Sweet Charity

‘Just in case they come in looking for
clothes, I don’t want to give the game away. It being such a good joke and all.’
    The boy weighed her up for a moment and then seemed to decide she wasn’t joking. ‘Lisa Richards, Karlie Talbot and that Emily. I don’t think he’s decided on the fourth
one yet.’
    ‘Oh, he’s a real scamp, isn’t he? Well, I hope you all have a good time.’
    She tapped her fountain pen against her chin as she watched the boy deliver the clothes to Kane across the road. A real scamp indeed.
    The night of the bad taste party arrived. Lola had decided she needed to be there, to see the fallout and make sure the girls were okay. Especially Emily. She had chatted with
her several times at the motel, and liked her more and more each time.
    It had taken just a couple of phone calls to organise things for tonight. Lola smiled across the front seat of the car at her new friend. ‘Thank you so much for this, Patricia. I do still
like to drive, but I found the police don’t have the same relaxed attitude about an octogenarian behind the wheel.’
    ‘It’s my pleasure, Lola. I’m enjoying myself.’
    In the back seat Margaret leaned forward. ‘This is like watching one of those wildlife documentaries, isn’t it?’
    Lola and Patricia laughed. That was exactly what it was like, seeing all the plumed and preened teenagers circling each other, the body language, the awkwardness, the mock confidence. They were
parked across the road from the school hall, just close enough to have a full view of the front steps and hear snatches of conversations. As the three of them chattered they watched couple after
couple meet up. Nervous boys stood at the door. Out of cars spilled young women in the most extraordinary outfits. Their idea of bad taste was certainly different from hers, Lola decided. She liked
some of the outfits. She’d never understood this idea of stripes not going with spots. Quite eye-catching, in her opinion.
    ‘That’s him, there,’ she hissed suddenly. Kane, in that orange shirt and blue tie. And there was his entourage. They watched as he took up position on the steps. Emily had told
her he’d asked her to meet him at exactly eight o’clock. He’d insisted that she not be late. He’d told her that punctuality meant a lot to him. It was only good manners,
he’d said. Emily had been very taken with that.
    Lola checked her watch. One minute to eight. Then thirty seconds. There was a good crowd around, boys and girls. Kane had obviously arranged to have an audience.
    Eight o’clock came. In the middle, Kane’s smile was getting wider and wider.
    By five past it wasn’t quite so wide. There was some shifting of feet. Some awkward glancing at watches.
    A voice came from the huddle behind him. ‘Looks like you’ve been stood up, mate!’
    Kane spun around. ‘Who said that?’ No one owned up.
    By ten past, most of the group had started filtering into the hall, laughing loudly, wanting to share the news with the rest of the group already inside. There were still about fifteen people
waiting outside when the noise of a car caught their attention.
    A bright-orange Torana drew up right to the foot of the steps. A 1970s song blared from the car as the doors were flung open. ‘Born to be Alive ’ by Patrick Hernandez.
    In one swift choreographed movement, four young women stepped out, slamming the doors firmly behind them. Their hair was teased. Their fishnet and leopard-skin stockings were torn. Their clothes
were a ragbag of chiffon, animal print and nylon. It was as if a feral version of the Spice Girls had arrived. With just the smallest of stumbles, they lined up in a row, put their arms around each
other and walked, heads held high, straight past Kane, past his friends and into the hall. Emily’s head was held highest of all.
    ‘Hey!’ It was Kane. They ignored him.
    ‘Stood up not just once, but four times, mate,’ Lola said softly.
    The orange car pulled away from the steps, turned in a slow semi-circle and then pulled in beside the car Lola and her two friends were sitting in.
    Luke wound down his window. ‘Hi, Mum. Hi, Lola. Hi, Mrs Hendon.’
    ‘Luke, what excellent driving. Well done,’ Lola called across. ‘You’ll be a rally-car driver yet.’
    He grinned. ‘So how do you think that went?’
    ‘Like clockwork. The girls looked marvellous.’
    ‘That’s one word for it,’ Luke said.
    Lola had had a wonderful evening at the motel with