a quiet life. Which apparently tonight meant the black mini-dress she’d bought the previous weekend. Her first well-deserved purchase as a full-time working girl. ‘And those shiny high heels,’ he added. ‘Give ’em all something to gawp at, eh, babe? We’ll be the best-looking couple there, that’s for sure.’
Not that any of that mattered to Vicky, and she was just about to say so, when he added, ‘Not that your dopey mate and her fucktard of a boyfriend are any sort of competition. Gurdy tells me they’re invited, more’s the pity.’
‘Paddy!’ Vicky complained. ‘It’s not a frigging competition!’ She swivelled in her seat. ‘And please don’t start tonight, babes. Promise me, okay? I want to make up with Lucy – not cause another frigging row. It’s a party, so let’s just all have a laugh, okay?’
He looked offended. ‘Me? Start anything? Like I’m the one who has anything to prove?’
‘No, I know,’ she said, reaching between her legs for her handbag as Paddy parked up outside her house. ‘But I also know you. Couple of drinks …’
‘Cross my heart,’ he said, pulling the key from the ignition. ‘Come on, let’s get you in and get you out of that work gear.’
‘And straight into my party gear,’ she added. ‘You can stay downstairs with Mam. She’s got some cider in. You can have a drink with her. She’ll enjoy the company.’
Even as she said this, Vicky knew it wasn’t going to happen. ‘Alright, Mrs Robinson?’ Paddy called as he followed her into the hall. Then, in Vicky’s ear, as he grabbed her arse fondly, ‘I’d much rather watch you strip out of that apron …’
Which meant it would take her twice as long to get ready. And it did. Two hours later, after a slow undressing, an obligatory romp on the bed and then a hurried re-dressing, she was finally ready for Vikram’s party, albeit slightly flushed.
It was a nice place, the Coach House, where the do was being held, but, for some reason, it had always been known as Mucky Willy’s. Not that anyone she’d asked could ever tell her who Willy even was, let alone in what sense he’d been mucky. Still, tonight it was all looking tarted-up and elegant, with Vikram, Gurdy and their parents looking equally festive, standing in the foyer, all togged up for the occasion.
Vicky could have kicked herself, watching other guests ahead of them, bearing elaborately wrapped gifts. She’d written a card, and popped a tenner in it, but why hadn’t she thought to bring an actual present? She had to make do with gushing about how beautiful Gurdy’s mam’s sari was and telling Vikram they were looking forward to buying him a couple of birthday drinks. Though as soon as she’d said it she could have kicked herself again at the look on his mam’s face – the senior Banerjees were both teetotal.
Paddy seemed to have no such concerns. With Gurdy’s mam and dad busy chatting to some elderly relative, he shook hands with Vikram and pulled him in close. ‘Now then, me little Paki mates,’ he said, grinning at both brothers, ‘point me to the bar, my son – this one has proper worn me out.’ Ah, so he was in that sort of mood, then.
She slapped Paddy in the stomach with her handbag, as was her usual response. A small part of her loved the way he alluded to her being so sexy, but the larger part – the much larger part – hated it, and made her squirm. And she could see Gurdy squirming too, so she threaded her arm through his. ‘Take no notice, pal – he’s all talk,’ she whispered as they walked inside. ‘More importantly, are Lucy and Jimmy here yet?’
Gurdy nodded and pointed. In fact, it looked like everyone was here. Vikram not only had a family that seemed to stretch from Bradford to Leeds, he was popular too and had lots of mates of his own. Most of which, Vicky guessed, were his fellow workers from Fields Printers, the large factory between Clayton and Lidget Green where he worked, which was famous for printing cigarette packaging.
And despite the relative earliness of the hour still the party was in full swing, the dance floor packed and throbbing and long queues at the bar, and, with the curtains closed and the disco ball scattering the room with coloured diamonds, Vicky felt a surge of happiness, despite the ache in the balls of her feet. This was going to be a great night, she just knew it.
But Vicky’s confidence looked like turning out to be short-lived. No sooner had she spotted Lucy and Jimmy, and raised a hand to wave a greeting, than she felt Paddy’s hand grip her arm.
‘Hey, you’re with me tonight,’ he hissed at her, while still smiling at the barmaid. ‘Let’s do the sensible thing, yeah? Leave the fucking numpties where they are.’
Vicky shook his hand off, and he didn’t resist, thankfully. ‘Oh, Paddy, for God’s sake, don’t start! I only want to go say hello to Luce. She’ll think I’m being funny if I don’t.’
‘Then she can come talk to you here,’ he said firmly. ‘I mean it, Vic. You’ve got to let her come to you. That’s the way to play it. And if she wants to, she will,’ he added. ‘Won’t she?’
Vicky wished she’d never mentioned her and Lucy’s last conversation. Why had she done such an idiotic thing? She should have realised she was only giving him ammunition against Lucy. She made a mental note never to do it again.
She looked at Lucy again, making what she hoped was enough of an apologetic face for Lucy to understand how her hands were tied, but not so much that Paddy would notice and think she was taking the mick. Lucy made a face back, and this time it was entirely unmistakable. She’d seen Paddy stop her going over and it was clear how she felt about it. Her expression said, Yeah, I get it, you’re a doormat and your boyfriend is a dick.
Well, sod it, Vicky decided, stung. It was all so bloody childish. Were it not for the fact that it would probably turn into a fist fight, she’d like to bang her best friend and her boyfriend’s bloody heads together. So she turned instead to the drinks Paddy was lining up on the bar. Perhaps getting something down her would chill her out a bit.
As was his way, he’d got a row of shorts lined up on the bar – three whiskies for him and two vodka and limes for her. ‘Come on, Vic,’ he said nudging her, ‘get them supped up.’ He downed his three in turn. Three tips of the head, three bobs of his Adam’s apple. He then picked up his pint. ‘Can’t have you lagging behind, can we?’
Vicky felt her spirits sink. Paddy liked his drink, but unfortunately it didn’t like him much, and she could already spot the tell-tale signs that he was going to be in the mood for bother. Not least that he kept glancing across the dance floor to where Lucy and Jimmy were sitting, despite his earlier reassurance that, because they weren’t worth the effort, he intended to ignore them.
He downed the pint, too, and immediately held the empty glass up, after another. It would only take another couple of drinks before he was well and truly pissed. Great.
‘Slow down a bit, babes,’ Vicky said, stroking his arm. The last thing she wanted was for him to show her up in front of everyone. ‘Tell you what, forget the pint – why don’t we go have a dance?’
It was always touch and go, such a suggestion; Paddy never like being told what to do. But he was still just on the right side of belligerent. Plus he did so love to dance, and here he had a big audience.
‘Good idea,’ he said, grinning as he set the empty glass down on the bar. ‘But first,’ he said, grabbing her hand and tugging her out onto the edge of the dance floor, away from the bar queue, ‘I’ll go get that DJ to put something decent on, seeing as I’m all dressed up in my best dancing gear.’
Vicky groaned inwardly. That meant Northern Soul, of course. And much as she loved him, and loved dancing with him, too, this would go down like a lead balloon. If the DJ agreed – which he would, because Paddy would charm him – the dance floor was likely to empty in moments, leaving only the hard-core Soulies stomping around.
She watched disconsolately, her eye naturally travelling from Paddy over to Lucy, making an automatic connection. Lucy would know exactly what she was thinking right