bought it – to win a bit of
favour, get on side. And to piss Della off a bit. ‘Oh, not that one! Mum! Muuuuum! Tell him to turn
it off.’ The day I bought it, I just
played it over and over, just as Della had with Gimme Gimme Gimme.
‘ Give her a
taste of her own medicine,’ I’d said to Ian.
‘ Just don’t
ruin the needle,’ was all he’d said in return.
I’d managed to scratch it
quite a bit by over-playing it and it jumped a bit in the middle,
messing up the part where the kids sing. Justin took it off, played
the b-side, but you could see he wasn’t interested any more. And it
wasn’t as good – the b-side.
‘ Where’s Tina
then?’ I asked, thinking a conversation was necessary.
‘ Dad left her
in the truck,’ Justin said, working his way through O-Z again. All
of Ian’s single covers were in little plastic sleeves that
protected them, so there was a flicking sound as Justin scanned
them again.
The Tankards had a white
flatbed that the family travelled in. I’d been in it a few times.
With Tina too. And Mum had something to say about the marks she’d
left on my trousers.
It was weird
being upstairs, with the wake below, bubbling away like homemade
brew, about to spill over; explode into the rest of our house. (I
knew about home-brew because Dad had made some bitter one year and
it ruined the front room carpet. ‘Why you
had to do it in there, Tony…’) I felt it
all getting bigger, spilling out of our small house, like that
story where the porridge keeps on coming, making its unstoppable
way down the street. The smells made their way upstairs, too:
smoke, drink, perfumes, sweat. And there were conversations too,
just snatches - ‘To a grand lady!’ ‘The price you pay for that,
though…’ ‘A quick clip, that’s all they need…’ – leaking through
the doors, creeping up and up.
Justin picked
out more singles: Tragedy, Video Killed
the Radio Star, Twelfth of Never – for a
second I was back on that caravan holiday again. Ian was singing on
the stage, dappled by mirrorball reflections; Mum in her pale blue
wedding two-piece. And later: what I saw later. I didn’t mean to
start crying. Didn’t realise it was gonna happen until it did. Just
a few sobs and I didn’t really hear myself until the record
stopped. The needle slid right across the middle of the 45 and made
me sober up. I jumped up to lift up the arm and to save the single
getting scratched any further. It was one of Ian’s: he’d kill
me.
Justin looked up at me,
concentrating a bit, like he was searching for comforting words.
Thinking he’d found them, he opened his mouth.
‘ Shall we get
our whatsits out?’ he said.
Back downstairs, the
celebrations were overwhelming. Dad or someone got the stereo going
and it was Elvis booming through the speakers. Someone else had
raided the sideboard in the front room and bottles of whiskey,
sherry and even advocat had been dragged through to the back, all
dished out in glasses of varying sizes. Ashtrays were overflowing
and crisps and peanuts were being crushed into the carpet tiles as
people started dancing.
‘ You ok?’ Ian
asked me yet again, once I was back downstairs, and I instantly
blushed. ‘Sure?’
Ian had come looking for
me, coming through our bedroom door just seconds after Justin had
made his suggestion; saving me from having to submit a
response.
We were squashed in the
corner of the back room, by the cupboard under the
stairs.
‘ Yeah, fine,’
I said.
He didn’t mention the
singles that Justin had left across the floor, but I was certain it
would come later.
Justin had put
his peculiar request in a few times before and I was close to
running out of reasons not to join in. Thing is, Justin wasn’t easy
to say ‘no’ to, but I’d viewed the whole thing as a game and so far
I had come up with good excuses. ‘My mum’s
coming in any second now.’ ‘Your sister’s in the house.’ ‘I think I
heard a gun.’ ‘There’s a man in the
favour, get on side. And to piss Della off a bit. ‘Oh, not that one! Mum! Muuuuum! Tell him to turn
it off.’ The day I bought it, I just
played it over and over, just as Della had with Gimme Gimme Gimme.
‘ Give her a
taste of her own medicine,’ I’d said to Ian.
‘ Just don’t
ruin the needle,’ was all he’d said in return.
I’d managed to scratch it
quite a bit by over-playing it and it jumped a bit in the middle,
messing up the part where the kids sing. Justin took it off, played
the b-side, but you could see he wasn’t interested any more. And it
wasn’t as good – the b-side.
‘ Where’s Tina
then?’ I asked, thinking a conversation was necessary.
‘ Dad left her
in the truck,’ Justin said, working his way through O-Z again. All
of Ian’s single covers were in little plastic sleeves that
protected them, so there was a flicking sound as Justin scanned
them again.
The Tankards had a white
flatbed that the family travelled in. I’d been in it a few times.
With Tina too. And Mum had something to say about the marks she’d
left on my trousers.
It was weird
being upstairs, with the wake below, bubbling away like homemade
brew, about to spill over; explode into the rest of our house. (I
knew about home-brew because Dad had made some bitter one year and
it ruined the front room carpet. ‘Why you
had to do it in there, Tony…’) I felt it
all getting bigger, spilling out of our small house, like that
story where the porridge keeps on coming, making its unstoppable
way down the street. The smells made their way upstairs, too:
smoke, drink, perfumes, sweat. And there were conversations too,
just snatches - ‘To a grand lady!’ ‘The price you pay for that,
though…’ ‘A quick clip, that’s all they need…’ – leaking through
the doors, creeping up and up.
Justin picked
out more singles: Tragedy, Video Killed
the Radio Star, Twelfth of Never – for a
second I was back on that caravan holiday again. Ian was singing on
the stage, dappled by mirrorball reflections; Mum in her pale blue
wedding two-piece. And later: what I saw later. I didn’t mean to
start crying. Didn’t realise it was gonna happen until it did. Just
a few sobs and I didn’t really hear myself until the record
stopped. The needle slid right across the middle of the 45 and made
me sober up. I jumped up to lift up the arm and to save the single
getting scratched any further. It was one of Ian’s: he’d kill
me.
Justin looked up at me,
concentrating a bit, like he was searching for comforting words.
Thinking he’d found them, he opened his mouth.
‘ Shall we get
our whatsits out?’ he said.
Back downstairs, the
celebrations were overwhelming. Dad or someone got the stereo going
and it was Elvis booming through the speakers. Someone else had
raided the sideboard in the front room and bottles of whiskey,
sherry and even advocat had been dragged through to the back, all
dished out in glasses of varying sizes. Ashtrays were overflowing
and crisps and peanuts were being crushed into the carpet tiles as
people started dancing.
‘ You ok?’ Ian
asked me yet again, once I was back downstairs, and I instantly
blushed. ‘Sure?’
Ian had come looking for
me, coming through our bedroom door just seconds after Justin had
made his suggestion; saving me from having to submit a
response.
We were squashed in the
corner of the back room, by the cupboard under the
stairs.
‘ Yeah, fine,’
I said.
He didn’t mention the
singles that Justin had left across the floor, but I was certain it
would come later.
Justin had put
his peculiar request in a few times before and I was close to
running out of reasons not to join in. Thing is, Justin wasn’t easy
to say ‘no’ to, but I’d viewed the whole thing as a game and so far
I had come up with good excuses. ‘My mum’s
coming in any second now.’ ‘Your sister’s in the house.’ ‘I think I
heard a gun.’ ‘There’s a man in the
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