by Tim Roux
Strangely, Mum and Dad never really liked Cathy. They thought she was a bit snooty and were concerned that she did not really have the same artistic interests as I have. They are much more comfortable with Jade although most parents would have had a go at me for cradle-snatching and suggested that she wasn’t really my intellectual equal (meaning that I was using a virtual minor to practise my perversions on). My mum and dad never thought that or, if they did, never said so. It was evident even from the first time they met her that they felt much warmer towards her because they immediately started teasing her, and me, about whether she was good with zimmer frames. Jade hadn’t a clue what zimmer frames were but she picked up on the gist of what they were saying and said that she knew all about which cakes and buns went best with dentures.
Hessle is both classier and less posh than neighbouring (more or less) Kirkella where Cathy’s parents live. Kirkella has a golf course which I think must be the basis for James Waudby’s great Hull anthem ‘Hull’s Too Good For England’. When I was about ten years old I used to go with a friend to Kirkella Golf Club to play the slot machines and even in those days I realised that you could have made coal from some of the smoky old fossils who used to perch up at the bar there trying to undo about a thousand years of historical and cultural progress.
I really like James Waudby’s Horse Guards Parade stuff too, especially ‘Her Scabby Knees Hold Her Disease’ about an affair of the flesh with a female worker in an abattoir.
Talking of the which, I got a phone call from Jerry while we were with Mum and Dad apologising for getting me into another fine mess and promising to extricate me this time. He must have got the number from Lesley and it made for a deeply uncomfortable exchange as I tried to give nothing away at my end, surrounded by my mum, my dad and Jade huddled around me a few feet away and quite possibly capable of hearing what Jerry was saying directly. Jerry has an impressively clear voice which he uses to great effect when he is singing and which he doesn’t tone down much when he is talking over the phone. I hope to God Jade didn’t pick up what he was saying although I have my suspicions that she might have done because she has been a bit funny since and asked immediately afterwards whether “that was Jerry” when I had been really careful not to mention his name.
I’m sure that Jade knows Jerry’s reputation, so his voice attached to an apology is enough to raise serious doubts about the conduct of whoever he is talking to.
Oh shit.
My parents looked worried too. I wonder what they overheard.
Chapter 13
The star to feel envious of at the moment is Abbie Lammas, or should I say ‘the award winning Abbie Lammas’ - fifteen years old, lovely girl, great live, excellent debut album and everyone’s tip for the top. Her acoustic guitar is definitely rockier than mine. The area is full of child prodigies; the sublime (not my word) Holly Taymar is another one.
What I would have given to have been a child prodigy. Not two tosses actually. It’s too much pressure. Imagine writing an amazing album at the age of fifteen and wondering whether you will ever make it to twenty. Anyway, if you happen to come across Abbie’s ‘Heartbroken’ CD, check out ‘Vampire Pain’ and ‘Zombie’ - bit of a theme going there. Then there’s ‘Hold On’ and ‘Give In’ - work that one out.
Talking of Holly Taymar, her ‘Before I Know’ CD is amazing (better word than stunning - I want to be conscious to listen to it, over and over again as it happens). She is a folky with jazzy roots and her melodies and voice are silken sweet. Waxing purple there, Jake.
Whilst I am listing off the people I know, let me give a mention to David Ward Maclean, a warrior of a Scot who decided to invade England, reached York and stopped. Not quite Derby, but there again he didn’t retreat either.
His first album ‘Acts Of Faith’ was like a very classy purgative of life - dark, very dark. His new stuff is just as classy and a lot more fun. You could and should jump up and down to it. The only decent thing to do while listening to ‘Acts Of Faith’ is to hold your head in your hands and groan along with the music. Of the new stuff, ‘Suppertime’ actually gets me dancing; ‘He Loved This Place’ celebrates one of those magic moments when you come across something totally unexpected and get carried away by the experience (it has David at his Van the Man best too); ‘Virginie’ does a tour of France (is Yorkshire no longer enough for you, then, David?); and ‘Anybody’s Dream’ is dedicated to Holly Taymar - how’s that for bringing the conversation round full circle?
Actually, David is a great poet as well as being a great songwriter, a lion of a singer, and sounds like he is backed by the Halle Orchestra even when it is only him and his six-string. Burn baby, burn.
‘Alibi’ by David Ward Maclean
You think you’ve got it all sewn up
Think you’ve nailed me to the wall
Got me on that secret lens
That puts me at the time and place
Is this meant to amuse me?
You sit there and accuse me
When you well know that I was never there.
It wasn’t me, it was another guy
Took my voice and then he stole my face
Did the job and then he let them fall
Left them lying at my old address
Your case is worse than hopeless
This alibi is faultless
We both know that I was never there.
So get me on the ID line
Holding up the number that you said
Just don’t get me turning to the side
I tell you I’ll just disappear
And no use looking for me
You will never find me
You always knew that I was never there…..
* * *
Cathy phoned up tonight to ask if I would help put the children to bed as she is not feeling well, Harry is away and her mum and dad are frightened of the dark (well, frightened of driving in the dark) - even more frightening in the dark, I would say.
“But it isn’t dark.”
“They say it will be by the time they get home again.”
Oh to have the chance to put Josh and Sam to bed in my old home.
Jade said “No problems” which was probably not the smartest of ideas but nothing seems to upset her nowadays. She has herself and her baby inside her and all the rest is a bonus apparently. I think I am going to feel very pushed out when the baby is born. I may have to make appointments, or serve her hand and foot or something.
Cathy wasn’t looking that ill when I arrived, in fact she looked like she had dressed up a bit for me. The kids were amazed to see me and I had to carry both of them for a couple of minutes tottering around the room while they hugged me. They really liked having their old dad back. Cathy was smiling from ear to ear. That used to terrify me but tonight it was nice.
It took a while to get the kids to bed. They were rushing around showing me all the toys I had never seen before - roomfuls even. Harry has really bought his way into my home but I fear that it has only ever been Cathy he has been after. Sam has gone bonkers over Barbie. Josh is into anything with monsters and with monsters who destroy monsters.
“Come on, guys. Bedtime.”
They even obeyed me. They have never done that before, not in Priory Grove, not in Victoria Ave. Mind you, it was nine-thirty and it took another hour to get them settled down. They insisted on three stories three times. I was knackered at the end of it.
Cathy was downstairs ready to hand me a glistening glass of white wine. She curled herself onto the sofa while I sat in my old chair. Well, in the old, old days, we used to both curl up on the sofa together but we had got more distant even before the incident. Looking at her, she reminded me of our first times together - it was deliberate, I guess. We didn’t speak for a while, just admired the fact that we were sitting together peaceably again going “Mmmm” every minute or two.
“This is nice,” she said finally.
“It is.”
“The children were so pl
eased to have you here.”
“It is amazing to be here.”
“What are you working on?”
Now Cathy hasn’t been interested in that topic for a very, very long time, since well before the ice age.
“I’m a bit quiet at the moment. Too much going on. I’ve been spending some time rediscovering some of your reviews for ThisisUll. They’re great reviews.”
“Thank you.” Pause. “So you’ve been thinking about me?”
“Sure.”
“I’ve been thinking about you too.”
“How are your folks - during the daylight?”
“Let’s leave them out of this conversation, shall we, Jake? I want to enjoy myself.” She thought for a second then looked me straight in the face. “They’re a pain in the arse, if you must know. Same as ever.”
My jaw must have dropped open. “Same as ever?”
“Yeah, same as ever.”
I was trying to swallow this new fact but it was proving indigestible.
“And Harry is a pain in the arse too, if you must know, and his parents too, probably, if I had ever met them.”
I twiddled my glass, not knowing what to say.
“Do you want to come to bed?”
I didn’t know how to react to that. I sort of guessed that Cathy had been building up to something monumental but it still took me by surprise when she pulled the cord on the curtain to unveil the statue of a ‘potentially reclining nude’.
I froze. The only thing I could think of was that Jade would smell her on me a mile off. How could I get round that? If had a shower or a bath afterwards, she would smell the soap on me and know that it was covering something. There would be no good reason for me to come round to Cathy’s house to wash, and she couldn’t have failed to notice that she and I were definitely getting on better. Perhaps this was Jade’s test of her and my relationship.
“Better not,” I replied although my heart sank as I said it.
Cathy smiled bravely. “OK.”
There was silence for a long while.
“Do you think that we will ever truly forgive each other?” she asked.
“I already have.”
“I’m nearly there,” she said.
“It doesn’t change our situations though.”
“Your situation. Mine is changed already. I would kick Harry out tomorrow.”
“It doesn’t change my situation then.”
“You love Jade that much? I’m happy for her. She’s a lucky woman, girl even.”
“I would have to hate her a lot to leave her five months pregnant.”
She didn’t answer that.
I had no answer to that either but I sorely wished I had.
Chapter 14
Extract from ‘Sheikhen & Stirred’ by Patricia Season
Lavinia awoke amid sumptuous satin sheets in the largest four-poster bed she had ever known.
Where was she?
The last thing she could remember was sitting in the departures lounge of Heathrow Terminal Four bound for Barbados.
Had she fainted? Was this Barbados?
It was certainly hot. Very hot.
She threw back the single gossamer sheet which was covering her to discover that she was wearing a night dress fashioned from the very best Egyptian cotton, draped around her long, elegant, tanned limbs.
She did not own an Egyptian cotton night dress. She normally wore men’s pyjamas or a man’s shirt depending on the temperature. The Hall at home could be very cold in winter.
The air smelt spicy. Somehow in Barbados she expected it to hint of bananas and pineapples. This offered something altogether more Eastern and exotic.
The room was enormous, draped in simple, billowing calico cloths against intricate Arabic-design ceramic tiles.
What was going on?
The door opened.
In walked a man (she assumed it was a man) dressed in Arabic robes and a full head dress which covered his face except for the eyes. He unwound his head dress to reveal an extraordinarily handsome thirty year old olive-sleek face and deep emotional eyes.
“Who are you? What do you want?” Lavinia demanded, already divining the answer to at least the second question.
The man did not answer her questions but proceeded to disrobe in silence.
He stood naked before her. Passing her startled eyes over his body, Lavinia could see that the man was capable of offering pleasure to quite extreme lengths.
“This will not hurt a bit,” he assured her although she had her doubts.
He was right. He was exquisite and sensuous and his skin was scented as if by Paradise.
“This has to be better than playing soft ball with the girls on the white sun-kissed beaches of Barbados,” Lavinia thought to herself.
Another man entered the room. He was shaven all over and fat and his stomach rolled right down over his midriff. He too was naked.
“I cannot take any more,” Lavinia said to herself.
“Your Excellency,” announced the newcomer in a surprisingly high-pitched voice. “The British Prime Minister, Mr. Gordon Brown, is here to see you and awaits your pleasure.”
“Tell him I must finish what I have started and that I will be with him presently,” replied the Lavinia’s lover in a calmly authoritative tone which made shivers weave their way down her spine.
“Very good, Your Excellency,” replied the eunuch.
The sheikh was as good as his word. At the end of another ravishing eternity, as it seemed to Lavinia, she did not have a single nerve ending throughout her body left untouched by ecstasy.
The sheikh eased himself off the bed athletically and replaced his clothes. “I shall be back presently,” he replied in his cultured Oxford English accent. “Please have the goodness to wait for me.”
Lavinia stretched out her body like a cat and luxuriated in sensations she had never experienced before. “That Mr. Brown,” she said to herself, “doesn’t know what pleasure is.”
It’s unbelievable what dross you have to write nowadays to make money. Kevin, I both admire you and hate you at the same time. One million quid for that. I can’t believe it. It’s the same in the music industry. “Show me your sexy body, boom, boom, boom” and they hurl money at you.
* * *
The Beverley Festival wouldn’t have us but the Galtres Festival at Crayke will. It is where we are all joining up - Jerry, Martin, Lesley, Saskia, David Ward Maclean, Holly Taymar, lots more, folk, country & western and a hog roast.
My own personal entourage is out in force too - Jade, Cathy, Josh and Sam, and Mum and Dad, then Denise, Rache, Dizzy, Sam, Paula and Chris. Worse, I can see that Bel and Nancy are here too. I have severe doubts about playing and start working up an incapacitating migraine.
“God, I feel awful,” I say.
Cathy examines me attentively. “You were fine half an hour ago.”
“It must be nerves,” I admit truthfully.
Cathy gives me a sceptical look. “Since when?”
“I always get nervous.”
“Yeah, but you don’t usually get sick. What’s up?” She grins. “Who is she then?”
“Who is what?”
“Who are you avoiding?”
“I am not avoiding anyone. I am just feeling rough.”
Cathy has got Jade’s attention. “What is Cathy on about?”
“How would I know?”
Cathy shrugs. Jade’s expression lingers on me while Mum and Dad shuffle uncomfortably hoping that the evil wind will pass.
I am just about to go off and announce to the festival officials that I have been suddenly struck down with a mysterious and violent affliction when I hear Lesley announce over the microphone “I am going to sing my next song with Jake Pembleton. Jitterbug.”
What?!
“Come on, Jake, wherever you are.”
People are looking around and soon find me. “Go on, Jake old son. You’re on.”
There is nobody for me to explain to
that I am too ill to play. I have to grin and bear it. I clamber onto the stage clutching my guitar.
“The very wonderful Jake Pembleton, ladies and gentlemen. You remember ‘Jitterbug’, don’t you Jake?”
Lesley has an evil sense of humour sometimes. “Intimately,” I reply. “The main thrust of it anyway.”
Lesley turns crouching to the microphone. “Well let’s do it, then.”
Raucous real ale and scrumpy soaked roars from the crowd. “Let’s do it, Jake,” screams Rache to general amusement.
“Again, again,” scream Bel and Nancy.
“He hasn’t done anything yet,” a wag in the crowd bellows out.
“Don’t you believe it mate,” Bel comes back relentlessly. “A right stallion that one.”
Now I really want to puke. I look quickly round for Jade and Cathy but I cannot immediately spot either of them.
Lesley turns to me away from the mike. “Do you want to do ‘Burning Bridges’ instead?” she jibes acidly.
“Do it?” I reply. “I’m living it.”
“Well, I did warn you.”
I must be an old pro because I managed to get through the song without mucking it up.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the excellent Jake Pembleton.”
Now to face the music.
I cannot find Jade or Cathy and the children. Finally I bump into my mum and dad.
“Where is everybody?” I ask. “I can’t find them.”
“They’ve gone home,” says Dad. “In a bit of a huff, like.”