gum, chips and magazines was all they ever treated themselves to.
Stephanie pressed the play button on the stereo and ignored the disapproving looks of passers-by as the music blared out of the speakers.
‘I hate this shit music,’ Tammy complained.
Stephanie laughed. Whereas she was deemed very attractive, Tammy was classed as the opposite. Fairly plump with reddish-gingery hair, most of the lads at school took the piss out of Tammy. Her nickname was Tampax or ginger minge, but Stephanie adored her best friend. In Steph’s eyes, she was beautiful, loving and extremely funny.
Singing at the top of her voice to New Edition’s ‘Candy Girl’ Steph handed her friend the fags and matches while she opened a bottle of cider.
‘I bought a tape with me with “Baby Jane” on it. Can’t we put that on, Steph?’
Stephanie shook her head vehemently. Wayne Jackman was a casual and was always dressed in designer tracksuits. He even owned a real Burberry jacket and he certainly wouldn’t be impressed if he walked out of the station and heard the dulcet tones of Rod Stewart blaring out.
‘You can put “Baby Jane” on when he’s gone. Casuals like soul music, Tam, and I don’t wanna put him off me.’
Tammy sighed. Ever since Wayne Jackman had last week wolf-whistled at Stephanie in the alleyway that led from the upper to the lower school, Steph had spoken of little else. ‘Why don’t you just ask him out? I’ll do it for you if you like,’ Tammy suggested.
Stephanie immediately shook her head. ‘No! I’m gonna wait for him to ask me out.’
‘Hide that cider, quick. One of my mum’s mates is crossing the road,’ Tammy hissed.
Stephanie put the cider back in the carrier bag, turned around and checked her hair in the reflection of the shop window. She’d recently grown her hair long and had begged her mum to let her have one of the shaggy perms that were currently all the rage. ‘No. We can’t afford it and you’re far too young to be putting silly substances on your hair. Don’t wanna go bald before you’re twenty, do you?’ her mum had told her yet again this morning.
Annoyed at not being allowed to have the perm she craved, Stephanie had created her own shaggy look. Instead of blow-drying her hair straight like she usually did, Steph had towel-dried it so it looked as if as if she’d just got out of bed, then plastered it with lacquer to make it stand on end.
‘I hope Wayne likes my hair like this. Do you reckon he’ll like it? Or do you think he’ll prefer it the other way?’
Turning her head so that her mum’s friend wouldn’t stop for a chat, Tammy glared at her friend. ‘You’re really doing my head in now, Steph. Light me a snout and give me a bottle of that cider. If I don’t chill out, I’m gonna scream.’
Pamela Crouch picked up the cloth, squeezed the excess water back into the bucket, then proudly set to work on cleaning her front door. Unlike some of her frowsy neighbours, Pam had been born and bred in the East End of London, where pride in the cleanliness of one’s abode was of the utmost importance. Dagenham was different. People’s standards here were lower than in good old Mile End.
Thinking of her dear old mum’s strict values, Pam smiled sadly. It would be a year next week since the cancer had so cruelly taken her wonderful mother away from her, and Pam still thought about her each and every day.
‘Pam, the old slapper’s on her way home. Got a big black man with her today she has.’
Pam dropped her cloth and ran over to the garden fence to greet her next-door neighbour, Cathy. Like herself, Cathy was originally from the East End and, over the ten years they’d been neighbours, their friendship had grown from strength to strength. ‘I can’t see her,’ she said, looking from left to right.
‘She was in Sainsbury’s. You should of seen the trolley-load of drink she had. The black man was definitely with her, I saw him put his hand on her arse. She must be on her way home with the booze. Where else would she take it?’
Pam shook her head in disgust. Ever since the old slapper had recently moved into the house opposite, she had been her and Cath’s main topic of conversation. Marlene was her name, and the only other bit of information they could find out about her was that she’d lived in Bethnal Green before moving to Dagenham. It wasn’t just the number of men Pam and Cath had seen visit the house that had earned Marlene her nickname. It was the over-the-top way she dressed, her snooty, up-her-own-arse attitude, her pregnant fifteen-year-old daughter, and the fact that she had old bits of sheet hanging in her windows rather than proper curtains.
‘Ere she comes, look. I can’t believe she’s got the front to walk about dressed like a film star, yet she’s got rotten old sheets for curtains. Talk about all fur coat and no knickers,’ Cathy said, bluntly.
Pam surreptitiously glanced at Marlene and the black man. ‘I bet he’s a Ford worker. Probably got some poor unsuspecting wife tucked away somewhere,’ she whispered.
Cathy’s lip curled up. Her old man had got one of the barmaids in East Ham Working Man’s Club pregnant, hence their messy divorce. Clocking the hatred towards Marlene on Cathy’s face, Pam linked arms with her. ‘Come on, let’s go indoors and have a nice cuppa, shall we? I’ve got some cream cakes if you fancy one?’
‘Let me pop in mine and sort my Michael’s dinner out first. I’ll give you a knock in about a half-hour or so,’ Cath replied.
Pam shut the front door, made a pot of tea and plonked herself down on the armchair to rest her tired legs. She was only thirty-five, but life hadn’t been kind to her and she sometimes felt twenty years older. At five foot one, Pam had always had an enormous appetite and had never been the slimmest of women, but since her husband had died, she’d gorged day and night just for comfort. Bringing up two daughters alone wasn’t easy, and even though she now had a job in a bakery, money was still scarce. David’s death had been a terrible shock at the time. He’d only been working as a steel erector for a month, when the police had knocked on Pam’s door and informed her of his accident. She’d dashed straight up the hospital, but after falling from thirty foot of scaffolding, David had never regained consciousness. Her daughters Stephanie and Angela had both adored their father, and telling them the awful news was the most difficult thing Pam had ever had to do. Thankfully, at four and three years old respectively, the girls had been far too young to understand the enormity of what had happened and had just accepted the news of David’s death as children that age tend to do.
Glancing at the picture of her mum on the mantelpiece, Pam sighed. Her wonderful mother, Ada, was the only person who had truly helped her cope after David’s death. A matriarch East Ender, she had sort of taken over in her own way, and had been there for Pam and the kids whenever she’d been called upon. Losing her mum to cancer was horrendous for Pam. Her dad, Arnold, was still alive, but he was a simple man who had no idea how to cope with Linda’s wants and needs. Linda was Pam’s only sister and had sadly been born with dwarfism. Under the circumstances, Linda had led life to the full. She had attended mainstream schools, had always worked, and had much more of a social life than Pam had herself. However, her mum had always worried about Linda’s welfare and had made Pam promise that if anything happened to her, she would look after her younger sister. A woman of her word, Pam had stuck to her promise. She had turfed Angela out of her bedroom and made her share with Steph, then Linda had moved into Angela’s old room. Her daughters weren’t happy about the sharing situation. They’d always got on fairly well as young children, but now they argued like cat and dog.
Pam
