by Jenny Oliver
‘Oh you did, did you?’ Matt asked, leaning back against the counter, folding his arms across his chest and waiting, amused, for her reply.
Annie looked away, feeling herself get unexpectedly shy. She buried her head in the rolls of fur at the pug’s neck and mumbled something that sounded like it might be an answer but was actually just nonsense.
Matt rolled his eyes and, pushing himself upright, said, ‘I need you to come and look at this door. See if you like it. And, I need a screwdriver.’
‘Oh there’s one on this shelf. I saw it earlier.’ Holding the dog with one hand, Annie bent down to find the screwdriver. ‘Oh and look at this,’ she held up a flyer for The River Rats, who were playing at The Black Rooms, a dingy club on the mainland, that night. ‘Hey, River.’
River glanced up under a curtain of hair.
‘This your band?’ she asked.
He looked suddenly like a rabbit caught in headlights. Like the last thing he wanted to do was admit that it was his band because there was a remote possibility that they might come and watch but also clearly quite proud of the fact that they had a gig. ‘Might be,’ he mumbled.
‘Interesting,’ said Annie, smirking a half-smile and glancing at Matt who was frowning at the flyer, his brain clearly whirring with images of underage drinking, sex, drugs and wild corruption.
‘Course it’s his bloody band!’ shouted Ludo from the kitchen.
‘Does your mother know you’re playing there?’ asked Matt, his voice stern.
‘Yes!’ snarled River.
‘Good one,’ said Annie to Matt under her breath.
Matt frowned back at the flyer.
‘You can’t come,’ said River, his voice catching, clearly worried. ‘You’re too old.’
‘Ha!’ Annie guffawed. ‘I am a young, trendy person, I’ll have you know. I live in North London, River.’
‘So?’ he scowled.
‘I go to gigs,’ she added.
Holly sniggered. ‘When was the last time you went to a gig, Annie?’
‘When there just happened to be a band playing at my local,’ she laughed.
‘Please don’t come,’ said River.
‘I won’t embarrass you,’ Annie said.
‘Yes you will.’
‘I’m hurt.’
‘I really want to talk to your mother about this,’ said Matt.
‘Oh shut up. Don’t. She’s fine.’
‘Matt.’ Annie found herself putting her hand on his arm, struggling to keep hold of the pug one-handed. ‘Leave it.’
He glanced back at her, frowned, then stabbed the flyer that was decorated with skull and crossbones and syringes with his finger.
‘Just for a second try and remember being seventeen,’ she whispered. ‘It’s OK, River,’ she called out. ‘I won’t embarrass you.’
‘Does that mean you won’t come?’
‘No,’ she shook her head. ‘It means I won’t embarrass you.’
River decided that was the best answer he was going to get and, huffing, went to join Holly who was holding the pictures up to see where they fit best.
Annie turned her attention back to Matt. ‘What were you doing when you were seventeen?’
‘I was training for the Olympics.’
‘Oh!’ Annie screwed up her face. ‘That wasn’t quite the answer I was looking for.’
‘What were you doing when you were seventeen?’ he asked.
‘I was running wild,’ she laughed, lifting the dog up and talking to his squashed-in face. ‘Snogging boys and being a teenager.’
‘She was trouble,’ her mother called over and Annie was surprised that she’d been able to hear from that distance. ‘Caused me a lot of heartache.’
‘She’s overreacting,’ Annie shrugged, tucking Buster back under her arm.
Holly glanced over, nail in her mouth and hammer in her hand. ‘She was finding herself, having fun. Put it this way,’ Holly added, ‘Annie and I are very familiar with The Black Rooms.’
‘I’ve never been,’ said Matthew.
‘Matthew Walker,’ Annie shook her head at him. ‘You haven’t lived.’
Chapter Nine
Annie had said that she’d meet Matthew round the corner from The Black Rooms, outside a closed-down travel agent, in order to avoid any chance of being spotted by River. It wasn’t how she’d envisioned a possible first date with him. Not that this was a date, of course. More a shove towards some father‒son bonding by someone who actually remembered what it was like to be a teenager.
She also knew what it was like to have different interests to those ones family had. Because her dad was such a well-known figure on the island it was like they had to do their duty, put in an appearance, like Kate and Wills doing a circuit of the place, and they trouped behind him carrying the fishing gear or the picnic, the camera and tripod or the family canoe ‒ her brother always holding his end too high so that hers was really, really heavy.
Annie liked to draw. She liked to sit in her room and look out the window and draw. Alone. With her music, with her cup of tea with one sugar that her mum would frown at, with her pencil that was sharpened down so far that it was an inch and a half long.
And while it was lovely doing everything they did as a family, she wanted, just every now and then, to be allowed to slope off on her own. Or, on the other hand, for them all to come with her when there was a new exhibition on at the Royal Academy or the Tate.
‘I’m wearing black, to blend in,’ Annie heard Matt’s voice as he came up behind her.
‘Me too,’ she giggled as she turned around and had to pretend that her breath hadn’t just caught at the sight of him in a black shirt, sleeves rolled up, collar open, and dark jeans that sat low like a cowboy. ‘We look like we’re about to rob the place.’
‘I’ve seen the queue.’ Matt raised a brow as he spoke, ‘If we were there to rob the joint, the fact that we’re twenty years older than everyone else might give us away in a line-up.’
‘Stop it!’ She leant forward and bashed him on the arm with her studded clutch bag. ‘We’re young still. And look,’ she pointed down to the black leather leggings that she’d borrowed from Holly, ‘We’re on-trend and hip.’
‘On-trend. Uh-uh.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m leaving. I can’t be on-trend.’
Annie giggled again. She wasn’t used to giggling. She was used to sitting in her flat listening to the The Real Housewives of Atlanta flirting and bitching. ‘I’ll just have to go in on my own then and find myself a sullen toy-boy in a Kurt Cobain T-shirt.’
Matt tilted his head to one side and watched her for a fraction of a second before smirking and saying, ‘As opposed to a reclusive adventurer in a Gap shirt and Diesel jeans?’
Annie swallowed. Cringed inwardly at the idea of suggesting this was somehow a date. It felt like she’d shown all her cards and it was only nine o’clock.
Matt laughed. ‘Come on, let’s get this over with.’
‘Matthew, this is your son’s band,’ Annie sighed, ‘You’re meant to enjoy it.’
Ten minutes later she realised that she was most definitely not a teenager anymore. The club was smaller and hotter than she remembered. The walls seemed to pulsate and as she was flattened against the brickwork by the mass of people, she felt water trickle down her back. Like the place itself was as sweaty as the throng of teenagers pushing their way to the bar, eyes wild, clothes dishevelled, shouting, dancing, a girl crying in the corner, the smell of toilets and perfume, alcohol and sweat making her want to gag.
‘This is horrendous,’ she heard Matt shout.
‘No, no it’s OK. We’ll just get to the bar,’ she said back, trying not to meet his eyes because he’d see then that she was all talk. It really was horrendous. Her leather leggings were sticking to her legs and Holly’s dark leopard-print top that was clearly saved for best now had some horrific purple drink spilt down one arm.
‘Excuse me!’ she shouted to the barman.
‘Yeah?’ He narrowed his eyes at her. He was dressed in a sleeveless T-shirt with some group she’d never heard of written across the front. Half his head was shaved, there was a bone through the bit of his nose that fell out on coke-addicted celebrities and he had one of those huge hole things in his ears that made Annie shudder whenever she saw one, remembering some guy at art college who used to rest his pencil in his.
‘Have you got any wine?’ she asked, hopeful.
He laughed.
She bit her lip. ‘I thought it was worth a try.’
He relaxed a bit and huffed a breath. ‘Beer, vodka, tequila, Jägermeister. And I’ll need to see ID.’
‘Ha!’ Annie almost clapped her hands. ‘He wants to see some ID,’ she said, turning to Matt triumphant. Then frowned as she searched through her purse. ‘I don’t have an ID. I have a Sainsbury’s Nectar card.’
‘That should do it,’ the barman said, pityingly.
‘Two beers then,’ Annie said.
And then Matt leant over her shoulder and added, ‘And two tequilas.’
She turned to question him and found her face an inch from his, could smell the lemony aftershave and see the thick wing of lashes.
‘We need something to help us through this.’
The shots came in green plastic glasses. Matt scooped them up and led her over to a tall table in the corner that had become free since the previous occupants were now snogging in the alcove behind them. The table was littered with fag packets, more plastic shot glasses and flyers for River’s band.
‘This really is a hell of a place,’ Matt said, as she swept the detritus away and put the plastic pint glasses of beer down. ‘Here, drink this.’ He gave her the green shot glass and they both downed the gloopy tequila. Annie felt it burn down her throat and up her nose, felt her body shudder and an overwhelming desire to be sick.
‘Jesus Christ. That’s not any tequila I’ve ever drunk.’
‘They probably brew it out the back.’ Matt shivered. ‘That was disgusting. I’m just too old for this.’ He blew out a breath. ‘Tell me again why I couldn’t have just taken him camping?’
Before Annie could reply, the thumping beats paused and a spotlight came on the tiny, cramped stage. A young guy resembling the Mad Hatter with flaming red curls, a frockcoat and breeches, came out with a mic to whoops and cheers and got the crowd even more wound up with a Russell Brand-esque introduction of intelligent nonsense ending in a call to welcome The River Rats back by popular demand.
The big black curtain opened and there was River, standing at a mic with his guitar. He looked different, wearing skinny black jeans, a white T-shirt and a tailored black suit jacket. On his feet were his usual scruffy white trainers, but his hair had been pushed back, sticking up as if he’d just run his hands through it and…
‘Is he wearing eyeliner?’ Matt leant forward and squinted.
Annie sniggered. ‘Most definitely.’
There was another guitarist, a really skinny guy who Annie had seen hanging around in the café; he was wearing a dark-green parka zipped right up and tartan trousers which she wasn’t sure were such a good idea. But her attention was taken by a deafening drum roll and the tiny, doll-like black-haired girl sitting behind the set, crashing away on cymbals.
‘Well look at her,’ Annie bit down on the side of her lip and smiled. River had turned to look across at the girl and his little eyes had lit up. Her bright-red lipstick was exquisitely applied and she’d drawn a track of tears in eyeliner down her cheek. Her hair had been scraped up on either side and backcombed into a mohican and she was wearing a white shirt tied under her bra, a pair of leopard-print leggings and the same cherry-red DM boots Annie had seen on River. ‘She’s marvellous,’ Annie laughed.
Matt looked terrified.
River looked in awe.
And then it was his turn to wow. Leaving his guitar and clutching the mic with both hands, he started singing and the room erupted. Eyes shut, deep in concentration, he looked like an angel.
Annie, a little woozy from the tequila, found herself putting her hand on her chest with pride. She glanced at Matt who had paused with his beer glass half raised from the table. His lips parted slightly, his eyes soft like he was watching his tiny baby.
Then River opened his eyes and seem to latch onto the two of them like a heat-seeking missile. They saw his face flicker in recognition but his voice didn’t falter. Annie scrunched up her face and did a double thumbs-up, which she instantly regretted when she saw the barman give her another pity-infused brow raise. And Matt just stared, mesmerised. Enchanted. Besotted.
Until the drummer girl did some crazy drumming crescendo and the song changed into a cacophony of noise and screeching that delighted the crowd and made Annie scuttle off to order two more tequilas.
They stayed for the whole set. Drank far too much. Didn’t dance ‒ it was all far too cool for them. But clapped and whooped and Matt whistled when it ended. The drummer girl stood up on her seat and took a bow and a twirl and a little wiggle. River just raised a hand in awkward acknowledgement of the crowd and the guitar boy didn’t do anything, just shuffled away.
‘Blimey,’ Matt wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead. In the background the frockcoat boy was back on stage rambling on. ‘I thought I was going to cry.’
Annie laughed. ‘See…’
‘See what?’ he asked, confused.
‘That’s why you didn’t go climbing.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ he nodded, his mouth just tilting up at the sides.
‘Ooh there he is,’ Annie stood on tiptoes and pointed over to where River and the drummer girl were making their way through the crowd, people slapping him on the back and generally making a fuss of the two of them. ‘Do you think she’s his girlfriend?’
‘Bloody hope not.’
‘Why not? She’s fantastic.’
‘She’s terrifying. She’ll eat him alive.’
‘You’re such a dad.’
‘Do you think?’ His tone sounded almost hopeful and Annie couldn’t help a wave of sympathy for him.
Especially as River clearly clocked the two of them and walked straight past, heading to the bar and all his mates.
Matthew looked crestfallen.
‘He didn’t even wave,’ he said. ‘Should I go over?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s just cos he’s with all his friends. Remember his face when we mentioned even coming here. He saw us, he saw you, that’s enough.’
Matt was peering over the heads of the crowd trying to get a glimpse of his son. ‘You don’t think I should go over?’
‘No.’ Annie tugged on his sleeve. ‘Let’s go. He doesn’t want his parents here.’ She paused. ‘Not his parents, I’m not saying I’m his parent. You know, his dad. He doesn’t want his dad and his boss here, does he?’ Inside she was just saying, Annie, be quiet. But the tequila had made her tongue loose. Luckily Matt was more preoccupied with getting River to catch his eye. ‘Come on,’ she said, and taking his hand in hers she started to drag him through the mass of sweaty bodies to the exit.
As they passed where River was standing with all his friends, Matt paused and Annie had to give him another gentle tug. At the doorway they both looked back, just in time to see River watching them and Annie did a surreptitious little wave and River possibly gave them a tiny nod of the head. Either that or someone shoved him on their way to the bar.
‘I think he acknowledged us,’ said Matt once they were outside in the cool, dark air.
Annie shivered. The heat from the club mixed with the tequila made outside feel like the Arctic. She had no idea what time it was but she was starving and cold and her feet were beginning to throb.
‘Shall we go and have something to eat?’ she asked.
Matt paused and looked down at her. ‘Do you know what time it is?’
Annie shook her head.
He showed her his watch. ‘It’s midnight. I’m not sure many restaurants will be open.’
‘We were in there for three hours?’ She made a face.
‘Time flies when you’re having fun, honey.’
Annie rolled her eyes. ‘I’m starving.’
He seemed to think about it for a moment, then said. ‘You want to come back to mine?’
And when she didn’t answer straight away he added, ‘For dinner.’ As if just to clarify.
Annie paused for a second. She could feel his eyes taking her in. As if an evening that had been all about his son had suddenly become an evening about him and her. As if his head hadn’t been able to carry those two thoughts prior to that moment. ‘I would really like it if you would come back for dinner at mine,’ he said, straightening his shoulders.
‘That would be really lovely,’ she said, and she saw his smile in his eyes.
Chapter Ten
Cherry Pie Island had very few houses like Matthew Walker’s. When Annie had been growing up it was all wooden shack lean-tos, sixties apartment buildings and cute, rustic cottages. The more eclectic houses had river debris decorating the porches and gardens filled with sculptures and crazy ornaments. Her Aunt Judy had dolls’ heads on her tomato canes in her vegetable patch. The Neils’ lighthouse didn’t seem so bonkers when put in relation to the warehouse round the corner from her mum’s house that had a plastic skeleton in a cage hanging over the front door, or the houseboat so covered in pots that it was barely possible to see the cabin. One of the old barns had been converted into an open-plan house and Barney, the owner, had installed a huge shark in the roof, as though it had dropped through the sky.
Then there were the new-builds over on the east side of the island that her brother had instigated, that had been campaigned against but proved unstoppable. Yellow-brick and characterless, they made up a gated community with a doorman and manicured communal gardens. It was no surprise that Jonathan had been one of the first people to snap one up.
But Matthew’s house, sitting on a plot between the cafe and the wilder common parkland, was one of a kind. As he unlocked the heavy gates and beckoned for Annie to go in first, she found herself pausing, open-mouthed with wonder.
