Photo Courtesy of Morgan Madej
“I am not having an affair with Dave,” Frances glares at Miles. “I can’t live my life at home all day with two small children. I need to see other people and have a life, too.” Her jaw clenches and her brown eyes burn with anger.
She continues to pack. Miles, fit to explode, walks away. He always walks away. She collapses on the bed beside her suitcase. She shakes her head, refusing to cry. Thoughts churn through her mind. How things have changed since she first met him…
1964
It’s a Saturday night dance at the Mitre Hotel on the High Street, in Oxford. At the age of seventeen, for the first time, Frances’ parents let her stay over with a girlfriend.
She sees a young man standing near the bar, surveying the room, so hip in his black leather blazer, drainpipes, beetle-crushers, white shirt and skinny tie.
His dark hair is long, flanking huge russet sideburns. A groomed moustache and a goatee framed lips that look rather kissable.
Gloria and Frances sit on chairs adorning the dancefloor wall.
Gloria fancies a Ted she’d spotted in the foyer on the way in; all dolled up in brothel creepers and a long red jacket with black velvet lapels, black shirt, and black drainpipes.
His blonde hair; a work of art in a Ducks Arse, Brylcreemed into place with a comb that lives in his top pocket.
“He’s coming over! Frances, he’s going to ask me to dance. He is, isn’t he?”
“Shush!” giggling, Frances digs her elbow into Gloria’s skinny ribs.
The Teddy Boy grabs Gloria’s hand and pulls her up and into his ample arms.
Propelled by momentum, she rushes chest first into the Teddy boy's ribcage.
From her seat, Frances suppresses a guffaw.
“Jimmy, love, what’s yours?” his brown eyes locked onto Gloria’s green irises.
Still winded, the girl takes a deep breath and expels her name upwards.
“Gloria.”
“Shall we?” Jimmy leads her to the dance floor. Eddie Cochran’s Three Steps to Heaven is playing. Fours years out of date but still a good one to dance to. Jimmy pulls her close, crushing her full pink-satin skirt and petticoats between them.
Frances smiles at her friend and the smile remains in place when the bloke she’s been eyeing up comes over and sits next to her.
“My name’s Miles, I was wondering if you’d like to dance?”
“Frances, nice to meet you, Miles. Yes, I’d like to, thank you.”
They stand up at the same time, Miles takes her hand and they weave their way into a space on the dance floor. He faces her and takes her other hand.
With a good few inches between them, they sway to the tune. Frances hums the melody while looking at her booted feet. He also finds the floor fascinating.
After twisting to Chubby Checker and slow dancing to Elvis, they agree to take a breather.
Back at the chairs, Frances waits while Miles goes to get them some drinks. For a moment she wonders where Gloria has got to but her thoughts wander to Miles. He’s so polite and respectful, and he’s taller than me.
She grasps her brown wool short-sleeved top and pulls it in and out from her chest, hoping to cool herself down. Next, she smoothes her orange corduroy mini skirt and wonders if he’ll ask to see her again.
When the music stops at midnight, Miles and Jimmy walk the girls home along the empty, except for the odd unsteady student, High Street to the Iffley Road.
At Gloria’s building, Jimmy pulls her to him and into a clinch to snog her. Miles and Frances turn away.
“I’d like to see you again, Frances. How about the pictures next Saturday, would you like to see Goldfinger, the new Bond film?”
“Yes,” she says.
“I’ll pick you up if you like, where do you live?”
“Harwell, it’s quite far.”
“I like driving, here, write your address for me,” he hands her a small pad and pencil.
She writes her name and address and hands the pad and pencil back to him. Their fingers brush and their eyes meet, neither sure what to make of the contact.
Miles holds his hand out to her and they shake hands. Gloria breaks away from Jimmy and grabs Frances’s hand. The two girls run up the stairs. Just before they go in, they turn and wave at the young men.
“Frances, I’m in love!” cries Gloria, spinning around the room, petticoats swirling, yet her beehive remains bouffant.
“You can’t be, Glor, you just met him!”
“I can and I am, Frances! He’s calling for me tomorrow, we’re off to Brighton for the Bank Holiday.”
“You don’t waste any time, do you? I’m not seeing Miles until next Saturday, he’s picking me up, at home.”
“He’s meeting your parents? Can you imagine if mine were to meet Jimmy? They’d have kittens!”
“Lucky yours are away for the weekend, then, Glor!” The girls collapse into a heap of body trembling giggles.
1972
Last week, Miles had lain in wait for her round the corner from their house.
The landlord of the Bricklayer’s Arms, where she works as a barmaid three nights a week, had offered her a lift home and she’d accepted. A taxi would cost too much and she wanted to keep all of her cash in hand.
She’d asked Dave to stop round the corner because she had an idea of how her husband might react.
Dave stopped the car and as Frances was thanking him, Miles appeared from the shadows, ripped open the passenger door and yanked her out.
Mortified that Dave had witnessed Miles’ appalling behaviour, she didn’t struggle despite his fingers digging into her flesh.
In the house, he didn’t speak. He locked the front door behind them and put the key in his pocket. He then walked past her and up the stairs without a word.
She checked on the girls, undressed in the bathroom and slipped into bed beside him. She was relieved to find him asleep.
In the morning she insisted that Dave had just given her a lift home, nothing more.
“If it was all so innocent, why did you park around the corner?” he argued.
“I knew you’d get het up if you saw me with another man, so I asked Dave to park around the corner, “ she replied.
“You’re to stop working there, Frances.”
“I won’t, I need to speak with adults, to have a bit of freedom. You can’t stop me, Miles,” she said.
“We’ll see about that.”
Today
Today, Frances is leaving Miles. She wishes she could take her girls but she knows she has nowhere to stay and nothing to offer them.
With her chin high, the clothes on her back and her small suitcase of belongings, Frances closes the front door behind her. The lock clicks into place and she sets off along the road to the town centre.
She has no idea where to go.