The Year Of The Ladybird Part 3

'Was he what?'

He nodded at Terri. 'Was Luca having a sniff?'

'Christ, no. Luca was just telling her what a great voice she has. That's all it was. Unless that const.i.tutes "having a sniff".'

Pinky turned away from me and followed the others up the steps onto the stage. He puffed on his unlit cigar. 'Sometimes it does,' he said, 'sometimes it doesn't.'

I was left with Terri as she trawled up and down the aisles with the hoover. I wanted to go but then again, I didn't. I watched her work as if nothing had just happened, and I knew she was aware of me watching her. It was ridiculous. She was beautiful. It didn't seem possible that she had become yoked to a man like that, someone twice her age, someone who was a beast and who could offer nothing but raw violence and meanness and a life of low instinct.

Very slowly she worked her way back towards me with the vacuum cleaner, bringing the thing close to where I was standing. I wondered if I was supposed to lift my feet like I'd seen my dad do for my mum, but when the machine was almost touching my shoe she switched it off. The new quiet pulsed in the empty auditorium. A stray lock of hair had fallen across her face and she pretended to blow it out of her eye but I knew it was a breath of relief. She gave me a deep, searching look. Then she parted her lips and mouthed one single, painful word.

She didn't even have to say it.

4.

To fight the savage foe, although The following morning I got to find out who I was billeted with. It turned out to be the missing Greencoat, a cheerfully psychotic Mancunian chain-smoker called n.o.bby. After another bad night I was actually sleeping well one morning, only to be awoken when his key hit the lock from the other side of the door.

If he was surprised to encounter a new room-mate he didn't show it. He stood over me in a Greencoat outfit of whites or rather off-whites and a blazer identical to mine. 'Are you with us, son? It's a brand new day!'

I blinked up at him from my pit. He was at least ten years my senior. His hair shook in its tight perm of dark curls streaked grey at the temples. The tremor was from an endless nervous energy that would never I was about to discover allow him to be still.

'You the new Greencoat then? Shake a leg and I'll walk down with you. Though you can have this s.h.i.thole to yourself cos I'm never here how the f.u.c.k they expect two grown men to sleep side by side in this depressed hen coop for plucked chickens I'll never know are you up yet? Come on, son, come on.'

'I'll get a shower,' I muttered. I grabbed a towel and walked out into the corridor.

For some reason n.o.bby followed me. 'Shower? Shower? Throw water on your face, you'll be fine. There's a drought on! War rations. I mean war footing! Plus showering every day is bad for you no one ever tell you that scrubs away the natural oils so essential to your vitality, son. Not to mention the pheromones yes yes yes. Did I mention the pheromones?'

There was a communal shower at the end of the building and I walked in and switched on the faucet. 'The what?'

'The what? They told me you was f.u.c.kin' educated. Pheromones, son, pheromones. This is what it's all about, in't it? Are you getting plenty? If you are that's cos of your very fine zinging pinging pheromones. If you're not getting plenty that's cos your pheromones are no good. Or rinsed out. Wash it all away and well, damp squib sort of thing.' He stood watching me shower and didn't stop talking except to light up a cigarette. 'Too much f.u.c.kin' showering that'll do it. Hey! Hey! Hey! You listen to n.o.bby. n.o.bby knows, you know.'

I dried off and padded back to my room. Or our room, as with increasing dismay I now felt I should call it.

'Flip-flops! Get yourself some flip-flops. Cos o' the slops they're dirty, lazy b.a.s.t.a.r.ds in here and you'll get athlete's foot off this shower floor and verrucas and viruses and what else trenchfoot I don't know warts corns blisters in-growing toenails instep fungus hammertoe, hey hey! That floor is like a smorgas board of infection, hey!'

I made the mistake of trying to listen to this barrage but it was impossible. I found my brain starting to tune him out. I'd known him maybe three minutes and already he exhausted me. As I got dressed I said, 'I thought you'd quit.'

'Why? Why's that then? Why?' He went over to the open window, and flung his cigarette b.u.t.t outside. Then he sat on my bed, took out a fresh ciggie and did that trick of flipping it in the air and catching it in his mouth.

'Well, you'd been missing for a few days.'

'Missing? I haven't been missing. I've been on my other job.'

'Other job?'

'Look at the state of your whites! Bit how's-your-father round the waist I'd say. That the best they could do? That's a joke that. A joke. Go and see Dot and don't take any s.h.i.t. Better still I've got some as will fit you better.' Then he slapped his thigh and fell sideways on the bed, laughing, a cancerous cackle. 'A joke.'When he'd recovered from the hilarity of laughing at my ill-fitting whites he recovered to light up his cigarette. 'Yes I've got another job up the road.'

'Aren't you full time?'

He did a double-take and then looked over his shoulder as if the management team might be hiding in the tiny wardrobe. 'Course I'm full-time. Full time up the road, too. You ready? You look like s.h.i.te! Hey! Let's go.'

We walked together to the theatre for the morning briefing. I was keen to ask him some questions, but it was almost impossible to break into his constant stream of chatter.

'Everyone's doing two jobs, son, everyone; and if they're not in the category of everyone they're on the skim, they've all got their skim. Welcome to skim city. Hey! If you find a way to live on these wages you let me know about it.'

'Well, we do get food and lodgings,' I suggested.

Mistake.

He leapt in front of me and stopped dead, brought his feet together and leaned forwards at forty-five degrees. 'Food and lodgings! You call that mouse-cage that squirrel-farm a lodging?' We started moving again. 'It's a matchwood tent! A shanty-town! A papier-mache ghetto! That famous East Coast wind better not blow too hard or it will all come down. Huff and Puff Mr Wolf. What's that? Pigs. Dunno. It's not even a barn. Better not get caught with a woman in your room or they'll have you off the site. And you can't even keep your own alcohol in your own room, have they told you that? As for food, hey!' He suddenly lowered his voice. 'Eyes right! Eyes right!' I thought he was a.s.serting himself, saying 'I is right' but then he said 'Three o' clock!' and I realised that he wanted me to look to my right-hand side.

A very pretty girl in a tiny bikini was strolling away from us.

'You like school dinner? I f'kin don't. Okay if you want spotted d.i.c.k and jam roly-poly every Wednesday and pummelled spuds and choked carrots and strangled sprouts and canteen cuisine . . . Eyes left! Eyes left!'

To the left, two good-looking full-figured mothers led their toddlers over to the play-sand.

'. . . and strangled sprouts and canteen catering well let me tell you I had better grub in the f.u.c.kin' army and if that's your idea of a good . . . Eyes right, eyes right, four o'clock.'

I glanced to the right and a very old lady with dowager's hump came creeping towards us. n.o.bby howled with laughter. 'Got you there, son, didn't I? Walked into that one you did! Shake hands! Hey! Hey!'

I admitted he'd 'got me' there. n.o.bby refused to move on until I shook his outstretched hand. Then he started up again with his unbroken patter. I was glad when we reached the theatre. I looked at my watch. It was 9.15 a.m. I hadn't even got to the day's briefing and I was dog-tired.

n.o.bby's excitable energy wasn't the only reason why I was so shattered. I'd had my worst night so far. I couldn't sleep. I'd had the window wide open but the air was stifling. Every time I thought I might drift off to sleep I had an image of Terri mouthing that single word at me.

In fact it wasn't just while I was sleeping. After the a.s.sault on Luca Valletti I'd taken a seat at the side of the theatre watching the show without really seeing any of it. The entire Variety act. Paget and Drum, the comedy duo. Sh.e.l.ly Breeze I'm not making up these names doing her diva routine. Abdul-Shazam in his fez inserting swords into a casket containing one of the dancers. Oh yes, Nikki danced at the edge of the stage. She was magnificent under stage lights. All the dancers were and they maintained dazzling smiles that you rarely got to see offstage. But at some point in the show Nikki caught my eye, and she winked at me.

Finally Luca, consummate professional that he was, topped off the show. He had a white silk scarf wrapped tightly around his bruised throat and you wouldn't have known what had taken place in that theatre ninety minutes earlier. He had this farewell song something about fighting in the Foreign Legion where he waved a white handkerchief and the ladies in the audience took pocket handkerchiefs out of their handbags and waved back at him.

And so I go To fight the savage foe, Although I know I'll be sometimes missed By the girls I've kissed.

They lapped it up. But I couldn't help thinking about what was going on in Luca's head as he smiled and sang and levelled the blade of his hand at his breast.

So I'd spent an entire evening thinking about Terri; and I'd spent a night tossing and turning in the heat with her face appearing in the dark. Now I was about to go into the theatre where I would see her cleaning the stage. I knew I was going to have to fight to avert my eyes. I thought I was transparent and that the chirpy mad Mancunian or Nikki or Tony or all of them would see through me straight away. I was ready-tailored Music Hall material. I'd only been in the camp a week and I'd fallen for the old story about rescuing the woman with the mop-and-bucket.

But when I walked in I didn't get to see Terri at all. A much older woman with a dry scowl and a giant hair-pin was up on stage swinging the mop to and fro giving the boards a good grinding. Tony sat in the front row of the seats, legs spread far apart, his well packed midriff spilling over his belt buckle. He looked glum.

'Where's Punch and Judy, then?' I said. I was trying to sound distant and casual.

'What?'

I jerked a thumb at the new cleaner.

'Chance they'll be fired,' Tony said.

I was crestfallen. 'Really?'

'Yes, really,' he said dryly. 'Turns out it's against camp rules to disconnect the windpipe of your bill-topping Italian Tenor. Who'd have thought it? What's the world coming to?' He yawned; a little theatrically, I thought. Then his eyes fell on my room-mate behind me. 'n.o.bby, you good-for-nothing Mancunian b.a.s.t.a.r.d.'

'Charming, f.u.c.king charming,' said n.o.bby, 'you get one dose of gastroenteritis for a couple of days, one miserly virus and you stay off work to protect your mates from contagion and what abuse do you get? What abuse do you get? I'm glad you asked me that. I'll tell you what abuse you get . . .'

But I wasn't listening. I sat down. I was too busy thinking about whether something precious had been torn away from me or whether I'd had a lucky escape. I know that if Terri had asked me to walk over a cliff with her I would have followed, just for the chance of a kiss on the way down.

Nikki, in crisply laundered whites, crashed in the seat next to me. 'Why the long face?' She lifted her leg so that her exquisite right ankle balanced on her tantalising left knee. Her pleated white skirt fell away to expose her tanned thighs.

I realised she was talking to me. 'Can't sleep. Since I've been here.'

'You're not drinking enough, college boy. Or too much.'

'I don't like getting drunk. I'm a mean drunk.'

She looked at me sceptically and was about to speak when Tony jumped out of his seat and clapped his hands loudly.

'Right then, if I can interrupt you love birds,' he was looking at me and Nikki 'let me point out we have a big day ahead of us. Before that, please, a big round of applause for n.o.bby who decided to come to work today.'

Ironic applause followed. I found myself joining in.

'f.u.c.king charming, that!' n.o.bby said. He started to say a lot more but Tony waved him into silence.

'Girls, whist-drive this morning and round-the-clock. Sammy, you do the Glamorous Grandmother and don't let those old birds grab your wig this week. n.o.bby, supervise the Crown Bowls if you please.'

'f.u.c.kin 'ell,' n.o.bby croaked, but to himself.

'Nikki, show David the cheeky on the Junior Tarzan and the Bathing Belle around the pool. This afternoon, everyone in here with me for the prize giving and farewell. That means all of you and that means you as well, n.o.bby. Right, out you go, and smile like it's already home-time.'

By ten o'clock we had the open-air swimming pool arena set up, with the PA crackling and buzzing. It was already sweltering. We broke the rules and took off our heavy blazers and worked instead in our whites. Let them fire us, Nikki said, drawing columns on a sheet of paper attached to her clipboard. Then she looked up, put her pen behind her ear and reached out to hook something off my shirt. It was a ladybird. She blew it off her finger.

'And another,' she said finding a second on my collar. 'They're all over you.'

The ladybirds darting through the sultry morning air were well outnumbered by the Junior Tarzans. The sunshine seemed to bring them out. The Tarzans, that is. About seventy or eighty skinny kids and a dozen fat ones, all aged between seven and eleven, sporting swimwear and lined up around the edge of the pool. It was my job to employ the PA system to rustle up a couple of impartial judges, over which Nikki would preside. I was told to whittle the eighty kids down to a more manageable dozen. I had to 'interview' each kid in turn and keep it interesting. I failed. The only thing I could think of doing was to get each lad to say his name into the microphone and to offer a semblance of a Tarzan-like jungle cry. After the discriminating judges had got the number down to a dozen contenders, we started again, this time with a fiendish question, which was 'Do you help your mum with the housework?' These things pa.s.sed as entertainment and all the boys got a stick of rock. The winner's name the boy with the best blood-curdling cry had his name written down on the clipboard for the prize-giving show.

There was a half hour break before we ran the Bathing Belle compet.i.tion designed for young women aged between 16 and 21. This time I got to be a judge along with a fresh pair of holidaymakers and Nikki did the interviewing. It all went fine but the heat was building. At the hottest part of the day the girls were forced to swat the flying bugs as they described their hobbies and expressed an interest in World Peace.

We agreed on a pretty winner and Nikki made the announcement. Nikki embarra.s.sed me by declaring that part of the prize was the chance to give me a kiss. I took it all in good part as the winner planted her lips on my cheek. It wasn't exactly a hardship.

As the Bathing Belle compet.i.tion was wrapped up, half a dozen s.e.xy promotions girls dressed in hot-pants and low-cut blouses moved about the campers with trays of cigarettes. The hot-pants livery matched the design on the cigarette pack. It was a marketing drive for a cigarette called Players No. 6, a market-leader of the time.

One of the No. 6 girls went into action on me, but I explained I was a non-smoker. I got chatting and she said all the girls were 'models on a.s.signment'. I didn't know what that meant. To me they looked like pretty girls peddling coffin nails; though the girls were okay and I kept that opinion to myself. I noticed that Nikki, also a non-smoker, was sniffy with them.

Nikki and I took our clipboards and tin bins emptied of candied rock away from the pool and went to the cool of the cafe. I had a question for my fellow Greencoat. 'Nikki, is everyone here on the take?'

I wasn't just thinking about what n.o.bby had told me. I was also flashing back on Colin's words on my first day. Give 'em a cigarette but don't never buy 'em a drink.

'Why do you ask that?'

'Dunno. I thought we were just paid to give everyone a fun time. But it seems like everybody's got an angle.'

As I spoke, one of the No. 6 girls drifted near plying her wares, all smiles, full of easy charm.

'Watch that girl,' Nikki said.

The girl, a willowy brunette, made a sale to a beefy looking man seated at a table with his wife and three children. Everyone was sucking on a straw dipped in a vividly coloured milkshake. Money exchanged hands and the girl took a pack of cigarettes from her tray. She popped the cellophane wrapper, flipped open the pack and flicked the box so that she could proffer one of the cigarettes to the customer. Then she discarded the cellophane wrapper in her tray. The customer, impressed by this s.e.xy, extra little service smiled happily and the girl moved on to the next table.

'What did you see?' Nikki said.

'Nothing.'

Nikki sniffed. 'Not very clever for a college boy, are you?'

'Uh?'

'She makes the sale. She unwraps the pack for him as a nice little service. She flips open the lid and offers him a ciggie and that's when she takes the voucher out of the pack. She tosses the voucher, with the wrapper, back into her tray and lights the ciggie for the dumb customer. Those vouchers trade for goods. It takes an age to save up the vouchers but if you skim one off each sale it's worth a small fortune to you. Watch her again.'

I studied the girl making another sale and this time I saw it: a green voucher slipped out of the pack and dumped in the tray with the wrappings. 'Doesn't anyone ever complain?' I asked.

'Most don't notice. Most who do notice, they let it go. When the one person in every hundred complains she'll apologise and give it back. If the customer complains further she might even pretend to cry and will claim it's the only way they get paid. She'll live with one complaint in a hundred.'

'Well, it's a small thing.'

'It's f.u.c.king stealing, is what it is,' Nikki said sharply.

'Okay, okay. You're right.'

But she was exercised now. 'The whole camp is run like this. Who gets the kickback for letting these girls come in? Pinky and Perky, that's who.' Perky I discovered was her pet name for the man in the blue blazer who'd interviewed me while feeding sparrows from his desk. 'Every promo you see on this site. Look at the little ponce who runs the arcade machine. He sponsors the Bathing Belle prize. You'll see why this afternoon. And the bookie who comes on Donkey Derby day to fleece the campers. He pays to get his nose in the trough. Why haven't you got a uniform that fits? Cos they budget for the gear but pocket it rather than give Dot the money she needs to kit us out. Everyone here has an angle.'

'I don't have an angle.'

'Yes, you do.'

'What's my angle, then?'

I didn't get an answer. She slipped on her sungla.s.ses and looked away from me.

'All right then,' I asked her, 'what's your angle?'

'My angle is figuring out everyone else's angle.'

I do believe that Nikki was good at that. I studied her as she stared moodily over at the No. 6 girls moving through the tables.

I felt a stir amongst the people around me. It was Tony or was it Abdul-Shazam making his way between the tables, cracking jokes, shaking hands. Before my conversation with Nikki I would have said he was just doing his job, being a fun guy, giving everyone a laugh; but now I could see how he seemed to swell and feed and fatten on the attention until he seemed taller and broader and shinier than everyone else in the room. I thought that it might be possible to do both things effectively at the same time.

He took a chair at our table. 'All sorted?' he asked me, loudly enough for everyone around us to hear. 'Signed all those boys up for the Foreign Legion? And did you get a date with the winner of the Bathing Belle?'