‘I was only four.’
‘You cried like a baby when that bird died. You weren’t four then.’
‘You put him in a sugar bag and chucked him in the bin.’
‘You make too much fuss. He was only a budgie.’
‘The bin was full. I could see the sugar bag every time I went out.’
‘You’re always crying. You cried over the rabbits.’
‘The ones you let die of thirst.’
‘We lost the key to the garage. That’s not my fault.’
‘You never looked for it. Three days they were shut in there, in the middle of summer.’
I coughed, making their ping-pong conversation come to an emergency stop. They looked at me as though they were surprised I was still there. His mum put her cup down on the floor. ‘You can take your young lady outside and show her the dog now,’ she said. ‘I’ve got work to do.’
*
The bespoke wooden kennel was built in between the house and the small garden wall that separated the concrete patio from the well-manicured lawn. It had a pitched felted roof and was more like a planked log cabin than a kennel. Freddie pulled the bolt free and opened the door. The inside was separated into two areas: a toilet area, which was spotlessly clean, and a sleeping area, which had a wicker basket in the one corner. Lying in the basket on a thick woollen blanket was Tina, a black brindle bull terrier with grey hairs all over her face. ‘Come on, girl,’ said Freddie, patting his right thigh. The dog jumped up at the sound of Freddie’s voice and ran towards him, her tail wagging.
‘She’s smaller than I expected,’ I said.
‘Everyone says that. I think she might have been the runt of the litter.’
The dog was jumping up and weaving in and out of Freddie’s legs. Freddie was patting whatever he could catch. He knelt down. ‘Calm down, girl,’ he said, making the dog sit. He started massaging her head. Tina closed her eyes and turned her head up towards him, nudging his hand with her chin if the massaging pace slowed.
Freddie looked up at me. ‘You going to say hello?’
I knelt down and stroked the dog’s back. ‘She is a lovely dog,’ I said.
‘She’s old now, nearly thirteen.’
‘You obviously love her.’
‘Mum was right about her saving me.’
I could see tears welling in his eyes. I touched his arm and he smiled.
‘We nearly lost her a couple of months ago,’ he said. ‘She got out of her kennel. Mum found her sitting outside the fish and chip shop. She used to go there when she was a puppy, run in and steal a Pukka Pie if the guy left his store gate open.’
‘Clever dog,’ I said.
‘She is, but she has to be quick and get back over the main road sharpish. When Mum called her she ran into the road without looking and a car nearly hit her. Mum couldn’t look. She came back here in tears, felt a nudge on her leg and there’s Tina looking up at her, moist eyes and wagging tail. God knows what we’d have done.’
Freddie’s Recurring Dream
Treetops Wine Bar in Bloxwich. ABC’s ‘All of My Heart’ is playing full volume on the MTV channel. I can see her, she’s at the bar, but the place is ram-packed with Friday-night punters. ‘Jo-Jo,’ I call. ‘Jo-Jo.’ I nudge the bloke in front of me, trying to ease him out of the way. He stumbles into the guy next to him who spills his lager. ‘Fucking hell, mate.’ ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I’m trying to get through. ‘Join the club,’ he says. ‘We’re all trying to get served.’ ‘You don’t understand,’ I say. ‘I’m trying to speak to that girl.’ I point. She’s gone. I’m back in my kitchen. We’ve booked a holiday, but she doesn’t know. I need to talk to her, tell her the details, the plane leaves at three o’clock. I look at my watch. Twelve thirty. I scroll down the contacts on my Windows phone, looking for her number. A blurred screen. 0771… I squint. I can’t see it properly. 0771. I strain my eyes. The screen’s too blurred, the last set of digits are fading in and out. I’m back in the wine bar. She’s on the other side of the room, chatting to two girls, holding a Bacardi and coke. ‘Jo-Jo. Jo-Jo.’
Jo-Jo’s Recurring Dream
I am standing in a glass top of the world atrium, looking out at an orbiting carpet of ocean blue and flame-red planets of different sizes, all interspersed with a sprinkling of diamond encrusted stars. I look expectantly at the astrologer, who removes a telescope from his right eye, concertinas it together and furrows his brow. He steps closer to the observation window, the blue satin tunic covering his pot belly almost touching the glass. I take a step towards him. ‘Well, Professor. What’s the planet called?’
He hesitates, reaches into his red satchel and brings out a glass sphere, which he throws upwards along a straight vertical. It shoots out of view. Seconds later a bang echoes in the atrium summit and purple rain begins to fall, some of the droplets sticking to the window on their descent. He pulls a magnifying glass from his pocket and starts to examine the bubbles of liquid.
I walk to his side. ‘What’s this telling us?’
‘It’s a name grid,’ he says. ‘The planet is called Annexe Five. Better known as Fate in the old scriptures. It’s heading our way, travelling at quite a speed. I must get back to the observation gantry.’ He throws the satchel over his shoulder and sprints out of the room.
I watch the fireball planet edge its way across the sky, getting closer and closer to the glass atrium, the white heat tails of two meteors circling its surface. I touch the glass. The sound of a single cough makes me look around. ‘Professor,’ I say. ‘What have you discovered?’
‘It is Fate,’ he says. ‘We must try to make contact. Find out what they want.’
‘I think I know,’ I say.
‘He’s coming back for you,’ says the professor.
‘You know about him?’
‘Everyone knows about him, Jo-Jo.’
Jo-Jo – July 2015
The brass bell over the coffee-shop doorway sounded and in walked Freddie. We’d arranged to meet at two o’clock, but I’d got there early, knowing he’d be bang on time. I wanted to prepare myself, be ready for the conversation. I couldn’t believe I was sitting here, back in the place where a few days ago I’d re-emerged into his life clutching a black and white photobooth picture and memories from three decades ago. He saw me and smiled – that chipped-tooth grin, the always-looking-at-the-ground blue eyes, the hesitancy, the sense of no harm and, yes, sweetness. The old man with the stick, who’d spoken to us on my last visit, was sitting at the table in the window with his wife. I saw him tap the woman’s arm.
‘Hello, Jo-Jo.’
Freddie was standing next to the table, the waitress from behind the counter at his side.
‘I didn’t know if you wanted something to drink,’ he said.
‘Cup of tea,’ I said. ‘I’ll have a cup of tea.’
The waitress nodded. ‘Pot of tea for one and a skimmed-milk latte,’ she said.
‘No,’ said Freddie, sitting down opposite me. ‘I’ll have tea as well.’
‘Are you sure?’ said the waitress. ‘I can put in an extra shot of coffee if you want.’
‘Two teas, thank you,’ I said.
The waitress walked away.
‘That’ll be the talk of the village,’ I said.
‘Oh, I think the village have something better to talk about,’ he said, nodding at the old man, who was trying not to look like he was watching.
‘Is this a good place for us to talk?’ I said.
‘As good as any,’ he said. ‘Anyway, we’ve ordered tea now.’
The waitress returned and laid out a pot of tea, two china cups and saucers, and a small churn-shaped jug containing the milk. She looked at Freddie as though she was expecting him to realise his mistake.
‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘Sugar’s there,’ she said, nodding at
the bowl of brown and white lumps in the centre of the table before walking away.
I lifted the lid on the pot and swirled the teabags with one of the spoons.
‘Milk?’ I said, picking up the churn.
Freddie nodded. I splashed some milk into his cup and then some into mine. ‘We’ll let it brew for a few minutes,’ I said. ‘Nothing worse than baby tea.’
‘I’ve missed you, Jo-Jo,’ he said, putting his hands on top of mine.
I was distracted by two women walking past our table. They were no more than five-foot two in height and one of them was carrying a light-tan leather shopping bag similar to the one Mum always carried around with her. ‘Do you remember the day Mammy had her leg off?’ the woman with the bag said in a Northern Irish accent.
‘I do,’ said the other woman. ‘What a sad day that was for Daddy.’ They carried on walking out of the shop.
Freddie laughed. ‘I love the way you people-watch,’ he said. ‘You make it an art form.’
‘You’re not too bad yourself if I remember rightly. All those stories you used to tell.’
I took a sip of my tea.
‘I’m glad you came,’ he said.
‘I don’t know what I’m doing here.’
‘I’m hoping it means you must have some feelings for me.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It appears I still do.’
He looked down at the table. ‘I thought I wasn’t good enough for you. That’s why I didn’t call.’
‘I never know what you mean by that, Freddie.’
‘I mean you needed a proper man, someone to take care of you.’
‘You’re saying I couldn’t take care of myself.’
‘No. I’m saying you deserved to be taken care of.’
‘You think too much,’ I said. ‘You always have. You still do.’
‘I couldn’t see how the future would work out for us, Jo-Jo.’
‘Why should you? No-one knows, unless you’re clairvoyant. You’re not, are you?’
‘I wanted it to be certain. That’s why I walked away.’
‘It’s still not certain, Freddie. If anything, it’s less certain now than it was then. We’ve had lives. There are complications, emotional baggage for both of us.’
‘I know, but I love you, Jo-Jo. Let’s go away.’
‘What? Where?’
‘Devon. A cottage for a few days. See how we get on.’
‘I don’t know…’
‘Just say yes.’
‘I can’t get over how you just left me.’
‘It was so long ago,’ he said.
‘But it could happen again,’ I said. ‘Your head. You must have been planning to leave when we made our way to the coach station. You had no intention of calling me, even though you promised.’
‘I came looking for you.’
‘Two months later, and then you didn’t hang around.’
‘I thought you’d moved on. You and that guy looked close. He had his arm around you.’
‘He was a friend. Nothing more. You must have known how I felt about you.’
‘Let’s go away.’
‘I don’t know if I want to open up my feelings for you again. I’m too old for all that.’
‘If you still feel the same after our time away, we’ll say our goodbyes. Don’t you want to find out? You were the one that started all this by looking me up after thirty-five years.’
‘Ghosts,’ I said. ‘That’s the reason I came to look for you. I wanted to settle ghosts.’
Jo-Jo – October 1979
Me and Karen were at Wolverhampton Civic Hall. Elkie Brooks wasn’t due on stage until seven thirty, but I’d been sitting in my seat for twenty minutes, staring at the bass guitar, drums and keyboards, all waiting to be claimed and brought to life by the band. I could hear the hall filling up behind me. I was thinking about Dad, him singing ‘Love Potion No 9’ and ‘Honey Can I put on Your Clothes’ as we listened to the ‘Two Days Away’ album, him showing me the cover, Elkie on the phone, panda eyes, wearing only a nightshirt, behind her a lit-up Empire State Building viewed through the open door to the apartment balcony, him telling me about ‘Bookbinder’s Kid’, ‘Vinegar Joe’, the Robert Palmer connection and the Janis Joplin comparisons.
‘We must be the youngest ones here,’ said Karen, still standing and looking around the ram-packed three-thousand-seats venue.
‘Sit down,’ I said, pulling at her arm. ‘It’s nearly time.’
She dropped into her seat and put her feet up against the wall of the stage, the hall lights glistening off the top of her monkey boots. ‘I can’t believe you’ve made me come to this,’ she said. ‘She’s not Blondie, is she?’
I pinched her leg. ‘Stop being an ungrateful bitch. You didn’t have tickets to see Blondie. What else would you be doing tonight?’
The lights dimmed and I felt goosebumps rise all the way up my arms. I squeezed Karen’s hand. She smiled at me. A drum-roll started. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, Elkie Brooks.’
Two hours later, the stage smoke had disappeared, the lights had come up, but the crowd were still stamping their feet, shouting, ‘More, more, more.’ Karen was screaming at the top of her voice.
‘She’s been back twice,’ I said. ‘She won’t come out again.’
‘I don’t think this lot are ready to go home yet,’ said Karen.
The lights went down. Elkie walked onto the stage, punching the air as she walked over to the mike. ‘Okay,’ she said, running her hand down her red-silk dressing gown. ‘We’ll have to do this one without the band.’ She leaned into the mike and purred the opening lines of ‘He Could Have Been an Army’.
Jo-Jo – August 2015
I could see him through the double entrance doors of the hotel reception. He was parked in one of the visitors’ spaces on the far side of the car park in Jack’s Mini Cooper, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. The security man in his bright yellow high-vis jacket was watching him from his sentry position by the three industrial bins. I hoped I was doing the right thing. Three days away with a man I hadn’t been intimate with for over thirty years. I didn’t think he’d find a cottage, but he had; I didn’t think Jack would lend him the car, but he did. Amy had asked the killer question. ‘Where are you going to sleep, Mum?’ It hadn’t crossed my mind to ask him. She’d rolled her eyes when I didn’t answer. ‘Mum, he’s a man. You need to have the conversation before you go.’ I’d spent all night turning that question over and over in my head.
I walked outside, clutching Mum’s geisha girl carpet bag, the bag that I’d taken to Blackpool on my last trip away with Freddie. I smiled at the memory of my eighteen-year-old self running down the front path of my parents’ three-bedroomed semi-detached house, throwing the carpet bag on the rear seat of Freddie’s new Chrysler Avenger.
I stopped for a second and took a deep breath. It was already quite warm and I could smell the eucalyptus tress from the hotel gardens. The Mini pulled out of the parking space and parked up again in front of the four steps leading down from the block-paved patio to the car park.
Freddie jumped out of the car and walked up the steps towards me. He’d left the engine running. ‘Lovely day,’ he said, holding his hand out for the carpet bag.
‘How many bedrooms are there in this cottage, Freddie?’
‘One,’ he said, still holding his hand out for the bag. ‘But I’ll sleep on the couch.’
‘I’ll hold you to that,’ I said, walking down the steps, still clutching the carpet bag.
*
We’d pulled out of the conifer tree-lined exit road of the Hotel Rushmore, made our way through the country lanes and turned right onto the main road heading for the motorway. Neither of us had said anything for about five minutes. Freddie’s face had dropped, the chipped-front-tooth smile had disappeared. I felt g
uilty for snapping.
‘You did well to find a cottage,’ I said. ‘I thought you’d struggle in August.’
‘I got lucky,’ he said. ‘The third place I called had a cancellation.’
‘And Jack doesn’t mind you borrowing the car?’
‘He said he needed it for work, but I told him how important it was. Anyway, it was his idea that we should talk.’
‘Oh, it was Jack’s idea.’
He looked at me, taking his eyes off the road. ‘Jack just woke me up. I want to spend some time with you.’
‘I want to spend some time with you as well,’ I said.
He faced the road again. His chipped-tooth grin reappeared.
*
The bungalow cottage was on its own at the end of a dirt track in the middle of an eco-friendly park. It was surrounded by lush woodlands and there was a lake with a boathouse at the bottom of its garden, a single rowing boat with no oars moored alongside the jetty. We walked down the steep slope from the car park to the back door, trying to maintain our balance as our feet squelched into the soggy ground.
A man, sitting on one of the green metal patio chairs, waved at us as we got closer to the house. He looked like he lived permanently outdoors. He was wearing grey hiking shorts, heavy walking boots and thick grey socks. His skin was a dirty tan colour, like it had never been properly cleaned. ‘Derek,’ he said, standing up. ‘I’m the park caretaker.’
We shook hands and introduced ourselves. I looked at the clipboard Derek was holding.
‘Health and safety briefing,’ he said, tapping the board.
‘Oh, there’s no need,’ said Freddie.
‘There’s every need,’ said Derek. ‘I have to make sure you’re fully briefed.’
Freddie and I looked at each other and smiled.
‘Let’s start with the keys,’ said Derek, walking off towards the cottage. ‘The Yale one is for the back door, the other one is for the front. I know most people have their Yale lock on the front door, but we don’t. It’s simple enough when you get used to it.’
An Extra Shot Page 6
