At Dead of Night

by Tony Whelpton

  ‘Then I think, if you do, we ought to limit the number of people you invite to five,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, Dad! That’s no good!’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I’ve got more than five special friends, and if I don’t invite all of them, the ones who are left out will never talk to me again!’

  ‘In that case, they’re not very special friends, are they!’

  ‘Oh Dad! It’s all very well for you to mock, but I’m the one who’s going to have to take all the flak!’

  Her father had his response prepared. ‘So tell me who are your special friends then.’

  Carolyn had her own answer ready. ‘There’s Susan, Megan, Kathleen, Maureen, Joan and Janet for a start… I couldn’t possibly leave any of them out!’

  Carolyn’s father was correct in imagining that all his daughter was doing was simply reciting a list of girls from her class, including some who were not special friends at all. But she hadn’t yet finished, and she continued: ‘And then there’s Joyce, Patricia, Kathleen…’

  ‘You’ve already counted Kathleen…’ her father objected.

  ‘There’s Kathleen McNeill and Kathleen Connor,’ she continued. ‘You see, there are two Kathleens!’

  ‘I make that nine so far anyway!’

  ‘I haven’t finished yet, Dad!’

  ‘I have though! I said you could invite five of your friends. If you go on at that rate you’ll be inviting even more than your brother will…’

  ‘So what!’ she retorted, tossing her head in a way she knew very well her father found extremely irritating, and leaving the room abruptly. Since Carolyn usually managed to get her own way by simply ignoring the controversial topic until her parents had forgotten that there had been some controversy, she simply said nothing about it for several weeks, then sent out the invitations without saying anything to anyone: no more was said, therefore, of her guests being limited to five in number.

  Other discussions, however, continued to take place about Keith’s party – at irregular intervals – for several weeks, mostly between Carolyn and either her father or mother – and sometimes both, to such an extent that Keith began to feel as if it was not going to be his party at all, because his sister appeared to have hijacked it.

  Such discussions generally arose out of the imposition of prohibitions – Carolyn had been strictly warned that there was to be no smoking and no alcohol for any of the girls, although when she raised the objection that most of the boys would be smoking and drinking, her father exploded: ‘Not if I see them, they won’t!’

  This, of course, led in turn to an altercation between Keith and his father, Keith arguing that at a party held at Christmas in the house of one of his friends, the parents themselves had been handing out cigarettes and pouring drinks for the boys. John’s riposte was to the effect that that sort of thing might very well have happened at somebody else’s house, but it would never be allowed in theirs. No mention was made of drugs, however, either because John and Muriel were totally ignorant of the recent popularity of drug-taking among young people, or else because they would never have imagined that their children – or any acquaintances of their children – could possibly stoop so low.

  The other bone of contention concerned music. Disagreement on this topic first reared its head in an argument between Keith and Carolyn – although their parents had to have their say too. First of all came the question of what sort of music would be played, which seemed to amount to a tendency among the girls to prefer country and western or blues, and among the boys to prefer heavy metal and punk. As far as John and Muriel were concerned, it was simply a choice between Keith’s cacophony and Carolyn’s cacophony: one was as bad as the other, and the parents perceived no difference.

  Then there was the question of the nature of the lyrics; Muriel had read somewhere that the BBC had recently banned a particular song from the airwaves because of the unsuitability of its lyrics. If challenged, she could not have named the song or the singer, and she had never heard it either, but she was adamant that no such music would ever be heard in her house. Her argument carried no weight with her husband, however: his line was that all pop song lyrics were incomprehensible anyway, so it didn’t matter what words the singer was mouthing, because nobody would understand it unless they could lip-read, which of course would be literally impossible for anyone just listening on an audio system.

  Then there was the question of volume. Both parents preferred the music to be quiet enough for conversation to be audible in the same room, although it was many years since they had themselves murmured sweet nothings to each other while dancing; both children accepted as axiomatic that no one would want to hold a conversation when one was dancing anyway.

  The matter of timing also caused a measure of disagreement. John considered the party should have ended altogether by 10.30 pm, whilst Muriel was willing to extend the closing-time until midnight, although she thought the music should have ceased by 11.

  Then there was turmoil when Keith and Carolyn suddenly mentioned the possibility of some guests staying overnight; both parents would only accept the idea if those staying were either all male or all female; naturally, John wanted to restrict the right to stay overnight to boys only, whilst Muriel wanted only girls to be allowed to stay.

  In other words, there was so little consensus on what was acceptable that the whole idea was a recipe for disaster; however, when John went as far as to suggest that the whole project of holding a party be abandoned on those very grounds, both Keith and Carolyn sulked for several days, and made life even more difficult for their parents than it habitually was.

  Even the least perspicacious observer would have felt that there was so much evidence that the proposed party was likely to fail that everyone involved should have agreed that the whole thing be scrapped, but in reality there was too much at stake: in such a remarkably dysfunctional family there was so much resentment and so many scores to settle that nobody really wished to lose this opportunity to make their point. So go ahead it did.

  On the matter of overnight stays, at length a compromise was agreed, although both John and Muriel felt that it was defeat rather than compromise, and they were probably right: the agreement was that two boys and two girls would be allowed to stay the night, because there were two bedrooms free, one for the girls to share, one for the boys.

  There was so little chance of agreement over the matter of who should be invited that both Keith and Carolyn invited as many as they wished; to that extent it was one up to the children, although it was a Pyrrhic victory in that it only came about because the parents had stopped talking about it. Even so, there were a number of gate-crashers, both boys and girls – although the parents had so little control that neither of them would have been able to say who was a gate-crasher and who was not.

  Word had spread early about the proposed ban on alcohol and tobacco: as a result there was plenty of both about. Nor was it simply the gate-crashers who were responsible, for the message passed on by both Keith and Carolyn beforehand was in effect: if you want a ‘proper’ drink at this party, you’ll have to bring your own. In consequence, even in the early stages of the party both house and garden were strewn with empty bottles of gin, vodka and tequila, although in truth most of those bottles had been started well before their owners arrived at the party.

  In the battle for control of the music, first blood was drawn by Carolyn, for the first record that was played that evening was of Neil Diamond singing Sweet Caroline. Her early advantage was soon nullified, however, for before Neil Diamond’s song had even finished, Keith made sure it was replaced by a song by the Sex Pistols, played at a volume which ensured not only that his parents could not help but hear it, but also that they would understand the obscenities with which it was packed.

  Keith’s father John then made his first attempt to intervene, but as soon as he came anywhere near the record player, a phalanx of adolescent boys formed to prevent his switching the mu
sic off; John immediately withdrew, intimidated by the aggression and the bad language of the young men.

  Muriel also made her views known, although her approach was more subtle: she drew Carolyn to one side and told her, ‘If you and Keith want this party to continue, you must inform your guests that the music must be much less loud, with no obscenities, and we will not tolerate any violence or aggressive behaviour.’

  Carolyn’s response was a helpless ‘What do you think I can do about it? I don’t like this music any more than you do!’

  Her mother retorted calmly, ‘Just let your brother know that if the music is not quieter and more acceptable to us within the next few minutes, your Dad will switch off the record player at the mains and send everybody home. This is our home after all, and we are not willing to accept this level of noise, and the neighbours certainly won’t!’

  Carolyn passed on her mother’s warning to her brother, but his reaction was simply, ‘It’s out of my hands. I can’t do anything about it on my own. It’s the fault of the gate-crashers. They are the only ones who are being aggressive. Plus one or two of your girl-friends, of course – I told Mum and Dad there’d be trouble if you invited any of your friends!’ Carolyn was furious, which had of course been Keith’s intention, but her fury was such that she did not convey Keith’s reaction to her mother, which had also been Keith’s objective.

  John, however, had decided that it was time that he reacted himself, because, although a quarter of an hour had passed since his ultimatum had been delivered to his son, the Sex Pistols were still screaming out their crudities from the loudspeakers. Keith was therefore extremely surprised when he saw his father approaching him wielding a pair of large garden shears. ‘What are you going to do with those, Dad?’ he said. ‘You must be mad! Take those away!’

  ‘Not until you’ve switched that hideous row off!’ he yelled. ‘And if you don’t, I’m going to cut the lead to that record player with these! And if I cut the lead, you won’t be able to plug it in anywhere!’

  Keith swore at his father, which made John see red, and, just at that moment, the front doorbell rang. John immediately went to see who was at the door, and found it was their next door neighbours complaining about the noise, at which he became even more furious, for they appeared to believe that the noise was his responsibility. His reaction was to go and confront his son again, and drag him to the door, saying to the neighbours, ‘This is the person in charge of the music, not me! Speak to him!’

  To his dismay, and to that of the neighbours too, his son then emitted a torrent of invective which would have made even the likes of Sid Vicious and Johnny Rotten blush, after which he slammed the door in the face of the neighbours.

  ‘Right,’ said his father, ‘I’m going to cut that lead!’ But, before he could even get close to the record player, a mob of young men jumped on him and wrested the shears from his grasp, and at that moment the doorbell rang again.

  Seeing that her husband was currently in no position to answer the door, Muriel went to open it, assuming that it was the next door neighbours again. But it was not: this time it was the police.

  ‘Are you in charge here?’ demanded one of the policemen.

  ‘If only!’ she replied.

  ‘You either are or you aren’t,’ said the other policeman. ‘We’ve had a lot of complaints about the noise coming from your party.’

  ‘It’s not my party!’

  ‘Then whose is it?’

  ‘It’s my son’s party, and I only wish I did have some control! But there are a lot of gatecrashers, and they’ve been making it difficult for anybody to restore order. Come on in, and you can speak to them. If they’ll listen to you, that’s more than they’ll do for us!’

  Muriel then led the two policemen into the lounge, where Keith was standing by the record player; as soon as Keith caught sight of the police officers he immediately reduced the volume of the music, at which there was an immediate uproar of protest. Seeing themselves surrounded by aggressive teenagers, the policemen decided to call for reinforcements, and went back to the front door. Two minutes later they were back, with another four policemen in tow. This time they approached John.

  ‘Are you the householder?’ they asked.

  ‘Yes, I am, but I’m not responsible for this chaos!’ John declared.

  ‘Would you be happy for us to take charge then, seeing that you’re not in control?’

  ‘Yes, whatever you say! I’ve tried, but they won’t listen to me!’

  One of the policemen then approached a young man standing by the record player and nonchalantly smoking a cigarette, without realising that the young man was actually the son of the householder. ‘Would you mind if I have a look at that cigarette you’re smoking, sir?’ the policemen said, in a way that made it abundantly clear that Keith really had no choice in the matter.

  ‘Yes, okay,’ said Keith, handing the cigarette to the officer, who immediately smelt it, and called the police sergeant over.

  ‘Look, sarge, I reckon this is hash, what do you think?’

  The police sergeant sniffed, and agreed. ‘Yes, I think you’re right.’ Then, addressing Keith he went on, ‘I’m charging you with being in possession of a Class B drug.’

  Hearing this, John went berserk. ‘You can’t do that!’ he shouted. ‘That’s my son!’

  ‘If that’s your son,’ the police sergeant said, ‘you should exercise more control.’

  ‘How dare you? You can’t come into somebody’s house like that and start throwing your weight about!’

  ‘I was under the impression that you invited me to,’ said the sergeant, ‘in which case I can do as I please, including charging you for allowing your home to be used for the misuse of drugs and obstructing the police in the performance of their duty.’

  John was furious, but remained silent, and was even more incensed when he became aware that Keith was sniggering at what the police sergeant had just said to his father.

  But the sergeant hadn’t yet finished with Keith. Because John had interrupted him while he was in the process of charging Keith with possession of drugs, he had not completed the statutory statement, and was obliged to start again.

  ‘Are you Keith Alcock?’ he began.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Keith Alcock, I am charging you with being in possession of a Class B drug. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

  ‘But this is only a herbal cigarette!’ Keith protested. ‘It’s not cannabis or anything like that!’

  ‘Are you sure?’ said the police sergeant. ‘It smells like cannabis to me!’

  ‘The boy who gave it to me said it was just a herbal cigarette,’ said Keith.

  ‘What was the name of the boy who gave it to you?’

  ‘I have no idea. I’ve never seen him before.’

  ‘But I believe it’s your party, isn’t it…’

  ‘Yes, but we’ve got a lot of gatecrashers…’

  ‘Well, you’re still charged, but I’ll take the cigarette for analysis anyway.’

  Keith stubbed out the cigarette and handed it to the police sergeant.

  ‘Now then,’ the sergeant said, ‘I’m going to need the name and address of everyone here. After that, everyone can go home, the party’s over!’

  At that announcement there was a hum of discontent among all the partygoers; neither did the junior policemen appear too enthusiastic at the idea of having to take down so many names and addresses, but they all pulled out their notebooks and proceeded to carry out the sergeant’s order.

  At length the task was done, and the partygoers all went home, except for the handful that had been given permission to spend the night there. Keith and Carolyn, totally deflated by their experience, took themselves to bed, and John and Muriel followed suit; it was 1.30 in the morning.

  About three quarters of an hour later,
John was awakened by the sound of his bedside telephone ringing. He stretched out his arm and took the handset from its cradle. ‘Hello,’ he said.

  ‘Are you listening?’ asked a female voice which he did not recognise, although afterwards he thought it might have been the voice of one of their next door neighbours who had come earlier to complain about the noise.

  ‘Yes,’ said John.

  ‘This is important,’ said the voice. ‘I did not call the police. It was your family who called the police.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked John, but the caller had terminated the call.

  John went back to bed, but could not help pondering over what the caller had said, and also over the events of the evening. ‘I did not call the police,’ the caller had said. If John was right in thinking that the person on the phone had been their next door neighbour, that would at least make sense: the neighbours would, after all, have been aware of the arrival of more than one police car, and they were perhaps worried that he would assume that, in addition to going round to complain about the noise earlier, they had gone on to call the police.

  But then she had said, ‘It was your family that called the police.’ He knew that he had not summoned the police himself, and he was pretty sure that neither had his wife. That left only two people who might have called them: his son or his daughter.

  The first person John saw on coming downstairs the following morning was his daughter Carolyn. He was about to ask her if it was she who had called the police, but then past experience told him that a direct question such as that would bring an instant denial, regardless of whether or not it was the truth. Consequently he asked, rather more tactfully, he thought, ‘Carolyn, have you any idea who actually called the police last night?’

  He was prepared for an evasive answer at best, but in fact she answered without hesitation: ‘Oh yes, I know who it was. It was Keith.’

  ‘Keith?’ John replied. ‘But why on earth would Keith do that, especially when he was smoking those dodgy cigarettes himself?’

  ‘He had no idea they were dodgy. I was there when this boy offered him one, and what Keith told the policeman was true.’