Nature and Necessity

by Tariq Goddard

  Observing Esther’s return, Petula, who had offered a brief interpretation of what had occurred to a small group, including Regan, stressing Jazzy’s resentment of the humiliation of waitering, the part of his motivation that she guessed would attract least sympathy in those he was due to wait on, called, ‘Bloody hell, did he wallop you?’

  Esther had lost her belt of pearls and the seam of her grassstained dress was torn, exposing a tusk-white leg and grazed knee.

  ‘God no, nothing like that, I fell trying to catch up.’

  ‘What for? Couldn’t you work out he’s bog-brush mad?’

  ‘I thought it best to calm him down. I hate leaving anyone like that, in the state he was in.’

  ‘I prefer people who quietly give in to their tears, obviously taking no pleasure in them, than those who theatrically proclaim their arrival with a shift in their being,’ proclaimed Eager grandly. ‘What an indulged boy he is.’

  ‘Don’t be so stuck-up and inhuman, he’s just a child!’

  ‘Did you stop to see the state he left me in?’ Tinwood protested, applying a napkin with unnecessary vigour to the tiny cut on his head, to force a bit more blood out, and biting into a little pill he held under his thumb. ‘Did the poor lad say why he decided to pick on me as the sacrificial lamb? Or was I just sat in the wrong place, at the wrong time?’

  ‘You must have reminded him of someone he doesn’t like,’ said Eager.

  ‘No, I wasn’t playing the role of policeman, that’s the last thing he needed,’ replied Esther, ‘he wanted to let it all out, cry I mean, he’s at a difficult age I think, the whole world against him, you know. He feels out-of-place and out-of-sorts.’

  ‘You’re telling me!’ sighed Tinwood, secretly delighted at how well his luck had held out, his secrets safe. ‘Tell that to my poor bloody head!’

  ‘Oh you’ve survived worse Tim.’

  ‘Easy for you to say, you’re not the one who nearly had their brains dashed in! You honestly seem to think I’m bulletproof, you say anything you like to me, and I’m not meant to feel a thing, but a yobbo can assault me before all and sundry and all anyone cares about is what society has done to alienate the delinquent prick!’

  Despairing of the postmortem, which sounded like the amplified buzzing of a telephone left off the hook, but might have been a pair of flies making love, she was undecided – the lSD having skewered her hearing – Petula clutched her daughter by the arm and said with what authority the night had left her, ‘Everything in this life seems so definite, except why we’re here, or how we got here, I don’t know what to do about it anymore…’ She stopped herself mid-sentence, rinsed and exhausted. ‘Please at least tell me you’re happy, that there’s some point to this debacle of an evening.’

  ‘I beg your pardon Mummy?’

  ‘Happy?’

  ‘Yes, yes I am.’

  ‘Good… in that case, the music, what about that?’

  ‘He’s here.’

  ‘Just get it started. You’d may as well. There’s bugger-all else to fall back on.’

  ‘Now? It’s a bit early still.’

  ‘Is it? Why, what’s the time?’

  ‘Only just gone nine-thirty.’

  ‘Jesus! Is that all… I feel that tonight has lasted all my life. No, I mean I’ve been alive for all my life… Balls, help me, what was I saying?’

  ‘Music.’

  ‘Right, okay. Tell the band to start. Dinner’s a complete wash-out. Apparently the cake has already been attacked by those hounds, nothing left of it. And no other pudding. Best get this over with, throw everything that’s left at the wall and see what sticks. Bring the band on, wherever they are, if they know any old numbers they might even raise a smile from our poor, poor friends. Our true ones, the only ones I should have ever thought of… Sorry, I’m rambling. What is it? Why are you looking at me like that? What have I said now?’

  ‘Um.’

  ‘Um what?’

  ‘I don’t know where you got this band idea from Mum.’ ‘What are you talking about? Didn’t I give you several hundred pounds to sort out a band, wasn’t that the only thing you had to do? You asked to do it yourself for God’s sake, this can’t be my fault too!’

  ‘You didn’t say band Mummy, you said music.’

  ‘What are you playing games for? Music? Band? Same bloody difference. Don’t split hairs. Where are they?’

  ‘No Mummy, remember, I told you I hired a DJ, there is no band, we’re having a DJ, that’s him setting up his decks now.’

  ‘A discjockey?’

  ‘A DJ, Mum.’

  ‘Is that what I paid an arm and leg for to come all the way over from Majorca or wherever it was, a disc jockey? Some joker putting on records? You know in total it cost me more than booking David Essex for your father’s fortieth! Tell me you’re joking, please! There is a limit you know Regan.’

  ‘Not Majorca, Mummy, Zer0 has flown over from Ibiza and…’ ‘Zero? As in naught, nothing, oh, for God’s sake, don’t you do this to me too. I thought you had brains. The sushi was bad enough, but you’re either being taken or taking me for a proper mug. Tell him to clear off, it’d be better to have an absence than a con man laugh at us.’

  ‘Mummy, please.’

  ‘I mean, couldn’t you find someone a little closer to home, Ripon or Darlington, it’s not like he has anything to do except stand there all night. You don’t have to be Roger Daltrey for that. It would have been cheaper to get a jukebox in.’

  ‘Mummy, please don’t. Look, I really want this to work. And I explained everything before, don’t you remember? Zer0 is a different type of DJ, not one that stands around at weddings taking requests, we’re really lucky to get him, he’s part of this new style, a different type of music, he doesn’t just put on records, he mixes them up, it’s as hard as being a proper musician… more difficult actually.’

  ‘Come on. Spare me the hype.’

  ‘No, I mean it, he expresses his feelings and makes up his own sounds using old records, but they don’t sound old, it’s harder than being in a band because he’s on his own and doing something completely new and original without help. He’s an innovator.’

  ‘My, aren’t you the little convert, where was I looking when all this was going on? Obviously not in the same discos as you.’

  ‘I’ve liked this kind of music for ages Mummy, well, since I first heard it, really, you’ll be surprised. It’s really good.’

  ‘Surprised? Don’t worry about that. I already am. And at you most of all!’ Petula surveyed the slightly emaciated hunchback in baggy jeans, a hooded top and ludicrously greasy ponytail, struggling with a heavy case of records, who for all his surface anonymity still exuded the lazy authority of one who knew what he was doing.

  ‘So that’s your Zer0. You know we had all this in the Seventies with Saturday Night Fever and Studio 54. There’s nothing new under the sun. He reminds me of a ticket tout. Perhaps I should applaud him for his career change. At least the Bee Gees and Nile Rogers looked the part. I suppose he hasn’t made a nuisance out of himself, though for the life of me, I don’t know what you could possibly see in him, he’s… most unprepossessing.’

  ‘The actors are prepossessing Mummy, and look how they turned out.’

  ‘There’s no need to be sarcastic, for God’s sake, I only invited them for you and that’s how you thank me…’ Petula checked herself. Anger was clearing her head but there would be time for that later; there would be time for everything later, she must simply get to the end of the evening first, and defer her comeback to a better day. Tactical delegation was what this wobbly juncture called for. ‘We’ve paid for him so he may as well do his thing, whatever that thing is. Those tables, they’ll need moving too. That’s all there is left for it. From here on I bow out, I did my best, whatever you may think…’

  ‘I know you have Mummy, you know I do. I’m sorry everything has been so…’

  ‘Yes, yes. I did everything I could with what I h
ad, it’s up to you now. So go, and good luck, it’s thankless out there, absolutely thankless.’

  ‘Mummy, I…’

  It was too late, like a fading chanteuse who had been coaxed out of retirement one last time only to find she could not face it anymore, Petula turned her back on her daughter and retreated to her table falteringly.

  ‘It’s in your hands now darling, your hands now…’

  ‘Game over Petula?’ asked Tinwood, happily puffing on a cigar, ‘surely too early to turn in?’

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ she replied, ‘I’ve tried everything else. Except I’m not in the slightest bit sleepy, even though I’m too tired to walk and have almost no control over what’s coming out of my mouth. Or going on in my head, although that has a got a little bit better in the last few minutes. That said, I really think I can put my finger on it and say that I have never felt worse than I have tonight. So thank you for all your help, you were most invaluable in dragging the world as I’ve known it down around me.’

  ‘Not again Petula, I thought you were perking up!’

  ‘Really? When was that exactly?’

  ‘Please, don’t be like that, it hasn’t been all that bad, listen, you know what you could use, I’ve got just the thing, a little friend that could give you a lift.’

  ‘Not on your life! I’ve had it with your suggestions thank you very much! You and I are through after tonight Tim, I mean it. This has been too awful. I want no more of you. No more.’

  ‘What did I do? Seriously, I’ve got just the thing for you, I swear, without a few of these I’d be as low as you are…’

  ‘I’m not low!’

  ‘Alright, alright, I didn’t mean low, I just meant down, I mean tired, but these pills’ – Tinwood reached into his pocket and pulled out a cellophane bag that contained what looked like small aspirin tablets – ‘they’ve kept me up. And I don’t only mean up, I mean up, up and away, high as you like and no complications, just on it.’

  ‘That’s your secret is it? I thought it was that you were just a selfish shit who didn’t care whose life he turned up in to fart all over.’

  Tinwood threw his head back and laughed, ‘No one grows up wanting to be Satan! My problem is the things that make me happy seem to be the same things that make others miserable. I’ve feelings too you know, have you any idea how much money I raised for charity last year? There’s more to me than stage villainy!’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Sure, sure, I’m always the bad guy, but look at it this way, at least I’m having a good time! You want to stop being all paranoid, that’s the fault of that shit Tackleberry spiked you with, no one needs that, but these Es, they’re a totally different bag. Seriously, they just make you want to chill and be mellow, you know, dance a little, go for a little boogie and kick back… I’ve taken another after I got belted and I’m already, well, judge for yourself. I feel good.’

  ‘I suppose you do look pleased with yourself, but when don’t you? You were grinning like a moron and stoned on those things when you arrived. You’ve one of those faces.’

  Tinwood winked lopsidedly to acknowledge the closest thing to a compliment he was likely to receive, and waved the bag playfully under Petula’s nose.

  ‘Oh put it away, the last thing I need is any more drugs. Period.’

  ‘I swear! Take it from the doctor, one of these is exactly what you need right now, you’ll be back on your feet and in the control seat of the universe before you know it. It’ll completely cancel out that trippy crap you had before, you’ll be reborn, not in a heavy way, trust me, let me make it up to you, you’ve got to get on one, here. I’m taking another, we can have half each.’

  ‘Half? And what would that do?’

  ‘Try one and see!’

  ‘No, no. It’s the last thing I need. I mean, it might mix with this dreadful thing I’m already on and I might die.’

  ‘Impossible! You don’t understand drugs Petula, that’s not how they work, this one would actually work as a literal corrective to the SD. Please, it would be so good for you, and you’d make me feel a lot better. I really want to make this up to you. I want you to see I’m not the snake I let myself be made out to be. These drugs, they really help people, help them to feel beautiful and sexy and free. Seriously.’

  ‘Hmmm, well, the wound may as well be healed by the spear that caused it…’

  ‘Exactly!’

  ‘I suppose I don’t have anything to lose; here, give me a whole one, in for a penny in for a pound.’

  ‘That’s more like it!’

  Petula took the pill and swallowed it with a mouthful of flat champagne. Nothing happened though she was not expecting the heavens to open, merely the consolations of a dull sedative. She looked down at Tinwood’s knee. He was tapping it repeatedly and clicking his fingers, nearly in time, even though there was no music playing, or was there? It took her a few minutes to decide. Sound was coming from the speakers, only it did not conform to any musical notion Petula had encountered before, closer to a long whistle punctuated by drum claps and crashing cymbals – a woman moaning over the top and a piano crashing down the stairs, all that at a suffocating pace, but not music. Evidently DJ Zer0 had started his set, much to the delight of the remaining actors, who formed a circle round the small podium he had erected, and were wiggling and writhing to his strange clatterings, filling the hall with whoops of encouragement, helping the din to grow progressively harsher. For a while, how long she did not know, they sat there, ignored by the dancers who all seemed happy being left on their own to jump about badly.

  ‘Have you ever heard of this stuff before?’ Petula asked Tinwood at last. Her desire to accrue novelty had somehow been reawakened and trumped her instinctive disapproval at her house being used as a church of electronic voodoo. ‘It… it burns. It’s not like music at all, is it? There’s quite a lot to it. It’s… quite… clever… really… don’t… you… think?’

  ‘Of course, who hasn’t heard of it, it’s been playing in clubs for the last couple of summers. It’s why the kids are all wearing those smiley t-shirts.’

  ‘Right, of course…’

  ‘To be honest, it’s crap if you’re not on drugs, but we don’t need to worry on that score, I’ve another bag in my travel case.’

  ‘I’m… I’m alright with what I’ve got I think.’

  A tune buried within the main track, which could have been part of the US military’s Star Wars programme, so closely did it suggest laser attacks and interplanetary chaos, struck at Petula’s pressure points, her lower body responding positively without bothering to consult her brain or existing notions of taste. Low ripples of bass were rattling tables and chairs as if a small landslide was in progress, a plinky-plonk organ starting simultaneously with a choir of sampled orgasms, and a lone bleep holding the whole flow together, DJ Zer0 working faster than any jukebox Petula had slipped twenty pence into. In point of fact, she had never listened to anything that could change so quickly, every decision she made about what she thought of a track lagging behind its latest turn, her knees and ankles keeping abreast of where she guessed the beats might appear next, the noise entering her as might an infection.

  ‘It’s speeded-up elevator muzak, basically, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’

  ‘I like it! Really! It feels like I am standing on an earthquake…’ Tinwood had closed his eyes and was twitching his head up and down in short jerky movements, his face a reflection of the deepest bliss. To her surprise, Petula felt like she might like to experiment with the same response, her decision delayed by a familiar voice. ‘Petula, I had to come back, there was something I wanted to say to you, it was no good slinking off like that, not my style.’

  ‘Oh not now…’ Petula muttered.

  Mishearing her, Landon Trafalgar took an empty seat next to hers and, surveying the scene, which admittedly, could not be said to offer much to the uninitiated, remarked, ‘Yes, I thought you’d feel the same way, this
is going from bad to worse. It wasn’t my place to tell you what to do at your own show but I should have stood to and presented my services earlier, aye, to have offered to clear out the trash while there was still time. Instead it’s gone from bad to worse, aye, bad to bloody worse… Kick over a rock and look what crawls out: Gecarcinus quadratus – Halloween crabs.’

  Petula found herself nodding without really agreeing; it seemed easier than giving an account of her changing feelings towards these rock dwellers, especially as they were so recent and liable to further adaptation.

  ‘Can you pass a glass of water, I’m feeling thirsty.’

  Not acknowledging her request, Trafalgar continued, ‘I’ve often wondered how you’ve coped, with no man round the place, no one to take care of you as a man ought. It’s not right for a woman of your age, of your calibre. Forgive me if it’s not my place to say it, but I’ve thought it many a time, you out here on your own, that husband of yours never here. Away again is he? Yes, he’s always away, even for his own daughter’s coming-out ball. Well, it’s alright when things are working out, but what about when they’re not? You take my point, I hope? In the spirit in which I make it? Yes? Yes, there’s a sensible lass. I came back because I wanted you to know that the help you need is here, I am that help, all you have to do is give the word. Just the word, you hear? Even now.’

  Petula would have been only too ready to agree with this sombre analysis at any number of points that evening, accepting Trafalgar’s courtly offer of protection, were it not for her welcome slide into anarchic bliss, occasioned by DJ Zer0’s mix-mastering skills and, since there was no point in ruling it out, the little white pill from Tinwood’s pocket. Taken from the perspectival shifts of the last hour, Trafalgar’s return was a most unwelcome intrusion on what promised to be an interesting new experience. Petula attempted to smile meekly but her attention had moved to the music, which she now wished to get up and react to, instead of being trapped in some grim overview of her life with a man who could sober up a carnival of drunks.