Closer than Blood: Friendship Helps You Survive. Julie Shaw

off.

      What the hell’s going on? She thought crossly as she stomped back towards the bar. Titch, indeed. What kind of a name was that, anyway? Yes, he was tiny – really tiny – but he had a not-at-all titchy nose. Which looked like it was broken. And though she was willing to concede that he had a friendly enough smile, she was in no mood to be friendly in return. ‘What’s Keith’s bloody game?’ she demanded when she reached him.

      Titch laughed. And that was another thing. Why did they all seem to find everything so funny? Why did there seem to be this permanent joke that she wasn’t allowed in on? ‘Hark at you!’ he said, apparently not remotely concerned to have her scowling at him. ‘You sound like one of them posh birds off the films. Keep yer knickers on, love. He’ll be back soon enough.’

      He nudged her as well. Then he pointed towards the stage, where the band were setting up and testing their sound, and where – to Shirley’s horror – Keith was standing now as well, holding a microphone. What was he doing up there? She couldn’t imagine anything more excruciating. Standing up there, with everyone staring. But, from the look of him, he didn’t seem to be self-conscious at all. They were obviously about to start performing as well, because the music from the juke-box was starting to fade out.

      ‘Is he going to sing?’ she asked his friend, but the question was answered before he could. Keith was indeed going to sing. In fact, he was already singing. Singing ‘Why’ by Anthony Newley.

      Crooning the words, he smiled down at the growing cluster of girls at the front. The room had fallen silent, and those who had been dancing were now shuffling towards the stage, forming a semi-circle at the front.

      Good grief, Shirley’s thought, her mouth hanging open as she listened. He sang even better than most of her favourite singers, Cliff included. How had she not known this about him? How come he hadn’t said? She was so shocked, she even found herself smiling at Titch. ‘Shall we go up there to watch?’ she asked, feeling a sudden urgent need to get to the front herself, so that he could sing to her.

      ‘Sure,’ he said, leading the way proprietorially as they threaded through the crowd. And it was a crowd, too. Keith Hudson was obviously very popular. He was definitely popular with Shirley right now. In fact she was almost bursting with pride at this new boyfriend of hers. Just getting up on stage and singing like that! Imagine! She couldn’t have done anything like that in a million years. And nor, more to the point, could John Arnold. And as they reached the front, Keith immediately began to sing directly at her.

      He could have carried on in that vein all night, Shirley decided, but the song came to an end and his turn on the stage was obviously done, to a deafening round of applause. Keith was obviously popular; Shirley noticed that his other friend, Bobby Moran, had taken off his silly hat and was now walking among the crowd, holding it out, and that they were actually putting coins into it as well. ‘Is that for Keith?’ she asked Titch, already half-knowing the answer.

      ‘What else do you think they’d be doing it for?’ he replied, as if she was mad. ‘Sings like a nightingale, our Tucker does, doesn’t he? That’s how it works, love. Bit for him, bit for Bobby – bit for me an’ all; he’ll always stand me a drink or two.’

      Shirley found this ‘Tucker’ thing as bemusing as she ever had. She recalled John Arnold telling her about it when they’d first got together; how all the Hudson boys, from Charlie down, had always been known as Tucker, and that it wasn’t complicated, because there was only one ‘top’ Tucker on the streets at any time, and if there was another, they were simply ‘young Tucker’.

      But why ‘Tucker’ anyway? She made a mental note to ask Keith sometime. He had so many brothers and sisters she was already all at sea without them all being called the same thing as well.

      ‘Don’t you worry,’ Titch continued, patting Shirley’s arm with a clammy hand. ‘He’ll treat you as well. Course he will. His little posh bird.’

      This brought Shirley up short. If there was one thing she hated more than her father telling her she didn’t know her own mind, it was anyone – anyone – referring to her as that. It had irritated her almost all her life. She had even been teased about it at school in Clayton, and it was simply because she was an only child and had that bit more than her friends with lots of siblings. ‘I’m not a bloody posh bird!’ she snapped. ‘I’m just the same as the rest of you.’

      Titch laughed out loud. ‘Yeah, course you are, love. And if me auntie had balls, she’d be me uncle.’

      ‘I am not posh!’ she persisted. Who was he to tell her what she was or wasn’t?

      ‘Where d’you live, then?’ he said.

      What did that have to do with it? ‘Clayton,’ she huffed.

      Titch swept his arm down and across his body and bowed his head for good measure. ‘Then I rest my case, Your Majesty. Anyway, there’s nowt wrong with posh. You want to have some pride in where you’ve come from, lass, you do.’

      Shirley didn’t know about that – it wasn’t as if she wasn’t proud of where she came from, exactly. She just didn’t want people making assumptions about her all the time, thinking she was stuck up and unapproachable when she wasn’t.

      And tonight, in her new role as Keith ‘Tucker’ Hudson’s ‘bird’, she suddenly felt like flavour of the month. She didn’t really know why, but she felt as if she’d suddenly been granted membership of an exclusive club. Once Keith had brought soft drinks for her and all his friends, and been congratulated by one and all – especially the girls – it began to feel like she’d known everyone for ever; girls and lads she’d never met before being so welcoming and friendly as, one by one, Keith introduced her to everyone. And it really felt as if he knew everyone, as well.

      The atmosphere was great, the music was great and, by the time the band broke again, she found she didn’t even mind when he said he’d be nipping over to the Red Lion for a bit.

      ‘I won’t be long,’ he promised. ‘An’ it’ll give you a chance to get to know some of the girls. I’ll just have a quick pint and I’ll be back before you know it.’

      Shirley wasn’t a nervous girl, in fact she loved nothing more than meeting new people and joining in, despite being an only child. Or perhaps because of it. She’d had a lifetime of practice in having to make friends. Even so, she didn’t want him running away with the idea that she’d be standing for any nonsense. She was never going to be like her mam, treating her dad like some sort of criminal for so much as speaking to another female, but she wasn’t having him thinking she was a pushover, either. ‘Okay,’ she said, nodding, ‘but don’t leave me too long. Don’t forget I have to be home for ten and my dad’ll be waiting for me.’

      ‘Ten minutes,’ he promised, planting a kiss on each of her cheeks in turn. Would tonight be the night when he properly kissed her? She hoped so. And as he headed off out of the front doors with Titch Williams and Bobby Moran, she caught another lingering whiff of his aftershave.

      Was this how it was for her mam? This jittery feeling? Was that why she gave her dad hell all the time? For a moment, though she knew she’d never be jealous like her mam, ever, she thought she understood how she felt.

Chapter 4

      Shirley wasn’t on her own for very long. Before Keith had even left the dance-hall, two girls around her own age came straight over to say hello to her, introducing themselves as Doreen and Joan. ‘Your fella gone to the Red Lion?’ Doreen asked. ‘Ours as well. So you can stand here with us if you like. Help us fend off the chancers,’ she added, nodding towards the lads who hadn’t gone to the pub, and were apparently hoping to take advantage of the mass exodus by trying to impress all the now unchaperoned girls.

      The other girl, Joan, who had hair bleached almost as white as Shirley’s ankle socks, rolled her eyes