I were just a lass who grew up at the bottom end of a dead-end street, albeit in a half-decent part of a northern town. Me parents were aspirational, so me mam always called it a cul-de-sac. She thought it sounded posher in French. There were eighteen houses in Manor Gardens, eighteen families, but only one car. That car were a maroon Jaguar and it belonged to the Lees. It sat on their drive, it were never in the garage, that way people would see it. Their front garden were filled with rose bushes, where most of us had not much more than an hedge, a bit of lawn, and a garage – which were usually filled with junk. Ours had a motorcycle and sidecar in it, what my dad were repairing – the engine had been in pieces as long as I could remember. Sometimes I sat in the sidecar and dreamed of speeding along country lanes, the wind blowing me hair out behind me. But it never did happen. The bike were never mended.
Me mam liked to say she were a close friend of Mrs Lee, even though I don’t think that were true. Mick and Sarah Lee were Catholics, or Jews, I were never sure which, but back then, according to me dad, it were okay to be different, provided you were polite.
The top end of our street opened onto Manor Avenue. But to get there you would have to walk past a pig-bin, chained to the wall and smelling rotten on hot summer’s days. But that were preferable to the other side of the road where a barking-mad dog lived behind a high fence. Even though you knew that dog couldn’t actually get to you, it felt so scary you could almost wet your knickers when it growled at you. You were safe, but it were only inches away, and fences can break.
Oscar Peterson lived at number one, and he claimed he could see that dog from his bedroom window. It were called Jekyll and were black as midnight. He said its owners fed it on live chickens and baby rabbits. A load of nonsense, but we all believed him. Oscar were a great one for making up stories, and, to tell the truth, we all enjoyed them, especially when they scared us.
The girls I grew up with all wore white ankle socks, until they didn’t. The boys were only interested in ball games, until they got interested in girls with long legs. Manor Close were our whole world when we were young. The boys played footy in the street, and cricket against the lamppost at the end. Some of us had our first kiss there, behind one of the trees that grew out of the pavement. Me sister even ended up marrying Neil from number seven. Mostly because she had to. That was what you did when you got pregnant in them days.
I always wanted more than Manor Close could offer. Not just another street, or another town. I wanted the whole world. It were my English teacher who were to blame, or thank, I suppose. When she read us stories, the words would fly off the page like butterflies; you could almost feel them brush against your cheek and make your skin tingle, just like you’d been kissed by them. Other times, those words could be like sharp knives, shredding your insides until, miraculously, you would heal at the same time the story came to an end.
They weren’t just words she read out, they were windows giving me a glimpse into another life. I read everything I could get me hands on. When I found words that tasted right in me mouth, I would say them out loud, trying to capture the same magic as what Mrs Lawson had given them.
I were a good mimic. Nobody in our street escaped my attention. It were wrong, I realise now, to copy that stubborn st-st-stutter of Mr Crawley, or the strange word order in Mrs Bogdanavich’s monologues. But everyone thought I were brilliant. Even the adults didn’t seem to mind much when they caught me at it. Except for Mr McCarthy, but he were Scottish, grumpy, and everyone said he ought to go back to where he come from if it were so much better up there.
I would have been the first in me family to go to university, but it turned out me ambition were never to be realised. I ended up in the local toy factory, fitting seats into peddle cars.
Even Mick and Sarah’s daughter didn’t go to university, and we all thought that were a given. But Diane did achieve some fame. She were the first person in our street to have an open, same-sex relationship. Only they weren’t the words people used back then.
I had a succession of boyfriends over the years. None of them stuck. A girl whose head is buried in a book, according to me dad, was not what boys were looking for. Me mam said I was in danger of being left on the shelf. Then me dad had a heart attack. We tried to do what we could, but by the time the ambulance came, it were too late. He were dead, and our lives had to go on without him.
A couple of years went by, and me sister were married and settled into a little house with two lovely kids. I were approaching the grand old age of twenty-five, and still living with me mam. But what I didn’t know was that a butterfly must have flapped her wings somewhere and brewed up a storm, because me life were about to change forever.
It were a Sunday morning and I were chatting to Mrs Lee over her garden wall. She were deadheading roses again. Turns out she weren’t a Catholic or Jew but were brought up a Jehovah Witness. As she were explaining her escape from the complications of that religion, a car pulled up next door, a right smart one, and Oscar got out of it. He were taller than I remembered, and quite good looking for a carrot top.
He said good morning to Mrs Lee and nodded to me, like he didn’t really recognise me. He’d been the first of us to escape Manor Gardens, being a year or so older than me sister. It must have been summit like ten years since we last seen each other, so I suppose I’d changed a bit. Once he was inside his mam’s house, I turned back to Mrs Lee, keeping me voice down in case he could hear me through an open window.
“I ain’t seen Oscar for donkey’s years. He’s brushed up well.”
“He was always a good-looking boy. And he often comes to see his mam on a weekday. You’d be at work, I suppose. Linda says he’s a good son, but his work takes him away for months at a time.”
“What is it he does then?”
“Something to do with television. He worked on that series about a detective that used to be a priest.”
“I never knew he were that clever.”
I were no longer working in the toy factory by then; those jobs were all going abroad. It turned out okay for me though, I got a start in an estate agency. To begin with I were not much more than a tea girl, filing clerk and gofer, but my familiarity with language finally paid off, and I was soon employed writing descriptions of properties for sale. It were a much nicer place to work, cleaner, quieter and better paid. But, even with me promotion, I still had to make the coffee and tea. I also brushed up me accent a bit, just to fit in with people.
Oscar didn’t cross me thoughts again until I bumped into Mrs Lee a few weeks later. Our house being right at the bottom of the cul-de-sac, you had to pass everyone to get anywhere. As I strolled past her house one Saturday, while she were in her front garden, fiddling with some shrub or the other, she came to the gate and stopped me.
“Oscar asked for your phone number. I didn’t want to give it to him without your permission.”
“What’s he want with me?”
She shrugged. “You’re a pretty girl. What do you think he wants?”
I’d given up on men at that time. Even wondered if Diane had a better take on life. She’d been with the same partner for years. Mrs Lee said they were just good friends, they only shared a flat to save rent money. We all went along with her story. There were no harm in a little make-believe, and it still weren’t safe to be out and proud in those days.
It were two weeks later when Oscar phoned me. Our phone was in the hall then, on a little table with a seat, so you could be comfortable while everyone listened to your private conversations. He didn’t beat about the bush, just come straight out with it.
“Do you fancy trying your hand at acting?”
I had no idea what he were talking about. At first I thought it were one of them euphemisms, but not one I’d come across.
“What do you mean, acting?” I said.
Turns out he were quite a name in television and were offering me a part in a new series. Not a big part mind, but better money than I was making at that estate agency. To be honest, I didn’t see much of a future in that business, back then it were all men who had the best jobs.
I had to audition of course, but it were mostly a formality. Oscar were important enough that his recommendations held sway. When I saw the script, I discovered it were a posh sort I had to play, so I borrowed Mrs Druce’s accent. We all knew she came from a pit village, but you’d never have guessed from the way she spoke.
As it happens, I were told I were a natural. The part I had in that first series grew a lot bigger in the second and third. And my pay cheque grew with it. In those first two years, I’d paid off me mam’s mortgage and had a very smart little sports car. Oscar were a sweetie, but he were more interested in men than in me. None of us in the Gardens had twigged to that one.
Oscar went from strength to strength as a producer, and he took me with him. Small parts became bigger parts, and when he branched out into movies, my life got even more interesting. It were always character parts, but that were all right by me. I never saw meself becoming a big star.
So, I were surprised as anyone when I were nominated for an award for best supporting actress. It’s always good to be prepared, as me mam always said, so now I’ve got to think about what I’ll say if I win. Maybe I’ll tell people about me dad and how I’m going to get a motorcycle and sidecar, and finally live that dream I had as a kid, speeding along a country lane with the wind blowing through me hair. Just the two of us, me on the bike, and Oscar in the sidecar.