Summer of '76 (5 page)

Martin closes his eyes, and rubs his chin thoughtfully. ‘OK,’ he says, nodding at Kitty when he’s done.

‘What was it?’ she asks, lowering herself back into her seat. She puts her small pink hand on his arm and gazes up at him earnestly. ‘A pony?’

‘Secret,’ he says, and he pats her on the head.

A breeze passes through the branches of the willow, causing the leaves to ripple and sway. One of Kitty’s
teatowels
snaps free of the clothes-horse and flutters across the lawn.

Gesturing towards Martin, Dad pushes back his chair and stands, easing his free hand into the pocket of his tight polyester shorts. ‘May I?’

Martin brings his fingers up to cover his face; Luke pulls them away, laughing.

‘Now, Martin, we’re all honoured that you agreed to join us on your special day.’

Mum clinks her glass with a spoon. ‘Hear, hear!’

‘And a little bird tells me you’re quite keen to take up photography?’

Martin nods cautiously, looking sideways at Luke.

‘Now, I don’t know if you’re aware, but I was quite the photographer myself, back in my youth.’ Dad puffs out his chest, smiling sagely.

Luke helps himself to more wine.

‘In fact, in my London days, I was great mates with David Bailey, just before he got his big break.’

‘You met him
once
,’ Mum says. She hands a stack of side plates to Luke to pass around the table.

Dad looks injured. ‘I’ll have you know we were very nearly flatmates. If I hadn’t pinched his girlfriend, I’m sure we’d still be friends now.’

She shakes her head, addressing the lads. ‘And even when they
did
meet, they only exchanged a few words. It was at a party in Battersea, and I was there, so I don’t see how he managed to pinch David Bailey’s girlfriend with me in tow.
Honestly
, Richard.’

Dad sits down in his seat. ‘Jealous,’ he says, jerking his head in Mum’s direction. ‘So!’ He reaches under the table, and produces a wrapped shoebox which he passes across the table. ‘Happy birthday, Martin! I hope you don’t mind that it’s second-hand.’

At first Martin doesn’t even reach for it; he just sits and stares at the box.

Dad tops up his own wine glass. ‘It’s just that when Luke told me what you were after, I thought it was the perfect
excuse to get myself a new one. So you’re very welcome to this old thing. If you’d like it, that is.’

Mum reaches over to stroke Dad’s forearm. Martin takes the box, holding it suspended over his slice of cake as Dad bobs his head, encouraging him to open it. He unwraps the paper and opens the lid, slowly lifting the camera out, his mouth drooping in wonder.

‘It’s a Brownie,’ he says, barely audible, gently running his thumb over the buttons and dials. ‘But, I can’t –’

Dad swiftly brings his finger to his lips, in the way you might do to quieten a class of schoolchildren. ‘Shh! It didn’t cost us a thing. Apart from the price of a fresh reel of film. And a flash bulb. I’m just glad to see it go to a good home.’

Martin sits in silence, gazing at his gift, as Luke shifts in his seat, eventually breaking the tension by waving at his dad and pointing to the camera.

‘Oh, yes – we must capture the moment!’ Dad takes the camera from Martin and sets it up at the far end of the table, fiddling and adjusting the timer. ‘OK – gather round.’

They all surround Martin at the head of the table, squeezing together to fit into the shot. Mum rests her arm around Martin’s shoulder, as Luke makes devil horns behind his head and Kitty clambers up to sit on his lap.

‘Ready, everyone?’ asks Dad, pulling in his stomach muscles as he sprints back to rejoin the group. ‘
Cheese
!’

Late in the afternoon, Luke and Martin take the bicycles from the garage and pump up the tyres before cycling down to the rocky beach at Whitecliff Bay. They wheel the bikes down the steep sloping path to the shoreline and prop them against the metal rails in the fading light, clambering up and over the rocks to a secluded spot looking out across the sand. Luke opens his rucksack and pulls out a bottle of Dad’s wine, removing the cork clumsily with his old Swiss army knife. They’ve already had several glasses with lunch, but Luke’s in the mood to carry on. Martin stands with his back to
the sea, fiddling with his new camera, humming to himself quietly as he slots the flash cube into place. The beaches are still fairly quiet, and, when the last dog walker disappears up the wooden walkway just before nine, the lads are the only people left as the beach nears darkness.

‘I can’t believe your dad gave me this.’ Martin snaps Luke as he pushes the base of the wine bottle into the sand, startling him with the flash so that he slides back off his smooth rock, kicking sand up with the toe of his sandal. He swears as he rights himself, making a grab for the wine bottle before Martin can reach for it.

‘Remember when we got stuck out on the rocks, trying to climb round at Culver Down? How old were we – eleven – twelve? It’s a wonder we didn’t drown.’

‘Remember the fat lifeboat man? He went mad at us, didn’t he?’

‘So did my dad.’ Luke laughs. ‘Well, it
was
bloody stupid. Of course, it was Len’s idea in the first place.’

‘Whenever we got into any bother it was Len’s idea.’ Martin smiles wistfully, fixing the lens cap over his camera. He folds himself on to the rock beside Luke, his large feet burrowing beneath the sand.

‘
Len
. I can’t even start to imagine what Samantha Dyas sees in him. Stupid little pikey.’

Martin’s brow wrinkles. ‘He’s not a pikey, mate.’

‘Well, they live in a caravan, don’t they? So, he must be a pikey.’

‘They didn’t always, though.’ Martin looks over towards the rocks at Culver Down. ‘They had that nice place along the esplanade, before his dad went off. It’s not exactly Len’s fault they ended up in a caravan.’

Luke shrugs, taking another drink from the bottle. ‘Yeah, yeah. OK, maybe he’s not a pikey. But he’s still a dickhead. You of all people should agree with that, Mart.’

He hands Martin the wine. It’s a clear sky, and the tide is low, gently rippling in the distance. The light of the
half-moon
catches on the wet pebbles along the shoreline so that they blink and flicker as thin cloud cover steadily crosses the sky. ‘Just a couple of weeks until exams are over.’ Luke sighs. Martin passes the bottle back to him, and he jams it back into the sand between them.

‘You’re lucky, Luke, with your folks,’ Martin says.

‘Yeah, I suppose they’re alright.’

‘And Kitty. I wish I had a little sister like her.’

Luke doesn’t answer for a moment. ‘How are things with your old man, mate? When I called for you earlier – well it seemed pretty obvious your dad didn’t have a clue it was your birthday. Your
eighteenth
birthday, man.’

Martin reaches forward to scoop up a heap of damp shingle. ‘He does his best. It’s just he’s never been very good at that kind of thing.’

There’s a shriek from the coastal footpath overhead; the lads pause, listening intently, until they hear laughter as the young voices trail away.

‘I suppose,’ Luke replies. ‘I guess it’s my mum who sorts all that stuff in our house. Birthdays, dentists, school uniforms. All that mum stuff.’

Martin lets the shingle filter between his fingers and on to the sand between his feet.

‘You know when you moved here?’ Luke asks. ‘D’you remember your first day at school, when Mrs Harwood put you next to me in class? I still reckon she did it to take the piss. I mean, I was so small I only looked about five or six. And you were so tall, you looked like a teenager.’

‘I wasn’t
that
big.’

‘You were! Your shoes were massive – and your jumper sleeves were always too short.’ He slaps his hands down on his thighs. ‘You looked like Herman Munster.’

‘No change there, then,’ Martin holds up one of his size thirteen feet, waving it in the air, sprinkling sand.

‘Nah. It’s good to be tall. The girls love it – I wish I was a few inches taller.’

Martin nods his head gently and gazes out over the water, watching the blinking lights passing over the horizon as the faint shush of the lapping waves drifts in and out of reach.

Brushing sand from the back of his calf, Luke shifts on his rock. ‘You’ve never really told me much about before you came here, mate…’ He laces his fingers together and stretches awkwardly. He knows Martin isn’t comfortable talking about this; he’s tried before. Luke watches the side of his face, trying to read his expression.

‘Can’t really remember all that much about it. I was only eight, and we’ve never been back since.’

Martin digs his feet further into the sand.

‘So, what made your dad choose the island?’ Martin’s discomfort is pouring off him, but Luke can’t seem to stop himself from going on, and he leans forward, trying to make contact, to provoke some kind of an answer.

Martin runs his broad hands across his face, releasing a small groan and dropping his head. ‘I think I’ve had too much to drink,’ he mumbles.

They sit in silence for a few minutes longer as the distant lights fade and disappear from the horizon, and Luke decides to drop it. It’s Martin’s birthday, for fuck’s sake.

Martin takes the bottle and drinks until there’s nothing left, letting the empty vessel slip from his fingers to the sand with a hollow thud. He turns his head and looks at Luke
face-on
, the swill of alcohol casting a milky film across his eyes. ‘It was an accident,’ he says. ‘A car accident.’

‘Man,’ Luke exhales. ‘I had no idea.’

‘My dad was driving the van when it happened.’ Martin turns his hand over and scratches at a callus. ‘He was a gardener back then – and we’d just stopped to pick up some new tools on the way back from town. I remember Mum saying to leave it until after the weekend, that she wanted to get home – but he went anyway. He said he had a rockery that wanted breaking up the next week.’ He stops mid-flow, staring into his palm like he’s reading off it.

For a moment, Luke thinks he’s not going to continue. ‘And?’

‘It was one of those Austin vans, with the covered back – you know? Blue. He stuck the new things in the back of the van, on top of some wooden boxes he’d been meaning to clear out for a while.’ He reaches out for the empty bottle, turning it upside down to reassure himself that it’s empty. ‘It was a country lane, and a bird hit the windscreen. Dad had to brake, hard; the new sledgehammer slid straight over the passenger seat and hit her in the back of the head – right here –’ he traces a line along the base of his skull ‘– and that was it.’

‘Mate, where were you?’ Luke asks.

‘I was on her lap. When it happened I slipped straight off, on to the floor of the van, not a scratch on me. He made me get out of the car, but I’d already seen her face and I knew she wasn’t in there any more, because her eyes were open, but just staring at me, like a blind person. He shouted at me then,
Get out!
So I got out of the car and fetched up the bird, and sat down at the edge of the field, like Dad told me to, while he ran for help.’

‘Man,’ Luke whispers again.

‘It was a swallow,’ Martin says. ‘Just a young one. Its tail streamers were short, you see; that’s how I knew it was a young one. I wanted to take it home and bury it there, but he wouldn’t let me. He took it and hurled it out into the field like a piece of rubbish.’

Martin raises his arm and the moonlight glows white across his hand, before his fingers unfurl and drop to his lap. He stands unsteadily, indicating that he’s ready to go. Luke looks up at him, searching for his returning gaze.

‘Does he blame himself, mate? Your dad?’

Martin pushes his hands deep into his pockets. ‘I know he’d rather it had been me that died that day.’

‘That’s not true.’ Luke gets to his feet with a stagger and they start off towards the wooden walkway. ‘How can you even think that?’

They pause at the top path to untangle their bikes, their faces suddenly clear in the white light of the moon. ‘Because it’s true,’ Martin says. ‘Because he tells me all the time.’

It’s been raining all night, and Luke wakes to the sound of rainwater running through the broken downpipe outside his bedroom window, the trickle and splash of it hitting the concrete path at the front of the house. From beyond his room, he can hear music from the kitchen radio pouring out along the hallway, irritating him as it seeps beneath his bedroom door. Abba’s
still
at bloody number one. The front door slams shut as Dad leaves for work, making the metal windows shudder beside Luke’s head. He sits up in his bed and pulls back the curtains to watch the white Dolomite reversing down the rain-slicked drive. The car pauses at the rusty gate as Dad checks his reflection in the rear-view mirror before carrying on over the kerb and speeding off along the road. Luke pulls the covers up over his head and drifts in and out of sleep for a little longer, until the grating music from the kitchen radio finally drives him from his bed in search of breakfast. In the hallway, Kitty charges at him with Tiny Tears, hitting him square in the side with a plastic foot.

‘
Banando
!’ she yells as Luke stumbles backwards.

‘Watch it, Kitty! My bloody ribs.’

Mum sticks her head out of the kitchen, frowning. ‘Language, Luke. She’s only four!’

Kitty hurls the naked doll over her shoulder and
roly-polys
down the hall. Luke weaves his way through the barrels and siphon tubes which clutter the kitchen floor, stubbing his little toe on a tub of brewing sugar as he reaches across to flick off the radio. Mum has recently discovered wine-making and she’s busy setting up her second production.

‘Hey, I was listening to that,’ she says, shifting the fermentation tank to clear a path.

Luke rummages in the food cupboard, pulling out
half-empty
cereal boxes and shoving them back in. ‘What are you making – red or white?’

‘Red. Claret. It’ll be ready in six weeks – maybe we can save some for your eighteenth. Thought it would save us a fair bit doing it this way.’

‘But the kit must’ve set you back quite a lot?’ He lays a place for himself at the table, setting a bowl and spoon next to the cornflakes packet.

‘Yes, but it’s an
investment
.’ Mum gestures towards the boxes and barrels with a sweep of her arms. ‘It will soon pay for itself. And it’s not half bad either. Did you try my first batch?’

Luke wrinkles his nose. Dad had bitterly complained of acid indigestion after sampling the first bottles over dinner with Simon and Laura, although Mum refused to admit that the wine was to blame, more the quantity he’d consumed. Luke fills his bowl with cornflakes and pats the pile lightly before negotiating his way over the obstacle course to get to the fridge. ‘It wasn’t the best wine I’ve ever tasted,’ he says.

Mum refastens her hair in a loose knot at the back of her head. ‘It wasn’t that bad – just a little tart. And I know how to fix that now, so I’m learning all the time. This lot will be perfect – just you wait and see. Anyway, we’ve still got eight bottles of that first lot to get through, and I expect it only improves with age. I might open another bottle tonight, see if it’s any better.’

Luke watches as Mum fiddles around with two pieces of tubing, trying to fix them together with a joiner.

‘I still think we should get some normal drink in on my birthday as well. Lagers. Maybe some Babycham, for the
ladies
.’ He grins. ‘Just in case some turn up. We don’t want to poison anyone.’

She pokes her tongue at him. ‘You should have a little more confidence in your old mum, Luke. All your teasing only makes me more determined to prove you wrong – they’ll soon be queuing up around the block to sample my marvellous wine.’

Luke opens the fridge and reaches into the door for the milk bottle. ‘Oh, God,
Mum
,’ he moans, waving the bottle at her. Half an inch of creamy milk swills around in the bottom. ‘Who finished the milk?’

‘I don’t know, Luke,’ Mum sighs. ‘It’s hours since I had my breakfast, and there was plenty left then.’

He drops the bottle back into the fridge door and slams it shut, causing the pickle jars to rattle loudly. ‘There’s
never
enough left by the time I have my breakfast!’

‘Maybe you should try getting up a bit earlier – I thought you were meant to be revising today? Look at the time – it’s almost nine o’clock. We’ve all been up since seven.’

Kitty appears in the doorway, humming and swinging her doll by her side. ‘Lazy Lu-lu, lazy Lu-lu.’ She smirks as Mum shakes her head and Luke attempts to pour the unused cereal back into the box, scattering rogue flakes on the floor as they miss the packet and bounce off the table.

Mum stands with her hands on her hips, gazing into the garden as the rain continues to trickle down the windows, pooling in shimmering puddles on the outside sill. ‘The plants’ll be happy,’ she says. ‘There’s been talk of a drought, you know. Though I’ll believe it when I see it.’

Luke rolls out his neck irritably. ‘So, is there any bread, then?’

‘In the bread bin. Where else?’ She stoops to continue with her wine production, while Kitty wanders over and starts to fiddle with the barrels, trying to force her doll’s leg
in through the opening at the top. Luke lets out a frustrated growl.

‘Brilliant,’ he says, dumping two pasty white crust ends on to the board. ‘Just
brilliant
.’ Pulling out the grill pan, Luke slaps the bread on to the rack with a clatter. ‘I’ll be malnourished by the time I reach the mainland,’ he says, searching around in the cupboard for jam.

Mum laughs, and she kisses him on the cheek before returning her focus to her wine barrels with a contented little smile.

By mid-afternoon the rain has slowed to a stop and Mum suggests they take a walk to Teddy’s Spar. Kitty insists on wearing her full wet-weather gear, including red welly boots and clear domed umbrella. She runs ahead all the way, jumping in the puddles gathered along the pavements and verges, where the rain struggles to drain into the baked earth.

Mum turns her face towards the dappled sky. ‘How
refreshing
. I hope we’ve had enough to bring the garden back to life – the ground’s got so hard, it’s a wonder anything grows at all.’

At the end of their road they come out into Grasslands Avenue, and Kitty points towards a purple gate on the other side of the pavement, where two chihuahuas yap and snarl through the wooden posts.

‘I hate those dogs,’ grumbles Luke. ‘At least the gate’s shut this time. Last time I came this way, they charged out at me, snapping at my heels. Little bastards.’

‘
Luke
.’

‘Well, they are. I had to chase them back in so they couldn’t attack anyone else.’

Mum glances over, before hooking her hand through his arm to speed him along. ‘Keep your voice down. That’s Sara Newbury’s house. You know, Marie’s old yoga teacher?’

Luke looks back over his shoulder. ‘Oh, yeah. The mad dog lady.’

‘Shh!
Yes
.’

‘Have you seen inside her front garden? I had a good nosy over the gate when I was putting the rats back in last time. It’s massive, and there are gnomes everywhere – hundreds of them. Creepy little things. They’re probably guarding the dog shit.’

‘
Luke
.’

‘
Well
,’ he says, as they near the shop. ‘She’s got six dogs, hasn’t she? That garden’s got to be one great big dog toilet, if you ask me. I’m surprised the gnomes haven’t all gone on strike over working conditions.’

Mum releases his arm. ‘Like the rest of the country.’

Outside the shop there’s a large puddle, which Luke steps around to hold the door open for his mum. He gestures for Kitty to follow behind her, but instead she takes a running jump at the puddle, soaking him right up to the chest of his fresh white T-shirt. Luke makes a grab for her – ‘You little –’ and she squeals, running in ahead of him, straight up the aisle to the sweet section.

He joins Mum, who’s chatting to Teddy over the counter.

‘Oh, Luke!’ she sighs, eyeing his muddy T-shirt.

‘But –’ He starts to point in Kitty’s direction, then stops himself as he realises how pathetic it would sound.

Mum turns back to Teddy. ‘As if I don’t have enough washing and ironing to keep me busy.’

‘These lads, eh?’ His voice is gravelly. ‘Always up to some kind of mischief. Ain’t that right, Luke?’

Teddy once told Luke he’s a real Cockney, but Luke’s not convinced he doesn’t just put on the accent to impress the holidaymakers.

He pushes his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and nods at Teddy. ‘Too true.’

‘So, Jo, love, ever give any thought to getting yourself a little job? You know I’m always after a bit of extra help here.’ Teddy’s on the inside of the lift-up counter, resting his
tattooed forearms on the top. ‘We could do with a pretty face like yours behind the till.’

Mum reaches back towards the entrance for a shopping basket. ‘You know what, Teddy? I’d love to get out to work again, but it’s impossible to even think about with Kitty at home. She’s at nursery during term time, but that’s only
half-days
. I think I’ll have to wait until she’s started at school in September.’

‘Well, you know where I am if you change your mind.’

The door chime goes and a couple of young lads enter the shop. Teddy gives them a nod and they wander off towards the crisps, jangling their pennies in the palms of their hands.

‘Doesn’t seem so long since you were that age, does it, son?’ Teddy leans further on to the counter, lowering his voice. ‘So, tell me – how’s your love-life these days, Luke? Up to much?’

‘Ah, men’s talk,’ says Mum, unfolding her shopping list. ‘I think I’ll leave you to it.’ She hooks the basket over the crook of her elbow and makes her way towards the back of the shop, where Kitty’s still deliberating over the sweet selection.

Luke rubs the back of his neck. ‘Non-existent.’

Teddy pushes himself up to standing and stretches out his back, placing a meaty hand on the top of the till. ‘Really? I would’ve thought you’d have had loads of girlfriends by now.’ He reaches beneath the counter for a cigarette, lighting it up between two nicotine-yellow fingers.

‘Oh, I’ve had a few girlfriends. But nothing serious really. I don’t know, I’m not all that good with girls.’

Teddy listens earnestly, the side of his mouth rising in a playful leer. ‘Still, plenty of time for all that, eh? You’ll want to sow your wild oats a bit, before you settle down.’

Luke laughs, flicking his long fringe off his face. ‘I’m off to college after the summer – going over to Brighton.’

‘So I hear,’ Teddy replies. He takes ten pence from a boy who’s just dropped a mountain of small chews on the counter.
‘Plenty of opportunities there, eh?’ he smirks. ‘If you know what I mean. That’s why they call it
further
education, so I hear.’

For a second they’re both distracted by a shrill voice at the back of the shop, greeting Mum. It’s Rhona, Teddy’s wife. Teddy’s face clouds over. ‘Tell you what, lad – make the most of it. Being young, I mean. It’s gone before you know it. I’ll be fifty-nine next week. Who’d’ve bloody thought it, eh?’

The little boy scoops up his sweets, making way for his friend, and Luke walks down the middle aisle to join his mother. He pauses before turning the corner, to hear the tail end of their conversation.

‘So you’ve never seen anything funny when you’ve been there?’ Rhona’s asking. Luke can just see the tips of her fingers resting on Mum’s wire basket. ‘Sara said they all throw their keys in a bowl!’

Mum laughs. ‘Oh, how silly. You know Sara’s fallen out with Marie?’ she says, in her breeziest voice. ‘It’ll just be sour grapes. Poor old Sara, she’s never been the same since Patrick died. It’s a shame, really.’

‘Well, yes, she certainly is an odd one –’ Rhona stops short when she spots Luke rounding the corner, and she taps Mum on the wrist, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial tone. ‘We’ll have to get together for a cuppa, Joanna, and a proper catch-up. I’ll give you a ring?’

‘What’s up with her?’ Luke asks after Rhona has disappeared through the door marked ‘Private’. It leads to their flat upstairs; Luke knows because he had to go up there one afternoon a few years ago, to fetch his dad who had been out on an all-day bender with Teddy.

‘Shhhh!’ Mum whispers back. She looks rattled. ‘It’s nothing. Just a bit of silly gossip – you know what they’re like round here. Always after a bit of scandal.’

‘What about?’

‘Oh, I’m not sure.’ She scans the shelves as if she’s searching for something important.

‘You must know, or else you wouldn’t know it’s gossip, would you?’

‘For God’s sake, Luke!’ she hisses, grabbing a tin of gammon and slamming it into her basket. ‘Will you just drop it?’ She tilts her head meaningfully towards Kitty. ‘
Please
.’

Luke frowns at her hard, and she looks away quickly, busying herself, checking the shopping against her list. He takes the basket from her. ‘Sorry, Mum.’

She folds and unfolds the list in her hands. ‘I’m just a bit tired, that’s all. We’ve got Simon and Laura coming for supper tomorrow and I’m not really in the mood for it. I don’t know why your dad insists on filling our weekends up without asking me. It’s not him who has to do all the hard work preparing for it.’

Luke steps back to let a customer pass between them.

Mum scans the list. ‘And I was up late last night, waiting for your dad to get back home.’

‘Where was he this time?’

‘Out with Simon.’

‘Again?’

She turns and walks along the next aisle, running her index finger over the plastic product strips. ‘They had a staff meeting, and went on to the pub afterwards. You know how Uncle Simon likes to drink.’

Luke hasn’t called him
Uncle
Simon since he accidentally said it at school in front of Len, back in the third year. Len took the piss about it for weeks, what with Simon being a teacher at the school, and Luke quickly dropped the ‘Uncle’ bit at home, hoping no one would notice or mind. ‘I know he’s Dad’s mate,’ he says to Mum, ‘but isn’t the headmaster meant to set a good example? I’ve never met such a pisshead.’