One iridescent Saturday afternoon, being bumped along Stamford Hill, George driving, or put it another way he gripping the steering wheel until his brown knuckles were white. With George, always had to have both feet firmly on the duals, although he rarely did anything spectacular, only once had he fooled me and cracked the car into a brick wall. Been with him or he with me, whatever, for eighteen months, two hours every Saturday. In the more remote corners of Hackney he would go into a daze, I would either drive slowly along, or quietly park up, not to disturb him. Quite sure he only came out because I was someone to talk with. To my knowledge he had no friends or relatives.
All the girls, dressed in their Saturday best, walked about in groups of ten or fifteen, they never actually saw anyone, eyes always averted. At the bus stop, recognised Ruth with her sister Vivien.
"Stop, George" I said, not forgetting to brace myself first. George woke up and slammed them on.
"Well! and where have you been?" This jointly from the girls.
"Want a lift?"
They looked dubiously at George, then at each other, started laughing. Climbed out to let them in the back. George taking a sudden interest in his driving.
Ruth quite tall, thick blonde hair, using her long hands constantly by way of emphasizing whatever she said. Both emphatic about everything, complete antithesis to myself, maybe the attraction, finding two people so positive about their own actions and how life should be. Vivien, although only about fourteen, seemed the more dominant. Well built, hair stretching to her waist, darker than her sister's. Together they could be overwhelming without putting their minds to it. The car became electrified with their talk. Covering any subject, analysing it, dismissing it and looking about for something else.
Could hear them dissecting myself, the clothes I wore, George, the car, nothing spared. Had about ten bob in my pocket, they probably worked that out too.
"Why don't you get your hair cut and those whiskers off?" this, from Vivien, a frontal assault. Instinctively, putting my hand up to my thick hair hanging down in matted curls to my shoulders.
"... and is that its natural colour?" from Ruth …looking as if she was enjoying herself.
"Well, on my discharge it states 'Auburn' if that's what you mean."
"What discharge ! what are you on about now?"
"My Navy discharge."
"Oh, Hello sailor!" both flogging me.
"and why haven't you been coming round to give me my lessons instead of that other horrible man?"
Wondered what 'horrible man' she meant.
"Er ... have another job" had no idea why I was faltering, confidence sat on them like a bowler hat on a Bradford millionaire. Ruth jabbed a long finger at me, its brilliant red nail prodding into my neck.
"What other job? How much money?" always the bottom line.
George laughed "Jesus man you have trod on a nail!"
Vivien pulled her off. "Ruth you are so nosey."
Had the feeling, George and myself, simply a couple of playthings; just to pass away half an hour or so, to then be discarded. Both girls well dressed, quite obviously all they lived for.. themselves and clothes. Knew the father was a doctor and the brothers were at college.
George decided his time was up and wanted to be dropped off, he walked away, waving sympathetically.
Ruth insisted on driving, little good saying no. after getting her to take her four inches of high heels off, disposing of the cigarette that hung constantly between her fingers, we were ready to start, Vivien had hysterics before Ruth had time to put it in gear. Ruth screamed back at her to 'shut up'.
Finally finished back on the 'Hill' where they decided they wanted coffee. Felt in my pocket, providing that they only wanted coffee could just scrape enough. We trooped into the 'Wimpey'.
"Oh I want some cigarettes." Ruth fished in her big black leather bag and came up with a handful of notes… gave Viv one, there being immediately another argument as to why Viv should get her cigarettes.
With Viv gone, we sat, appraised each other, a couple of fighters in opposite corners of the ring.
"Well ... you don't have much to say" this to me, an opening shot.
"Can't you talk? ... lost your tongue?"
Enjoying herself, had the idea so long as she was surrounded by people and considered I was sufficiently docile, she could treat me as a rag doll. Interesting to see her, away from her back-up, away from Stamford Hill, where I could take her wrist and slowly pull her long, slender hand towards my body.
"Why are you looking at me like that !"
For a moment, her self-composure flickered , as if sensing my thoughts, as if, the Sunlight, still strong, had momentarily clouded, casting a dark shadow. She had not liked that.
Vivien arrived breathlessly back, afraid of having missed something, unaware of the shifted emphasis.
"I bought myself ten," she said, plonking down the change on the table.
"Who said?"
"You owe it to me" Vivien's voice rising above the murmur about us, people looked up, she subsided into her seat.
The sisters would argue over the slightest manifestation, the amount of sugar I put in my coffee was questioned.
"Three spoonfuls!" I would get fat ... not good for me ... I should cut down.
The afternoon rapidly becoming a shambles. Both drew heavily on the tobacco, for a moment undecided which way to pounce next.
Ruth looked at her watch, as if dismissing me.
"Well I am going home to get ready."
"Why, where are you off to?" Vivien alert again.
"Oh, probably go up the Whisky." Vaguely, I wondered what that may be
They, standing up talking, walking towards the door. I forgotten.
After paying, had a couple of shillings in my pocket, almost as an afterthought, they looked back, shouted "Good-bye".
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