style="font-size:15px;"> Something in her attitude must have got through because Penny glanced up and saw her, and then turned to the man in the shadows and pointed at Rhona. She moved away, giving him a little wave.
Good, thought Rhona. She didn’t recognise the bloke but she didn’t think much of his dress sense. He wasn’t sharp enough to be a Mod, looked too conservative to be a rocker and he didn’t have any of that cool air of the jazz fans. So he was ruled out on every count. ‘What are you drinking?’ she shouted at her friend when she was close enough to hear.
‘What are you having?’ Penny shouted back. She wasn’t sure what to choose. She didn’t want to look a fool by asking for the wrong thing.
‘Babycham,’ shouted Rhona. ‘Have you ever had it? The bubbles go up your nose, you’d like it.’
There was a brief pause as one track came to an end before Wayne Fontana’s ‘Game of Love’ began to play. Penny swayed around to it, teetering a little as her knee-high boots had higher heels than she was used to. ‘Lovely. I’ll try that.’
‘You stay here, and remember what we agreed,’ Rhona said, before turning and expertly wriggling her way to the bar. The vivid pattern of her minidress stood out against the dark jackets of the men – and Penny noted that it was mostly men doing the buying the drinks, with most of the women sipping from glasses. Some seemed to have halves of beer, which Penny didn’t fancy. Too bitter for her. She didn’t mind shandy but thought it would be much more sophisticated to have Babycham like her friend – if Rhona was having it, it must be all right. She tapped her foot to the rhythm of the music and, bearing in mind their agreement on the bus, tried not to catch the eye of any of the men. The man who’d first approached her had been OK but she was sure she could do better.
The song was over by the time Rhona reappeared with two glasses of the sparkling drink. ‘Here you go. A filthy sod at the bar tried to pinch my bum. I told him what he could do.’ Rhona knocked back a gulp. ‘Right, let’s find a good spot and check out who’s here. This way.’
Penny once again allowed herself to be led through the crowd, smiling at the people whose gaze she met but not stopping, taking her cue from her more experienced friend. Finally Rhona found somewhere acceptable. They stood with their backs to one of the walls, a little behind a row of tables, and from there they could see all of the dance floor and most of the people sitting around it.
Something by the Kinks came on. Rhona nodded in approval. She didn’t like clubs where they played anything as long as it was in the charts – she preferred music that sounded new, as if it had been written for her generation. She found herself singing along again, lost in the sounds, but then reminded herself to concentrate. She was here for a purpose, and if she didn’t watch out Penny would wander off and get picked up by any old idiot. It was fine to appear to be lost in the music – some men liked that – but you had to be fully alert behind the mask.
‘What about them?’ Penny nodded to a table where two young men were sitting, both in sharp suits, deep in conversation.
‘Hmm, let’s wait. No, they’re no good.’ Rhona pointed to two young women weaving their way to the same table, both in tiny miniskirts. ‘They’ve just got back from the cloakroom over there. Nothing doing for us in that direction.’
Penny scanned the dance floor. ‘Him? I like the way he dances … oh no, maybe not. Look, he thinks he’s on the telly, look at him go.’ The two girls stared at the strange dance and then burst into laughter. The man carried on oblivious, clearly convinced he was God’s gift to women everywhere.
The song ended and another one started up, with some dancers returning to their seats and other people taking their places. The floor grew more crowded and the spotlights moved around, illuminating geometric patterns on the dresses and shirts, light catching the more bouffant hairdos, or picking out the glossiness of the hair gel favoured by some of the men. Penny finished her drink and clutched the empty glass.
‘Fancy another?’ A slim-hipped young man approached them, smiling broadly.
Rhona met his gaze and cocked her head. ‘You asking her, me, or both of us?’
The man’s grin grew even wider. ‘Oh, both of you. Definitely both. How could I choose between you two lovely ladies?’
Rhona assessed him even as she continued flirting. ‘That’s cheesy, that is. You got to do better than that.’
‘I’m wounded,’ said the man. ‘I meant every word from the bottom of my heart. What’ll it be?’
Penny giggled but said nothing, waiting to see if Rhona would allow him to buy them their next drinks.
Rhona made her decision. The shirt was good, the trousers were the right shape and hugged his body quite promisingly, and the hair was almost but not quite like Brian Jones’s. He’d do. ‘Seeing as you’re so sincere, we’d like Babycham,’ she said, giving him her best upwards glance. Then she looked away, as if suddenly shy.
‘Coming right up.’ He took their empty glasses and as he did so, his fingers brushed Rhona’s. ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Gary.’
Jean clocked on at the factory on Monday morning and looked around for her team. She was early and so didn’t really expect to see everyone there but it was a shock all the same to find she was the only one in, with ten minutes to go until the shift was due to start. She tucked her straight brown hair back under her scarf, buttoned her overalls and pitched up her sleeves. After Rhona’s outburst at the end of last week, and the way Penny clearly looked up to her and followed her every move, Jean was concerned that the two young women wouldn’t make it in.
As if he’d been listening to her thoughts, Mr Forsyth, the foreman, came whistling through the door to the factory floor. His round red face shone in the few beams of sunshine that penetrated the dusty windows.
Jean groaned inwardly. As if Mondays weren’t bad enough, she now had to deal with the boss in chirpy mood, who was definitely a morning person, which she wasn’t. ‘Hello, Mr Forsyth. Did you have a good weekend?’ She reached in her pocket for her headscarf and shook it out.
‘I did indeed, Miss Barker, I did indeed.’ He rubbed his hands as if he couldn’t wait to start work. ‘We saw my brother and his family. I think you know my nephew Andy?’
With a sinking feeling Jean wished she’d never asked what she’d thought was a harmless question. ‘Not well, no,’ she said, ‘but I’ve heard of him.’
‘And would that have been from your young colleague Miss Foster?’ The foreman didn’t wait for an answer.
Jean nodded and made a noncommittal noise. From what she knew of him, Rhona was better off without Andy Forsyth. He was good-looking, as all her boyfriends seemed to be, but he had a vindictive streak and could be thoroughly unpleasant when crossed.
‘And where is Miss Foster this morning?’ Forsyth went on. ‘Here come our two most reliable ladies, but I don’t see Miss Foster anywhere.’ His eyes narrowed. The good mood hadn’t lasted long.
‘Oh, she’ll be here, don’t you worry,’ said Jean, crossing her fingers and hoping she was right. ‘Morning, Margot, morning, Alma.’ The two older women nodded and moved away to hang up their coats. It was still chilly and spring seemed to have forgotten it was due to arrive.
‘Well, she’d better be,’ said Forsyth. ‘I’m
