She looked up to see a large red face peering at her. He had the window down and rain was spotting his forehead, landing on his pale eyelashes, although he didn’t seem to notice. Or care. She recognized him as Speedy’s brother. Clive. That was his name. She’d only met him briefly a few days ago. She thought he seemed a bit leery. Beside him sat an older woman with a fluffy dog on her lap that looked like a bear. She’d seen Speedy with that dog and had raved about it to Heather.
‘This is my mum, Deirdre. Do you want a lift?’
It was so tempting. It was still a good ten-minute walk home, and she was cold and shivery. She didn’t like the way Clive’s eyes travelled to her chest but his mum was in the car. He was hardly going to do anything inappropriate with her there, was he?
‘Okay. Thanks,’ she said, getting into the back. The car smelt strongly of wet dog and there were cream dog hairs all over the fabric, but she didn’t care. She was warm and off her feet. That was all that mattered.
‘You poor thing, you look exhausted,’ said Deirdre.
‘That’s a shame. I was going to invite you to a party at mine,’ added Clive. She could see his eyes in his rear-view mirror. The pupils were huge so it was hard to see any iris. A party? She glanced at her watch. It was gone nine. It would be getting dark soon. She’d be in troublewith her mum if she was late. And Heather … She bristled when she thought about her sister and their fight. She’d never forgive her for breaking her Walkman.
‘Dylan will be there,’ Clive added, turning to grin at her. Then he put the car in first gear and moved away from the pavement. She stared through the rain-splattered window. The high street was deserted.
Dylan would be at the party. The thought was enticing. His cruel words of earlier filled her head.You’re a baby. Just like your sister. A fucking prissy small-town girl with no ambition.
She’d show him. Heather and her mother too. She’d been good her whole life. Always toed the line and done everything that was ever asked. But where had that got her? Wasn’t she allowed a bit of fun? To have a wild night out?
‘Where is the party?’
‘In Bristol.’
Bristol? Bristol was a bit far. How would she get home?
‘Oh, I don’t know. That’s a bit far. My mum would kill me.’
Deirdre’s laugh was tinkly, like a fork against glass. ‘You’re a young girl. You should be going to parties and having fun.’ She shifted her weight so that she could see Flora in the back. ‘I grew up in the sixties and I expect your mum did too. I bet she had her fun back in the day.’
Flora doubted that. Her mother was born sensible. Like Heather. And Deirdre looked twenty years older than Margot, who was probably closer to Clive’s age. She did a quick calculation. Deirdre must have been at least in her late twenties in 1964. Clive was born before that.
‘I live down there,’ said Flora, pointing to a road that led towards the caravan park.
But Clive ignored her and kept driving. ‘Oops, sorry, missed the turning,’ he said, laughing. ‘Looks like you’re going to have to come to the party now.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Deirdre. ‘I’ll make sure you get home safely. I’ll call you a taxi later. And you can ring your mum from our house.’
Our house? Clive still lived with his mum?
‘I don’t think I can afford a taxi home,’ Flora admitted, ‘but maybe Mum or Uncle Leo could come and collect me.’
‘That’s it. You call them when we get there,’ said Deirdre, flashing Flora a reassuring smile. The dog fidgeted on her lap, then jumped between the two front seats to join Flora in the back. ‘Oh, he likes you and he’s a good judge of character.’
Flora smiled, trying to quash the unease that rippled through her. She sat in the back seat and cuddled the dog as the rain lashed down and Clive’s windscreen wipers whooshed back and forth. She shivered, her wet skirt clinging to her legs. She just wanted to go home but she also didn’t want to offend. And part of her couldn’t resist the thought of letting Dylan see her at the party. She’d show him she wasn’t some provincial mummy’s girl.
‘I’ve got some hot chocolate in a flask if you want some,’ offered Deirdre. She handed it to Flora. ‘Just pour it into the little cup. That’s it.’
The hot chocolate was delicious and slid down her throat, warming her instantly, although her lip throbbed. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was, and before she knew it, she had finished the whole cup.
‘Have some more if you want it,’ said Deirdre. ‘It will warm you up.’
Flora poured herself another cup gratefully and swigged it back. It wasn’t piping hot but it was more than lukewarm. When she’d had enough she returned the flask to Deirdre with thanks.
Clive didn’t say much and Deirdre faced the front again, fiddling with the radio. ‘Let’s have some music to get you in the mood for a party,’ she said, settling on Ace of Base’s ‘The Sign’.
Flora appraised Deirdre, although from where she was sitting she could see only her profile. But she was attractive, she suspected late fifties, with blonde Marilyn Monroe hair and a full figure. She was wearing a blue spotted 1950s-style dress, which suited her figure, and a white raincoat.
‘Will you be at the party too, Deirdre?’ she asked politely.
Deirdre laughed again. ‘Oh, no, dear. I’m too old for that kind of thing now. No, I’ll leave you young people to have your fun.’ She touched Clive’s hand where it rested on the steering wheel. Flora wanted to laugh to herself. Clive had to be nearly forty. He was far from young. Why did he and his brother hang out with people half their age anyway?
