Party Times

Lucy Cordwell was just a month older than me, small, slim-built,
fair-haired, with not much dress-sense, and a vulnerable look in her
eyes but, I liked her. She had a pretty face and an innocent
manner.
I had first seen her at a party thrown by a prison officer's daughter
while her parents were away for the weekend. I can't remember what the
screw's daughter was named. She could have been Valerie, or something
like that. All I can remember is that she was very fat with frizzy,
short reddish hair. I think it was because she was such a lump that she
held the parties - it was a way of making her popular with her peers.
It was a shame really; she wasn't a bad sort of person but, without
fail, at all her parties, everybody else would get paired off and she'd
be left on her own. Despite my concern and, even though she seemed
particularly friendly towards me, I wasn't brave enough to do anything
about it. Anyway, it had nothing to do with maintaining my street-cred
- I just didn't want to patronise the girl. My mate, Ted Freeman, and
me got our invitations from another mate, Jack Graves. He was going
with a black-haired, plumpish girl called Christine Brindley, who
happened to be a friend of Val's.
The venue for the party was a one in a row prison service houses, built
with their backyards butted against the actual wall of the prison.
(It's no surprise that these dwellings have long since been demolished
to meet later, more stringent security regulations.)
We three lads landed at the party well tanked up and got progressively
worse as the evening rolled on. At one stage, just for a laugh, we
considered a prank featuring a clothesline, which spanned the small
backyard. One end was fixed to an outbuilding close to the back door.
The other connected to a steel loop firmly secured to the prison wall.
Our plan was to disconnect the end from the outbuilding and throw it
over the wall with a note attached: "CLIMB THE ROPE LADS, AND JOIN THE
PARTY." For some strange reason the more sensible amongst the gathering
did not think it was such a great idea.
Back inside Val's house, (I'll call her Val to simplify things) I
clicked with Jane, a shapely bleached blonde with all the right gear
including black suede stiletto shoes and, as I found out later, sexy
black underwear (quite a turn-on in those days). It was Ted who first
picked up with Lucy. At the time I couldn't see anything in her that
could compete with the package Jane had to offer. So, as she was Jane's
friend, I left her to Ted. Mind you, right from the start I could see
that it was a miss-match. He was a big gormless six-foot-odd beanpole
and she, a dainty little five-foot-nothing dot. Because of our
connections: Him being a mate of mine and Jane and Lucy being friends,
we tended to knock around together with Jack and Chris, so it wasn't
long before I got to know Lucy almost as well as I did Jane.
The manifestation of my attraction for her was very gradual. Right
from the beginning, I suspected that it was Ted who had designs on
Jane. I regularly caught him ogling her when he thought I wasn't
watching (lecherous bastard). To this day, I still can't put my finger
on why I found myself being drawn closer and closer to Lucy
Cordwell.
Anyway, one thing led to another until, one night I wound up taking
Lucy home, leaving Ted to seek consolation in Jane. As it turned out it
suited all parties and we all remained good friends.
Shortly after we started going out together, Lucy's eighteenth birthday
cropped up. (This may have explained why Ted wasn't too upset about
changes in arrangements - he wasn't the most generous of blokes and
passing the expense of a present on to someone else was something he
would have relished.) I bought Lucy a fashionable collarless stripy
blouse, which because I couldn't be seen buying women's clothes, I got
my sister to collect in town. I also sent her a card, in which, because
I was reluctant to use the word 'love', I recall writing: "With ___,
from me to you."
As the screw and his wife were away on a weekend retreat again, a party
was arranged for Lucy at Val's place (where else?) and Ted, Jack and me
got a couple of crates of Albrights from the outdoor to help get things
started.
I can remember that night quite vividly. The place was heaving with
people. Jack and Ted disappeared off somewhere (I don't know where)
with their respective girlfriends. Lucy and me made ourselves
comfortable on the front room floor, while poor, sad, fat Val sat in a
chair all on her own in a corner of the back room, nursing a bottle of
wine.
Everything was going just fine. Lucy was cushioned against the deep
pile carpet, letting me chance my arm further than I had ever been with
her before. Then I suddenly felt her go rigid beneath me. I twisted my
head round on my neck to see what had grabbed her attention. Val's
parents were towering above us, gawking down, with bewildered
expressions on their faces. They had unexpectedly decided to return
home early. I turned back to Lucy. The expression on her face indicated
that if she could have found a crack in the floorboards wide enough,
she would have liked to disappear into it. With hindsight, it was
probably fortunate that we hadn't got as far as I'd intended or, the
way I jumped when I saw those two, the next item of clothing Lucy would
need would have been a maternity dress (&;#8230;the Lord moves in
mysterious ways!)
Surprisingly enough, after the initial shock, Val's parents were quite
civil towards us. But many are the times since I have wondered about
our poor fat hostess. I bet she got a right earful from her parents
without getting so much as peck on the cheek, never mind a good
snogging, to make it all worthwhile.

* * *

Well, we all knocked around in a six-some. We'd call around to one
another's houses; go bowling, to the pictures, dances or pubs. Chris
was the only one who lived on the same side of town as us lads. Jane
lived in Shard End, or somewhere in that direction. I remember her
getting irate with Jack for referring to it as 'Shag End'. Lucy lived
even further out, at the romantically named Castle Bromwich, a
sprawling 1950s housing estate and a long way to get back from when I
had seen her home late at night. It didn't strike me until Jane
happened to raise it after I'd been going with Lucy for some time, but
it seemed no one ever got let into Lucy's house - never! No matter what
time of the day or night I'd see her home; I would never get any
further than the front doorstep.
I can't visualise Jane's parents or her house but I can remember being
round there. Her mom and dad must have been OK or I would have a
clearer picture of them.
Chris's mother was more than OK. I really fancied her. She was only in
her early thirties, tall, slim with long dark hair and kept herself
smart. Her old man was a lot older than his wife and an obnoxious
little fascist bastard into the bargain. I could never understand what
Rita (Chris's mom), ever saw in the little bastard until Chris
enlightened us that he wasn't her real father. Her mother was a sort of
child bride - a fallen woman - child-with-child (a terrible way to be
in those days), and bastard features had come along and made an honest
woman of her.
Now I'm much older and less na?ve, I could kick myself for not homing
in on the signals I got from Rita. I mean, she even went as far as to
confide in me that there was no physical side to her marriage and
Adolf, the husband, didn't much care if she played away from home. She
also confessed that she had once had an affair with a work colleague.
God! She must have thought I was awful thick - I was!
So, that's the way we were, and the way it was, but I never got into
Lucy's house. Well not immediately anyway. I used to meet her in town
or at Jane's place or anywhere other than her house, and as I've said,
whenever I saw her home, it would be a goodnight kiss on the front
doorstep. Oh, she'd chat away quite freely about her family. From what
she told me, she was the oldest of a whole rake of kids. I can't recall
all there names. The ones that stick in my mind are: Mary, the second
oldest, who, from what Lucy told me, seemed to have been very aptly
named; a bit of a contrary madam who could get away with anything
because she was their father's favourite. Then there was a clutch of
girls followed by Maurice, who was spoilt by everyone, including Lucy,
because he was the youngest and the only boy (seems the old man kept
going 'til he got a son then hung his boots up).
I hadn't attached much importance to never being introduced to Lucy's
parents until on one occasion, as if she'd been waiting ages for the
right moment, Jane pulled me to one side and raise the matter with me.
She was interested to know if I had ever made it across the threshold,
as, in all the time she had been a friend of Lucy's, she had never been
invited into her house. On a later occasion, on overhearing Lucy
inviting me to Sunday afternoon tea, Jane caught my eye and gave me an
amused little knowing smile. I gave a little shrug behind Lucy's back
to suggest that, as I was the chosen one, I expected to have such
privileges bestowed on me. Before the appointed hour, Lucy took me to
one side and apologised for not asking me around previously. I felt so
sorry for her as she explained, with tears in her eyes, "I'm reluctant
to have anyone round 'cos, you see, it's Mom, I just don't feel
comfortable about it."
"Why?" I asked in all innocence, making things that much more difficult
for her.
I read the apprehension in her words as she said, "Well, she's a bit
funny, you know what I mean - a bit strange. Dad's tried to get her
treatment but she won't have it."
"Oh, I see," I said but I didn't really! I'm an insensitive bastard
most of the time, but right then I realised it couldn't be much fun
having a fruitcake for a mother. So, I found myself putting an arm
around Lucy's shoulder and giving her a little comforting hug.
Going to Lucy's place for the first time was a weird experience. I was
shown up a pathway, which led from the front garden of the council
house, to a side entrance. Then through a little corridor, passed the
kitchen, into a large open-plan, L-shaped room. On the way through I
was met by her father, who introduced me to his wife; a woman sitting
in the shorter angle of the 'L', looking much older than she could
possibly be, clicking away with her knitting needles like there was no
tomorrow.
As I remember it, there were a few kids scattered about the place but
not that many and I can't recall which ones. Mary wasn't there, I
remember that because I was keen to get a look at her just to see if
she was the little tarter that Lucy had described to me (as it
happened, I never did get to meet Mary).
I can't remember much about what happened while I was there but, I
suppose, as it was summer, we must have had a cheese and ham salad, or
something similar. I can remember her dad talking about his work in the
motor manufacturing industry; he built Wolseley cars. (Now there's a
name to conjure up some memories.) Like most people who worked at the
car plants in those days, although he could build the bloody things, he
could only dream about owning one. I took an instant liking to him. He
was a real genuine sort of bloke. I also admired him; it mustn't have
been easy bringing up all those sprogs and having to cope with an
unstable wife at the same time. The only sound I got from her, apart
from the click-click-click of her needles, was a grunt when we were
introduced.
Although I can be a seriously ignorant bugger, I kept up my good
behaviour, and it paid off. The instant we stepped outside I could tell
that Lucy was delighted with the way things had gone.
"Thanks," she said with a broad smile on her face.
"For what?" I asked with a nonchalant frown.
"For being nice," she whispered in my ear as she went up on tiptoes to
peck my cheek.
I was sorely tempted to milk the situation for all it was worth. Being
seen as a knight in shining armour appealed to me. "I don't know what
you got so up-tight about," I shrugged, "You should be extremely proud
of your dad and yourself. And there's nothing to be ashamed of with
your mother. She's ill - she can't help that." A cheeky smirk crossed
my face. "But I do wish she'd take a break from that bloody knitting
once in a while."
Lucy shrugged back at me, "Well, if she wasn't at that she'd be at
something else."
"I suppose," I grinned, "So, will you stop being so silly and have a
few friends back to the house from time to time now? There's no reason
for you to be embarrassed."
"It's not embarrassment," she explained with a degree of impatience,
"You've seen her - I just don't want to give anyone the opportunity to
ridicule her. You know how cruel people of our age can be."
"Yeah," I agreed, "there are some real thoughtless sods out
there."
I got carried away with my new image as a sensitive caring human being,
so much so that, when we went to The Mackadown, the nearest pub to her
house, that evening (just the two of us for a change), I stayed in the
romantic mode all night and limited my alcohol consumption so that I
was still quite sober at closing time. In all honesty, I did have truly
deep feelings for Lucy and I wasn't a totally selfish sod all the time.
Sometimes I could be quite nice without even thinking about it - she
told me that!
* * *

Things progressed and we started to share one another's company more
often - just the two of us going out as a proper couple. Of course, I
did still see Jack and Ted when we had our 'nights off' (although
contacts with Jack became less frequent as time went on. It seemed he
was getting seriously serious with his little plump black-haired
Chris). As Lucy worked with Jane, she was able to keep me posted with
regards to what was happening from the girls' point of view. Ted was so
full of bullshit with terrible delusions of being Giovanni Giacomo
Casanova, I couldn't believe a word he said. But it seemed Jane and him
were rubbing along OK together.
Although we began spending more and more time together, I could never
describe our relationship as 'intense' and certainly not 'love' (that
word stuck in my throat in any context). I know I had a great deal of
affection for Lucy and I enjoyed her company but I still had a lot of
free time, which I spent with my friends. In fact, awful as it may
seem, I don't think I ever made any concessions to Lucy. Whatever I
wanted to do, I did. I have no lasting regrets but if only I had been
more mature things might have turned out differently. I was, I suppose,
what could be termed a 'beer shark'. It wasn't the drink itself. I just
loved the culture; being with your mates, getting wrecked and having a
good laugh, that's what it was about - nothing sinister.
I was nearing the end of my apprenticeship with a large engineering
company and, despite my wild social life and heavy drinking I never
allowed it to interfere with my work - well, only once - and on that
occasion my mother made sure I'd think twice about doing anything like
that again.
It was one Monday morning, I had convinced myself that if I attempted
anything more strenuous than throwing up it was certain to result in
instant death. All I wanted to do was lie in bed until the depression
either passed or killed me. But that was too much to ask. I got it all:
pots and pans being banged about downstairs, then the sound of the
vacuum cleaner gradually getting nearer and nearer until it burst into
my room and she used it as a background while she delivered a lecture
on how I should be grateful to have a job. She followed that up with a
social history lesson on the plight of the working class in the
twenties and thirties. If she convinced me of one thing it was, a slow
death by hangover had to be a better alternative than being subjected
to her wrath ever again. With that thought firmly in mind, I was
clocked in and at my bench ready to start work immediately after the
lunch break.
Because where Lucy lived was such a pain in the arse to get to, we used
to meet in the city centre. Sometimes, when the department store she
worked at had 'late opening', I would meet her straight from work. Most
of the memories I have of Lucy are set in backdrops of New Street, the
newly reconstructed Bull Ring, St. Philips Churchyard with visions of
flocks of starlings randomly splattering anything and everything with
shit along their flight path into the city to roost for the night. (I
wonder if Lucy would appreciate being associated with such exotic
locations!)
So that was it, as far as I was concerned I wasn't madly in love with
Lucy or anything like that. We were, I suppose, what they used to call
'going steady'. Then came another turning point.
Some girl she worked with (I'll call her Sandra because I'm sure her
name was something like that) was throwing a party over at Weoley
Castle, another exotic sounding location that is a 1950s council
estate. (The council planners had marvellous imaginations in that era.)
Lucy notified me of the invitation too late for me to call off the
arrangements I had made with the lads for that Friday night. As a
compromise I arranged to meet Lucy at the venue, with Ted and a couple
of other blokes. Predictably, I got involved with 'the lads' and didn't
get over to Weoley Castle until Lucy was about to give up hope of me
ever landing. (That was a failing I had which my mother blamed on my
father: "&;#8230; you're just like him; think you'll get six months
if you leave a pub before closing time.") I was reeling - rotten drunk,
but looking for more. I was loud but not nasty (another thing I
inherited from my father - he never got violent with drink). I played
up a bit but remained in good humour.
Because we didn't expect to be leaving the party until the early hours,
aware of the problems associated with getting from Weoley Castle to
Castle Bromwich (escorting a damsel from one bloody castle to another -
no wonder I felt like a knight errant!) and then back to my place after
dropping her home, Lucy had arranged for me to spend the night at her
house. I can remember detecting a little knowing twinkle in her eye,
when she suggested the arrangements to me. Unfortunately, due to the
effects of the copious amount of alcohol I consumed during that night,
the meaning of that twinkle slipped my consciousness.
We were on the night service bus heading for the city centre when I
decided I would prefer not to stay at Lucy's and would find my way home
after dropping her off. Looking back, considering the state I was in,
it was probably a wise decision. It prevented any further
disappointment that may have arisen on either side. In retrospect and
the long term, that decision was a big mistake but not half so big as
the one I made the following day:
Lucy and I had made arrangements to meet up with some of her friends to
go bowling on the Saturday night. With the lateness of the party and
the time it took me to trek home from Lucy's place, I was well
knackered by the time I got to bed. But I dutifully got up, and did my
usual half-day of overtime, then joined the rest of my work colleagues
for a lunchtime drink in the Minerva Vaults.
As always, I stayed later than I should have done and wound up in a
similar condition to that I had been in the previous night/early
morning that day. On my return home I rolled back into my pit and
didn't stir again until well after the scheduled time for 'the meet'. I
got up like a bear with a sore head. It was everybody else's fault. Why
hadn't someone got me up? Not knowing what arrangements I'd made was no
excuse! I felt like a five-star bastard. But, quite literally, the
clock couldn't be turned back, so I'd blown it and that was it.

* * *

Sometime after, by chance, I happened to bump into Jane while walking
through St. Philip's churchyard. She told me how upset Lucy had been by
my selfishness and lack of consideration. What really made me feel like
'Number One Shite-Hawk' was the way she described how deep Lucy's
feelings were for me: "She expected better from you because she saw you
as a wonderful caring person who she could trust above anyone else. You
betrayed that trust. But," she continued, "from what Lucy has led me to
believe, if you were to approach her in person, there's a chance that
the wounds can be healed."
I reckoned I had caused the poor girl enough grief. In the belief that
with my disposition, the only way I could guarantee not to cause her
any more heartache was to have nothing more to do with her, I decided
to maintain the status quo.
I did see Lucy just twice after that: Once in the Gaumont Cinema, just
to nod to, and once when she was working behind a bar at Birmingham
Airport. On both occasions I was in the company of different girls and
so didn't get the opportunity to converse with her.
It was only when we were moving house and I was in between girlfriends
that I reconsidered our relationship (or the lack of it!) I was sending
out notifications of my change of address to various acquaintances when
she sprang to mind. She wasn't on the phone or I would've called her
for a chat. So I sent her a note with an invitation to meet up and talk
things over.
She responded by ringing me up and, in equivalent words, told me to
piss off. She'd got someone new with whom she was engaged in a serious
relationship. "Not that you'd understand the meaning of the word!" she
added, just to rub my nose in it.
I know it must sound daft but, after that phone call, I felt like a
weight had been lifted from my shoulders. It was a relief to know that
Lucy hadn't been permanently damaged by my thoughtlessness. I had been
granted a degree of absolution - she was happy - and I hope she still
is!