Summer of '76

by Ashdown, Isabel

  Luke stares at the slice of light that cuts over the top of the closed bedroom door. The oily swill of takeaway and wine weighs heavy in his stomach and he tries to push away his growing urge to throw up.

  ‘Mate?’ Martin sounds worried.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘It’s probably all rubbish, you know. I mean, your mum wouldn’t get involved in something like that, would she? It’s bound to be just gossip.’

  ‘Yeah. I know,’ Luke replies and he turns over to face the other wall, wincing in pain. ‘Night, mate.’

  Luke and Martin both wake with pounding heads, as the sun pours in through the front window, illuminating the tiny bubbles clinging to the sides of the half-drunk pint of water that sits on the desk. Luke summons up the strength to push himself out of bed and hobbles across the room, picking up the glass and draining it thirstily.

  ‘Jesus,’ he says, running his hands up over his face and sticking his tongue out in a grimace. ‘That wine of my mum’s is filthy.’ He eases off his stinky T-shirt and examines his bare torso; the bruises have darkened in the night, coiling around his ribs, up across his chest.

  Martin props himself up on to his elbows. ‘Does it really hurt?’ he asks.

  ‘I think this must be what it feels like when you’ve been run over. Or kicked by a camel.’

  ‘What will your folks say?’

  Luke scowls. ‘I’m not going to tell them, am I? And nor are you. Anyway, my face is fine, so they’ll be none the wiser.’

  Martin stands, nudging the sleeping bag away with a bony foot and reaching under the bed for his crumpled trousers. ‘What are you gonna do about Len?’

  ‘I won’t have to do anything. Except show Samantha this when I next see her at work. I’ll probably leave it a good few days – make sure all the bruising has a chance to come out. Let’s see if she still wants to go out with him when she’s seen his handiwork.’ He takes a good look at himself in the wardrobe mirror before pulling on a long-sleeved shirt and adjusting the collar.

  In the kitchen, they find Dad making tea and toast, whistling along to the radio, a towel slung over one shoulder. Luke goes straight to the sink, filling two glasses with water and dropping a couple of soluble aspirins into each.

  ‘Didn’t expect to see you up so early, Dad,’ he says. ‘Thought you’d still be out for the count. You were in a right state when we got back.’

  ‘People in glass houses,’ Dad replies, pointedly eyeing the fizzing aspirins.

  Martin takes his glass and sits at the table, swilling the little white pills around in circles until they soften and break up altogether. He’s got deep, dark rings beneath his eyes.

  ‘You told us to piss off,’ Luke says brightly. He scrunches up his face and punches out blindly in a mimic of his dad. ‘Uh? Uh?’ He laughs, clutching at his sides.

  ‘Judging by the state of you two, I can only assume you had more than your fair share of lemonade shandies. What did you get up to last night?’

  Luke slides on to the bench opposite Martin. ‘Went to see The Omen.’

  ‘Any good?’

  ‘Brilliant. Where’s Mum?’

  ‘In bed.’ Dad starts to lay out the tray, searching around in the cupboards for the jam.

  ‘Oh, man, that looks good.’ Luke reaches out to grab a slice of toast, but Dad repels him with a flick of the teatowel.

  ‘Make your own, you layabout. This is for your mum. Breakfast in bed.’

  ‘So what have you done wrong, then?’ The conversation with Martin about the party rumours still lurks at the edge of Luke’s thoughts; he tries to push it away.

  Dad wipes up a slop of tea from the table. ‘None of your business. But I can tell you this, lads – sometimes the easiest thing to do is just say sorry.’

  Luke straightens up in his seat, stretching his arms out in an exaggerated yawn. ‘I suppose it depends what you’ve done. Maybe sorry isn’t enough, if the crime is too big.’

  Dad frowns, picking up the tray. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Luke fixes an innocent expression on his face. ‘Nothing. I’m just saying.’ He points at the second plate of toast on the table. ‘Is that going spare?’

  ‘That’s for Kitty. Which reminds me: you’re to keep an eye on her while I go back to bed and have breakfast with your mum.’

  ‘What?’ Luke complains.

  ‘Well, it’s not as if you’ve got anything else planned, is it? Just make sure Kitty has her toast – we’ll only be an hour or so.’ He gives Luke a conclusive nod and leaves the room, calling for Kitty to come in for breakfast.

  As Dad disappears along the hallway, Luke pulls Kitty’s special chair over and pats Martin on the shoulder. ‘Sorry, man.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ Martin says as Kitty runs in through the kitchen door, waving a naked Tiny Tears over her head. He picks her up and sits her in her seat, placing the plate on the table in front of her, and rubbing the back of her head as if she were his own sister. ‘This’ll make you big and strong,’ he says, sitting down beside her with a gentle smile.

  When Luke’s parents finally get up, it’s late morning, and Luke is out on the front driveway with Kitty, waving Martin off as he scooters up the road and out of sight. Next door, Mike Michaels strides across his front garden just as Mum steps out on to the path, squinting against the bright sunlight.

  ‘Morning, Mike!’ she calls out, wandering over as Dad joins them too, slipping his hand around her shoulders and pulling her close. She has a pink-faced happiness about her. Luke just knows the rumours can’t be true.

  Mike claps his meaty hands together. ‘So, all set to come over to us today? You’re in for a treat – Diana makes a splendid Sunday lunch.’

  ‘Goodness, yes, Mike! Can’t wait!’ says Mum in her lightest, brightest voice. Luke can tell she’d completely forgotten about it.

  ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ Dad agrees.

  ‘Come over about half-twelve. You all eat beef, don’t you?’

  They both nod enthusiastically. ‘Anything we can bring?’

  ‘No, just yourselves.’ Mike rubs his hands together and powers back across his patchy lawn, as Mum and Dad rush into the house to hurriedly get ready. Kitty runs inside behind them, and Luke stops to perch on the front wall, glancing along the balding grass verges and dried hedges of Blake Avenue, as the heat of another scorching day takes hold. His memories of last night have grown surreal in the hung-over clarity of late morning; he closes his eyes to recall the lamplit glow of the darkened car park, and the cool, gentle relief of the rain as it soaked through to his skin. He squats to touch the earth that protrudes beneath the gnarly blades of yellowing verge, feeling the hard contours beneath his fingertips. The moisture is gone, sucked up as soon as it reached the ground, like drops of water on blotting paper, leaving nothing to prove it was ever there at all.

  The front door to the Michaelses’ bungalow is wide open when they arrive, and Dad knocks on the glass panel, calling out a cheery, ‘Hello!’

  Mike appears in the hallway, one hand cradling a large gin and tonic, the other outstretched. He’s wearing huge beige shorts and a matching short-sleeved shirt, and his downy legs look as if they’ve never before seen the light of day. At Mum’s insistence Dad has put his legs away for a change, and Luke can tell from his expression that he wishes he’d worn his shorts too, so that he could show off his tan.

  ‘Nice day for it,’ says Dad.

  ‘Glorious!’ shouts Mike, kissing Mum as if she’s an old friend. ‘Just like you, my dear!’

  ‘Stop it,’ she replies, clearly enjoying it.

  They follow Mike through to the kitchen at the back of the bungalow, where Diana is putting the finishing touches to a blackcurrant cheesecake. Her hair is pulled up into a high pleat, and as she turns to greet them Luke notices the tiny dark curls that lick loosely around her slender neck.

  ‘You’re here!’

  Hurriedly, she dries her hands on the teatowel and embraces Mum
, before kissing both Dad and Luke on one cheek. He feels the heat of her hand as she runs it down the length of his back; it’s brief, but the imprint remains, mingling pleasantly with the tender bruising concealed beneath his cotton shirt. Dad and Mike head off to the living room to fix up some more drinks.

  Diana hunkers down to Kitty’s height. ‘Hello, Kitty! I’ve got someone I want you meet. But she’s very tiny, so you have to be nice and quiet and gentle with her.’

  Kitty looks to Mum for approval, her eyes large dark blue discs in her face.

  Diana takes Kitty’s hand and opens the adjoining door into a small washroom, to reveal a whirring twin-tub, next to which is a small basket containing a black and white kitten. It blinks and gives a faint mewl. Kitty gasps.

  ‘Isn’t she lovely?’ asks Diana, picking up the kitten and placing her in Kitty’s outstretched arms. The cat wriggles once, and settles sleepily against her chest. ‘Now, she’s very young, so be gentle. I’ll pull the door to, so that she doesn’t escape. OK, Kitty?’

  Kitty strokes the animal, mesmerised, not appearing to notice as the door closes.

  ‘Well, that’s Kitty taken care of for the afternoon,’ says Mum, smoothing her wavy hair down with both hands. ‘What an adorable little thing!’

  Diana screws up her face, lifting the cheesecake from the worktop and sliding it into the fridge.

  ‘I didn’t really want it,’ she says, ‘but one of the girls at Mike’s office was so desperate to find homes for these cats that we couldn’t really say no. It’s all a bit of a bother really, and Mike’s not the one who has to clear up after it. I don’t know how I’ll cope if she starts bringing mice in.’ She notices Mum’s blank expression and releases a pretty little laugh. ‘Sorry, I’m going on, aren’t I?’

  Luke shifts from one foot to the other, unsure whether he should join the men in the living room or stay here with Mum. He smiles at Diana. She’s wearing a smocked white blouse which criss-crosses tightly over her chest, puffing up into sheer white cotton where a half-inch dip between her breasts is clearly visible. ‘I like your top,’ he says, blushing instantly.

  Diana’s jaw drops in pleasure. She reaches out to brush the skin beside his ear. ‘What a lovely boy you are, Luke! Gosh, if all lads your age were the same – well, the world would be a better place.’

  Mum smiles at him proudly. ‘He’s not so bad, are you?’

  Just when Luke thinks it can’t get any worse, the men return with the drinks and Mum says, ‘And can you believe it, Di, he hasn’t even got a girlfriend?’

  Dad sniffs back a chuckle and hands Luke a scotch and ice. He takes a sip and tries to look as if he drinks it all the time.

  ‘Is that right?’ booms Mike. ‘Unbelievable. Good-looking chap like you.’

  Luke takes another swig of his drink, willing his redness to fade quickly.

  ‘Not like our Thomas, eh, Di?’ says Mike proudly. ‘He’s always got some young thing on the go.’

  ‘Hmm,’ replies Diana, undoing the ties of her waist apron and hanging it up on the back of the door. ‘I’m not so sure I’d want my daughter going out with Tom, though. If I had one. I don’t think he’s always very nice to his girlfriends.’

  ‘Nonsense! He’s young – no point getting yourself tied down at eighteen, is there? Plenty of fish in the sea, and all that.’

  In the dining room, Diana has laid the table out as if it’s a formal dinner, with strands of real ivy draped around the silver candelabra centrepiece. Mike strides over to the seat at the head of the table, indicating where everyone should sit, so that he ends up with Mum and Diana to either side of him.

  ‘Diana, it looks beautiful!’ says Mum, running the flat of her hand down her simple lemon dress.

  Mike stretches round to pull out a chair for her. ‘Di always goes a bit over the top. Habit. These corporate wives, you know?’

  ‘Wish I did!’ says Dad, taking a seat on the other side of Diana, opposite Luke. ‘Teachers’ wives don’t measure up in quite the same way, I’m afraid to say.’

  ‘Hey!’ Mum laughs, draining her gin and tonic. ‘I wasn’t always a teacher’s wife. Remember, I was once a teacher too, which made you a teacher’s husband.’

  ‘Were you?’ asks Diana. ‘Were you really? Gosh, aren’t you clever?’

  ‘What, to be a teacher? Not really!’

  ‘Subject?’ Mike asks, grunting as he pulls the cork from a bottle of white wine.

  ‘English.’

  ‘Girls or boys?’

  ‘Mixed.’

  ‘Hmm. Very good. But of course you had to give it up when you had children?’ He passes her a large glass of white wine.

  Mum goes to answer, but he cuts her off before she can speak.

  ‘And what about you, young man? What are your ambitions?’

  Luke is startled; he’d thought he was safe from conversation for a while. His eyes follow Diana as she leaves the room to check on the lunch. ‘Me? I’m off to poly in September.’

  Mike hands him an even larger glass of wine. ‘Of course. But what are you reading? What’s your subject?’

  Luke glances at Mum, across the table from him, as she fiddles with the edge of her rattan place mat, tugging at a loose thread. One of her eyebrows is slightly arched.

  ‘English,’ Luke replies. ‘Like Mum.’

  ‘Right. And is that a very employable subject? What do you plan to do with it, once you’re done with further education?’

  Whenever he’s speaking, Luke notices, Mike never maintains continuous eye contact. At all times he’s pouring wine, tucking his shirt under his big belly, checking that everyone’s got what they need around the room. He takes a clean handkerchief from his pocket and mops his shiny head where the sun is pouring in through the sparkling windows.

  Mike glances at Luke, who’s staring at his sunlit bald patch. ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Oh. I’m not sure really,’ Luke replies vaguely, running his hand through his hair.

  Mum’s social voice rears up, light and bright. ‘He’s only seventeen! Let him have a bit of fun first. He doesn’t need to think about all that dull grown-up stuff just yet.’

  Luke nods his head in agreement. ‘Yeah, I haven’t really thought that far ahead.’

  ‘Well, you must!’ Mike turns to Dad. ‘Isn’t that right, Richard? It’s tough out there – unemployment’s rife, the political climate is a bloody disaster, and by the time you graduate it’ll be survival of the fittest. Mark my words, Luke. You need to get your ducks in a row if you’re to be a success in this world.’

  Luke hasn’t a clue what he’s talking about. He glances at Dad, who nods gravely in Mike’s direction.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking, Luke,’ Mike says, stretching across to top up his still half-full wine glass. ‘You’re thinking, what’s this old man telling me all this for? What do I care? I’m young – I’ve got my whole life ahead of me. Am I right?’

  Luke listens politely, trying to resist the temptation to fiddle with his cutlery.

  ‘I’m right!’ Mike roars. ‘Ha!’

  He slaps his palm down hard on the tabletop. Mum jumps in her seat and lets out a little shriek. She lowers her eyes and brings her hand up to cover her smile.

  ‘I’m right! Listen, we can all remember the three-day week, can’t we? A disaster! We’ve had the unions rising up around us, unsettling the workers. Strikes – power cuts! I mean, the candle industry never had it so good!’ He roars at his own joke. ‘Inflation – at an all-time high! Immigration – out of control! That’s why we need young men like you, and my boy Thomas, to be planning your futures now. We’re all relying on it!’

  He peers around the table for agreement, his eyes bulging, his face now a deep red colour. When no one answers he lunges across the table to refill Dad’s glass, huffing and puffing as his backside returns to his seat. Mum and Luke connect briefly; he quickly averts his gaze and bites down on his bottom lip.

  ‘And don’t even get me started on the madness
of the Equal Pay Act! Who do these lefties think has to pay for it? Industry pays, that’s who. You and I pay; that’s who. Equal pay means fewer jobs available all round. Fewer jobs means greater unemployment. Greater unemployment means less spending. Less spending means businesses go under. And on and on and on it goes. Whatever next? A woman at Number Ten if the Conservatives get in! We’re stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea.’ He exhales, and pours himself another glass of wine, slumping against his chair back, exhausted.

  Mum pushes out her chair, wincing as its legs scrape loudly across the parquet floor. ‘I’ll just see if Diana needs a hand,’ she says, and she slips from the room, leaving the three men sitting around the table in silence.

  ‘So,’ says Dad after an uncomfortable minute has passed.

  Mike holds up his hand and stands, to stop Dad in his flow. ‘Back in a mo,’ he says, bringing his handkerchief out again, clutching it tightly. He leaves the room through the other door.

  Luke lifts his glass to his lips and takes a long drink, arching back in his seat to check there’s no one beyond the doorway, before pulling a baffled face at Dad. ‘What the hell was that all about? I think he might be a bit – you know?’ He taps the side of his head, and lets his tongue loll from the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Shh!’ Dad replies, grimacing.

  ‘Where d’you think he’s gone?’

  ‘Toilet?’

  ‘Maybe. Do you think we should tell Diana?’

  ‘Don’t be daft, Luke. We’re guests.’

  ‘Yeah, but he might be having a heart attack or something?’

  ‘Of course he’s not! He just got a bit worked up.’ Dad lowers his voice further. ‘Just check he’s not on the other side of the door.’

  Luke tiptoes over to the doorway and peers round it. ‘Nope.’ As he returns to his seat, he spots Mike through the glass in the back garden. ‘Look!’ he hisses, indicating to Dad to turn and look outside.

  Beyond the glass, Mike is strolling around the edge of the long garden, taking deep drags on a cigarette, blowing the smoke into the branches of the Wolffs’ overhanging tree. His skin has returned to a normal colour now, but he appears to be muttering to himself.