7

      The air in the beer garden was heavy with the smoke of the hog roast. Long chains of coloured lights were swung in a zigzag from fence to wall and back again, above the dusty grass. The DJ Ricky and ‘his Roadshow from Liskeard’, was playing ‘Walk Like an Egyptian’ and blowing bubbles over a couple of girls who were vying for his attention. The centre of the garden was a heaving mass of dancing, sweating teens.

      Greer arrived and stood on the periphery. She was on her own. Her mother had nipped to the Ladies and her father was at the bar chatting. Loveday spotted her and came bowling over, wreathed in smiles. ‘You made it! How did you manage it?’

      Greer briefly explained and Loveday handed her a glass of punch. ‘My mum’s here too, see.’ Loveday pointed over to the bar area where her mum was laughing and joking loudly over a large vodka and orange with a group of fishermen and their women. Her cheeks were flushed, and when Loveday waved over to her, she blew her daughter an ostentatious kiss. Greer couldn’t understand why Loveday wasn’t more embarrassed by her mother. She dressed in clothes more appropriate for a girl half her age; her own mother would have said that she was mutton dressed as lamb.

      ‘Here, try this. It’s mostly fruit juice, with some sort of wine in it.’

      Greer took a sip. It seemed innocuous enough. ‘I Wanna Dance with Somebody’ was playing now. ‘I love Whitney!’ Loveday shouted above the noise. ‘Come on, Greer. Let’s dance.’ Greer was not the dancing type but she took another mouthful of punch and, looking around for Jesse, reluctantly followed Loveday into the throng.

      Jesse was in the pub kitchen with Mickey, making another industrial-sized bowl of punch. The landlord, Pete, told them to help themselves to the cartons of fruit juice that he’d put into the huge fridge, and to add half a bottle of Lambrusco to each batch. ‘No more, mind! I don’t want to lose my licence.’

      Mickey and Jesse had assured him they wouldn’t overdo it but, as soon as they were on their own, Mickey stepped outside the kitchen door and fetched the bottle of vodka he’d hidden in the hedge and he and Jesse took a swig each from it before pouring a good slug into the punch. ‘Well, Pete never said nothing about vodka, did he?’

      ‘No,’ agreed Jesse, assiduously measuring only half a bottle of Lambrusco into the deep container. The two boys took another mouthful of vodka each before hiding the bottle back under the hedge.

      *

      Loveday was hot. The music was getting faster and louder and she was getting thirsty. She spotted the boys lugging the punch tureen towards a trestle table. ‘Want a drink, Greer?’ she shouted.

      Greer nodded and gently dabbed at her forehead with the back of her hand. She was glad to stop, and gladder still to see Jesse.

      Mickey saw the girls approaching and, emboldened by the vodka, nudged Jesse and slurred, ‘I’m going to make sure I give Loveday a big one.’

      Jesse giggled. ‘You ain’t got a big one.’

      Mickey snorted with laughter, ‘I don’t mean give her my big one.’ He creased over with hysteria.

      ‘Well, I’ll help you out and give her my big one if you like,’ hooted Jesse.

      Mickey stopped laughing and squared up to his friend. ‘What did you say?’

      Jesse was shocked that he’d said anything at all. The drink was muddling his thinking, but thoughts of Loveday were always bubbling just beneath the surface these days.

      ‘It was a joke. Just a joke. That’s all.’ He put his hands up in surrender. ‘Sorry, mate.’

      Mickey looked stony faced. ‘Loveday means the world to me and one day I’ll marry her, so no more talking that way about her. She’s my girl, you got that?’

      For a brief moment, Jesse wanted to push back at Mickey, to ask him who said that Loveday was his girl. Why should he have her?

      Mickey stood his ground, staring hard into Jesse’s eyes. Jesse saw the fierce possession that burned there and instead of challenging Mickey, the words that came from his mouth were ones of appeasement.

      ‘Of course, mate. I’m so sorry. I just … I don’t know … must be the booze.’

      Then suddenly Mickey began to giggle again. ‘Yours is just a little chipolata anyway.’ Jesse, relieved, started to laugh too.

      ‘Oh, yeah?’ said Loveday as she arrived at the table. ‘What you two bollock-heads laughing at?’

      The boys gave each other sidelong glances and started giggling again.

      Loveday shook her head, dismissing their silliness. ‘Honest, Greer, how these two ever managed to get any O levels is beyond me. Bleddy idiots.’ She reached for the industrial catering ladle lying in a sticky pool on the paper tablecloth and dipped it into the punch.

      ‘Give it a good stir, Loveday,’ hiccuped Mickey, putting his arm round her fleshy waist and giving it a squeeze. ‘All the good stuff is at the bottom.’ She looked at him suspiciously. ‘’Ave you been drinking?’

      ‘No.’

      She turned to Jesse. ‘Has he?’

      Jesse