MODS & ROCKERS - CHAPTER 10

Wednesday 1st April, 1964

Bella

I stayed up really late last night and it's showing in my face this morning. My eyes have dark circles under them and I know I look as though I've spent the night partying, but after I'd had my dinner I hardly came out of my bedroom. Firstly, I had to fill in the application form for Mrs Black, (mum was so excited when I told her about the secretary's job), then I fulfilled my promise to Mike and wrote about being a Mod and what I'd witnessed and heard afterwards about the confrontation with the Rockers in Clacton.

Once I started writing about the Mod culture and what it was all about, the words just flowed out of me. I started on the clothes we wear, which even the most teenage-hating 'grown-ups' would have to admit are smart and actually quite modest compared to what some youngsters wear nowadays. For example, the girls always look neat and tidy in smart skirts or dresses, or occasionally slim-fitting slacks. The boys wear mohair suits or tailored trousers with either a good quality polo shirt or a proper cotton shirt and tie when they're going out. Hardly what you would call rebellious clothing, unless adults consider the olive-green parka's the boys wear are symbols of being part of a gang or a tribe.

I wrote about the types of music we play in the clubs and our liking for anything from the new Tamla Motown record label and any other American or British soul singers. Also we're growing to love the West Indian Ska and Bluebeat music that sadly is never played on the radio; even the new pirate stations are ignoring it. I make the point that because Mods like what is considered to be 'black' music, our clubs attract youngsters from immigrant families, which in turn helps integrate them into our society.

Then I wrote about our scooters and how some of the boys had customised them to look different and this interest had led to them taking up apprenticeships in motor mechanics. I stressed the fact that the majority of us had proper jobs or were at college, so we weren't the nasty layabouts the press liked to label us.

Then I wrote about Clacton, and the fact we'd just gone there for a day out on the beach. We'd been confronted by a large group of armed Rockers who were looking for trouble, and even though we weren't entirely innocent, we'd been blamed for most of what happened.

By the time I'd finished writing everything I wanted to say, it was gone midnight and my hand was aching and my eyes were out on stalks. I slipped Mike's notepad under his door hoping my efforts would help him put together his article as I wanted him to show the Mods in a good light. I could hear him snoring, so I guessed he wouldn't read it until the morning so I would have to wait to hear his reaction when I got home from work.

When I arrive on the steps, I glance up at his window but my Monday Man isn't there. Sue is hopping up and down as she's desperate to know what happened with Mrs Black last night, so I tell her about the secretary's job but ask her not to say anything to anyone yet. She promises faithfully and I trust her not to gossip, but I'm still not ready to tell her about Jake being Mrs Black's son.

I go out for a walk at lunchtime but again he's not there and when I leave in the evening his office is in darkness. Jake took me out on Wednesday evening and we had a double-date with Alice and Jaz which was nice. We just went to a pub for a drink then Jake dropped me home and we had a snog out of view of my house. If he was hoping for the same passion as before I'm sure he was disappointed, but he didn't comment on my lack of engagement; he just said he'd pick me up on Friday and we'd go to The Roxy as usual.

On Thursday morning and at lunchtime I look up at the window and he's still not there, but when he doesn't show again in the evening, I take it as a clear sign he's not interested in carrying on with our game and I begin to think that probably when I stared him out it frightened the daylights out of him. I'm sad because it was a bit of fun and to be honest I enjoyed the attention, but Greek Gods aren't interested in mere mortals like me, so I'll have to try and put him out of my mind, even though it will be really difficult.

I hadn't seen Mike at all since I pushed the notes for his article under the door, but he was at home when I got in. I went upstairs to get out of my work clothes before dinner and he called me into his room. He looked a bit perturbed and I asked him what was up.

"Bella," he said, and his voice sounded curious, like he was talking to someone he'd only just been introduced to. "Those notes you wrote …."

"Wasn't that what you wanted," I interrupted and he must have picked up on the disappointment in my voice because he looked surprised. "I worked bloody hard on pulling it all together without much notice and even if my ramblings aren't helpful, a bit of appreciation is expected," I huffed.

"Yes, it was exactly what I wanted, but …"

"But what, Mike?"

"But you wrote the whole article. When I read it, I knew it was infinitely better than anything I could've written so I showed it to my boss."

"You did WHAT?"

"I showed it to my boss, Bella, and he thought it was amazing too, so he's going to print every word of it. Also, he wants to meet you."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, I'm serious. I told him you worked full time at the Express in the typing pool, so he's asked me to ask whether you could see him on Saturday morning before he goes to the match. Will you meet him?"

"Why does he want to see me? Is he going to offer me a job with the paper?"

"I don't know, but he wants me to come with you. What do you think?"

"I don't know, Mike. My boss has just put me forward for a secretary's job which would be a promotion. Oh jeepers. Why the heck does this have to happen to me now?"

I think quickly about Mike's proposition and decide there's no harm in me listening to what his editor has to say, so I agree to go. Mike explained that my article was going to be printed anonymously as he told his boss my name couldn't be associated with it as mum and dad were still in the dark about me going to Clacton.

I have difficulty getting to sleep that night as I'm trying to guess why the editor wants to see me, which takes my mind off my Monday Man, who I've accepted is never going to be 'my' man anytime soon. I take the difficult decision not to allow myself to look at his window again and to concentrate my efforts on Jake and my career. But as I finally drift off to sleep I'm excited to think that Bella Swan's prospects are definitely looking up.

Edward - Friday 3rd April 1964

I have to stand on the Circle Line as usual, but this morning it seems as though I'm just a few inches taller than my fellow passengers, as I'm still revelling in my success at the tribunal.

Yesterday, at the end of the second day of the hearing, the judge, who funnily enough was the first female judge I'd ever come up before, threw the management's case out the window and told their barristers in no uncertain terms, that they should go back to law school and re-take the classes devoted to contract law and employees' rights. Fortunately this part of my law degree was the one I'd excelled in and I'd torn their chinless upper-class legal expert to shreds when he started quoting selected pieces of old laws which had been repealed thirty years ago. This was when I realised our side was definitely going to win.

After the tribunal, I was frogmarched from the building by the dock workers and their Union reps to a nearby pub where a serious amount of alcohol was consumed and I didn't have to put my hand in my pocket once. They then all clubbed together and paid for a taxi to take me home, which was jolly decent of them and reinforced my belief that the less well-off are the most generous people in the world. I woke up this morning with a slightly sore head but the feeling of elation will probably stay with me a lot longer than my hangover.

I'm greeted with slaps on the back and lots of 'well done's' from my colleagues when I arrive at the office. John and Simon have been surprisingly magnanimous about Jenks' decision to send me instead of them, so I'm grateful for their generous support. Jenks still hasn't returned from wherever he is, so at least I can put off giving him a report on the hearing until Monday, which will give me a chance to get over the headache. Because of the welcome party, I've missed seeing Bella arrive this morning, but I can just about cope without my drug for another few hours.

There's no cup of tea waiting for me so I presume Margaret must be too busy this morning. I'm not desperate for a drink as I consumed at least a pint of water and a large mug of coffee for medicinal purposes before I left for work, so I settle down at my desk and gaze in resignation at the original mountain of files that have magically reappeared while I've been away. Margaret has stacked them in order of priority and has helpfully left little notes attached to them indicating what needs to be done first. This is the tedious part of my job, but at least I haven't got any court days in the diary for the next week or so, which admittedly breaks the monotony. After the excitements of this week, monotony will do just fine for today and for the foreseeable future.

I work my way through the pile but my eyes constantly stray across to the Express building, even though I know there's no chance of seeing her until lunchtime. As the morning goes by, I notice that the natural light outside is starting to fade and the sky is getting darker by the minute, which means it's going to chuck down with rain very soon. This irritates me no end because this may result in Bella not wanting to go out for lunch.

I lean over my desk and switch on my reading lamp and sure enough, I hear the first raindrops hitting the window pane. Very soon after, a violent storm sweeps across London, accompanied by crashing thunder and spectacular lightning that's directly overhead. I used to hate storms as a child but I love them now, especially the aftermath when there's an eerie yellow light and a stillness in the air, and everything glows as though it has been heated by electricity.

As I'm pulling the next file off the pile there's a terrific bang, louder than all the others. My lamp goes out immediately afterwards and I hear Jane scream from downstairs. I can also hear Simon cursing from his office, so I presume the same has happened to his lamp and everything else on the ring. I get up to see if the main overhead light is working but that's dead too. It's obvious something has happened to the whole of our power supply, which probably means the electricity sub-station has been hit by lightning.

I look out the window to see whether I can see any evidence of lights in any of the offices along Fleet Street, but every window is in darkness. I take a look in the other direction and can just see into the road where Lyons sits on the corner. Those shops look like they're okay, which means they must be getting their supply from another source.

There's so much water falling from the heavens by now that the roads have become rivers and the traffic has come to a standstill. The storm rages for about another twenty minutes and then it becomes noticeably brighter outside as the first chinks of sunlight appear through the clouds, making the puddles of rain on my window ledge sparkle. The last rumbles of thunder are only just audible so I open my window and drink in the smell of the rain. The fresh scent brings back vivid memories of my childhood, specifically making camps in the garden with Rosie and our cousin when we were all home from our boarding schools. We would take shelter from the elements under thick pieces of cardboard piled high with twigs and branches, and pretend not to be frightened of the storms.

The city is saturated now and the waterlogged drains are bubbling as they've been unable to cope with the influx of so much water at once. Lakes have formed where the pavements are uneven and any cars travelling along the road are moving at a dead slow pace to avoid flooding their engines or spraying brave pedestrians with water. The deluge has ceased but the rain has now morphed into solitary but sizeable droplets which bounce off whatever they hit first. Eventually the downpour becomes a fine drizzle, leaving behind a sparkling city that has been temporarily cleansed of the filth and grime which gives London its grey appearance.

I work for another hour then look at the clock and I'm surprised to see it's already gone twelve and I haven't had any tea all morning. Margaret usually brings me up a cup between ten thirty and eleven, but I've been working so hard I didn't notice the time. I wander downstairs to see where she is and if there's any hot water left in the kettle to make myself and anyone else a drink. Jane looks up as I appear.

"Is Margaret in her office?" I ask.

"She's sick," Jane replies. "She called in this morning to say she hurt her back lifting her mother. She's got a doctor's appointment this afternoon."

"Okay, well give her my best wishes if she calls again."

I'd never known Margaret to take a day off sick so she must be bad. I also didn't know she looked after her mother which must be tough. I make a mental note to find out more about her situation when she returns and ask whether there is anything I can do to help.

I go into the small kitchenette but the electric kettle is empty and the two-ringed hob is cold. Also, because Margaret isn't here, there's no milk in the now de-frosted fridge so there's no chance of getting a hot drink. I'm actually quite thirsty by now so decide to go out to get something if the power doesn't come back on soon, but I'll wait until it stops raining.

I hear the phone ring in Margaret's office and I know Jane will have to go in there to answer it, so I dash out the kitchen and make it upstairs without being ogled. I actually feel a little bit guilty doing this as I'm sure Jane will be furious that I've denied her one of her pleasures in life. I hope she'll forgive me.

I haven't been watching the Express doors as I've presumed Bella will stay in today because of the rain. By twelve forty-five, the electricity is still off and I'm desperate for some caffeine so decide to go to Lyons for a coffee, whatever the weather. I check out the window to see if the rain has stopped, which it almost has, then grab my coat and head for the stairs. Being the considerate chap I am, I knock on John and Simon's doors on the way to ask them if I can get them anything. They both shout 'no thanks', so I shuffle my coat on as I make my way downstairs and head out the door. As I close it with a bang, a fat dollop of freezing water lands on my head and soaks my hair then drips down my forehead. I look up to see who or what has drenched me and spot that the gutter on the roof is overflowing. I try and shake the water off but that only makes my hair-situation worse as my well-groomed style is now in total disarray and I know I must look a state.

I trot across the road avoiding the puddles and make my way over to Lyons where there's a massive queue. At least someone is benefitting from the power cut I muse as I decide whether to treat myself to a cake but decide against it. Just coffee for me and maybe perhaps a sausage roll? Hmmm!

I'm counting the number of people in front of me, trying to estimate how long I'm going to be in the queue, when I feel a tap on my shoulder. It's a lawyer called Jonathan who was at Cambridge with me. He's gone down the usual privileged legal route preserved for the 'old families' and is in one of the prestigious firms that service The Old Bailey. We exchange pleasantries as the queue gets shorter and I don't really take much notice of what's going on in the shop until I hear a girl's voice cry out.

Everyone stops talking and I turn to see what the problem is. I almost choke when I see it's Bella at the front of the queue and she's visibly upset. She's just had some sort of drink spilled down the front of her coat and a well-dressed, city-type, in pin-striped trousers and a bowler hat, is yelling at her to get out his way. Without a second thought, I stride over to support her as I'm not letting this bully get away with speaking to her like that.

"What's going on?" I spit in his face. "Why are you shouting at this young lady?"

He recoils from me and I can tell he's making a quick assessment of who he's talking to. I can see him thinking, "Young chap, smart suit, cultured accent, definitely my class."

"The clumsy bitch dropped her drink on my shoes," he spits back. "And my trousers. Look at the mess. I'm insisting she pays for them to be cleaned."

"You pushed me," Bella wails.

"I did not push you, you tart. You just didn't move away quick enough after you were served. I'm a busy man; I haven't got all day to wait for low-lives like you."

"He did push her," a young woman said behind me. "I saw him."

"Thanks," I respond then put my face close to the bully's and put on my best scary look.

"You buy this young lady another drink and give her some money to have her coat cleaned, and you apologise to her right now for calling her a 'tart', you arrogant shit."

"Or what?" he spits back aggressively but he's obviously shocked at my response, then he pushes me away and walks out of the shop without purchasing anything. I have to take an instant decision whether to go after him and punch his lights out or look after Bella. It takes me only a fraction of a second to decide that there's absolutely no way I'm going to miss this golden opportunity; I stay with Bella.

"Are you alright," I ask, and she's nodding her head but it's plain she isn't as a solitary tear is rolling down her cheek. I want to take her in my arms and comfort her but that's definitely not appropriate, so I speak to her in the softest voice I can manage, considering how angry I am.

"Go and sit at that table over there. I'll get some napkins so you can wipe your coat." Bella nods her head again and shuffles over to the table.

I turn to the lady who's first in the queue and ask, "Do you mind if I jump in?"

"No," she replies. "Go ahead. I'm glad someone had the nerve to stand up to that horrible man. Well done."

I ask the shop assistant for two coffees and a handful of napkins. She obliges me with a tray with two of Lyons' 'special' coffees, some fancy chocolate biscuits and a pile of napkins 'on the house', which is very good of her. I carry the tray over to the table and put it down in front of Bella.

"You shouldn't have done that," she says in a sweet but shaky voice. "How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing," I reply. "I got them for free." She looks at me incredulously for a moment.

"Honestly?"

"Yes, honestly B…." I nearly say her name, but stop myself just in time. She doesn't notice thank goodness.

She picks up some of the napkins and starts dabbing her coat with them. Luckily it isn't wool or it would be ruined, but it will still need washing to get the stain out. I notice her hands are shaking slightly but I'm not certain whether this is due to the confrontation, or the realisation we've finally made contact. I'm still desperate to hug her or to hold her hands to help calm her down, but I manage to restrain myself.

She stops dabbing her coat and looks up at me with those gorgeous brown eyes that are now glistening with tears, but she hesitates before she says anything else. I can tell she's searching for clues in my face but eventually she speaks.

"Who are you?" she asks and her head tilts to one side like a curious kitten.

I don't answer straight away as I'm aware this question is loaded. If she wanted to know my name, she would ask me directly or offer her name first, so I guess she's after the reason why I looked at her the way I did in this very same shop two weeks ago almost to the minute. I decide to give her a straight answer as I've nothing to lose and everything to gain.

"My name's Edward. I'm a lawyer. I work in the office across the road from you, but you know that, don't you?"

She nods her head but doesn't say anything so I know she wants more.

"I'm going to be totally honest with you now. I spotted you from my window a couple of weeks ago and noticed your long hair which is unusual for a young woman nowadays. It was my own absurd curiosity that made me want to see the face that went with those glorious curls. I hope you don't mind?"

I wait for her response.

"I'm not a weirdo, believe it or not," I add anxiously hoping my comment will make her smile.

Bella looks down at her coat and I can tell she's amused because the corners of her mouth curl up. She shakes her head slightly and giggles which is very sweet.

"It's nice to meet you, Edward, and thanks for being honest." Then she takes a deep breath.

"My name's Isabella, or Bella for short. Before you say it, I know it's a pretentious name for an East End girl, but it's a family name going back to some European ancestors of my mother's, which is where all this comes from as well I presume."

She runs her fingers through the long curls on the right side of her face then flicks them over her shoulder. If she knew the effect this action was having on me she'd run a mile, but she's totally oblivious to what she's doing to me.

"It's a very pretty name and very apt, as you're very pretty too," I reply, while trying to stop myself thinking that 'pretentious' is a long word for someone who works in a typing pool to say, as I know I'm being an arrogant arse again.

"Thanks," she replies and blushes.

"Do you live near the City; I mean are you a real East Ender … I mean a Cockney?" I add clumsily and then I realise it's a bit forward of me to be asking this, but Bella doesn't seem to mind.

"I live in Poplar which is within the sound of Bow Bells, but I'm not a true Cockney because I wasn't born there and my family aren't proper East Enders. My dad got a job on the docks when he was demobbed after the war so they moved here from South London when I was about two. My parents don't talk Cockney which is why I don't talk Cockney. I can mimic the accent but it doesn't come naturally to me. Are you a Londoner?"

"No, my family are from Surrey but I live in West London now. I was brought up in the countryside surrounded by fields. A lot different from the city. Anyway, you should drink your coffee before it gets cold."

I push one of the cups towards her then drop a sugar lump in my own cup.

"I've never tried coffee before, Edward. I'm a tea girl; always have been. I even wear it now," she jokes and I chuckle with her. She really has got the most infectious laugh.

"Just try it, you might like it. Put some sugar in first."

Bella stirs in a couple of lumps then takes a tentative sip and then another. "This is yummy," she says enthusiastically and drinks some more.

"Have a biscuit," I offer, so she takes one and nibbles it daintily whereas I dunk mine in my cup. I have no airs, graces or shame. Bella laughs when it starts to instantly crumble so I shove it all in my mouth in one go.

She takes a few more sips of her coffee and then her eyes widen and she looks shocked.

"Oh my God, what's the time," she sort of shrieks.

"Five past one," I reply and then I remember she has to be back at work by one fifteen. I have no specific lunchtimes so I'm not used to watching the clock during the day.

"I've got to run," she says then downs the rest of the coffee in a few gulps. "Thanks so much for helping me; I'm really grateful to you."

"That's okay, Bella," I respond as I think quickly about how to broach remaining in contact. "Can I see you again at lunchtime?"

Bella gives me a surprised look and then frowns as though she's confused.

"What do you see in me, Edward? I'm just an ordinary girl from a typing pool. I'm nothing special and frankly I'm not in your league."

I'm taken aback by her response, but then I recall the conversation I had with myself on the tube after I'd first seen her, when I referred to my own thoughts as being on the same wavelength as Mr Darcy's.

"I'm not asking you for a date, Bella, so don't panic. I've really enjoyed meeting you and would like to get to know you better. To be totally frank, I don't choose my friends by what they do for a living. Would just meeting at lunchtime occasionally be okay with you or would you prefer not to bother?"

Bella looks slightly contrite after I've said my piece but she gives me an embarrassed smile.

"Sorry Edward," she says in a half whisper. "If you really would like to meet up for lunch, my break is between twelve thirty and a quarter past one. I don't come into Lyons every day, but we didn't get a hot drink this morning because of the power cut and I was frozen. I usually go for a walk at lunchtime but you're welcome to join me any time. I'll wait on the top step for a few minutes. If I see you at your window, I'll wait around the corner and meet you there. I'd rather nobody at the Express know that I'm meeting you if that's okay?"

"Okay," I reply and I'm about to ask why but she continues.

"It would be nice to get to know you too, Edward, but unlike you, all my friends are working class so it'll be a novelty for me. Now I've got to go but thanks again for rescuing me from that horrible man, and for the coffee, even if it was for free."

I stand up when she steps away from the table then she turns and waves to the shop assistant and mouths a "thank you" for the coffee then heads for the door. Before she leaves, she turns and gives me a radiant smile and a little wave, then walks through the door shaking her head as if she can't believe what's just happened. I sit down again and finish my coffee in silence, while thanking my lucky stars I've actually had the opportunity to talk to her at last and listen to her sweet voice.

I'm interested that she told me that her parents didn't originally come from the East End, but I'm still surprised that her diction isn't tainted with the 'cor blimey' Cockney accent I hear constantly in this area, and I wonder how she's managed to avoid speaking like this as she must have been surrounded by the accent at school.

She's said that she's 'working class', which is a term I hate as it means nothing to me. Even though I've been born into a rich and socially elite family, I have to work to keep myself because my parents have cast me adrift financially because of the job I do. I'm also aware I've been cut out of my father's Will, so cannot rely on inheriting anything from the family, apart from the one thing that is mine by right, even though I don't want it. If it wasn't for my grandfather leaving me enough money to purchase a house, I'd be flat sharing, or living in a one-room rented apartment with no mod-cons and with no spare money for bikes or any sort of social life.

A junior lawyer's salary isn't sufficient to be able to live independently in London, so I really do appreciate that I've been luckier than most having a home with no mortgage at my age. Now I'm working to maintain it, and my biking lifestyle, but I'm normally broke by the end of the month if you don't count the small amount I have left over from the inheritance I keep for emergencies. However if my career goes as planned, in a few years' time I should be earning enough to have some spare cash for holidays or other luxuries, but until then I'm as financially working class as the next man, even though with a name like 'Cullen' I'll never be socially working class, but there's nothing I can do about this.

It's time I got back to work, so I thank the shop assistant again for the free coffee then wander slowly back to my office. I notice the lights are back on in some of the buildings in Fleet Street so I presume power has been restored. At least I'll be able to make some tea this afternoon if Jane is able to get some milk. Tea will take away the taste of the superior coffee I've just consumed in Lyons but I'll need something else to keep me going until it's time to go home.

I avoid the dripping gutter when I walk through the door and make it upstairs without Jane seeing me. When I get to my desk, Jane has left me a note informing me that my sister called when I was out, saying she's on her way to Haslemere and hopes I'll be there this evening as well. I still haven't decided whether to go tonight or not, but I know I'm erring towards travelling down to Haslemere in the morning.

I'm a spineless chicken, I admit it.

Bella

I hang my tea-stained coat in the cloakroom and amble into the typing pool with about two minutes to spare. I'm not sure how I'm remaining upright after the events of the last half hour and it's only Mrs Black calling my name that brings me back to the real world. I walk over to her desk where she hands me a small envelope.

"You've got an interview on Wednesday, Bella. Well done," she whispers so none of the girls can hear.

"Thanks Mrs Black," I reply. "That's fantastic," I whisper in return.

As I wander back to my desk, a bitchy girl called Doreen hisses, "Been given your marching orders have you?"

I laugh under my breath as I know for certain she'll be furious when she finds out about my interview as she's been boasting to everyone she's in line for it, even though she can't spell for toffee.

"Something like that," I respond, and give her a forced smile.

"Better buy the local paper tonight then; they advertise a lot of cleaning jobs in there I hear, loser," she adds, which amuses me. If she knew an article I'd written was being published in the local paper, she'd be foaming at the mouth.

"I'll definitely get a copy, Doreen, but I won't be looking for another job. Maybe you should? I mean, how long have you been a typist; five, six, seven years? You'll be drawing your pension when you get out of here but I'll be long-gone by then, loser."

"That's enough ladies," Mrs Black calls out so I carry on walking to my desk with a smug grin on my face. This was the first time I'd ever fronted up bitchy Doreen. I think power is starting to go to my head.

The afternoon whizzes by and it's soon time to grab my coat and my pay envelope and head out the door. Sue stays with me just in case Doreen tries to have another go at me, but she wouldn't dare as Sue can be quite menacing when a situation presents itself. I look up at Edward's window and this time he gives me a cheery wave. I respond with a smile which I hope my colleagues haven't seen, as I don't want to alert them to the fact that I've made friends with a member of the opposite sex who isn't Jake.

Sue spots the stain on my coat and I tell her an abridged version of what happened in Lyons, leaving out the fact that the Knight in Shining Armour who came to the rescue was my Monday Man. I really don't have time to chat as I need to go home and get ready for my date with Jake this evening so I say cheerio and walk away before I get drawn into any more conversations. I know I should be excited to see Jake tonight, but to be honest, I'm more excited by the fact that Edward is still looking at me from his window.

I run across the road and catch the bus and fifteen minutes later I'm in my local newsagent buying a copy of the East London Advertiser. I conceal it in my bag as I don't want mum or dad to notice that I've bought it, as they would wonder why I've got my own copy because dad buys it every week anyway.

When I get through the door, I shout 'hello' to mum in the kitchen and race upstairs to my bedroom. Mike isn't in his room so I close the door, kick my shoes off and settle myself on the bed to read my article.

On the front page is a story Mike has written about the recent court case involving the local dock workers, but I bypass this as dad and Mike have been discussing it at length over the last few days. I know dad was delighted with the outcome yesterday, but to be honest I haven't got a clue what the dispute was about. I turn page after page until I see a stock photograph I've seen before of several Mods on scooters. My article appears alongside it, and it's almost word-for-word what I wrote for Mike. At the end of the article there's an editor's note stating that the Mod who was interviewed wished to remain anonymous, but the paper thanked 'him' for supplying an insight into a culture which is alien to most of the Advertiser's readership.

I'm relieved the readers has been thrown a red herring about the source of the information, as the Mods at The Roxy who may have read the article by this evening will believe it's a guy who's been interviewed. I've been slightly concerned about it going to print even anonymously, as all my friends know Mike works for the Advertiser. I would definitely have been the number one suspect tonight, but this one word has allowed me to relax somewhat. I'm sure it was Mike's idea and I'll remember to thank him for being so conscientious.

After dinner I get ready to go out and at a quarter to eight I hear scooters coming down our road. I remember to give mum my keep before I leave this time and she tells me to be careful. Dad is out tonight at some union meeting so I escape the usual lecture about crash helmets, going too fast etc. etc.

I give Jake a quick kiss and slide on the pillion behind him. I'm confident enough to ride with just one arm around him now and I wave to the others as we pull away. About ten minutes later we arrive at The Roxy and this time Jake carries on to the car park with me on the back, then gives me a full-on French kiss as soon as he's taken my helmet off.

I enjoy the kiss, but only because I'm imagining its Edward kissing me again, which is so wrong of me I know but what the hell. Edward is still as far away from me romantically as Paul McCartney, so I'll carry on fantasising about him until I get bored with it.

Jake finishes kissing me and I notice he's adjusting himself in his trousers afterwards and he winks at me when he catches me staring.

"That's what you do to me, Bella," he whispers in my ear. "I've got a raging hard-on every time I'm near you."

I smile at him and pretend to laugh while trying to work out what 'a raging hard-on' means, and then it dawns on me that he's got an erection through kissing me, and I know I've gone bright red. It's obvious another discussion with Alice is required and definitely before we go home.

Jake slings his arm over my shoulders and I slip my arm around his waist as we walk towards the club. I'm getting the bitch-eye as usual from Jake's fan club, but not from Jessica this time. She just looks away as I front out the girls who are eyeballing me. I've heard from Alice that Riley has asked Jessica out, so maybe she's given up trying to catch Jake, or maybe she's changing tactics. I don't know, and frankly I don't care.

The doors open and the club song, Louie Louie, blares out and spirits are instantly lifted. I know tonight is going to be a good night and life for me in general seems to be getting better and better and definitely more interesting. But I would be lying to myself if I didn't admit I would rather it was Edward's or the Rocker's arm that was draped across my shoulders, and I'm now more convinced than ever now they are one and the same guy.

I've been going over and over what happened today, and as Jake guides me across the dance floor to our usual spot, I re-live the altercation with the horrible man in Lyons and I visualise Edward's angry face as he confronted him. When he sat with me at the table I noticed his hair seemed darker than when I first saw him, probably because it was damp from the rain, and also it was flopping over his forehead, just like the Rocker's hair.

But what convinces me the most they're the same guy, is that the man who called the City arsehole an 'arrogant shit', wasn't Edward, the nice young lawyer with lovely manners and a cultured speaking voice who took care of me afterwards, it was his Rocker persona confronting the man, and even dressed in a boring suit, Edward the Lawyer was hot, really really hot.

I bet he was! Mmmm mmmm. Nothing better than a good looking guy defending your honour to make you fall for him. No wonder she needed to sit down.

So they've talked, at last! Sorry for the wait. She's pretty certain now that Edward is the Rocker, as aggressive Eddie made an appearance again. She must be wondering why an upstanding young lawyer turns into a leather wearing Rocker at the weekends.

Edward of course knows Bella has a boyfriend, so he's got to tread carefully, or take his lead from her. They'll be meeting up for lunch soon, so that might be the turning point in their relationship.

FYI

The Old Bailey is the Central Criminal Court for the Greater London area. A 'Bailey' is a Norman (French) name for a wall and the court stands where part of London's original fortified wall used to be. The original wall was built in the third century by the Romans and large parts of it can still be seen, especially near Tower Hill tube station where there's a large section of it. The history of the wall is really interesting - just put 'London Wall' on the internet. Fascinating stuff.

1964, the word 'Reggae' had not been heard in England, however the West Indian immigrants brought over Blue Beat, Ska and Rock Steady music, which had a similar beat to Reggae. Desmond Dekker had the first commercially successful reggae record in the UK in 1969 with The Israelites, but there was already a huge underground Ska scene where imported Ska records were played in clubs from about the mid-sixties onwards. I won a dancing competition in 1970 and the prize was to have a dance with Desmond Dekker (RIP). I was in a fantastic dance hall called The Boathouse in Kew in Richmond. I was fifteen - I shouldn't have even been in the club (over 18's only), but hey ho, it was a lot of fun. Desmond was very short, but a great dancer.

Motown music was hardly ever played on the radio until Ready Steady Go devoted the whole of one of their programmes to Motown in March 1965, after which it exploded in the UK. The stars on the show were The Supremes, Smokey Robinson, Stevie Wonder, The Temptations (my favourite), Martha Reeves & the Vandella's and Marvin Gaye. No Four Tops unfortunately, but they were on later shows.

'Cor blimey' is a slang expression which translated comes from 'God Blind Me'. It's used all over the country now, but is mainly associated with London. It's used as an expression of surprise, like, "Cor Blimey, look at that!"

If there is anything else you need explaining, please don't hesitate to send me a question in either a review or a DM. I'll definitely get back to you.

Next time you'll meet Edward's parents for the first time and Bella will start to be concerned about Jake's motives with regard to their relationship.

Joan x