Out of Towners Read Free Page A

looks like Whitbourne was a pretty upmarket, swanky place, years ago. The glamour has faded now.
    We keep going, past the bandstand, the crazy golf and the bowling greens. After the lifeboat station there’s a cluster of pine trees and then the road starts to wind uphill. Over in the distance I can see the coast curving round and climbing up towards a huge white chalk headland.
    â€œThere are some serious cliffs over there,” I say.
    Robbie nods.
    â€œYeah. The big one’s called Bellevue Point. It’s like Beachy Head’s little brother. Hundred and twenty-five metres above sea level. It’s nice up there. I’ve been with Mum and Dad. There’s a pub and a visitors’ centre. But I don’t think we’re going to be doing a lot of sight-seeing this weekend.”
    I laugh. Sight-seeing isn’t too high on my list of priorities.
    It’s warming up now. The road away from the seafront seems to be getting steeper. I’m just thinking it’s turning into another hike, when I see the gates of Wonderland looming at the end of a long road lined with tall trees.
    â€œSo what’s this place like?” Dylan asks.
    Robbie scratches his chin.
    â€œPoor man’s Butlins. You’ve got a mini-village with shops and then there’s this big entertainments place where they’ve always got stuff going on.”
    I laugh.
    â€œKnobbly-knees competitions and Glamorous Grannies?”
    â€œYou’re not far off,” Robbie says.
    We’re up at the entrance now. There’s a trail of red concrete paw prints leading the way across the car park in the direction of a big grey bunker at the top of the slope. Chalets and caravans stretch away into the fields all around us.
    Dylan grabs my elbow. He nods at the perimeter fence. It’s five metres of mesh topped off with barbed wire.
    I grin.
    â€œIs that to keep the locals out, or keep the holidaymakers in?”
    â€œDunno,” Dylan says.
    We go through a set of double doors into the grey bunker and enter a sort of foyer area. A payphone is bolted to the wall on the right, next to a shelving unit filled with brochures for local attractions, old newspapers and dying pot plants. Straight ahead, a six-foot cardboard cut-out of a bear in red dungarees is holding a placard.
    TONITE IN THE ENTERTAINMENT CENTRE
    FAMILY FUN WITH COMPERE VIC WHITLEY
    INTERNATIONAL DJ TONY CURTIS
    SIX TIL LATE
    George smiles.
    â€œThey’re keen on bears,” he says. “Paw prints in the car park, big cut-outs in here. What’s that all about?”
    â€œIt’s Benny the Bear,” Robbie says. “Disneyland have got Mickey, Wonderland have got Benny.”
    George and Dylan nip to the toilets. I take off my sunglasses and wander across to the big notice board on the far wall. It’s covered with posters for forthcoming events. There are a lot of tribute nights coming up. T-Rexocet. Stasis Quo. Seventies bands. The music my Nan listens to. Tickets are still available for Jack Jones and David Dickinson from Bargain Hunt .
    I walk over to where Robbie’s still standing and we wait for George and Dylan. When they’re back, we go through another set of double doors and come out into a courtyard. It’s the mini-village Robbie was talking about. There are shops to the left and right of us. The Wonderland Supermarket, a hairdressers, a chip shop, a bakers, a couple of coffee places, one or two takeaways. Across on the far side is what looks like a big sports hall. The Family Entertainment Centre.
    â€œWhat do you think then?” Robbie asks.
    â€œSpot-on mate,” I say.
    I have another look around. Over to the left there’s a bloke leaning against the wall of the Happy Valley Chinese with a fag in his mouth. He’s about sixty, and looks like he’s lived every last minute. He’s a dodgy-looking character in a red blazer and grey trousers that are too short for him. Under the blazer,