The Doris Day Vintage Film Club. Fiona Harper

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СКАЧАТЬ of noise brought her back to the decibel level of the current moment. That, and the fact that Maggs jabbed her in the ribs with a bony elbow. She was one of those wiry old ladies, the sort whose strength belied their tiny frames. ‘I used to be able to do a wolf whistle that could stop traffic three streets away,’ she said, looking from noisy club member to noisy club member. ‘It hasn’t been the same since I got my false teeth, but I could always give it a go?’ She raised her eyebrows and began to lift two fingers towards her mouth.

      ‘Not a good idea,’ Claire said wearily. ‘If they shot out and hit someone, we could be sued, and funds are low enough in the kitty as it is.’

      ‘Might be worth it, just to get some peace and quiet,’ Maggs muttered, surveying their unruly members with disdain. She turned her focus to the empty chair on the other side of Claire. ‘Talking of money … Where’s our new treasurer, anyway?’

      ‘She’ll be here any second.’

      Right on cue, the door flew open and Peggy burst in, wearing the same pink dress she’d had on earlier, so tight it only just allowed her to trot in her five-inch heels.

      ‘You’re late,’ Maggs said, switching her laser-beam stare from Claire to Peggy.

      Peggy just grinned at her. ‘That’s because my first job as treasurer was to negotiate next year’s rent for the room with the landlord. Not only is the price staying the same, but he’s agreed to throw in a round of cocktails each meeting too.’

      Claire’s eyes widened. She was about to ask just how Peggy had managed that – Bruce, the landlord, had never been anything but surly with her – but then she got a prime view of Peggy’s rear end as she bent over to put her vintage handbag on the floor and pull out her notebook, and she had a sneaking suspicion just how their new treasurer had accomplished it.

      Maggs nodded sagely. ‘I knew there was something I liked about that girl. I’ve always been partial to the odd gin sling.’ As if to prove the point, she pulled a hip flask from her handbag and added more ‘va-va-voom’ to the already generous gin and tonic in front of her.

      Claire decided not to remind the older lady just how vocal she’d been when Claire had suggested Peggy for the post of treasurer. She’d called Peggy a ‘slip of a thing’ and had campaigned long and hard for Bev, who she’d strong-armed into coming from her Pilates class, to take the job, even though Bev had said flatly that she didn’t want to do it.

      Maggs leaned across Claire and held out her hand. ‘Can I borrow one of those for a second?’ she asked Peggy, nodding at her shoes with the polka-dot bows. Peggy opened her mouth to ask why, but Maggs waggled her fingers impatiently. In the end, Peggy just sighed and handed one exquisite shoe over.

      Maggs took it by the toe and rapped the heel on the table three times so loudly that the whole room fell silent. ‘There you go,’ she said to Claire, and handed Peggy back her shoe.

      All eyes turned to Claire. She stood up. For just a split second nothing came out of her mouth.

      It was stupid. She should be over this by now, not only because she’d been leading these meetings for almost a year, but because her previous job had required her to give numerous presentations. However, while she was good with people, fabulous one-to-one, there was always this jab of panic every time she got up to talk to a group. It hadn’t worn off in the slightest over the years. There was something about this intense moment of silence, when every eye was trained on her, that made her feel like an insect on a microscope slide. Her throat always went dry and her fingers tingled.

      She breathed in through her nose and cleared her throat.

      She smiled at the small group of women – and George – in front of her, nursing their Diet Cokes and their warm white wines. ‘Hi, everyone. Welcome to this month’s meeting of the Doris Day Film Club. First, an order of business before we get going with tonight’s film: we’ve had a suggestion … Instead of running film night once a month as usual, we’ll meet weekly and have a Doris Day Film festival over the summer: twelve weeks, taking us from now right through to the end of July. Would all those in favour please raise—’

      She was cut off as someone gave the slightly temperamental door behind her a shove then barrelled into the room, almost sending her flying. The whole group turned to look at the newcomer. Their visitor, a young woman, stared back at them with undisguised terror.

      ‘Is this the Dor—’ Her gaze darted from face to face. She paled as she spotted the red lips and eyelashes of the vintage crew and started to back away. ‘Um … Never mind. I think I’m … um … in the wrong place.’

      She attempted to reverse, but hadn’t counted on the fact she’d moved a little bit sideways as she’d fallen into the room and she ended up backing into the wall and hitting her head on a wall light, almost dislodging its tasselled orange shade.

      ‘No, you’re in the right place,’ Claire said softly. ‘This is the Doris Day Film Club.’ She indicated an empty chair next to Kitty, the nearest of the vintage girls. ‘Please join us.’

      The girl remained frozen. Claire realised she was younger than she’d first thought, maybe only in her late teens. She wore a football shirt and shapeless jeans with battered trainers on her feet. There wasn’t a lick of make-up on her face and her thin dark hair was parted severely down the middle and hung lank down either side of her face.

      ‘We’d love to have you.’ She held out her hand. ‘I’m Claire, the president of the club, but that doesn’t mean much except I do the boring stuff and get custody of the library of films we watch each meeting.’

      The girl looked at her hand as if it were a live cobra about to strike. Panicked, she glanced at the door, but Claire had stepped forward when she’d starting talking to her and was now blocking her escape route.

      Eventually, the girl’s shoulders slumped. ‘I’m Abby,’ she said, so quietly that Claire hardly heard her above the noise of the drinkers who’d spilled out onto the street below the open windows, eager to escape the cloying heat of the pub’s dark interior.

      Kitty straightened her spine and twisted to stare at Abby as she bypassed the empty seat next to her and scuttled round the back of the tables and chairs to find a spot in the corner tucked away behind Bev and Candy.

      ‘Hang on, I know you, don’t I?’ she said.

      Abby didn’t answer, just dropped into the chair, hunched over and folded her arms tight.

      Claire looked between the two of them. A couple of the others were scowling, thinking Abby a bit rude, but it hadn’t been disdain Claire had seen on Abby’s face. It had been fear. Strange, because Kitty was a friendly, open-hearted girl of twenty-three, whose passion for all things vintage was unrivalled, her only flaw a tendency to open her mouth and let whatever entered her head spill out of it.

      Despite the snub, Kitty grinned at their new member. Abby, however, didn’t see it, as her eyes were fixed steadily on the beer mat on the table in front of her.

      ‘Abby Preston, that’s right. You used to go to St Joseph’s, same as me. My younger brother Gus was on the football team with you. He was always moaning that you got to play centre midfield instead of him. He was well miffed that you were the best on the team!’

      Abby looked up. Her long straight hair had partially fallen over her face and she didn’t brush it out of the way. ‘Really?’

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