THE H-BOMB GIRL by Stephen Baxter (beach books txt) 📕

few blocks from Canning Dock, was all Victorian warehouses. By day, the street would be full of traffic, with hoists working from the warehouses unstacking lorries. Now, after dark, everything was closed-up, and Laura had to pick her way through rotting fruit and old vegetables crushed into the black dirt.

And as she walked she heard guitars echoing between the steep brick walls. She had learned from Nick and the others that the music was everywhere in Liverpool. There were other clubs in the area, like the Iron Door in Dale Street around the corner, and the Downbeat, and the Mardi Gras. All the dance halls had beat groups playing, and the ballrooms, even the ice rinks.

From under a crudely made sign reading THE CAVERN, the queue went right down the street, all the way past a bricked-up bomb site with a tangle of barbed wire. There were girls with beehives and heels and livid make-up, and boys in jeans or drainpipes, and a few full-blown Teds and Mods.

Immersed in noise, with thousands of fans swarming all over this grimy city centre, Laura felt her heart beat faster.

Here was Bernadette, with Joel at her side, in the queue. “Posh Judy. So you came.”

“I couldn’t miss Nick’s big night.”

Bernadette snorted. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

“But all these fans lining up.”

“Not for the Woodbines,” Joel said dryly.

Bernadette pulled Laura back into the shadows. “Business first. Normally I’d take an hour getting ready. But today’s an emergency, I suppose. Want a ciggie?”

“No, thanks.”

“Let’s see what we’ve got to work with.” Bernadette briskly opened Laura’s coat and inspected her dress. It was black, cut below the knee, with a white cotton panel buttoned up at the throat. Bernadette snickered. “Who buys your clothes? Your mother?”

“Well, yes.”

“You need to get some money of your own, kid. In the meantime it’s make do.” She undid the buttons at Laura’s throat and tucked the white cotton panel inside the black main body of the dress. “In all black you’ll look like a beat girl. In the dark, anyhow. You need to lose this.” Bernadette fingered the Key on its chain.

Laura couldn’t quite bear to take it off. She tucked it out of sight. She glanced down at her chest, embarrassed. “Aren’t I showing too much?”

“No. Not that you’ve got anything to show. Here.” Bernadette dug into her bag and pulled out a handful of tissues. “Give nature a helping hand.”

Laura goggled. “Are you joking?”

Bernadette cupped her own chest proudly. “How do you think I came by these? They won’t let you in if you look too young.”

“All right.” Laura took the tissues and, turning her back, stuffed them inside her Marks & Spencer bra. When she was done, she let Bernadette put more lipstick on her mouth and mascara around her eyes.

Bernadette said, “We’ll do a better job next time. But nobody will notice in the dark, nothing but the lippy.”

When they came back out of the shadows, Joel looked away, comically embarrassed.

The queue was long but fast moving. Everybody was excited, chattering, the air thick with cheap perfume and hairspray. Some of the boys took nips from hip flasks.

They reached the entrance itself, next to a washing-machine factory. It was just a hatchway, lit up by a dangling naked light bulb. You wouldn’t have known it was there save for the big bouncer at the front.

Laura found herself going down eighteen dank, slippery steps. She could feel the heat and damp climbing up her legs like a tide.

At the bottom of the steps a plump brunette called Cilla took their money. Cilla normally worked the cloakroom, but tonight “Jed” was off sick, she said. It was one and six for non-members, but because Cilla knew them and they were friends of Nick’s, she gave them the members’ rate of a shilling.

The Cavern really was just a cellar, dark and poky, all narrow tunnels and alcoves and high vaulted pillars. It was oddly like a church, Laura thought.

From the last couple of steps she looked down over a sea of heads. The place was already full, even though more fans poured down the steps behind Laura. At the far end of the central tunnel there was a stage where lads were setting up equipment and fooling around. Some of them were Woodbines. She recognised Billy Waddle with his drum kit, and Bert Muldoon. The others must be Beatles. A skinny young man with a broad face and a sardonic voice was at the mike. “One two, testing one two, one bogging two, can you hear me mother…?”

As Laura reached the bottom of the steps the air hit her, dank and hot and wet. There was a stink of rot and stale beer and dead mice. The walls dripped with condensation, and the floor was black and slippery.

“Whatever you do,” Bernadette said, “don’t put your handbag down on the floor. It comes up black. Come ‘ead. Let’s find a good speck.”

She led the way, with liberal use of elbows and swear words. Laura followed, already breaking into sweat. The long tunnels were narrow and crowded.

Away from the stage itself the light was patchy, and in the dark Laura was surrounded by exotic creatures with quiffs and sideburns, sequinned cowboy boots and studded leather coats. There were a lot of bikers in the crowd, in leather coats with metal studs, and greasy slicked-back hair. And there were Teds among them, she saw, but they were not like Nick, not young, neat, smart. These were older men, maybe as old as thirty. Narrow-eyed and stinking of beer and ciggies, they sidled through the crowd like sharks. And there were bouncers, big fat blokes in suits on the door and lined up in front of the stage. They watched the Teds carefully.

Laura’s head filled with the stink of ciggie smoke, and there was booze on a lot of breaths. She had never been anywhere like this in her life. She felt a thrill of danger.

But then some of the bikers noticed Joel.