Step Back in Time

by Ali McNamara

  The Angel’s Wings is indeed more of a traditional pub than a trendy eighties bar, and while I find us a seat, Harry gets us both a drink. I’ve asked for an orange juice – I think I’ve had enough alcohol for one night!

  While I settle at a small wooden table in the corner of the pub and wait for Harry to bring our drinks over, I glance around me. The pub seems very quiet. There are a few people drinking at the bar and a couple of young guys playing on a Pac-Man game next to a fruit machine, and as I check the time on my watch I realise it’s nearly time for last orders.

  ‘One orange juice,’ Harry says, putting a glass down on the table in front of me. ‘I’m surprised you ordered that.’

  ‘Why?’ I ask before taking a sip.

  ‘The way you were knocking back the shots earlier, I didn’t think you’d entertain anything non-alcoholic this evening.’

  ‘That was just for show.’

  ‘Was it now?’ Harry says, looking amused. ‘To show who what?’

  ‘To show Ellie I wasn’t dull and boring.’

  Harry laughs now. ‘Oh, really? Well, I think you’ve managed that tonight: first you get thrown out of the club by Ringo, then you sneak back in again via Rocky and gatecrash his wife’s birthday party.’

  ‘His fiancée actually, and the truth is Rocky rescued me before I got to the exit and invited me along to the party. So, technically, I didn’t do any of those things.’

  ‘Nit-picking details.’ Harry takes a long slow sip from his pint of beer. ‘Ah… A hundred times better than that slop they serve at Karma.’

  ‘Why do you go there then?’

  ‘Necessity. Ringo is my business partner, so I need to on occasion. Which brings me around to your earlier allegations. Would you like to enlighten me?’

  I look across the table at Harry. Should I tell him?

  ‘I heard you,’ I blurt out before my brain has a chance to consult with my mouth on the best course of action. ‘I heard you talking to Ringo when I was in the corridor before.’

  ‘I see,’ Harry says, nodding calmly. ‘And what exactly did you hear?’

  ‘I heard you discussing the illegal drugs you provide him with for the club.’

  Harry’s face doesn’t change as he appears to think over what I’ve just said. He looks over the table at me with a completely neutral expression. ‘And what else did you hear – anything?’

  ‘Isn’t that enough?’

  Harry nods again and contemplates his beer for a moment. ‘Yes, I would think running an illegal drugs operation is a pretty big allegation to make against anyone.’ He looks up at me now, his expression sending shivers down my spine. Not because it’s menacing or fearsome, but because of the disappointment it contains, as if I’ve wounded him with my accusations. ‘And that’s exactly what you heard me say – word for word? I was providing Ringo with drugs for the club?’

  I think about this.

  ‘Maybe not exactly word for word, no, but what else could you have been discussing? You’re not exactly denying it, are you?’ As I sit here defending my actions, I’m starting to wish I’d listened to my original gut instinct, and not so much to Ellie. This wasn’t going as I planned. But that’s exactly the problem; I didn’t plan anything. I allowed myself to get carried away with the moment, allowed myself to rely on someone else’s judgement. And now it feels as if it’s all going horribly wrong, spiralling out of my control. And I hate that.

  Harry takes another sip of his beer, but his eyes don’t leave mine. ‘These are pretty serious allegations, Jo-Jo,’ he says, resting his glass back down on the table.

  I swallow hard. But I hold his intense gaze.

  ‘They are, Harry.’

  ‘Not the type that one friend makes against another.’ Harry pushes his beer away from him across the table and stands up. ‘Goodbye, Jo-Jo,’ he says, to my surprise. The disappointment in his blue eyes as he looks down at me feels like a dagger stabbing me in the heart. ‘I’d say it’s been nice knowing you, but I’m not so sure.’ Then he turns and heads for the door.

  I’m stunned for a moment; I didn’t expect that reaction from him at all. ‘Wait!’ I shout, pushing my chair back across the tiled floor. ‘Harry, wait up!’

  I chase after him through the pub doors and out on to the pavement.

  ‘I’m sorry if I got it wrong,’ I call, as I see him marching away down the dimly lit street. ‘Won’t you at least explain?’

  Harry stops walking. He stands under the yellow glow of a street lamp but doesn’t turn around. I wait, my heart beating fast in my chest to see what he does next.

  Passers by on the London street barely give me a glance as they hurry along home. It’s started to rain now, and I can feel large drips of water on my head as I stand there waiting for Harry to do something. Anything.

  Finally he turns around and walks back towards me.

  ‘It’s raining,’ he announces. ‘I think you’d better come with me.’

  Thirty

  I sit in the back seat of the car Harry summoned on his huge brick of a mobile phone and wonder where we’re going.

  I suppose most people would think I’m taking a bit of a risk getting into a chauffeur-driven car and driving off with someone I don’t know, but that’s the problem with Harry: whatever guise he’s in I always feel I know him, and that always makes me feel safe.

  We pull up outside the gates of Beat Music and Harry winds down his window to speak to the security guard in the cubicle. The guy is so shocked to see Harry, he doesn’t know whether to put his cap on first or straighten his tie, so he ends up trying to do both at the same time while Harry speaks briefly to him, and then he nods hurriedly.

  ‘Why are we here?’ I ask Harry as he presses a button and the car window shoots back up again.

  ‘I want to show you something,’ Harry answers without further detail.

  Since his car picked us up outside the pub, Harry has hardly spoken to me, except to politely enquire whether I’m warm enough, and have dried off sufficiently after the rain.

  The car pulls up outside the main building, and the chauffeur hurries around to my side of the car to open the door.

  I look over to Harry.

  ‘Go on,’ he says. ‘I’ll follow you.’

  I climb out and Harry does the same.

  ‘I won’t be long, Henry,’ Harry says to the chauffeur. ‘If you’d just wait, please.’

  ‘Of course, Mr Rigby,’ Henry says, standing outside the car as we enter the building.

  ‘He won’t wait outside the car all the time, will he?’ I ask, looking back through the glass doors at Harry’s chauffeur. ‘He’ll get wet.’

  Harry looks at me for a moment, then he smiles. ‘No, of course not. Don’t worry about Henry; he’ll be fine. He’s been chauffeuring for my family for years – he worked for my father before he worked for me.’

  ‘Really? Is this a family business, then?’ I ask, looking around the dimly lit foyer with new eyes.

  ‘Drug dealing?’ Harry asks.

  I wince. But then I see a twinkle in his eye.

  ‘Whatever it is you really do here.’

  ‘No,’ Harry smiles, ‘Beat Music isn’t a family business – I built it myself from scratch. And if you come with me now I’ll show it to you.’

  We take the lift down, as opposed to travelling up as we did when I was last in the building. When the doors open I follow Harry down the corridor silently. We pause at a large, extremely thick vault-like door and Harry inputs a few numbers on a keypad, careful to shield the code from my eyes. The door swings open and I find myself entering what looks like a storeroom.

  As the vault door closes behind us I realise the room is lit only by security lighting, and I suddenly begin to wonder again if this has been a good idea, but Harry strides across the room, flicks a switch and the room is immediately flooded with light.

  Looking around me I can see several long tables with columns of empty packing boxes stacked beside them, and dotted a
bout on top of the tables are brown sticky tape machines, clipboards and pens. The walls of the room are lined with shelves filled with even more boxes – full ones, this time.

  ‘What is this place?’ I ask. Then, feeling stupid I add, ‘I mean, what’s in all the boxes?’

  ‘Music,’ Harry says proudly looking around him. ‘Records, mainly.’

  ‘Yes, I know you supply music,’ I say, wandering over to one of the boxes. ‘Everyone knows that’s your business.’

  Harry shakes his head. ‘No, that’s the modern stuff I distribute under the Beat Music name. This,’ he lifts the flap of an unsealed box ‘is vintage music, classics not in production any more. Look at this, for instance.’ He puts on a pair of white cotton gloves, then carefully pulls a record from the box. It’s wrapped in a white sleeve, and Harry handles it so very gently as he slips it from its protective case that I wonder if it’s going to be made of gold as it slides into his hand.

  But no, it just looks like a normal vinyl record to me.

  ‘What’s so special about that?’ I ask, moving towards him.

  Harry flinches and backs away a couple of steps as if I’m going to snatch his precious record and run away with it.

  ‘Steady boy,’ I laugh, ‘I’m not going to touch!’

  ‘This,’ Harry says seriously, ‘is an original copy of the Beatles’ Sergeant Pepper album. It’s so rare we’re keeping the sleeve separately for security purposes.’

  The Beatles again…

  ‘And in that box over there,’ he says, gesturing towards the far wall, ‘is an original copy of “Blue Suede Shoes” by Elvis Presley.’

  ‘You’re like an underground musical eBay!’ I exclaim, grinning at him.

  Harry doesn’t get my futuristic joke.

  ‘This is serious stuff, Jo-Jo. Collectors pay a lot of money for items like this. It’s a very particular clientele I provide for. They know what they want and they’re prepared to pay for it.’

  ‘Sure,’ I say, wishing now I could have time travelled with some records from the sixties and seventies instead of a copy of the Beano and some football boots – I’d have made a killing! ‘Wait, is that what you were discussing with Ringo when I overheard you? Do you provide records and stuff to him?’

  Harry nods. ‘For his clients I do. Ringo has some very wealthy people visiting that club of his, and some of them are very into their music.’

  ‘So the thing you didn’t like being kept down in dingy cellars too long was your records?’

  Harry nods. ‘It doesn’t do them any good to be kept in conditions like that. They’re old and precious and they’ll warp and bow if they get damp.’

  Harry lovingly puts the Beatles album back in its box, and removes his gloves. Then he smiles at me. ‘See? The only thing I’m buying and selling is music.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you just say?’ I ask, incredulously. ‘You’ve nothing to be ashamed of, it’s all above board, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh yes, it’s all legit. It takes us a while to source the music sometimes, and we’re not keen to share our sources because of that – and the fact we do a lot of cash deals with people – but there’s nothing illegal going on here.’

  ‘So why the secrecy? Why do you keep quiet about it, make it seem like you’re hiding something? It’s only buying and selling old records. Ah!’ I say as it suddenly dawns on me. ‘I see why now. George.’

  ‘You’ve got it. I don’t want to rub it in his face, do I? I started out working with George, learnt everything I knew from him. Then I went out on my own and became much more successful at it than he’s ever been. I didn’t stop at a little shop on the King’s Road, I built this small empire.’ He gestures up at the floors above us.

  ‘But George wouldn’t care about that,’ I protest. ‘He’s not like that. He’d be really pleased for you. Anyway, he loves that shop, he probably never wanted to do anything else with his life other than sell records out of it.’

  ‘How do you know? Have you asked him?’

  I think about this. ‘No, I haven’t, but I just know he is. And I also know he’d be so happy to learn that his love for music sparked a passion in you to produce all this.’

  Harry shrugs. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Not maybe at all, he would be. Why don’t you go and visit him in the shop? I know he’d love to see you again and talk properly.’

  ‘No,’ Harry says, shaking his head. ‘Too much has happened. Too many years have gone by.’

  I open my mouth to protest but Harry stops me.

  ‘No, Jo-Jo, it’s not going to happen, so you might as well stop now. George and I fell out some years ago; he didn’t approve of the way I was running this company at the time, and I may have stepped on his toes in a business sense a few too many times. We can’t go back and change the past. It would be lovely if we could sometimes, but we can’t.’ He makes a move towards the big door again and beckons for me to follow him. ‘I’m sorry, Jo-Jo,’ he says, reaching for the light switch, ‘I know you’re only trying to help, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this again now, thank you.’

  You might not be able to change the past, Harry, I think, glancing at him as we ride silently back up in the lift together.

  But I can.

  Thirty-One

  ‘Really?’ Ellie asks in astonishment as we sit in a Wimpy and eat the saddest pair of burgers I think I’ve ever seen and tasted. It almost makes me wistful for a Big Mac and fries, something I thought I’d never feel. ‘Only records? How dull.’

  ‘Yep, and we thought we’d got the scoop of the century,’ I say, giving up on the burger and laying it down on my plate – yes, plate. The joys of instantly disposable take away packaging hasn’t quite reached this London burger joint in 1985.

  ‘But what about Lucy?’ Ellie asks. ‘Why would she suggest that Harry was involved in drugs if he wasn’t?’

  ‘I know, that’s what I’ve been wondering about.’ I’d asked Harry about Lucy when he’d insisted Henry drive me home again, but he didn’t seem to know anything about her, only that she was a member of his packing staff.

  Ellie shrugs as she dips one of her fries in ketchup. ‘Doesn’t make any sense, does it? But if that’s his story, then I guess we’d better leave it. You’re sure he’s telling the truth? That the record thing isn’t just a cover?’

  ‘Yes, positive. No one could pretend to be that enthusiastic about old vinyl LPs unless they genuinely meant it.’

  Ellie laughs. ‘I know what you mean; Stuart is the same about his punk stuff. When we went back to his flat last night —’

  ‘Whoah there, missy!’ I exclaim, holding up my hand. ‘Wait just a moment! You went back to his flat?’

  Ellie squirms in her chair. ‘Yeah, I know, but he’s so nice, Jo-Jo, and so sexy. I really, really like him.’

  ‘Obviously!’

  ‘Anyway, as I was saying,’ Ellie continues, her cheeks flushed, ‘he has this massive collection of punk memorabilia and loads of old records, too. Treats it all like it’s fine wine or precious jewels.’ A wistful expression appears on her face. ‘I’d like to think he’ll treat me like that one day if I’m lucky.’

  ‘One night with him and you’re in lurve,’ I tease.

  ‘No, I’m not! Stop it,’ Ellie protests, her cheeks getting even redder. She takes a sip of her Coke. ‘Have you ever been in love, Jo-Jo?’ she asks. ‘I mean, really in love? That heart-pounding, stomach-wrenching all-encompassing love that makes you think about that person all the time? And do almost anything to be with them?’

  ‘No,’ I say without having to think about it, ‘I haven’t. I’m not sure it really exists, does it? And if it does, I’m sure I’ll never suffer from it in that way.’

  ‘Jo-Jo, you make it sound like a nasty disease. Well, I want to believe it does exist – and I bet you’ll be affected by it one day. Love does funny things to people. They say it hits you like a bolt out of the blue and you’ll not know what to do with yourself when it doe
s. What?’ she asks when I don’t respond. ‘What are you thinking about?’

  ‘What you just said – about love doing funny things to people. Love may not have hit me like a bolt out of the blue, but something else just has.’ I push my chair back and stand up, my mind racing. ‘I have to dash, I’ll catch you later, OK?’

  ‘Sure,’ Ellie says, looking puzzled as I head for the door of the Wimpy. ‘I have another date with Stu tonight – shall I call you later and let you know how it goes?’

  ‘Yes, you do that,’ I call back, but my mind is already elsewhere. And that place is Beat Music.

  As I hurry down the street I reach for my bag as though to pull a mobile phone from it. Damn, I still can’t get used to that, I think, as my hand fails to find one.

  But I can’t wait until tonight to talk to her at the Karma club – and anyway I’m banned from there, so I’m just going to have to try and find her at Harry’s place right now.

  I’m talking about Lucy, of course.

  There’s always been something that’s bothered me about Lucy since the first time I met her, something that’s familiar, and now I think I know what that something is. I also think I know why she could hate Harry so much that she’s trying to tarnish his name.

  Lucy has that same slightly haunted look in her eyes I’d seen before in Walter Maxwell back in 1963, and then the original Stu back in 1977. She’s a loner here in 1985 because she doesn’t belong. She’s from another time like me, I realise that now. But in that other time had she loved and lost Harry? Had he betrayed her, or cheated on her and now she wants her revenge? Like Ellie said, love could do funny things to people, make them behave in odd ways that were quite out of character.

  I manage to hail an empty taxi, and within half an hour I’m waiting outside the gates of Beat Music again. I ask the security guard on duty to tell Harry I’m here, and to my relief the gates swing open and I’m immediately let in.

  The taxi sweeps up in front of the main building, looking so very different today in the daylight than it did last night, and I find Harry already waiting for me in the foyer as I step out of the door and pay the driver.