33 West

by Daisy Goodwin

  2. Last Train

  Charlie had run so fast for the train and got so out of breath she still felt kind of shaky the other side of Clapham Junction. It had been an early doors gig but it had still been a hair’s breadth thing whether she made the train on time. In the week, the last train to Belmont left at ten to eleven. Even on the weekend it was only half past. And it had become a point of principle that she should catch the train wherever possible no matter what it took.

  The thing was, the alternative was the night bus. There was something totally depressing about the mix of people you got on these particular vehicles. Like it was the folks who’d missed out on getting somewhere with their lives. You could see it in their faces, half drunk maybe, or stoned or high, but whatever else they were disappointed to find themselves where they were. It was like a microcosm or whatever the shit they call it; where you were in terms of transport home of a night was where you were in life. Only people with no choices rode the night bus. Charlie didn’t fit with them. She had no money and so no choices by default, but that was only a time of life thing. It would change, once she’d made it, even once she started getting regular session work that would change. But the scary thing about being on the bus was that it might not. Charlie always sat at the front, on the top deck, so that she could avoid the other people, but she couldn’t help catching their reflections in the massive windscreen. She would look at the older women reproduced there, examine their faces, the way they slouched as they sat and she could see the disappointment, and wonder what it was they’d wanted and missed out on. She’d began to do anything she could to avoid ending up on that bus at the end of the night.

  And so her life had become a succession of rushed packing at the end of the gig and trying to chivvy up the blokes to load the van as quickly as possible so that she could dash for the train. Her main image of herself these days involved running from the party with her shoes coming off; Cinderella plays the drums and legs it so that she doesn’t have to sit with the pumpkins on the bus. She usually made it. There was something comforting about travelling on the train, maybe to do with the steady rhythm of its motion. Despite the fact it was still public transport, and that there was still the odd dodgy drunk travelling with her, the train was more like being in London. Perhaps this was because she’d always taken the bus back when she lived in Birmingham and dreamed of a life in the capital city. It hadn’t panned out exactly the way she’d thought it would, but she’d not been a silly naïve girl and had known her dreams of trendy flats with minimalist furnishings were years away so that didn’t bother her. It was other things, really, that did, long journeys home after gigs and the way people’s faces twisted as they said ‘Belmont? Isn’t that in Surrey somewhere?’

  Sex face Zed had mentioned that mate of his again tonight, the one who was looking for a lodger. The money was quite a bit more than she was paying at the moment for the flat to herself in Belmont. Her studio was only two rooms, one for living and eating and a tiny bathroom, but it was all hers. She wasn’t at all sure she’d like sharing with a mate of Zed’s. He would be quite a lot older than her, she was guessing. The idea of living with someone Zed’s age was not attractive. It was a bit like the sex face. There was something about the extra experience these men had that appealed to her and that, in itself, was frightening.

  At last, tonight, the puzzle of Zed’s nickname worked itself out. Charlie had been wondering for ages, but she’d been too shy to ask. Some woman he’d dated years ago came to say hello, and she’d called him Pete, much to Adam bass player’s amusement. Zed explained that the nickname came from playing darts down the pub. He said there were a million blokes with the first initial P in his generation, lots of Peters and Pauls and Patricks. He’d got fed up of having to put down two initials and it getting confusing anyway and so one day he’d just walked up and written Z on the board and it had stuck. Charlie was kind of relieved to hear his story. There was an explanation that made sense and the name wasn’t just some posey contrivance.

  The whole event made her think differently about Zed, though. It was as if knowing his real name gave her extra information about who he was as a person. She tried to fit the word to him; Pete. It didn’t suit and so she understood why the nickname had taken over. She wondered if she’d feel differently had she known him as Pete first, but somehow doubted it. It seemed that he well and truly was Zed, was destined to have that name, and that he’d have been a different person if he’d not walked up to that chalkboard one day and wrote a new self upon it. She sat on the train thinking about Zed and a shiver went through her; she was getting a crush on him, despite the age difference and even despite the sex face or, more shockingly, a little because of it. She pushed all that to the back of her mind and thought about how it had felt tonight, the way everything came together after near disaster on the second track.

  She had played really well, even she knew it. Sometimes it was hard to tell how you’d done but tonight it had been really obvious. Being a drummer, especially a female drummer, was full of contradictions. Charlie always got noticed: an attractive girl on drums has novelty value, but that didn’t mean her contribution to the music was always understood. Only other drummers ever seemed to get it. The best kind of drummers were the ones so good you didn’t see their tracks. And yet these drummers were the people who held it all together, when it came down to it. In fact, they were more than that, a strong heartbeat that made the sound whole and healthy. They’d all played well, though. Even Adam had looked pumped at the end of their second set. They’d sat having drinks afterwards and his eyes had shone as he went on about how they were ‘gelling’ at last.

  The train pulled into Sutton station and was held there for a moment. A drunk on the platform was talking on his mobile phone, then said ‘shit’ quite loudly as the announcement went off and he scrambled to cut off the line. Charlie watched, wondering who he’d been talking to and why he’d been lying. She studied the man as he sat there and stared at the floor, no doubt concocting excuses for when he got home, get-out clauses. She looked at his face and clothes, the way he sat, searching for things about him that would give someone a clue he was untrustworthy. There was nothing. He looked frighteningly normal. Pissed, but ordinary.

  The activities of the evening had taken their toll on Charlie and she wanted to close her eyes and sleep but didn’t. She was too worried about not waking up and missing her stop. Belmont was the end of the line and she didn’t know where the trains went when they left but she certainly didn’t want to end up any further out of town, or miles from her flat with no way of getting back. She felt lost enough already, without a midnight trip to the middle of nowhere. So she kept her eyes open and stared out of the window. It had begun to rain and she watched the snail trails of water as they made patterns on the outside of the glass.

  A moment’s panic made her sit up and start out of her daze as she thought about her savings. It was an issue she was trying not to think about and she found, the more she did this, the more it snuck up and jumped out on her at quiet moments. The money was running out. She would need a job soon, the kind you go to every day and where you answer to the boss, even to pay the rent on her hovel in the middle of nowhere. She didn’t want to work in a supermarket or office but knew she had limited options. She needed something that she could fit in around her gigs. She wondered if she could just about get away with working in a pub, if they were flexible with rotas and she was organised. It seemed a better option that the others that came to mind.

  The train was approaching Belmont now. She pulled on her coat and steeled herself for the walk. She shivered; more in response to the thoughts she’d been having about getting a job than to do with the cold. In fact, despite the rain, it was quite a mild night. She hugged herself, though, as she stepped onto the dark platform. She put thoughts about work and running out of money to the back of her mind. She would think about all of that tomorrow. She would think about Zed tomorrow too, she knew, but that was a different m
atter and it made her cold all over for other reasons.

  3. Taxi

  Charlie’s crush on Zed had built over the next couple of weeks and so, when he invited her round to his place, she’d agreed. She’d thought it was what she wanted.

  Tooting was still lively when she got off the Tube. Young girls walked in groups, tottering on heels to the local bars and restaurants. The air smelled of curry and made Charlie feel hungry. She hoped that Zed had plans for food, even if it was just takeaway pizza or something. It struck her for a second that he could have at least offered to meet her from the station. She consulted her A to Z as subtly as she could. Someone had warned her once that you should be careful. If people thought you were a tourist they might try to mug you or rip you off. She pulled the book to the top of her bag and tried to open it and read it while still keeping it the other side of the zip. It was no good; she couldn’t see a thing and, anyway, she guessed she looked even more clueless trying to read something inside her bag. She moved to the tube station wall and leaned against it as she pulled out the A to Z and worked out her route. It wasn’t far but he could have met her.

  Despite this oversight of his, as she walked down Tooting High Street towards the right road, Charlie let herself drift into a daydream. She imagined Zed as the big romantic, sweeping her away, lifting her and carrying her to his room where they’d make love for days, finally emerging only so that they could fetch her things from the flat in Belmont. Then she would live in Tooting, which was definitely London, no mistaking that.

  The road Zed on lived was five minutes’ walk from the Tube station. She checked her A to Z again as she saw the sign, and turned right. And then she was there; outside Zed’s door. She took a deep breath. Was this really what she wanted? As she rapped the door knocker she realised she was still holding her breath. Moments later the door was open and he was stood in front of her. As soon as she saw him she thought about the sex face, and wondered if she did really have a crush on him or if it was all some weird fascination with the way he sang.

  Any part that was left of the fantasy she’d had about living with Zed was blown clean away as she walked into his house. It was a two up two down terrace place, so it wasn’t like there wasn’t the room, except there was something about the place that said there wasn’t the room in Zed for a partner. It took one look round for her to see it clearly. Zed was a bachelor. Everything about his house was set that way; the leather chairs and the furry rug with the lamp that pulled down over it, the bar in the basement and all that shit. Zed lived alone and he liked it that way. There was a moment of disappointment, followed quickly by relief, followed by Charlie remembering that she was only young and didn’t want that serious shit anyway. A fling with an older, more experienced man could be just the ticket.

  Zed offered Charlie a drink as soon as she walked in but it didn’t materialise quickly. She sat and watched as he fiddled with his stereo, a real boy’s toys job with an amp and serious speakers, and she chewed at her nails and thought how she could really do with a drink. Ten minutes later she gave up on waiting and asked if she could help herself. He looked up through his fringe, seeming helpless. He stood up straight. ‘Shit, sorry,’ he said. ‘Being a bit crap.’ He poured her a glass of the same wine he was drinking without asking what she wanted.

  After that, though, Charlie was never without a drink. Three glasses on and she was waiting for Zed’s move, fascinated with how it might pan out. She figured whatever else, he’d be smooth and that his moves might leave her breathless, awed in the sense of how sophisticated he was compared to the boys she’d dated before. But the night went on and no moves materialised. He poured her drink after drink, cracking open more wine bottles until she wondered if that was his move, getting her ratted. Certainly boys in sixth form had tried that one before and she was not exactly impressed.

  The drink ran out and there was an awkward silence. Then Zed bent towards Charlie, fluttering his lashes and saying ‘There’s something in my eye.’ It was like a spell was broken. Her crush was built on that layer of sophistication she’d thought she’d seen but this one little mistake scraped that away completely. Now all she could see was how yellow his teeth were from smoking and his tummy, the way it bulged above his jeans and, worst of all, the sex face he always pulled when he was singing and, it would seem, when there was something in his eye.

  Charlie put down her glass and left the house without saying anything. Zed did not call after her. She phoned for a minicab on her mobile and waited outside. She couldn’t really afford a taxi but she didn’t have much choice; it was too late for the Tube and she was too freaked out to deal with the night bus on top of all the rest. It was lonely around Zed’s street, so she waited right next to the door, figuring she could easily run straight back in if the outside of his place became scarier than the inside. It didn’t.

  Sitting on the soft leather seats of the taxi, Charlie decided she could never see Zed again. It was too excruciating. She would resign from the band and look for that job, and find new people to play with, closer to her age and maybe girls too, if such a band existed in south London. She would avoid Tooting altogether. She couldn’t bump into him, she really couldn’t deal with that. It was a relief now to be based all the way out in Belmont and know how unlikely it was that she’d see Zed or any of his mates there. Maybe Belmont was Surrey and not London but it didn’t matter. Zed’s parents had called him Peter but that wasn’t what he was meant to be and this could be the same kind of deal. She liked to think that life made some decisions for you; it just made sense.

  The taxi whizzed through the quiet night-time streets and before she knew it she was crossing the border from the borough of Merton and into Sutton. She tried to imagine floating above the city, high enough that it looked like a map. She looked down on herself, gliding towards the edge of London. Something about this picture made her think of the past, where people thought you could sail off the edge of the world.

  It was only as the taxi rounded the bend and headed across the railway bridge near Belmont station that a thought struck Charlie; maybe Zed actually had had something in his eye.

  4. Vauxhall Corsa

  It had been a busy night at The Belmont and Charlie’s legs hurt as she walked. There was something pleasant about feeling so tired, though, like you’d worked hard and now you deserved the rest you were about to get. The sense of a job well done. After all her worrying, Charlie found working for a living quite satisfying. The landlord of the pub had been great too, and given her all the lunchtime shifts, agreeing that evenings could be negotiable. Not that she was gigging that much, anyway. Her new band, The Buzbies, were much closer to where she saw herself belonging but they didn’t have the rep to get loads of engagements yet. They played their own stuff, which was that much harder to sell to local pubs than if you were prepared to do covers. They were the real thing, though, she was sure of that. All three of her new band mates were blokes but they were at least a similar age to her. In fact, the lead singer was a year or two younger.

  As Charlie walked, her heels clicked along the pavement. She noticed the sound, the way it echoed, and she played with it, faster, slower, 4-4 time, then 3-4 like a waltz, drumming her own way home. She hadn’t spoken to any of the other members of Weekend since that night at Zed’s. She’d sent Zed an email the next day resigning from the band and he’d been good enough not to reply or try to ring her. She’d been relieved and, at the same time, disappointed. The ambitious young drummer inside her thought he could have at least tried a little harder to keep her. Perhaps he’d just got something in his eye again.

  All of the lads in the new band lived in Belmont or Sutton. They stayed at home with their parents, indoors, as they called it. She’d seen their houses, picking up and dropping off equipment with them in the bass player’s van. They were detached jobbies on what estate agents would call ‘well appointed’ streets. They reminded her of home, Sutton Coldfield, and her parents’ house, which made her feel a little
sick for those people and places. She started ringing her mum more often.

  The converted house that contained Charlie’s studio flat came into view. She was happy to see it. It might have been pokey and basic but it was all hers. She still wasn’t sure if she lived in London or Surrey. It didn’t matter. Outside, Oliver’s car was waiting for her. Oliver also pulled a sex face when he was singing but, on one so young, it didn’t look so seedy. They’d been dating a few weeks now, approximately half the time she’d been in the band, not that she was counting or anything. She entertained the odd fantasy about where their life might go in the long run, but none of these daydreams revolved around real estate or lettings.

  The door opened beside her and she ducked inside, smiling. ‘Hey,’ she said, climbing into the passenger seat and removing her shoes. She rubbed her feet. She was sore from standing up for so long but it wasn’t that bad of a feeling. ‘What you been doing?’

  Oliver smiled a grin that lit up his whole face. ‘I been writing a song, baby.’

  She fell back into the seat of his car feeling totally content. He indicated, then pulled out into the road. Charlie wasn’t convinced she was in exactly the right place yet but she knew she was moving in the right direction.