“Heyyyyy!” Said the voice, which Gordy immediately recognised as Trevor’s.
Gordy turned and smiled. “Hi, Trev,” he said to his friend, looking him up and down and wondering exactly what it was that he was wearing and feeling, much to his shame, a tad embarrassed by association. “That’s er, some outfit you’re wearing.”
“You think so?” Replied Trevor proudly, “I thought you’d like it.”
“You did, why?”
“Cos I know how much you like The Fonz.”
“Yeah, and?” Gordy was a bit confused, what did Trevor’s outfit have to do with the Fonz?
“—And well - that’s who I’m dressed as - you know, The Fonz!” Trevor’s face had suddenly transformed from a happy ‘glad to see his friend’ expression’ to a very despondent ‘oh my God, he doesn’t know who I’m dressed as’ expression. Never before in his whole life had Gordy not automatically known what or who Trevor was dressed as - even on the day he took a punt and decided to dress as ‘Penry the mild mannered janitor’ from Hong Kong Phooey - not the most recognisable outfit and a tricky one even for connoisseur’s of the masked mutt but Gordy had known instantly who he was.
But Trevor’s ‘Fonz’ - which should have been immediately obvious to Gordy - somehow was not.
To Trevor, this just emphasised the huge chasm that had opened between them and suddenly he feared that he and Gordy might no longer have anything in common at all.
Indeed, they might not even be friends.
“Oh, yeah! Of course - The Fonz!” Said Gordy trying to muster all the enthusiasm he could but it was blatantly fake and both he and Trevor knew it.
Gordy tried a different tack and said genuinely, “Hey, thanks for helping me out in there, Trev. It was amazing what you did - and you definitely stopped me from getting battered.”
“S’okay,” said Trevor inspecting his feet and feeling more than a little stupid in his now clearly ridiculous get up. “That’s what friends are for, right?”
“Yeah, course. Why?”
“It’s just that, well, just lately - what with Daisy and everything - I was wondering, that’s all.” Said Trevor, awkwardly.
“Honestly, Trev,” replied Gordy, dismissively, suddenly aware of how silly they must both look; him in shredded jeans and canoe trainers with a snorkel parka sarong and Trevor dressed like a cross between Evel Knievel and a garden gnome. “It’s no big deal. Seriously.”
However, the mention of Daisy had pricked Gordy’s memory and he suddenly looked about him to see where she had gone to.
“Look,” he said absently to Trevor, “I’ll speak to you tomorrow, yeah? I just need to talk to Daisy and Frazer for a bit - okay?”
Trevor’s shoulders slumped as he turned dejectedly, “Yeah, okay,” he said slinking away, wishing to Christ he had not opted for the crash helmet as it was starting to make his head itch, which only seemed to compound his problems.
But Gordy’s mind was already elsewhere and he failed to notice just how much Trevor needed to be assured that things would, indeed, be okay.
“Great, Trev,” he said. But by then Trevor was out of ear shot.
Unlike Gordy, who had lots of friends, acquaintances and people who generally liked him (not counting those now fleeing the roller-disco of doom), Trevor had very few friends at all - mainly due to his many eccentricities.
This fact had previously not worried him at all because he always had Gordy who he’d been friends with since they were just tots.
Gordy ‘got him’ - so who cared if nobody else did? But now, suddenly, Trevor felt that their friendship was slipping away - Gordy had moved on, grown up, become interested in girls, fashion, music - indeed everything that Trevor was either not interested in or just simply did not understand.
As Trevor sloped off, away from the Drill Hall, in his hopelessly unsuccessful ‘Fonz’ outfit this all weighed very heavily on his mind. He felt like McGarrett without Danno, Kojak without Crocker or Solo without Kuryakin.
In fact ‘solo’ is exactly what he was.
Oblivious to all of this, Gordy was busy scanning the area for Daisy and eventually spotted her over by the wrought iron gates, amongst the groups of disgruntled kids still milling around outside the Drill Hall. She was standing with Frazer who still had a thick arm wrapped protectively around her waist, just in case someone else dared to make a remark about how she looked. But, with Frazer there, no one would, not unless they were completely insane.
Again, Gordy felt that unwelcome pang in the pit of his stomach as he watched the two of them together. Why on earth did it bother him so? However, he dismissed the question quickly before his brain had a chance to answer and was about to wander over to them when someone grabbed his hand and pulled him back.
For a moment he thought it was Trevor and turned to shrug him off, but as he looked around he saw that it was not him but Pippa who had hold of his hand. And he very nearly fainted with delight.
Pippa Wilson was standing before him, holding his hand, her grip as tight as her snug little T-shirt and jeans. She was smiling; her big blue eyes looking deeply into his, her golden hair hanging loosely, voluminously, down to her shoulders, almost glowing like a halo in the moonlight. Harps began to play and choirs of angels started to sing as a beam of silver light shone down from the heavens and illuminated her beautiful face - actually none of that happened, or not anywhere other than in Gordy’s head at least - but she was standing there and she was holding his hand.
“See you next week, at school?” She said, still holding his hand.
“Yeah, course” was all he could manage in reply.
“Great, see you then.”
“Yeah, okay. See you.”
Then, on impulse, Pippa released his hand and hugged him tightly. The unmistakable waft of Charlie filled his nostrils (the perfume, not some random smelly bloke) as her firm breasts pressed heavily against his chest.
“You were so brave in there,” she said, giving him a quick peck on the cheek.
It was all very unexpected and suddenly, without warning, the semi, that had been dozing happily in his underpants since rousing, briefly, inside the Drill Hall earlier, rapidly awoke and threatened to transform itself into a fierce, purple-headed monster. Gordy started to panic as it pushed itself against Pippa, completely untamed and only barely contained which, bearing in mind the current state of his jeans and the amount of people still loitering about was tantamount to disaster.
“Er, thanks” he replied, utterly flabbergasted, desperately trying to focus on something other than the wondrous feeling of her boobs as they pushed against Marc Bolan’s very fortunate face on Gordy’s (or, more accurately, Kev’s) T-Rex T-shirt.
As she broke away, Gordy had visions of people running scared through the streets of Bradley as the Creature from the Blue Levis threatened to break loose - as if Godzilla, himself, was on the rampage - and poor, beautiful Pippa would be its first unsuspecting victim.
His only hope of salvation was that the snorkel parka tied around his waist would not only protect Pippa from the pointy prod of his protuberant penis but also conceal it successfully from the local populace.
Nevertheless, Pippa, seemingly oblivious to the danger lurking below, took his hand again and said “Love the new jeans, by the way.”
Gordy laughed nervously, relieved that she had apparently not noticed what was hiding within the folds of the snorkel parka. “Yeah, thanks,” he said. “Split-crotch jeans - they’re the latest craze, you know.”
Pippa giggled (a sound which was like music to Gordy’s ears), “Obviously”, she said, before adding rather provocatively, “I think I might even get some for myself”.
“Wow!” Gordy said out loud before he could stop himself, the image of Pippa in a pair of split-crotch jeans suddenly popping into his head (and looking much more like tight leather chaps in his
mind’s eye) making him feel a little woozy; the front of his tattered 501s threatening to explode like a mini Versuvius.
She was laughing now as she finally let go of his hand. “Night Gorrrrdy,” she said, putting specific emphasis on his name, letting him know that she now knew it for definite. “See you next week!”
“Yeah, night, Pippa,” he said, trying desperately to rid himself of the image of her in his head whilst simultaneously trying to file it away in his memory banks for later retrieval under the duvet when he would be appropriately tooled-up with his trusty box of Scotties and his ever faithful rubber torch.
“See you at school.”
As he watched her walk away into the night with her group of friends, she turned and smiled and her friends giggled.
“She fancies you!” One of her friends shouted before Pippa quickly shushed her, clearly mortified by the outburst. But then she turned to look back at Gordy again and smiled beguilingly (if slightly apologetically), allowing Gordy to think that perhaps her friend was not joking - that Pippa Wilson did actually fancy him.
Bloody Nora.
As Pippa and her pals vanished into the night, Gordy mulled over all the tantalising possibilities of that startling and quite unexpected revelation in his mind, scarcely believing it possible.
When he could see Pippa no more, he turned and headed happily towards Daisy. However, as he looked up, his view now unobstructed by roller-disco refugees, he stopped sharply in his tracks, amazed and slightly outraged by what he saw.
Daisy was snogging Frazer.
***
Daisy had been waiting for Gordy. She was less upset now and had even removed her bobble hat, defiantly refusing to be dragged down by her own insecurities and the meaningless opinions of people she didn’t know. The only person whose opinion she had cared about, other than those of Gordy and Frazer, was Steve Cool and he had already seen her in all her hideous glory so what did it matter now.
Her dream of Steve Cool had disintegrated and her hopes of ever being his girlfriend had been brutally dashed forever.
His laughter and his cruel taunts had wounded her badly and it would take a long time for the scars to heal.
But, if she was being honest with herself, she knew that someone as beautiful as Steve Cool would never be interested in a ginger, freckle-faced, ironing board like her. Not in a million years. And now was the time to finally accept it and move on.
Gordy and Frazer, on the other hand, had both been brilliant. Gordy’s heroics in the face of a certain beating had truly touched her and Frazer’s all-encompassing protection had been such a comfort. Daisy hated violence, hated boys that fought and showed-off, but the way that Gordy had bravely, selflessly, put himself in the line of fire to spare her embarrassment and the way in which Frazer had so expertly laid Steve Cool out had given her a little moment of victory in what was an otherwise awful night.
Even now Frazer had his arms around her, keeping her safe.
If this night had shown her nothing else, it had shown her that, for the first time in her life, she had true friends and that cheered her up immensely.
As she leant with her back against Frazer’s chest, she looked across at Gordy and the sight of him made her smile as he stood talking to Trevor, her snorkel parka wrapped around his waist. Gordy was nice. He was kind and funny; a bit mixed up maybe but then who wasn’t. He looked quite handsome now, especially with his new haircut and lack of glasses. As she watched him and thought about him; about all the fun they had had in the last few weeks at Bailey’s Bandstand, she became aware of a warm, sickly feeling in her stomach, like butterflies but a bit different.
Frazer said something to her; whispered something in her ear but she didn’t quite catch it, although she felt comforted as he tightened his arms around her. But the sickly feeling was still in her stomach as she continued to study Gordy.
Then she watched as Pippa took his hand and was utterly horrified when she hugged him - and then kissed him. Suddenly her anger flared, much like it had previously when Gordy had failed to compliment her on her appearance, only this time it was worse. Much worse.
Frazer said something to her again, his lips close to her ear as he spoke. “Go out with me?” He said.
Daisy turned to look at him, their noses just millimetres apart. Then she thought of Gordy and Pippa hugging and the anger flooded through her once more.
Then she kissed Frazer on the lips and he kissed her back. She opened her mouth to speak, to apologise, to say something, but as she did so his tongue slipped in between her teeth and she was suddenly lost, her mind full of thoughts of Gordy, of Steve Cool and now, most confusingly, of Frazer, too.
And she carried on kissing Frazer, unaware that Gordy was looking on.
***
When, at last, they had finished, Daisy again looked up; her head spinning, a little shell-shocked by the sudden turn of events, to see Gordy standing right beside her.
“You two look cosy,” he said flatly, handing Daisy her snorkel parka back. Then added, “See you at the shop on Monday” before turning and stomping off, suddenly wishing that he had asked Trevor to wait for him after all.
“Yeah, see you Monday!” Daisy said after him, a bit shamefaced and feeling a little like she had just been caught with her hand inside the cookie jar.
“See you next week, mate!” Said Frazer wondering maybe, just maybe, if it wasn’t Steve Cool who Daisy had fancied after all and hoping that he hadn’t just put his giant, size eleven, hob-nailed Doc Martens right in it.
Chapter Twelve
Next morning Daisy woke up in a kind of befuddled haze, uncertain if the events of the previous evening had actually happened or whether, in fact, it had somehow all been a horrible, very confusing dream.
But then, with a hideously sick feeling in the pit of her stomach she realised that it was all rather worryingly true.
She had gone to the roller-disco. Steve Cool had called her a ‘lezzie’ and she had somehow, inexplicably ended up going out with Frazer - a boy who up until the moment he had his tongue down her throat she had not thought of in a romantic way whatsoever - if indeed someone sticking their tongue down your throat somewhat uninvitedly could be considered in any way, shape or form romantic.
And then there was the whole Gordy situation. Why had it bothered her so when she saw him hugging Pippa? And, perhaps more importantly, why had she responded by kissing Frazer who, it seemed, as a direct consequence of that overly hasty and stupidly impetuous reaction, was now her boyfriend.
Daisy Flynn, the formerly four-eyed, freckle-faced, hitherto hirsute Hair-Bear, was now going out with the biggest, baddest punk-rocker in Bradley.
It was all just so bloody mental.
And to make matters worse, today was Sunday or, as it had become known to the Godless folk of the surrounding suburbs, ‘Mad Missionary Day’ - because today was the day that Glynn and Lynn Flynn, the happy hippies, took to the Bible-bus and went out into the world to spread the word of The Lord.
What is more, they would no doubt be expecting Daisy to accompany them - complete with crew-cut, kazoo and all.
What a nightmare.
She yawned wearily, already able to hear her dad tuning his new second-hand guitar and her mum warming up on the tambourine.
“Daze!”Yelled her mum up the multi-coloured stairs, “C’mon baby girl - it’s already nine-thirty - time to go!”
Daisy groaned. She really didn’t feel like going-a-calling today, especially not after last night.
“I feel ill, Mum!” she called back, the lie out of her mouth even before she had time to think about it - although, in truth, she genuinely did feel sick to her stomach - but not due to illness. “I can’t go today - I’ve got tummy ache and feel sick!”
Immediately Daisy heard her concerned mum come a jingling and a jangling up the stairs, the rattle of her beads
and tinkling of the tambourine acting like a hippie version of the cavalry advance before she burst in to the spotlessly white bedroom.
Lynn Flynn was dressed in her customary kaftan and headband; her long, almost impossibly straight ginger hair hanging to below her generous bottom from the precise centre parting on her perfectly round head.
“You poorly, honey?” She said sympathetically.
“Mmm hmm,” Daisy nodded, her eyes big and doleful as she milked it for all it was worth.
“You don’t think you’re up to coming with Dad and me? Dad’s got his new guitar now so it should be good.”
“I don’t think so Mum, sorry. I’d really like to but I just don’t feel well today.”
Lynn Flynn crossed the room and lay a hand on her daughter’s forehead. “You don’t feel warm so I don’t think you’ve got a temperature. Maybe you’ve just picked up a bug.”
Daisy smiled weakly, keeping up the pretence, knowing she would never go to Heaven.
“I know how much you like coming with us,” Lynn continued - not suspecting that Daisy actually hated their Sunday Scripture Safaris with a passion - “But perhaps it’s best today if you stay here in the warm ‘til your Dad and me get back. We won’t be long - home by lunchtime and I’ve made some lovely lentil and chickpea soup which will make you feel much better.”
“Okay. Thanks, Mum. Sorry.” Daisy said guiltily.
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it - and it is very pretty you know - especially without your glasses, and I really love your hair now that I’ve gotten used to it. Suits you, shows off your face.”
Daisy involuntarily raised a hand to her cropped locks and felt a pang of regret for the loss of her bushy, ginger fleece. She once again thought about the sheering she had been subjected to by that snip-happy psycho Madge, never, ever believing that she would miss her old ‘Hair Bear’ doo. But she did.
“Thanks Mum,” she said without conviction.
“Okay, baby girl. Keep warm and we’ll see you in a bit.” Lynn Flynn said as she bent and kissed her daughter on the top of her head.
Jam Tops, the Fonz and the Pursuit of Cool Page 14
