Summer of '76

by Ashdown, Isabel

  ‘Tit-Head, that’s what he used to call my mate Martin,’ Luke continues, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs, enjoying the straining sensation behind his ribcage, the light-headed fuzz as the marijuana seeps into his bloodstream. He exhales a thick white column of smoke up into the room, following its trail with his eyes. ‘What an idiot.’

  ‘Why Tit-Head?’ Sam sniggers, pressing the palm of one hand against his thigh while she stretches across for the joint.

  ‘His surname – it’s Brazier,’ Luke replies. ‘You know, like brassiere.’

  Gordon and Sam frown, before simultaneously getting the joke, laughing so hard that the tears stream down their cheeks until they flop back against the mattress, exhausted and stoned.

  On the way home, Luke stops off at Nan’s house. He notices how brightly green her front garden is, sheltered by tree cover, not exposed to the continuous glare of the summer’s rays like theirs. When there’s no answer, he lets himself in, and finds her asleep on the bed at the back of the house. Her hearing’s not so good these days, and she’s clearly startled when he knocks on the open bedroom door to let her know he’s there.

  She makes a big drama when she sees him, shuffling her little legs off the patchwork quilt, telling him she wasn’t really asleep at all.

  ‘Just resting my leg,’ she says, pushing her feet into slippers and hobbling down the hall to the kitchen to put the kettle on. ‘Want to stay for your tea? It’s lamb stew.’

  ‘Love to – I’m starving. I thought I could chop up that dead wood out the back for you while I’m here. I know you won’t need it till the winter, but I won’t be around so much when I’m at poly, will I?’

  ‘What’s a Pollie?’

  ‘College, Nan. It’s what we call it these days. What about that wood?’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure, son. That’d be grand. So? What’s new?’

  Still feeling slightly wasted, Luke flops into a kitchen chair, dragging another over with the toe of his shoe so he can put his feet up. ‘I’ve just finished work.’

  Nan sits on the other side of the table as she waits for the kettle to boil. ‘Up at Sunshine Bay?’

  ‘Yup. Though I’m not that keen on the job title. Chalet maid! I’ll have to make sure Dad doesn’t find out; I’d never hear the end of it.’

  Nan coughs, mopping at her pink old eyes with the corner of a hanky. ‘Good for you. Might even get yourself a girlfriend, if you’re lucky.’

  ‘Maybe. Actually, there’s a girl I like working there for the summer, so you never know.’

  ‘Oh, yes? Who’s that, then – someone nice?’

  ‘She’s really nice, but she’s going out with this idiot Len Dickens. Remember, he used to be in my year at school? He’s the one who was always giving Martin a hard time.’

  ‘Sounds like a twat,’ says Nan, pushing herself up to make the tea.

  Luke tugs his earlobe. ‘Ha, you’re not wrong there, Nanna. Anyway, I get to work with Samantha while he’s off being a twat somewhere else, so I guess I’m the winner. And some of the others there are quite a laugh too. It’s nice to meet some new people for a change.’

  Nan brings the teapot to the table and indicates to the biscuit tin on the shelf so that Luke can fetch it down. He notices she’s wheezing slightly and clutching her hankie tight.

  ‘You feeling OK, Nan?’

  She waves him off. ‘I’m bleedin’ old, you daft bugger! I’m fine.’ She pours his tea and pushes the mug across the table. The sunlight crosses her hands, illuminating the translucent silver skin and the undulating contours of her veins. ‘Your mum and dad alright?’

  He blows into his mug before taking a sip. ‘They’re fine. We’ve just had a new couple move in next door, so they’re trying really hard not to shout at each other in case the Michaelses overhear them. Mum says we’ll have to get a proper fence put up in the back garden now we’ve got neighbours.’

  ‘So, what are they like, these neighbours?’

  ‘She’s alright, but I’m not so sure about him.’ He lets out a small chuckle.

  Nanna’s wrinkles deepen around her eyes. ‘Go on, spill it,’ she says.

  He laughs, shaking his head. ‘The removals man arrived yesterday and walked straight down to the back of the house with their furniture. Mum was out in the back garden sunbathing.’

  Nan links her fingers and cracks her knuckles. ‘Well, that’s not the end of the world,’ she says with a little wince.

  ‘It is if you like to sunbathe naked.’

  Nan covers her mouth. ‘Oh, dear. Poor cow,’ she says.

  Luke leans back in his seat, grinning. ‘She went mental.’

  ‘Bet it gave the removals fella a bit of a treat.’

  ‘That’s what Dad said. But the fat old husband saw too, so she’s been trying to keep a low profile ever since.’

  Nan gets up and opens the back door to let in some fresh air. ‘So, do they argue a lot, then, your mum and dad?’

  Luke stretches his arms high above his head in a yawn. ‘Oh, small stuff, mostly. But they’re always bickering lately. I think she’s just bored, stuck at home looking after Kitty. And you know what Dad’s like – he’s not exactly the most helpful husband in the world.’

  ‘I feel sorry for her. I mean, I know he’s my son, but he can’t be the easiest man to live with. Trouble with him is, he thinks he’s God’s gift.’

  Luke screws up his face. ‘But they do love each other.’

  ‘Of course they do. And he’s got a good heart,’ Nan replies. She reaches over the table and pats Luke’s arm. ‘You’ve just got to take him with a pinch of salt, that’s all.’

  Back home, Luke finds Mum in the kitchen with Diana Michaels from next door. They’re sitting at the table with the back door open, drinking gin and tonics and cooing over one of the family photo albums. It’s just gone seven, and yet the heat of the day makes it feel like early afternoon still, with the scent of honeysuckle drifting in from the back garden. Kitty is sitting on the doorstep, digging around in a flowerpot filled with earth.

  ‘Oh, look!’ says Mum as Luke enters the kitchen, still fumbling with his chinstrap. Her cheeks are flushed. ‘Here’s the other man of the house.’

  Luke drops his keys on the dresser and carefully lays his helmet on the wicker chair in the corner.

  ‘Hello, Luke,’ says Diana.

  He takes a tumbler from the draining board and fills it at the tap, keeping his back to them. ‘Hello, Mrs Michaels.’

  ‘It’s Diana, please! Been anywhere nice?’

  When Luke sets his glass down and turns back, he sees she’s wearing tiny white towelling shorts and a navy striped polo shirt that clings tightly to her rounded bosom. His cheeks burn and he makes a big show of running his hand across his brow, as if the redness is down to the heat. ‘I’m just back from Sunshine Bay. It’s the holiday camp. I’ve got a job there.’

  ‘Oh, how lovely! Are you a Redcoat! Or is it Blue?’

  ‘It’s Butlins with the red coats. Pontins with the blue. They call them Suncoats here.’

  ‘How super. We’ll have to come down and watch you one night,’ Diana says, prodding Mum’s wrist for agreement.

  ‘Oh, well –’ Luke tries to interject.

  ‘Oh, yes, let’s,’ says Mum, clearly having forgotten that he’s just going to be cleaning toilets and watching the pool. ‘We can make a girls’ night of it!’

  Luke smiles politely at Diana, tearing his eyes from hers when she holds his gaze for a moment too long. ‘Where’s Dad?’ he asks Mum.

  ‘He’s gone down to the Crab and Lobster with Mike. And guess what?’

  ‘What?’ he says, opening the fridge and scanning the contents.

  ‘Well – it turns out that Mike’s got a son about the same age as you.’

  Luke pulls out a large tub of raspberry yoghurt and peels back the lid. There’s just a thin watery scraping left at the bottom, with a Kitty-sized finger mark running through it. He wrinkles his nose and chuck
s the tub in the bin. ‘Yeah? That’s nice.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  Diana takes a delicate little sip of her drink and looks up at Luke. ‘He finishes at boarding school in a couple of weeks, so he’ll be coming over to stay with us for the summer.’ Her hand hovers at her enticing chest. ‘We were wondering if you’d mind showing him around a bit? Introduce him to the island?’

  Luke’s heart sinks; that’s all he needs. He closes the fridge door, having found nothing worth eating, and looks at Mum, who smiles at him encouragingly. ‘Maybe,’ he says, then instantly realises how rude it sounds. ‘Of course, I’m working most days, but, you know…’

  ‘Wonderful!’ Diana says, bouncing out of her seat to kiss his cheek.

  His pulse races as her fingers brush his back, and he smiles again, awkwardly, desperate to leave the room. ‘Has anyone phoned?’ he asks on his way out.

  ‘Not that I know of,’ Mum replies, turning her attention back to Diana. She picks up her empty glass and shakes it playfully, already reaching into the fridge to fetch more ice. He leaves them to it, closing the door behind him, and heads down to the hall phone, where he picks up the receiver and dials. After a few rings, Martin answers the phone.

  ‘Alright, Mart,’ Luke says. ‘How’s it going? Haven’t seen you for a while.’

  There’s a pause at the other end. ‘Oh, Luke. Hi. Sorry, I’ve been working.’

  ‘Me too. Wondered if you fancied a pint tonight? I can tell you all about Sunshine Bay – did you know I’m working with Sexy Samantha?’

  He laughs, expecting Martin to do the same, but instead he hears Mr Brazier’s voice in the background, as Martin puts his hand over the mouthpiece. His voice becomes muffled while he talks to his dad, before his hand moves away and his voice returns clearly again. ‘Sorry, Luke. I don’t think I can make it tonight.’

  Luke frowns. ‘Why not? Go on, mate! I’m gasping for a pint. And I haven’t seen you since your birthday, you lightweight!’

  ‘Um,’ Martin mumbles, as Mr Brazier’s indistinct voice carries on in the background, along with the faint sound of the television, ‘we’ve got a big order on.’ He hesitates, waiting for Luke to answer. ‘I’d better stay and get it finished.’

  ‘Am I interrupting your supper or something, Mart?’ Luke asks, feeling irritated.

  Again, he hears the rustle of Martin’s fingers over the mouthpiece. ‘Martin,’ his dad says, like a growl, before a few more vague words are exchanged and the room falls silent at the slam of a door – no more television noises, no more voices.

  Luke waits for Martin’s answer. ‘Are you alright, mate? Mart?’

  Eventually, Martin clears his throat. ‘Sorry, Luke. Another time?’ And he hangs up, leaving Luke staring at the receiver, wondering if Martin will ever leave his dad and his dust-filled workshop; if he’ll ever leave this tiny little island for the world beyond.

  5

  Met Office report for the Isle of Wight, mid-June 1976:

  Maximum temperature 72°F/22.2°C

  By mid-June, an oppressive blanket of humidity lies over the island’s wilting towns and villages, causing restlessness and torpor. At last exams are over, and Luke and Martin stand outside Ryde cinema, cradling their crash helmets, waiting for the doors to open. It’s nearing dark, yet the heat of the day is still upon them, as the crowd throbs impatiently, uncomfortably warm even at this late hour in the evening.

  ‘Do you reckon it will be as good as The Wicker Man?’ Luke asks, jangling the loose change in his pocket.

  ‘Better.’ Martin cranes his long neck to see in through the glass of the closed cinema doors. He’s wearing a white T-shirt with a picture of the Michelin Man on the front, one that his dad got free at the garage when they changed a couple of tyres on the van.

  ‘What, better made, or more scary?’

  ‘Both. When they first showed it in London there were people running out of the cinemas, screaming.’

  ‘They always exaggerate that stuff, just to get us all to go along and watch the film. It can’t be that bad.’ Luke gazes back down the line, which continues to grow as they wait to go in. ‘Haven’t seen anyone else we know yet. I saw Samantha at work last night and she said she might come along to see it too.’

  ‘With you?’ Martin asks.

  ‘No, you idiot. With Len Dickhead.’

  Martin takes a look back along the queue, his sleek new haircut swinging with the turn of his head. He had his first salon cut today, and the stylist has smoothed it under so that he looks like one of the Beach Boys.

  Luke smirks and points at the side of Martin’s face. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Sideburns,’ Martin replies, stroking the downy fluff at the side of his face. ‘I’ve been growing them.’

  ‘I think they need a bit more work, mate. They look like pussy willows.’

  Martin slaps Luke’s hand away and smoothes the hair back over his underdeveloped sideys. ‘Cherie said they make me look mature. She said I looked really cool.’

  ‘Cherie? Woo-hoo! So, what was she like?’

  ‘About fifty.’

  ‘Bad luck, man.’

  Before they can exchange any further insults, the doors open and the queue starts to move inside. Within ten minutes they’re sitting in the mid-row seats with two bags of sweets.

  A group of lads from their old high school passes up the middle aisle. ‘Len,’ Luke whispers to Martin, when they’ve gone by.

  Martin stares straight ahead.

  ‘I don’t think he saw us.’

  A couple of girls run up the steps, dropping chocolate beans on to the carpet, letting them roll down the stairs to be crushed underfoot. ‘Len! Lenny!’ one of them calls out as she nears the upper row. It’s not Samantha. ‘Can we sit with you?’

  Luke can’t help but take a sneaky glance up towards them. The extended group now almost fills the back row, where they shout and chew and flick sweets at each other. He looks away to see Martin staring brazenly up at the group.

  ‘Don’t stare,’ Luke hisses.

  Martin turns back to face the front. ‘I’m not.’

  More and more people trail in through the open doors, and soon the cinema is completely full. The smoking side already has a halo of fog gathering in the space between the viewers and the ceiling, distorting the pictures on the wall, painting them soft-focus in the dim light. Luke and Martin eat their sweets, occasionally raising a hand to an old schoolmate, watching the girls go by in their short dresses and summer tops. Eventually, the lights go down and the red velvet curtains part to reveal the screen.

  Martin’s fingers tense into fists and he bangs his knee against Luke’s to get his attention. ‘Brilliant seats.’

  As soon as the first advert comes on, a peanut hits Luke on the back of the neck, swiftly followed by another, which bounces off the top of Martin’s head.

  ‘Hey,’ Luke yells, turning to look up towards the back row.

  The woman in the seat behind him scowls.

  ‘Oy! Tit-Head!’ Len shouts from the top.

  Luke looks at Martin, sitting head and shoulders above everyone else in the room; he’s an obvious target. An easy target.

  ‘Oi! Brazier! Brassiere!’ Another peanut. ‘Tit-Head!’

  The steward at the foot of the steps shines her torch up the stairs in warning.

  The palms of Luke’s hands are sweating and he’s suddenly conscious of the airless heat in the cinema, as he and Martin resolutely stare ahead, trying to ignore Len. ‘Fuckers,’ he mutters under his breath.

  ‘Shhhhh!’ says the woman in the seat behind.

  ‘Tit-Head!’

  At last the adverts come to an end and the steward sprints up towards the back seats, talking in hushed tones and shining her torch along the row, before jogging back down again and out of view. Silence passes through the theatre and the peanuts stop flying as the screen blacks over, throwing the cinema into complete darkness. Luke hears the rustle of Martin’s bag as he shifts the w
eight of his sweets from one hand to the other. A few last whispers travel around the room, before the screen fills with the silhouette of a small child, casting the ominous shadow of the cross. Luke glances at Martin. His face has that glazed-over appearance, like when he’s eating, but there’s a small smile at the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Creepy music,’ Luke whispers.

  ‘Shush,’ says Martin, in time with the woman behind.

  Luke hunches down in his seat to watch the film.

  It’s past eleven when they file out through the foyer into the muggy night beyond the theatre doors. The air has a tense quality, warm and brooding, with not a star visible in the sky.

  ‘What did you think?’ Luke asks Martin as they stroll along the shadowed pavement, having to raise his voice over the chatter of the crowd.

  Martin’s eyes sparkle with enthusiasm. ‘I don’t know what to say. Radical. Brilliant.’

  ‘Yeah, I can see what all the fuss was about now.’

  They separate from the mass, taking a shortcut through the alleyway at the side of the building to reach the car park beyond, where their scooters are parked.

  ‘What about that spike – you know, when it came down from the church – right through that guy! Genius.’

  ‘And the nanny. She was brilliant.’ Luke eases his helmet over his head and fiddles with the strap beneath his chin. ‘Can you imagine if she turned up to babysit? You’d cack yourself.’

  A peanut ricochets off the top of his helmet, bouncing up and over to land on the tarmac beside the back wheel of his bike.

  Martin pauses with his helmet held half-mast, frozen between his hands and his head.

  ‘Alright, Tit-Sisters?’ Across the car park, some way behind them, is Len Dickens, and he’s got two of his stupid mates with him, as well as the girls who joined them in the cinema.

  Luke shakes his head and turns his back on them, continuing to fasten his chin strap.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Len launches another peanut, this one skidding along the path beside Martin’s boot. ‘Cat got your tongue?’

  ‘Alright, Len.’ Luke places a hand on his scooter as if he’s about to start it up.