Their house in Duke’s Avenue in Muswell Hill was a large one, with the kind of good-quality but scruffy furniture that could only be inherited.
Frank had a full, bushy beard, and wore paint-splattered corduroy trousers and a shapeless jumper, while Lena wore a dress which looked suspiciously like a Victorian petticoat. She too had hair the colour of new pennies, but it was long and plaited and she wound the plaits round her head like a crown. Laura had never met people like them before. If she’d passed them in the street she might have taken them for a couple of extras from some weird film.
Yet from the moment Laura walked into their vast, astoundingly untidy kitchen, she wished she had been born into their family, for there was an all-pervading sense of love and warmth amidst the chaos.
Toby and Belle, Jackie’s younger brother and sister, twelve and eight respectively, watched by their mother, were icing a birthday cake for Jackie. It reminded Laura of one in a cartoon, large and lopsided, with bright pink icing dripping down the sides. They had smeared and dropped icing everywhere, including their clothes and faces, yet Lena sat casually drinking a cup of tea, unconcerned by the mess.
‘We’re going to write “Happy Birthday Jackie” in chocolate icing,’ Belle trilled out.
Maybe it was because Belle was a similar age to Ivy that Laura felt an instant affection for Jackie’s little sister. She was supremely confident, with her golden hair, blue eyes, pink cheeks, dimples and the cutest little nose, but it was her willingness to accept a complete stranger as a friend that touched Laura the most.
‘You’ll have to wait until the pink icing dries,’ she said, smiling at the child.
‘We don’t usually worry about such refinements in this household,’ Lena said with a chuckle. ‘But as you seem to know about these things, maybe you could instruct Belle.’
Jackie explained how they’d met at the swimming pool, and that she’d invited Laura back for the party.
‘You’re very welcome, Laura,’ Lena said with the kind of smile that proved she meant what she said. ‘But I hope my birthday girl explained that our parties tend to be rather mad affairs.’
It was a mad sort of party, for there appeared to be no organization about numbers of guests, or even what time it was to start. People arrived in dribs and drabs as early as five o’clock, some bringing plates or bowls of food, others with drink, all of which was plonked unceremoniously around the kitchen. There were children of Belle’s and Toby’s age, a great many adults, and about sixteen or so teenagers who seemed almost as eccentric as the adults.
Music blared out from the large sitting room at the front of the house. ‘Runaway’ was played over and over again, along with Roy Orbison, Elvis Presley and the Everly Brothers, but every now and then an adult would come in and put on Frank Sinatra or something equally old-fashioned. The younger children chased around the house, the adults moved on out into the overgrown garden for more serious drinking, while Jackie and her friends took over the kitchen.
Laura didn’t bother to change out of her pink and white spotted sheath dress when she saw that Jackie intended to wear a pair of boy’s jeans and a plain white cotton shirt which she tied in a knot at her waist. ‘I like myself in jeans,’ she said when Laura looked at her in surprise. ‘You are the frilly type. I’m not.’
That evening everything Laura had hitherto imagined about what went on in middle-class homes was turned upside down. She saw adult women getting drunk and dancing like teenagers and grown men playing with small children. No one seemed the least concerned about mess, noise or what the younger people were getting up to, yet strangely enough it was these friends of Jackie’s who seemed to be the most sensible. One girl in four-inch stiletto winklepickers and a beehive hairdo took it upon herself to wash up. And a
Frank had a full, bushy beard, and wore paint-splattered corduroy trousers and a shapeless jumper, while Lena wore a dress which looked suspiciously like a Victorian petticoat. She too had hair the colour of new pennies, but it was long and plaited and she wound the plaits round her head like a crown. Laura had never met people like them before. If she’d passed them in the street she might have taken them for a couple of extras from some weird film.
Yet from the moment Laura walked into their vast, astoundingly untidy kitchen, she wished she had been born into their family, for there was an all-pervading sense of love and warmth amidst the chaos.
Toby and Belle, Jackie’s younger brother and sister, twelve and eight respectively, watched by their mother, were icing a birthday cake for Jackie. It reminded Laura of one in a cartoon, large and lopsided, with bright pink icing dripping down the sides. They had smeared and dropped icing everywhere, including their clothes and faces, yet Lena sat casually drinking a cup of tea, unconcerned by the mess.
‘We’re going to write “Happy Birthday Jackie” in chocolate icing,’ Belle trilled out.
Maybe it was because Belle was a similar age to Ivy that Laura felt an instant affection for Jackie’s little sister. She was supremely confident, with her golden hair, blue eyes, pink cheeks, dimples and the cutest little nose, but it was her willingness to accept a complete stranger as a friend that touched Laura the most.
‘You’ll have to wait until the pink icing dries,’ she said, smiling at the child.
‘We don’t usually worry about such refinements in this household,’ Lena said with a chuckle. ‘But as you seem to know about these things, maybe you could instruct Belle.’
Jackie explained how they’d met at the swimming pool, and that she’d invited Laura back for the party.
‘You’re very welcome, Laura,’ Lena said with the kind of smile that proved she meant what she said. ‘But I hope my birthday girl explained that our parties tend to be rather mad affairs.’
It was a mad sort of party, for there appeared to be no organization about numbers of guests, or even what time it was to start. People arrived in dribs and drabs as early as five o’clock, some bringing plates or bowls of food, others with drink, all of which was plonked unceremoniously around the kitchen. There were children of Belle’s and Toby’s age, a great many adults, and about sixteen or so teenagers who seemed almost as eccentric as the adults.
Music blared out from the large sitting room at the front of the house. ‘Runaway’ was played over and over again, along with Roy Orbison, Elvis Presley and the Everly Brothers, but every now and then an adult would come in and put on Frank Sinatra or something equally old-fashioned. The younger children chased around the house, the adults moved on out into the overgrown garden for more serious drinking, while Jackie and her friends took over the kitchen.
Laura didn’t bother to change out of her pink and white spotted sheath dress when she saw that Jackie intended to wear a pair of boy’s jeans and a plain white cotton shirt which she tied in a knot at her waist. ‘I like myself in jeans,’ she said when Laura looked at her in surprise. ‘You are the frilly type. I’m not.’
That evening everything Laura had hitherto imagined about what went on in middle-class homes was turned upside down. She saw adult women getting drunk and dancing like teenagers and grown men playing with small children. No one seemed the least concerned about mess, noise or what the younger people were getting up to, yet strangely enough it was these friends of Jackie’s who seemed to be the most sensible. One girl in four-inch stiletto winklepickers and a beehive hairdo took it upon herself to wash up. And a
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