The Palace of Strange Girls. Sallie Day

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      ‘Our Alan works for an accountant,’ Florrie tells Ruth.

      ‘Turf?’

      ‘Oh no, a proper accountant. With a fancy office and everything. Our Alan has been there for the past couple of years since he left school. It’s a responsible job. They rely on our Alan to do the local deliveries in the morning. It’s very serious. Some of those letters have statements, bonds, or even cheques inside. The senior partner, Mr Tyson, calls our Alan his right-hand man. And he’s a smasher at home. So good with the twins. They listen to every word he says.’

      Florrie lifts the occupants of the two high chairs – a couple of heavy, flat-faced three-year-olds with matching sagging lower lips and dull grey eyes. Freed from restraint, the twins immediately fall into a fight, which progresses out of the dining room, through the lobby and looks set to continue into the street. It only stops when one twin cracks his skull against the sign that reads: ‘Guests are requested to ensure that their footwear is free of sand before entering the hotel.’ The infant bursts into tears and howls with such ferocity that his twin feels compelled to join in.

      Deaf to the uproar, Beth watches entranced as Red Hawk continues to crawl around the dining room. When he disappears into the lobby Beth asks to be excused from the table and gets down from her chair. She moves to the doorway of the dining room and peeps into the lobby. Red Hawk is still shooting arrows. When one falls at her feet she picks it up. Close to she can see that he has a green and white I-Spy badge pinned to his collar. Beth solemnly strokes her cheek three times. Red Hawk signals back. A friendship is formed.

      ‘Are you a proper Red Indian brave?’ the boy asks. Beth nods eagerly. ‘Where are your flippin’ feathers then?’ Beth looks blank. ‘Look.’ The boy points to his headband. ‘I’ve got three feathers.’ He points to each of them in turn and says, ‘This one’s for I-Spy Birds, the middle one’s for I-Spy in the Street, and this one at the end is for I-Spy Car Numbers. I’m on my fourth now. And I’m head of the Wild Jaguars tribe. What tribe do you belong to?’

      ‘I haven’t got a tribe yet, but I’ve got this.’ Beth extracts I-Spy at the Seaside from her pocket and pushes it under his nose.

      He barely glances at it before he hands it back. ‘That one looks too easy – I’m doing I-Spy Buses and Coaches now. They’re more difficult but I bet I finish the whole book by Saturday.’

      Beth is unable to give Red Hawk’s achievements her full attention since she has spotted Gunner relieving himself against one of the impressive magnolia pillars at the hotel entrance. She has spent hours trying to make friends with Gunner. Beth is not allowed a dog of her own. She has asked her mother for one countless times, but the answer is always the same. Dogs are far too dirty to keep, they carry fleas and ticks, along with all sorts of diseases and they don’t care where they make a mess. There being no hope of acquiring a dog of her own, Beth is therefore on permanent lookout for a dog she can adopt. She is fearless in her pursuit, despite having once been bitten by a poodle on Halifax Road. Beth is convinced that Gunner can be persuaded into allowing her to stroke him if she is persistent enough. But Gunner is not amenable to approach. His tolerance for children as a subspecies is substantially below zero and remains so despite having been severely tested by Beth’s persistent kindness and relentless affection.

      Beth, ignorant of the dog’s pathological hatred of children, still believes that she can make friends with Gunner. ‘Here, Gunner. You’d like a stroke, wouldn’t you?’ Gunner doesn’t look convinced. Beth, hand outstretched, creeps forward. Unable to whistle like the boy in Lassie, Beth is reduced to making clicking noises with her tongue and purring, ‘Here, Gunner. There’s a good boy. Here, Gunner. Here, boy.’

      Beth and Red Hawk watch as Gunner bolts past them in the direction of the hotel kitchens. ‘I’ll get him for you,’ says Red Hawk, loading his bow with the remaining arrow and aiming at the dog’s retreating backside.

      ‘No,’ shouts Beth, grabbing the arrow. ‘I’ll never make friends with him if you hurt him.’

      ‘I wouldn’t bother,’ volunteers Red Hawk. ‘That bugger bloody bit me when I pulled his tail. I wouldn’t care but it were only a joke.’

      Back in the dining room, Connie is clearing the tables. She and Helen have become good friends over the past few days. They can be found giggling together in a corner somewhere most mornings once the dining room empties. Connie sneaks a swift cigarette and a milky coffee, while Helen listens open-mouthed to the waitress’s salacious account of the previous evening’s activities. Connie is forever encouraging Helen to accompany her on these soirées but so far she has drawn a blank. She may be a couple of months younger but she has a wealth of experience hitherto denied Helen. Even Helen’s Saturday job in a dress shop can’t compete with Connie’s obvious experience.

      ‘I’ll tell you what,’ whispers Connie at her most confidential. ‘Kitchen and dining-room staff get two hours off every afternoon. We all go out together. Why don’t you come with us? We usually meet up at the pier for a drink and a laugh. It’s a scream. Andy bought me four Babychams yesterday afternoon and I was seeing double by the time I got back.’

      ‘I can’t,’ Helen says. ‘I’m not allowed on the pier.’

      ‘What? Even during the day? Hellfire! My dad’s in Strangeways and even he gets let out every now and again.’

      Helen is embarrassed. Not just because her parents treat her like a child but also for her friend having a dad in prison, but it doesn’t seem to bother Connie.

      ‘You’re lucky to have a dad like yours. He’s great, isn’t he?’ Connie sighs and casts a glance over at Jack.

      ‘He’s OK, I suppose. He’s not as strict as my mother.’

      ‘She’s like bloody Hitler. However did she get her claws into your dad? I mean, he’s good-looking enough to get anyone he wanted. He doesn’t even look old, does he?’ Connie changes the subject when she sees the look of disbelief on Helen’s face. ‘Anyway, what’s the gossip about that new bloke?’

      ‘Who?’

      ‘Mr Wonderful in the check shirt on your old table. Go on, what’s the gossip? Spill the beans, Helen.’

      ‘I don’t know a lot – he’s called Alan and he works for an accountant.’

      ‘Oh, very fancy! Did you see him flashing his wallet around?’

      ‘Yes.’ Helen is awestruck by such a display of wealth.

      ‘I saw him. He couldn’t take his eyes off you.’

      Helen blushes. ‘Well, I’m not interested in him. Well, I mean, he’s all right.’

      ‘Would you go out with him if he asked?’

      ‘I might.’

      ‘I thought you said you had a boyfriend at home?’

      ‘I have,’ Helen replies, trying to sound casual. She has been forced to invent a boyfriend with whom she is ‘going steady’ in order to deflect Connie’s constant queries as to why she doesn’t go out at night.

      ‘Ah, well, a bit on the side won’t do any harm. What the eye doesn’t see the heart doesn’t grieve over. That’s what my mum always says СКАЧАТЬ