Innocenti

It was the end of Jim's shift.  In the entrance of J P Salter & Sons, Jim slid his name card into the slot in the top of the clocking in machine.  The mechanism bit down on his card, punching the time into the brown cardboard.  He held it up, to check it wasn't wonky - 5.30 exactly - his favourite time of day.  Clocking off.  

He slipped his arms into his khaki US army parka and straightened it on his shoulders, before zipping it up.  He'd bought the coat from the army surplus store on King Street.  It had a fish tail and a union jack on the back and a target on the shoulder. "RAF roundel," his dad had corrected him, when he had asked, "Mum can you sew this target onto my parka for me?"  His dad had paused with a fork full of baked beans half way to his mouth, looked him up and down and laughed.  "Bloody mods.  They were bad enough the first time round.  My eldest son - a hairdryer riding ponce!" Jim had made a quick exit to his bedroom before Dad had started reminiscing about the pulling power of his first motorbike and the superiority of leather jackets to parkas.

That was nothing to the stick he got at work.  In the car park, Bill walked past and ruffled Jim's hair. 

"Alright, Jim.  You buzzing home on that wasp of yours?"

"How many times?  It's a Lambretta, not a Vespa!"

Bill shrugged and jangled the keys of his orange Ford Fiesta.  "You need to get some driving lessons, now you’re old enough - get yourself a proper motor.  One with back seats."

He leered and winked, as Jim pulled a silver crash helmet onto his head and got ready to mount his pride and joy.  He ran a gloved hand over the paintwork, which he'd re-sprayed himself in a shade of metallic purple.

On the drive home, Jim dreamed of turning heads on a scooter run, perhaps to the Isle of Wight in the summer, he just had to get some more chrome wing mirrors first.  He was approaching the turning for Mandy's street and deliberated whether to pop in to see her.  Her mum would be back from work now, so he thought better of it. He'd give Mandy a ring later, to see if her mum had gone to bingo.  They were gambling mad, Mandy's family. He drove past the end of her road and brought his mind back to scooter daydreams: the open road, chrome mirrors glinting in the golden sunlight, which illuminated the specks of glitter in his Rock on Plum bodywork.

He and his mate Paul spent hours polishing and tinkering in the garage, the doors wide open to attract passing mod girls.  Well, any girls would do. 

He thought back to the first time he met Mandy.  He was playing The Chiffons on his mum’s old turntable, thinking that girls with mini skirts and bouffant hair-dos would come flocking, but the only passing interest was from an old woman walking her dog. "Turn that bleedin' noise down!" she shouted, as the Yorkshire terrier cocked his leg on their garden wall.

"Give up, mate.  Put something decent on," Paul said, chucking He's So Fine onto a pile of oily newspapers on the work bench and slipping the My Generation LP out of its sleeve.  "Oi, careful with that Chiffons single, Paul - it's me mum's."  The Kids Are Alright started up and Paul straddled the seat, drumming on the handle bars, while Jim polished the headlights with a duster. 

"I'm gonna buy a boating blazer with my next pay packet," he said.

"Steady on, Rockefeller". 

"No, I mean I've been saving - I'll have enough next week."

"Hey, Ace Face!" 

A shrill girl's voice made them both turn.  A plump girl with flicked blonde hair was standing in the garage doorway, with a skinny mate hovering about two steps behind her.  The buxom wench was squeezed into skin-tight jeans and was wearing a silky black bomber jacket.

“We don’t let Rude Girls in here, Shaz.” Paul said, holding up his index fingers in the sign of a cross.

“Well, she’s a modette.” Shaz gestured to her friend, who was sidling up to the record player.

"Hey, Shaz. I heard your Ian got beaten up by some Rude Boys in Dudley," Jim said.

"Nah.  That's rubbish.  Ian knocked one of their hats off in Woolworths for a laugh, but they only chased him up Bird Cage Walk and then gave up.  He's going to take some mates up there next Saturday.  You should go."

"You must be joking.  I'm a working man, now. I can’t turn up at the factory with a black eye."

"Who's this then?" Paul asked, nodding towards the skinny girl.  She was wearing a German army parka which was about ten sizes too big.  No patches.  It was open to reveal a two-tone mini dress underneath.

"I like the Chiffons," she said in Jim's direction, retrieving the single from the bench and blowing on it, before slipping it back into its paper sleeve.

"Who else do you like?" Jim asked.  She was goofy looking, but had nice brown eyes.

"The Jam, some Northern Soul, The Specials, The Cure."

"You're obviously yampy, wench.  And very confused.  The Cure?  That gloomy racket will make you cut your wrists.  You need to listen to The Who, the Yardbirds, The Spencer Davis Group..."

"I already do.  The Who once came into my granddad's local and got a round in."

"No way."

"Yes way."

"Yes way?  Who says that?  You're funny, you are."

"OK, lovebirds," Shaz interrupted.  "We'd better go - Mandy's got school in the morning.  We need our beauty sleep."

“You definitely do,” Paul muttered under his breath.

"God, you're joking.  How old are you?" Jim's heart fell into his brown suede desert boots.

"Thirteen."

"Jesus."

"Well, you know what they say...," Paul started up. "If they're old enough to bl..."

"That's enough, Paul." Jim kicked him in the shin.  "See you around, girls."

They'd been seeing each other for two months now. He loved to sit in his bedroom with her, speculating about Northern Soul all-nighters, talking about music, but most of all he liked to wrap Mandy up in his parka and kiss her goodnight under the lamp post, when he walked her home. 

God, what the hell, Jim thought. He'd take his chances with Mrs Warby.  Perhaps she'd had a win this week?  Maybe she'd even cook him some tea.  Jim slowed his Lambretta down and indicated into the next cul-de-sac, did a u-turn, and headed back on Fenton Street towards Mandy’s house.