excited. 'I'd thought of going tomorrow, but any night 'ud suit me really.'
'Tomorrow's New Year's Eve,' she says, 'and I'm going to a party. Can you make it Wednesday?'
'All right.' Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, or Sunday. I can make it any night or all of them. I just want it to be soon.
'Wednesday, then,' she says, and I nod. 'Wednesday.'
Before the bus pulls into the station we've fixed up what time we'll meet and where and everything. And to think, only this morning I wouldn't have given a bent penny for my chances. But that's how things work out sometimes.
Wednesday ... I just don't know how I'll live till then.
But course I do, and now here I am waiting on the corner at twenty-five to eight. She's late, but only five minutes, and I was here ten minutes early to make sure I didn't miss her so that makes it seem more. The weather's gone all soft all of a sudden. It's rained pretty hard today and though it's stopped now you can still feel it in the wind. The roads and pavements are shining in the lights and the car tyres sizzle as they go by. A black Super Snipe slides up to the kerb and I step back smartish as it throws water up out of the gutter. I look after this car and watch it stop and let a bloke out. Then I watch it pull away and pick up speed with exhaust smoke curling in the tail lights. Now if I had a car ... Dames go for bods with cars. It's only natural. And having a car would give you confidence, a sort of air, like. I imagine myself behind the wheel of a snappy little two-seater convertible - no need for anything big and swanky - rolling up to the kerb where Ingrid's waiting and enjoying the look on her face as I open the door and tell her to jump in. 'Where d'you fancy going tonight? What about nipping over to Leeds or Bradford to a show?' That's the way to take a bint out on a first date. And after the show, parked in some quiet spot and me with my arm round her listening to her say she's been mad about me all the time ... I can't even drive a car. I suppose I could learn soon enough, though. And I could probably afford to buy one if I saved up for about fifteen years and packed in smoking.
I'm all wrapped up in this and I don't see this other car whip ping up for a stop till it goes by with a whoosh and shoots water all over my shoes and trouser legs. Bang goes the shine I spent so much time on till the Old Lady was getting suspicious. I think the creases in my pants will be all right, though, because my suit's Terylene, my new clerical grey that I got for Chris's wedding. And she won't notice my shoes in the dark. I'm pretty presentable otherwise, I think. I saved my shave till after tea and finished off with the after-shave lotion I paid six bob for on the way home from work so's I'd smell nice. And I've taken special care over brushing my teeth, making sure there was no tea-time sausage and chips stuck in the cracks. I reckon I couldn't do more for Diana Dors.
Quarter to. She isn't coming. That's the trouble with dames: you never know where you have them. Some blokes reckon that's all part of the game but I'm the type that likes things settled. I like to know where I stand. Like Chris and David do, for instance. They've certainly got something I'd like to find, but that's my secret and I don't tell anybody.
Ten to. You feel a bit daft standing on a corner with everybody passing by and knowing you're waiting for a bird who's late. They must know because nobody ever arranges to meet somebody at ten to and so she must either be late or not coming. I reckon a quarter of an hour's enough to give any bint but I'll give her till eight seeing as this is the first time. Then I'll just have to write it all off. Oh, but it's sickening the way you get all built up and then knocked down again.
'Hello.'
I jump and turn round and catch the fresh clean smell of her. Her eyes are sparkling in the lights and there's rain in her hair. Her lips are parted showing her teeth and she's breathing a bit
'Tomorrow's New Year's Eve,' she says, 'and I'm going to a party. Can you make it Wednesday?'
'All right.' Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, or Sunday. I can make it any night or all of them. I just want it to be soon.
'Wednesday, then,' she says, and I nod. 'Wednesday.'
Before the bus pulls into the station we've fixed up what time we'll meet and where and everything. And to think, only this morning I wouldn't have given a bent penny for my chances. But that's how things work out sometimes.
Wednesday ... I just don't know how I'll live till then.
But course I do, and now here I am waiting on the corner at twenty-five to eight. She's late, but only five minutes, and I was here ten minutes early to make sure I didn't miss her so that makes it seem more. The weather's gone all soft all of a sudden. It's rained pretty hard today and though it's stopped now you can still feel it in the wind. The roads and pavements are shining in the lights and the car tyres sizzle as they go by. A black Super Snipe slides up to the kerb and I step back smartish as it throws water up out of the gutter. I look after this car and watch it stop and let a bloke out. Then I watch it pull away and pick up speed with exhaust smoke curling in the tail lights. Now if I had a car ... Dames go for bods with cars. It's only natural. And having a car would give you confidence, a sort of air, like. I imagine myself behind the wheel of a snappy little two-seater convertible - no need for anything big and swanky - rolling up to the kerb where Ingrid's waiting and enjoying the look on her face as I open the door and tell her to jump in. 'Where d'you fancy going tonight? What about nipping over to Leeds or Bradford to a show?' That's the way to take a bint out on a first date. And after the show, parked in some quiet spot and me with my arm round her listening to her say she's been mad about me all the time ... I can't even drive a car. I suppose I could learn soon enough, though. And I could probably afford to buy one if I saved up for about fifteen years and packed in smoking.
I'm all wrapped up in this and I don't see this other car whip ping up for a stop till it goes by with a whoosh and shoots water all over my shoes and trouser legs. Bang goes the shine I spent so much time on till the Old Lady was getting suspicious. I think the creases in my pants will be all right, though, because my suit's Terylene, my new clerical grey that I got for Chris's wedding. And she won't notice my shoes in the dark. I'm pretty presentable otherwise, I think. I saved my shave till after tea and finished off with the after-shave lotion I paid six bob for on the way home from work so's I'd smell nice. And I've taken special care over brushing my teeth, making sure there was no tea-time sausage and chips stuck in the cracks. I reckon I couldn't do more for Diana Dors.
Quarter to. She isn't coming. That's the trouble with dames: you never know where you have them. Some blokes reckon that's all part of the game but I'm the type that likes things settled. I like to know where I stand. Like Chris and David do, for instance. They've certainly got something I'd like to find, but that's my secret and I don't tell anybody.
Ten to. You feel a bit daft standing on a corner with everybody passing by and knowing you're waiting for a bird who's late. They must know because nobody ever arranges to meet somebody at ten to and so she must either be late or not coming. I reckon a quarter of an hour's enough to give any bint but I'll give her till eight seeing as this is the first time. Then I'll just have to write it all off. Oh, but it's sickening the way you get all built up and then knocked down again.
'Hello.'
I jump and turn round and catch the fresh clean smell of her. Her eyes are sparkling in the lights and there's rain in her hair. Her lips are parted showing her teeth and she's breathing a bit
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