This story is set in 1981 in England. There was no internet, no mobile phones, and very different attitudes.
Jill's thoughts about what happened to her the previous November would have been more mainstream in 1981 than nowadays.
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It was the last Friday before the end of the 1981 spring term and nine days before Easter. Jill had broken up with her fiancé, Alan Hampton, on Monday night. They had been going out for nearly three and a half years and engaged for two and a half years. Alan was a fellow teacher at St. Thomas's Grammar School in Birmingham.
She and Alan had agreed on a story that preserved their dignity. He would say that she had instigated the break-up and that he understood and respected her reasons. She, in turn, would be polite about him. The version for colleagues and friends was that Jill had decided that while she still cared and respected Alan, she could not face being a politician's wife. Their closest colleagues and friends would be told that her panic at the thought of attending even hustings for him to become a candidate had made her physically ill and had crystallised both their thoughts.
That was better than either of them talking about what happened that last Monday evening. It was a pity in some ways. If he had been so decisive and forceful earlier in the relationship, they would already be married. As it was, they had said and done things that might have been better left unsaid and undone. It had also taught her things about herself and unlocked more of her suppressed memories about her relationship with Gavin and her evening with most of a rugby team. She had to decide between repressing those memories and desires, working out how to indulge them in a socially acceptable manner or embracing the depths of her depravity.
She had decided to apply for a new job and leave St. Toms at the end of the summer term at the latest. She would move to a new town or even country. She would certainly have her summer holidays in a foreign country -- perhaps Rome or Paris.
Most people at school had been very sympathetic to her and Alan. Indeed, the deputy head had told her on Thursday afternoon to take Friday and the last three days of term next week off as well. He said that it was best for her and the school.
He also said that the upper-sixth girls would no longer attend that general studies class for the sixth-form girls. They would be busy revising for the A levels in June. Well, next term, that would be the story everyone would agree to believe in, including her. If only she had worked out earlier that taking on the Three Witches at their own game would cause them to back off, she would have done it months ago. Perhaps she had overdone it with the First Witch, but the bitch had decided to laugh at her by ostentatiously forgiving her rather than take offence.
She needed to talk with Amber this weekend. She was the only friend who knew most of the truth about Gavin and anything at all about the night in Coketown. Well, she knew about the Dapper Man and his nephew and that she had gone to a party afterwards. Jill had admitted to snogging the men there and being topless at the party, but no more than that. She wasn't sure she could face talking about more than that, even though she thought about it constantly.
She also looked forward to the Warwickshire Schools Rugby Final on Saturday afternoon. She promised Stephen Williamson, Clive Pemberton, and the team that she would support them--she was their mascot, after all. She also wanted to show the world she was glad to be single again and that she would survive the break-up. She was tempted to have a relationship with Stephen or Clive, but it would too clearly be on the rebound. Besides, they were unlikely to be as discrete as Alan about her proclivities.
Amber had been able to leave her school at lunchtime because of a half-holiday for Founders Day at Scrivener's and a free period before lunch. She had suggested that she and Jill lunch in town, then do a little shopping before going to Jill's place. They met at New Street at about 1.30 and had lunch at a Berni Inn, where they shared a bottle of wine with a prawn cocktail, well-done steak and chips, and Black Forest Gateau.
Jill had needed the alcohol to open up about what had happened over the last two weeks. Over lunch, she had admitted to chickening out of going to the hustings, even though Amber had got her to New Street fifteen minutes before the train departed. Amber reciprocated by telling her about the engagement party she had attended last weekend for the sister of an old university friend. She had pointed out that Jill should have warned her just in case Alan had checked on the alibi. Jill supposed that Amber was right, but it wasn't as though it had mattered.
Before going back to Amber's cottage, they went on a shopping expedition for new clothes. Amber had suggested Monsieur Alphonse's because, for a small amount of money, a shop assistant was prepared to model clothing and dance to music. At the same time, the customer saw what the clothes they wanted to buy looked like on a real woman. This service cost £5 for thirty minutes and included a bottle of Freixenet.
It had been some time since she had been there, and the shop amused her. She hadn't heard Monsieur Alphonse speak French before, and it was surprisingly plausible. It helped that "Suzanne," one of the "vendeuses," as the pretentious owner referred to them, could speak French fluently. She was arguably better than Jill, who had done it for A level, and Suzanne even had Gallic disdain off to perfection.
Even better, she was around Jill's height and build, only blonde and had a ponytail, so the service that Monsieur Alphonse's provided would be useful. Of course, that meant that if she let her hair down, she would be a blonde version of the First Witch.
Amber paid for the half hour, saying that it was her treat. After they had picked the clothes they wanted her to model, Suzanne led them into a backroom with a chaise longue and a couple of armchairs. There was a small stage with a wooden chair on one side. There was a music centre which played cassettes and records.
Suzanne was a good, even excellent, dancer, and between the two of them, they got her to dance to some current hits in appropriate costumes. They both ordered versions of the outfits that "Suzanne" had used to dance to "Do the Hucklebuck" by Coast to Coast and the Buck's Fizz song, "Making Your Mind Up," which was the UK's song for Europe this year. They'd even tried out the routines with her. Jill was already wondering which of her tight jeans and the new Hucklebuck outfit was the best one to wear when cheering on the First XV on Saturday afternoon.
After they watched Suzanne sing and dance to the old Bacarra song, "Yes Sir, I can boogie," Jill decided she wanted an extra thirty minutes.
"Amber, I would like to buy some lingerie as well. Could you ask Monsieur Alphonse for an extra half hour with Mademoiselle Suzanne and a selection of his most alluring lingerie for her to dance in? Another bottle, as well. Perhaps a glass for Mademoiselle Suzanne as well. She's earning her commission today. Suzanne, do you have a brunette wig you could wear?" She handed Amber a fiver.
After checking her watch, Amber replied, "Of course, Jill. We can still make our train."
Suzanne returned first with the new bottle, wearing a brunette wig and the first set of lingerie. Jill supposed that Amber had gone to the toilet. Jill looked at Suzanne and told her to open the bottle for them and pour a glass for herself as well as Jill and Amber. With the wig, Suzanne looked like the Tart.
The woman expertly and suggestively opened the bottle while singing, "I don't pop the cork for any gal I see."
After all three glasses were full, Jill looked at Suzanne and asked, "Suzanne, are you a professional..... dancer."
She saw the woman wince at the insinuation. "Mais Oui, Mademoiselle. Je suis aussi actrice et mannequin." Definitely on the game, then.
"So, when and where is your next performance?"
"Je me produis ce soir à Coketown pour le conseil municipal."
Jill returned during this answer and put a hand on Jill's shoulder. Jill was grateful for the reminder that Suzanne couldn't know why that answer displeased her so much. Still, she would get her revenge on the woman for reminding her of what the News of The World would have called her Night of Shame. Suzanne would probably be performing in private for the Dapper Man as well tonight. She took a deep breath and handed Suzanne a pound note. "There's another fiver if you answer to the name Rebecca for the next thirty minutes and do whatever I ask."
