Chapter 26
26
JULY 1968
Eloise
The large, red-faced bouncer on the door of the Regent Rooms nodded at Janice, Gail, Eileen and Jean, glancing briefly at their membership cards before allowing them in.
‘Hang on, are you a member, love?’ He stepped in front of Eloise, barring access as she attempted to follow the others.
‘Er…’ Eloise glanced towards Janice for help. If she wasn’t a member, she wouldn’t be able to go in, she thought. Then she could get a taxi back to the safe haven of Maude’s cottage.
‘She’s with us,’ Janice called over her shoulder. ‘Give her a guest pass, Roy, and if she likes it, she’ll get a member’s card next time. She’s posh, is Eloise. You should be bloody grateful to have her in this crummy place. Don’t you dare turn her away. If she doesn’t get in, none of us are coming in. We’ll be off to Moonlight instead.’
‘She is that.’ Roy grinned admiringly, his small eyes moving over every part of Eloise’s body until she felt herself grow hot with embarrassment. ‘Don’t know where you’ve come across this one, Janice,’ he added, the sweaty hand tapping at Eloise’s backside apparently giving the consent needed to follow the others. ‘Right, you’re in, love, and I’m out here all night if you get lonely.’ He leered in Eloise’s face and she hastily followed Janice into a darkened, smoke-filled room, a DJ at one end, stairs, apparently leading down to a bar, at the other.
Janice and the others immediately made their way to an adjacent flight of red swirly-patterned-carpeted stairs, Eloise following in their wake, her shoes lifting stickily with each step. The door at the top opened to reveal a bank of washbasins and mirrors, each surrounded by a posse of girls backcombing hair, spraying Elnett, adding more black to already darkened eyes and pale colour to pouting lips.
‘Bloody hell, watch what you’re doing,’ a fiery redhead was saying to another girl. ‘The bloody stick’s gone in me eye now.’
‘Well, get out the way, then, stop hogging the mirror – let someone else in.’
The mixed pungent smells of Youth Dew – Eloise recognised her mother’s choice of perfume – Coty’s Masumi and the smell of urine from a broken-down toilet on her left were making Eloise feel sick. She stood on the periphery of the restroom, not sure what to do, but eventually reached into her bag for the one piece of make-up – a pink lipstick – she had with her, taking her time to outline and fill her lips, copying how the other girls completed the task.
‘Hey—’ one of the girls she didn’t recognise broke off from applying yet another layer of pan stick to her face ‘—that lad from the carding shed – you know, that right good-looking Asian lad – is here.’
‘Here?’ Several of the girls turned in surprise. ‘Why? What’s he doing here? I’ve never seen any of his lot in here before.’
‘Well, he won’t be here to dance, will he? Or drink. I don’t think they’re allowed, are they? Isn’t it against their religion?’
‘Yes, I’ve seen him too. He’s wandering round with that camera of his,’ another girl said.
‘His camera? There aren’t any birds in here, are there?’ Eileen started laughing. ‘Not the feathered type anyhow.’
‘Ugh, that’s weird. He’s not taking my photo.’ The redhead pulled a face. ‘My Ronnie would soon be after him if he caught one of that lot looking at me; taking photos of me.’ She fluffed up her hair in the mirror, admiring her reflection.
‘He’s a superb photographer. I’ve seen some of his stuff. Why wouldn’t you want him photographing you?’ Janice frowned.
‘Well, you know.’
‘No. What?’ Janice wasn’t letting the girl’s racist remarks go.
‘Well, it’s not right, is it? One of them taking pictures of us.’
‘Would you let David Bailey take photos of you?’ Janice asked.
‘Yeah, course, don’t be daft.’ The redhead was indignant. ‘I’d strip off to me knicks if he could get me to be a model.’
‘So, Junayd, like David Bailey, is a man. Yes?’ Janice was warming to her theme.
‘Yes?’
‘And Junayd is as good looking as, if not better looking than, David Bailey?’
‘Suppose.’
‘I think he looks like Omar Sharif,’ Eileen started. ‘You know, in Doctor Zhivago …?’
‘He doesn’t look anything like Omar Sharif, Eileen,’ Janice snapped. ‘Omar Sharif is Egyptian for a start, and much older: he must be pushing forty. Junayd Sattar is only our age.’
‘I wouldn’t know.’ The redhead turned to her mates, tutting and pulling a face towards Janice in the mirror.
‘Well, I’m telling you, he is.’ Janice was cross. ‘And you’re being downright prejudiced.’
‘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.’
‘ I didn’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.
‘Are you all right?’ The boy with the camera from the mill was suddenly at her side, taking her arm gently and leading her away from the bus-stop horde.
‘Oh, hello!’ Eloise said brightly. Too brightly. ‘I don’t really know the geography of the town centre. I’m trying to find a taxi. I believe I should be looking for a rank?’
‘You’re going in totally the wrong direction,’ the boy said. ‘You need to be up at the railway station. Come on, I’ll walk you there; you look as if you’re about to be eaten alive by this lot.’
‘Oh, that is so kind,’ Eloise said gratefully, doing an about-turn as she followed him. ‘I’m Eloise,’ she added.
‘I know exactly who you are,’ he said without smiling.
‘It’s Junayd, isn’t it? I believe you’ve been at the Regent Rooms this evening?’
He nodded. ‘I saw you there.’
‘Oh? Really?’
‘You looked out of your depth.’
‘I think I was really. I’m not convinced I’ll repeat the experience.’ And then, worried that the boy might think her snobbish, above herself, added, ‘I rather enjoyed myself though.’
He laughed out loud at that. ‘You looked as if you were about to be executed, to be honest.’
‘Really? Oh dear. I’ll try harder next time. If there is a next time.’
‘You look very different tonight from when you scared my thrush away.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry about that. Yes, I’ve been with Janice from the mill – this is her dress.’
‘She’s OK, is Janice. She’ll speak to me when others won’t.’
‘Who won’t speak to you?’
‘Oh, Eloise, come on, you must know your dad’s workers from Pakistan are looked down upon by the rest of the shop floor.’
‘I can’t imagine why,’ Eloise said hotly.
‘You can’t?’ The boy gave a bark of laughter. ‘Come on, Eloise. “Ovver ’ere, tekking what’s ours! Tekking our jobs? Foreigners? Eating all that curry muck?”’ The boy adopted a broad Yorkshire accent totally at odds with his appearance. He might be wearing Levi’s and a shirt, but his dark good looks were very different from the pale-skinned, fair-haired Yorkshire-born youths they were now walking round and through. ‘So, tell me about your camera. Your photography.’
‘I’m just starting, really. Granny bought me the camera as a late birthday present.’
‘It’s a good one. You must know that.’ Junayd smiled down at her.
‘Oh, I do, but I’m going to need some lessons on its finer points. So, what were you doing at the Regent Rooms this evening?’
‘I’ve become pretty good friends with the editor of the Midhope Examiner ’s son.’
‘Oh?’
‘We met doing A levels at night school. David had been at the boys’ grammar school, messed about, failed all his exams and his dad said he’d have to retake them at night school, which he did. He’s at Bradford University now, training to be an optician. Anyway, when David’s dad is short of a photographer – and so many from the Examiner are off on holiday at the moment – I get a note through the door asking me to step in. There was some celebration going on at the Regent Rooms this evening, so I went along with the features writer and took a load of pictures.’
‘Oh? And did you pass your exams too?’
‘I’ve another couple of years to do. Starting from scratch and doing them part-time takes a lot longer than simply doing resits.’
‘That must be dreadfully hard, working in the carding shed all day and then off to do A levels at night?’
‘My dad’s convinced I’m going to be an engineer or even a doctor.’
‘And you’re not?’
‘We’re here,’ Junayd said, ignoring her question, but taking her hand and running across the road towards the town’s railway station where a line of white taxis was waiting for customers. ‘There you go, you’re safe now.’
‘How are you getting home?’ She turned to look into Junayd’s face, struck once again by his beautifully chiselled features, his dark brown eyes, his dark hair.
‘I live just at the other side of the bus station. Where all the newcomers live. The Irish and Poles have moved on and upwards. It’s the turn of the West Indians and us now.’
‘You sound slightly cynical.’ Eloise was proud of that word.
‘I suppose I am. Workers are invited here from the old British Empire to fuel the local industries – to keep Britain going – but we’re not appreciated. And downright frowned upon if we try to get the education we have to have in order to move up in life.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry? Why on earth should you be sorry? Oh, because of who your dad is?’
‘I suppose so.’ Eloise paused and then, knowing her face was aflame, suddenly asked: ‘I say, I know this is awfully cheeky of me, but would you perhaps give me some lessons?’
‘Lessons? Oh, with the camera?’ Junayd frowned. ‘What would your dad and your brother say if they knew about that?’
‘I think they’d be delighted,’ Eloise lied.
‘I think they’d be horrified, Eloise.’ Junayd stared at her, taking in the earnest face, the full mouth with its long upper lip, the naturally streaked blonde hair that was beginning to escape from its pink ribbon. ‘Encouraging me to teach you to use your camera would never be on their agenda. And you know it.’ He turned and, before Eloise could thank him properly, he was gone.