Chapter 14
‘Hello, Derek! Fancy meeting you here. You’re looking well.’
‘Thanks.’
Even though he was shaking inside his lifts, he tried to radiate a calm confidence.
‘You, er . . . seem to have grown.’ Peggy studied him.
‘Do I?’ He prayed he wasn’t blushing. ‘Two haddock and chips, please, love, one with salt, one with salt and vinegar.’ The server nodded and prepared the order. ‘Thanks.’ Derek reached over the counter and took the warm parcel of newspaper from the woman.
‘Next.’
‘Oh, one cod and chips and two pickled onions, please,’ requested Peggy. ‘So, Derek.’ Peggy turned to face him and gave a polite smile. ‘What are you doing with yourself these days?’
Derek tried to lean nonchalantly against the chip shop wall, but misjudged the angle and tripped backwards awkwardly. ‘I’m actually in a group.’
‘Oh. A group of what?’ she enquired innocently.
‘A band. A rock band.’
‘Are you? Still playing your guitar then?’
‘Yep, still strumming away on that bloody thing, hahaha!’ The laugh was too aggressive, and caused Peggy to take a step back.
Save it, Derek. ‘As a matter of fact, Freddy Martin has just signed us up,’ he said, as casually as possible.
Peggy did a double-take. ‘You mean, the Freddy Martin?’
Bingo. She was impressed. ‘Yes. It’s early days yet, but things are looking good.’
‘Here’s your order, miss.’
‘Thanks.’ Peggy took her parcel from the woman behind the counter and the two of them moved towards the door of the chippy.
‘What do you do with yourself these days then?’ Derek asked, knowing full well.
‘Oh, I’m at college in the West End, doing a boring business studies course. And I share the flat above this chippy with a friend of mine.’
‘Ah, right. You moved out of home, did you?’
‘Yes. Well, you know how overprotective my dad was. You still at home?’
Derek shuffled awkwardly. ‘Yeah. I couldn’t leave Mum. She depends on me.’
‘Of course. How is she?’
‘Oh, the arthritis is pretty bad now. She can’t get out unless she’s in a wheelchair. She can just about manage to make herself a cup of tea.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, Derek. But it sounds as though you’re doing really well. Do you play many gigs? Oh, er, sorry.’ She realised there was a queue of people waiting to get out of the chip shop. ‘We seem to be forming a bottleneck.’
Derek pushed the door open and the two of them stepped out onto the pavement.
‘Oh yes, all over the place. But we’ll probably be in the studio for a while. Freddy wants us to do some demos.’
‘Gosh. It all sounds awfully exciting.’
Derek continued to play it as coolly as possible. ‘I guess it is, yeah.’
‘Look, Derek, I have to go or the chips will get cold.’ Peggy looked at him.
Derek had always been very sweet to her.
Something about his boyish appearance was so innocent, which she liked.
Of course, he’d become intense and obsessed when she had made it clear that she saw him only as a friend .
. . but that was a long time ago now. Peggy took a chance.
‘Let me know where you’re playing and maybe I can come and see you. ’
Derek nodded. ‘Will do.’ He acted out a thought coming into his mind: ‘Actually, we’ll be playing tomorrow night at the Queen Victoria in Camden Town. It’s only fifteen minutes from here.’
‘Oh, well, I might make it. Nice to see you again.’
‘And you, Peggy.’
She appeared taken aback. ‘Goodness, no one’s called me that for years. Not since school actually. Anyway, bye, Derek.’
She waved as she walked off. Derek suddenly felt faint. He went and perched on the edge of a graffiti-covered bench to try to stop his head from spinning.
That had gone better than he could have ever imagined.
She’d looked pretty impressed. No. Very impressed. She’d also looked extremely beautiful.
She might come along tomorrow night, to see him play.
Derek stood up, realising the chips he’d bought for him and his mum were now stone-cold. He threw them in the bin by the bench and went back inside the chippy to queue again for two fresh portions.
He’d been right all along. He and Peggy were meant to be together.
Sorcha’s counter had been particularly busy for the past month.
She supposed it was because spring was in the air.
Even though she was on her feet from first thing in the morning until the store closed at six in the evening, she enjoyed the work.
The other girls who worked in the store were friendly and she enjoyed their lunchtime chats, full of gossip about who was seeing whom.
Even though Con had recently told her that he would soon be earning enough to keep the both of them, she doubted whether she’d want to give up the job.
After all, what would she do with herself in their room in Hampstead all day?
Sorcha knew how Con felt about her working.
But this was 1965. Lots of girls earned a living, particularly here in London.
There might be an argument, but she would stand her ground.
Besides, any extra money helped at the moment.
Sorcha hummed to herself as she dusted the bottles on her marble-topped counter.
If she continued to work, then along with Con’s income, they might be able to afford a flat with a separate bedroom .
. . and maybe even their own bathroom. She was all too aware of something suitable that would be available in their building in a few weeks’ time.
She watched the security guard unlock the main entrance to the store. The noise of the traffic roaring around Piccadilly Circus echoed across to her.
‘Here we go, another eight hours of flogging that fragrance,’ moaned Gladys, the girl who worked with her behind the counter. ‘And me with an almighty hangover. Just the smell is making me want to puke.’
‘Breathe through your mouth then,’ Sorcha smiled. She was used to Gladys’s constant complaining.
‘I suppose I could put a peg on me conk,’ chuckled Gladys. ‘Might not be the best advertisement Elizabeth Arden’s ever had, though.’
‘Excuse me for interrupting your little joke, but I want a two-ounce bottle of Blue Grass.’
‘Of course, madam.’ Sorcha glanced at her customer and realised she’d seen her before, in the store canteen. She took a bottle of Blue Grass off the shelf. ‘Would you like it wrapped?’
‘No thank you. Just put it in a bag. I’m in a hurry.’
‘Of course, madam.’
As Sorcha took a bag and popped the perfume inside, she felt the woman’s eyes boring into her.
‘How tall are you, young lady?’
Sorcha looked around to see if the woman could be talking to someone else. But no, the question was definitely directed at her. ‘Me?’
‘Yes, of course you,’ said the woman impatiently.
‘Um, about five feet and seven inches, I think.’
‘Mmm. And what do you weigh?’
Sorcha shook her head. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know.’
‘Waist? Bust?’
Sorcha began to blush. She shrugged. ‘No, I’ve no idea. That’ll be two pounds and six shillings.’
‘Thank you.’ The woman handed over the money. ‘What time is your lunch break?’
‘Twelve o’clock, madam.’
‘Good. Then come and see me on the third floor at five past twelve prompt. I want to take some measurements. But you might do, you might just do. Five past twelve sharp, mind. Good morning.’
Sorcha stared open-mouthed as the woman strode off. She turned and saw that Gladys was watching her too.
‘Coo-ee! You know who that was, don’t you?’
Sorcha shook her head.
‘That is the manager, or chief vendeuse as she prefers to be known, of the designer clothes department upstairs. If she wants to take your measurements, she might be interested in you being one of the house models.’
‘And what is a house model?’
‘It means you wear the gowns that a customer wants to see. It’s not really like being a proper model like Twiggy or nothing, but it’s more glam than standing here squirting the air all day.’
‘I see. Why would she be wanting me, though?’
‘Well, you don’t scrub up bad, do you, Sorcha? You know you’re pretty so I’m not gonna tell you. Oh well, looks like I’ll be heading for a new partner in crime behind here. You’ll still speak to me when you’re all grand on the third floor?’
Sorcha chuckled. ‘Of course I will.’
That evening, she sat in the Queen Victoria telling Lulu all about her meeting with Marie Elaine, chief vendeuse at Swan and Edgar’s.
Since the two girls were so often thrown together because of their partners, they’d struck up a strange friendship. Sorcha had learnt to ignore Lulu’s tactless comments. She knew it was just her way.
‘It sounds a bit dull, standing around until there’s a customer wants to see a dress. But the money is much better than I’m earning in perfumery.’
‘Darling, you’ve gone from shopgirl to model all in one day. Of course you must take it.’
‘I don’t think Con will approve.’
She looked puzzled. ‘Why ever not?’
‘Oh, he’s never been keen on me working.’
Lulu rolled her eyes. ‘Then your Con has to come out of whichever Irish bog he’s stuck in and realise that women today have minds of their own. I should hope he’d be proud of the fact his girlfriend is pretty enough to be a model.’
Sorcha put a finger to her lips as Con and Todd approached their table.
Freddy Martin sat and watched his latest signing.
The band knew he was there and were on their best behaviour.
The usual relaxed banter between numbers had gone, and there was a tension about their playing.
Con Daly had been relegated to his position on bass and backing vocals.
Freddy wondered whether, if he’d wandered in tonight rather than a few days ago, he would have been as eager to sign them up.
The group needed a considerable amount of work.
Freddy closed his eyes as he tried to assemble an image in his mind.
These lads were not cut out to be aggressive, badly dressed and loud-mouthed.
They were all handsome young men, definitely more Beatles than Stones.
They should be clean-cut in a sharp suit, the kind of man you’d be proud to take home to your mother.