into the terraced house, which felt stuffy but at least warm. It had a slight musty smell to it and, as Mr Jenners led me through to the kitchen, I soon realised why. The house was a tip. Too much furniture, with none of it in the right place, and the kitchen looked decidedly unhygienic.
‘Sorry,’ Mr Jenners said as though he’d read my mind. ‘Not much good at domesticity. My wife dealt with that side of things. I’m going to get a cleaning lady now that we’ve settled in. Don’t suppose you know of anyone?’ he asked, filling the electric kettle. I tentatively shifted a pile of post from a chair at the Formica table and took a seat, regretting my mini-dress as I tried to pull it down as far as possible. I felt suddenly vulnerable sitting there in Mr Jenners’ kitchen and I knew Father would say I was ‘asking for it’ by wearing such a short dress, though quite what ‘it’ was I couldn’t be sure.
‘Um, there’s Mrs Gable,’ I suggested. ‘She works part-time in the post office and does cleaning in the afternoons.’
‘Mrs Gable? But she’s only got one arm!’ Mr Jenners’ jovial tone began to put me more at ease.
‘But she’s efficient, so I’m told,’ I explained. ‘She helps out at my friend Penny’s farmhouse once a week.’
‘Well, I’ll give her a try. Anything’s better than nothing. Now let’s get this pot of tea made. Cups, saucers…’ He rummaged around trying to locate clean crockery, then pouring tea while he chatted about all sorts of mundane subjects and I wondered whether he was going to remember to tell me about this secret of his to do with the Beatles. Eventually, just as I’d taken my final sip of tea, he told me.
‘So, this secret… You have to promise me you won’t tell another soul?’
‘I promise,’ I said eagerly, forgetting my nerves as I placed the cup back down on the chipped saucer.
‘Well, my brother has a good friend who’s a roadie for the Beatles.’ I didn’t know what a ‘roadie’ was but I let that pass. ‘And this chap says that apparently the Beatles are planning to play live publicly – for what might be the very last time. They haven’t decided where yet, but he reckons it’ll be in the South East – probably London – towards the end of the month. This roadie is going to give my brother the nod when it’s all organised and we’re going to drive to wherever and watch them play!’
‘Goodness,’ I said, suitably impressed. ‘I’m green with envy.’
‘Why don’t you come with us?’ he asked, looking animated. A short man, with wiry mousey hair and strangely small teeth, he reminded me in that moment of an over-excited Jack Russell.
‘To London? I’d never manage to get away!’
‘Well, you think about it. And if you change your mind when the time comes, the offer will still stand.’
‘Thank you,’ I said politely. ‘That’s kind of you.’ I felt awkward, not sure how to conclude our odd little get-together. ‘I should probably be off now, but may I use the WC before I go?’
‘Of course, it’s just upstairs, on the left,’ he said, starting to clear away the cups and saucers. I climbed the swirly red and orange carpet-covered stairs, but before I turned left into the bathroom I found my eyes drawn to the bedrooms, their doors wide open. One, with a double bed, was a dreadful mess and I could smell its musty scent even from the landing. But the other looked remarkably orderly. I glanced downstairs to check there was no sign of Mr Jenners and quietly crept into the tidy room. I saw a single bed, made up neatly with sheets and pale blue blankets, with a polished bedside cabinet next to it on which there stood a fringed lamp and a large photo frame. An attractive older woman with long blonde hair smiled from the picture, her arms, funnily enough, around a pert little Jack Russell terrier.
There was a desk, with heavy books piled neatly on it, and beside this were several pairs of shoes including some rather stylish Chelsea boots. I heard a noise downstairs, the click of the front door opening by the sound of it, and quickly crossed the landing towards the bathroom, which was as in need of a good clean as most of the house.
A few minutes later I returned to the kitchen, the knee-trembles returning as I realised I’d be