“Good evening,” he says, “and welcome to the Andy Williams Experience.” He sounds like Andy as well as looking like him.
I smile at Laura.
“He’s very good,” I say.
“Even better once he starts singing,” she replies.
He kicks off with It’s So Easy, and it gets the place going. I look across at Bob. He doesn’t show any response to the music, but I can see he’s pleased that Laura’s enjoying it. I wonder if this is their one night out a week together. And will she sleep with him tonight, or was the holiday something special?
Andy follows up with Can’t Get Used to Losing You. It’s pretty hard to have any kind of a conversation, but the pub soon adapts to the noise level. I try to direct any comments to Bob, as though the only reason I decided to come is because I’m his mate. I move to stand by his side, making out it’s to talk to him, but in actual fact this makes it easier to look at Laura and to watch Andy at the same time.
“Where did you two meet, then?” I ask in between songs.
“I work for Laura’s brother-in-law.”
“Is that who you were travelling with at the airport?”
“Yeah, Phil and Paula and the kids.”
Paula – I savour her name to the music. I can feel myself getting closer. It’s so easy – indeed.
Andy sings a few more songs and takes a break. I get in another round of drinks.
“Thank you,” Laura says.
“No – thank you,” I say. “It’s great to have some company for a change – especially in such a nice place. Most of the time I just go and see a movie, or something.”
“On your own?”
I shrug.
“You get used to it. I saw a fantastic-looking cinema on my way up here – the Duke of York’s, is it?”
“That’s right. It’s one of the oldest cinemas in the country.”
“I saw that. It’s a beautiful building.”
“Marshall’s in property development,” Bob says. “I guess you notice things like old buildings and that?”
I tell Laura something of what my new job entails and pick up a few snippets from Bob. So Phil has his own construction company, whereas it sounds like Bob’s just a labourer. I guess Laura’s hoping Bob might make a step up some time soon so she can follow in her sister’s footsteps?
“What about you?” I ask Laura. “What do you do?”
“Oh, it’s really boring. I just work in a bank.”
“Not just any bank,” Bob says. “Your dad’s one of the top guys there, ain’t he?”
“Bob!” she says, but I can tell she’s proud of her daddy.
“Actually,” Bob says to me, “he could prob’ly ’elp you out with a few contacts ’round town.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“He wouldn’t mind,” Laura says, “really. In fact, you might find he’s interested in investing in whatever it is you’re doing here.”
I hold up my hands.
“You’re very good – both of you. I’m lucky to have run into you.”
I raise my glass.
“Cheers,” I say. “Here’s to good company.”
“Cheers mate,” Bob says.
“Cheers,” Laura says and we clink glasses.
I can’t figure out if they live together. Part of me wants to believe she still lives at home with her parents. Bob goes off to the toilet.
“How was your holiday?” I ask Laura.
“Oh, it was fantastic, but just too short. We only went for a week and I’d have loved to have stayed for longer.”
“Where were you?”
“Viareggio – do you know it?”
“On the coast, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I think I’d like to see more of Italy now I’ve been the once.”
I tell her something of my own trip up through the country.
“That sounds wonderful.”
“Perhaps you’ll go back again soon?”
“Oh, I hope so.”
“You picked up a great colour.”
“Thank you.”
“Nice travelling with your sister, I’d say?”
“Oh yes, I love being with the kids; especially now they’re old enough to be such fun. Have you any children?”
“No, unfortunately it’s just never happened. I guess I’ve never really settled down anywhere long enough to get close to anyone.”
“It sounds very glamorous – travelling from place to place.”
“I guess it is in some ways, but I think I’d still rather have a family and a home to come back to each night.”
Bull’s-eye, I think, when I see the reaction on her face.
Bob returns and Andy comes back on for the second half of his set. He sings a couple of the smoochy ones like Moon River and Danny Boy and a few of the older couples get up to dance. He livens things up again with House of Bamboo and Laura’s eyes light up.
“Is this an Andy Williams song?” she asks Bob and he shrugs. “We dance to this in class – it’s a Cha-cha-cha.”
She does a couple of steps, as though she’s trying to remember what she’s been taught.
“You’re taking dancing lessons?” I ask them.
“Not me,” Bob says. “Laura goes with ’er dad.”
“He’s the only partner I could find,” she explains. She’s such a daddy’s girl.
“Would you like to dance now?” I ask. “If that’s okay,” I add quickly to Bob. “Or maybe you want to dance together?”
“Feel free as far as I’m concerned.”
The dancing couples have left the floor, leaving a space that will soon be filled by drinking punters. I can see Andy thinks the song was a mistake – he had them up dancing and now he’s lost them.
“Can you really do the Cha-cha-cha?” asks Laura.
“Sure,” I say, “but only if it’s fine with Bob.”
Bob raises his glass in a blessing and I step back to allow Laura on to the dance floor. She looks down at her feet and I can see her listening to the beat. The song’s almost over by the time she looks up and is confident enough to start, but I can hear Andy adjust to repeat the first verse. There’s a second or two while I feel Laura’s young body in my hands and I have to stop myself from closing my eyes at the pleasure this gives me. We part to dance, but I get to hold her hand and feel how light she is on her feet. She’s very good – better than a beginner – and I wonder how long she’s been attending the lessons. She relaxes into the song and comes alive to the music. It’s easy for me to guide her; she makes me look good and feel good, but then the song is over and I have to stand well apart without a hint of closeness between us. A few people clap and Andy makes a comment about how good it is to see a person of Laura’s age on the dance floor.
“But can you do the Rumba?” he asks into the mike. Laura looks at me and then to Bob for permission. I hold out my hands and Laura steps into position.
“I’m not so good at the Rumba,” she says.
“You’ll be fine,” I say over Andy’s intro. “You’re a beautiful dancer.”
Andy sings Here Comes That Rainy Day Feeling Again and it’s such a great song that the dancing comes easy. By now Laura has the attention of the whole pub and people are whistling and cheering and I can see how she loves it. She holds herself perfectly but still allows herself a couple of flourishes with her hands. I hardly need do anything but keep up; I’m there for her to step back into and there to throw her out on to the floor again. She’s the perfect dance partner.
I step away at the end of the song and applaud her along with the rest of the pub. I look across to Bob and I can see he’s both pleased as punch and taken aback that Laura has this in her. Laura meanwhile takes the applause and beams her smile around the room. Andy does the sensible thing and starts up House of Bamboo again. Laura looks across at me and I smile; this is one happy girl. People make extra space for us on the dance floor and we dance the Cha-cha-cha properly this time.
I
know Laura could carry on dancing for the rest of the set, but at the end of the song I applaud and walk over to Bob. I finish my beer as though the dancing was thirsty work, but Laura was so good I hardly broke a sweat. I can’t think what to say to Bob that isn’t an insult – he really has no idea what he has here – so when Laura joins us I go off to the toilet and leave them together. It’s time to go home; I can’t do anything more here tonight. Bob offers to buy another drink but I refuse.
“It’s time I was going,” I say.
I can feel Laura looking at me and I can hear Andy singing Can’t Take My Eyes Off You, but I focus on Bob.
“Thanks for a great evening.”
“No problem, mate. We’ll see you again maybe?” I can feel his relief that I’m leaving.
“Oh,” I say, “before I go – do either of you know where I’d find the nearest Catholic Church? It’s Sunday tomorrow and . . .” I let it hang there; it’s a shot in the dark but every other hunch I’ve had so far has been right.
“You a Roman, then?” asks Bob.
“Yes,” I say, “sorry – you’ve probably no idea.”
“Laura’s your woman for that,” he says, indicating Laura with his pint.
“I’ve seen lots of churches around town,” I say, “but none of them have been Catholic.”
“Are you staying close by?” Laura asks. “Because St. Mary’s is the nearest, at the top of the park.”
I smile like I’m an idiot.
“Preston Park, is that?”
“Yes, just up the road here. If you make your way to the top corner of the park, you can’t miss it.”
“I don’t suppose you know what time the Masses are in the morning, do you?”
“Ten o’clock and twelve o’clock.”
I say my goodbyes and leave. It’s so easy.
I’m a little hung over in the morning but I want to make sure I’m there for the ten o’clock mass. I couldn’t ask outright if Laura was going to be there, so if I pray at all it’s that I don’t have to sit through two services and still maybe not get to see her again. I could have done with a Mr. Concierge set of clothes to wear, but I have to make do with what I have. I shower and shave and generally try to look my Sunday best. I have a good breakfast and set off early enough to make sure I have time to find the church.
The simplest route is to retrace my steps from yesterday up the London Road. Once I’m past the viaduct, I see how it opens out into Preston Park and how it’s a completely different feel again to anything I’ve seen of Brighton so far. The houses facing on to the park are large like the ones on Springfield Road, but I can see how well they’re looked after – there’s money here. Now this is where I can imagine Laura – and also Paula – growing up with their ballroom-dancing father.
There are lots of people out with their dogs and I guess Juliette and Max might be walking on the beach right now, but this is the place for me.
I head on up to the top of the park and see the top of the church above the trees. I check out the houses and the cars in the driveways – another Pleasant Valley Sunday. I’m about twenty minutes too early, but people are already arriving for the ten o’clock mass. The priest greets a few old ladies on the forecourt. If I show any hesitation, I’m lost, so I walk straight into the church. I take a seat close to the back and kneel down; if people think you’re praying, they tend not to bother you.
I wonder what the fuck I’m doing here, but it’s just the same as going to the pub to meet Bob last night and look how well that worked out.
The organist starts warming up and a few more people arrive. It’s not exactly going to be a packed house and I think that perhaps the twelve o’clock service was the one to aim for. But then in she comes – Laura, and who I presume to be her mother and father. They walk on past and – praise the Lord – in comes Paula with her two kids and my heart beats with excitement. That I could make this happen, that I could track her down from a Ryanair flight to her place of worship – I love that I’ve been able to do this. She carries her baby and her daughter runs down the aisle to join her grandparents.
So Phil the husband doesn’t come to Mass? No, I think he’s the canny one here; he probably did whatever he had to do to marry Paula and then, as soon as the kids arrived, he was secure enough to do whatever the fuck he liked. Bob has a lot to learn – play the game until you’re in a position to win.
I think about Bob and wonder if he realises he doesn’t stand a chance? How long before Laura gives up on him? He’s never going to make it drinking on his own in the pub each night. More and more I’m of the opinion that she hopes he might one day be another Phil, but how long before her daddy puts her right?
The priest comes on to the altar in full fancy dress, so we all stand. I’m amazed how the words have barely changed in all these years and how I know the responses, even if I don’t bother to join in. It goes by quickly; there aren’t enough parishioners to justify any hanging around. I’m reminded of the happy few gathered at the political meeting the other night. The priest gives the obligatory five-minute sermon; it sounds as if he’s been reading the Mail as he urges us to have a more Christian attitude towards strangers coming into the country. I look around and while he’s convinced his audience while they’re in church, I fear he might lose them to the Mail once they get back to the security of their own homes.
“Go in peace to love and serve the Lord,” he says and we’re done. I kneel and keep my head bowed in prayer. I’m not too sure about being seen by Paula; I think it might spook her and fuck things up between Laura and myself. I sneak a look as they go past, a family group blessed with the grace of God. I want to fuck them up so bad, it hurts. Laura sees me and smiles. She does a little wave thing with her hand and walks on out of the church.
I give it a full five minutes before I leave. I know I’m running the risk of missing her, but it’s an even greater risk to run into Paula. Happily, Laura’s waiting for me outside the church.
“I thought you’d never come out,” she says.
“Lots of sins to get through,” I reply and smile.
“I’ll bet. Come and meet Mummy and Daddy.”
There’s no sign of Paula and the kids, thank God. Laura’s parents are over talking to the priest. She introduces me as Bob’s friend Marshall from the pub last night, but it’s obvious from their reaction that I’m already the guy that was dancing the Rumba with their daughter. Her father shakes my hand.
“I’m David Roberts,” he says, “and this is my wife Margaret.” He also introduces me to the priest. “Laura tells me you’re a property developer? Anything in particular you’re in Brighton to look at?”
“No, I have some briefs from a couple of clients and if I find a suitable site, I shall see if it’s available and let them know. I leave the developing to the clients, though.”
“Sensible man.” I can see he’s no fool. I’m going to have to be careful.
“I was quite taken on the way up here,” I say, “by some of those empty office blocks facing on to the park. There’s a lot of potential there.”
“There is indeed, but I hope your clients have a lot of money to spend; land as good as that doesn’t come cheap. Will you be in Brighton for a while?”
“I guess that depends on how I get on. I’m tempted to take my time, from what I’ve seen so far.”
I look at Laura and she smiles.
“And where are you staying?” he asks.
“For now, I’m at the Grand.” I watch as this does the trick in his mind. “But I could do with finding somewhere a little more long term.”
“And a little cheaper, I shouldn’t wonder?”
I laugh.
“Yes, certainly.”
“Good man,” he says, “good man. Well, if there’s anything I can do to help – Laura told you I’m in banking, I believe?”
“Thank you, sir. That’s very generous of you. Everybody’s been very kind since I arrived in Brighton.”
“Well – why n
ot? Just doing our Christian duty, eh?”
We shake hands again and I say goodbye to Laura, but she follows me away from her parents.
“You could ask me out to the cinema, if you like,” she says.
Her nerve impresses me, as does the way she looks – like she’s still in a state of grace but just itching to be spoiled.
“I’d like that.”
We agree to meet at the Duke of York’s Picture House the next evening at eight. I have no idea what’s showing but I don’t really care.
The movie allows us to spend some time together, to get used to the idea of there just being the two of us. I ask her afterwards if she’d like to go for a quick drink, but she says no, and I’m relieved because we’d feel obliged to join Bob the Builder and I’m certainly not interested in repeating that experience.
“Should I call you a cab?” I ask.
“It’s hardly worth it; I only live across the park.”
“Do you mind if I walk you home?”
“Not at all. That’d be nice.”
I know I have her down as the younger sister and a bit of a daddy’s girl, but there’s more to her than that. Like her father, I think she’s sharp enough and I’d better watch my step.
It’s warm and pleasant to stroll slowly through the park. Laura asks me lots of questions as we walk along.
“Are you really staying at the Grand?”
This seems to be thing that impresses people the most, or at least what gives me a semblance of some worth. I want to tell her that it’s nothing – just money – but I let it go. She stops at a driveway to a house.
“Is this where your parents live?”
“It’s where I live too.”
“You don’t live with Bob then?”
“God, no! We’re a long way from that.” She blushes as though she’s said too much and I let it hang in the air between us. “Would you like to come in for that drink now?”
“I don’t think so.” I decide to stick to my plan. She looks confused.
“I’d like you to.”
“Yes, I know.”
“So would you – please? For me?”
Dancing to the End of Love Page 7
