Still, tonight was different. They’d made a plan and she was determined to stick to it. ‘Seriously,’ she added, climbing off Paddy’s lap again, ‘I can look after myself.’
‘That’s not what I’m worried about,’ Paddy said. ‘It’s all the lads that’ll be trying it on with you, that’s what I’m worrying about.’
‘Okay,’ said Vicky, seizing on a way to turn things to her advantage. ‘How about me and Luce go out, like we’d planned, and then we meet up with you later on? We’ve much more chance of getting into places if you’re there, after all. Go on, that’ll work, won’t it? You go and find someone else to play with for a bit, and then we’ll meet up at Jokers. How about that?’
Paddy reached out and slid a hand up the back of her thigh. ‘But I want to play with you …’
Nothing for it. She’d have to be firmer. ‘I’m telling you,’ she said briskly, batting his hand away. ‘Cut it out!’
‘God!’ he said, sighing theatrically for a second time, as he grabbed the packet of cigarettes and lighter Vicky was just about to put in her bag.
‘Oi!’ she said as he lit one. ‘Smoke your own! That’s all I’ve got.’
Ignoring her, he drew on it deeply and blew the smoke out in rings. Then stood up and walked through the cloud he’d created, first turning up the volume and then picking up her dressing-table mirror and setting it carefully down on the bedroom floor.
He’d done it countless times. He loved to dance, and particularly in Vicky’s bedroom because of the lino on the floor. All the better to practise his moves. She stood and watched him, as she always did, even though it wasn’t really her music. Loved to watch how he lost himself so totally in the music, his eyes on the mirror as his feet slid and flicked across the floor. He was so good. So impossibly, mesmerisingly good. And then, predictably, almost, he reached out a hand to her, parked his fag in the ashtray and swept her up with him.
It was crazy. There was no room to swing a cat, let alone her. But she went along with it anyway. Giggling as he twirled her, losing herself too, just like she always did when he let her come to the Mecca on Manningham Lane with him, happy to be led by him – he was such a brilliant exhibitionist – basking in the oohs and ahs and loving all the comments about how amazingly they danced as a couple.
And then, as the track ended, he reeled her in towards him, cupped a hand round her buttock and began kissing her again.
‘Pad, babe,’ she started. ‘Look, you know I can’t resist you, but I’m on a promise and I have to go out, okay? I—’
There was a cough. ‘Not on my account, you don’t.’
It was Lucy’s voice, from the doorway, the light spilling across their feet as she pushed it open wider.
They both span around. ‘Luce, you’re here—’ Vicky started, conscious of Paddy deliberately taking his time lowering the hand that had been kneading her left breast.
‘With brilliant timing, as per usual,’ he finished dryly.
‘So it seems,’ Lucy said, her eyes darting between them. ‘So if I’m interrupting …’
‘Course you’re not,’ Vicky said, snatching her bag up and shoving her fags into it. ‘I’m just about ready. Just got to grab my jacket and see if I can scrounge a couple of quid off Mam. God, just think,’ she said, conscious that she was beginning to prattle, ‘this time next week we’ll both have pay packets. Can you imagine?’
She was aware of Paddy behind her, crushing his – her – fag out. Then bending over the cassette player and getting his tape out. She reached across Lucy to switch the bedroom light off.
‘I won’t,’ Lucy said, and her voice was flat and hard. ‘I’m on a monthly salary, aren’t I? It’s going to seem like an age.’
‘What d’you expect?’ Paddy said, as he slipped the tape into his back pocket. ‘That’s what you get for working in an office, isn’t it?’ He managed to make it sound, Vicky thought, like it was some sort of offence. ‘Anyway,’ he then added brightly, ‘where to first, then?’
Vicky felt her friend’s eyes on her before she turned to meet them. Accusing. Questioning. Boring into her back, as she led the procession back downstairs. She met them at the bottom of the stairs and frowned apologetically. But she could see Lucy was not in the mood for an apology.
Her eyes narrowed and she looked behind Vicky, to Paddy. ‘What, you’re coming?’ she said to him.
‘Course I am,’ he told her. ‘Got to keep an eye on my girl, haven’t I? Why?’ His voice was challenging. ‘You got a problem with that?’
Lucy ignored him. ‘Seriously?’ she said to Vicky, looking exasperated. ‘Seriously?’
‘Is it such a big deal?’ Vicky responded, feeling her hackles rise, despite herself. ‘It’s not like Gurdy won’t be out with us, not to mention half of bloody Lidget Green, for that matter.’
Lucy’s expression hardened. ‘Yes, actually, Vic. Yes it is. Because it means I get to play gooseberry while he bloody paws you. Great girls’ night out that’s going to be. Cheers, mate.’
Vicky could see Paddy’s satisfied grin forming out of the corner of her eye, and for a moment it crossed her mind to tell him that, actually, Lucy was right. That he needed to go somewhere else and amuse himself for a bit – Christ, he knew every-fucking-body, didn’t he? But something stopped her, or at least made her hesitate, and she wasn’t quite sure what it was. Or maybe she did know. It was frustration. Couldn’t Lucy just roll with it for once? Why did she have to make everything to do with Paddy so bloody difficult? Because Lucy knew as well as she did that when they got to the Boy and Barrel or the Crown or wherever they were going first, he’d be off on the dance floor, or off with some of his cronies, within minutes of them so much as stepping into the place. So why couldn’t Lucy just let it go?
‘Look, let’s just go, shall we?’ she said. ‘Let me just go talk nicely with Mam, yeah? Won’t be a second. Where’s Gurdy going to be anyway? He’ll be wondering where we’ve got to …’
Not waiting for an answer, she headed off into the back room, where her mam was, as ever, full-length on the sofa, fag in hand, tea at her elbow, telly blaring.
‘I’m off, Mam,’ she said. ‘And I was wondering …’
Her mam ferreted in her cardigan pocket before she’d even got the rest out. ‘And that’s only a sub,’ she said, pushing a five-pound note into Vicky’s palm. ‘Not a gift. And now you’re earning, I’ll be expecting keep off you too.’
Vicky slipped the money into her bag and headed back into the hall. Paddy was standing on the doorstep, the open door allowing a balmy summer night’s breeze in. It had a sweet, exotic scent to it, heralding the start of what she was determined was going to be a brilliant night. Lucy would get over herself. She usually did.
Paddy had his back to her, but turned around when he heard her and smiled.
‘Where’s Lucy?’ Vicky asked, looking past him into the street and not seeing her.
‘Stomped off, as she does,’ he said mildly. His hair had the same inky gloss as next door’s black cat. He ran a hand over it now, smoothing it down, feigning innocence.