Summer of '76 (14 page)

‘Yes,’ she says firmly. ‘But this is the first
summer
party of theirs we’ve been to. That’s all I meant.’

Luke hooks his finger into the belt loop of his flares, hitching them up casually as he leaves the room. ‘OK, OK.
Keep yer hair on. It’s just a party, isn’t it? I don’t know why you’re getting so worked up.’

By early afternoon, the temperature reaches its pinnacle that summer, peaking at ninety-eight degrees Fahrenheit. Martin cycles round with their fish and chip supper soon after seven, just as Dad is getting Kitty in the car to take her to her friend’s house for the night.

‘Marteee!’ Kitty yells, running to grab his leg, almost knocking him over.

Luke is sitting in the shade on the doorstep, cooling off with a home-made orange lolly, and he calls over, laughing at the state of Martin’s old bike, which looks as if the rear mudguard might fall off any minute. ‘Where’s your scooter?’

‘Spark plugs need changing.’

Luke walks across the drive to take the chip parcel from Martin as he wheels his bike beneath the car port, flinching as the knackered mudguard scrapes noisily over the back wheel. ‘I thought you were getting a lift with Mike?’ Luke calls over to Dad, who’s busy wrestling the car keys from Kitty’s hand.

‘We were,’ Dad replies, checking to make sure the neighbours aren’t around. ‘Your mum said she’d rather go separately.’ He lowers his voice. ‘In case we want to make an early escape.’

Mum appears in the front doorway, wearing her pretty new dress, with her clutch bag and shawl over one arm. Her hair is curled and piled high, showing off her long neck and the deeply plunging lines of her dress back. There’s a scent of musk about her and she smiles brightly, giving the boys a twirl before heading towards the car. ‘How do I look?’ she asks.

Martin blinks awkwardly, eventually opting for a
thumbs-up
as Kitty sidles over to hug on to his leg.

‘Not bad,’ Luke says. ‘Nice dress.’

She kisses him, and smiles, brushing her thumb across his cheek to rub away the smudge of pink shimmer lipstick that’s left behind. ‘Right, Kitty! We don’t want to be late for Jessie, do we?’

Kitty sticks her lip out and gives Martin her best sad face.

‘Oh, I nearly forgot,’ he says, and he squats beside her and rummages inside his rucksack, before bringing out a small troll-faced elephant with blue fur running down its back.

Kitty takes the elephant and gasps, hugging it beneath her chin, looking to Mum and Dad to share her pleasure.

‘A present?’ Dad asks, ruffling Kitty’s hair affectionately. ‘That’s very good of you, Martin. What’s Kitty done to deserve such kindness?’

‘My dad gave me a bonus yesterday, and I saw it in the window of Toyman’s and just thought –’

Luke nudges her with his knee. ‘What do you say, Kitty?’

‘Fank you, Marty,’ she says, kissing the elephant on the end of the trunk.

Martin looks pleased. ‘What are you going to call it?’

Kitty beckons for him to stoop down, then cups her hand around his ear and whispers into it.

‘Say it again,’ he says, screwing up his face in concentration.

She repeats it, careful to keep it a secret.

‘That’s what I thought you said.’ A smile curls at the side of his mouth and he turns to give Luke a small, happy nod.

Dad checks his watch and slaps the top of the car. ‘OK, lads, we’ll see you later.’ Once Mum and Dad have managed to wind down all the windows, Luke and Martin watch them drive away, with Kitty yelping, ‘Hot-hot-hot,’ from the back seat until they’re out of sight.

‘So what did Kitty call the elephant?’ Luke asks as they pass through the gloom of the bungalow hallway and into the kitchen.

‘Marty. She said it’s got a long trunk, like me.’ He laughs, rubbing the broken bridge of his nose.

Luke shakes his head, pulling open the fridge door and fetching out two cold beers. ‘Tell you what, mate, it’s a good job you’re not easily offended.’

‘She’s sweet.’

Luke hands a bottle to Martin. ‘She’s a little nutter.’

After they’ve plated up their fish and chips, they eat in the bedroom, with the Velvet Underground playing at full volume, the windows thrown open on all sides. The net curtains ripple as the evening light filters through, falling across Martin’s large jaw as he chews mechanically, slowly bobbing his head in time with the music.

‘I tried phoning you a few times during the week,’ Luke says, ‘but no one was answering.’

‘We don’t hear the phone if we’re in the workshop.’

Luke puts his empty plate aside on the desk. ‘Thought you might want to know how I got on with Samantha? After I showed her my war wounds.’

Martin raises his eyebrows. ‘So you told her about Len? What did she say?’

‘She burst into tears,’ Luke replies proudly. ‘She burst into tears, and threw her arms round my neck, saying, “You poor thing, oh, my God, you poor thing!” over and over again.’ He pauses for effect. ‘Guess where we were when this happened?’

Martin shakes his head.

‘In the pool. Virtually naked.’

Martin continues to stare at Luke, a slow smile forming. ‘Really?’

‘
Really
. Honestly, mate, it was worth getting beaten up for.’ He runs his hands over his ribs. ‘I’d do it again, any time.’

‘So what happens now?’ Martin asks, pushing the crispy bits of chip around his plate.

‘Dunno. With any luck she’ll dump him, then suddenly find me irresistible. That’s the plan, although she’s still mainly
just doing weekends till the end of term, so I haven’t seen her for a few days. I really like her.’

‘Lucky you,’ Martin mutters, turning over to lie on his front.

‘I haven’t even asked her out yet, so we’ll see if I’m so lucky when she knocks me back.’

Martin gazes out of the window beyond Luke, his expression unreadable.

‘Listen, mate. If I do get to go out with Samantha, you can bet she’s got a few nice friends she could introduce you to. We could set up a double date, go to the cinema or something?’

Martin focuses back in.

‘Yeah, OK,’ he says. ‘Deal.’

‘So, you’ve finished that last big frame job, then?’ Luke asks as they take their plates back down to the kitchen.

‘Yep. It’s just as well. Dad’s back has been playing him up quite a bit lately.’

‘I didn’t know he had a bad back.’

‘I think it’s something to do with the way he bends over the bench. It’s all one-sided. I’ll have to watch out for it when I’m older, I suppose. Anyway, it’s got really bad lately – he has to keep sitting down and taking aspirins. He’s finally agreed to go see a doctor about it on Monday, so maybe they’ll give him something stronger for it. I think that’s probably why he’s been getting so bad-tempered.’

Luke thinks about his own grandmother, with her weak ankles and crumbling hips and fading vision, and her ever-cheery outlook. Mr Brazier should take a leaf out of her book.

He takes out two more bottles, prising open the caps and passing one to Martin. ‘These are the last of Dad’s beers, but there’s loads of wine in the rack. If you dare.’

Martin raises his bottle.

Luke flips his bottle top into the bin opposite. ‘
Goal
. On the news, they said it’s the hottest day of the year. Actually the hottest day in June since records began.
Ever
.’ He looks at
Martin, who’s perched on the edge of the kitchen table gently rubbing his nose. A shard of warm sunlight cuts through the kitchen, and Luke feels the pleasant flow of his blood as the effects of the alcohol start to kick in.

‘So did you find out any more about this party your folks have gone to?’ Martin asks, sliding on to the kitchen bench and picking up a deck of cards. He starts to shuffle them, and Luke notices for the first time how nimble Martin’s hands are, so unlike the rest of his lumbering body.

‘Not really. One minute they weren’t going, then all of a sudden it was action stations and they were going after all.’

‘Did they go with your neighbours?’

‘Delicious Diana and Fatty Mike.
Beauty and the Beast
. Man, she’s another one – she really is a bit of alright. I can’t stop staring at her. It’s embarrassing.’ Luke takes a seat across from Martin and swigs from his bottle. ‘Anyway, no – I mean, they’re all going – but in separate cars.’

‘Are you worried?’ Martin asks. ‘I’d be worried.’

‘About what?’

‘About the neighbour – about this Mike?’

‘Why would I be?’ Luke asks, taking the cards from Martin’s hands and dealing them out for a game of pontoon.

Martin hesitates, until Luke looks up and meets his eye. ‘Because of the way he looks at your mum,’ he finally says.

Luke shakes his head and turns away, reaching out towards Mum’s wine rack. ‘Sod it,’ he says. ‘In for a penny, in for a pound?’ He slams the bottle on the table and fetches a large glass for each of them, filling them to the top and pushing Martin’s across the table towards him, like a challenge.

Martin takes the glass and glances at Luke apologetically.

‘I tried to talk her out of it, mate,’ Luke says, raising his glass to his lips. ‘Last night, when she said they were going after all. I said I didn’t think they should. And she said, “Don’t be so silly, Luke.” And I said, “It won’t make you happy, if you go. It won’t make you and Dad happy.”’

‘What did she say?’

‘She said, “Don’t be daft, Luke, we
are
happy.” I thought, you could’ve fooled me. I told her I wouldn’t babysit, but that didn’t make any difference, they just found somewhere else for Kitty to go – and I can’t exactly just come out and ask them about these parties, can I?’

‘Well,’ says Martin, gingerly tasting the wine.

‘Let’s forget about all of that,’ Luke says with resolve, and they bash their glasses across the pine table, grimacing at the tartness of the nasty wine, but persevering nonetheless. ‘So, what d’you fancy doing tonight?’ He tops them up, sniggering at Martin’s martyred expression. He can already feel his own speech becoming slurred, his blood running slower through his veins.

Martin looks around the room with a bemused expression on his face. ‘Nothing much.’

‘We should do something. Man, it’s the
hottest
day of the year, and we’ve both got the day off tomorrow. We’re young, free and single – we should be out there painting the town red! It is red, isn’t it? Well, what d’you reckon? What should we do?’

‘What does everyone else do on a Saturday night?’ asks Martin.

‘Down the pub, I suppose. Or hanging around the arcades getting pissed. I don’t fancy that. Some of the girls you see down there are rough as they come.’ He pours more wine into Martin’s glass. He thinks about Tom next door, who’s gone back over to the mainland for the weekend, for some fancy party in Chelsea. ‘
Yah
,’ Luke mutters to himself. It seems everyone but Luke and Martin has somewhere better to be.

‘What about Samantha?’ Martin asks. ‘What do you think she’ll be doing tonight?’

‘Dunno. Avoiding Len Dickhead with any luck. Can’t imagine her ever wanting to see him again now she knows what he’s capable of.’

‘You should phone her,’ Martin says.

‘Yeah.’

‘You should. What if she met someone else, and you never got a chance to ask her out?’

Luke clumsily swills the wine in his glass. A big slop spills over the edge on to the table. ‘Maybe.’

‘Why don’t you do it now?’

‘I will.’ Luke doesn’t move.

‘When?’

‘After I’ve had a slash.’ He rises from the table and heads towards the open back door, stumbling slightly as he steps out into the dimming light of the garden.

The balmy air surprises him and he pauses momentarily to gaze up at the pinkly receding skyline, at the outlines of the last swallows of the day, which glide and dip beyond the back wall, where the dry scrubland grasses grow tall. All around the garden are symbols of family life: his mother’s sunhat, forgotten beside a deckchair; Kitty’s deflated Space Hopper; the clothes horse den, now dismantled and propped against the peeling white brickwork at the back of the house. He pees beneath the willow tree, aiming for the displaced iris bulbs that poke up alongside the new fence separating them from Mike and Diana’s garden. Earlier this afternoon, he’d stood on the front doorstep, watching his parents with Mike and Diana as they congregated at the front wall, chatting about tonight’s party. Luke had felt a pang of disgust as Mike Michaels ran his meaty hand down the length of Mum’s back, letting it rest on the low curve at the base of her spine. She must have known Luke was looking, because she turned to look over her shoulder in his direction, and, when their eyes met, he saw something there that made him look away.

Now, in the quiet of the garden, he stoops to retrieve her hat, drawing back his foot to kick a plastic plant pot up and over the shadowy fence into Mike’s garden, where it lands with a feeble crump. ‘Fat
fugger
!’ he calls out into the night, staggering towards the side of the house and in through the back door.

Martin is still at the table, droopy-eyed with drink. ‘Who?’

‘Bloke next door. Fat fucker.’ He slides on to the seat, his words running together like sludge as he drains the last of the wine into their glasses and waggles the empty bottle overhead. ‘You know what, mate? You’re right. I
will
phone her. I’ll phone Samantha.’

Martin looks confused. ‘Now?’

Luke waves at the wine rack. ‘Soon as – soon as. Soon as we’ve had a bit more to drink.’ He laughs manically. ‘Dutch courage!’

Martin laughs too; it’s a soft, rasping sound, like a gently panting dog. ‘Tha’s good,’ he says, tapping the side of his head for no apparent reason. ‘She’ll like that. She’ll like that.’

‘But first…’ Luke brushes the abandoned playing cards to the floor with a sweep of his forearm. ‘But first! You and me are gonna have a game of Truth or Dare.’

Martin pulls his chin in. ‘Oh, I dunno –’

‘Yup! Truth or Dare. For us old pals. We’ve known each other ten years. Ten years!’

‘We have.’

‘Ten years! You’re my oldest mate. No doubt.’ He reaches across to pat Martin on the arm, but ends up patting the bare wood of the table instead. ‘So, can’t have no secrets, can we?’ Luke slumps forward on to his arms, letting out a sickly burp. He lifts his head, screwing his face up at the taste.