The Moon At Midnight

by Charlotte Bingham

  ‘Dandy?’ she was calling. ‘Gabriel! It’s great! Listen! Wonderful news! He’s come round! He’s come round and I think he’s through it!’

  She had thrown her arms round Gabriel, hugging herself tight to him, and then around Jean without even a look in Walter’s direction.

  ‘’Er ottaire,’ Jean explained over Kim’s shoulder. ‘She fine ’im in a trap.’

  Walter nodded, waiting to see if his daughter was going even to acknowledge his presence.

  ‘Quickly!’ she urged everyone. ‘It really is fantastic. I really thought we’d lost him.’

  As she reached the door she half turned and beckoned to Walter.

  ‘Come on, Da, you don’t want to miss this, really you don’t.’

  Walter would hardly have recognised Kim. It wasn’t so much that she had changed as that she was so very different. Gone was the aggression and in its place was the confidence of a secure young woman. Not that anyone would have been bowled over instantly by either her beauty or her appearance. She wore a pair of dark flannel men’s trousers with big turn-ups and deep-looking pockets that were at the moment full of unseen objects, what seemed to be the regulation Aran knit sweater, this one a crew neck in a charcoal wool over a skinny black polo neck jersey, and heavy brown men’s walking shoes, designed for hills and bogs rather than the pavements of a city. Her hair was pulled back from her face and held in place by a piece of farm string. Yet, it had to be said, she looked mesmerising, possibly due to her flawless skin and sparkling eyes, but most of all due to the warmth of her expression.

  ‘It’s real good to see you, Da,’ Kim went on as she began to lead him briskly out of the kitchen and down the hall. ‘But you have to come and see this. We found this otter in a blasted snare, wouldn’t you know – and we was total sure he was dead. But he wasn’t – just all but – then we get him back here and he’s only half gone – and now I think we may have him back altogether, thanks to the wonderful work of Dandy here.’ She turned to Jean who was following on and blew him a kiss.

  Jean shrugged. ‘I was a vet – once, before my head he blew up.’

  ‘He’s totally brilliant, Da,’ Kim assured him, urging them all on. ‘Just the best in the entire world.’

  She led her father out of the front door and into the driveway on which a watery sun was shining apologetically in place of the fierce rainstorm that had been sent to all but drown the countryside. As they hurried across towards the stables and outhouses, Walter noticed they were being followed by a selection of the rest of Culoheen’s residents. Obviously he was not the only one who was going to be privileged to see the recovering otter.

  They were to eat dinner in the kitchen that Gabriel, Jean and Kim illuminated with a variety of oil lamps and candles, the need to conserve electricity being paramount.

  ‘And besides,’ Kim had laughed as she had lit another half-dozen candle stubs and fixed them to saucers with a knob of their own wax, ‘’tis a whole lot more flattering. And don’t I need all the help I can get? Will you just look at me. What can you be thinking, Da. Your daughter’s gone native on you.’

  ‘Nonsense, you look well, that’s all that matters.’

  ‘And that has to be just the nicest thing to say.’ Kim stopped and stared at him, her head on one side. ‘And you don’t, do you know that?’

  Walter looked startled.

  ‘No, you look to me as if you’re badly in need of a drink!’

  She pulled a bottle of John Jameson out of a cupboard, followed by three relatively clean glasses, and placed them on the table.

  ‘You do the honours, Da. While I set the table and prepare the feast.’

  Walter and the two men sat down together at the table, the whiskey soon making their conversation easier.

  The room was still full of wildlife, either roosting, recuperating, or wandering at will in and out through a large flap specially cut in the back door. For some reason the raven had taken a special interest in their visitor from the first, and very shortly after had developed a special liking for him, either sitting beside Walter on the table or perching on his shoulder. He felt strangely honoured, while pretending not to notice.

  Dinner was a stew, but a delicious one, served with fluffy potatoes and some of the carrots Gabriel was, it seemed, so happy to use as teaspoons. The talk was all animals, their ways and curiosities. Walter was content to listen, partly because he found himself wearier than he could have imagined, but also because he realised that the three seeming eccentrics with whom he was dining obviously knew so much about the nature of the animal life on which they doted. Not all their stories were happy ones, and it would take the hardest of hearts not to be moved by their accounts.

  ‘So how long are you staying?’ Kim asked him as he helped her wash up.

  ‘A day or two if that’s all right with you.’

  ‘A day or two, so? Well, that’s fine, you’ll have enough time to make a nuisance of yourself, then.’

  Walter smiled, his back to Kim. Far from being irritated by Kim’s Irish accent, for some reason he found himself charmed by it, perhaps because it confirmed the change in her in a way that nothing else could.

  ‘Just enough time for that,’ he replied finally, putting the dishes up on an old wood draining rack. ‘I’ve brought a few things.’

  ‘If you’re to stay, you’ll stay as long as you want. There’s enough room.’

  ‘You can have an entire wing to yourself, if you don’t mind sleeping without windows,’ Gabriel told him.

  ‘He means glass in the windows,’ Kim laughed. ‘But pay no attention – there’s a choice of good dry rooms, though they’re not the Ritz.’

  ‘If I won’t be in the way. . .’

  ‘In the way? In the way?’ Kim sighed. ‘You’ll not be allowed to be in the way at all! We need you for slave labour!’

  Once all the animals who were being housed within the kitchen were bedded down, and a tour had been made of the wards of the makeshift animal hospital outside, Walter was heading for the stairs, overnight bag in one hand and candle in the other, when the near silence of the house was suddenly shattered by an enormously loud telephone bell, amplified so that it could be heard ringing from everywhere within the house as well as the immediate environs outside.

  ‘That’ll be her, don’t you bet,’ Kim said, finding the telephone under the clutter on the hall table. ‘That’ll be Atlanta, or my name is Pansy.’

  ‘The telephone’s back.’

  ‘Since when was it ever out?’ Kim replied. ‘If the phone’s out here, it’s a national emergency. Here – it’s bound to be for you, Da.’

  Walter frowned in good-humoured bewilderment and took the phone. ‘What makes you say that? Why should it be for me, Kim?’

  Kim looked at her two friends and shook her head sadly.

  ‘He doesn’t yet know the Widow, boys,’ she sighed. ‘My poor da still has a bit to learn.’

  She lifted the receiver and held it out to her father, without bothering to take the call. Walter blinked, put the receiver to his ear and said hello.

  ‘Ah then ye’ve arrived then!’ He heard the Widow’s unmistakable tones. ‘After that storm I was saying ye might have been washed out to Dingle Bay and beyond.’

  ‘It’s a nice night now, Atlanta. The rain’s stopped, and the moon’s out.’

  ‘And what do you make of the place then?’

  ‘I think – I think it’s absolutely remarkable. Quite remarkable.’

  ‘And that’s good. That’s very good. And what else do you think?’

  Walter thought for a while, frowning as he looked at his daughter, her face lit by candlelight, her friends beside her, one with a raven perched on his shoulder, and the other the lugubrious-faced saint from France.

  ‘I think I might have got it all wrong.’

  ‘Ah, well isn’t that just the ticket?’ The Widow sighed in deep pleasure. ‘Goodnight now.’

  Chapter Twelve

  It was Max’s idea.
It would never have occurred to Jenny, but she said she’d go, although only out of curiosity because she had never before seen inside a television studio. All he was suggesting was that he could get them both in to see The Bros recording their spot on Top of the Pops, and that was it. The bass guitarist wouldn’t even be aware of their presence since they would be watching the performance from high up on the gantry that ran round the studio.

  ‘I’ve sussed it all out,’ Max told her. ‘The floor manager on this play I’m doing at the Beeb used to work on Top of the Pops – in fact I think she did more than work in it, I think – in fact I know – she had an affair with the producer – and she can get us in through the gallery. It’s not as if we’re going to be on the floor with all the trogs, shaking our heads about and screaming. No one will know we’re there.’

  After sensing resistance he’d left it be for a while, still having a few days in hand. He said nothing of his plan to Tam. He had seen the look in Tam’s eyes that night, and he had seen the pain. Nevertheless, Max could not resist trying to heal the wound. Not just because Jenny was his half-sister, but because he had always loved Tam like a brother.

  Besides, he had other things on his mind. He wasn’t always pre-occupied with the lighter side of life. The death of Che Guevara, which had saddened the hearts of boudoir revolutionaries everywhere, had certainly got to him, as had the growth of the anti-Vietnam war feeling in the US. He was still determinedly supporting the campaign for unilateral nuclear disarmament, despite the increasing withdrawal of the Labour Party. Perhaps because of this lack of sympathy he found himself increasingly attracted to the Workers Revolutionary Party, whose views were being readily disseminated within the profession by a number of leading actors.

  As it happened Max’s apparent indifference actually increased Jenny’s interest in going to watch The Bros. She agreed to accept Max’s invitation, but she also raised the possibility of having to audition on the day of the recording.

  ‘Fine,’ Max said. ‘OK – great. Don’t worry if you can’t make it – it’s not as if I’ve had to pay for the tickets. I shall be at the BBC that day anyway, so if you don’t show, it doesn’t matter. It won’t be the end of the world. It’ll just be your loss, that’s all.’

  ‘You’re right – it won’t be the end of the world. It won’t even be the beginning of one. Besides, I can see them on telly.’

  ‘Sure. Not the same as seeing it live, though. I mean to say you actually saw The Bros live on their first British gig. Not bad, is it? They’ve got Julie Felix on as well – and Eddie and the Tramps. Just let me know the night before.’

  Max was leaving for Television Centre when she caught up with him.

  ‘I can come. . .’

  ‘Oh good,’ Max mouthed at her through his bacon sandwich, his car keys dangling from one finger as he sidled out of the front door.

  He bumped into Tam almost as soon as he arrived, going to get a coffee from the snack bar between their two studios and spotting him ahead in the queue. They stood and talked for a while, eating their Club chocolate biscuits and sipping over-hot milky coffee from ribbed plastic cups.

  ‘How is it?’ Max asked. ‘Is it as boring as our technical? It can’t be. I’m in a long-running costume serial at the moment, playing a minor part who’s always on, and in the heaviest costume. Oh boy, have I grown to hate tech runs as a result, all sweat and no fun.’

  ‘It is boring.’ Tam nodded. ‘I mean really boring. I hate hanging about at the best of times, but hanging about and pretending to play while some guy hovers around shoving a steel beanpole up at some clanking great spotlights is not my idea of fun.’

  ‘You’re not going to mime? I thought you said you guys were really going to play.’

  ‘Of course we’re going to play – if they can cope with us.’

  ‘It’s just when you said pretending to play . . .’

  ‘That’s because we can’t make a sound while they’re doing all this technical stuff. Lighting, camera angles – you name it, they do it. Give me a stage show any day.’

  ‘This isn’t the first telly you’ve done, is it?’

  ‘No way,’ Tam grinned. ‘We were on Ed Sullivan the week before we flew over. Now that was cool.’

  ‘Hey – this is going to be cool too, man!’ Max exhorted. ‘It had better be – or I’ll throw BBC doughnuts at you from the gantry!’

  During the afternoon, not being needed for half an hour, Max sneaked in to the TOTPs studio with the connivance of his friend the floor manager and hung around in the shadows at the side of the set just as The Bros were preparing to play for the first time. As soon as he heard the first crackle of Lonnie Dysart’s snares and the snappy splash of his cymbals, the languid, deliberately idle practice licks on the electric guitars by Lee and Tam, and Brewster giving the director the first couple of lines of the song they were to sing in his odd, high tenor while sound tested for levels, Max thought he felt his hair begin to stand on end. Here was a group that was already legendary in the States, and reaching cult status in England, who were actually about to play live, and his childhood friend Tam Sykes was a member of the band. Now that it was happening Max found he couldn’t handle it. He thought he might pass out from excitement.

  He heard the whole song through, the band being able to perform it with only one late interruption towards the end, when one of the cameras missed his shot and the group were asked to go back to the beginning of the last chorus. By now it was time for Max to return to work as well, so moving as quietly as possible he made his way back to his own studio where they were now ready to start the dress run for the half-hour drama in which he was appearing.

  It took all his concentration to empty his mind of the great sounds he had just heard and apply himself to the part of the youngest son returning home to his estranged family to attend his father’s funeral. By the time he had finished his first major scene, there was no doubt in Max’s mind in which studio he would rather be, and with which particular group of people. He could hardly wait for his next chance to hear The Bros. By contrast the play and his part in it seemed suddenly mundane.

  ‘I wasn’t actually thinking of going home for Christmas as it happens,’ Walter told Kim as they did their best to hold a rather wild and very woolly sheep while the Dandy Man attended to one of its feet, which had become badly infected. ‘I was thinking of Christmas here – if you’ll have me.’

  Kim barely glanced across at him. ‘Sure. Course. But what about Ma? And Hubie? It wouldn’t exactly be fair on them now, would it?’

  ‘You can hardly leave this place and come to Bexham for Christmas.’

  ‘Hardly!’ Kim laughed, tossing some hair that had got loose back out of her eyes. ‘Gay has to go home for a few days because his ma’s not too good, and I could hardly leave Dandy Man here in charge. That wouldn’t be on at all.’

  ‘Hokay!’ Jean announced, having finished with the animal’s foot. ‘We can ’ave him beck in ’is stibel now, please!’

  Walter and Kim lifted the sheep down and, retaining a good hold of its thick coat, steered him out of the surgery and into the stable he was sharing with two other lame sheep.

  ‘You’re more than welcome to stay here for Christmas, Da,’ Kim said as she bolted the door.

  ‘I’ll pay for the food, don’t worry. I’ll look after all that side of things. It’s just – it’s just I’d like to stay on here a bit longer – as long as I may in fact – and I thought Christmas together, you know? I thought it might be rather nice.’

  ‘Sure.’ Kim shrugged again, knowing that any decision would finally be her father’s to make, and not hers. ‘Long as it’s OK with Ma and Hubie. You know. . .’

  She stopped and gave a small sigh, looking out across the windswept landscape, fixing her errant hair while pulling a little wistful face.

  ‘You know, I wouldn’t a bit mind seeing my brother as it happens,’ she said. ‘And Ma. I’ve sort of missed home at times.’

  ‘You must h
ave.’ Walter nodded. ‘But you have to make sacrifices for all this. It’s worth it.’

  ‘You really think like that? That it’s an achievement?’ Kim turned an anxious eye on her father.

  ‘If this isn’t an achievement, Kim, then I never sailed a sea – nor no man ever loved.’

  There was a short pause while they remained looking at each other, broken by Kim clapping her hands once in delight.

  ‘Hey!’ she laughed. ‘You’re getting the gift of the gab, Da!’

  Walter laughed, took his pipe out of his pocket and began to fill it as he wandered after Kim back towards the surgery.

  ‘So look,’ he called to her. ‘If you want to see your brother and your mother, and since I do too, why not all of us have Christmas here? Might be quite fun.’

  ‘Quite fun?’ Kim had stopped in amazement and turned back to look at him once more. ‘Great fun? What are you saying? It’d be truly enormous. No other word for it.’

  Jenny had been abandoned at the eleventh hour by Max who, having got his timings wrong, found himself called to his own tech run at the same time as The Bros were being called into action.

  ‘My fault entirely!’ Max had confessed, as he had guided Jenny up to her permitted position on a section of a steel gallery that ran right round the studio walls above the battery of huge lights that lit the set below, positioning her at the perfect spot bang in front of the rostrum on which the band were to perform. ‘Time sheets are always in those wretched military hours, and I’m always getting them wrong. After the show’s over wait for me in my dressing room. OK?’

  With a wave he had left her and clattered back down the two flights of steel stairs before disappearing into the crowd of people already flocking on to the floor of the studio below. But he hadn’t left her alone – there were several other fans and interested spectators lining the gantry as the floor manager and his assistants began to bring some order to what a moment ago had seemed to be chaos on the floor below. Jenny leaned forward and looked down, her hands gripping the rail in front for safety, as the musical guests took their place to perform the first number. A big bearded man in a checked shirt had already been introduced as the presenter to much screaming, shrieking and whistling from the fans on the floor. He now stood by, microphone in hand, and after half a minute of enforced silence, the last five seconds being visibly counted on the fingers of the floor manager’s hand, that week’s edition of Top of the Pops was under way.