Page 31

BEFORE

September 1976

Sally

Doddington Estate, Battersea Park Road, London

Sally smoothed her hair, then added another slick of lipstick. By the time she’d got home from the salon today, she’d almost cancelled her plans to have drinks with Elsie. Saturdays in the salon were their busiest day and she was exhausted. But now that she’d had a wash and change of clothes she was looking forward to spending the evening with Elsie.

But when she arrived at Elsie’s small flat at six o’clock, the door opened to reveal a sullen friend. Sally followed Elsie inside gingerly, feeling tension pierce the air around them.

‘How are you?’

Elsie shrugged, flopping into her couch and curling her feel up under her.

‘Is everything okay with Reggie?’ Sally asked. The question was met with silence. ‘If you want him to come along tonight, I don’t mind, honestly.’

While Sally didn’t relish being a third wheel, she always had a great time with them. Reggie was good company, full of funny stories. Last week, he’d had them both in stitches about an incident with a rabid dog. He was generous too, insisting on buying the rounds for not only Elsie, but also Sally.

‘I keep telling you, Reggie and I ain’t no Romeo and Juliet; we’re not tied at the hips. I told him I didn’t want to see him tonight,’ Elsie announced, picking up a piece of lint from her denim flares.

Sally sensed that Elsie’s mood was more complicated, than whatever was going on with Reggie. But she decided not to probe further for now. She knew Elsie. She’d only open up if she decided she wanted to.

Elsie picked up a copy of the Evening Post newspaper from the coffee table. Her jaw tightened as she pointed to the glaring headline out loud.

‘Killer may strike again’ warning.

‘Scumbag,’ Elsie said. ‘I can’t stop thinking about those poor women. Emily Jackson left three children behind. Wilma McCann, four.’

Sally’s stomach heaved when thinking about what those women had been through. She noticed Elsie’s hand shaking and reached over to lay hers on top of Elsie’s.

‘I know. It’s scary. Even the name they’ve dubbed him, the Yorkshire Ripper. It sends shivers down my spine. But, whoever he is, he’s a long way from London.’

Elsie threw a look at Sally, rolling her eyes. ‘I bet that’s cold comfort for the poor sods working at Battersea Park every night.’

Sally had seen the prostitutes who stood on the corner of the park after dark. ‘We can only hope that the police find him. He’ll have to slip up.’

‘It’s the way the press talk about the women. As if they deserved what they got, because they were prostitutes,’ Elsie said, her voice laced with anger.

Sally looked at her friend in confusion. ‘I know it’s unfair. But why are you getting so worked up about this, Elsie? Talk to me. What’s going on?’

Sally had felt that her friend had been holding back something from her for a long time. And she knew that if she’d only unburden herself with Sally, it would help. Elsie looked about to say something for a moment, but she remained silent.

Sally tried another tactic, stretching her arms above her head. ‘What do you want to do tonight? It’s our favourite day of the week – no work tomorrow. Don’t know about you, but I plan to sleep until lunchtime.’

Elsie’s face remained set like stone.

‘Don’t be like that,’ Sally cajoled. ‘I’ve been looking forward to tonight all week.’ She moved closer to her friend and leaned in to tickle under her arm like she used to when they were kids.

‘Stop!’ Elsie cried out, but her face lightened as she giggled.

‘Never!’ Sally responded, using both hands to tickle until Elsie begged for mercy. They lay back on the sofa, shoulder to shoulder, laughing together. And the earlier tension, whatever that was, disappeared.

‘Let’s treat ourselves today,’ Sally said. ‘We both work so hard and barely get to see each other. So how about a drink in the Grove, then a fish-and-chip supper from the Apollo Café afterwards?’

‘I’m broke. I can just about manage to buy two half-lagers. That’s it,’ Elsie said, her mouth downturned again.

Sally did the maths quickly. She had ￡1 from tips in the salon yesterday in her handbag. That would pay the 48p needed for two pints of lager and 42p for their chippy supper.

‘On me. I had a good day at the salon yesterday,’ Sally said. ‘Come on. Put some lippy on, and let’s go have some fun.’

Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in the corner near the jukebox, with a half pint of lager and lime each. Elton John belted out Crocodile Rock , and they sang along to the chorus along with most of the pub.

Elsie’s earlier tension disappeared, and Sally thumped the table in front of her, giving herself a drumroll.

‘I’ve got news,’ she said in a rush. ‘The results of my first exam. I’ve only gone and got a distinction!’

Elsie punched the air with a fisted hand and whooped out loud. A group of ladies sitting close to them looked over with interest, one of which was Hazel, her client from the salon. Sally was chuffed to notice that her hair was still perfectly groomed.

‘What are you celebrating, Sally?’ Hazel called over.

‘My best friend is going to be the next Vidal Sassoon! She’s got a distinction in her exams!’ Elsie boasted.

‘I’ve still got years to go!’ Sally exclaimed as the women raised their glasses to cheer her, but she felt happiness spark its way through her. Turning to Elsie, she asked, ‘Can you believe it?’

‘Yes, I can,’ Elsie said, her face now serious as she turned to her friend. ‘I am in awe of how hard you’ve worked this past year. You truly are a wonder. I wish you could give up the char work, though. It’s killing you, holding down both jobs.’

Sally shrugged. ‘I wish. Unless Prince Charming comes my way, I need the money to top up the apprenticeship wages. But it’s helping, only working three nights a week.’

A few minutes later, Hazel approached them and placed two lager glasses on the table. ‘Sally love, your hairdo finally brought me luck yesterday. So this is in thanks from me.’ Hazel held out a sparkling diamond, and did a twirl and a curtsey as Sally and Elsie gushed their congratulations.

‘I’ve been thinking about doing something new myself too,’ Elsie said, once Hazel had returned to her friends. ‘Last night, as I sat in the flat on my own – I talked myself out of it, convinced I’d never be able to pull it off – but hearing your news . . . it’s inspiring,’ Elsie said, almost shyly.

Sally’s throat felt tight as she listened to her friend speak. She hated to hear how insecure she was. ‘That is the craziest talk I’ve ever heard. You are the cleverest person I know! Tell me everything.’

Elsie reached into her oversized shoulder bag and pulled out an Avon catalogue. ‘One of the girls I knew from . . . well, from before, sells Avon in the evenings. She invited me to meet her manager to discuss me becoming an Avon girl.’ Elsie grinned and then sang out, ‘Avon calling.’ This was the perfect mimic of the Avon adverts that the girls had grown up hearing on the radio and watching on television.

‘I cannot think of anyone more suited for this. And I promise you that I’ll be your first customer!’ Sally said, picking up the catalogue, which had a photograph of the beautiful model Iman on its cover, with the caption – Perfect care. The Look: Silky Skin .

‘She’s so beautiful. Her cheekbones are to die for.’ Sally sucked in her cheeks to try to copy Iman’s pout.

‘You could be a model too if you wanted to be,’ Elsie said.

Sally felt a flush of warmth run through her body from the sincerity in her friend’s voice.

‘Here, I’ve some samples I can give you of the skin-care cream Iman is wearing,’ Elsie said, reaching into her oversized shoulder bag again. She pulled out a couple of small sachets. ‘The great thing about it is that I can bring the products to my customer’s homes, so they have time to try out the products. We have the biggest beauty range in the world. And I’ll be trained to help ladies choose the right skin-care products, make-up, perfumes and toiletries, all at special prices.’

Sally grinned as she listened to Elsie’s obvious enthusiasm for her new venture. ‘Think of all the potential customers you’d have in the flats. There’s hundreds of homes on your doorstep!’

‘Exactly. I thought I could hand out catalogues in the evenings.’

Sally smiled as she listened to Elsie laying out her plans on how she’d manage it all. Then she hit the table when a thought struck her, exclaiming delightfully, ‘We’ll be the queens of cosmetics and hair!’

Elsie placed an imaginary crown on each of their heads, joining the dream. ‘We could open our own business one day. We could live together again in a flat over the beauty salon.’

Sally loved the sound of that.

All thoughts of a chippy supper disappeared as they ordered another round of lager and limes. Live music began, with a male and female double act belting out show tunes. The two girls joined Hazel and her friends, and they all danced and sang the night away.

‘Last orders!’ the barman called out.

‘Look, here’s our fish supper,’ Sally said with a hiccup when the cockle man came in at closing time, carrying a wicker basket full of fish and treats.

The girls each bought a small paper bag filled with cockles, mussels, prawns and winkles laced with vinegar and black pepper. With their last lager and lime of the night, a bag of cheese-and-onion crisps from the bar and their fish treats, it was the best meal that Sally had ever had.

They left the pub, a little unsteady on their feet, clutching each other for support. When Elsie hugged Sally goodbye before they parted for their own flats, she felt tearful. It had been the best night out she’d had since she’d left the orphanage. And the air felt as if it were filled with possibilities.

Ten minutes later, Sally giggled as she toppled onto the bed, unable to keep her balance when she tried to take her shoes off. She opened her handbag and pulled out the Avon catalogue, thinking she’d spend some time in the morning working out what she could afford to buy from Elsie. She could also leave the catalogue in the salon if Nicola didn’t mind.

She continued flicking through the magazine, stopping abruptly when she came to the perfume pages. Her eyes were immediately drawn to a cute bottle with a plump peach as its lid.

‘Her Pretty in Peach,’ she whispered as a memory of her mother spraying that perfume onto her neck and wrists hit her so hard that it took her breath away. She sniffed, sure she could smell the sweet fragrance in the air.

‘Oh, Mum,’ Sally said, the words choking in her throat.

She’d put her mother out of her mind for years, but it appeared she was not struck from her heart. An ache throbbed inside her so piercingly that it took her breath away.