by Terry Tyler
By the end of the first week, they were in love.
Proper love, not just lust and fun. Dave was a kind person, too; for Janice, that was one of the most important things of all.
Janice had been brought up by her mother, Linda, and her grandmother, Evelyn. Evelyn was a second mother to her; she'd taken care of her when she was small, while Linda was out at work to support them all. But now Evelyn was eighty-five, and in a care home; four years before, she'd shown the first frightening signs of Alzheimer's Disease.
Dave got on well with both Linda and Evelyn. Once Evelyn became incapacitated by that terrible condition, he was the one person who could be relied upon to lighten its impact on all of them. When Evelyn was distressed, confused, claiming she didn't know who Janice and Linda were, asking over and over to be taken home even though she was sitting in her favourite armchair in the house she'd shared with her daughter for twenty-five years, Dave would jog her memory, make her laugh.
"You know Janice, you daft old bat!" he'd say, putting his arm around her and showing her pictures of Janice when she was a child. "She's the one who always had muddy knees, and wet her knickers when you took her to Madame Tussaud's, remember?"
And Evelyn would smile, and start talking about that day out, when Janice was just eight years old.
When her condition worsened, she started to go 'on walkabout' if she wasn't watched at all times, and Dave would go out in the car to look for her. He told Linda to call him, day or night, if she needed help, and he meant it. Even now, he still went with Janice to Fenland Lodge to visit Evelyn, and her grandmother's face always lit up when she saw him. Yes, although Dave found it hard to separate dreams from reality most of the time, his heart was in the right place, which was one of the reasons she'd wanted him to be the father of her child.
Harley hadn't really been an accident, though Dave believed otherwise, to this day.
Once he was born - the birth being so miraculous that both she and Dave burst into tears of wonder and delight - they settled down into their new home on Greyfriars Council Estate, which wasn't too bad as council states in Fennington went. Not too rough, a larger ratio of respectable owner-occupiers to drug dealers. Dave had seemed so happy at first. He even took the decision to sell his beloved Suzuki Bandit and buy a family car; he'd settled down into cosy domesticity and relinquished all those juvenile yearnings about becoming a rock star - or so she'd thought.
Until Critical Mass.
She pondered on an almost hourly basis whether she'd done the right thing. Should she just bite the bullet, ask him to come back? The way things were, they were not together but not apart. She certainly wasn't thinking about moving on, maybe one day looking for a new relationship, and she hoped he wasn't either; they'd talked, only a month or so ago, about him moving back in at some point.
But not yet.
Just when he'd seemed to be taking some notice of what she'd said - making sure of regular work all through the winter, actually taking part in proper father-son activities instead of just visiting, getting Harley thoroughly excited and worked up, and then disappearing - he'd come up with this big idea about a new band. Apparently he, Shane and Ritchie, and some drummer bloke with a stupid name, were going to dress up as Vikings. Ludicrous. Dave had played her a couple of the songs he'd written, and they were quite good; at least it was proper music, not like that horrible thrash stuff he'd played with Critical Mass, but she couldn't see them becoming the rock classics Dave pictured.
"This is the one!" he kept saying. "It was like the idea just exploded in my head, you know? Like the Big Bang! It's my time, now, I can feel it in my bones!"
Now he'd taken all this rock star stuff out of storage for a second airing, she knew it would be Critical Mass all over again. Late nights, getting drunk, band practice taking precedence over her and Harley, flirting with the girls in the audience, letting her down at the last minute because he'd got a gig - and, no doubt, becoming so obsessed with his idea of himself as a musician that he sometimes didn't turn up for work on Monday, or Friday, thus pissing off Phil Wiseman, big style.
She could see it all happening, just the same as before.
During Dave's bout of depression following his expulsion from Critical Mass, Phil Wiseman had got so fed up with Dave letting him down that he'd dumped him, and found another labourer. Said Dave was a good guy and a good worker, but he needed someone who'd be there at seven-thirty every morning, without fail. A lot of pleading on Janice's part was required before Phil reconsidered. But those three months on the dole had taken their toll; it wasn't just the lack of money at the time, but the fact that the Working Tax Credit and all the rest of it had to be re-assessed once he was back working again, and everyone knew that the Department of Work and Pensions always took at least three months to get their act together. While Dave had been handing his dole money over the bar of The Romany, Janice had to borrow just to make ends meet, and she wasn't able to start making repayments until some time later. It had been a dark time, and recovering from the resulting debt had seemed like an impossible task. Okay, they were straight, now, but Dave just didn't understand. Yes, he was truly sorry about everything he'd put her through, but that didn't make up for all the worry and despair she'd suffered while he was wallowing in self-indulgence.
She'd allowed the resentment to fester inside, unspoken, until one evening when he went for a Friday night 'after work' drink and didn't come home until nine o'clock. Usually she just accepted such behaviour; she knew men needed to be with men, that Dave worked hard all week, blah blah blah, and she prided herself on not being a nag - but on that night she was particularly tired after a busy afternoon in the cafe, Harley was particularly fractious, and something inside her just snapped.
Dave had been surprised and very upset but compliant; she'd been stubborn and unwilling to talk; he packed his bags and went that very night.
That night she felt resolute, certain, but she began to have doubts as soon as she awoke the next day.
What a pity she still loved him so much.
If only he could harness all his positive qualities, and stop being such an immature idiot. But then, as Dave sometimes said, "if my aunt had balls she'd be my uncle." If they were going to be happy together, in the future, she had to accept how he was, not how she'd like him to be. She knew that; it was her part of the deal. Now, what about his?
On Thursday night, when Dave had been round, he'd been so busy talking about his new band that he hadn't even asked her how she was. She wanted to talk to him about her latest visit to see her grandmother; Evelyn had become quite aggressive about not being allowed to go home, upsetting her mother, but Janice suspected that, as a topic of conversation, her family problems would come a poor second to Dave's evangelistic monologue about his rock 'n' roll future.
He hadn't kissed her when he left, either. She worried, these days, that he might not fancy her anymore. Even since she'd chucked him out they'd still slept together on a fairly regular basis but, now she thought about it, over the last month or so it had only been at her instigation.
Dave said he might pop round later that night; he was just going out for a few beers 'early doors' with Shane, but Shane and Ritchie were going to see some punk band later that Dave said 'didn't float his boat'. He'd stay over, he said, then they could both take Harley to the park in the morning.
Perhaps she should make a special effort. Make Dave feel a bit special. Make it like a 'date night'.
"Get some candles and some massage oil!" said her friend Carolyn, when she discussed it with her that afternoon. "Pack Harley off to bed and make it dead romantic!"
No, that wouldn't work. She'd tried the candlelight and soft music thing once before, after reading a magazine article about putting the sizzle back into your relationship. Dave had turned all the lights on because he couldn't see to read the TV Quick magazine, and asked her to turn the music off because he wanted to watch telly and couldn't stand that bloody Katie Melua woman, anyway.
> But maybe she could get some beers in, and put on some of that sexy underwear he'd bought her years ago. No, she wouldn't be able to get into it. She'd put on two stone since Harley was born. She wasn't fat, because she'd been very slim before, but she was certainly curvaceous these days. Dave said he didn't mind at all, but maybe he did, really. The underwear had been size ten, and she was a size fourteen, now. But she'd got a black silky nightie thing, she could wear that, with the turquoise silk kimono he'd bought her one Christmas - an alluring alternative to her usual t-shirt and shorts sets, seven ninety-nine from Home Bargains.
While Harley was stuck into 'Ice Age' she whizzed around the bedroom, changing the sheets and plumping up pillows, opening windows. She'd get Harley off to bed early, have a bath using all the smelly stuff she could find, use some of that body lotion that gave you a bit of a tan, too. She'd wash her hair and dry it with care - perhaps, eventually, she'd grow it back into that smart bob Dave had liked so much when they were first together. A spray of the Eau de Prada he'd bought her last Christmas, and a bit of make-up, too. Maybe if she behaved more like a girlfriend and less like a wife, Dave might behave more like a husband. Not how it should be, but, alas, that was probably how it was.
She might be the mother of his beloved son, and he'd never said anything to make her feel she was being compared and found wanting, but always in the back of her mind was the knowledge that she was the successor to the glorious Alison Swan.
When Dave came round tonight, an incense stick would be burning and she would have a DVD ready for them to watch. Not one of her favourite crime thrillers, or anything soppy and girly - one of those things that Dave liked. 'Saw', perhaps. Hardly romantic, but Dave did love a bit of blood and guts. She'd curl up on the sofa in her slinky outfit, open a bottle of wine for herself, and greet him with a big smile and a beer. Like a girlfriend, not a wife.
***
"The Scum City gig has been cancelled," Shane said. "We're going up The Bandstand to see Loaded 44. You coming?"
"Oh, shit," said Dave. "Yeah, I want to see them. Bollocks, I told Janice I'd go round tonight. I was going to, like, stay over so I could take Harley out in the morning."
"Got you right under the thumb, ain't she?" said Ritchie, into his beer. "Hardly worth moving out, was it?"
"No, she hasn't got me under the thumb," Dave said. Christ, but he felt like thumping Ritchie sometimes. "Harley's my son. Wanting to take my son out doesn't constitute being under the thumb. Janice is his mother, so we take him out together. They come first."
"Yeah? Next thing, you'll be saying you don't want to do the band after all," Ritchie said. "Well, she got right arsey when you were in Critical Mass, didn't she?"
"No, I got right arsey when I was in Critical Mass," Dave said. "I let her down. I'm going to do it right this time, like, make sure I still give her proper support with the boy, however big Thor gets."
"And Thor's going to hit the stratosphere!" said Shane, and laughed. "Whoo-hoo!" He slapped his thigh, and turned to lean on the bar. "Same again all round, Tina, love, and one for yourself. Hey, you going to come and support us when we're playing, sweetheart?"
"Course I am," said the pudgy faced Tina, she of the extensive facial piercing, enormous tits and, according to Shane, a 'shaven haven'. Dave didn't think there had ever been a barmaid working in The Romany with whom Shane had not been on intimate terms. Dave didn't know how he did it; or, these days, why. Sure, he'd had his fun since he and Janice had split up, but it wasn't the same as when he was younger; it just seemed a bit empty if there wasn't some sort of connection with the person, and he always felt guilty, now, if the girl wanted more than just a one-nighter and he didn't.
"So, you coming up The Bandstand, then?" Shane said, handing him his pint.
"I want to," said Dave, and took a sip. He didn't know what to do; it wasn't only that he genuinely wanted to see Loaded 44. Every time he went out, these days, he thought, maybe I'll see Alison. Ariel. Maybe she's already come back. Loaded 44 were just the sort of band they would have gone to see together, way back then.
"Send Jan a text, tell her you'll be a bit late," said Shane.
"Nah, you don't want to do that," said Ritchie. "It'll be Earache Central if she thinks you're going out on the piss instead of going round to see her. That was what got you chucked out in the first place, wasn't it?"
"Well, no, it wasn't quite that simple," said Dave. He reckoned he understood some of the reasons for his expulsion from Greyfriars Estate, though he wasn't about to start explaining them to Ritchie. "I'll just come and see the first set. I can be round hers by ten."
"Bet you stay 'til closing," said Shane.
"Bet I don't," said Dave.
At a quarter to midnight, Dave let himself into number twenty-seven, Woodstock Close, Greyfriars Estate. The lights were still on; good, Janice was still up. He hadn't warned her he'd be late but he thought he'd got away with it, because he'd checked his phone a couple of times throughout the night and there was no sarky text message asking where the hell he'd got to.
He found her in the dimly lit living room, lying on the sofa. She was wearing some sort of silky thing, with that kimono he'd bought her years ago. Nice! The effect was marred somewhat, though, by the thick woolly socks she wore on her feet. Janice always got cold feet. Sweet.
"Look, I'm sorry I'm late, don't be mad at me," he said, as he switched the main light on. Then he laughed.
Janice was fast asleep, with her mouth open; an empty bottle of Blossom Hill stood on the table. The television was still on, though the screen was blank. Dave picked up the DVD case. 'Saw III'. Pity, he wouldn't have minded seeing that.
Dave took off his leather jacket, kicked off his boots, and, carefully, so as not to wake her, picked Janice up; he would carry her upstairs, bless her. She stirred as he lifted her, and snuggled her face into his shoulder. She smelled of perfume, and she had some make-up on. That wasn't like Jan, not unless she was going out. Perhaps she'd had a mate round, or something.
As he carried her towards the living room door she stirred again, and wound an arm around his neck.
"I love you," she said, still half asleep.
Dave didn't know why, but hearing her say that made him feel very, very sad.
CHAPTER THREE
Four weeks later
The Vikings had landed!
The first Saturday in October, at The Bandstand.
Their first gig.
Dave had wanted this to take place in The Romany, where they would be assured of a good reception from their mates, but Ritchie put his foot down.
"You've got to be joking," he said. "I'm not standing at the bar dressed up in a fur rug and a skirt in front of the people I've been drinking with at lunch time. I'd feel a right pillock."
"Aye, you big soft Jessie! Isn't he, Dave?" said Boz, nudging Dave in the ribs. "I've got to wear this helmet with two geet big horns sticking out of the sides! I don't give a monkey's what people think."
Dave liked Boz; he'd turned out to be a very cool, laid-back sort of guy, a professional. He would wear and do whatever the gig required, without bitching about it, unlike Ritchie.
"Hmm, I'm with Ritchie, I'm afraid, Dave, mate. I'd rather play our local when we're a bit more, like, established," said Shane. "It's not the gear - I think I look pretty fucking red hot, actually - it's just that if we totally bomb we'll lose all our cred and I'll never get laid again, apart from pity shags."
Shane's sex life aside, Dave could see his point.
Dave had booked the spot at The Bandstand well in advance; choosing the first Saturday in the month was pretty clever of him, he thought; people would be out and about, with money to spend, if they'd just been paid. He'd considered setting the date in good time important, too, for band morale; if they had to get ten songs good and tight in time for the gig, there would be no mucking around, no skiving band practice. He'd worked hard with Shane's sister, Zoe, to organise their stage gear. No, they weren't wearing 'fur
rugs and skirts'. Zoe had fashioned authentic looking animal skin waistcoats, to be worn with heavy brown tunics, and brown boots made out of a soft leather-look fabric. When they tried the clothes on, though, he understood what Shane meant about Ritchie's skinny white legs.
Shane wanted to go bare legged to show off his heavily muscled, bronzed thighs, but a vote was cast and it was agreed that brown leg coverings, in the same material as the tunics, would be the order of the day.
"It's more, like, authentic, anyway," Dave told the disappointed Shane. He'd been using the word 'authentic' a lot whilst the costumes were being made. "We've got to look like real Vikings, not like we're going to a fancy dress party." Even though Boz's helmet had, in fact, been purchased from a fancy dress shop.
Sitting at the side of the stage, now, five minutes before they were due to start, Dave was stricken with spasms of insecurity. He'd never felt like this before; when he was fronting Critical Mass he just went out there and did his stuff; he looked forward to going on and never suffered from nerves. This time it was different. Thor was his idea, his baby, his creation. They were opening with 'Valhalla', his song. They'd spent all afternoon doing the final run through, the sound checks, but what if it he messed up? Forgot the words, broke a guitar string?
He thought he might actually be sick.
What if everyone laughed at him?
What if they got booed off stage, like at the last Critical Mass gig?
"Howay, man, get a grip," said Boz, adjusting his Viking helmet, "this is rock and roll, not a funeral!"
To Dave's relief, Boz leapt onto the stage, amid beery cheers and good natured laughter.
"Hello, Wembley!" he shouted, and everyone in the room - all seventy or so of them - cheered again. "We're Thor, and we're about to invade your ears!" He twirled one of his drumsticks round. "Let's rock!"
