The Palace of Strange Girls Page 11

  The telescope is a penny for a look. Beth climbs the steps, pushes a penny in the slot and waits. “I can’t see nothing but black.”

  “Well, take your glasses off, then.”

  Beth pulls the pink wire clinic glasses off her face and drops them on the ground.

  “You’re supposed to close one eye,” says Helen.

  “I still can’t see nothing.”

  Helen, who has been leafing through the I-Spy book, sighs audibly and says, “Here, let me have a go.”

  It’s a miracle. Like in the Bible. A real miracle. Helen can see every kind of boat in the book. In less than a minute she’s spotted a lightship (score 40), a pleasure steamer (10), a coaster (20) and a tanker (25).

  But however hard Beth squints at the sea she can’t see any boats at all. “Are you sure? I can’t see a trawler with an admiral’s flag.”

  “That’s why they have telescopes, nit. That way you can see everything there is to see.”

  Another minute and Helen reports sighting a lighthouse, lifeboat and an air-sea rescue helicopter until the penny runs out and the telescope shuts down. Helen has to rattle off the rest of her sightings from memory until Beth’s pencil breaks and the I-Spying has to stop for the day.

  The shops and stalls on the prom are ablaze with color. Country and western music whines from various stalls and the air is thick with the smell of fish and chips. There’s a man standing at the “Guess Your Weight” stall. After some discussion with the stallholder, a woman with a face as gray as her hair, the man booms, “Well, what do you think I weigh, then?” The man puffs out his chest and proudly pats his stomach with a protective hand.

  The woman eyes him from top to toe. “Twenty-two stone three pounds… and sixpence lighter.” The woman holds out her hand for payment. The crowd cheer.

  They pass a rock stall and Beth has a fleeting glimpse of the woman stallholder standing behind a bulwark of boiled sweets. Her mouth is missing several teeth, and even in repose, she looks as if she’s ready for a fight. A white cap pulled low over her eyes frames her bright-red face and when she reaches forward to serve customers her hands are swollen and covered in burns and cuts. When Beth looks round the corner of the stall she can see into the back where a man in white is working the hot rock with giant tweezers and a hatchet that glints in the shadows. Beth eyes the pyramids of pink Blackpool rock wrapped in clear cellophane with a black-and-white photo of the Tower and the words “A present from Blackpool.” Up on the sides of the stall hang walking sticks fashioned out of multicolored skeins of twisted rock. In pride of place there’s a bunch of red rock-candy pacifiers. Only babies have pacifiers. Beth has never had a pacifier, not even when she was small. When she was in hospital there were poorly toddlers and children in the same ward, and they all had pacifiers. It’s not fair. Beth gets into trouble if she sucks her thumb or even the buttons on her cardigan. It will spoil her teeth.

  Helen pauses at a stall where sunhats are clipped to the low awning and Beth watches as the assistant twirls a thin stick round the perimeter of a huge metal rotating drum to catch the glistening threads of pink candyfloss.

  Further along the prom there’s bingo. A man dressed in a tight white cowboy suit with gold studs and fringes shouts the numbers over a speaker above their heads. He’s wearing a black cowboy hat pulled over one eye and he’s smoking a thin cigar just like a proper cowboy. “Winner takes their pick of the stall—clocks, glassware, kitchenware, cutlery, bedding and toys.” The stall is filled with women sitting on high wooden stools at either side of a counter and marking off the numbers as they are called. When Helen walks past the cowboy whistles and invites her in but she pretends she hasn’t heard and carries on walking.

  When they get to a bank of slot machines the girls stop and Helen hands over half the pennies. The first machine will stamp out your name on a thin silver strip but this is boring and it involves spelling. You have to push a stiff metal arrow round a circle of letters and press a big red button to punch the letter in. Beth can think of better things to do with her pennies. Close by is a penny slide machine, which devours four of Beth’s five pennies before Helen takes over and, with perfect timing, slips the penny in the slot and scoops up tenpence in the process. The winnings are duly shared out and the sisters wander further along the packed prom, weaving this way and that to make their way through the crowds.

  They have come to a full stop outside a booth that Beth hasn’t seen before. There’s an illustration of a woman on the boards outside the entrance. Her brown skin gleams—it’s the same color as the thrupenny McCowan’s Caramel Bar that Beth buys every Saturday with her spending money. Under a sign that says “The Show They Tried to Stop” and “No Cameras” there is another sign that says:

  TIGER WOMAN

  Seen for the first time in captivity

  See her scars! Hear her snarl!!

  Tiger Woman is shown down on all fours, in the center of a circle of men, her right hand raised as if to strike out. The men don’t look too bothered. They’re all staring wide-eyed at Tiger Woman with big smiles on their faces. She is wearing a ripped orange bikini and long strands of dark hair stream out behind her. Beth gets as near as possible to the picture and takes off her clinic glasses for a closer look. She can see that the woman’s arms and legs are slashed with the same crimson scars that Beth imagines cover her own back. Tiger Woman stares out of the picture with an amber gaze, her red lips pulled back in a snarl. Beth is inspired. She has seen pictures of tigers before, but never one with a proper face.

  Below the picture are some words Beth can’t understand. She points to them and asks Helen what it says.

  “It says ‘nothing for noseys.’”

  “Go on, tell me. What does it say?”

  “It says ‘The Palace of Strange Girls’—satisfied?”

  Beth looks up. The entrance to the Palace is guarded by a single bare-chested black giant wearing a scarlet bolero and baggy blue satin trousers. Beth stares at him. His skin is the color of a penny licorice. On his head is a large gold turban. Beth’s mouth falls open. She has never seen anything like him before. Next to the giant stands a white midget on a high platform and he’s in full flow.

  “See Hairy Mary the ape woman—her mother was the missionary unable to resist the call of the wild! Toto the African Piccaninny—a child in all ways but one! Marvel at the world’s best contortionist who can bend herself into positions that women will envy and men can only dream of! And Joanna Joe—the medical marvel of the age—she has fathered and suckled five children! See the Mermaid Twins from the Horn of Africa. Two girls presented as nature intended. Together they play the harp, joined forever by a single mermaid tail. These girls have lured men to madness. Brought here at enormous expense. And top of the bill—Tanya the Tiger Woman. Carried off by a tiger, she still bears the scars. She has never spoken since she was rescued from a den of wild tigers. What is she? A woman? Or a tiger?”

  “It looks really exciting,” Beth whispers. “Oh, let’s go! Please, please.”

  Beth pushes her way to the front of the crowd to hear more, but Helen hangs back.

  The man on the platform pauses for a moment and fumbles behind the curtained entrance for a pint of beer which, holding it in both hands, he downs before turning back to the crowd. His eye finally alights on Beth. “’Op it, kid,” he says, jerking his thumb. “See that sign? Adults only.” Beth looks miserable.

  “Why don’t you buy yourself a gobstopper?” Helen says, shepherding her sister away from the crowd.

  “Can’t I have a kali?” Beth has a particular trick with kali. With a good dose of the powder and sufficient saliva Beth can shoot the yellow powder back and forth through the gap between her two front teeth. The resultant froth will expand to twice the volume and leak from the corners of her mouth. This trick has caused several hitherto sensible adults (preprogrammed to expect medical emergencies from the child) to assume that Beth is having a seizure. Kali is now a banned substance, and seein
g the look on her sister’s face, Beth accepts the offer of a gobstopper. But she would have liked to see the Tiger Woman better.

  There are rules concerning shop purchases. It is “common” to start enjoying your purchases before you’ve even left the shop. The handing over of money is a solemn business. Only rough children open their comics immediately and read them in the street, or worse still, shove gobstoppers straight in their mouths instead of having them properly wrapped. Sadly, this particular shopkeeper isn’t familiar with the practice. When Beth makes her request he slams the penny gobstopper down on the counter and says, “Clear off, you cheeky bugger!” with such menace that Beth grabs the gobstopper, only for it to slip from her fingers a moment later and bounce down the step outside. Helen, who has been waiting for her sister, turns a blind eye while Beth retrieves it from the pavement and dusts it off. Next door the gift shop window is full of handwritten cards advertising flats to rent. Helen scans the adverts while Beth wanders over to a carousel of postcards where two women wearing “kiss-me-quick, squeeze-me-slow” hats are standing giggling. They’re looking at a picture of a grinning salesman with a bald head and shiny face showing a young blonde in a tight red dress a pair of nylon stockings. One of the women reads the caption out loud and Beth listens closely.

  “The salesman’s saying ‘They’re on special offer. This pair comes with free fitting today.’”

  The other woman laughs so much that her hat falls off, which makes her laugh even harder. She staggers around scraping her stilettos on the pavement in an increasingly desperate attempt to retrieve the straw hat. Beth is at a loss to see what’s so funny. The Kleeneaze salesman is always coming to the front door at home with special offers and her mother hasn’t laughed once. Disappointed, Beth inches one of the postcards out of the wire holder. It is a picture of a man in a corner shop asking, “Excuse me, Miss, do you keep stationery?” The shop assistant has very red cheeks and is saying, “Well, sometimes I wriggle a bit.” Beth has more success with the next one. A lady hanging over a rail at the racetrack unaware that her knickers have fallen down. A man with a wide rubbery face, a pink shiny tongue hanging out of his mouth, eyes bulging with delight, points to the knickers on the ground and says, “They’re off!” Beth begins to laugh.

  Helen, meanwhile, has spotted an advert for a flat: two girls in Bispham looking for a third to share. This is much cheaper than the flat rents she has seen before. Cheaper than those in the local paper she saw this morning. There’s a telephone number that Helen is in the process of copying down when she hears someone bellowing her name. Looking up, she sees Connie waving her hands over her head outside the entrance to the pier. Of course she’s not alone. She’s surrounded by a coterie of admiring males and the ever attentive Andy has his arm round her waist.

  “Come over here!” Connie yells.

  Helen shakes her head. “I can’t. I’ve got my sister with me,” she replies, pointing at Beth, who has lost interest in the postcards and is now shadowing her elder sister, cheek bulging with the gobstopper and ears flapping.

  “Hang on. I’ll come over to you,” Connie yells.

  Helen and Beth watch as Connie turns and says something to Andy. After some discussion he releases his proprietorial grasp of her waist. His narrow eyes follow her as she bounces cheerfully across the road. She is wearing a scarlet circular skirt with a full underskirt, and a skimpy black top and matching black stilettos. Helen sighs with admiration. If she weren’t stuck at school, she’d be earning enough money to dress like Connie.

  “Hiya!” Helen says when her friend gets within speaking distance.

  “Hiya, Helen. Me and the lads are off for a couple of pints at the Laughing Donkey.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Over there! Isn’t the sign big enough?”

  Helen looks across the road and sees a huge billboard. A cartoon donkey with crossed eyes and an oversized set of teeth is grinning from ear to ear while playing an upright piano. Overflowing pints of frothy beer are lined up on top of the piano. It looks good fun.

  “Let’s go!” Beth urges and pulls Helen’s hand.

  “Yeah, come with us,” Connie says. “I’m with Andy and the kitchen porters. You’ll like them. They’re a right laugh.”

  “I can’t,” replies Helen. “I’ve got to look after Beth and she won’t be allowed in a bar.”

  “They won’t mind. They’ll turn a blind eye, like they always do. And anyway we often have to stand outside when the bar is crowded.”

  “I’d better not. If Beth lets it slip where she’s been I’ll be in bother. Anyway, is that a new top? It looks great!” Helen says, anxious to change the subject.

  “This? Oh, it keeps on riding up. It’s supposed to be off the shoulder but as soon as I move an inch it slips back up on to my shoulders and falls so low at the front you can see my bra. It’s a good job I’ve got my black lace on today, isn’t it?”

  Connie gives a good approximation of embarrassed frustration as she adjusts the tight black top until it reveals her shoulders rather than her cleavage.

  “I think it looks great. Where did you get it?”

  “Co-op. This one was the last fourteen—but they’ve still got a couple of smaller sizes, if you’re interested.”

  Helen brings her head close to Connie’s and whispers, “I will be when I find a job. I’ve already seen an advert for a flat I could rent. I’ll bet I could afford it if I got an office job.”

  “So, you’re too fancy to be a waitress like me.”

  “No, I’m not. It’s just that your job will finish at the end of the season, won’t it? Where would I go then? I’d rather be dead than go home again.”

  “She’s a right cow, your mother. She barely lets you breathe without interfering. Fancy bringing you to Blackpool and not letting you have any fun. She wants you to be as bloody miserable as her. Will you fix the flat before you run away?”

  “Well, no. I’ll need a job first.”

  “You could stay with me while you’re looking for a job. The room isn’t big but we could manage.” Connie smiles at Helen and puts her arm round her and, aware that Beth is looking left out, she stops whispering and says, “We need to cheer your sister up, don’t we, Beth? Anyway—guess what?” Helen can’t guess. “That new bloke yesterday morning. What’s his name? Clegg. That’s it. He’s only asked me out!”

  Helen joins in the ensuing laughter, but her heart isn’t in it. She’d cherished a hope that Alan would ask her out. It would be wonderful to tell Blanche that she’d met a boy on holiday. Helen is the only one of her friends who hasn’t got a boyfriend. It’s embarrassing and it’s all her mother’s fault.

  “What did you say?” Helen asks.

  “What do you think? I said no.”

  “Why?”

  “Have you seen him? He’s a right creep, that one. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.”

  “Why not?” Helen is amazed. Alan Clegg is nicely dressed and he works for an accountant.

  “He’s a bit too handy, if you ask me. Too fast for his own good. Won’t take no for an answer. Got a touch of desert disease.”

  “What’s desert disease?” Beth asks and both sisters give Connie their full attention.

  “You know.” Connie nudges Helen. “The old wandering palms.”

  Neither sister is any the wiser, but at least Helen manages to hide her ignorance. “You’re too young to understand,” she tells Beth.

  “I’ll bet that knocked the smile off his face when you turned him down,” Helen tells Connie. There’s still a chance Alan might ask her out if Connie has given him the elbow.

  “Oh, I’m not too sure about that. I’ve heard that he’s wangled an invitation to join the porters for a drink tonight. I’ll probably end up seeing him whether I like it or not. The pillock.”

  Beth, whose attention has wandered back to the postcards, is suddenly alert, eyes open wide in surprise. “Piddock? Did she say piddock?” she asks Helen.
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br />   “Be quiet, Beth. And don’t swear.”

  Beth riffles through her I-Spy book until she finds the right page. “It’s not swearing. A piddock is a boring…” Beth hesitates over the strange word. “A boring molly something. Anyway it’s worth seventy-five points!”

  Both the older girls burst into laughter. Connie takes the book and glances at the page. “I said he was a pillock,” Connie replies. “Not a flippin’ piddock.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. A boring mollusc,” says Helen, looking over her friend’s shoulder. “Sounds like a fair description to me,” she adds.

  “Either way he’s a nuisance. I’ve a good mind to complain to Andy about him. Andy would sort him out fast enough.”

  “Who’s Andy?” Beth asks.

  “The chef at the hotel. Now shut up,” Helen tells her sister. “So why don’t you go out with Andy?” she asks, turning to Connie.

  “I’ve told you before,” Connie replies. “He’s already breathing down my neck every hour God sends. It would be even worse if I went out with him. He’s so possessive. I wouldn’t get a minute to myself. Why can’t I ever get a bloke like that one over there?” Connie points to afigure approaching them through the crowd. “God! He’s gorgeous.”

  “Who?” asks Helen, turning round to follow Connie’s glance.

  “The one with the leather jacket. Looks like James Dean. He’s bloody gorgeous. I’d kill to get a date with him.”

  Helen spots a tall muscular figure dressed in tight jeans, a white T-shirt and black winkle-pickers. His brown hair is brushed into a DA at the back and coaxed into a shiny quiff at the front. “Him with the studded jacket? Oh, I know him. That’s Doug Fairbrother. His dad knows my dad.”