Closer than Blood: Friendship Helps You Survive

‘Playing the field?’ he said, leaping up from the chair he’d only just sat back down on. ‘No daughter of mine is going to play the bloody field! Them Hudsons are trouble, do you hear me? That Charlie’s just out from the clink for God knows what, and that younger one – Malcolm, is it? – he’s another one. Locked up more often than he’s out, as well! They’re all bloody trouble, and everyone knows it! You’re not going anywhere with a bleeding Hudson boy and that’s an end to it!’

Just as Shirley was about to point out that they weren’t all bloody trouble, there was a soft but clearly audible knock on the front door. ‘Oh, Mam,’ she cried, the injustice of it making tears prickle in her eyes now, ‘look at him! You’ve got to go and stop him, Mam, please!’ She desperately hoped that the closed front door was enough to contain the commotion that was going on inside.

Because it certainly looked as if he was going to need stopping. He was already rolling up his shirt sleeves as he stomped off to answer the door. What was he going to do? Punch poor Keith in the face just because of his surname? Shirley blanched at the thought. He wouldn’t do that, surely? ‘Mam!’ she said again, panicked now, because she’d never seen her dad like this before. ‘Hurry up. Stop him. He might hit him!’

Mary took a hankie from her pinny pocket and passed it to her, seemingly unruffled. ‘Here, love, buck up – don’t spoil your lovely make-up. You know your dad – his bark’s always worse than his bite, and he’s not going to do any such thing. He wouldn’t dare, because he knows he’ll have me to answer to, doesn’t he? Come on, let’s go and meet this young man of yours, shall we?’

Shirley sniffed and carefully dabbed the corners of her eyes before following her mam out into the hall, feeling slightly reassured. She could only just see Keith because he was half hidden beyond her dad, but she could see enough to catch the fact that he was smiling politely and had stuck out a hand ready for shaking.

‘Nice to meet you, Mr Read,’ he was saying. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you. And I also want to promise you that I’ll have your Shirley back early – I’ll walk her all the way back home myself.’

Shirley could tell, just from the back of him, what her dad’s expression would be. ‘I’d expect nothing less, lad,’ he answered. ‘But don’t get ahead of yourself. Unless I’m very much mistaken, I haven’t even said she can go yet, have I?’

Shirley’s heart sank as she watched her dad physically bristle. He wasn’t going to send him packing now, was he? She bristled herself. If he did she’d certainly let him know all about it – how he had comprehensively, totally ruined her entire life. But it seemed he was still busy giving his lecture. ‘Oh, I’ve heard a lot about you, as well, lad,’ he growled. ‘You and the rest of your family.’

This didn’t seem to faze Keith at all. ‘I can’t speak for the rest of the clan, obviously,’ he said, standing straight on the doorstep, as if to attention. ‘But I can assure you that I’ve never been in trouble with the law. In fact, sir, I’ve been in the army, just like you.’

Shirley cringed in anticipation of her dad’s likely response to this. The war had been years ago but that didn’t mean he was going to let anyone forget it, least of all the 21-year-old currently standing on his doorstep, who she knew, even though her dad still had his back to her, would now be at the end of a particularly stony glare. ‘Like me?’ he barked. ‘I wasn’t messing around “in the army”, as you put it. I was fighting for my country, lad! Crawling through bloody ditches in Burma and getting stabbed by the bloody Japs! So you’re wrong there, my son. You weren’t just like me at all!’

Keith nodded his acknowledgement and Shirley’s mam, unseen by her dad, nudged her arm and rolled her eyes. ‘No, you’re right, sir,’ Keith quickly corrected. ‘Not the same thing at all. I just mentioned it because I’m honoured to meet a war hero, honest I am.’ He cleared his throat and for the first time let his gaze rest momentarily on Shirley. ‘I would also be honoured,’ he went on, smiling at Shirley’s mam as well now, ‘if you’d give me a chance to prove that I’m a good man, Mr Read, and to allow me to court your daughter.’

Shirley felt a smile form on her lips as Keith looked at her. Her mam smiled as well. Then poked her dad in the kidneys with a very forceful finger, making it clear that, to her mind, Keith had done what he’d needed to – proved that he wasn’t a reprobate at all.

Shirley held her breath. How could her father find any reason to turn him down? He was smart, he was polite and he couldn’t be held responsible for his surname. On those grounds alone, it was only fair that her dad agreed. And it seemed he did agree. ‘Right then,’ he said finally, ‘all right. She can go. But –’ he added, raising an admonishing finger, ‘I’m warning you, lad, I’ll be at this front door at ten o’clock sharp, and if Shirley isn’t walking through it, you are bang in trouble. Understand?’

Shirley was out of the house like a rocket.

‘Phew,’ she said as they rounded the corner onto Bradford Road. ‘That was touch and go there for a minute, wasn’t it? But you did so well.’

The night was young, the air was warm and she was going on a date with Keith Hudson. She felt such a surge of excitement at being out with him finally that it was all she could do not to skip down the street.

He stuck out an elbow for Shirley to slip her arm into, and winked. ‘You don’t grow up in a family like mine without learning a few things,’ he said, grinning at her. ‘Like how to get yourself out of a sticky situation. And trust me, Shirl, your dad’s a pussycat compared to mine.’

A pussycat? Shirley smiled back at Keith as they walked, feeling a little shy all of a sudden, not to mention a bit bemused by what he’d said. Pussycat wasn’t the kind of word she’d have used to describe her dad – not when he was angry, at any rate. He was more like a frigging bull at a gate, in her book.

But not to Keith, obviously. What was his dad like, then? She’d have a chance to find out soon enough, she supposed, and in the meantime the thought that Keith wasn’t afraid of hers sent another thrill running through her. How nice to have a fearless man on her arm for a change. Even though she hadn’t realised it at the time, she’d obviously done right to break up with boring John Arnold. So that a proper man like Keith – home from the army, no less – could come back into her life and sweep her off her feet.

Whatever his surname happened to be.

Chapter 3 (#ufa6136de-ceb5-5303-ac0c-961130b740c2)

Shirley loved going to the Ideal. A purpose-built dance-hall in the same car park as the Red Lion pub in Bankfoot, it was her and Anita’s favourite of all the dance-halls; the place where you could always be sure of a night spent bopping to the latest sounds. It was owned by a local man called Bert Shultz. Bert was only in his late twenties, but everyone knew him – chiefly because he’d lived comfortably off his wealthy parents’ money all of his young life and wasn’t ashamed of it, either; he made no secret of the fact that the Ideal was a gift for him from his mother.

This didn’t go down well with everyone – not at first, anyway. Especially the young local lads, who believed men should look after themselves. But they tolerated him, because in the main he kept out of their business and, whatever anyone had to say about him, he certainly knew his – he always put on a good night.

During the week, Bert would provide entertainment by way of a free juke-box, but at the weekends he moved things up a gear. Local skiffle groups would come along and play songs from the current hit parade, and the dance-floor would really come alive.

Shirley loved going dancing at the Ideal more than almost anything. Loved the atmosphere, loved the sense of excitement and anticipation, loved the way all the girls would sit demurely along one side of the dance-floor while all the boys stood along the other side – eyeing them and trying to pluck up the courage to ask them for a dance. She loved that young people from all over Bradford would be there; that sense that you were at the place everyone most wanted to be. And mostly, if she wasn’t dancing herself, she loved to watch. Loved watching how the couples would look as though they’d come straight out of the movies once they stepped out onto the dance-floor, the men so handsome in their long drape jackets, with their coloured collars and suede brothel creepers, and the girls in their ballet pumps, their circular skirts flying as they pirouetted around to Bill Haley and Buddy Holly. It was magical to watch, and looked magical to do, as well, and though Shirley was happy enough dancing with Anita – John Arnold had never been much of a dancer – how she had ached to be in the arms of a lad so she could properly put into practice all those hours she’d spent secretly learning how to jive with a kitchen chair.

And now she had one. Well, she hoped so. If Anita was to be believed, anyway. Knowing everything about everyone, she assured Shirley that Keith loved to bop and that only last week she’d seen him jiving away with his sister.

The walk to Bankfoot took them a good half an hour, but it was a lovely early summer’s evening and they passed the time chatting about what they’d been up to during the day. Keith was dressed in typical Teddy Boy attire and, from the musky smell she kept catching off him, had dabbed on some aftershave as well, and she was pleased that her new boyfriend had gone to so much effort.

‘Come on then, kiddo,’ he said, grinning as they finally approached the entrance. ‘Let’s go show ’em how it’s done, shall we? Though hang on,’ he added, glancing first down at Shirley’s black pumps and then at her bag, ‘you’re not going to pull a pair of high heels out of that handbag of yours, are you? Only you’re two inches taller than me already, and I don’t want to look stupid.’

Shirley smiled politely, and though she couldn’t have cared less about his height, immediately and instinctively tried to lower her shoulders. ‘Don’t worry. I don’t like wearing high heels much,’ she lied, pleased at her foresight in choosing to put the flats on her feet, rather than one of the pairs of kitten heels she often wore for dancing. It made her smile to herself, even so. Here he was, so concerned about appearances and everything, yet the Teddy Boy suit he was currently sporting was so obviously a couple of sizes too big. In fact – and she stifled a giggle at the thought – at first sight, seeing Keith turn up in it had put her a little bit in mind of Norman Wisdom. But the impression had disappeared almost as quickly as it had formed. No, despite his size, Keith Hudson was nothing like Norman Wisdom. There was a glint in his dark eyes that was nothing like Norman Wisdom’s. Something so manly. Something so sexy.

He was the best-looking lad she’d ever been out with, in fact, and being led into the Ideal on his arm – this lad from the notorious Canterbury estate, no less – made her feel ever so slightly weak at the knees. She could only hope they’d hold up once she was properly in his arms so she didn’t go down like a sack of potatoes.

Bert Shultz was on the door, wearing the same thing he wore every weekend: black suit and dicky bow. He nodded his usual greeting at Shirley, and seemed happy enough to take the two shillings Keith proffered for their entrance, but at the same time he narrowed his eyes. ‘Evening, lad,’ he said, dropping the money into his cash box. ‘I don’t want any of your shenanigans tonight, do you hear? Some of the other lads from your end are here tonight,’ he elaborated, ‘and I’ve already had to eject a couple of them. Best behaviour tonight, lad, okay?’

Shirley turned, expecting Keith to nod politely at this, but instead he walked straight inside, dragging Shirley in his wake, and offering a mild, ‘Get lost, Bert,’ as he did so.

Shirley gaped. ‘But –’

‘I can’t stick that stuck-up get,’ Keith said, once they were out of earshot. ‘I don’t know who he thinks he’s talking to.’

Shirley felt a nervous flutter of excitement in her stomach. It was a feeling she was beginning to become more than a little familiar with; a feeling that was becoming synonymous with being around her new, rather dangerous-seeming boyfriend. She’d never tell her mam and she surprised herself by admitting it, but it was a feeling she liked rather a lot. ‘I know!’ she agreed gaily, as he led her into the dance-hall. ‘What a bloody toff he is, isn’t he?’

Keith tightened his grip on her arm and returned her smile with a wink, and soon they were making their way across the crowded dance-floor towards the gang of people already hanging around the bar area. Not that it was a bar in the usual sense of the word. There was no alcohol served in the Ideal Dance-hall – not to anyone. So sarsaparillas and milkshakes were the order of the day. Hardly any of the girls minded; they were there for the dancing – but with some of the other dance-halls selling alcohol these days, for the older lads it was a real bone of contention.

Not that they couldn’t get hold of some if they wanted it. For those in need of a bit of Dutch courage, there was always the Red Lion next door, the pub which Bert Shultz’s parents owned, and in whose car park the Ideal had been built. So the older lads would usually get a pass-out from Bert during the band breaks (or as often as they felt thirsty), down as many pints as they could afford and then come back in again, better placed to chat up any girls they’d had their eye on and – assuming they could still stand up reasonably straight – hit the dance-floor again. For fear of any drunken uprisings that might follow, Bert had no choice but to encourage it as, after all, it was money in his parents’ pockets.

‘Hey up, Shirley,’ Keith said, pointing to where two lads were standing at the far end of the bar. ‘There’s Bobby and Titch – sorry, my mates Bobby Moran and Titch Williams. Let’s go stand with them for a bit, shall we?’

Shirley’s face fell. For one thing, wasn’t Keith planning on getting her a drink? And for another, she wasn’t sure she wanted to go and stand with them anyway. She’d seen the one Keith called Titch a few times before, and he was bad enough – loud and raucous and loved to think he was a bit of a ladies’ man (which he wasn’t) – but Bobby Moran was much worse. He looked a good few years older than Keith and she’d seen him around several times, and every time he’d been drunk and staggering around the place. He liked to fight, too – Anita had told her that before, and if she was honest, she found him rather scary. ‘Do we have to?’ she asked Keith. ‘That Bobby gets right on my nerves.’

Keith laughed and carried on walking across the dance-floor, which was currently half empty, as the band hadn’t started yet. ‘Oh, he’s all right really,’ he reassured her. ‘Once you get to know him. He fancies my big sister, Margaret, you know. Had a right crush on her, he did.’

‘But isn’t she in her thirties?’ Shirley asked him, bewildered by this.

Keith laughed. ‘Well into,’ he said. ‘But that didn’t stop her going on a date with him once – strictly out of pity, of course, but he’s never stopped going on about it ever since. Still can’t understand why she married her Bob and not him.’

Shirley followed Keith, as there didn’t seem much else to be done. ‘Well, I obviously don’t know anything about Bob,’ she whispered, as Bobby Moran raised an arm and waved at them, ‘but I imagine your sister made the right choice.’

She meant it, too; Keith’s friends looked like they’d come to the Ideal straight from a jumble sale – well, via the Red Lion, of course. Bobby Moran was wearing a funny little hat that wouldn’t have looked out of place on Charlie Chaplin, and the other one – Titch Williams – was in a blue drape jacket with a black collar, which wouldn’t have been too bad on its own – well, if it had fitted him – except that sticking out of the bottom were a pair of horrible brown trousers.

Titch wolf-whistled as they reached them, looking her up and down as he did so. ‘You’ve done all right for yourself, young Hudson,’ he said, treating Shirley to the sort of smile that made it clear he thought his get-up was the bees knees, even if no one else did. ‘She looks like bleeding Betty Boop!’ he added brightly.

Shirley wasn’t sure whether this was supposed to be a compliment or an insult, though she was sure of one thing; that this wasn’t quite how she expected her and Keith’s first date to be panning out. She hoped it wasn’t indicative of how the rest of it was going to go. Nothing to drink, and having to stand around with a pair of gawping idiots. Where was the romance in that?

‘Leave her alone, Titch, or I’ll bleeding bop you one,’ Keith said, equally brightly. ‘Anyway, where’s your birds, then? Mislaid them somewhere, have you?’

Shirley stood by Keith, keeping her arm tucked in the crook of his, and wondered what sort of girls would want to go out with either of them. ‘As it happens,’ Titch answered, puffing himself up importantly, ‘Jayne Mansfield was tied up tonight and I told Doris Day I was having a night in. Thought I’d come and check out some local talent for a change.’

‘Course you did,’ Keith said, squeezing Shirley’s arm. ‘And fortunately for the rest of us, the local talent know an ugly little bleeder when they see one.’

This little quip seemed to invoke some sort of laddish primeval instinct, because she was then forced to step aside as the three of them started shadow boxing with each other, and right in the middle of the bar queue as well. She scanned the room, hoping that Anita might be in too, but she wasn’t – not yet, anyway. And this wasn’t at all the sort of night out she’d had in mind with her new boyfriend.