Senga:
Want some of my hairspray?
Jennifer:
He doesn’t need any more smells.
Me:
Can I borrow your eyebrow tweezers?
Senga:
What for?
Me:
Get the lint out of my belly-button.
Senga:
Mum! Fergus is being disgusting!
Jennifer:
Have you brushed your teeth?
Me:
Seventeen times already. I used your toothbrush.
Jennifer:
Mum! Fergus is revolting!
At least they care.
The gymnasium has been decorated for the year ten dance, a combined effort which was fun to do with Ms Crombie supervising as well as holding the ladder while Mr Boddie climbed up to hang streamers and bunting. Sophie was in the thick of it, with Angela helping but at times letting go of her crutch, which made a loud bang on the gymnasium floor every two minutes. Lambert and I are excused from most of this and allowed to get in some more rehearsal time with Mitch. What with his gran’s recycled nineteenth century tunes, we no longer have a worry about repeating ourselves song-wise. So on the big night, we show up in our colour-coordinated T-shirts and cool black jeans, take the stage then morph into - The Stainless Steels.
Ta-ra! Drum roll and cymbals please!
There’s something about end-of-year dances and celebrations that makes you stop and take stock. You spare a second or two from the fun and games to look back on the year that has been and wonder about the journey you took - the stumbling, the faltering, the highs and lows, the bit in the middle. You think of where you were at the start and where you are now. It is a profound moment.
Before the big night, Ms Crombie warned us that it wasn’t a formal - just a year ten get-together, a local hop, a few dances, a casual, social sort of thing, then home by eleven, so we weren’t to go to a heap of trouble or expense with our outfits. The general feeling was, save it, Ms Crombie. If you want to be Drac, that’s your affair. Everyone’s smartly dressed for the dance; Sophie in particular looks bombshell in high heels, a short dress and one bare shoulder. She wears some make-up but not a lot. Good old Sally. The lipstick offer came good, then?
I’m on stage with The Stainless Steels so I can’t dance with her - but Sophie understands. Angela can’t dance anyway so they sit together for a while as we get under-way. I’m nervous until we finish the first number and everyone applauds. Lambert gives a huge sigh of relief and grins. We start the next item and this time, the nerves have gone, which is great. With confidence on your side, you take risks with the music, try out riffs and stuff you didn’t rehearse and when it works I see Lambert and Mitch give me a grin so it’s as if we have this secret language between us, sharing a joke that only we know.
The major worry is Richmond and what he’ll do, what he’ll say. He and Duncan haven’t turned up - come to that, when everyone else was decorating the gymnasium, they were both away, not that anyone minded. But then he shows up at the dance and sort of mooches into the gymnasium. He spots Sophie, looks at me and shows just the smallest flicker of a smile. Richmond moves towards her, ready to show me a thing or two.
As we play, I see Richmond bend, asking Sophie to dance. Will she or won’t she? She smiles at him, gets to her feet and they take the floor. Whew, big sigh of relief from me. I hate the idea of punishing and carrying grudges. Okay, Richmond’s been a dill, but that’s over; he knows how things stand. We piay on.
There’s a break for some food and I see Lambert fetching things for Angela. I catch up with Sophie and we sit together. Before this, I have never sat with a woman with one bare shoulder. I feel sophisticated.
‘I had a word with Mr Boddie,’ Sophie tells me.
‘What about?’
‘Oh, you’ll see.’ Sophie becomes mysterious and soon it is time for more dancing. By now, kids are calling for us and our Jurassic music by name. But Mr Boddie takes to the stage.
‘Thank you, thank you.’ He holds up his hands for shush. ‘The music’s been fantastic - but it’s only fair that the guys making it have a few dances - after all, it’s their night too.’ This brings a cheer. Sophie gives me a dig. Then we have slow music from a CD and I dance with Sophie. Angela props her crutch against a wall, leans on Lambert and they take the floor too - Angela’s idea. I see that Mitch is already dancing with Ms Crombie, Mr Boddie sitting this one out.
‘For one so young,’ I hear Ms Crombie say as she steers Mitch past us, ‘your timing is exquisite.’
‘I thought I should make a move,’ Mitch agrees.
‘I was talking of your drumming, sonny!’
But for dancing duo Fergus and Sophie, no one can get a bus ticket between them. Lambert and Angela shuffle past, sharing a joke.
‘Hope it’s not the pig with zits one,’ I whisper to Sophie.
‘How does that one go?’ she asks. I tell her the oinkment joke and Sophie shakes her head sadly. ‘Sing to me, Fergus.’ It’s not the right tune, but the tempo matches, so I give her some more of old Robert Louis:
This shall be for music, when no one else is near,
A fine song for singing, a rare song to hear,
That only I remember, that only you admire -
Sophie lifts her head and looks into my eyes. I can’t sing any more partly because I am profoundly affected but mainly because I’ve forgotten the rest. But she doesn’t know that. We dance on into the night.
Fergus McPhail Page 20