Jam Tops, the Fonz and the Pursuit of Cool

by Kris Lillyman

  “Alright, Gordy?” - “Happy Christmas, Gordy!” - “Merry Christmas, mate!” - “Get a beer down ya, Gordy!” - were just a few of their good-natured, rather inebriated greetings. They really were a friendly, easy-going bunch and there was clearly no animosity held towards him after he vanished from the pub scene immediately after returning from Magaluf.

  Nonetheless, he smiled and made a few friendly remarks in reply but was glad that he was no longer part of their boisterous, boozy bunch as he headed to where Frazer and Trevor were waiting for him.

  The three of them together certainly made for a disparate group of mis-matched individuals.

  There was Gordy; cool and stylish, with his blonde-streaked mullet; expensive leather jacket and fashionably ripped designer jeans.

  Frazer, with his whole ‘Robert Smith’ from The Cure vibe going on - albeit with a rather more menacing edge.

  And then, Trevor, who was wearing an obviously hand-knitted, Star Trek jumper which made him look like a woolier, slightly less smart version of ‘James T. Kirk’. He was also wearing a Santa hat, which was completely uncool but Gordy no longer cared about that, preferring to accept Trevor for the glorious geek that he undoubtedly was.

  Frazer already had a pint waiting for Gordy and once he’d joined them, they all took their drinks and moved off to a quieter part of the pub.

  Compared to Bangers, Bubble et al, Gordy, Trevor and Frazer made for a very sedate, rather boring group but they were more concerned with talking and catching up than getting paralytically pissed. Also, Frazer was a dad now so he had to be a bit more responsible and Trevor had never really been a drinker so had opted for a Tizer instead of something stronger.

  Gordy supped his lager but two or three pints would be enough; his drinking days, if they could ever really be called that, were now behind him - thanks to that particularly pukey piss-up in Magaluf which had culminated in some ballistic barfing off the back of a bucking bull.

  Never again.

  Nonetheless, they settled into a corner and sat on stools around a small table, keeping themselves very much to themselves.

  As they chatted, it transpired that both Trevor and Frazer were incredibly happy with their lives; things were working out great for them. Trevor was settling in with Marjorie in their new home and Frazer was loving fatherhood - he and Beth were even talking about having more children apparently.

  Of the three of them, only Gordy, it seemed, was dissatisfied with his life. He was lonely, he hated living in his squalid little bedsit and his job sucked - even though he loved the music business in general - from what he had seen of it anyway.

  He envied his friends for being so content and desperately wished he was as happy.

  However, what he did not tell them was that he missed Daisy too and every time he thought about her his stomach hurt, almost like he’d been punched. Indeed, he could have cheerfully kicked himself now for leaving her in Magaluf.

  If he had his time again, he would have stayed with her, missed his flight, stuck around to tell her how he felt. Thinking about it now, he probably could’ve caught another flight as Unijet surely wouldn’t have left him stranded.

  But hindsight was a wonderful thing.

  Gordy had made the wrong choice and he had no one to blame for letting Daisy go but himself.

  And that hurt, too.

  In the end, as Gordy left the pub, he felt even more melancholy than he had earlier. He thought seeing his friends would cheer him up - and it did briefly - but now, after hearing how contented they both were, he felt more unsettled and somehow even more lonely than he did before.

  The thought of returning to London - or, more accurately, to Mrs. Makenzie’s B&B or Del Fontaine’s dead-end dive of a company - was now filling him with dread. Yet he also wanted more out of life than Bradley had to offer.

  He enjoyed living in the city; loved the fashion, the buzz and the fast-paced way of things but if that lifestyle still meant working at the same place or residing in the same grubby bedsit then he really didn’t see a future for himself in London.

  Likewise, the thought of begging for his old job back at Bradley Town Council or moving back home with his mum and dad - much as he loved them - also left him cold.

  But what could he do?

  Maybe he would feel a bit more optimistic about everything after Christmas - for the sake of his own happiness he certainly hoped that he would.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  On Christmas morning, Glynn Flynn, dressed from head to foot in a very loud African kaftan and looking for all intents and purposes like a very white, very bushy haired, very over-dressed village chieftain, was carving their Christmas nut loaf. He also had a super-sized spliff dangling from his lips and was ‘getting down’ to Little Red Corvette by Prince, which was turned up loud on the portable record player Daisy had brought with her from Manchester.

  Time, it seemed, had not altered him; he was still a pot-head, still into music and still madder than a box of frogs. But also still very religious and Daisy had to all but shackle him to the dining table of their rented cottage to prevent him from going out that morning and harassing people with his guitar.

  Lynn Flynn, Daisy’s mother, was almost as bad. Yet she still had bad memories of the time her husband had been beaten up and his guitar smashed over his head for bothering the non-believers of Bradley, which she was extremely quick to remind him of, even though Daisy’s dad seemed to have completely forgotten about the incident. Not surprising considering the amount of weed he smokes, Daisy thought, but there was no changing him now.

  Lynn, herself, had filled out somewhat since Daisy had last seen her and her long ginger hair had now grown way passed her plumply proportioned posterior. Indeed her bosoms had grown too, which were swinging freely to and fro in an ethnic tribal dress, unfettered by the confines of a bra to hold them in place and looking like two bowling balls jiggling in a floral sack.

  She, too, was grooving to the music, her bottom and boobs bouncing to the beat as she laid the dinner table.

  The Flynn’s had rented a small, furnished cottage on the outskirts of town on a short term lease. Indeed, they had only been back in the country for a few days but Glynn already had maps spread out on the living room floor and had been poring over them, trying to decide where their next destination should be.

  It was a good job Daisy wasn’t planning to stay in Bradley.

  Nonetheless, her parents could not have been more pleased for her when she told them of the job offer from Groove Sucker. They both hugged her and congratulated her and said that it was only what she deserved and were certain it would prove to be a huge success. But they would pray for her anyway, as they had done every morning and night since she was born.

  Her mum and dad may have been weird, wild and wacky but they were also wonderfully different from anybody else’s parents - a trait which once she found cringe worthy but now had learned to love and appreciate. She had missed them much more than she realised and it was really great to see them and spend time with them again before she flew to New York and they headed off again to God knows where.

  A few days in Bradley with Glynn and Lynn was just the antidote she needed to her persistent case of the blues - which even the prospect of her new job had failed to properly shake.

  The Flynn’s sat down to eat Glynn’s nut roast at around two; incense burning and some spiritual, hippy-style zither music playing in the background which made everything seem a bit trippy and bit out of place in the rustic rented cottage with it’s low roof beams and quaint soft furnishings. But it was Christmas Flynn-style and Daisy relished the warmth of the family reunion, not really knowing when next they might all get together - maybe they’d spend next Christmas in New York, who knew?

  She was still in her jim-jams and furry slippers, wearing a psychedelic poncho and matching beanie hat - the type with ear flaps and wo
ven cords that tied under the chin - which Lynn had knitted her for Christmas. Around her neck she had several strings of heavy wooden beads - hand-carved by the tribes people of the last African village her parents had converted to Christianity - which Glynn had presented to her earlier as his Christmas gift.

  Daisy was make-up free, her hair bushy and unbrushed but her parents didn’t care as they loved her just the way she was, there was no need to stand on ceremony with them. Indeed, it was harder to get more laid back than Glynn and Lynn.

  After lunch, however, when the washing up was all done and Glynn and Lynn were lounging on the sofa, their bright, tribal clothing clashing wildly with the pretty floral print of the Laura Ashley inspired suite as they got happily stoned to the twangy sound of the zither, Daisy found herself feeling restless.

  Thoughts of Gordy had infiltrated her brain and she just couldn’t seem to banish them.

  Perhaps it was just the general ambience of love and happiness permeating the room that was making Daisy feel so nostalgic and, as a consequence, so alone.

  Looking across at her mum and dad, so completely at ease with each other, so in tune; gloriously content in their flower-powered world of joy, joints and Jesus, she wished that she, too, could find her soul mate.

  Once, she had thought Gordy was that person. Yet clearly she had been mistaken. What on earth had she done so wrong? she asked herself for the thousandth time.

  Suddenly she was angry. She needed to know. Had to know. And she was determined to find out. Now. This minute - or, at least, in as many minutes as it would take her to stomp round to Gordy Brewer’s house and demand an explanation.

  It was the only way she was ever going to put whatever it was they had behind her and find some peace. To settle things with him now, once and for all, before she jetted off to New York and never saw him again.

  ***

  Gordy was up early on Christmas morning, as had been the family tradition since he was very small when, too excited to sleep, he and his brother, and later on, Izzie, had all charged into Alan and Barb’s bedroom, jumping on their bed, shouting “It’s Christmas, it’s Christmas!” at the top of their voices. Thus signalling the whole family to troop downstairs en-masse to see if Santa had been.

  Of course, having recently turned twenty-three, Gordy was a bit too old for all the jumping and screaming - and also a little too old to believe in Santa, but he did still like to get up early on Christmas morning and make the most of the day.

  By ten o’clock he and Barb had already watched Holiday Inn with Bing Crosby and Fred Astaire, which had been showing on BBC2 as part of their Christmas schedule. When it had finished, Barb had just enough time to make the stuffing and peel the spuds before she and Gordy settled down to watch The Wizard of Oz whilst Alan set about arranging his new golf clubs, which Barb had bought him for Christmas. Before long, Gordy and his mum could be heard singing along to We’re Off to See the Wizard and Ding-Dong! The Witch is Dead - or they could until they heard the ding-dong of the doorbell.

  Nan and Grandad turned up bearing a box of prezzies which Nan secreted under the tree before cracking open the Bristol Cream and joining Gordy on the settee just in time to see the attack of the flying monkeys. Grandad, meanwhile, trudged off to the kitchen and got on with the rest of the veggies as instructed by Nan.

  Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang again.

  It was Kev. In fact, it was Kev, his wife, Tracy, and their twin daughters who were now 18 months old and into everything. The Wizard of Oz was turned off and more presents were exchanged and Gordy derived a great deal of pleasure from seeing his grumpy brother being run ragged by two little girls and a wife who was determined that he should not get a minute’s peace.

  Poor old Kev had no sooner sat down to watch Noel Edmonds Live Live Christmas Breakfast Show, when Tracy informed him that one of his daughters had pooed and it was his turn to change her nappy.

  Gordy couldn’t help but laugh.

  Soon afterwards the door-bell rang once more. This time it was Izzie. Now nineteen, Gordy’s sister had grown into a beautiful and very brainy young woman. She was studying law at university and living with a young doctor she had met there a month or two before he graduated. The pair had just driven down from Yorkshire where his parents lived.

  Before long, the whole Brewer household was in complete pandemonium; presents, wrapping paper, sozzled grandparents, laughing children, frazzled cooks and harassed helpers, all buzzing around the kitchen, dining room and lounge to the noisy accompaniment of The Black Hole which had just started on ITV and which Kev had adamantly refused to turn off.

  Christmas lunch was a big family affair with a huge turkey, piles of vegetables, crackers, paper party hats and plenty of loud, lively conversation.

  For dessert, there was trifle, Christmas pud, lemon meringue pie and raspberry ripple ice cream for the little girls.

  By two o’clock, the older generation were snoozing happily and the twins were having an afternoon nap upstairs. Meanwhile, Kev, Tracy, Izzie, her doctor boyfriend and Gordy were all camped around either on the floor or on ‘make-do’ chairs watching The Top of the Pops Christmas Party. They were on strict orders to wake Nan for The Queen which sadly meant that everyone would start jabbering again just as Moonraker started, which was on immediately afterwards.

  Gordy felt completely stuffed having eaten three big portions of his nan’s trifle plus two slices of lemon meringue pie. His stomach ached and he thought it doubtful he’d ever be able to eat anything else again.

  He looked around the room at his family. Alan and Barb were sitting on the settee, his mum’s head resting on his dad’s shoulder, both dozing quietly. Nan and Grandad were next to each other in separate armchairs; mouths open, eyes closed, the pair of them snoring loudly. Kev and Tracy were sitting on the floor, their backs resting against the settee, their heads tilted together as they watched the telly contentedly, enjoying a brief, well-earned respite whilst their little girls slept. The Doctor was slouched on one of the dining chairs which he had brought into the lounge and Izzie, sitting on the floor beside him, had her head on his lap. They were holding hands and clearly very much in love.

  Gordy sat alone in another dining chair. No one was holding his hand or resting their head on him. He had no one who loved him like Tracy loved Kev or like Izzie loved The Doctor.

  Then he considered his mum and dad, blissfully happy after thirty or more years of marriage and Nan and Grandad who had been together since they were teenagers - still as happy now as when they had first met - even though they argued like cat and dog.

  Would he ever be that happy?

  It really didn’t seem like it. Not at the moment.

  How had his life come to this? He was twenty-three, unattached, no proper place to live, no proper job, very few prospects and sod all to look forward to.

  In fact it all seemed extremely bleak and not such a merry Christmas at all.

  He suddenly felt the warm, fuzzy, post-turkey glow a bit too suffocating. It all seemed too lovey-dovey, too uncomfortably cosy, which only reminded him of just how shit his life had become.

  He had to get out of there. Quickly before it drove him insane.

  “I’m going for a walk,” he said grumpily to no one in particular as he jumped up, strode from the room and grabbed his leather jacket from the hook in the hallway. A moment later he shut the door behind him and headed off down the street in a huff, hoping desperately that the fresh air might blow away his sorrows and help ease the fullness of his stuffed, uncomfortable stomach.

  As he turned the corner at the far end of the street, Daisy Flynn rounded the one at the top, determinedly heading to the very front door he had just walked out of.

  They had missed each other by just seconds.

  ***

  “Oh, hello Daisy,” said Barb Brewer delightedly, even though she was still slightly dr
owsy after being awoken from her ‘quick forty-winks’ by the sound of the doorbell.

  She was also a little surprised to find Daisy Flynn standing there on her front door step on Christmas Day, especially as she hadn’t seen her for many years. She was somewhat taken aback, too, by Daisy’s rather unusual attire; psychedelic poncho and beanie, bright red snowman patterned PJs and pink fluffy slippers - not exactly what they were wearing that season on the catwalks of Paris or Milan but Daisy carried it off with aplomb and Barb always had a soft spot for her slight eccentricities.

  “My, how you’ve grown!” exclaimed Barb, not at all surprised by how pretty Daisy had become, always suspecting that she’d turn out to be a stunner, even if her son did not - far nicer than that brassy Pippa Wilson he had been so stuck on.

  Nevertheless, Barb chose to gloss over Daisy’s rather odd choice of clothing as she continued, “How lovely to see you - Merry Christmas - please do come in, come and say hello to everyone - they’re all here!”

  “Hi Mrs. Brewer - yes, er, nice to see you, too - I mean merry Christmas—” Daisy was feeling flustered now. She clearly hadn’t thought this through properly. ‘They’re all here!’ What in God’s name was she thinking! Panic suddenly flooded through her and she made to get away but Barb had already grabbed her by the hand.

  “They’ll be ever so pleased to see you, sweetie.”

  “No, no it’s okay, Mrs. Brewer, thanks. I only came to see—” But it was too late, Barb had already dragged her inside and Daisy was halfway up the hallway before she knew what was happening.

  A moment later she was standing in the living room; poncho, PJs, beads and slippers, her bushy barnet barely buried under the bright beanie as every person in the room turned from the TV and stared at her.

  Only then did she realise, with utter horror, what she was wearing and she wished the ground would open up and swallow her. Note to self; always check the mirror before going out!

  “Er, hello?” Said Alan, who was just waking up and not at all sure what was going on.