The air in the beer garden was heavy with the smoke of the hog roast. Long chains of coloured lights were swung in a zigzag from fence to wall and back again, above the dusty grass. The DJ Ricky and ‘his Roadshow from Liskeard’, was playing ‘Walk Like an Egyptian’ and blowing bubbles over a couple of girls who were vying for his attention. The centre of the garden was a heaving mass of dancing, sweating teens.
Greer arrived and stood on the periphery. She was on her own. Her mother had nipped to the Ladies and her father was at the bar chatting. Loveday spotted her and came bowling over, wreathed in smiles. ‘You made it! How did you manage it?’
Greer briefly explained and Loveday handed her a glass of punch. ‘My mum’s here too, see.’ Loveday pointed over to the bar area where her mum was laughing and joking loudly over a large vodka and orange with a group of fishermen and their women. Her cheeks were flushed, and when Loveday waved over to her, she blew her daughter an ostentatious kiss. Greer couldn’t understand why Loveday wasn’t more embarrassed by her mother. She dressed in clothes more appropriate for a girl half her age; her own mother would have said that she was mutton dressed as lamb.
‘Here, try this. It’s mostly fruit juice, with some sort of wine in it.’
Greer took a sip. It seemed innocuous enough. ‘I Wanna Dance with Somebody’ was playing now. ‘I love Whitney!’ Loveday shouted above the noise. ‘Come on, Greer. Let’s dance.’ Greer was not the dancing type but she took another mouthful of punch and, looking around for Jesse, reluctantly followed Loveday into the throng.
Jesse was in the pub kitchen with Mickey, making another industrial-sized bowl of punch. The landlord, Pete, told them to help themselves to the cartons of fruit juice that he’d put into the huge fridge, and to add half a bottle of Lambrusco to each batch. ‘No more, mind! I don’t want to lose my licence.’
Mickey and Jesse had assured him they wouldn’t overdo it but, as soon as they were on their own, Mickey stepped outside the kitchen door and fetched the bottle of vodka he’d hidden in the hedge and he and Jesse took a swig each from it before pouring a good slug into the punch. ‘Well, Pete never said nothing about vodka, did he?’
‘No,’ agreed Jesse, assiduously measuring only half a bottle of Lambrusco into the deep container. The two boys took another mouthful of vodka each before hiding the bottle back under the hedge.
*
Loveday was hot. The music was getting faster and louder and she was getting thirsty. She spotted the boys lugging the punch tureen towards a trestle table. ‘Want a drink, Greer?’ she shouted.
Greer nodded and gently dabbed at her forehead with the back of her hand. She was glad to stop, and gladder still to see Jesse.
Mickey saw the girls approaching and, emboldened by the vodka, nudged Jesse and slurred, ‘I’m going to make sure I give Loveday a big one.’
Jesse giggled. ‘You ain’t got a big one.’
Mickey snorted with laughter, ‘I don’t mean give her my big one.’ He creased over with hysteria.
‘Well, I’ll help you out and give her my big one if you like,’ hooted Jesse.
Mickey stopped laughing and squared up to his friend. ‘What did you say?’
Jesse was shocked that he’d said anything at all. The drink was muddling his thinking, but thoughts of Loveday were always bubbling just beneath the surface these days.
‘It was a joke. Just a joke. That’s all.’ He put his hands up in surrender. ‘Sorry, mate.’
Mickey looked stony faced. ‘Loveday means the world to me and one day I’ll marry her, so no more talking that way about her. She’s my girl, you got that?’
For a brief moment, Jesse wanted to push back at Mickey, to ask him who said that Loveday was his girl. Why should he have her?
Mickey stood his ground, staring hard into Jesse’s eyes. Jesse saw the fierce possession that burned there and instead of challenging Mickey, the words that came from his mouth were ones of appeasement.
‘Of course, mate. I’m so sorry. I just … I don’t know … must be the booze.’
Then suddenly Mickey began to giggle again. ‘Yours is just a little chipolata anyway.’ Jesse, relieved, started to laugh too.
‘Oh, yeah?’ said Loveday as she arrived at the table. ‘What you two bollock-heads laughing at?’
The boys gave each other sidelong glances and started giggling again.
Loveday shook her head, dismissing their silliness. ‘Honest, Greer, how these two ever managed to get any O levels is beyond me. Bleddy idiots.’ She reached for the industrial catering ladle lying in a sticky pool on the paper tablecloth and dipped it into the punch.
‘Give it a good stir, Loveday,’ hiccuped Mickey, putting his arm round her fleshy waist and giving it a squeeze. ‘All the good stuff is at the bottom.’ She looked at him suspiciously. ‘’Ave you been drinking?’
‘No.’
She turned to Jesse. ‘Has he?’
Jesse attempted to focus his eyes on Loveday. ‘No.’
Loveday shook Mickey’s arm off her and leant forward to sniff his breath. ‘I can smell alcohol.’
Mickey was affronted. ‘You can’t smell vodka, ’tis a well-known fact.’
She opened her eyes in disbelief. ‘Yes you can, and where the bleddy hell did you get vodka?’
Jesse owned up. ‘Grant got us two litre bottles to celebrate. He’s home for the weekend.’
‘Your Grant is trouble – and now he’s going to get you into trouble.’ She stood with her hands on her hips, frowning at both boys. ‘Where is he now?’
Greer, who’d been listening to all of this, looked around the garden and pointed to Grant, who was dancing with a couple of girls. He was in a skintight T-shirt which enhanced his muscular shoulders and tattooed pecs. The girls looked very pleased with themselves for having netted the handsomest man at the party. DJ Ricky was not looking happy – it looked as if he’d be going home alone … again. ‘He’s over there,’ Greer said.
Jesse was unimpressed. ‘Janine and Heather? Is that the best he can do? Anyone can pull them.’
Grant was now bumping and grinding his hips, bum and crotch towards the girls as ‘Le Freak’ by Chic was blaring out over the speakers. The girls willingly followed his moves.
Loveday leaned towards Jesse’s ear and – above the noise – managed to ask him to dance with her.
‘No thanks,’ he answered, pouring himself another glass of punch. ‘Not in the mood.’
‘What are you in the mood for?’ she asked, putting her hand on his chest. She was wearing a low-cut baby- pink vest and the skimpiest of denim skirts. Her hair was tied in a side ponytail with a pink scrunchie, and her lips were parted seductively as she gazed up at Jesse.
He felt the warmth of her skin through his shirt and wanted more than anything to drop his mouth to hers and kiss her deeply. They were so close, with barely a hair’s breadth between them; all he’d have to do would be to lean in … but all at once Jesse became aware of Mickey standing right next to them. He took a step back, knocking the table as he did so. Loveday let her hand drop back by her side.
‘I’ll dance with you, Loveday,’ grinned Mickey. He grabbed her elbow, guiding her erratically onto the dance floor as she looked disappointedly over her shoulder at Jesse.
He and Greer were left to watch as Mickey and Loveday were swallowed by the crowd.
‘Want another drink, Greer?’ asked Jesse.
Greer drank very little, but the last glass of punch had left her feeling a little woolly around the edges, and she was enjoying the sensation. ‘Yes, please.’ She handed her empty glass to him. Carefully he dipped the ladle into the bowl and filled their glasses to the brim.
‘Cheers, Big Ears,’ Greer surprised herself by saying; the punch was definitely kicking in.
‘Cheers, Greers,’ he replied solemnly.
They clinked and drank.
‘Why aren’t you dancing?’ he asked.
‘No one’s asked me. Except Loveday, and she doesn’t count.’
‘Loveday’s a good girl,’ Jesse said quietly.
‘Mickey thinks so.’
Jesse pulled his mouth down at the corners. ‘Yeah.’
‘They’re well suited, don’t you think?’
‘I s’pose.’
Greer, powered by the warmth of vodka, elucidated. ‘I mean they’re two of a kind. Loveday has no ambition to leave Trevay. Mickey’s future is mapped out for him on the boats. Whereas you and I …’ She took a step closer to him. ‘We’re lucky. We come from families who have made something of themselves.’
Jesse was now feeling very drunk but also – and this surprised him – he suddenly felt attracted to Greer. She wasn’t sexy and exuberant like Loveday, but her shiny, blunt-cut bob and neat, even teeth were fascinating him. He wasn’t sure what she was saying exactly, but whatever it was, she was saying it very sweetly.
‘You’re all right really, aren’t you, Greer?’ he managed. ‘I don’t think you’re a snob. Like some of them say. You’re just a bit different. That’s all. Want a top-up?’
Greer frowned slightly. ‘Yes, please, and I’m not a snob. Who said that?’
‘Janine and Heather.’
Greer drank some more punch and enjoyed its zing as it ran down her throat and hit her stomach. ‘They are a pair of bitches.’ She put her glass down. ‘I’m going to sort them out.’ She took a step forward but her knees sank a little. Jesse caught her. ‘No you don’t.’ He pulled her closer to him. ‘You’re staying with me.’ Her slender frame felt surprisingly good – firm, but there was a softness there too, not soft like Loveday, but … He felt a shot of desire stir in his groin.
She relaxed into his arms and raised her face to his. She giggled. ‘You’ve got strong arms, Jesse Behenna.’
He demonstrated his strength by pulling her closer to him. ‘You’d better believe it.’
She snuggled into his arms. She could feel his warm breath on her hair as he rested his cheek on the top of her head. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to melt into him, to feel the heat of his body against hers. Greer felt a heady thrill at being in Jesse’s arms. This was it. This was their moment.
The pounding beat of Jackie Wilson giving his all to ‘Reet Petite’ broke through the moment as Greer heard a familiar voice.
‘Scuse us, you two,’ said her father. ‘Your mum and I are going to show you young ’uns some real dancing.’ Her parents pushed past them and cleared a space on the dance floor before going into an incredible jive routine.
Bryn spun Elizabeth under his arm and towards him, then spun her out and away from him. They were good. They rocked back on their heels at arms’ length and pinged back together with their arms round each other. Pushing Elizabeth a little away from him, Bryn caught her by the waist and bounced her high above his head then swept her down and between his legs. Elizabeth had enjoyed two large gin and tonics and was unembarrassed as her skirt slid up her thighs to reveal comfy mum knickers.
Greer was mortified. The spell was broken and she extricated herself from the bliss of Jesse’s embrace to take in the full horrific embarrassment of her parents. Couldn’t they see how ridiculous they looked? How could they do this to her? In front of all her friends. On tonight of all nights. She turned and ran to the Ladies where the combination of alcohol, her yearning for Jesse and the grimness of her parents’ behaviour made her vomit violently.
After a while, she felt a bit better. She closed the loo lid and flushed, then sat down on the seat and dabbed at her perspiring face with a wad of loo paper. She had never had so much to drink. She stayed put, with her head in her hands, praying that the room would just slow down for a moment.
A timid knock on the cubicle door made her jolt.
‘Is anyone in there?’ It was Loveday’s mother.
Greer got to her feet and flushed the loo again to make it look as if she hadn’t been sitting there trying to sober up. She opened the door and Mrs Carter smiled kindly at her.
‘You all right?’ she asked.
‘Fine, Mrs Carter. Thank you.’
‘I saw you run in here and wondered if you might like a glass of water or something, darling?’
Greer wondered how much Mrs Carter had seen and understood.
‘No, thank you. I’m fine, really.’
‘That’s good.’ Mrs Carter made no move to go into the cubicle. Instead she put her hand comfortingly on Greer’s shoulder and leant in closer. She smelt of alcohol mixed with Dior Poison.
‘Seeing your mam and dad dancing like that has taken me back.’ She shifted unsteadily and her eyes seemed glazed over.
Greer wanted to sit down or go home or both, but this wretched woman wouldn’t leave her alone. She made an attempt at good manners. ‘Taken you back to when?’
‘When we was all at school together. Your dad was so handsome. All we girls wanted to dance with him. He’s still got it, hasn’t he? I haven’t seen him dance like that since he married your mum.’ Mrs Carter had a faraway look in her eye that Greer didn’t like.
‘He used to dance like that with me, you know.’
Greer was feeling queasy again. ‘What do you mean?’
‘He and I went out with each other for a little while, but your mum took dancing lessons and before long they were a couple on the dance floor …’ Mrs Carter sighed again. ‘And in life.’
Beads of sweat popped out on Greer’s top lip and forehead. She didn’t want to hear any more. ‘Excuse me, Mrs Carter, but I must get some fresh air.’ She made a dash for the door and just heard Mrs Carter’s imploring, ‘Don’t tell Loveday, will you? She thinks her dad was my one and only boyfriend.’
God, what was going on with these adults? What kind of role models were they? She slipped through the pub bar and out to the front where she found an empty bench tucked into the shadows. She breathed the cool night air. It was tinged with the familiar smell of salt, seaweed, diesel and fish and chips. She took stock of her evening. Her parents were some kind of dancing nuts, and her best friend’s mother had gone out with her dad. She didn’t want to imagine how intimate they might or might not have been. Her world seemed to have turned upside down. Then she thought of Jesse and the way he had held her tonight. She was sure she’d seen a flicker of real emotion in his eye. Until her parents had shown themselves up. What would he think of her now? She buried her face in her hands for the second time that evening.
After a while she sensed that she wasn’t alone. Someone sat on the bench next to her and the wooden slats gave way a little, making her bounce slightly.
‘All right, are you, Greer?’ asked Jesse.
She stayed hunched but took her hands from her face. ‘Yes.’
‘Loveday’s mum’s worried about you. She thought you might not be feeling well.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Sure?’
‘Sure.’
Jesse stretched his long legs out in front of him and stretched his arms over his head. She turned to look at him. He was staring at the stars. She drank in his wonderful profile. His always tousled blond hair was carelessly sticking out in all directions. His eyebrows framed his honest sea-green eyes. His lashes were fair but long and his nose straight and strong. His lips, slightly parted, were on the thin side but they framed his teeth perfectly.
He spoke. ‘Satellite. Look.’ She tilted her head up and followed his pointing finger. Sure enough, across the heavens a bright light was moving at speed. ‘I wanted to be an astronaut when I was young.’
She smiled. ‘You are young.’
Now he turned those sea-green eyes to her. ‘Greer, I’ve got six O levels and I’m leaving school to work with my dad. I’m already old.’
‘You’re only sixteen. You can go to college, get some more qualifications.’
‘That’s for people like you. You want to go to college, don’t you?’
‘Art school. But my dad wants me to do a secretarial course.’
‘Sensible.’
‘I don’t want sensible. I want to be an interior designer. To make beautiful houses for beautiful people, and …’ She looked down at her feet in their pretty pink suede court shoes, ‘and I want to be married and have children.’
Jesse lifted his arm and put it round her shoulders, aware of what he was doing, thinking again of her smooth skin and her firm thighs. He couldn’t seem to stop himself: the mix of alcohol, the heat of the pub and his raging hormones had put his body and his mind at odds with each other. ‘Do you now? And who have you got your eye on?’
It was now or never, under the starry night sky, and still slightly drunk she looked him full in the eye and breathed, ‘You.’
His father’s words – you’d do a lot worse than to marry that girl – drifted through Jesse’s alcoholic haze.
Greer felt his arm lift a little away from her and he was silent for a moment before he started to laugh. Now his arm was back by his side, searching for his other arm to cross defensively over his chest, his heart.
‘You’re a funny one when you’re drunk, aren’t you?’ He stood up. ‘Let’s go back. The others will be wondering where we are. We don’t want to start any rumours, do we?’
She stayed where she was, horrified and ashamed that she’d played her hand so openly.
‘I’ll join you in a minute.’
He looked down at her and held out a large hand. ‘Come on, you. We all say silly things when we’re pissed. I promise not to tell. Now take my hand and let’s go back.’
*
The party had degenerated into several couples clinging to each other in a slow dance. Around the edges sat groups of people chatting or snogging. The fire pit for the hog roast had died down to a mellow glow and the hog itself was just a charred carcass. Greer glanced around to find her parents. She saw them through a window sitting inside in the bar.
Her feeling of relief was swiftly abated when a breathless Loveday ran up to them in distress.
‘Jesse, your brother’s challenged Ricky the DJ to an arm-wrestling match. He’s ever so drunk and I’m frightened he’s going to hurt him.’
‘Oh shit,’ said Jesse, and he sprinted off into the pub.
A crowd had gathered around Grant and Ricky. Ricky was a big lad with strong arms and a beer belly, and he was holding his own. Grant’s tattooed muscles, though, were as dense and hard as granite. He was staring into the DJ’s pudgy face and through bared teeth said, ‘Come on, fat boy. You can do better than this, can’t you?’
Ricky dug deep and strengthened his grip. ‘You don’t scare me, soldier boy. I was in the Falklands. I’ve killed people.’
‘Yeah?’ grimaced Grant, pushing his muscles till they quivered. ‘Well, you’re a tub of lard now, aren’t you?’
There was a sudden parting of the crowd as Mickey and Jesse pushed through. Their arrival momentarily broke Grant’s concentration and Ricky, seeing his chance, slammed Grant’s arm down. The crowd cheered but quickly quietened as they saw Grant smash his fist into Ricky’s face. There was the sickening sound of crunching bone and a splatter of blood arced from the DJ’s nose across the crowd.
Someone must have dialled 999 because within minutes two police cars and an ambulance had arrived, their sirens and blue lights strobing the peace of the harbour.
A few of the more drunken and troublesome teens lingered on the harbour, looking for trouble, before they were herded away by the police; the party quickly broke up, with only the hardened rubberneckers lingering. Ricky the DJ was put in the ambulance with a police officer and driven off to Truro and Treliske Hospital.
Grant was handcuffed after attempting to resist arrest and was being questioned in the bar. It wasn’t long before a Royal Marines Police vehicle arrived and he was locked in the back for the return journey to his Plymouth barracks. Jesse could only watch helplessly as Grant was driven away. Thanks to him, the night had ended on a downer and all the excitement and expectation that had been flowing through the crowd had now drained away, just like the remains of the punch that Pete was pouring down the sink.
Jesse was left with the difficult of job of going home to tell his parents that Grant was, once again, in trouble.