She didn’t like me one little bit. You could see it in her face what she thought of me: spoilt brat. She didn’t like the way I spoke or the way I acted or the way I looked. She thought I ought to be at school, at home and out of her life. She figured I ought to be tucked up back in bed.
I figured that was her problem.
Basically, she was running a campaign to get me out and back home. She didn’t know me or she’d have realised—the best way of making me do something is tell me not to do it. But she was on at Richard as well and I could see he agreed with her. He was a lot more sympathetic but basically it was the same. If you were fourteen you belonged to someone—in this case, my mum and dad.
She was on at Tar about it ALL THE TIME. You could see him roasting. She poured the hot fat on and let him crackle, telling him how selfish he was being for dragging a young innocent like me away from the loving bosom of my family.
“How must your parents feel?” he wailed.
“About as good as Von is making you feel,” I told him. He had just the same expression he did when his real mother was wrapping him around her little finger, back in Minely.
Actually, Richard and Vonny made a perfectly reasonable set of parents. If I’d had them instead of the inadequate pair of bozos God gifted me with, I’d never have run away. It was perfect. I could spend the night with my boyfriend. They passed joints to me. I could decorate my room whatever colour I liked, stay out how long I liked. As parents they were perfect.
The only trouble was, I hadn’t run away from home in order to find a new set.
I didn’t say anything to Tar, but I was thinking, well, this was okay for now. I was going to keep my eyes open for proper friends. People more our own age or a bit older, maybe, who weren’t going to worry about how legal we were, because they’d probably be fairly illegal themselves.
We were already meeting people. Richard and Jerry and Vonny had friends round. There was the night we were allowed, WOW, to have the LIGHTS ON IN THE HOUSE! And walk around in the brilliance of Real Electric Lighting.
Well, actually it was quite exciting after creeping round in candlelight for a week. They had a few people round then for the first time. Just people sitting round talking and drinking and getting stoned, no dancing or anything. Richard brought his sound system down. Me and Tar sat in the corner and watched like a pair of tame parrots. Occasionally people came up and were nice to us. They were all ancient.
One interesting thing that did come out was that we were going to have a housewarming party the next weekend to open the squat officially. A proper party, with dancing and loud sounds. Richard said he’d invite some people more our age there. Richard knows everyone, he’s opened up so many squats. He mentioned some people living a few streets away who sounded interesting, said he knew some more not so far off who might come…and I began to think maybe it would be worthwhile after all.
It was about right. Two weeks of living in candlelight and house painting were about my limit.
I still had that hundred quid I thieved from Dad’s cash card. I hadn’t had to spend a thing. They’d paid for all the food. Vonny and Jerry had even been keeping me in ciggies. I thought to myself…right. So the next day I told Tar we were going out.
Would you believe it took me ages to drag him away? He was still mad keen on painting the wretched house. You practically had to make an appointment with him before you could do anything except paint, and one or two other things. I almost pulled him out of the house in the end.
We headed off into town to do a bit of spending.
The whole day unravelled in my mind as we walked down the road. By the time we got to Woolworth’s I knew exactly what I was going to do with my money. The first thing was a huge, greasy, disgusting burger. It was almost the only thing I missed about home—meat. I’d been living off bean-shoots and soya milk. Tar had been making vegetarian noises but I dragged him into a McDonald’s and ordered two huge ones.
“Dead cow.”
“Dead cow,” he replied solemnly. We banged burgers and bit. It was unbelievably delicious. Then we got a couple of thick shakes and sat down to go through a copy of City Limits. There was a bop at the Albert Chapel. Punk. I gave Tar a few quid and told him, “Be there.” Then I dumped him. I didn’t want him around getting bored while I was togging myself out and getting presents. Besides, Tar would only want to be sensible. I was petrified of spending my hundred pounds on sleeping bags and decent footwear.
I wanted to clear the lot.
I caught the bus to the market at the stadium to get togged out. We’d been there before, Sunday afternoon, the day of the stick-up. I hadn’t spent anything then but I was keeping my eyes open. What I’d seen was confirmed at the little do they had at the squat.
I was about a thousand years out of date.
That bushy-tailed well-scrubbed nice sunny day look was definitely out. I looked older than Vonny for Christ’s sake! She was done out in a Mohican and a ring in her nose while I was still in fluffy jumpers.
Black leather jacket—that was the first thing. I got a good deal—fifty quid for a nice tatty secondhand one. It was gorgeous. It smelt of sweat and leather and had a zip up the front that you might use to keep a gorilla locked out. Or in. I was going to get a pair of leather jeans as well, but it was too expensive and anyway, leather pants look naff, as I discovered later.
But it had to be BLACK BLACK BLACK. I got black tights and a short black skirt and a pair of filthy great boots. I got the whole thing for twenty quid at an army shop, although what the sergeant major was doing in a little black skirt is anyone’s guess. Oh, and a little granddad tee-shirt done up down the front with scruffy laces.
I got my ears pierced. I got my nose pierced. Twice. It hurt, and I was only going to have it done once, but Vonny only had one, and I mean…
Then I got my hair done. I only had about twenty quid left or I’d have got it dyed, but it was okay.
And I was…well, I say it myself. Bleeding brilliant.
Now, I know what you’re saying. “Hundred-pound punk.” Well, okay. If you want to do that sort of thing properly you spend abut two pound fifty. But be fair. It was my first getup. The girl did good. I got some make-up and I had to go into the bog to get it on. Black lipstick and eyeliner, that sort of thing. And then…
I looked at myself in the mirror and I thought, Gemma…mmmm!
That punk look suited me. I was never a pretty pretty even when I was little but I reckon I got the best of both worlds, really. I mean, if you look all pretty and cute right from the start you don’t even have to try. All you have to do is blink your eyes and everyone’s falling over you. But if you start off like I did, looking like a half starved frog with dental problems, you have to get by in other ways. I used to look at myself in the mirror when I was small and I’d think, God, I have to go through my whole life looking like this! Then when I was about twelve I noticed people watching me, and I took another look and I thought, Mmm, there’s something going on here after all.
Some people look at me and they see nothing special, just a girl whose mouth is too big and her eyes are too far apart. But others look at me and they see there’s a lot more to me—the way I am. That’s how I can tell right away if someone’s going to be my kind of person.
The girl did good.
I dived into a craft shop and bought Tar’s present. Then I went to meet him at the café we’d agreed on.
I was skint by that time. It was a shame. I’d been thinking we could have a really wild night and get drunk or even see if we could score something interesting. No chance now. Still, who needs money when you’re looking good?
The really great thing was…he didn’t recognise me. Honestly. He was sitting at a window table and I sat at the table next to him and he stared straight through me like I was a stranger. I thought, Right, we’ll see how faithful Mr. Man really is. I started staring at him hard, as if I fancied him. I could see him getting all nervous. He didn’t know what was going
on. I stared and then I gave him a little wink and raised my eyebrows and he blushed bright red. Then, after a bit, he looked cautiously at me and gave me a sickly little smile. So the next time he caught my eye I winked and got up to come and sit next to him.
I thought he was going to die! But you could see the light dawning as I came closer to him and he squeaked, “GEMMA?!?”
“Who do you think?”
Tar’s face. You can see everything on Tar’s face. He was gobsmacked.
“I can’t ever go home now,” I told him. It was right. I didn’t look like anyone’s daughter any more, let alone Mr. and Mrs. Brogan’s. We got up together and went to walk to the bop. Tar was a bit self-conscious. People were looking at me, and he was proud to be with me, but he’s shy about being proud, you know what I mean. Then after a bit he got used to the idea and then he started wanting to touch me. He grabbed me and started kissing me and trying to get his hands under my clothes but I smacked him off.
“This is practically being unfaithful,” I scolded him, and he giggled. But I didn’t want him to smudge the lipstick and stuff, see.
By the time we got to the bop I was flying. There was a reggae band on when we arrived. A few people were dancing about but most of them were still sitting, waiting for the main band. We got drinks, lager. I went to the bar and bought them. Looking like that I could have walked in and bought the building, let alone a drink. I sat next to Tar and held his hand between my thighs under the table.
I felt so good.
It was loud in there. I loved the noise. I loved the crowd. I loved being me. We got up and danced around a bit until the band left the stage. We went and leaned against a wall and had another drink and waited while the next band got ready.
It was a punk band. I don’t know who they were. They came on and started fiddling with their gear. There was a sort of buzz from all those people. They didn’t do any of that testing, testing, 1 2 3 and faffing about making sure the sound was right. They did a couple of chords, and then…it looked as though there was some sort of argument going on. The singer started shouting at someone in the audience through the mike.
It was…it just started getting out of hand. The band joined in and the crowd gathered up right under the stage and shouted back and I thought there was some real trouble on the way. The band looked about ready to trash the place. They weren’t playing. This bloke at the front was really winding up the audience. He was really going for it. The floor was full of people and this guy was SCREAMING abuse at them. He was sticking his fingers up at them and mouthing FUCK OFF and they started screaming back at him. The whole place was enraged. Then he leaned forward and spat—a big gobful—you could see it spraying over the people at the front.
Then the band started up.
I couldn’t work it out. It was so violent but they were playing this song that was just like screaming abuse but put to music. Suddenly the audience was pogoing up and down and the lights were flashing and the whole place was throbbing and the people up at the front were spitting at the singer so he was slipping and skidding, the stage was so wet with gob…
That was it. It was the act! I just screamed with pleasure. I never saw anything like that. I ran out into the mess and started with them, jumping bang abang bang abang up and down and howling…
That band. I wish I knew who they were. They must have been famous or become famous soon after because they were just so obscene and rude and wonderful. The music was like being beaten up, only it didn’t hurt, you know what I mean. It was a lynch mob out there except, funny thing, there were never any fights.
Tar was there too right next to me, jumping about. He goes ape sometimes. He was leaping up and down, up and down, his black hair was flopping about in his eyes and he was grinning like a maniac. It went on and on. The band just finished one number then went straight into the next. The sound system was howling and screeching but no one cared. Then there was a smoochy number and honestly…there were couples I swear were actually…you know. Me and Tar slammed into each other and started trying to stick our tongues down one another’s throats. He licked me all over my face. Then the band played fast again and we went on and on and on…
We stumbled on this real punk den more or less by accident. You could tell the girls who were the real punks. They looked like absolute slags. They didn’t care about anything. I felt completely over-dressed. When I had to go to the loo I found a hole in my new tights so I ripped it open and made another hole and ripped that open so my white skin showed in big holes in my black tights. I ripped my new little skirt at the front and tried to tear a hole in the tee-shirt but I couldn’t do it, the material was too strong. So I just undid the laces halfway down and rushed back out and started jumping about.
I couldn’t see Tar any more but that didn’t matter. I pushed my way right up into the crush in front of the stage and pogoed up and down and started spitting at the singer with all the others. It was great but it was so hot and hard up there you couldn’t stay for long. By this time there were people climbing up on the stage next to the singer and the crowd was so packed there they could run off the stage and right across the crowd, walking on their heads. Some of them got maybe ten, twelve steps before the crowd got too thin, or they’d trip up and fall back into the people. Someone trod on my ear.
When I needed a bit more space I went back and started dancing there. I was dancing and dancing and dancing. I caught sight of Tar bouncing away like an idiot. We banged into each other and danced next to one another for a bit. Then he had to go and get a drink and cool off but I carried on. And on and on and on and on.
People kept coming up and asking me to dance. I danced with them, then I lost them. There was one guy asked me if I wanted a drink. I said yes, and he went off to get the drinks. I stood and waited a bit but that music—the band started up this number that was so good so I just ran off into the crowd and started dancing again and I forgot all about him and his drink and everything.
I didn’t see him for about a half an hour. I danced with a few other people. At one point Tar came up and said he’d had enough, he was going home.
“See you later, then,” I told him. I just grinned. He sort of hovered about.
“I can’t go without you,” he said, looking peeved.
“Wait for me then,” I told him and I bounced off.
I wasn’t going to leave, why should I? He could see that. But about ten minutes later he came up and wanted to go again and I thought, What a pain. I didn’t say anything though. I saw him leaning against the bar looking miserable and I thought, Oh, yeah? I mean, I’d done it all for him—dressed up, gone to the bop. I still had my present in my bag and there he was mooing about looking like his dad had just whacked him one. But I wasn’t his dad. I thought, Sod you, and carried on dancing. I wasn’t going to stop, not for him, not for you, not for anyone.
Then after a bit this guy I’d been dancing with turned up with my drink. He stood there in this horrible pair of thin black jeans and a safety pin in his nose, and he looked like he’d been awake for about ten years. He looked like he’d been bleached and then left under the wardrobe.
“Have you been carrying that around all this time?” I laughed.
He laughed at himself and nodded. “I’ve spilt half of it,” he said. I thought, Well, you’re keen. But he wasn’t pushy, he didn’t mind me doing my own thing. I drank the beer straight down and we set off on the dance floor again. He was a brilliant dancer, we were spinning around all over the place. I was drunk on dancing by this time. I didn’t care about anything. I caught sight of Tar out of the corner of my eye a few times and I thought, Stuff you, you can suffer for a change. I mean, I’d put up with his limp friends and their baked potatoes for over two weeks. How come he couldn’t go with me for just one evening?
You could see this other fella thought I was a catch. He was right! I danced up his leg. We were thrashing and skittering, we were both drowned in sweat. There was another slow one and he was all over m
e. I didn’t care. I thought, It’s just a dance, it’s just fun. I didn’t mind at all. I was wearing this tee-shirt and I was so wet with sweat it was sticking to me, and he just couldn’t keep his hands off me. Well, why should he?
I don’t know how long I was dancing for. I could have kept at it forever. But finally he put his hand on my hip and leaned over and said, “I’ve got to go now. Why don’t you come home with me?”
Just for a second I almost jumped back. It was stupid but I honestly hadn’t been expecting that. He wasn’t asking me back just for a cup of coffee. The kind of life I’d been living up till then, no one asked you back to their place to sleep with them. It was all parents at home, gropes on the beach.
I looked around, and I thought, You can have a one-night stand every now and then without being a complete slut, right? And I fancied this guy. He had the right look. I mean, I wouldn’t say I wanted to spend my life with him but I was ready for whatever was coming my way.
I looked around. I couldn’t see Tar anywhere.
“Yeah, okay,” I said. “You wanna go now?”
He nodded and tipped back his drink. I went to get my bag. And there was Tar.
I might have known he wouldn’t go without me. He wasn’t at the table but he’d seen the whole thing and being Tar he wasn’t going to come up and say, “You’re mine,” or, “What do you think you’re up to?” But there he was, showing me he was still here and that he’d waited for me. He was the colour of green cheese.
I looked at him and he looked at me.
“Someone’s asked me back to their place,” I told him. He just looked. I made a dash for my bag. I almost made a run for it, then, “Here,” I said, “have you got any bus fare?” I dug about and found some money. I couldn’t get it out quick enough. I just wanted to get away from him. I shoved the money in his hand. He looked at me. Then I got annoyed. I don’t know why. I turned round and shouted at him, “You’re not my bloody mother, either!”
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