She’d sneaked up a bottle of Cinzano, but didn’t have any mixer, so we just took little sips. We drank out of the china cups me and Mum bought for their wedding present, so Denise’s parents couldn’t see we were drinking alcohol. ‘You’ll want a clear head on the biggest day of your life,’ her mum said. Denise put her fingers in her mouth and pretended to be sick when her mum turned her back. ‘I’ll leave you girls to it,’ she said. ‘I’ll be up later with a few sandwiches.’
‘She’s so nice, your mum,’ I said to Denise. ‘My mother hovers over us… listens in on our conversations. She’s always so protective of me.’
Denise shrugged. ‘I guess none of us are pleased with what we’ve got. But she’s not bad, your mum. She’s funny. At least she let you come here tonight.’
‘Yeah, but I’ll bet you a quid she rings me at half eight before she goes to bed.’
Denise took a sip from her mug and giggled.
She’d just learned about face masks from an American magazine and made me apply one with her, so we both looked a fright in our frilly nighties and muddy faces.
‘I’m getting married in the morning,’ she sang, a little too loud after refilling her Cinzano. ‘Ding Dong, his willy will be mine!’
‘That’s disgusting, Denise,’ I said, giggling.
She scrunched up a piece of tissue and threw it at me.
‘Stop being such a prude. Don’t tell me you haven’t daydreamed about it?’
‘The chance of me meeting anyone is naught.’
‘But you’ve got such a pretty face. You should grow your hair out – that’s Twiggy’s hairstyle from about ten years ago.’
‘I don’t like to faff about with it in the mornings,’ I said. ‘Anyway, my mother would scare anyone who came to our house. She’d question them about everything.’
Denise pulled a face, but it was hard to tell what it was, it being covered in mud.
‘What about that lad from school… what was his name?’
‘Billy. He’s at university now… I heard he got into Cambridge.’
‘He never did! Well, imagine that… someone from this town and our school, getting into Cambridge.’ She sighed and leant back heavily on the legs of her white stool; it was feeble, and she nearly fell on her back, but it stopped against her matching vanity unit and she didn’t notice her close shave. Always the way: Denise never suffered from a crash landing. ‘What a different life that would be, eh?’ she said. ‘Not too far from London. Maybe you could write to him?’
‘I doubt he’ll want to hear from me – not after meeting all those glamorous posh southern girls.’
I felt my face flush, though Denise couldn’t tell. The mud was beginning to crack; there was so much satisfaction in stretching my mouth to feel it break.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ said Denise.
‘It feels so nice when it splits.’
‘You definitely need a man,’ she said. ‘Someone like my Jim.’
I blushed again. ‘He’s very handsome.’
‘One of those silent, brooding types,’ she said with a wink. ‘Though he’s got a bit of a temper on him. I’ll have to keep that in check.’
‘Yes.’ I put on an accent, mimicking how I thought the Queen might speak. ‘And make sure you’re never late with his sausage and chips.’
‘Ooh, Matron!’
I dipped a tissue in the bowl of warm water and started to rub the mask off my forehead.
‘I’ll hardly see you once you’re married,’ I said.
‘Course you will. I’m not going to be chained to the house… though ours won’t be ready for another fortnight. Can you imagine Jim and me, crammed in my single bed?’
‘I’d rather not.’
It was one of the best nights of my life, that Friday night.
And she was true to her word – she did make time to see me, even though it was only once a week when Jim went to the pub. It was better than nothing.
And Denise was right in a way: I did meet someone.
It wasn’t exactly a lie when I told Craig that his father didn’t tell me his real name. I saw him at Christmas in 1978 when it was the supermarket’s do. We had a three-course meal down at the Berni Inn (fruit juice to start, turkey with the trimmings, and cheese and biscuits – I’m not a dessert person). The drinks were included in the four pounds fifty we had to contribute. I didn’t go out all that often – certainly never to a restaurant – and I didn’t have many outgoings then, so I didn’t mind spending that much on a night out. I even bought a red V-neck dress with a black belt from Denise’s catalogue.
They went straight to my head, the drinks. Needless to say, Mother wasn’t a drinker, so we never partook at home (not many people did, then). It was my first taste of sherry, champagne (probably sparkling wine), and port. I was walking to the ladies’ and he was standing at the bar on his own. He held my gaze as I walked past, and my face burned. He was the classically tall, dark and handsome man that I’d read about, but he had blue eyes. His hair was longer at the front, so it half covered one of his eyes. He stopped me on my way back to the table, touching my shoulder.
‘I’ve not seen you around here before,’ he said. ‘What’s your name? I’m John.’
I thought he was joking at first, about his name, because I certainly knew him. I was almost going to give a fake one myself, but I couldn’t think of anything but Agnetha Fältskog, and that would’ve been silly, especially as I didn’t know how to pronounce it.
‘Erica,’ I said.
‘I’ve never met an Erica before,’ he said.
‘Well, you have now,’ I said, emboldened by all the drink.
He extended his hand, so I held mine out, too. His large hand covered mine, and its dry warmth felt reassuring.
‘I bet you’ve never had a Harvey Wallbanger,’ he said.
‘What makes you say that?’ I said, not knowing what he was talking about.
He shrugged. ‘You look innocent. You’re probably the only one in here not caked in make-up.’
‘You hide it well,’ I said.
It took a while for him to get my awful joke. He didn’t laugh (the barmaid didn’t laugh either). He ordered me a Harvey Wallbanger and I was about to tell him that we hadn’t pulled our crackers yet so I should be getting back, but when I looked over at my supermarket table they were getting up to go to the bar, all wearing the paper hats. I tried to hide my disappointment, feeling silly.
‘Are you with that lot?’ he said, frowning as he peered over my head.
I nodded. He swiped the two drinks from the bar and said, ‘Let’s take these somewhere a bit more private.’ And I followed him.
Denise helped me get ready for my first date with him.
‘So it’s John what?’ she said, her face inches from mine as she applied blue eyeliner under my bottom lashes. ‘I can’t believe you don’t know his surname – why didn’t you ask?’
It felt wrong, really, not telling her who I was going to meet, as though I was betraying her.
‘I didn’t tell him mine,’ I said. ‘Wouldn’t want him to think I was being nosy. Men hate women who pry too much, don’t they? They like to be all mysterious.’
I think she rolled her eyes, but it was hard to tell from that close.
‘Maybe in your books, Erica. Not in real life. Men love talking about themselves. Jim only stops to let me speak so I can ask a question about him and his day.’
She leant back, her eyebrows furrowed as she examined her work. She went over to her wardrobe, opening it while rubbing her back. Her belly was huge now; it was like she’d stuck a pillow up her dress.