Bye Bye Love. Patricia Burns

were strings and networks of coloured lights and all sorts of fantastic set pieces that appeared to move as the bulbs flashed on and off. Fountains spurted, fish jumped and splashed, plants grew, animals trotted, all in arrangements of coloured bulbs. Along the cliff gardens, trees and shrubs glowed blue, red and orange, while the Never-Never Land was a magical place of lights and fairy tale models. The summer season extended into September as trippers came down from London in their thousands to wonder at it all, and stayed on to visit the Kursaal, eat fish and chips and drink in the sea front pubs.

      On busy evenings Jonathan and Scarlett were required to help out. Even Jonathan’s mother had conceded that Scarlett was quick and efficient, and employing her meant that bar staff could be where they were needed most. For her part, Scarlett enjoyed quite a lot of the job. The actual washing up was dull and tiring, but she was earning some money, Jonathan was in and out of the little room all the time and it was good to be part of a team that was keeping up with the public’s insatiable demands. Her father and the barmaids would use a trip to bring glasses out as an excuse for a quick break, and would stay for a few moments to have a joke with her or tell her what was going on in the bars.

      On the last Saturday in September, the Trafalgar was crowded once again and Scarlett was up to her elbows in soapy water.

      ‘They’re good tippers out there tonight. That’s the sixth one that’s bought me one for myself,’ Marlene said, whipping out her lipstick and powder compact and giving her make-up a quick once-over.

      ‘All right for some. Nobody gives the washer-upper a tip,’ Scarlett said.

      Marlene squinted at herself in the little mirror, patted her hair, gave a satisfied nod and snapped the compact shut.

      ‘All in good time, darling. You’ll be pulling it in when you’re old enough.’

      ‘I’m not going to work in a pub.’

      ‘Ooh, hoity-toity! You think you’re better than all this then, do you?’

      ‘No. I just want to do something different.’

      ‘We’ll see.’

      Marlene looked over her shoulder in a theatrical fashion and lowered her voice. ‘Best have a word with your old man, dearie. The Guv’nor don’t mind the odd drink or two, but he’s had more than that. If he can’t keep up because he’s pissed, there’ll be hell to pay. All right? Don’t mind me saying, do you?’

      And she made off, leaving Scarlett cursing.

      Jonathan came in with his hands full of empties. ‘What’s up?’

      ‘Oh, just Marlene being Marlene.’

      Jonathan put the glasses in the sink and gave her a hug. ‘Ignore her.’

      ‘I am.’ She closed her eyes and leaned against him, savouring the moment.

      One of the part-timers was in next, complaining about the Missus.

      ‘I know, she’s a cow,’ Scarlett agreed.

      Then it was Irma. ‘Ain’t you got those half-pints finished yet? We’re running out.’

      ‘They’re over there,’ Scarlett told her, nodding at the tray. ‘They’ve been ready ages.’

      ‘Huh. Well, I should think so too,’ Irma said, refusing to be put in the wrong.

      Next her father nipped in and leaned against the draining board, lighting a cigarette.

      ‘Gawd, my back! I could do with a sit-down.’

      Even through the tobacco smoke she could smell alcohol on his breath.

      ‘Best lay off the drink, Dad. People are noticing.’

      Victor took a long drag, held it in his lungs and let it out slowly through his nose. ‘It’s a pub, sweetheart. That’s what people do in pubs. They drink. And, besides, I need it to get me through the evening. My back’s killing me and my feet aren’t much better.’

      ‘But if the Guv’nor—’

      ‘He won’t. Now stop nagging, pet. I got enough to worry about without you going on at me.’

      ‘It’s just that Marlene said—’

      ‘Marlene’s a sour little tart. Now let a man have a fag in peace, for Gawd’s sake.’

      Through the open door, the Missus’s voice could be heard. ‘Vic! Get your arse back in here.’

      Victor groaned and shifted his weight back onto his feet. ‘No peace for the wicked.’

      Jonathan came in and out a few times more, and then Scarlett had another visitor.

      ‘Hello, darlin’. Workin’ hard? That’s what I like to see.’

      It was the Guv’nor. Nerves crawled across Scarlett’s back. She shrank a little closer to the sink.

      ‘Bit more here for you to do.’

      He placed a couple of pint jugs in the water, then ran his hand over her bottom, closing it about one cheek.

      ‘Get off!’ Scarlett spat, twisting out of his grasp.

      He gave a chuckle deep in his chest.

      ‘Now then, sweetheart. You know you like it really.’

      He stepped behind her, pinning her against the draining board with the weight of his body. His hands came round to cover her breasts.

      ‘Very nice,’ he approved, fondling.

      ‘Get off!’ Scarlett shouted. ‘Get off or I’ll—’

      One big hand clamped over her mouth. She could feel him hardening against her back.

      ‘No need to make a fuss, darlin’,’ his voice said in her ear. ‘We wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea, would we? Not when we’re just having a bit of fun.’

      Scarlett jabbed backwards with her elbows, kicked at his shins. It seemed to have no effect on him.

      ‘Ooh, it likes to fight, does it?’

      The hand on her breast squeezed tight. Scarlett’s cry of pain was stifled in her throat.

      ‘Let’s just keep it nice and quiet, shall we? After all, you wouldn’t want your dad to get the sack, now would you?’

      Scarlett’s hand closed round the handle of a pint jug. Without thinking, she picked it up and jabbed it backwards over her head and into the Guv’nor’s face. There was a cracking noise.

      Everything seemed to happen at once. The Guv’nor gave a roar and slackened his hold on her, Scarlett wriggled free only to find herself grasped by the arm and slapped across the face, making her ears ring. And then the room was full of people shouting. Jonathan was there, and his mother, and her father. The Guv’nor was shouting loudest of all. There was blood running down his face from a jagged cut on his forehead.

      ‘The little cat! She glassed me!’

      ‘He was touching me!’ Scarlett screamed.

      Her father got to her and put his arms round her. ‘It’s all right, baby, it’s all right—’

      ‘That little tart, I knew she was trouble,’ the Missus was saying.

      ‘Don’t say that!’ Jonathan yelled, and rounded on his father. ‘How can you do that? How dare you?’

      ‘And you can shut your trap—’

      The Missus took charge of the situation. ‘You go upstairs and I’ll see to that cut,’ she said to her husband. ‘You lot can all stop gawping and get back to work and you, Vic—you can collect your cards in the morning, and I want you out by midday, you and that little madam. Is that understood?’

      ‘No!’ Jonathan yelled. ‘No, you can’t do that.’