by Fiona Gibson
I smile at that. She makes it sound as if there was only one in the entire country.
‘So, where are we with the birthday present?’ she asks now, after a swig of Coke.
‘I’m a bit stuck, to be honest.’
‘Yeah. Sorry we haven’t found anything.’
‘Oh, don’t be sorry,’ I say. ‘I’m having a really lovely day. It’s fun.’ I catch myself and laugh. ‘I’ve never said that about shopping before …’
Tanzie laughs too. ‘There’s a first time for everything. So, anyway …’ She leans forward. ‘Tell me about your job, Mr-Examiner-Man. What’s it really like?’
I shrug and wonder how to explain it. ‘I suppose it’s just as you’d imagine, really.’
‘What’s the worst thing, though? I mean, which part of the job d’you hate?’
I consider this, deciding not to go into the threats I’ve received, or the odd violent outburst. ‘Well, occasionally you get a candidate with awful BO.’ I pause and look at her. ‘I know that sounds mean. It’s just, when you’re trapped in a car for forty minutes …’
‘Why can’t people just wear deodorant?’ she muses.
‘No idea. Maybe they do, but they’re so nervous their sweat breaks right through it.’
‘Yeah.’ She nods. ‘I don’t blame you, you know.’
‘For minding about people with BO?’
‘No,’ she exclaims, ‘for failing me all those times.’
‘Oh,’ I murmur, experiencing a surge of guilt; the only time it’s happened regarding a candidate in all of my ten years in the job.
Tapas devoured, she rests her fork in a terracotta bowl. ‘You were just doing your job,’ she adds.
‘Well, that’s what I try to do, to the best of my abilities …’ I pause, keen to move on from the subject. ‘Are you all finished? Shall we go?’
‘Sure,’ she says with a smile. ‘Looks like it’s brightening up out there …’
And so it has as we step back outside. The sky has turned a pale, clear blue, and the half-timbered shops are bathed in sunlight. Wondering aloud where to go next, we find ourselves drifting into not another shop, but the Castle Museum. Here, Tanzie is enthralled by reconstructions of Victorian shops, and gazes around in awe like a child visiting a museum for the very first time. Then it’s onwards to the Minster, where the splendour of the stained glass windows renders her speechless for a few moments.
‘I’m not a churchgoer – are you, Nate?’ she asks in a reverential whisper.
‘No, not at all,’ I whisper back.
‘But honestly, if there was one like this near me I’d be tempted to just go and sit and think about things, you know? I mean, life and stuff …’
‘I probably would too,’ I murmur, knowing exactly what she means.
‘That’s a pretty over-the-top church!’ she adds as we step back outside. I smile, genuinely enjoying Tanzie’s un-jaded attitude. ‘I’m having such a fun day, Nate,’ she adds.
‘Me too,’ I say truthfully. ‘And I really appreciate you coming with me.’ Now I’m wondering how I might put my other plan into action – because I have decided to buy another gift, apart from Sinead’s. Tanzie has been such fun and engaging company, at a time when I could barely remember laughing at anything, and I want to show my appreciation. ‘D’you mind if I nip off for a few minutes by myself?’ I ask.
She looks taken aback briefly, then smiles again. ‘No, of course not.’ Having lost our bearings now in the twisty streets, we have ended up outside the bookshop again. ‘I’ll wait for you in there,’ she says. ‘You’ll know where to find me.’
We part company, and I head for the shop I have in mind, which suddenly seems far more daunting than it did from outside. In fact, the silver dress she had admired in the window of New Look is nowhere to be seen in the actual store, despite my thorough search.
Sinead always said I’m a ‘typical male’ in that I’ll do almost anything to avoid asking for help – which I suppose is true. The trouble is, in here it’s virtually impossible to distinguish the staff from the customers. Finally, spotting a girl folding knitwear on a table, I venture over. ‘Excuse me,’ I say, feeling terribly old and out of place, ‘there’s a silver dress in the window. I wondered where I might find it?’
She gawps at me as if I have asked whereabouts in the store I might locate fish. ‘What’s it like?’
The one that looks like it’s made out of Bacofoil. ‘Erm, it’s shiny and silvery, without sleeves, I think …’ She blinks at me and wanders away. Confused as to whether I’m supposed to follow her, I trail after the girl, in the manner of a dad coming to collect his teenage daughter from a party – smiling apologetically whenever any of these children make brief eye contact, and thanking her profusely when she finally jabs at several silver dresses dangling from a rail.
Now, what size might Tanzie be? I flick through the selection, wondering whether she might be annoyed at me buying it for her – but then, I want to treat her. Is she a size twelve, maybe? Or a ten? Wary of causing offence in the manner of Sinead’s leopard skirt, I examine dress after dress, deciding eventually to go ‘by eye’ (she is tiny) and, to play doubly safe, requesting a gift receipt at the till.
Back in the bookshop I find her engrossed in the memoirs of some TV star I have never heard of. ‘Oh, here you are!’ She grins, jumps up and shoves it back on the shelf. ‘So, where to next?’
‘I’m not sure.’ I beam at her, clutching the New Look carrier bag. ‘Actually, I don’t know if I can face any more shops today.’
She peers down at the bag. ‘So, you’ve got the present, then?’
‘Um, this is for you actually …’ I hand it to her.
‘For me?’ she exclaims. ‘What for?’
‘Just to say thank you,’ I reply, sensing myself reddening now. ‘If it doesn’t fit, or you don’t like it, there’s a receipt in the bag …’
She pulls it out and holds it up. ‘Bloody hell, Nate! You bought this for me?’
‘Yes, but as I said, if you don’t like—’
‘I love it,’ she exclaims, throwing her arms around me and kissing me noisily on the cheek. ‘Thank you. You really are a sweetheart. Now, look – I hope you don’t mind about this. I haven’t bought you anything, but I do have a surprise for you too …’
‘What sort of surprise?’
She grimaces. ‘I’m not sure how you’re going to take this. Maybe I should’ve mentioned it before. It’s just, with us being here in York anyway, and it mattering so much to Andrea …’ She folds the silver dress carefully and places it back in its bag.
‘Who’s Andrea?’ I ask. While I’ve enjoyed Tanzie’s company today, I hadn’t factored in meeting up with any of her friends.
‘My best mate,’ she says, as if it should be obvious. ‘It’s her first night here, you see. The ones she’s done in Solworth and Bradford have been brilliant – but this is all new territory to her. She’s not sure how it’ll go. So I’d said we’d pop in, just to show a bit of support …’
‘Is it a cafe or something?’ I ask, frowning.
‘Oh, no – nothing like that. It’s a club night. Eighties. Just a one-off for now but if it goes well it could be regular—’
‘Tanzie, I can’t go to a club,’ I exclaim.
Her face seems to fall. ‘Why not?’
‘Because … I am not the clubbing type.’
‘Neither am I,’ she announces, which I suspect is a fib. ‘But this isn’t your normal kind of club.’
‘No, it’s eighties. You said.’ We are leaving the bookshop now, stepping back out into the cobbled lane.
She looks at me. ‘It’ll be fine. Honestly – we don’t have to stay late. I know you’re driving. We can just show our faces, say hello, have a bit of a dance …’
‘I’m really not up for that,’ I blurt out, as if she’s suggested a trip to a naturist beach.
Tanzie rolls her eyes at me. ‘Okay – you go home then. I’ll go to the club on my
own.’
I glance at her. Although she’s suggested this entirely un-grumpily, I can sense how much she wants company. ‘But then, how would you get home?’ I ask.
Tanzie shrugs. ‘I could catch the last train. Honestly, it’s not a problem.’
‘But then, what about getting home from Hesslevale station?’
‘Oh, I’ll just get a taxi.’ She shrugs. ‘Sorry, Nate. I thought you might be up for it, but I won’t try to bully you into something you don’t want to do …’
I study my shoes for a moment. ‘It’s just, you know – eighties music …’
‘Yeah.’ She chuckles. ‘Although, isn’t Springsteen eighties too?’
‘I can’t imagine he’ll be top of the playlist,’ I say with a smile.
‘No, maybe not. It’ll be a laugh, though. I’ll need to find somewhere to change—’
‘But you look fine as you are,’ I say truthfully.
‘Yeah – but it’s a theme night.’
I stare at her. Along with ‘there’ll be karaoke’, ‘theme night’ is one of those phrases to strike terror into my heart. ‘You mean, you’re changing into an eighties outfit?’
‘Well, yeah,’ she says, as if that’s obvious too. She pats her shoulder bag.
‘So, you planned this for tonight? I mean, when I picked you up this morning you knew you’d be going to this club?’
She winces and smiles. ‘Yeah. I didn’t want to freak you out. I thought, if I just dropped it in at the end of the day …’
The end of the day. She’s right; the shops are closing, the crowds are thinning and I still have no gift for my wife’s birthday. I look at Tanzie, knowing with absolute certainty that I have no desire to venture into an eighties night – but nor am I happy about leaving her here after she’s been such charming company all afternoon.
I inhale deeply. ‘So, we’d just pop in, would we? And not stay long?’
‘Of course!’ Her face brightens. ‘Doors open at eight. We can hang about somewhere, get a coffee, and go as soon as it opens. Don’t worry. I’ll look after you. You don’t even have to dance.’
I chuckle. ‘You really don’t want to see me on a dance floor …’
Laughing now, she links her arm in mine, a gesture that would startle me normally but actually feels entirely natural – and even rather comforting.
‘Just one drink, okay?’ I add.
‘Just the one, I promise.’ She affects a serious face.
‘And then we’re off home.’
Tanzie nods. ‘Like I said, we’re just showing our faces. Andrea’ll be so pleased to meet you and you’ll love it, I know. There’s a band on and everything. Maybe I should just get changed at the club …’
I look down at my navy blue shirt, black jacket and dark jeans. ‘I’m just going like this, obviously. I mean, I’m not planning on being part of any theme …’
Tanzie nods. ‘You look fine. Don’t worry. You can just be the boring one out of Kajagoogoo—’
I frown, trying to conjure up an image from a long-ago episode of Top of the Pops. ‘Was there a boring one in Kajagoogoo?’
Tanzie’s face breaks into a grin. ‘Well, there is now.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
The club is sandwiched between a Chinese takeaway and a dry-cleaner’s, and goes by the unprepossessing name of Rumours. When we arrive, the place is virtually deserted. But never mind. We are only staying for one drink.
‘So you’ve come!’ gushes Tanzie’s friend Andrea, a statuesque redhead wearing what looks like a leotard, and fishnet tights, plus a tutu of fluorescent pink netting.
Tanzie chuckles. ‘Yeah. Managed to persuade him!’ She turns to me and smiles. ‘Andrea, this is Nate. Be gentle with him. He’s of a slightly nervous disposition …’
Andrea feigns concern. ‘Aw, not your kind of thing, is it, Nate?’
‘Well, not until now,’ I reply with a faint laugh, not wishing to seem like a killjoy.
‘I’m off to get changed,’ Tanzie announces, darting away to the ladies’.
Andrea grins at me. ‘You’ll love it, Nate. Next time, you’ll be turning up in costume. Tall, handsome man like you, I can see you as …’ She looks me up and down. ‘Tony Hadley, maybe? From Spandau Ballet?’
‘Really?’ I muse, as if considering it as an actual possibility.
‘Oh, yeah. You’re very dashing for an examiner guy …’ She laughs. ‘So, what’re you drinking? It’s on the house …’
‘Oh, that’s very kind. Just a Coke, please.’
‘Not a cocktail?’ She feigns disappointment. ‘Not a Long Island iced tea? You’ve probably forgotten how good they taste …’
‘Thanks, but I’m driving,’ I say quickly, at which she strides off to the bar.
Alone now, I take in my surroundings. If clubs aren’t my natural habitat at the best of times, a near-empty one seems particularly dismal, and I’m not convinced that the atmosphere will improve as the place fills up. The walls are painted black, liberally scuffed, and a mirrorball dangles forlornly over the dance floor. As for Long Island iced teas, I do in fact recall the craze, but no one ordered them for their ‘taste’. They downed the vicious blend of tequila, vodka, gin and Christ knows what else in order to achieve inebriation with minimal messing about. I would no more order one at forty-three years old than tip exploding candy into my mouth.
Over by the bar, Boy George is flirting with Clare Grogan (or perhaps she’s half of Strawberry Switchblade? There’s certainly an abundance of polka dots going on) over what I vaguely recognise as an A-ha track. There’s a portly Michael Jackson in a suit and trilby – plus one glove, nice touch – and now I spot the arrival of Adam Ant, accompanied by several others in what I assume is just your general eighties attire. I even glimpse a couple of the kids from Fame. There are bubble perms, ra-ra skirts – even fluorescent knitted legwarmers. While I can appreciate that the fifties, sixties and even seventies had their allure, style-wise, the eighties doesn’t do it for me. A woman strolls past in those high-waisted jeans all the girls used to wear, plus a white shirt and a fluffy permed wig (early Kylie?). Perhaps guessing each clubber’s identity will keep me occupied for the half hour or so before we can get the hell out of here.
And now, from out of the ladies’, Tanzie appears like a vision in a swishy – and worryingly flammable-looking – blonde wig, plus some sort of shiny red bodysuit and a short skirt, also red, worn over the top. I reel back as she bounds towards me.
She smiles and tweaks her wig. ‘Sorry I couldn’t wear the dress you bought me. I kinda had it all planned out, you see.’ She juts out a hip, and in one swift movement rips the skirt entirely off her body.
‘Have you torn it?’ I exclaim.
‘No! Don’t you remember that bit?’ She is now standing before me in just the skin-tight bodysuit, and it’s a little unnerving.
‘That bit of what?’ I ask.
‘Their Eurovision performance.’ She chuckles and shakes her head at me, as if everyone knows that. ‘I adapted the skirt myself,’ she adds, ‘with Velcro.’
I nod, trying to look suitably impressed. ‘That was very resourceful of you.’
She smiles broadly and refixes her attire. ‘It’s a crucial part, the skirt-ripping …’
‘I have to say,’ I remark, ‘I don’t remember Agnetha doing that.’
‘Agnetha?’ She gawps at me. ‘Who d’you think I am, Nate?’
‘Er, aren’t you Agnetha from Abba?’
‘Abba were seventies,’ she guffaws. ‘God, Nate. I thought you were a music fan, with all those records you have – I mean had …’
‘Yes, but not—’
‘I’m Cheryl out of Bucks Fizz,’ she announces, turning to accept her cocktail from Andrea. ‘He thought I was Agnetha!’
I fix on a benign smile as the two women chortle over my idiocy.
‘So … it’s definitely just one drink?’ I murmur to Tanzie as Andrea shimmies away.
‘Yeah-yeah,’
she says quickly, nodding along to the music now: a Duran Duran track, if I remember rightly. Naturally, the DJ – a balding chap with an immense stomach – will be favouring chart hits tonight. Human League are next, followed by Tears for Fears and – I almost feel a slight connection here – Kajagoogoo. The dance floor, which has been filling steadily, now features a whole gaggle of Limahls.
‘Isn’t it amazing,’ Tanzie marvels, ‘that we thought the mullet was a pretty hot haircut at the time?’
I laugh. ‘I suppose we did. It didn’t reach my part of the world though.’
‘Oh, there were a few of them dotted around Solworth …’
‘Is that where you grew up?’ To my shame, I haven’t asked her about her childhood.
‘Yeah. But my first boyfriend was more your Robert Smith type.’
‘So you liked The Cure?’ I ask, interest piqued, and wonder what we’d have made of each other if our paths had ever crossed. Through my later teens and early twenties, I often went to gigs in Solworth. There’s only a handful of decent pubs, so I’d imagine we’ve have been in the same vicinity.
‘Loved them,’ Tanzie enthuses. ‘Did you?’
‘Oh, yes, I was quite a fan …’ Perhaps by some kind of telepathy, Friday I’m in Love fills the room.
We both smile, and she grabs my hand and pulls me towards the dance floor. ‘Did you have the spiky hair, the smudgy red lipstick?’
‘I didn’t quite go that far,’ I say, laughing and shaking her off.
‘My boyfriend did. Malcolm, his name was. Oh, come on, Nate – just this one …’
I shake my head grimly, and Tanzie skitters away, merging with what is now quite a lively crowd. Startlingly, she proceeds to throw herself around, still clutching her glass and swigging from it occasionally.
I stand back and watch, knowing precisely how Sinead would react if she were here now. She’d probably have a bit of a dance, and we’d remark how busy the club was so early in the night. ‘Because everyone has to get home for their babysitters,’ she’d laugh. But she’d enjoy it only in an ironic way, and she wouldn’t be swigging a Long Island iced tea or wearing a cheap wig and a detachable skirt.