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| MAUREEN | |
| By st4945 | ||||||||
| 16 December 2007 | ||||||||
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When you look back in life you fix on individuals who influence you. As a 13-year-old going through puberty I think Maureen obviously influenced me. I was poring over some photographs recently when I discovered the picture of Maureen. In the mid-sixties there were not many people with enough ambition or know-how to leave our poor but close-knit community. However, Maureen broke the mould. She was brave. She was adventurous. When I was younger Maureen would baby sit me. I liked Maureen. She was free and easy. She would give me glasses of milk and let me sneak down and watch the telly. Sometimes I would fall asleep on the couch. Maureen would wake me to watch the white dot disappear. Then she would quickly carry me up to bed before mam and dad got home. Sandra would never do that. Sandra was Maureen's sister. Sandra was stricter. She made me stay in bed next to my younger sister Elaine. She wouldn't even let me have the light on. Maureen disappeared. She left the street. She left the country. She went to America. Sandra became our number one baby sitter. Life can be a bastard! I was 13 when Maureen returned. We'd moved, but only to the next street. I saw the taxi pull up before disgorging this mini-skirted, tanned woman. Followed by what seemed a never-ending supply of suitcases. Then the little girl. Who was the little girl? I ran to greet them but was beaten by Maureen's mam Doris, dad Charlie and Sandra. I watched them struggle down the terrace with the cases before entering the front door to the tiny two-up, two-down house they called home. The neighbourhood women who had stopped there ministrations to witness the homecoming went back to hanging out their washing on the line which stretched the width of the terrace. Or cleaning their windows. Or donkey-stoning the step. "She looks well." "That skirt was short." "Who was that with her?" "They kept her quiet." "Do you think she's hers?" "We'll find out soon enough," said Mrs Robinson, always the sensible one. I like Mrs Robinson. She always gave me an ice-lolly when I fell out with Malcolm. Just to make up. I hung around at the end of the red-brick terrace to see if Maureen re-appeared. The day was hot and sunny, the sky sapphire. Most of the windows and front doors to the houses were gaping open. I recall hearing a radio. The Kinks were singing about a sunny afternoon. It's funny how I remember that. "Help me, help me, help me sail away. Give me two good reasons why I ought to stay." Maureen had sailed away. Why had she arrived back with that little girl? Who was she? I had to find out. Gingerly with pounding heart, I knocked on the door to number five. When it opened Maureen appeared before me. All brown and sparkly eyed. With the biggest smile imaginable, displaying her diamond white teeth. "Steven Taylor!" She exclaimed. "My God, look how big you are!" I felt the redness surge to my head, which I remember bowing with embarrassment. "Come in and meet Suzie. "Suzie, this is Steven." I didn't know why at the time but Suzie stuck her hand out. "Hi, how are you?" She said, in a funny voice. "Shake hands with Suzie," said Maureen. Tentatively, I held out my hand. I had never shaken hands with anyone before. I had never even been asked to shake hands with anyone before. "Come here let me give you a big hug," said Maureen. This was too much for me. Once again I felt the blood swirl round my face. Maureen's voice had also changed but I could not work out how. "Suzie is from America, we live in California," Maureen said. "Is California in New York," I stammered, "Me mam said you lived in New York." "No, I moved from there last year. I live in Los Angeles now. Near Hollywood, where they make the movies." "Movies?" "Films," Sandra said, from the corner of the room. "I'm a nanny which means I look after Suzie," added Maureen. The penny dropped. "Her mother is an actress." "Wow," I remember thinking. It was 1966. The year England won the soccer World Cup. Maureen called it soccer rather than football. All Americans refer to football as soccer. I bet no-one in America had ever heard of Geoff Hurst, or Bally, or Gordon Banks, or Bobby Charlton and his giraffe-necked brother Jack. I bet no-one in America had seen Nobby Stiles skipping round Wembley with the Jules Rimet trophy which had, moments before, been presented to Bobby Moore by the Queen. They were my heroes. Anyway, what did America matter. All you heard about America was the Vietnam War, assassinations and killings. Not like here in England. Everything was good here in 1966. While our footballers led the world our musicians were also dominating the globe. We had the Beatles. We also had the Stones, and we were the generation who worshipped The Who. Then there was the panda-eyed, mini-skirted, Dusty Springfield. Maureen liked Dusty Springfield. She told me so. I would bump into Maureen every day. Some days I would bump into her more than once. Sometimes she would have Suzie with her. Sometimes not. Walking down the street one morning I saw Maureen coming towards me. It was a hot day. Bare-chested, muscular men were working in the nearby timber yard. Music was coming from their radio. "There is always something there to remind me, always something there to remind me." Maureen was bare-footed. Like Sandie Shaw. The workmen were whistling at her. Her face lit up when she saw me. I blushed. It was beginning to be a habit. "Hi Steven," she said. "What are you up to?" "Nothing much," I stammered, looking down. "Where are your shoes?" I glanced up. She smiled again. It was a lovely warm smile. "They're at mum's. I never wear shoes." "Never! Wow." "Well..sometimes." The smile broadened. "Where's Suzie?" I enquired. "She's gone shopping with our Sandra. Do you like Suzie?" "She's okay." "She likes you." I reddened, once again. Maureen left two days later. She took Suzie with her. The taxi pulled up and they loaded the cases in. The women ceased their donkey-stoning and window washing before slowly gathering at the end of the terrace to wave the pair goodbye. Maureen hugged her mam and dad and Sandra. They all hugged Suzie. "Bye Maureen. Bye Suzie," said Mrs Robinson, as everyone waved in the sunshine. Maureen ushered Suzie into the giant black cab before climbing in herself. As she did so, she spotted me on the bombed buildings across the road and blew me a kiss. So did Suzie. I told myself I would have to do something about this habit of blushing.
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