meant nothing. Ruth is a passing fancy, that’s all.’
‘You don’t deserve to have a decent girlfriend,’ she told him bluntly. ‘If Ruth knew what you were really like, she’d run a mile.’
All the same, Betsy could see how the girls might be drawn to Darren. Tall, with well-honed muscles and wild dark hair, he had an easy way with him, and when he turned those broody brown eyes on the girls, they simply fell at his feet. ‘One of these days you’ll come unstuck,’ she warned him. ‘I can see it coming a mile off.’
He shrugged. ‘Sounds to me like you’re jealous.’
At this, she burst out laughing. ‘Huh! You should be so lucky.’
‘Never mind the new Maths lecturer – you can give me tuition any time you like, Daz.’ That was Abigail the dreamer, whose room they were in. Scatter-brained and vulnerable, she could see no harm in him.
‘Sorry, sweetheart, you’re not my type.’ Sharp and to the point, he did not mince his words.
‘So, who is your type?’ That was Judith; hard-nosed and ambitious, she had met Abigail in college and invited herself to the house on many occasions. Also, she had long fancied a relationship with Darren; though as yet he had not made a move.
‘Well now, let me see.’ Thrusting a chip into his mouth, the arrogant young man chewed and talked at the same time. ‘Long shapely legs, big firm boobs and a small enough mind not to ask any questions. Oh, and she mustn’t worry about being dumped the day after the night before, if you know what I mean?’
‘Big boobs and a small mind, eh?’ Judith gave a groan. ‘That lets me out then.’
Darren surveyed her slim, boyish figure. ‘Oh, I’m sure I could fit you in if you really wanted.’
‘Are your fish cakes and chips all right, Rob?’ Betsy turned her attention to the only one of them who had not joined in the banter. ‘If they’re cold, I can put them in the microwave to warm them up.’
‘Thanks all the same, Betsy, but they’re fine. Besides, I was that hungry I’d have eaten a scabby dog!’ Not exceptionally good-looking like Daz, or the life and soul of any party like his best friend Dave, Robin was both studious and likeable. In his early twenties, he was a young man going places; studying medicine and working in a big London hospital. This evening, he had driven over in his elderly car to see Dave, whom he had known since their schooldays. From boyhood, nothing had swerved him from his goal to become a doctor, though his father was bitterly disappointed that his only son was not going to follow him into the established family business.
‘Right then.’ Scrambling out of his chair, Darren strode across the room to sort through the records. ‘Jude, how about opening another bottle of wine and I’ll put some good tunes on. There’s a Smiths’ LP in here somewhere, isn’t there?’
Judith objected. ‘Oh God, Morrissey is so depressing. Let’s listen to the Police instead. Oh, and that reminds me. Susie borrowed my Alanis Morissette tape. I’ll have to get it back before she lends it on, like she did with my Madonna one.’
‘Hey! Don’t start taking over,’ Robin joked. ‘Unless you fancy paying Abigail’s rent between the two of you?’
‘I wouldn’t mind paying rent if I could live here,’ Judith retaliated. ‘It’s got to be better than living in hall.’
‘I second that!’ Daz declared, lighting a roll-up. ‘I can’t see why you lot won’t let us share with you. When all’s said and done, there are four bedsits in this house. I could double up with you, Dave, and Judith could double up with one of you girls.’
‘Not a snowdrop’s chance in hell, mate.’ In a light-hearted way, Dave made his feelings known. ‘I’m not doubling up with anybody. I left four brothers behind at home, and I’ve got my own room at long last. And I am not giving it up for love nor money.’
Betsy and Abigail were of the same mind. ‘At the moment, we can chuck you out when we’ve had enough of you,’ they joked.
‘Yeah,’ Dave said, laughingly addressing himself to Darren. ‘Gawd help us if we had to get up each morning and see your ugly mug.’
In no time at all, the Police were belting out their best, followed by some vintage Stones, and for a while, the friends drank the wine and chatted and smoked – until Darren decided to leap onto a chair and give a performance of his own, playing air guitar and screeching at the top of his voice along to ‘Black Sugar’.
‘Put a sock in it,’ Dave begged him. ‘You’ll have all the cats round.’
Abigail threw a cushion at him and Robin threatened to douse him with cold water. But nothing stopped him, until Betsy pulled the plug from the wall.
‘Party poopers!’ Climbing down from the chair, Daz went storming off into the kitchen in search of more booze.
‘Does anybody mind if I choose the next record?’ That was Betsy.
‘I mind!’ Daz returned to his seat empty-handed. ‘I’m not in the mood for listening to one of your soppy love-songs.’
‘Too bad,’ she told him, ‘because whether you like it or not, we’re all having a turn at choosing.’
She picked out a Nat King Cole ballad, ‘When I Fall In love’, and it came as no surprise when Darren immediately protested, ‘Bloody hell! Do we have to listen to that rubbish?’
‘Shut up, misery.’ Judith was rapidly going off him. She gave him a shove. ‘If that’s what Betsy wants, that’s fine by the rest of us, and if you don’t like it, you can go home, you awkward sod.’
Folding his arms, Darren slouched deeper into his chair and pointedly started doing the crossword in the local free paper.
As the smooth silky tones of Nat King Cole flowed through the room, the girls sang along.
Unaware that Robin was watching her with fond eyes, Betsy let the song wash over her. She loved Nat King Cole’s sensuous voice, and the words were so beautiful. Abigail had bought her the Greatest Hits CD last Christmas, and it was one of Betsy’s prized possessions.
It was when Judith stopped singing to cadge a cigarette from Darren, that Betsy thought she heard something. ‘Ssh!’ Sitting bolt upright in her chair, she called for silence, and when everyone was attentive she said, ‘Listen – can you hear that?’
Against all his instincts, Darren found himself listening too, ‘Hey! There is somebody else singing …’ He looked suspiciously from one to another. ‘Come on … what are you lot playing at?’
The rich contralto voice of a woman sailed through the wall, as she sang the song again, to herself. Even muffled, like this, the voice was hauntingly beautiful.
‘Who on earth is that?’ Robin asked into the hush.
Dave voiced all their thoughts. ‘It seems to be coming from next door,’ he said.
Judith laughed, breaking the spell. ‘What! You can’t mean that strange old woman up at her window.’
‘Never!’
