But not this year.
Secretly, another of his favourites, which rarely got played nowadays (which was probably just as well considering Gordy’s foul mood), was the 1971 Benny Hill classic, ‘Ernie (The Fastest Milkman In The West)’ which, although not at all Christmassy, reminded him of his childhood back in Bradley; ripping open his presents on Christmas morning with his brother Kev and little sister Izzie, who was only a baby back then.
However, admitting that he was a bit partial to Benny Hill would do little for his ‘street cred’ and much less for his rankings in the cool stakes - so he thought it best to keep it to himself.
Also, an appreciation of Benny Hill would not help him land a better - or, indeed, a proper - job in the music industry - DelFont Records not being the golden opportunity he’d originally hoped it would be.
But finding something better was proving much more difficult than he’d previously anticipated.
Which probably went some way to explain his ill-tempered and rather intolerant demeanour. Christmas was supposed to be a happy time but at present Gordy felt far from it.
To make matters worse, he had heard nothing back from the mountains of letters and job applications he had sent out - aside from a huge pile of rejection slips and several angry ‘please stop bothering us’ notes - which was all very depressing.
Almost since arriving in London, after realising that DelFont was not the Polydor, EMI or Sony that Derrick Fontaine had rather misleadingly described it to be, Gordy had been badgering record companies large and small, begging them to give him a chance.
Yet, so far, his efforts had been fruitless.
Disappointed but undeterred, he vowed to make a fresh start in the New Year. Surely there was more to life than DelFont Records!
The only thing keeping Gordy going was the thought of spending Christmas at home - away from the resolutely miserable Mrs. Makenzie and her dreary B&B; away from the perpetually aloof Shaz with her joyless, smacked arse of a face; and away from Del Fontaine’s Slim Panatellas, overflowing ashtrays and bright red braces.
Furthermore, because Del was heading off to Eastern Europe to spend the holidays with his Slavic relatives, DelFont Records was breaking up early for Christmas which was a bonus.
Sadly, however, that was the only kind of bonus Gordy would get as there would be nothing extra in his pay packet by way of seasonal goodwill - in fact no wages at all until after Christmas.
Bloody typical.
But the thought of home outweighed disgruntled concerns about money.
Indeed, Gordy was trying hard not to think about his financial situation at all but it was difficult. Living in London was expensive and his income barely covered his food, travel and living expenses, not to mention Mrs. Makenzie’s rent money, which he struggled to find every month.
As it was, Gordy had used the last dregs of November’s income to pay his rent and buy a train ticket back to Bradley, leaving little left for presents or a Christmas drink with Frazer, Beth and the Savoury-Sidebottoms.
But money or not, at least he was going to be with the people he loved.
Although not initially with his parents who were currently having a pre-Christmas break in the Seychelles - Alan having taken early retirement from the bank and now enjoying himself with Barb on his sizeable pension.
So with them being away temporarily and Izzie still at university - and Kev now married and settled down, Gordy would have to stay with his Nan and Grandad for the short term. He could have stayed with Kev and his wife but the thought of that really didn’t appeal as he and his brother were still like chalk and cheese.
Anyway, at Nan and Grandad’s he would be lavished with affection and spoilt rotten which was just what he needed after the last few months of meagre rations and piddlingly little in the way of the warmth of human kindness.
Nan and Grandad’s house would be the perfect antidote and he could almost taste his Nan’s slightly burnt, thickly buttered toast as he thought about it. Mmm, lovely.
However, if Gordy didn’t get a move on he would miss his train and there would be no toast for him to taste.
With no work that day he hadn’t bothered to set his alarm clock and consequently he had overslept.
He jumped out of bed with barely an hour to spare before his train was due to leave from St. Pancras - and he still had to navigate his way through all the traffic and jam-packed hordes of Christmas shoppers.
He threw on some clothes, bundled some bits into a bag, raced down the stairs and hurtled out of the front door, crashing straight into the postman, almost knocking him to the ground.
“Hey!” said the postie.
“Christ, sorry!” Gordy exclaimed, “Are you okay? I’m just in a bit of a rush, that’s all.”
“Yeah, well, you wanna slow down a bit,” said the postman gruffly, adjusting the heavy sack on his shoulder.
“I will, sorry. But I’ve got a train to catch.”
“Hmm, no harm done then, I suppose.”
“Good - sorry again, though,” Gordy said as he made to get away.
“Here then, you’d better take these before you go,” said the postie, handing Gordy a small wad of mail.
“Thanks, great.” Said Gordy, snatching the letters from him and stuffing them unceremoniously into his jacket pocket. “I’ll read them later, no time now.”
“Oh, well, it’s up to you, son,” muttered the postman, “All I do is deliver ‘em.”
But Gordy was already half way down the street, racing towards the underground.
“Young scallywag,” the postie chuntered under his breath as he watched him go.
Nevertheless, scallywag or not, Gordy made it to his train by the skin of his teeth, slumping exhaustedly into his seat as the train pulled out of the station. What a relief.
Two hours later, he duly arrived in Bradley.
It was the week before Christmas and Gordy Brewer was home. Yet, as he stepped onto the platform at Bradley Station, his first thoughts weren’t of his family or of Trevor and Frazer or even of toast.
They were of Daisy Flynn and of what she might be doing at that very moment.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Daisy had thought she might have dreamt the phone conversation with Phil Rothstein and the job offer from Groove Sucker as it all just seemed too good to be true. Then the airline ticket turned up in the mail two days later, sent to her ‘Special Delivery’ to ensure that she received it before Christmas.
She had stared at it for ages and now she was certain there was no mistake, it was definitely not a dream and she was going to New York. Her plane was leaving on January 2nd, the day after New Year’s Day which was when her new life would begin in earnest.
However, her excitement was tinged with sadness. Leaving for New York, indeed working in America, meant saying goodbye to Tricia and Mandy and her little room at the top of the house.
It also meant kissing goodbye to any chance of seeing Gordy again who, even though she had tried, she could still not forget. Daisy had hoped to find some sort of closure to what happened in Magaluf - secretly praying, though she was loathed to admit it even to herself, that by some miracle it might all have been some dreadful misunderstanding.
She was positive that she and Gordy had made some sort of connection in Majorca - possibly even much further back than that, when they first met each other, at least properly, at Bailey’s Bandstand. They had just gelled.
Even though both of them had pursued other people - Gordy, Pippa Wilson, and her, Steve bloody Cool - it was as if they had finally found each other that night in Majorca.
And Daisy could have sworn that Gordy felt it too.
But clearly she had been mistaken and it had broken her heart - the incredible pain of it she still felt now, no matter how much she’d tried to ignore it.
Yet she still wanted to kno
w what had happened. Why did he leave her? What was it that she did so terribly wrong?
But now she would never know. New York and a new life beckoned and Gordy Brewer would be left far behind, even though he’d always have a piece of her heart.
Nonetheless, two days before Christmas, Daisy had packed up all her things and those she couldn’t cram into her suitcase she had boxed up and put in storage. Mandy and Tricia would send them onto her once she had settled into her new apartment in Greenwich Village.
Saying goodbye to the girls had been very painful and she felt dreadful about leaving them in the lurch, knowing that they would miss her third of the rent money. However, both Mandy and Tricia told her not to be so silly and to grasp the opportunity she had been given with both hands.
They also indicated that they might not seek someone else to replace her, choosing instead to keep it to just the two of them. Daisy suspected that they were ready to take their relationship to the next level and another person in the house might get in the way of that.
She wished them well and said there would always be a place for them in New York if they ever wanted to visit for a holiday.
In the end, all three girls hugged and said their goodbyes, promising to write and phone each other as often as possible. Then Mandy and Tricia went off to work and Daisy was left alone.
An hour later she was at the railway station and four hours after that she was back in Bradley.
***
Gordy had spent a blissful few days at his nan and grandad’s house, enjoying long lie-ins, breakfast in bed and being pampered to within an inch of his life.
Nan had put Gordy in her posh front bedroom, with it’s big, oak-framed, feather bed and wide double windows which allowed the winter sun to stream in.
The room was huge considering that the house was only a small terrace - much bigger, in fact, than Nan and Grandad’s own modest room at the back of the house.
But this was Nan’s ‘best bedroom’ and no one was permitted to sleep in there apart from royalty (excluding Princess Michael of Kent who Nan wasn’t too keen on), selected dignitaries (Lords and Ladies and people of ‘high birth’ as Nan referred to them), the vicar (who Nan regarded to be only slightly less important than God, Himself) and, her precious grandchildren - although out of all those on the approved list, only Gordy had ever made use of it (not that The Queen wouldn’t have enjoyed it had she been given the chance because it was a lovely room).
Nevertheless, this strictly enforced VIP ruling somewhat infuriated Grandad - not because Gordy was allowed to sleep in there, but because he, himself was not - even though it would have made the perfect sanctuary in which to escape Nan’s nagging.
But, alas, he was not on Nan’s approved list and ironically, neither was she.
Grandad got annoyed because the bed was a large double with a lovely soft mattress and plenty of space to spread out in, much bigger and grander in every way from their own double divan in the poky back bedroom. But no, the front bedroom was for guests only and that was the law according to Nan - Grandad would’ve had more luck persuading The Pope to convert to Islam than getting a night’s kip in the best bedroom.
But Grandad’s loss was Gordy’s gain who was certainly making the most of the glorious luxury of the deep, cosy feather pillows as he stretched out in the lovely warm bed on this bright, Christmas Eve morning.
He had woken earlier when Nan brought him up a tray; Frosties, two slices of hot buttered toast (naturally), a nice pot of tea and Grandad’s Daily Express - which Grandad was still busily looking for downstairs, chuntering under his breath about how he ‘could’ve sworn’ he’d ‘seen it somewhere.’
Nevertheless, Gordy ate the breakfast, drank the tea and read most of the morning paper before settling down once more for another forty winks.
This was the life; certainly more pleasurable than the last few months at Old Ma Makenzie’s B&B where he was more likely to get botulism than a nice home-cooked breakfast - regardless of what one of the ‘B’s eluded to in the ‘B&B’ she rather grandly described her establishment to be.
However, Gordy was keen to make the most of his last few hours in the big feather bed as Alan and Barb had now returned from The Seychelles and he would be sleeping back in his old room for the rest of the Christmas holidays.
Yet, as Gordy roused for the second time at around eleven, he suddenly remembered it was Christmas Eve and that he was supposed to be meeting up with Trevor and Frazer at lunchtime for a drink.
He took a leisurely bath (using all the hot water), then, after getting dressed, went downstairs to find Nan filling empty bottles of Harvey’s Bristol Cream with the much cheaper Sainsbury’s sherry. “Ssh,” she said, “Don’t tell anyone - it’s for the vicar’s Boxing Day Coffee Morning and I’ll be buggered if I’m going to waste the good stuff on the ‘Blue-Rinse Brigade’.”
Gordy laughed, “Won’t they know the difference?”
“I should cocoa!” Said Nan, using one of her famous phrases which, roughly translated, meant ‘don’t be daft.’
“What about the vicar, aren’t you going to tell him?”
Nan winked, “He doesn’t drink.” As she spoke she spilt a bit of the inferior sherry over her hand, “Oh, shit and corruption!” She cursed (another of her phrases), as she slurped it up thirstily. Obviously still too good to waste.
“You want to watch what you’re doing you silly moo!” Grandad chimed in, who was sitting in his chair, sucking on a King Edward and perusing the TV Times for lack of the morning paper.
“Here you go, Grandad,” said Gordy cheerfully, handing him the Daily Express before Nan had a chance to retaliate.
“Oh, you had it did you, Woggitt? I knew I wasn’t going mad.”
“Leave the boy alone, Sid,” snapped Nan.
“What?” Protested Grandad, “I haven’t said anything.
“Well you make sure you don’t.” Then Nan turned to Gordy. “You want some lunch Oddbod - I bet you’re hungry now?”
“No thanks, Nan. I’ll grab a burger in town after I’ve been to the pub.”
You sure? I’ve got some bread - I could make you a lovely ham sandwich?”
No, thanks.”
“Some more toast then?”
“No, really, I’m okay.”
“There’s some soup in the pantry - Batchelors Country Vegetable, I think. I’ve even got a Fray Bentos pie I could cook for you—”
“For God sake, woman! The boy said he doesn’t want anything, leave him be.”
“You pipe down. He can speak for himself, can’t you Oddbod?”
“Yeah, I can, but I’m fine, Nan, honest.”
“Well, okay, but if you change your mind I can easily rustle you something up.”
“Thanks, but I’m going out now,” he said, grabbing his brown leather ‘distressed-look’ biker jacket from the back of an armchair and slipping it on. The jacket was currently his most prized possession, bought from an ultra trendy boutique on the King’s Road and costing most of his first month’s salary from DelFont Records, but he considered it to be the coolest thing under the sun and therefore worth every penny.
“Oh, okay,” continued Nan. “Well I suppose we’ll see you tomorrow morning then up at your mum’s. Your Grandad and me will be there at about ten - I’m doing the trifle and he’s doing the veggies - aren’t you Sid?”
“I don’t know, am I?”
“Of course you are. You do them every year - you know that.”
“Oh, do I?” He replied sarcastically through a fog of cigar smoke as he opened the Daily Express and winked mischievously at his grandson. “Looks like I’ll be seeing you bright and early tomorrow then, Wogg - don’t get too drunk at lunchtime, will you.”
Gordy smiled. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said innocently.
“Hmm, well I’m not so sure we believe
that,” said Nan. “Go on then, be off with you - see you tomorrow, happy Christmas!”
“Yeah, happy Christmas!” echoed Gordy, as he stepped out the living room into the hallway, heading for the front door. For all their bickering, he’d really missed his grandparents.
In fact, It was lovely being back in Bradley in general. Strangely, it made him feel like he was fourteen again and as he walked into town, Gordy couldn’t help but think fondly of those days so long ago.
***
By the time he reached the pub he was feeling a little maudlin but when he saw Trevor and Frazer standing there, across the crowded room, waiting for him at the bar he cheered up instantly - even though Shakin’ Stevens was warbling away on the juke box - the seriously shite sound of Christmas ‘85.
The pub was rammed, packed full of revellers making the most of breaking up from work and eager to soak up as much of the Christmas spirit as possible - which meant getting absolutely slaughtered in the quickest possible time. Drunken girls and amorous lads were staggering up to complete strangers and demanding a ‘Christmas kiss’ - regardless of whether they were holding a sprig of mistletoe or not. Some of them were wearing crowns made of tinsel or spongy reindeer antlers, others were wearing Santa hats but all, bar none, were clutching at least one drink, most were holding two - as if terrified that the pub might actually run out of alcohol.
Over in one raucously loud corner of the bar, Gordy spotted Bangers, Bubble, Stigger, Digger, Spud, Stingy, Squeak, Bigsy and ‘H’ - all extremely drunk, all clearly having a wonderfully boozy session. This is what they lived for; the best day of the year when they’d start drinking at eleven in the morning and carry on until the last of the nightclubs closed in the early hours of Christmas morning.
As Gordy made his way to the bar, he waved at them and they all waved back.
Jam Tops, the Fonz and the Pursuit of Cool Page 31
