hair and makeup, maybe get a long wig or something and look like you’re up for a good time . . . You all right with that?’
Jane nodded and Moran asked if she had any ‘scanty’ clothing to wear for the job. When Jane replied that she didn’t Moran pulled out a leather wallet from his suit jacket and handed Jane two ten pound notes.
‘Here’s a score. Use it, but get receipts so I can claim the dosh back as expenses for the decoy operation.’
Moran looked at his watch and stood up. ‘Right, it’ll be dark by eight p.m. so you go get yourself sorted and be back here for a half-seven briefing in the CID office.’ Jane nodded and Moran used his foot to shove the chair back against the wall before leaving the room. Jane sat for a few moments trying to think what clothes she had that might be suitable, but nothing came instantly to mind. This was a big opportunity and she didn’t want to blow it. Looking at the money Moran had given her Jane wondered if she’d find anything suitable at Chelsea Girl or British Home Stores, but she doubted it. And Carnaby Street clothes would be too expensive.
She was relieved that she had nearly five hours to get ready. But first she had to inform the miserable Sergeant Harris that she was now officially on her CID attachment. She headed out of the briefing room and down the stone-flagged corridor with its peeling green paint and fading notices. Eventually she tracked him down in the snooker room and explained that DI Moran had said she needed to buy the appropriate clothes for her undercover assignment.
‘No doubt you’ll have the “appropriate” clothing at the section house, Tennison, so I won’t be authorizing any cash for you to buy anything.’
He wafted his cue for her to leave, then bent down over the snooker table to line up for a shot on the black ball. Jane walked to the door then smiled as she turned back to Harris, who was just about to take his shot.
‘That’s fine, Sarge . . . DI Moran gave me a score.’ Harris pushed his cue forward and his hand slipped, causing the tip to scrape into the green baize, almost tearing it.
‘Whoops!’ she said, closing the door quickly behind her.
Jane took her uniform jacket and hat from her locker and left the station to get the 253 bus to Ede House, her home now for almost two years. Ten minutes later she was hurrying up the stairs to her room. She took off her uniform skirt and hung it in the wardrobe. Pushing the coat hangers apart one by one she looked through her clothes, even though she knew she didn’t really have any that fitted the term ‘scanty’. She thought about the money DI Moran had given her, but felt bad about spending it on something tacky that she would never wear again. In desperation Jane pulled on a pair of jeans, a white T-shirt and short jacket, but looking in the wardrobe mirror she realized she would definitely need to buy some suitable clothes.
There was one person she knew who used to wear boob tubes, hot pants, miniskirts and long boots on a night out to the disco. Jane laughed, remembering how her sister Pam would sneak out of the family flat with her outfit in a shoulder bag, so that her disapproving parents wouldn’t see. She would then nip to a friend’s house to change before going out to places like the Empire Ballroom in Leicester Square. One time Pam had arrived home after midnight and as she let herself into the dark hall she had fallen over on her high wedge boots, and their mother, hearing the commotion, had hurried from her bedroom.
‘Do you know what time it is?’ she had said so loudly that Jane had come out of her room. Pam had very obviously been drinking as she swung the bag with her clothes that she intended changing back into and had to prop herself up against the wall.
‘I am only late cos I have been sick, I had a prawn cocktail at Norma’s.’
Mrs Tennison had shaken her head, and told Jane to get her sister some Bisodol for her upset stomach, and, looking ashamed, she had returned to her bedroom.
‘How much have you had to drink?’ Jane had demanded as she had helped her sister to the bathroom and taken off her coat.
‘Just a few Babychams, s’nothin’, but I stayed on dancing and didn’t get time to change back into . . .’ She hadn’t finished as she had started to retch and Jane had to help her to the toilet. As Pam had bent over Jane couldn’t believe that she was wearing a miniskirt so short she could see her knickers, and even more shocking, was that Pam was not wearing a bra under her silky frilly blouse.
‘You are not wearing your brassiere,’ Jane said in a harsh whisper.
‘Oh for goodness sake, get with it, I haven’t worn one for ages, nobody wears them now.’
‘Well, I do,’ Jane said, taking from the medical cabinet the pink Bisodol bottle and holding it out just as Pam was violently sick.
Jane took a bus towards her parents’ home in Maida Vale, stopping off at Pam’s salon, which was only a short distance from the family flat.
Pam was surprised to see her and Jane briefly explained that she was going on an undercover operation and needed to change her appearance. Pam made her wait until she had finished her client’s tint, and then said she only had twenty minutes before she would have to comb the tint through as the other hairdresser wasn’t in until later.
In the small back annexe of the salon there was a bag full of wigs. Pam explained that when they were training junior stylists the wigs were pinned to a head stand and would be cut or coloured. There were short bobs, long straggly blondes, and frizzy permed wigs, none in very good condition. Jane tried some of them on but they looked so false, until she put on a curly dark chestnut-coloured wig.
‘Can I borrow this one, Pam?’
‘Yes, but you’ll have to return it . . . that’s real hair. What else do you need?’
‘Do you have any makeup here?’
‘Yes, cos sometimes I’m in so early I don’t have time to do my face. I’ve also got a lot of samples as I do the makeup for the hair models when I’m doing one of the stylist events.’
Pam tipped out from a cardboard box an array of foundations and lipsticks, eyebrow pencils, liquid eyeliner and false eyelashes. Jane checked herself in a mirror, still unsure about the wig.
‘If you wait around I can do your makeup for you and comb out the wig and put some carmen rollers in it. You could do with a trim as well.’
‘No, I have to go, but another time. I really appreciate this.’
Jane eventually left with the wig and some of Pam’s spare makeup in a paper carrier bag. Pam had rather enjoyed helping and showing her how she could change her appearance, demonstrating how to stick on the false eyelashes. The sisters hadn’t even discussed how long it had been since they had seen each other, or how things were going with Pam’s new husband, Tony. A sixteenyear-old junior was sweeping up and washing around the basins; she couldn’t help overhearing Pam and Jane’s conversation. As soon as Jane left she asked Pam what it was all about. Pam tapped the side of her nose conspiratorially.
‘Can’t say, Cheryl, but my sister’s a police officer, going undercover.’
She turned away and returned to her client who glanced at her watch, indicating that she had been waiting too long.
‘Right, let me just comb this through for you, that extra ten minutes will give a better overall colour.’
If Pam had been surprised to see Jane, Mrs Tennison was
