Touch of Bitter, Taste of Honey
Episode 2
All about doubts,clothes and scooters.
All about doubts,clothes and scooters.
They parked outside her house still laughing at the expression on Miss Jenkin’s face as they had shot past.
"Come in while I get changed and have some tea," said Alice smoothing down her windblown hair. She felt Pete watching her and looked up into his eyes.
"I love you," he said, bending and kissing her nose, then gently biting it.
"Ow! And I love you," she replied, laughing and giving him a quick kiss on the lips.
Alice’s mother stood at the window watching them. She did not usually spy on her daughter but this could hardly be classified as spying for they were in full daylight and one could not help seeing them. With a sigh she turned to make the tea. She was worried about Alice. She and her husband had been so proud when she had passed the 11plus to go to the High School. They had dreams of their Alice going to University and being a History or English teacher as these were subjects they were both interested in. Up until the fourth form their dreams had seemed to be realised but then the slow crumbling had begun. Alice had begun to turn Mod and go out to every dance or party possible. She had gone out with lots of boys, all with strange professions such as carpet cleaners, potato pickers and other such unusual jobs. And they had all, of course, been Mod. They weren't bad boys, just not quite the sort of person they had imagined for their daughter. Still it was not too bad then – until at the end of the fourth year she had met Pete. Since then she had gone around in a strange kind of haze, not caring about anything or anyone except her Pete.
Surprisingly she had passed her exams but she had a strange notion in her head to be a model. She had it all worked out. Art College for two years doing a window dressing course, then move to London and get a job. In her spare time she would go around the agencies with photographs and try to get into modelling. At first her parents had thought she would forget the idea within a week – that was a year ago and now she had taken her GCE’s and was going to leave school in a few weeks and go to Art School. And she was still going out with Pete. Oh, he was alright, he said please and thank-you, but he had no fixed job and had a crazy notion of writing books and becoming a great novelist. She really would have to talk to Alice about Pete and Art School. The door opened and they came in laughing.
"Hello Mrs Greenway, I’ve come to wait while Alice has her tea and changes," he said pleasantly.
"Hello Alice – Pete – you can have some tea too if you want" she suggested with forced cheerfulness.
"Umm – thanks, I won’t say no," he replied.
"I nearly died at school" Alice chattered "it was so hot and we just sat there and Miss Jenkins was gabbling on about something. I nearly went mad."
"Yes, it is hot today" agreed her mother "Here’s your tea."
Three quarters of an hour later Alice and Pete left the house to go to a party.
"Party!" thought Mrs Greenway. Alice was dressed in a short hipster skirt with a huge buckle and belt and a skinny ribbed sweater. She also wore her precious dark green leather coat and thick, stumpy shoes. "Oh well, fashions change." She remembered her pretty pink taffeta and net party dress from long ago. As for Pete’s clothes they were so preposterous that she tried not to notice them. Last summer he had appeared in bright PINK trousers which had sent Alice mad with delight whilst she was not so suitably impressed!
Pete and Alice, oblivious to Mrs Greenway’s thoughts, sped along the road in the sweet coolness of a summer evening. The sun was sinking slowly towards the horizon of thick, wooded hills as they left her hometown. Stroud was a small, uninteresting town lying between two big sheltering ranges of hills. It had started as a wool town thriving on the white fleeces of the sheep that rambled over the grassy Cotswolds. The town still had a small woollen industry but was no longer important. It faded into a million other nameless, small grey towns spread all over England, all containing the same dowdy, out-of-fashion clothes shops, a Woolworths, a Boots, a cinema, a dance hall, a library and a bus station.
From the younger generation’s point of view it was a dump. There was a weekly dance which was the only thing beside the Cellar Bar that kept them going. The Cellar Bar was a fascinating hole, tucked away under the ground. It had walls of raw stone on which were scrawled ‘Ban the Bomb’, ‘Mods For Ever’ and other such thoughtful comments by the inhabitants of this warm dark cave where, if you were over 18 [or looked over 18] and had money, the drink flowed freely. Fishing nets were draped over parts of the walls and mysterious little arches were in abundance, dimly lit by lurking candlelight. In this small raw stone cellar, where moisture ran down the walls, the younger generation gathered and made it their own. For an adult to enter its darkly vaulted territory was a preposterous idea, although one or two brave souls had tried, but had spent an uncomfortable time drowning in the thick, meaningful silence broken only by the drumming of fingers on the log tables and the occasional clearing of throats. Eventually the intruder, driven back by the hostile stares, fled up the cold stone stairs to friendlier adult country where he told of his adventures to an incredulous audience. And beneath his feet the atmosphere cleared into warm, soft giggles and the bonds of friendship strengthened; they could be themselves again.
***
Pete parked outside his friend’s house and idly pressed his horn, the sharp sound breaking through the silence of summer. A window upstairs was flung open and Miff’s head appeared."Oh it’s you," he shouted to them. "Hang on, I’ll be down in a minute." The window was loudly slammed shut again.
"That means a half hour wait," Pete said cheerfully, standing up to get his cigarettes from his trouser pocket. "Might as well get off and stretch your legs."
She got off the scooter and walked over to the low wall, running around the tiny front garden. In the garden stood Miff’s house, a tall, thin, grey looking building with tired eyes for windows. The dark green paint on the front door was chipped and peeling from standing up to many years of wind, sun and rain. Curtains drooped from each window and a few ill-looking plants in various jars and flowerpots stood on the front windowsills. The name ‘South View’ hung drunkenly from the gate. If one looked south one saw an almost identical building, and the same happened east and west.
Alice sat down and gave a sudden yawn, stretching her arms and her whole body as she did so. Pete came quickly over and caught her by the shoulders, giving her a gentle push. Caught unawares she overbalanced slowly onto a dry, dandelion filled flower-bed. With a playful cry of anger she started pelting Pete, who was doubled up with laughter, with small stones. He jumped over the wall and picked her up, ignoring her yells of protest and kicking feet. He stood her on the wall, keeping his arms around her as he did so.
"Peter John Western, I’ll kill you. I hate you. I hate you. Let me go. LET ME GO! No I am not going to kiss you – no – no – nommmmmmmm."
He bent his head down towards hers and kissed her, stopping her threats and struggles as if by magic. A loud cough by their side made them break off as if by magic.
"I hate to interrupt you just as it’s getting interesting but we’ve got a party to go to."
It was Miff who spoke. How he had earned his nickname no-one quite knew just as no-one knew his real name. He had always been, and always would be – Miff. He was quite short with dark brown hair, cut of course in a ‘tufty’. His face made one want to laugh until one got used to seeing it. He always had a surprised look about him even when deadly serious. He talked loudly and wanted everyone to listen to him; his jokes had to be the funniest; his voice the loudest and his laugh the noisiest. But underneath his blatant, couldn’t-care-less exterior was hidden a heart of gold. He would never refuse to help anyone and most people liked him when they really knew him.
"Hi Miff, you got a cough?" asked Pete, as Alice jumped to the ground.
"No, I was just embarrassed," he replied coyly, twisting one leg around the other and putting his head on one side.
"You – embarrassed?" laughed the girl, "That’ll be the day when Mods turn Rocker."
"Never!" thundered Pete, starting the scooter. "You walking Alice?" he shouted behind him as he went off down the road.
"No" she called back. "I’ll go with Miff." Pete turned sharply and pulled up smartly at her side.
"Your carriage awaits you, madam."
"What happened James, did the horses bolt?" she said daintily as she sat on the Vespa.
"Yeah, here they go again." He replied as they shot off down the road after Miff. About a mile further on they met another whole convoy of Mods who were also going to the party. They all joined up and roared through the gathering twilight together. Alice felt exhilarated as they sped along, the wind whipping her short hair into a frenzy. There was something wonderful about being part of this convoy of scooters, flashing through quiet villages and past slow, uninteresting cars. For the second time that day she felt like shouting, but this time with pure happiness. There was also the thrill of danger in scooter riding which made it even more exciting. She glanced behind her at the scooters they had passed. She and Pete were nearly ahead, there remained only two gleaming machines to overtake. She knew Pete was feeling the same as herself.
"Hang on love," he shouted over his shoulder. The wind whipped his words from his mouth and blew them carelessly away. He accelerated hard. Now they were neck and neck with the scooter second from the front. For what seemed like eternity they hung there and then slowly they edged forward until suddenly they were alone, with only one more obstacle ahead.
"Go on Pete, we can do it" shouted Alice excitedly as they began to catch up with the Lambretta ahead. Then a corner loomed ahead so they had to drop behind a little and slow down. The Lambretta slowed down too, slightly more than the Vespa. Then the corner was gone and seconds later the other scooter was gone. They were in front!
"Hurray, we did it," she yelled. "Lovely Vespa!" Now they were leading some thirteen scooters and the thrill of leadership was wonderful to them both.
"That was great" Pete yelled back, "She can do some speed."
"She’s wonderful," Alice replied, trying to avoid mouthfuls of fur from her boy’s flapping Parka hood, and thinking at the same time how she loved Mods and him.
to be continued .............
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