served in the Ideal Dance-hall – not to anyone. So sarsaparillas and milkshakes were the order of the day. Hardly any of the girls minded; they were there for the dancing – but with some of the other dance-halls selling alcohol these days, for the older lads it was a real bone of contention.
Not that they couldn’t get hold of some if they wanted it. For those in need of a bit of Dutch courage, there was always the Red Lion next door, the pub which Bert Shultz’s parents owned, and in whose car park the Ideal had been built. So the older lads would usually get a pass-out from Bert during the band breaks (or as often as they felt thirsty), down as many pints as they could afford and then come back in again, better placed to chat up any girls they’d had their eye on and – assuming they could still stand up reasonably straight – hit the dance-floor again. For fear of any drunken uprisings that might follow, Bert had no choice but to encourage it as, after all, it was money in his parents’ pockets.
‘Hey up, Shirley,’ Keith said, pointing to where two lads were standing at the far end of the bar. ‘There’s Bobby and Titch – sorry, my mates Bobby Moran and Titch Williams. Let’s go stand with them for a bit, shall we?’
Shirley’s face fell. For one thing, wasn’t Keith planning on getting her a drink? And for another, she wasn’t sure she wanted to go and stand with them anyway. She’d seen the one Keith called Titch a few times before, and he was bad enough – loud and raucous and loved to think he was a bit of a ladies’ man (which he wasn’t) – but Bobby Moran was much worse. He looked a good few years older than Keith and she’d seen him around several times, and every time he’d been drunk and staggering around the place. He liked to fight, too – Anita had told her that before, and if she was honest, she found him rather scary. ‘Do we have to?’ she asked Keith. ‘That Bobby gets right on my nerves.’
Keith laughed and carried on walking across the dance-floor, which was currently half empty, as the band hadn’t started yet. ‘Oh, he’s all right really,’ he reassured her. ‘Once you get to know him. He fancies my big sister, Margaret, you know. Had a right crush on her, he did.’
‘But isn’t she in her thirties?’ Shirley asked him, bewildered by this.
Keith laughed. ‘Well into,’ he said. ‘But that didn’t stop her going on a date with him once – strictly out of pity, of course, but he’s never stopped going on about it ever since. Still can’t understand why she married her Bob and not him.’
Shirley followed Keith, as there didn’t seem much else to be done. ‘Well, I obviously don’t know anything about Bob,’ she whispered, as Bobby Moran raised an arm and waved at them, ‘but I imagine your sister made the right choice.’
She meant it, too; Keith’s friends looked like they’d come to the Ideal straight from a jumble sale – well, via the Red Lion, of course. Bobby Moran was wearing a funny little hat that wouldn’t have looked out of place on Charlie Chaplin, and the other one – Titch Williams – was in a blue drape jacket with a black collar, which wouldn’t have been too bad on its own – well, if it had fitted him – except that sticking out of the bottom were a pair of horrible brown trousers.
Titch wolf-whistled as they reached them, looking her up and down as he did so. ‘You’ve done all right for yourself, young Hudson,’ he said, treating Shirley to the sort of smile that made it clear he thought his get-up was the bees knees, even if no one else did. ‘She looks like bleeding Betty Boop!’ he added brightly.
Shirley wasn’t sure whether this was supposed to be a compliment or an insult, though she was sure of one thing; that this wasn’t quite how she expected her and Keith’s first date to be panning out. She hoped it wasn’t indicative of how the rest of it was going to go. Nothing to drink, and having to stand around with a pair of gawping idiots. Where was the romance in that?
‘Leave her alone, Titch, or I’ll bleeding bop you one,’ Keith said, equally brightly. ‘Anyway, where’s your birds, then? Mislaid them somewhere, have you?’
Shirley stood by Keith, keeping her arm tucked in the crook of his, and wondered what sort of girls would want to go out with either of them. ‘As it happens,’ Titch answered, puffing himself up importantly, ‘Jayne Mansfield was tied up tonight and I told Doris Day I was having a night in. Thought I’d come and check out some local talent for a change.’
‘Course you did,’ Keith said, squeezing Shirley’s arm. ‘And fortunately for the rest of us, the local talent know an ugly little bleeder when they see one.’
This little quip seemed to invoke some sort of laddish primeval instinct, because she was then forced to step aside as the three of them started shadow boxing with each other, and right in the middle of the bar queue as well. She scanned the room, hoping that Anita might be in too, but she wasn’t – not yet, anyway. And this wasn’t at all the sort of night out she’d had in mind with her new boyfriend.
Perhaps reading her thoughts, Keith stopped messing about with his friends and finally got her a milkshake but, to her surprise, ordered nothing for himself. Did that mean he was sloping off to the Red Lion now? If so, what was she supposed to do?
‘Aren’t you having a drink?’ Shirley asked him. She sincerely hoped he wasn’t about to up and leave her there.
He shook his head. ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘I’ll get one in a bit. Later on, once I’ve got a bit of money.’
Shirley felt dismayed all over again. Didn’t he have enough money now? Had he really come out with only enough money to pay for them both to get in and buy one measly drink? She wasn’t sure what to do – she did have a few bob of her own tucked into her bag, but she hadn’t expected to have to spend it. And he might be offended if she suggested it, anyway. ‘I’ve got enough for us both to have one,’ she decided to suggest anyway, wondering where he imagined he might be getting this ‘bit of money’ from, exactly.
Keith shook his head a second time. ‘Don’t need it,’ he said, smiling. ‘Thanks, but no thanks. Just wait a bit – till the band gets going – and then I’ll have plenty. Just wait and see.’
The band duly started and the floor began filling up. ‘Come on,’ Keith said. ‘It’s the Four Pennies. I like this one, don’t you?’
Shirley didn’t have a clue what he was on about, but now the music was playing and they were up and dancing along to it, she didn’t care. They danced to that song, then the next, then jived to Buddy Holly, and, at last, she felt entirely in her element. Anita had been right – Keith really was good enough to show them how it was done, and before long she was aware that a space had cleared around them, not so much to watch, exactly, just to give them sufficient room. And she was loving it, feeling a million dollars in the lemon blouse and polka-dot skirt she’d made herself, loving the way the colours blurred into one as she danced, and the swish of the frilly underskirt that peeked from under the hem. Loving how, when Keith sent her into a spin, it mushroomed out so prettily all around her. But what she most loved was how Keith was such a brilliant, brilliant dancer and how she was getting such envious looks from all the other girls. Keith Hudson, she realised, must be a bit of a catch.
All good things had to come to an end, however, and when she spied Bobby Moran waving at them both about half an hour later, she knew their turn on the dance-floor was done. At least for the moment. ‘Quick!’ Keith whispered to her as Bobby acknowledged that he’d seen him. ‘What’s your favourite song?’
Shirley was confused. ‘Um, er … I don’t know. Why? What do you mean?’
‘Your favourite singer? Your favourite song? Both, if you like. What is it?’
‘Um …’ Shirley began, wondering what the hell was going on. ‘Er, how about “Why” by Anthony Newley?’ she suggested. ‘But Keith, why d’you want to know, anyway?’
Keith grinned at her. ‘Right then,’ he said, not answering her question. ‘You go stand over there and you’ll see.’
‘Over where? And what about you? Where are you going, then?’
‘Go