by Chloe Rayban
I still think about him a lot. I know just what age he would have been and I can picture the kind of things we would have done. That’s one of the reasons I like looking into the house over the street. Apart from the Babe, who’s good news, there are two other kids. A funny little girl who’s got a serious look and a boy who doesn’t look a million miles away from how I imagine that kid brother of mine would’ve looked — except he’d be older by now of course. They do loads of stuff together. That’s what I call a family. I could see them through their window right now, sitting at a table eating together. We didn’t eat together at home. I generally had a meal on a tray on my knees in front of the TV, Mum doesn’t eat much anyway and Dad is always late back from work.
I’d bought myself a hamburger on the way home. I leaned out and put a few crumbs from the bun and a bit of the meat on the window-sill, to help with the task of feeding — but those birds weren’t into junk food, got more sense.
I walked round eating chunks of burger and washing it down with Coke wondering what to do with my evening. Predictably, Eric still hadn’t shown up. I’d checked right through the house — not a sign of any building activity. Mum and Dad were going to go ape. At this rate there was no way we’d be straight by Christmas. After I’d finished my burger, I decided to go down to the phone box and call home. Tell them to put the fear of God into those builders. It was dead frustrating for me too. With all this time on my hands, I could be putting those shelves up. Soon as I had the shelves up I was going to whip back home and bring up the decks.
The nearest phone booth was two streets away, in a sad little parade of shops that was on the point of extinction: a newsagent, a florist, an off-licence — the kind of shops that were just hanging on to their last customers. Every day their fly-spotted windows witnessed their trade trailing past in traffic jams bound for the supermarkets.
I dialled home and got Mum straightaway. She went on and on about me not having called earlier. Anyway, when I’d calmed her down enough to break the news about Eric, she got into a right old state about that too. That was when I caught sight of the two girls inside the newsagents.
‘Yeah, right, I am listening Mum,’ I said, holding the receiver a more comfortable distance from my ear.
The Babe had her hair scraped back in a couple of lacky-bands — nice cheekbones, nice ears even, and the girl with her was pretty cute too, had on a really short skirt. Nice long legs, both of them. I peered into the newsagents trying to see what they were up to.
‘ …OK, yes. Tell Dad to get on to him. You get them to start work, then I’ll note down everything they do each day …’
The girls were coming out now. They’d bought a couple of those magazines girls read — full of pin-ups of minor male pop-stars and marks out of ten for stuff like how you rate as a kisser. I’d picked up one at the dentists once — the problem page was an education in itself. Couldn’t look the receptionist in the eye after reading it. It’s no wonder girls these days are so damn knowing. Made me think of Zalia — I reckon there wasn’t much she needed to learn.
I rang off and waited for a moment until the girls had moved on. As I left the phone booth I could see that they were going the same way as me — heading back towards Frensham Avenue. I tailed along behind them. I wasn’t sure if the Babe would recognise me from a few days back. The day her Mum threatened to run me down. It was an awkward situation. Did I say ‘Hi’ and risk a blank stare? Or should I just barge past and pretend I hadn’t seen her? Probably best to wait for another opportunity to make myself known.
Since I didn’t want to overtake them, I had to slow my pace somewhat. The girls had one of their mags open and were deep in conversation over it, stopping every now and again for a laugh. Every time they stopped I was forced to pause too.
On one of these pauses, the girl in the mini skirt glanced back and caught sight of me. She said something to the other one and they started walking again. I tried to look nonchalant — I had as much right to occupy the pavement as they did. At the corner of Frensham Avenue, they paused again — I reckon, intentionally this time. So I had to carry on and make my way past.
Just as I came level with them a voice said:
‘Hi.’
I almost tripped.
‘Er-Hi.’
It was the girl in the mini skirt. The other one — the Babe — was giving her looks that could kill.
‘You just moved into this street?’ the girl continued.
I nodded. ‘Number twenty-five.’ And I immediately realised how weird this must sound. I mean, number twenty-five is a total tip.
The Babe was standing a couple of steps away staring hard into the distance. As I said, she had her hair tied up in two elastic band things. A few stray strands had escaped and were brushing against her neck. I didn’t blame them — it looked a pretty nice neck to brush against. Her hair was glossy and bouncy and every time she moved her head it kind of swished against her shoulders. It just killed me the way it did that. I hovered, wanting to bring her into the conversation and wondering what on earth to say. I mean, this was my big chance to get to know this girl.
My glance fell on her magazine. It had a headline: ‘The things I’d like to do with boys.’ I was intrigued. What were these things? Let us in on the secret, girls!
‘You read that kind of stuff?’ I said, trying not to sound too interested.
The Babe flipped over the magazine defensively — as if she’d read my thoughts.
‘Want to borrow it?’ asked the other girl.
I looked hurriedly away. ‘Hardly — it’s like girls’ stuff, isn’t it?’ This was meant to come out like back-tracking but I guess it sounded like a bit of a put-down.
‘How would you know?’ she retorted, quick as a flash. She was eyeing me calculatingly. I realised I was making a complete prat of myself.
‘I wouldn’t know — I mean, obviously.’
I made off down the road. I could feel them watching me. I tried to walk tall. I could tell I’d come across as a real poser.
Why did everything I said have to come out the wrong way?
Chapter Five
Zalia must have spread the word about my tape. Or maybe it had done the rounds. Anyway after those first few days I was starting to get a lot more respect at the college. Dom’s brother, Brillo — the one with the table-mountain haircut — even deigned to speak to me. We were waiting in a corridor for a class to finish. He was right beside me and he suddenly came out with it.
‘So how d’you make that tape then? You got decks or what?’
‘Yeah, not in London, though. Back in Stroud. Soon as I’ve fixed my place up, I’m going down to fetch them.’
Will was standing behind us, and he butted in at that point and asked in a sarcastic tone of voice: ‘So what’s the music scene like in Stroud?’
The way he said ‘Stroud’ was like it was the backwardest backwater in Britain. A world of dedicated Classic FM listeners where everyone keeps their Radio Times in tooled leather covers.
‘It’s pretty chilled, as a matter of fact. And there’s masses going on in Bristol,’ I said.
‘What you into? Hardcore? Jungle? Drum ‘n’ Bass?’
I’d had this kind of contest before. Everything you say, it’s like the guy is just hanging on in there, waiting to get one over you. He’s aching to tell you the kind of music you’re into is dead as week-old hamburger mince. So I’d developed counter tactics. Music moves on so fast these days, no-one can be totally certain they’re on top of it. I’d capitalised on this uncertainty. I’d invented a scene all of my own. That way I could guarantee staying one step ahead.
‘Dredge,’ I said, casting half a glance in Brillo’s direction.
‘Dread-what? Come again?’
‘Dredge. As in edge but with a DR in front,’ I corrected him.
‘You into Dredge, man?’ asked Brillo — he’d caught on. ‘Who’s supplying you?’
Will was looking from one of us to the other and back
again. Both of us deserved Academy Awards for keeping dead straight faces.
‘Bloke down in Dean Street — Soho. Got to know the stuff I go for — keeps some aside.’
‘So what’s this ‘Dredge’ like, man?’ said Will — he was just aching to find something to sneer at.
‘It kinda incorporates Street-Sound (another of my pet inventions) which is a step or two on from Drum ‘n’ Bass. I mean, lets face it, Drum ‘n’ Bass is getting like commercial, man. Like Handbag House — caught the Essex Curse. Dredge — it’s only been on promos so far … It’s like Trance but it’s got an R&B feel, kinda more lyrical, but kinda grainy.’ I could see I was confusing the hell out of him.
‘S’like dredging the waves for that ace bass line,’ added Brillo.
Will was sucking his cheeks in and looking thoughtful. I could see he was hooked.
‘Oh you mean Dredge,’ he said, as if it had suddenly dawned on him. Yeah —I know the sound — yeah. You got some up here, like not in Stroud?’
‘Not yet … but soon as I bring my stuff up.’
The classroom emptied at that point and we filed in. Will was still looking thoughtful. I winked at Brillo and he gave me the thumbs up sign behind Will’s back.
At the end of the period, Brillo sidled up to me again. He was speaking in an undertone.
‘Ever heard of ‘Flashpoint?’
‘A band?’
‘Nah, it’s a station. 472.98 — Friday midnight through to 5 am. You oughta tune in.’
‘Pirate?’
‘Let’s just say it’s like alternative.’
‘Only thing is — haven’t got a radio. Not till I get back to Stroud.’
‘You wanna sort your life out, man.’
I had a double free at that point, so I went up to the college library to plan an essay out. It was pretty difficult to work at home. Little things like having no table, for instance, can hang you up. The college library was a pretty relaxed affair compared with school. There was a ‘Silence please’ sign up, but as long as people didn’t like shout or sing or have their Walkmans on at an antisocial level, no-one took much notice of it.
I took up a position in a kind of cul-de-sac between two aisles of shelves where I could get some peace. The essay was on Genetic Mutation — a pretty hefty subject to get the mind around. As soon as I opened my books I became aware of voices. Through the shelves opposite I could hear a couple of guys having a banter. Hang on … I recognised that voice — it was Will. I pricked up my ears.
Will was already spreading the word about the great new musical scene he’d discovered. By what I could hear he had a pretty rapt audience. They were making little awed and enthusiastic noises after every phrase he let fall.
Yeah, Dredge — as in edge but with a DR in front. It’s like Drum ‘n’ Bass but more kinda like lyrical … and grainy.’
I practically snorted out loud. I was killing myself.
‘Got its roots in Street-Sound,’ he was going on. ‘But with a more kinda R&B feel. Ace bass line.’
He’d got it off pat!
‘So what’s Street-Sound?’
A tricky question, but Will answered like a real expert.
‘Street-Sound! Look, if you don’t know that, man …’
‘Well, I’ve kind’ve heard of it …’
‘Yeah, well you wanna keep your ear to the ground.’
They started mumbling after that and I couldn’t catch much of what they were saying. But I’d heard enough to keep me happy. I chuckled to myself as I got into my essay. Boy, what a scam!
I did a couple of hours in the library, then I thought about going back home. Not that there was any rush. Nothing to do in the evenings — no meal in the oven, not even a TV to watch. I wandered down to the ground floor wondering whether to dip a spoon in grease at ‘The Savoy’ or to pick up some stuff from the deli on the way home. As I passed through the lobby this board headed ‘Leisure Activities’ caught my eye. I went over to check out what was on offer.
It had a load of stuff about holiday courses, and they needed volunteers for a hockey team — but on closer inspection that was for females. I was missing sport actually — I’d been in the footie team at school but there didn’t seem to be any sporting activity going on at the college.
Then I spotted a card saying ‘Reclaim the Streets! Volunteers needed for Marathon — Join the West Thames Team. Proceeds to Street Reclaim Fund-Raising. Advice and training sessions — Room 210.’
Now, I don’t mind running. At school I’d been pretty good at long distance — came in something like fifth in the last all-school race. The meeting was scheduled to start in ten minutes time. I decided to turn up and check it out.
There were only four people in Room 210 — but amazingly, one of them was Brillo. Now I wouldn’t exactly take Brillo for the outdoor type.
‘What you doing here?’
‘All in a good cause.’ Brillo grinned, showing off his broken tooth.
‘Yeah sure but … You really into running?’ I asked. He seemed such an unlikely candidate.
‘Yeah, why not?’
The guy who was leading the session cleared his throat at that point and went and looked outside the door, maybe hoping he’d find like a couple of hundred more enthusiastic volunteers queueing outside.
When he’d established that the five he had were all he was going to get, he closed the door and introduced himself. His name was Wally — and the predictable titter went round about that, which he took pretty well. Wally went into a long spiel about air quality and the ozone layer. I could relate to that, I remembered times as a kid when I would wheeze for days on end. Once he’d indoctrinated us with how worthwhile the cause was, he switched to training. Apparently, we needed the right running shoes, and a programmed course of exercises to improve stamina, and then a planned routine to build up our actual running time in order to be in peak form for the marathon itself. After that he moved on to diet and things like no fags and cutting out booze. Made it sound a load of laughs.
‘You take all that on board?’ I asked Brillo as we left.
‘I reckon with running, you just do it,’ he said.
‘Yeah. You’re right.’ I felt like a run actually. And I thought it might be interesting to put Brillo to the test. ‘So why don’t we like — just do it?’
‘Like right now?’ asked Brillo.
He didn’t seem all that keen all of a sudden. We were out through the college doors by this time and walking up the street.
‘You got a problem with that?’
‘Problem?’
‘Yeah, what’s your problem?’
I was needling him and he was responding nicely.
‘What problem?’
‘Let’s just do it then,’ I said.
‘Why not?’
‘OK.’ I was already running on the spot. ‘First one to complete a couple of circuits of the college?’
‘Right now?’
‘You chickening out?’
‘No way — let’s do it,’ said Brillo.
I started running. He pounded after me. I noticed with some satisfaction that I was easily pulling ahead.
‘Where are you?’ I shouted over my shoulder.
I really set a pace. I could hear him puffing, struggling to keep up. We did a half circuit of the college and then I spotted a park up ahead.
‘Let’s get in there, man,’ I shouted, darting in through the gates.
We did a couple of circuits of the park instead, and by that time my chest felt as if it was about to burst. I guess I’d got pretty unfit lately. But I wasn’t struggling half as much as Brillo.
‘Enough?’ I asked.
‘Nah, I could keep going,’ he gasped, his face turning puce.
‘What say we slow down a bit?’ I suggested, as much for my benefit as his.
We slowed down lots. In fact, to tell the truth, we were barely walking. Luckily enough, the rear exit of the park brought us out at the far end of Frensham Aven
ue. I thanked whatever stars were shining on me at that moment. I could already feel third degree blisters forming — maybe that guy was right about the running shoes.
‘This where you live?’ asked Brillo as we arrived at the decrepit frontage of number twenty-five.
‘Fraid so.’
‘But this is cool, man!’
I led him in through the back door and we kind of collapsed in the kitchen.
‘Got anything to drink?’
‘There’s water.’ I turned on the tap and we took it in turns to have gulps from it.
‘Anything to drink out of?’ asked Brillo. ‘Can’t get a good swig at this.’
‘Umm … think you’ve got me there.’ I searched around and found an empty bottle that looked pretty clean. This do?’
Brillo filled it from the tap and then reached in his pocket and brought out a pack of Rizlas and some Old Holborn.
‘Want one?’
‘Thought we were meant to be in training.’
‘Yeah, well.’
‘Look, if you want to smoke mate — outside. OK?’
I couldn’t stand cigarette smoke. It used to give me asthma attacks when I was a kid. I’d got over it now, but I still had an aversion to the smell — particularly the sickly stuff he was about to smoke.
Brillo took a long draught of water from the bottle.
‘This really all you’ve got to drink?’
‘Think so.’ Water never seems to quench a real thirst. I could have done with something fizzy myself. ‘I’ll check upstairs.’
While I was upstairs Brillo must’ve gone outside for his fag. I could see him from my window. He was sitting on the low wall at the front, alternately taking swigs out of the bottle and deep drags on a roll-up.
I had a rake through my knapsack, thought for a moment I’d found another can of lager — but it was only a Coke. I thrust the window open.