Page 81 of Lessons in Life

Eloise

The large, red-faced bouncer on the door of the Regent Rooms nodded at Janice, Gail, Eileen and Jean, glancing briefly at their membership cards before allowing them in.

‘Hang on, are you a member, love?’ He stepped in front of Eloise, barring access as she attempted to follow the others.

‘Er…’ Eloise glanced towards Janice for help. If she wasn’t a member, she wouldn’t be able to go in, she thought. Then she could get a taxi back to the safe haven of Maude’s cottage.

‘She’s with us,’ Janice called over her shoulder. ‘Give her a guest pass, Roy, and if she likes it, she’ll get a member’s card next time. She’s posh, is Eloise. You should be bloody grateful to have her in this crummy place. Don’t you dare turn her away. If she doesn’t get in, none of us are coming in. We’ll be off to Moonlight instead.’

‘She is that.’ Roy grinned admiringly, his small eyes moving over every part of Eloise’s body until she felt herself grow hot with embarrassment. ‘Don’t know where you’ve come across this one, Janice,’ he added, the sweaty hand tapping at Eloise’s backside apparently giving the consent needed to follow the others. ‘Right, you’re in, love, and I’m out here all night if you get lonely.’ He leered in Eloise’s face and she hastily followed Janice into a darkened, smoke-filled room, a DJ at one end, stairs, apparently leading down to a bar, at the other.

Janice and the others immediately made their way to an adjacent flight of red swirly-patterned-carpeted stairs, Eloise following in their wake, her shoes lifting stickily with each step. The door at the top opened to reveal a bank of washbasins and mirrors, each surrounded by a posse of girls backcombing hair, spraying Elnett, adding more black to already darkened eyes and pale colour to pouting lips.

‘Bloody hell, watch what you’re doing,’ a fiery redhead was saying to another girl. ‘The bloody stick’s gone in me eye now.’

‘Well, get out the way, then, stop hogging the mirror – let someone else in.’

The mixed pungent smells of Youth Dew – Eloise recognised her mother’s choice of perfume – Coty’s Masumi and the smell of urine from a broken-down toilet on her left were making Eloise feel sick. She stood on the periphery of the restroom, not sure what to do, but eventually reached into her bag for the one piece of make-up – a pink lipstick – she had with her, taking her time to outline and fill her lips, copying how the other girls completed the task.

‘Hey—’ one of the girls she didn’t recognise broke off from applying yet another layer of pan stick to her face ‘—that lad from the carding shed – you know, that right good-looking Asian lad – is here.’

‘Here?’Several of the girls turned in surprise. ‘Why? What’shedoing here? I’ve never seen any of his lot in here before.’

‘Well, he won’t be here to dance, will he? Or drink. I don’t think they’re allowed, are they? Isn’t it against their religion?’

‘Yes, I’ve seen him too. He’s wandering round with that camera of his,’ another girl said.

‘His camera? There aren’t any birds in here, are there?’ Eileen started laughing. ‘Not the feathered type anyhow.’

‘Ugh, that’s weird. He’s not takingmyphoto.’ The redhead pulled a face. ‘My Ronnie would soon be after him if he caught one of that lot looking at me; taking photos of me.’ She fluffed up her hair in the mirror, admiring her reflection.

‘He’s a superb photographer. I’ve seen some of his stuff. Why wouldn’t you want him photographing you?’ Janice frowned.

‘Well, you know.’

‘No. What?’ Janice wasn’t letting the girl’s racist remarks go.

‘Well, it’s not right, is it? One of them taking pictures of us.’

‘Would you let David Bailey take photos of you?’ Janice asked.

‘Yeah, course, don’t be daft.’ The redhead was indignant. ‘I’d strip off to me knicks if he could get me to be a model.’

‘So, Junayd, like David Bailey, is a man. Yes?’ Janice was warming to her theme.

‘Yes?’

‘And Junayd is as good looking as, if not better looking than, David Bailey?’

‘Suppose.’

‘I think he looks like Omar Sharif,’ Eileen started. ‘You know, inDoctor Zhivago…?’

‘He doesn’t look anything like Omar Sharif, Eileen,’ Janice snapped. ‘Omar Sharif is Egyptian for a start, and much older: he must be pushing forty. Junayd Sattar is only our age.’

‘I wouldn’t know.’ The redhead turned to her mates, tutting and pulling a face towards Janice in the mirror.

‘Well, I’m telling you, he is.’ Janice was cross. ‘And you’re being downright prejudiced.’

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