It was a weekend like no other. My mum made me sandwiches and waved at the door as we drove away in his Triumph TR3—an amazing car, all shape and chrome wrapped around a growling 2.2 litre engine. I was embarrassed as Mum blew me a kiss—I was too old for this sort of thing. Barry smiled at me—I wasn’t sure whether in sympathy or discomfort. Then we were off—in a snarling bark of revs and a rush of exhaust fumes. We had eaten the sandwiches by the time we got to the motorway. I threw the wrapping paper onto the verge as we tore past slower cars.
Barry was a few years older than me, and better off. His father owned an engineering factory and he’d bought him the car as an eighteenth birthday present. It was cherry red, low, powerful and slinky. I felt like Flash Gordon.
We drove down the M1 at 115 mph. Barry said the police would never catch us even if they saw us. The old Austin Princesses they drove were, as he shouted above the roar of the wind and snarl of the engine, “Dead at 110!”
We stopped for a meal at a transport café. A couple of lorry drivers admired the car. Barry pulled his sleeve down over his hand and polished the bonnet with a few slow rubs—as if to make sure they knew it was his. I looked up at the menu. I could only afford chips. I went to the “Gents”. A couple of shady-looking characters pushed past me on the way out. 'Watch out, cock!' one said as he pulled his camelhair overcoat up around his neck. 'Make way for your betters!' I saw something on the floor—a plastic bag. I looked around. It must belong to the men who’d just left. I picked it up. Inside there was a thick roll of £1—hundreds of pounds! I didn’t even think of running after the men, or telling anyone at all. We had a slap up meal and I paid for us both.
It was dark as we got nearer to London. Barry said I could drive if I wanted, ‘But,' he said, 'let’s keep moving. No need to stop!' We nearly hit the central reservation as I struggled to get across into the driver’s seat as Barry, still hanging onto the brass studded wood rimmed wheel, climbed into the tiny rear seat and over the back of the passenger seat. ‘Quick!' he said 'Get your foot back down on the accelerator!' I kept the headlights full on as we shot along in the outside lane like a flaming arrow—110…112…115! We swung off onto the huge island at St Albans both panting and whooping with excitement.
We drove into the city centre and went to the Grosvenor Hotel. Barry said he’d been there with his parents and it was very swanky. I struggled to lift the barrier at the entrance to the underground car park to save paying the deposit. 'Why throw money away?' said Barry. 'Right enough,' I replied never before having been in the position to make such a choice. I couldn’t lift the barrier right up but Barry thought it would be okay. 'The car’s pretty low, I think it’ll go underneath,' he said leaning his head outside the sliding driver’s window and revving the engine loudly. The man at the reception looked at us suspiciously when we asked for a room but ran around his counter to show us to the lift when I pulled out the roll of notes and insisted on paying in advance.
We both flopped down on the massive bed. I clenched my fists and shook them in the air.
We met two girls waiting in the cinema queue and they came in with us. They were both really nice—Sylvia and Denise. Sylvia had blonde hair pulled up high on her head and they both smelled fantastic. I didn’t see much of the film—I spend nearly all the time kissing Sylvia. Afterwards we went to a Chinese restaurant and had a meal. Sylvia and Denise said they’d been there before and seemed to know the waiters. After that we went dancing and after that we kissed and petted in an alleyway and after that we paid for a taxi to take them home as they said they were really tired.
We agreed to meet them the next morning in Trafalgar Square but they didn’t turn up. We walked around for a while but didn’t want to stay. We used the last of the roll of pound notes and filled up the TR with petrol. It was sunny and bright and the light dazzled us as we drove west up the motorway and away from the city. I told Barry how Sylvia had kissed me and how I’d felt her bare breasts and how she’d pulled her leg up against my hip and how she’d moaned when I ran my hand along the inside of her thigh. Barry said Denise had done the same but had not let him feel her breasts.
It was dusk as we swept back to the front of our house. My uncle’s Triumph Renown was parked alongside the wooden garage. My Aunty Ethel was standing at the door wiping her eyes. I didn’t want to get out of the car—inside I felt safe and unexposed. Aunty Ethel beckoned me with a wave of her hand. Slowly I opened the door of the TR. My uncle walked out of the house and put his arm around Aunty Ethel. I never saw my Mum again.
With thanks to Rod
