And no walking home in the dark.’ How did she pay her way? Did she pay for a round? But the other four girls appeared happy to have their drinks bought for them and Eloise ordered a vodka and tonic – Muriel’s drink of choice – while, to her embarrassment, the other girls asked for halves of lager and cider.
‘So, are you from round here, then?’ Bob, who was apparently a neighbour of Eileen’s, asked, placing an arm around Eloise’s waist and drawing her in to him. His breath smelt strongly of beer, but there was another overpowering scent she couldn’t identify.
‘Erm, Beddingfield,’ she finally said, not sure what to do with the sweaty hand that was moving down to her buttocks, pulling up the fabric slightly. In the short Mary Quant dress, she felt if it moved any lower it would be on her pants’ elastic. Nervously, she downed the vodka quickly, the tonic refreshing her mouth, which seemed to have dried up of any conversation. Chateau Mont-Choisi had never offered instruction as to what one should do when an unwanted stray hand was inching up towards one’s knickers.
‘Get your hand off Eloise’s backside,’ Janice warned. ‘Buying us a drink doesn’t mean you get to handle our bums. And, you’ve totally gone overboard on the Brut.’ Janice waved a hand in his direction. ‘Never heard of subtlety?’
Bob laughed, obviously finding Eloise’s lack of response an utter turn-off. He moved instead to Gail, who didn’t seem to mind him peering down her low-cut dress.
The alcohol swirling in her veins was making Eloise feel unsteady and she wished she were back home in the garden at Hudson House, the heady scent of night-scented stocks pervading her senses as she bowled endless cricket balls to Michael. Wished, even, she were back with Maude and Les Dawson.
‘Come on, it’s nearly nine,’ Janice ordered the girls. ‘Let’s get off. I’m dying for a dance.’
‘You’re dying to see if Paul Dyson’s there,’ Gail chortled, poking Janice in the ribs.
Janice linked one arm firmly with Eloise, while Jean took the other and, laughing, they swept her off the pavement and across the road to the Regent Rooms.
Escape, it appeared, was no longer an option.