Dreaming Of David
HISTORICAL SHORT STORY BY TINA JAY
1973: Maggie and I were as dedicated as any pop fans could be…
The clock in Derby marketplace is striking nine as Maggie and I jump off the bus.
We quickly make our usual frantic Saturday dash towards the market hall entrance just a few yards away.
It’s the same ritual every week, and the intense excitement never lessens.
Not when the one and only David Cassidy is involved.
We race forwards, running past the side of the Guildhall, where we know he would sadly never play, before excitedly thrusting open the market hall doors.
We narrowly miss colliding with two chatting women at the biscuit stall, carefully considering a bag of bourbons.
There is nothing so trivial in store for us.
We had some real decisions to make.
And there he is. Well, not physically.
There was still the underlying realisation, maybe that wasn’t quite possible – not yet, anyway.
Not until we could make that incredible dash from the marketplace to the sunny groves of California.
Once there, the world’s biggest teenage heartthrob would immediately fall in love with us.
The facts that we are only twelve and he can’t marry both of us are just minor blips on our teenybopper fantasy.
“Doesn’t he look just gorgeous?”
Maggie’s eyes are dreamily fixed on the latest edition of “Music Star” hanging above us.
David Cassidy’s smiling face fills the front cover.
If we can’t meet the great man himself, then the newsagent’s stall is the next best thing.
Two shining hazel eyes stare back at us as Maggie hurriedly hands over her 15 pence.
Moments later, I’ve also parted with some of my treasured weekly pocket money for a copy of the fan magazine.
Both of us skim the pages for further glossy pin-ups which will soon adorn our bedroom walls.
“Oh, look at that one.”
I sigh, gazing at a picture of David in a bright red baseball cap and patched blue jeans.
“And that one, on the horse. He loves horses,” I add, with all the confident knowledge of a true fan.
“I know,” Maggie replies.
I turn to look at her, taking in her long brown hair and dark velvety eyes.
She looks so different from me with my short blonde hair, blue-grey eyes and thin, pale lashes.
We’ve scoured endless magazines trying to find which type of girl David prefers, but they all said the same.
Personality is best. I like a girl who makes me smile.
Both of us were hoping he hadn’t already found her.
“Look at ‘It’s Here And Now’!” I scream excitedly.
We both lunge forward to buy a copy, nearly knocking a woman’s “Radio Times” out of her hands.
Twenty minutes later we’re walking up the street, arm in arm.
“What shall we do now?” Maggie asks.
There is an unspoken disappointment of the long wait until next Saturday morning, which would bring a new delivery of pictorial excitement.
“Make-up,” I suggest.
Totally recharged, we’re off once again.
We find our way along the street until we push open Boots’s doorway.
My sister, Carol, has a Saturday job in the store and I watch her serving a customer at the till.
She’s only four years older than me, but she looks so grown-up and confident.
I hope she hasn’t seen us.
“And here comes Darlin’ David’s two biggest fans.”
It’s too late. She’s moved in behind us, stocking up the latest Coty perfume.
I instinctively try to hide my magazines behind my back. But, as always, Carol’s too quick for that.
Not more pictures of him! I’m fed up of walking into your room and all you can see is his grinning face.
I want to say he smiles, he doesn’t grin, and I’m fed up of her walking in my room.
But arguing with her is never worth it.
Being four years older, she’s always right, or at least thinks she is.
“He isn’t good looking,” she adds.
Maggie and I both look at each other.
How can she say that? How can anyone say that?
“Carol, can you come and serve?” the supervisor calls.
“Saved,” I whisper to Maggie, as Carol makes her way back to the till.
We head towards a stand of brightly coloured eye shadows.
“Blue or green?” I’ve already begun smearing the testers on the back of my hand.
“I think purple,” Maggie answers, as she picks up a glittery shiny palette.
I feel a tinge of jealousy for not seeing it first.
It’s a lovely pale lilac shade, and it would have been perfect for that all-important meeting with you know who.
He was due to tour Britain in a couple of months.
We felt sure he was bound to fall in love with one of us – even though our seats were close to the back, in a stadium of over 8,000 screaming fans.
“What will you wear?”
We’ve gone over it for weeks and months, both knowing every item of our planned outfit.
But talking it through again brings that wildly anticipated moment ever nearer.
“My furry jacket, long brown skirt and my red and yellow platform shoes,” Maggie replies, without a second of hesitation. “You?”
“Red midi coat, blue skinny rib top and faded jeans with patches on.”
I haven’t decided on shoes yet. I don’t know whether I’ve been successful in breaking my mum or dad down into letting me have platforms like Maggie.
“I wish I was older.” I sigh as we walk out of the store, the backs of our hands featuring all the colours of the rainbow.
In the end, we decided we’d go for the natural look and make him smile.
After all, personality was always the best.
And with my limited 60 pence pocket money, it was definitely cheaper.
“When I leave school, I’m going to live in California and work as an au pair.”
I stare at Maggie like I’ve never seen her before.
How long have you been planning that?
“Oh, ages,” she answers, avoiding my eyes.
I suddenly feel betrayed.
We always go everywhere together, and now my best friend is planning things without me.
She’s planning how to get close to David. And leaving me behind.
We go home on different buses, with me feeling intensely jealous.
Sure, if he meets Maggie, he’ll fall in love with her long brown hair and thickly lashed dark eyes.
Walking in the house, my mum is feeding my baby brother who is sitting in his high-chair.
He’s flinging his food across the room as he always does and a flying piece of stewed apple splatters on to my face.
It’s totally at random, but in my vulnerable state it feels like a deliberate,
well-aimed act.
I find myself bursting into tears.
“What’s the matter, love?” My mum walks towards me.
“Maggie’s going to California. To be an au pair.”
My mum smiles at me and strokes my hair.
“I don’t think her mum’s going to let her do that. Not when she’s only twelve.”
“Not now,” I reply. “When she leaves school.
And then she’s going to meet him and marry him.
“Who?” Mum asks.
I sigh deeply.
“David Cassidy.”
My mum smiles again.
“Are you sure about that?”
I can feel myself growing increasingly concerned that she isn’t taking me seriously.
“I think there’s a lot of girls who would like to marry him and they all feel the same,” my mum says.
“But they won’t all be
going to California.
“Can’t we go and live there?” I plead.
Suddenly the front door opens. Carol is home.
“When’s tea ready, Mum?” she calls, and races upstairs to get ready for a date with her new boyfriend.
My mum wanders into the kitchen and I hear Carol’s music thumping above me.
I suddenly miss Maggie.
We always spend Saturday evenings together – playing our records, doing our homework and talking about David.
At school, we aren’t in the same class, but all the next week I miss sitting together on the school bus.
I miss meeting at lunchtime, moaning about our lessons and looking forward to home time.
Saturday mornings don’t feel the same without her.
Lying in bed, I listen to Carol getting ready for work, wondering how I’m going to pass the day.
She walks in and I pull the blankets over my head.
They’re a comforting shield from all the usual teasing about the posters on my wall.
“Why don’t you ring her?” Carol suggests.
“Who?” I answer, pushing back the covers, trying to sound cool.
Carol suddenly hugs me and I find myself fighting hard not to cry.
“Look. I bet she’s missing you, too,” she tells me.
“I doubt it,” I reply. “She’s planning for when she goes to America.”
I don’t add why. I know Mum has already told her and I’m afraid it’ll only start off the teasing again.
But surprisingly it doesn’t.
Why don’t you call her? No boy is worth losing your best friend over
she adds, smiling at my posters. “It doesn’t matter how good looking they are.”
l stare at all the glossy pin-ups covering my walls and realise she’s right.
I need to call Maggie.
Even the dream of meeting David Cassidy isn’t worth losing my best friend.
I rush downstairs towards the phone, but before I can pick it up, it’s already ringing.
“Hi, Tracey. Do you want to go into town?”
It’s so good to hear Maggie’s familiar voice.
“There’s a new magazine out today called ‘Hit’,” she continues. “It’s got some great pictures of David and a free postcard.”
We’re soon linking arms once again, our magazines open in front of us.
We make our way across the marketplace and along to Woolworths.
Rushing to the photo booth, we hold up a glossy smiling poster of David covering the camera lens.
We giggle, hoping someone will believe we’ve really met him, before posing for our own pictures.
We made memories of being best friends.
Outside, the sun comes out.
Just for a moment, I can imagine I’m in California, down by the orange groves.
Then the sound of the market hall clock striking eleven brings me back to the bustling city street.
“If I do go to America,” Maggie says, “I want you to come, too.
It wouldn’t be the same without you, Tracey.
She holds up her hand, crossing her fingers in front of me.
“Friends, forever.”
“Friends, forever,” I echo.
“Let’s go to Melody Fayre,” I suggest.
Minutes later, we’re skipping through the doors, then we hurriedly settle ourselves into one of the record booths.
We listen to David’s dreamy voice singing “Could It Be Forever.”
And, in 1973, in the centre of Derby on a cold March morning, it really seems like it will be.
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