1973 – aged 17
‘Is your dad coming? We do like Robert!’ Bertie Barnes clasped his hands under his chin.
‘We do like Robert, but sadly, no, his orchestra is playing in Weston-super-Mare.’
‘Oh, of course! Yes, Chris said he’d be away this weekend.’
Such was the lovely closeness of Lilly’s friendship with Bertie, it was often easy to forget that their introduction had come about via their orchestra connection.
‘In that case, I’m thinking of coming across as a concerned parent and asking this Wilkie chap outright what his intentions might be!’
Lilly regretted calling her mum, letting her in. It felt disloyal. Bertie was of course neutral, her friend, and she had then confided in him, happy to have someone with whom she could examine the detail and rehash conversations between her and Wilkie. It was a glorious new preoccupation.
‘No! Bertie, you mustn’t! Please don’t!’ Her face flushed with embarrassment at the thought.
‘I’m teasing you! Fret not, Bob, I will be charming!’
‘That’s equally as worrying,’ she admitted, unsure how Wilkie might receive Bertie’s charm.
He turned to her, his expression suddenly serious. ‘I know you’re a grown-up, almost.’
She rolled her eyes.
‘But I need to tell you to be careful, to take care of yourself and not to dive into anything that might not feel quite so inviting once you are fully immersed. Remember, the water always looks lovely from up above. It’s only when you’re paddling in it that you find you’re ankle deep in mud and shopping trolleys. ’
‘I am not immersed in anything!’ She laughed, unwilling to admit that she wanted to be fully immersed.
Wanted to jump into Wilkie’s arms, wanted to devour his body, to feel his skin against hers, wanted to sleep in his arms and to hear his heart beat beneath her cheek.
She wanted it all. Whether this was normal or not was a whole other thing.
Glenda was, she knew, saving herself for marriage, although she and Norman had ‘fumbled’, as she put it, on the back seat of his Cortina.
Anything, however, that involved going inside underwear, actual flesh-to-flesh contact, was strictly forbidden, even for a girl like Glenda, who while not exactly nun material, was still awash with Catholic guilt that even the temptation of a stud like Norm couldn’t sway her from.
Lilly smiled, although it was a mean thought.
Norman didn’t deserve her derision, he was just quiet, but seemed kind and committed and did drive her friend all the way back to Enfield three nights a week.
She figured the stop at Pymmes Park and associated fumbling must make it worth it.
Lilly shared no such religious concerns and was ready to go all out.
She had read about sex, studied art, where it was in every stroke of the brush.
She liked the eroticism of work like Manet’s Olympia and was drawn to the gloriously pendulous Greek sculptures that graced many a museum.
Her literature choices, too, had grown a little risqué as she’d matured, and there was currently a battered copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover secreted under her mattress.
She was not shy when it came to trying to understand sex, and yet her physical experience was zero, but since making Wilkie’s acquaintance she thought about little else.
And try as she might, it was almost impossible not to confuse the physical sexual act with thoughts of love – love!
Finding herself staring at couples who walked hand in hand along the towpath, imagining her and Wilkie doing similar.
A fine, fashionable couple with all the answers, he a mathematician, she an artist; they had all bases covered.
And what adorable children they would make!
Yes, her mind went there – picturing curly-haired, plump-cheeked kids who would create glorious mayhem, happy chaos, grandchildren whom her dad would adore!
Children for whom she would cook hot, golden chips! Now, how many kids would she like . . .
‘Bob!’
‘Three!’ she shouted in response, confused from her daydream.
‘Three? What?’ Bertie stared at her, as her face blushed again.
‘Where were you?’ He clicked his fingers.
‘You were bloody miles away! I was saying that people are gathering on the pavement, a fabulously eccentric crowd! Are we ready to dazzle, you wonderful creature?’ He took her head in his hands and kissed her forehead; she felt the cool metal of his large garnet ring against her temple.
‘I’m ready!’ She nodded and went to open the double doors.
Bertie had taken care of every little detail, reminding her that all the night required to be successful was ‘good lighting, great music, cold drinks, delicious canapés, the right guest list and plenty of pzazz!’ He then made out to sprinkle invisible magic dust in an arc around his head.
It seemed he had sprinkled just the right amount, as the place was buzzing!
Invited guests flowed through the door like one of Mother Thames’s tributaries.
Like fish swimming upstream, or the clutch of little ducks she liked to watch from the flat as they sat behind their mum and let the tide take them up and down, carried along at the will of the current, tiny wings tucked in, feet paddling, stopping only to peck at the murky surface of the water with their new beaks, gobbling insects and bits of goodness-knows-what that looked appealing enough to swallow.
These guests were brightly dressed in striped suits of candy pink and green.
Gold lurex shirts, tight, tight jeans, silky short shorts with knee-high socks and roller boots, feather boas, the odd fedora, even an elaborate silk turban with a feather on the front.
White suits, chiffon scarves, ornate caftans, stacked heels, platform-soled clogs, and enough blue eye shadow to paint a wide stripe right around the room.
They smoked cigarillos, sported chunky gold chains, and instead of quacking, like those tiny ducklings she so admired, their call was a single word, offered in so many variants:
‘Darling!’
‘Dahling!’
‘Daarling!’
‘Dah-ling!’
‘Da’ling!’
She couldn’t help but laugh, because this was one of those moments she’d remember, because it was exciting to be among it, and because Wilkie was on the pavement, looking past the ensemble right at her, as if it was her he had come to see, her who was the draw, and because she was seventeen and falling in love!
She spied Beautiful Jack in the crowd and waved at him.
‘Darling!’ was his reply.
The exhibition opening was loud and dramatic!
A mini scuffle ensued when a flailing arm knocked a large tumbler of red wine over Denzel Bashington’s mohair Kilgour, French here she was, building a relationship, no doubt like her mum had with Derek Manners, both behind her dad’s back.
‘I like that. It’s important, isn’t it, giving kids the tools and not just the cliché? Showing them how rather than just telling them that everything will be all right in the end.’
‘He’s always been good at that, helping me figure out how.’
‘He sounds like a good dad.’
‘He is.’ She smiled, looking forward to introducing the two men, knowing in advance they would get on.
‘And your mum?’ His enquiry was casual and not unusual. Yet still she felt the cool wind of shame ripple over her skin. She left us . . . left me . . .
‘Not around.’ Felt easiest. And she was thankful he didn’t press the topic.
‘So where are we headed, Elizabeth-Roberta?’
She liked it when he said her name.
‘I want to show you something.’
‘In that case, lead on, Macduff!’ He pointed over her head.
‘You like Shakespeare?’ She turned to him, grinning because they were together, and she had a plan.
‘Oh, is that Shakespeare?’