Summer of '76 (24 page)

‘Not so long ago,’ he says, rousing himself, the gritty surface beneath his fingers reminding him where he is. Unsteadily, he stands, holding on to the side and scanning the deck for familiar faces. ‘You got the time, mate?’ he asks a man who stands nearby.

‘Just after twelve,’ he replies, and he grins at his friends as Luke makes a lurch, listing across the deck of the ship like a man on the high seas.

The club closes at one. He’s got no time to lose. Luke goes in search of Samantha, gulping the night air down as he tries to sober up and invoke the spirit of courage to make his move. He has just reached the stairwell that will take him down to the disco when he sees him: Len Dickens, just a few feet away, beyond the red funnel, beyond the crowd, portside. Luke pauses two steps down, his head cocked and his heart pounding as he stares at the back of Len’s head, wanting him to turn round, yet desperate not to be seen. His footsteps fall into a trot as he stumbles down the stairs to warn Samantha, to tell Tom it’s time to leave. He presses through the mass of moist bodies, which seems to have doubled in size since he went above board, craning his neck for a sighting of Tom or Samantha. Having no luck in the Admiral’s Disco, he heads up to the Normandy Lounge, where tightly clinched couples slow-dance or neck in the corners.

Muttering to himself, Luke pushes his way back through the crowd on the stairs, stopping off for a leak in the cramped
toilets. He sways over the urinal, leaning his forehead against the cool glass of the mirror.

‘Lukester!’ Gordon yells in his ear, and Luke, startled, stumbles back from the wall and clumsily tucks himself back in.

‘
Jesus
, Gordon! What’re you doing here?’

Gordon steps up to the urinal beside him, where he reaches into his fly, pulls out his penis and gives it a little wiggle. ‘Same as you,’ he laughs.

Luke steps away so that his back is supported by the doorframe, where he squeezes his eyelids shut and fights the scotch-nausea building up inside his gut.

‘Sorry, Lukester. You look a bit squiffy. Are you having a good birthday?’

‘Have you seen Samantha?’ Luke asks, at once recalling why he’s in a hurry to find her. He rubs his face with the heels of his hands. ‘S’important.’

‘Ah.’ Gordon turns away as he carefully washes his hands, flicking his fingers with a revolted expression when he finds there’s nowhere to dry them. ‘God, you couldn’t swing a cat in here. Now, here’s the thing –’ He leads Luke out of the door and they jostle through to a clear space in the passageway. ‘The thing is –’ he puts a finger to his chin ‘– I’m afraid, Lukester, that she and Tom – well, they kind of hit it off.’

Luke stares at him blankly.

‘They were all over each other down by the engine room. They left together – about half an hour ago.’

‘Together?’

Gordon seems embarrassed for him, and Luke hates him for it. ‘Together.
Sorry
. I can’t say I didn’t see it coming – I mean, I did try to warn you.’

Luke sways, holding on to the wall to regain his balance. ‘No, you didn’t.’

‘I did. I told you to get a move on, didn’t I? I said a pretty girl like her would get snapped up quick if you didn’t make your move.’

‘Yeah, but
Tom
? Where’d they go?’

‘Back to his place, I think.’

‘So they just left me here?’ He blinks.

Gordon reaches out a hand to pat Luke’s shoulder, just as Len pushes past on his way down the stairs, ploughing through the mass of people, towards the bar, then disappearing from view. Gordon tilts his head and pulls a sad expression.

‘Fuck off, Gordon,’ Luke stammers, and, feeling the bile rising in his throat, he forges through the crowd in search of the exit.

The path is dark and long, as Luke stumbles away from the lights and music of the
Ryde Queen
, past screaming tangles of nightclubbers who perch on the edges of rusting girders, or stagger in and out of the shadows cast by the dry-docked dinghies and restoration yachts. His mind is fixed firmly on his target: to make it back to Tom’s house and confront him. He pauses by the rusted fencing of the yacht-brokers to vomit on the gritty path, glad to be unseen as he grips his knees, bent over the dust, trying to pull himself together. It’s gone midnight and yet it’s still so warm; Luke imagines stripping off his clothes and dropping into the Medina, letting the water carry his naked body out into the Solent, to take him away, over to the other side where his new life can begin. He wishes he knew how to cry, as he did when he was a kid; as he did when his Grandad died, or when his cat Zsa-zsa was put to sleep at the vet’s.

A buried memory surfaces in the stagnant air, of Len curled up under the canvas tarpaulin of their den in America Woods, red-eyed and exhausted. He’d been missing for two days, after his dad had left again, and it was Luke who eventually found Len and brought him back. They’d shared Luke’s chocolate bar – it was Fruit and Nut, he remembers clearly – then he’d given him a backy, with Len sitting on the saddle, gripping on to Luke’s belt loops as he stood and pedalled him back to his seafront home.

Luke starts to walk again, knowing he’s miles from Blake Avenue, his anger growing with each drunken step. On the Fairlee Road he sticks out his thumb, and before long he picks up a lift that can take him as far as the outskirts of Sandown, where he thanks the bemused driver and stands beneath a lamppost as he tries to get his bearings. Realising he’s just a street away from Martin’s house, he heads in that direction, suddenly inspired to put things right. The roads are empty, but distant music whispers in the air, drifting up from the seafront where sleepless revellers party through the night on the hottest day in August. Luke steadies himself along the high hedge at the side of Martin’s garden, patting it with his hand in a rhythmic motion. When he reaches the break in the hedge, he steps carefully through the narrow black passage and comes out into the garden, with the large workshop to his right and the house to the left. The darkness of the garden is broken by the lights from the workshop, and from the little window at the top of the house. The back door is ajar. Luke remains in the shadows, his back pressed against the hedge, his breath coming in small, shallow gasps; it’s gone one in the morning, and he hadn’t really expected anyone to be up and about.

As he wonders about Martin, the workshop door swings open and Mr Brazier, looking bent and exhausted, walks slowly along the path that joins the workshop to the house, stopping with his wheelbarrow at the large dry bonfire that now dominates the middle of the lawn. He tips a load of sun-crisped foliage on to the pile and stares at it a moment, wincing as he returns to the edge of the lawn to fetch more garden debris to add to the heap. When he’s placed a final offering of orange crates and offcuts around the edges of the bonfire, Mr Brazier stoops to pick up a small can, which he sprinkles around the circumference of the unlit mound. Instinctively, Luke steps back into the shadows of the hedge, as Martin’s dad lights a match and drops it on to the lighter fuel. The bonfire ignites with a roar, flashing a sudden light
across the garden as the flames engulf the dead leaves and branches, firelight snaking rapidly to the heart of the stack. Mr Brazier steps back from the flames, his face shifting in the flickering light. With his long arms hanging limp at his sides, for the first time Luke can see Martin in him. He stays like this for minutes, the old man, staring at the burning waste until the light diminishes so completely that he appears to fade into the garden, to disappear altogether. With his heart beating hard against his breastbone, Luke eases his body back through the passage in the hedge and runs, dashing through the empty streets of Sandown, his mind fizzing in the balmy night air, until finally, gasping and weary, he arrives on the pavement outside his own house.

Flopping his arms over the wall pillar that separates his drive from Tom’s, Luke stares at the two properties, searching for signs of activity. His own bungalow appears to be sleeping; the lights are all out, with every window propped open in the hope of drawing in some cool air. The street lamps cast a white blush across the dead and fractured lawn, illuminating the various discarded toys and buckets that Kitty has dragged out over the course of the day. Luke quietly steps across the lawn to pick up the wooden cigar box he spots pushed under the drooping hydrangea bush. He opens the lid and turns it to the light, appalled to find dozens upon dozens of tiny, shrivelled ladybirds, collected up by Kitty over a month earlier.

A stream of light catches his attention, coming from next door’s alleyway, and in a rush of adrenaline he drops the wooden box, scattering the ladybirds far and wide, and sprints across his drive to hurdle the low neighbouring wall. Silently he makes his way to the side door, and stands with his back against the brickwork, hoping to hear the murmur of voices; of Tom and Samantha’s voices. The glass panel of the door is ribbed, frosted to obscure its inhabitants. He strains to listen in: there’s the snap of a cupboard door opening, the chink of a glass being set down on the side – but no voices.
Luke peers round the corner, attempting to see through the screen, not realising in his drunkenness that his face is now fully pressed up against the frosted door panel.

Inside there’s a short shriek and the sound of glass hitting the tiles. In a moment of clarity, Luke recognises the voice as Diana’s, and he raps on the glass, calling her name softly to reassure her.

‘
Diana
. Diana, it’s me –
Luke
.’ He presses his flat hand against the clear panel in a gesture of friendship.

The light of the room shrinks as Diana comes close, and speaks through the door. ‘Luke?’

‘Yes – it’s me.’

He hears the clunk and slot of the bolt being drawn, and the door edges open. Diana is standing in the utility room doorway in a full-length kimono, her face stripped of
make-up
, her wavy hair falling softly over her shoulders.

‘Luke? What are you doing here? I thought you were out with Tom tonight?’

‘He’s not here?’ he asks, feeling trivial in the bright glare of the bulb light. He turns and looks along the alleyway to the street beyond, then back up at Diana. She appears years younger without her make-up, more like a pretty teenager than a sexy older woman. Her face crumples in concern as an unexpected sob catches in the back of his throat and he brings his hand up to stifle his mouth.

‘Oh, darling!’ she exclaims, stepping out in her bare feet, drawing him inside. She leads him through the house and into the soft comfort of her fawn-coloured living room. ‘Sit down,’ she says, sitting close beside him on the
chaise longue
and clasping his hand. ‘What can I get you?’ She tips his chin up with a long, manicured finger and regards him earnestly. ‘How about a drink?’

Luke is astounded by the beauty of her denuded face, smooth and sensuous in the radiance of the dimmed side lamps. For a moment he’s outside of himself, looking in, as he sits there in the middle of this night of madness, close beside
Diana, in her flimsy robe, with her naked face. Just him and Diana. Delicious Diana.

‘A scotch?’ he replies.

He watches as she rises and crosses the room to the drinks cabinet. The silk of her floral kimono clings to her curves as she bends to take a glass from the bottom shelf, and Luke is certain she’s wearing nothing beneath the gown. She removes the lid from the plastic ice tub and picks out three dripping cubes with a pair of silver tongs, dropping them into the cut-glass tumbler and pouring out a generous measure of whisky.

‘Aren’t you having one?’ he asks, when she returns to the sofa.

She plumps up the cushions and crosses her legs, carefully tucking her gown beneath her upper thigh to prevent it slipping open.

‘I’ve had plenty.’ She smiles. ‘So, tell me what’s happened? Why aren’t you with Tom?’

Luke swirls the melting ice chunks, and takes a cautious sip. ‘He went off with Samantha.’

‘Samantha?’

‘We all work together, up at Sunshine Bay.’

‘And you like her?’

Luke blows out slowly through pursed lips. ‘Yup. And Tom knew it. He knew I liked her.’

Diana makes a sad face.

He takes a braver gulp of scotch and laughs harshly. ‘I can’t believe I thought I was in with a chance.’

Diana nudges him and he smiles reluctantly. ‘Forget her!’ she says, smacking his knee and snatching away his empty glass. She sashays from the room, calling back from the hallway, ‘Tell you what, Luke, I
will
join you in a drink after all. Hang on a second!’

Moments later she returns with a chilled bottle of champagne, which she holds aloft in a pose not unlike the Statue of Liberty. He narrows his eyes, smiling, enjoying the
way the light shards appear to bounce around the room in the soft radiance of Diana’s movements.

‘We’ll not let your big birthday pass by as a disaster!’ she says, returning to the drinks cabinet, where she unwraps the foil and expertly pops the cork. ‘Your mum phoned earlier to say the chaps arrived home just after twelve, and now Mike’s crashed out on your sofa next door. He’ll be out for the count till the middle of tomorrow, if past drinking adventures are anything to go by.’

Luke laughs, shifting in his seat, his body at last relaxing into the cushions.

‘So, we can’t let
them
have all the fun, can we?’

She pours the champagne and joins him on the sofa, where they drink and talk and refill their glasses as Diana’s gown shimmers and sways before Luke’s increasingly bold gaze.

‘This is a strange night,’ he says, noting the soft chime of two o’clock from the hallway. ‘Out on the marina – on the beaches – it’s as if everyone is awake, but at the same time it’s as if everyone is sleeping – dreaming…’ He trails off, trying to make sense of his thoughts.

‘And it’s not even a full moon,’ Diana says, sharing the last of the champagne between their glasses.

‘Do you know what I mean?’ he asks, the throb of his heart steadily pounding inside his chest.

She inclines her head in thought. ‘It’s the heat; the endless summer. We live on this tiny island, and no one knows what to do about the sun when it just won’t stop shining, so we all go a little mad, because it feels like it’s just a dream that will be gone when we wake up tomorrow.’ She looks at him for a long time, and he doesn’t look away, and at once he knows that she does understand, that she’s like him, that she knows his every desire. ‘Shall we take these into the other room?’ she asks, holding her glass in one hand, slipping the other along the sofa to lace her fingers between his. He pushes his hand against hers so that no space remains between the
valleys of their fingers; she presses back, hard, her eyes never leaving his. With a slow, cat-like blink of her soft brown lashes she moves closer still, allowing her gown to fall open, pushing the hair away from his neck to gently kiss behind his ear.