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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?’
Kitty nodded. ‘Really.’
Abby looked down again at the table, but Claire noticed that she now wore the barest of smiles.
‘Well, it’s lovely to have you with us for the evening, Abby,’ Claire said, as she took her seat, ‘and don’t worry, if it’s not your cup of tea, you don’t have to come back next time.’
Much to everyone’s surprise, Abby shot to her feet again, sending her chair skittering backwards into the wall. ‘But that’s just it! I do have to come back next week!’
Claire gave a slightly nervous laugh. ‘No … honestly. We won’t make you stay!’
Abby shook her head. ‘It’s not you I’m worried about,’ she explained, with a wobble in her voice. ‘It’s my mum. She’s blackmailing me.’
‘Blackmailing?’ Claire repeated quietly.
Abby nodded, her jaw tight. ‘She says she gave birth to and raised a little girl and that she’s tired of me going around looking like a football hooligan and that it’s high time I learned to be a bit more ladylike.’
‘I see,’ Claire said slowly, not really sure she did.
‘My mum says exactly the opposite,’ Kitty said brightly. ‘She keeps asking when I’m going to stop showing her up by dressing up like a pantomime dame!’
There was a murmur of sympathetic laughter from around the room.
‘My mother was always going on about the fact my slip was showing,’ the old lady sitting next to Abby said. ‘She said I was the untidiest child she’d ever seen.’
Claire watched Abby take in Bev’s spotless pink blouse, the crease in her nylon trousers and her perfectly permed hair. Bev smiled back at her. ‘Mothers and daughters,’ she said. ‘Some things never change.’
Claire frowned. ‘The demanding parent thing I get, believe me. But what I don’t get is why it has anything to do with us … the Doris Day Film Club?’
Abby sighed. ‘She often pops in downstairs for a drink and she’s seen you all going through the pub looking …’ she broke off to glanced around the room ‘… well, looking like girls, and last week she came home with a flyer for your meetings and stuck it to the front of the fridge with a magnet. She says it’s this or a spa weekend.’ Abby paused for a moment to let a shudder ripple up her spine. ‘And since neither of us have got the money for one of those, here I am.’
Claire shook her head, but she was smiling at the same time. ‘I’m sure she’s not going to actually—’
‘Oh yes she is!’ Abby blurted out. ‘She’s hired the whole pub out for her fortieth birthday party in six weeks’ time, and she says she’s getting desperate. No way am I allowed to show her up in front of her friends.’
‘Stand up to her,’ Peggy said, folding her arms across her chest. ‘She can’t force you, can she?’
Abby looked quite fierce. ‘Actually, she can. She bought tickets to the Arsenal–Man United game for me when I was broke. I’m saving up to pay her back, but now she’s holding them hostage. If I don’t turn up at her party in a dress with …’ she didn’t elaborate, twirling of her fingers near her head ‘… hair and … m-make up, she says she’s going to flog them on eBay.’ And then she sat down on her chair with a thump, looking more miserable than ever.
Bev, who had six grandchildren and was always hoping for more to mother, leaned backwards and patted Abby’s hand in a matter-of-fact way. ‘Don’t you worry,’ she told her. ‘If there are two things this lot aren’t short of, it’s advice – whether you want it or not – and fashion sense.’
‘I’m not sure any amount of fashion advice is going to help me,’ Abby said mournfully, ‘but thank you.’
Bev nodded. ‘Don’t you get het up about that right now. You got here for the meeting, just like your mother asked. We’ll start worrying about the rest of it next time. All you need to do now is sit back and enjoy the film. You can do that, can’t you?’
Abby gave her a weak smile and nodded.
‘That’s sorted then,’ said Bev, and turned back around to face the front of the room.
Claire took her cue. ‘Right … we might as well get on and watch tonight’s film. I was going to go for Tea for Two, but now I’m wondering if we should go for one that will give Abby some good fashion ideas.’ She opened a large zip-up case that held her entire collection of Doris Day DVDs in sleeves and flicked through it. ‘Any suggestions?’
‘The Pajama Game!’ said Kitty loudly. ‘It’s based on the fashion industry, after all.’
Maggs snorted at the young woman. ‘Don’t be daft. It’s hardly as if Abby needs a nightie for her mother’s party, and Doris spends a lot of the rest of the film in factory work clothes.’
Kitty pouted. ‘It was just a suggestion.’
‘What about Do Not Disturb?’ Candy said. ‘I remember how that dress she wore to the party at the hotel took my breath away the first time I saw it.’
‘Oh, my, yes!’ Kitty said, almost jumping out of her seat, sulk forgotten. ‘All those sequins! And do you remember …? The lining of the coat matched!’
‘Maybe …’ Claire said as she continued to thumb through her collection, frowning slightly. For some reason she wasn’t sure that this floor-length dress in orange sequins was going to be Abby’s thing.
‘I know,’ Peggy said firmly beside her. ‘Pillow Talk.’
There was a general buzz of agreement. Claire looked up. Almost everyone was nodding – except for Abby, who was looking at them all as if they were talking a foreign language.
‘Pillow Talk it is,’ Claire said, smiling as she slid it from its sleeve. ‘Great choice, Peggy. Jean Louis created the whole wardrobe for that film. It shows Doris in some of the most spectacular creations of her career – smart, simple, elegant. In other words, perfect.’
She dimmed the lights and a reverent hush fell over the room.
The opening credits rolled and a sense of both peace and nostalgia swept over Claire as the jaunty little title song played and an anonymous pyjama-clad couple threw pillows back and forth at each other from their respective beds. She let out a long breath.
It had been a long day, and she hadn’t realised she’d need this moment to switch off and unwind until it had come upon her. Now, for a glorious ninety minutes, she could sit back, relax, and lose herself in a world where wrongs were always righted, love always triumphed and even the most scheming scoundrel could be redeemed.
Chapter Three (#ulink_323d24a7-36d5-5b64-a4a5-25b1175d3bec)
Never Look Back (#ulink_323d24a7-36d5-5b64-a4a5-25b1175d3bec)
When the film finished, Claire turned the lights back on and the members of the Doris Day Film Club started to gather their belongings together. Claire noticed Kitty and Grace turn to Abby, expectant looks on their faces.
‘Did you like the film?’ Grace asked. Of the two, she was definitely less talkative, preferring to emulate some of the screen goddesses of old and maintain an air of mystery. She was tall, with a long neck, aristocratic features and vibrant red hair. Her eyes were always slightly hooded, and Claire was never quite sure whether it was in an effort to look sexy or because she thought feigning boredom was cool. She and the shoot first, think later Kitty were certainly an interesting pair.
Abby looked from one to the other, as if she was surprised girls like that would start up a conversation with her, and then a slow, shy smile spread across her lips. She nodded. Kitty and Grace gave each other a knowing look.
‘What did you like best about it?’ Kitty asked, grabbing Abby’s arm.
Abby’s eyes widened, then she thought for a moment. ‘I liked her … Jan. I mean, Doris. She seemed nice.’
‘That’s why we love Doris too,’ Kitty said, while Grace just flicked her hair back over her shoulder. ‘There’s something so warm and approachable about her, even while she’s looking glamorous in all those epic clothes and—’
‘She’s sexy too,’ Grace added in her husky voice.
‘Yes,’ Kitty said, ‘but she’s sexy without being in-your-face about it.’ She shot a look at Grace as she said that. ‘And then there’s the whole “perpetual virgin” thing … I think it’s kind of romantic … I think I’d like to be thought of that way – sexy but unobtainable.’
‘I don’t think anyone’s going to mistake you for a perpetual virgin!’
Kitty pinned her with a fierce look. ‘Well, that’s better than being like you! If a man ever does get into those knickers of yours, he’s going to find they’ve frozen solid!’
Grace just flicked her hair again and turned away.
Kitty leaned in closer to Abby and took on a confidential tone. ‘Okay, I had some insecurity issues a while ago, and maybe I tried to solve them by seeking male attention—’ she glanced towards the blank screen of the television ‘—but watching these films has made me think that maybe I’d like a bit of old-fashioned respect.’
Abby nodded, looking uncomfortable at Kitty’s massive overshare.
Grace’s perfect mask of calm showed signs of cracking. ‘Sorry,’ she said to Kitty, while keeping her eyes fixed on the garish wallpaper. ‘I’ve been trying to develop some of that Bacall-like rapier wit and sometimes it runs away with me.’
Kitty rolled her eyes but her expression softened. ‘Forgiven. Anyway, we’re drifting from the point … What we’re trying to do is tell Abby that Doris is all about the fun and the romance—’
‘And the fashion,’ Grace added seriously.
Claire was sliding the DVD of Pillow Talk back into her storage case. She’d been listening to the conversation. ‘Actually, Doris ended up hating the image people, and the media, had of her. Her real life wasn’t like that at all,’ she said.
Kitty and Grace looked at her, their expressions slightly blank. Abby looked at the floor.
‘We all love her because she’s bright and perky and happy on screen, you’re right,’ Claire continued, ‘but she had a lot of tragedy in her life. The real Doris Day is a lot more complex than people think.’
‘Oh, I know,’ Kitty said, nodding absent-mindedly, and then she grinned, ‘but the clothes! Did you see the clothes, Abby? Which ones were your favourites?’
And with that, Kitty inked arms with Abby and steered her towards the door. Grace wafted along behind them. Poor Abby looked stuck halfway between awe and terror. Who knew if she was going to come again next meeting – which would be next week, rather than next month, as the membership had unanimously embraced the idea of a Doris Day film festival. Claire supposed it depended on how desperate she was for those Arsenal tickets.
She looked up at Maggs, who was hovering near the committee table, and gave a heavy sigh. ‘They don’t get it, do they? Those girls? They don’t know the truth about Doris. All they can see is the pastel colours, the dazzling smile, the voice of an angel …’
They didn’t know what Claire knew – the one reason she’d really started to love Doris Day in her own right, not because her grandmother had – that Doris was tough. She was a survivor. Claire wanted to be just like her.
‘It’ll come,’ Maggs said, strangely reasonably for her. ‘After all, you didn’t get it at first.’
Claire nodded. She hoped Maggs was right. It was one of the reasons she’d wanted to keep the club running after Gran’s death. Gran had known the truth too, drawn strength from it. Her life hadn’t been easy either.
There wasn’t much clearing up to be done after club meetings. Usually, there’d be a bit of chit-chat after the film, then people would drift off one by one until it was just her, left to give the place a quick once-over before she turned out the light and shut the door, but tonight Maggs was hovering.
Claire straightened the lampshade that Abby had bumped into. Maggs didn’t seem to be making any moves to leave, so Claire glanced over her shoulder at her, just in time to see Maggs finish taking a quick nip from her hip flask and hide it back in her handbag.
Claire frowned, but didn’t say anything about it. Instead, she asked, ‘George not giving you a lift this evening?’
Maggs shook her head. ‘I told him to go on without me.’
Claire stopped fussing with the shade, which would just not consent to stay horizontal. ‘Oh? Are things okay between you two?’
Maggs shrugged.
Claire turned to look at her. She’d thought Maggs and George might have been developing a little ‘thing’. Maybe she’d been wrong, but she hadn’t failed to notice the way that at some club meetings, as the film rolled, George wouldn’t be watching Doris on the fifty-two inch screen all the time. Sometimes he’d be watching Maggs.
It wouldn’t be such a bad thing, even though Maggs had scoffed at the suggestion. Claire knew how lonely she’d been after Sid had died. They’d been married for thirty-eight years, after all. It had to leave a horrible hole.
She put a hand on Maggs’s bony shoulder. Maggs, her full height at five feet and one inch, looked up at Claire, her expression guarded, eyes searching. ‘I just don’t know,’ she said quietly, revealing more than she ever had on the subject before. ‘He’s a sweet man, but he’s not …’ She looked away.
He’s not Sid, Claire finished for her silently. She got that.
‘Well, I’ll give you a lift back if you want,’ Claire said and continued to bustle around while really doing nothing. It was better if she pretended she hadn’t seen that mistiness in Maggs’s eyes.
When Claire had been a child she’d always thought of her grandmother’s best friend as ‘that funny lady’, but as she’d grown into an adult, she’d come to appreciate the other woman’s dry humour, her mastery of the snappy comeback. They’d found a new kind of closeness since her grandmother’s death, bound together by her absence in a much stronger way than they had been by her presence.
Maggs sniffed and gave Claire a faux-offended look. ‘I’m not too old and frail to get the two-seven-one, you know. Those louts who like to ride on the top deck don’t scare me!’
Claire turned to have one last go at the lampshade, mainly to make sure Maggs didn’t see her smiling at that comment. If anything, those ‘louts’ were more likely to be cowed by Maggs than the other way round. ‘I know that,’ she said, turning back, ‘but my car has air conditioning and I can give you door-to-door service.’
Maggs adjusted the light cardigan she’d slung over her shoulder. ‘I suppose I can keep you company, if you want. There’s something I need to talk to you about, anyway.’
‘Club business?’ Claire asked absent-mindedly as she flicked off the lights and they both exited onto the landing.
‘Not exactly,’ Maggs muttered as she followed behind.
*
Given the fact she had something to say, Maggs was very quiet on the drive home. She didn’t speak until they were almost there. ‘I had a letter from your father,’ she announced suddenly, staring straight ahead, looking for all the world as if she’d just told Claire she had a hairdressing appointment in the morning.
Claire didn’t decide to brake hard – she just did – causing both her and Maggs to fly forward until their seat belts engaged, digging into their chests then flinging them back into their seats again. She turned to stare at Maggs, only half aware her fingers were making dents in the steering wheel.
‘What …? I mean, how …?’ She shook her head, kept on shaking it. ‘How did he know your address?’
Maggs shrugged and glanced at her. Now that Claire was looking at her more carefully, she could see that Maggs wasn’t as blasé about the whole thing as she’d first thought. There was a tension around her mouth, as if someone had pulled a drawstring round it, crinkling its edges.
‘To be honest, I have no idea, but he wrote to me anyway.’
Claire realised that her little Fiat was blocking the narrow Victorian street, lined with parked cars on both sides. It was only a matter of time before some other motorist started honking their horn or swearing at her. She slid the car into gear and eased away slowly. ‘What did he want?’
‘To see you.’
The urge to brake hard again was strong, but Claire managed to beat it. Instead, she concentrated on indicating left and turning into Maggs’s road. ‘Why now?’ she whispered, more to herself than her passenger.
Maggs sighed. ‘He didn’t say.’
Claire’s brows lowered and pinched the skin at the top of her nose. Of course he hadn’t said. Her father had never felt the need to explain anything he did, had only saw fit to issue orders. She stewed on that thought as she performed a perfect parallel park outside Maggs’s house.
‘But reading between the lines,’ Maggs continued as the car came to a halt, ‘I’d say he’s ill.’
Claire realised she was squeezing the life out of her steering wheel again and deliberately peeled her fingers from its warm surface. ‘I don’t care,’ she said. She could feel Maggs looking at her, and Maggs kept looking until Claire gave in and twisted her head to stare back at her. ‘I don’t.’
‘He’s your father,’ Maggs said simply.
