by Ali McNamara
I think of Walter Maxwell back at EMI House; that’s just what he said to me. All these lonely people living like this in the wrong time zone – it’s very sad. But as much as I want to return to 2013, to continue living my life and not someone else’s, it isn’t because I’m lonely here in 1977, or even that I was lonely in 1963. Quite the opposite, in fact. I’ve probably been more ‘social’ during the time I’ve been travelling than when I was at home. Back there I was always working and, even though I was in a busy office, I spent much of that time alone. But I miss the familiarity of my life; my family, and the few friends I have – however much I might have neglected them.
‘Well, it might help,’ I tell Stu, trying to sound positive. ‘Changing your ways for the better never does any harm.’ I hear my mother in my voice as I say this. My real mother, that is. Perhaps she did talk some sense on occasion.
‘Plasters,’ Harry says, throwing a box on the table as he and Ellie appear in the kitchen again. I was so deep in conversation with Stu I didn’t even hear the front door. Harry looks at Stu and I sitting close together at the table, Dettol and cotton wool untouched. ‘Everything OK?’ he asks steadily.
‘Yes,’ I nod. ‘Yes, everything is just fine. I think Stu and I are going to be good friends from now on. He’ll be a changed man, after this evening.’
‘Really?’ Harry says sceptically.
‘What ya do to him, Jo-Jo? Hypnotise him?’ Ellie asks with a wink. ‘Has that Rita been teaching you some of her weirdo ways?’
‘Something like that. I’ve just been passing on some of my knowledge, haven’t I, Stu?’
Stu nods.
‘They say miracles can happen,’ Harry announces. ‘Maybe we’re seeing one right here in front of us. Perhaps we just have to trust Jo-Jo.’ He puts his hand on my shoulder; it feels strong, and oddly comforting.
‘Anything is possible, Harry,’ I reply, looking up at him. ‘Sometimes you just have to believe in the unbelievable.’
Nineteen
‘I wish I’d never agreed to organise this street party,’ Penny moans as she stands over a long row of trestle tables, trying to sort out what’s going where and who’s going to be sitting next to who. Every now and then one of the team of neighbours who are helping out with the setting up comes over for further instruction from Penny, or to ask for her approval on whatever task they’ve just undertaken.
‘You’re doing a great job,’ I reassure her. ‘It takes a lot to be able to organise an event like this and motivate all these people successfully. The sort of skills you would need to run a successful business, in fact.’
Penny laughs as she rolls out a long paper tablecloth. ‘I hardly think organising a little street party for a few folk is the same as running a big business, now is it, Jo-Jo?’
‘You’d be surprised at what skills are required. There are organisational skills, and people skills, and this isn’t just a little street party. It’s a party for nearly a hundred people, with food and drink and entertainment.’
‘I only agreed to do it because that Maggie dropped out. What sort of an excuse is her dad passing on up in Manchester, and her havin’ to go to the funeral?’ Penny looks at me out of the corner of her eye. ‘All right, a pretty good one, I guess.’
‘It makes no difference how you came to be doing it. The fact is you are. And you’re doing it very well.’
Penny looks pleased at my praise. ‘I just hope Maggie doesn’t stay on up there once the funeral’s done with, and the will has been read. Otherwise we’ll lose another one.’
‘Another one?’
‘What do you want me to do with these things, Mrs Lane?’ Ellie asks, tottering towards us on massive knee-length red platform boots that match her red tartan waistcoat and skirt combination.
‘Ah, Ellie, I was wondering where the ribbon was,’ Penny says, taking three rolls of red, white and blue ribbon from her and rolling it out along the white cloth. ‘Now, if you and Jo-Jo can decorate the tables with it, that would be lovely. I want it to go in bands all along the tables like this.’ And she begins to demonstrate.
‘Mum, what did you mean, another one?’ I remind her.
‘Jo-Jo, do we have to discuss this now?’ she asks. ‘I’ve so much to do.’
‘Yes, Mum – Ellie and I have got this ribbon thing sewn up. Haven’t we, Ellie?’
Ellie ceases tying strips of the ribbon in her hair. ‘What? Yeah, we’ll do it, Mrs L, no worries.’
Penny looks doubtful. ‘Yes, Maggie is another one,’ she continues, as I catch hold of some of the red ribbon and begin cutting it with Ellie. ‘She’s another one like me who is desperately trying to hold on to their house against those sharks at the council who want to take everything from under our feet.’
‘So how many of you are there?’ I ask. ‘Like you and Maggie and Harry’s mum?’
‘Carol?’ Penny looks away from Ellie. ‘Does she want to stay as well?’
‘Apparently, according to Harry, but she’s on the verge of signing her house away too.’
‘My mam doesn’t want to go either, really,’ Ellie pipes up. ‘She said she’d much rather stay here where she knows everyone, than go somewhere with a load of strangers.’
‘Then we must stop them both from signing anything,’ Penny says urgently. ‘If there are more of us standing firm against this, the greater the power we have to stand up to the authorities.’
I’m impressed. ‘Where did you get that from?’ I ask. ‘Wait, let me guess: a magazine at the hairdresser’s?’
Penny smiles. ‘Probably, I don’t remember.’
‘Why don’t you form a syndicate, all of you in the street that don’t want to move on to these new flats. Like you said, there’s always strength in numbers.’
Penny thinks about this. ‘That’s not a bad idea. But how will it help? The council will just get their own way, they always do. Money always wins out in the end.’
‘Not always, you just need to show them it would be better for them if you all stayed on. At least think about it, Mum, please. I know you’re made for more than just the factory. This could lead to something.’
‘Yes, lead me into not having this lot ready for this afternoon if I allow you to keep distracting me and I don’t get a shift on! Now, all this fancy talk from you is good and fine, but what time is that band of yours getting here? And they better be good.’
Harry and Stu, in their new spirit of friendship, have started up their band again as they said they would, and I persuaded Penny to let them play this afternoon – her only stipulation being that they didn’t play any of their hard-core punk songs. This won’t be too difficult, because since the night of the cinema fight Stu really has changed. ‘Gone soft’ is what the other gang members are calling it. Stu is just calling it a ‘change of direction’ for himself and his music.
‘They are good, Mrs Lane,’ Ellie calls from down the table. ‘I’ve heard them. They’re no Bay City Rollers, mind, but they’ll do.’
‘Hi!’ I call happily, as Stu, Harry and the rest come trooping down the bunting-clad street carrying an assortment of guitars, amps and a drum kit.
‘Ya made it then?’ I ask as I lead them to the ‘stage’, an area of the street that’s been marked off with blackboard chalk, and they begin setting up their equipment.
‘Last-minute dress rehearsal,’ Stu says. ‘We want everything to go just right.’ He winks at me, and I wonder why.
‘Jo-Jo, can I have a quick word,’ Harry asks, taking my arm and leading me out of earshot of the others.
‘Sure, what’s up?’
‘We haven’t spoken that much since the night of the cinema and I just wanted to know if you’re angry with me because of what happened with Stu? I know, with your hippy peace stuff, you don’t like fighting.’
‘No, I don’t like physical violence in any form, but I’m not angry with you, Harry. Actually, I thought you might be a bit cross with me.’
‘Why?’
‘You
seemed a bit… jealous, of me helping Stu out that night.’
‘I was a bit,’ Harry says, and his pale cheeks flush a little. He looks down at his boots, then he looks back up at me. ‘I was trying to tell you the other night: I really like you, Jo-Jo, you must know that by now?’
‘I kinda got that feeling.’
‘But every time I try and tell you, it just comes out wrong or we get interrupted or —’
‘Or what?’
It’s very odd, but as I have this very teenage conversation with Harry, I don’t see the sixteen-year-old punk with strange blue hair standing in front of me, but the man I’m sure he will become in the future. And I like that vision. I like it a lot.
Harry shakes his head. ‘Nothing. It can wait. But I’m not sure this can.’ His face leans in towards mine.
Boom!
‘What the hell was that?’ Harry asks, his face turning away just before our lips meet.
We both look in the direction the noise burst from.
‘Sounds like it came from where the band are setting up!’
Harry grabs my hand and we hurry back over to the stage area to find Stu trying to sit up from where he’s lying on the ground. He looks shocked and stunned.
‘What the hell happened?’ Harry asks, looking wildly at the others gawping at Stu on the ground.
‘Stu was just plugging his guitar into the amp and it exploded,’ one of the other boys replies. ‘It shot him right through the air! Bloody hell, Harry, he’s lucky he’s still alive!’
We all look down at Stu. His face is grey and he looks very pale.
‘But I checked all the equipment this morning,’ Harry says, shaking his head. He looks around him, baffled. ‘It was all fine then. How can this have happened?’ He looks down at Stu now. ‘I’m really sorry, mate.’
Stu pushes himself up on to his elbows. He looks up at Harry, then across at me. He looks like he’s about to cry.
God, he didn’t, did he? He didn’t try to electrocute himself in the hope he’d go back home?
But the look of desperation on Stu’s face tells me that’s exactly what he did.
‘You’re lucky to be alive, Stu,’ I say, crouching down next to him, ‘let alone still conscious. Have you unplugged the power supply?’ I ask the others, my first-aid training kicking into action. The last thing we want is for the current to still be running through Stu, and one of us to touch him.
‘The plug was yanked right out of the wall, the force was so great,’ one of the other boys says, his eyes wide with shock. ‘No chance of any power still coming through there, Jo-Jo.’
‘Good.’ I look at Stu more closely. ‘Are you OK?’ I ask him gently.
He nods resignedly.
‘Then I suggest you rest here for now. Perhaps we can get one of the neighbours to make you a cup of tea and get you a blanket. And I think we should probably call an ambulance too, just to be on the safe side.’
‘No, no ambulance,’ Stu says, speaking for the first time. ‘Sadly, I’ll be just fine.’
‘Jo-Jo, none of the equipment is working,’ Harry says, examining it. ‘The explosion must have blown more than just the fuses in the main amp. We can’t play like this, we’ll have to call it off.’
‘But you can’t!’
Penny has put so much into this event. I just can’t allow things to go wrong now as it might affect her future, and if good things don’t happen for Penny, I might not move on again – hopefully to my own time.
‘Hello, boys,’ Penny says, walking towards us carrying Bonnie. ‘How’s it all going? I just popped back to the house to get a few things and we heard this bloody loud bang. I hope everything’s OK?’
I look at the boys who have moved in front of Stu on the ground, and then back at Penny.
‘Yes, Mum,’ I reassure her, leading her and Bonnie away. ‘Everything is going to be just fine. Don’t you worry; I’ll make sure this event runs smoothly. Just as if my life depends on it.’
Twenty
‘Are you sure about this?’ Harry asks as we dash along the King’s Road towards George’s shop. ‘Will he really lend us records to play this afternoon?’
‘Of course he will.’ At least, I hope he will, I think, as I hurry along next to Harry, who has the most enormous great lolloping strides. How I miss having a mobile phone at times like this!
When it became clear that Harry and Stu’s band were not going to be able to provide the entertainment for the Jubilee celebration, I racked my brains and came up with the idea of us raiding George’s shop – with his permission! – and playing pop music on record players.
Penny is putting the word out on the neighbourhood grapevine and hopefully, with some good will from our friends and neighbours, when Harry and I return we will have enough players for music to be heard up and down the street all afternoon.
The traffic’s been horrendous trying to get here. Half the streets of London seem to be closed off for the Jubilee parade, and all buses are taking alternative routes. We tried to get the tube, but the stations were packed with tourists waving union jacks and brimming over with Silver Jubilee spirit.
‘But won’t he be closed for the parade?’ Harry says, turning around to speak to me as I try and keep up with him.
‘Yes, I think he will, but he lives above the shop so hopefully he should be up there watching the celebrations on TV.’
That word hopefully again. I seem to be living on hope these days.
Somehow I don’t think George will be one of the crowd surging down the Mall to Buckingham Palace to see the Queen on the balcony today. I wouldn’t think it’s his thing. But then, how well do I actually know this George? I suddenly wonder as my mind begins to race. And did they even do the whole balcony thing in 1977? Or did the people all just stand politely on the parade route waving flags at the Queen as she passed sedately by in her carriage?
Suddenly I’m filled with a pang of longing for my own life, and the year 2012. It only seems like yesterday since I watched the Queen celebrate her Diamond Jubilee. I wonder if anyone realises today just how long she will reign over our country for, and all the changes her family will see in that time.
‘You better hope so,’ Harry says, still talking about George, ‘or you’ll be the one singing as entertainment!’
‘No, I don’t do singing,’ I pant breathlessly, finally catching up with him. ‘Well, maybe the odd bit of karaoke,’ I say, thinking of 1963.
‘What’s karaoke?’
‘You’ll find out soon enough. Here we are, then.’
As we suspected, the shop is indeed closed for the bank holiday. So we bang hard on the door and shout up at the window above.
‘George! George, we need your help.’
After a minute or so, George appears at the window. ‘Jo-Jo, Harry, what can I do for you?’
‘Can we borrow some records, George?’ I plead, looking up at him desperately. ‘It’s an emergency. Of sorts.’
George comes downstairs and lets us into his shop, and is more than happy for us to borrow some music for the afternoon.
‘On one condition,’ he says. ‘That I get to come to the party.’
‘But how are we going to get all this stuff back over there?’ Harry asks as we stand back looking at the boxes of albums and singles we’ve chosen between the three of us as suitable party songs. ‘We can’t take it on the tube or the bus, there’s too much to carry.’
‘I have a car,’ George says, to my relief. ‘But unfortunately it’s a sports car, so it only has two seats, and one of those will need to be filled with boxes because the boot is going to be overflowing as well.’
Look’s like it’s public transport for us again then.
‘Don’t worry, George, that’s great. We’ll help you load it all into the car, then Harry and I will get the bus back.’
We help George pack his little white Triumph Spitfire with all the music and give him directions to our street in Lambeth.
‘I’ll see you
two back at your house, then,’ George says. ‘I almost forgot, Jo-Jo, you’ll be needing these.’ He reaches into the passenger footwell of the car and passes me a pair of children’s football boots.
‘What would I be needing these for?’ I ask, holding the boots up by their laces in front of my face. ‘I’ve no time for a kick-about today!’
‘They’re for Sean, silly. The other night at our evening class your mum mentioned he was missing a pair, and I noticed these in a second-hand shop down the road. I think you’ll find they’re his size.’
I look at the boots again. And then I look suspiciously at George. ‘You go to the same evening classes as Penny?’
George nods casually and jumps into the driver’s seat of his car without opening the door. He starts up the engine.
‘I’ll see you guys in a bit!’ he calls as he pulls out from the kerb and moves off down the street.
‘But how did you know his size!’ I call after him, the boots still dangling from my fingers. ‘How did he know his size?’ I ask a bemused Harry who is standing by my side.
Harry shrugs. ‘Dunno. Come on, though, we’ve no time to be worrying about that now – we’ve a party to get to!’
I’m still thinking about George and the boots as we walk, well march, along.
How did he know Sean’s size? Penny wouldn’t have mentioned that casually in a conversation about her son’s boots going missing at school. And more to the point, how come George was taking evening classes at all, especially ones with Penny?
‘Come on, Jo-Jo,’ Harry urges from the other side of the zebra crossing as I hesitate outside the World’s End pub. ‘Stop daydreaming or you’ll never get back!’
I look at him and shake my head. Yes, he’s right. I have to make this party work or Penny might not realise how successful she can be if she tries. Without thinking about it, I step blindly out on to the crossing.
It’s in the split second I hear the shriek of a car’s tyres, and I see the same white sports car hurtling towards me, that I realise I won’t be eating any of the Jubilee jelly that Penny’s made, or singing any celebration songs this afternoon with the others… as it all goes cold once more.
