One Day in December(20)

Jack’s voice rings out and my heart jumps. I’ve been doing my best to avoid spending any time with him and Sarah lately, and luckily they’ve both been so busy with work I think they’ve been quite happy to not have a third wheel on their nights together. And I really feel like I’m starting to think about him less. Perhaps my mind-control efforts are working.

Then I notice who’s with Jack – Billy, one of his friends who I’ve met a few times at various parties. Please God don’t let this be a set-up. The boys walk up to us and break into slightly bashful grins as we exclaim over their T-Bird black drainpipes and skinny-fit black T-shirts. They’ve rolled their sleeves up into shoulder caps to accentuate their biceps and, looking at their quiffs, I shouldn’t think there’s much hair gel left in the tub.

Wherever we’re going, it appears we’re going as a foursome. It’s not that I mind; I just wasn’t expecting them, and Sarah and I have had the best morning in ages.

‘Well, if it isn’t our dates for the prom.’ Sarah laughs and plants a kiss on Jack’s lips, leaving traces of red lipstick on his mouth. He’s wearing mirrored aviators that obscure his eyes; he looks more James Dean than John Travolta.

‘Billy, you look … cool,’ I say, and he flexes his muscles obligingly. He’s got one of those bodies that looks like he sculpts it carefully in the gym for two hours every day. The kind where you can’t help but admire, at the same time as feeling complete disdain.

‘Popeye’s got nothing on me.’ He takes the lollipop stick he’s chewing for effect out of his mouth and dips to plant a quick kiss on my cheek. ‘Happy birthday.’

I notice Sarah looking at us and roll my eyes at her. Trust her to set me up with someone who’s so obviously not my type. He probably loves his women all blonde and toned and docile. I wonder what Jack had to promise him to come along?

‘Shall we, ladies?’ Jack crooks his elbow for Sarah to take, and after a moment’s awkward hesitation, Billy does the same to me.

‘We shall,’ Sarah grins, slipping her arm through Jack’s. ‘Laurie still doesn’t know what we’re doing, so don’t say anything.’

I laugh, self-conscious as I take Billy’s proffered arm. ‘I think I’m getting the picture.’

‘Oh, you’re really not.’ Her eyes sparkle as she looks over her shoulder at me as we move with the throng of people. ‘But you will.’

I can’t quite believe what I’m seeing.

‘What is this place?’ I say, fascinated. We’re in a zig-zag queue of people in various Grease costumes, everyone buzzing and overexcited. A prim American school radio voice crackles through speakers telling us not to run in the halls, and that heavy petting in the queue will get us detention, and as we reach the entrance we pass beneath a huge, arched college sign welcoming us to Rydell High, poppy-red, lit up with old-fashioned light bulbs.

‘Do you like it?’

Sarah has my arm now rather than Jack’s, and she half smiles and half grimaces, holding her breath as she waits for my verdict on my big birthday surprise.

‘Like it?’ I grin, giddy at the scale of the event unfolding before me. ‘I don’t have a clue what’s going on, but I bloody love it!’

Barnes Common, usually home to dog walkers and Sunday cricket matches, has been transformed into a magical wonderland of American fifties kitsch as far as the eye can see. Roller-disco queens serve Coke floats to tables in the open-air marquee and gleaming silver Airstream diners line the edges of the field. All around, people lounge on picnic blankets, girls in frilly dresses and sunglasses basking on their backs in the sunshine, propped up on their elbows blowing bubblegum balloons. Music is everywhere; a live brass band belts out fifties rock and roll for the energetic couples on the wooden dance floor in the marquee, and elsewhere familiar songs from the Grease soundtrack ooze from tall speakers set all round the perimeters. I even glimpse a pop-up Beauty School where you can get your nails painted or your eyeliner freshly flicked by girls in fitted pink overalls and matching wigs. People shout and jostle on cherry-red bumper cars, and a huge, glittering Ferris wheel presides over the whole affair, its gleaming ice-cream pink and white seats swinging lightly in the warm breeze.

‘If we do nothing else, I want to ride that wheel,’ I sigh.

It’s the biggest, craziest birthday surprise I’ve ever had. My heart feels feather-light, as if it’s tied to a helium balloon.





Jack


This place is off-the-scale weird. I don’t know how Sarah does it; most people buy someone a cake or take them out drinking for their birthday. Not Sarah. She’s managed to find this extravaganza, and somehow she’s roped Billy and me into being their T-Bird escorts for the day. There aren’t many women I’d do this for; I grumbled and almost backed out because, to be honest, it sounded like a bit of a nightmare, but actually it’s kind of cool now we’re here. Secret Cinema, she said it’s called. I expected an open-air cinema with a burger truck or two, and there is a huge screen set up for later, but jeez, this place is something else. I feel as if I’m actually in the movie rather than at it, and I reckon we’ve bagged ourselves the two best-looking Pink Ladies at the whole gig.

Sarah … Christ. She never does anything by halves. She’s walking a little way ahead of me; her legs seem to be twice as long as normal in those spray-on black leggings. I’ve always got off on the feeling that I’m running to keep up with her, it keeps me on my toes, but lately she’s sprinting so fast that sometimes I feel like I lose sight of her altogether. It’s disconcerting, a low-level niggle that I stamp down every time I catch up again.