Songbird. Josephine Cox
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at the same time. ‘Long shapely legs, big firm boobs and a small enough mind not to ask any questions. Oh, and she mustn’t worry about being dumped the day after the night before, if you know what I mean?’
‘Big boobs and a small mind, eh?’ Judith gave a groan. ‘That lets me out then.’
Darren surveyed her slim, boyish figure. ‘Oh, I’m sure I could fit you in if you really wanted.’
‘Are your fish cakes and chips all right, Rob?’ Betsy turned her attention to the only one of them who had not joined in the banter. ‘If they’re cold, I can put them in the microwave to warm them up.’
‘Thanks all the same, Betsy, but they’re fine. Besides, I was that hungry I’d have eaten a scabby dog!’ Not exceptionally good-looking like Daz, or the life and soul of any party like his best friend Dave, Robin was both studious and likeable. In his early twenties, he was a young man going places; studying medicine and working in a big London hospital. This evening, he had driven over in his elderly car to see Dave, whom he had known since their schooldays. From boyhood, nothing had swerved him from his goal to become a doctor, though his father was bitterly disappointed that his only son was not going to follow him into the established family business.
‘Right then.’ Scrambling out of his chair, Darren strode across the room to sort through the records. ‘Jude, how about opening another bottle of wine and I’ll put some good tunes on. There’s a Smiths’ LP in here somewhere, isn’t there?’
Judith objected. ‘Oh God, Morrissey is so depressing. Let’s listen to the Police instead. Oh, and that reminds me. Susie borrowed my Alanis Morissette tape. I’ll have to get it back before she lends it on, like she did with my Madonna one.’
‘Hey! Don’t start taking over,’ Robin joked. ‘Unless you fancy paying Abigail’s rent between the two of you?’
‘I wouldn’t mind paying rent if I could live here,’ Judith retaliated. ‘It’s got to be better than living in hall.’
‘I second that!’ Daz declared, lighting a roll-up. ‘I can’t see why you lot won’t let us share with you. When all’s said and done, there are four bedsits in this house. I could double up with you, Dave, and Judith could double up with one of you girls.’
‘Not a snowdrop’s chance in hell, mate.’ In a light-hearted way, Dave made his feelings known. ‘I’m not doubling up with anybody. I left four brothers behind at home, and I’ve got my own room at long last. And I am not giving it up for love nor money.’
Betsy and Abigail were of the same mind. ‘At the moment, we can chuck you out when we’ve had enough of you,’ they joked.
‘Yeah,’ Dave said, laughingly addressing himself to Darren. ‘Gawd help us if we had to get up each morning and see your ugly mug.’
In no time at all, the Police were belting out their best, followed by some vintage Stones, and for a while, the friends drank the wine and chatted and smoked – until Darren decided to leap onto a chair and give a performance of his own, playing air guitar and screeching at the top of his voice along to ‘Black Sugar’.
‘Put a sock in it,’ Dave begged him. ‘You’ll have all the cats round.’
Abigail threw a cushion at him and Robin threatened to douse him with cold water. But nothing stopped him, until Betsy pulled the plug from the wall.
‘Party poopers!’ Climbing down from the chair, Daz went storming off into the kitchen in search of more booze.
‘Does anybody mind if I choose the next record?’ That was Betsy.
‘I mind!’ Daz returned to his seat empty-handed. ‘I’m not in the mood for listening to one of your soppy love-songs.’
‘Too bad,’ she told him, ‘because whether you like it or not, we’re all having a turn at choosing.’
She picked out a Nat King Cole ballad, ‘When I Fall In love’, and it came as no surprise when Darren immediately protested, ‘Bloody hell! Do we have to listen to that rubbish?’
‘Shut up, misery.’ Judith was rapidly going off him. She gave him a shove. ‘If that’s what Betsy wants, that’s fine by the rest of us, and if you don’t like it, you can go home, you awkward sod.’
Folding his arms, Darren slouched deeper into his chair and pointedly started doing the crossword in the local free paper.
As the smooth silky tones of Nat King Cole flowed through the room, the girls sang along.
Unaware that Robin was watching her with fond eyes, Betsy let the song wash over her. She loved Nat King Cole’s sensuous voice, and the words were so beautiful. Abigail had bought her the Greatest Hits CD last Christmas, and it was one of Betsy’s prized possessions.
It was when Judith stopped singing to cadge a cigarette from Darren, that Betsy thought she heard something. ‘Ssh!’ Sitting bolt upright in her chair, she called for silence, and when everyone was attentive she said, ‘Listen – can you hear that?’
Against all his instincts, Darren found himself listening too, ‘Hey! There is somebody else singing …’ He looked suspiciously from one to another. ‘Come on … what are you lot playing at?’
The rich contralto voice of a woman sailed through the wall, as she sang the song again, to herself. Even muffled, like this, the voice was hauntingly beautiful.
‘Who on earth is that?’ Robin asked into the hush.
Dave voiced all their thoughts. ‘It seems to be coming from next door,’ he said.
Judith laughed, breaking the spell. ‘What! You can’t mean that strange old woman up at her window.’
‘Never!’ Darren was adamant. ‘I should think the best she could manage would be a croak. She gives me the heebie-jeebies, she does, spying on us from behind her net curtains, and creeping about in the dark.’ He gave an exaggerated shiver. ‘There’s something dead weird about her. The Shadow-Thing …’ With an evil grin, he made moving gestures with the tips of his fingers.
Even Abigail had to agree. ‘She is a bit frightening. I’ve never seen her out in daylight, yet as soon as it’s dark she goes scurrying down the street, hiding in the corners like a little hobbit.’
Darren gave a snort of disgust. ‘If you ask me, she’s not all there. I reckon somebody should put her out of her misery.’
‘You’re a callous bastard,’ Robin reprimanded him. ‘The poor woman’s obviously ill.’
‘There you go then,’ Daz insisted. ‘Like I said … Loopy Lou! They should put her in a home, for all our sakes.’
‘Ssh!’ Betsy was still listening; the woman’s voice was pure and powerful. ‘It’s her, I’m sure of it. It can’t be anybody else.’
Judith was cynical. ‘How could such a beautiful voice belong to such a strange-looking creature?’
Suddenly the singing came to an end and the silence was thick.
‘I was in the paper-shop the other day,’ Dave told them all, ‘and she came in after me for some batteries and a box of matches. When she spoke to Mr Hassan, the shopkeeper, her voice was so low it was almost inaudible.’ He shrugged, bemused. ‘She seemed very nervous and a bit dithery. When she came rushing by me, she dropped her box of matches. Of course I stooped to pick it up.’
He could see her now. ‘She seemed such a sorry little thing, all depressed-looking and dishevelled. But in that split second when she grabbed the matches from me, she looked up.’ His voice sank to a whisper, as though talking to himself. ‘She had the most amazing eyes … chestnut-brown they were, and yet against the paleness of her skin they seemed dark as night. It was strange. Even after she’d gone I couldn’t get her out of my mind.’
He