Peter Guttridge - The Last King of Brighton

‘You don’t want to go, then?’ Dan said.

‘Sod off. I can understand it with Cliff – he’s so square mums like him. But the Shads?’

‘What are they playing?’

‘Cliff’s Aladdin. And the Shadows are – and this is even worse – Wishee, Washee, Noshee and Toshee.’ Bill shook his head. ‘What next? The Rolling Stones in Puss in Boots?’

‘Now that,’ said Dan, ‘I’d pay money for.’

A group of mods came up on to the Aquarium Terrace. They came straight for the rockers, punching and kicking and pushing them out of their deckchairs. The mods outnumbered the rockers by about five to one.

‘Whoa!’ Dan said, starting to rise. ‘What the bloody hell?’

Charlie grabbed his arm.

‘Probably not a good idea.’

Five minutes later, the rockers were hanging off the side of the terrace whilst the mods were hurling deckchairs down at them. Some dropped from the balustrade to Madeira Drive fifteen feet below. Other mods surrounded them there.

That’s when the rockers from lower down Madeira Drive came running, swinging bike chains and yelling. And the mods came up off the beach to mix it.

Ordinary people scattered.

‘Come on,’ Hathaway said to the others, and they ran across the road on to the Old Steine. Over by the Royal Pavilion, Hathaway stopped them.

‘OK, Charlie and I need to get over to the West Pier. You guys should probably head home.’

Dan and Billy both frowned.

‘What do you mean you’ve got to go to the West Pier?’ Billy said.

‘It’s work,’ Hathaway said.

‘This could get worse,’ Charlie said. ‘You should keep out of the way.’

His voice was almost drowned out by another line of motorcyclists on the Old Steine.

‘This is not a place to stay,’ Hathaway said. He grabbed Charlie’s arm. ‘Come on, we’ll go up through the Laines and drop down.’

When Hathaway glanced back, Billy and Dan were standing in front of the Pavilion, watching them go.

Two days later, Hathaway and Charlie met with Dennis Hathaway and Reilly in the West Pier office.

‘How did it work out?’ Hathaway said.

‘It was a bloody mess,’ his father said. ‘Neither your mods nor your rockers exactly observed the no-go areas.’

‘There were a lot more than we expected,’ Charlie said.

‘I think you’re being a bit harsh, Dennis,’ Reilly said. ‘As riots go it was pretty well controlled. And we were on hand to ensure that all those who requested our protection received it. We were also on hand to pillage those that had turned down our offer. We did best out of the jewellery shops in the Laines.’

‘What about the Palace Pier?’ Hathaway said.

‘We didn’t go near, but the Boroni Brothers were enraged that they were invaded,’ his father said. ‘They had men out pretty sharpish but they still got trashed.’

‘Who are they blaming?’

Reilly shrugged.

‘They suspect us of everything but they’re not saying anything at the moment. I mean, it was a riot, wasn’t it? What they’re planning, who knows? The chief constable was seriously cheesed off. He was caught on the hop. No warning. I told him this was going to be a regular thing – no way to stop it now. He’s talking about confiscating scooters and bikes and taking them to Devil’s Dyke, so they’re going to have a long uphill walk to collect them.’

‘Will he give us a hard time?’

Hathaway shook his head.

‘He just wants a bigger cut.’

When Hathaway got in, his mum was with a gaggle of women in the sitting room. The spirits and mixers were out and they were laughing over the game of Monopoly they were playing for real money.

Hathaway knew most of them but he was introduced to two he didn’t know, both much younger than the others.

‘John, this is Elizabeth, the wife of Donald Watts. You know – whatsisname?’

‘Victor Tempest,’ the woman said. She was a slender blonde with a nervous smile. She put down her Coca-Cola. ‘Hello, John.’

Hathaway nodded.

‘Hello.’

‘And I’m Diana Simpson, the chief constable’s wife.’ She was a curvaceous brunette, arching her back almost grotesquely to lean forward. She touched the corner of her mouth with a red-lacquered fingernail and Hathaway had a sudden flash of Barbara. ‘I hear you’re a pop star.’

‘Maybe one day,’ he said, wondering how both Tempest and the chief constable, both middle-aged, had got off with women twenty years younger than them. ‘We’re playing at the SS Brighton tonight as support for Little Richard.’

‘I used to swim there,’ his mother said.

‘Mum – it’s an ice rink.’

‘It wasn’t always,’ she said. ‘It was a swimming pool first – biggest sea-water pool in Europe. I couldn’t swim from one end to the other, it was so big. Then they turned it into an ice rink. And now it’s all this other stuff too.’

Hathaway gave a little wave to the group of women.

‘Enjoy your game.’

‘I’ve just gone to jail, which is a bit embarrassing for a woman in my position,’ Diana Simpson said, tossing her hair. Elizabeth Watts watched her, her face impassive.

Hathaway’s older sister, Dawn, was at the concert. She was home for the weekend. She lived in a bedsit in London whilst she did a secretarial training course. Hathaway was pleased to see her. She was sparky and full of life. She was perched on the ratty sofa in the poky dressing room with Hathaway, Billy and Dan when Charlie barged in.

‘I didn’t know Little Richard was a poof,’ Charlie said. ‘Fuck me.’

‘He’d probably like to,’ Billy said.

‘He just nipped my bum.’

‘Sparkly suit, lots of eye make-up,’ Dan said. ‘How did we miss it?’

Charlie looked appreciatively at Dawn.

‘Excuse the language. Didn’t know we had visitors.’

Hathaway introduced her.

‘You work for my dad, don’t you?’ she said.

‘That I do,’ Charlie said. ‘He had his son working for him but decided he needed somebody reliable too.’

‘Bugger off,’ Hathaway said, reaching for his guitar and taking a string out of his pocket.

‘Oh, here he goes again,’ Charlie said. ‘Bloody Banjo Bobby.’

‘What do you mean?’ Dawn said.

‘This is a banjo string. A “G”. I’m putting it at the top of the guitar, then all the other strings one lower than they should be. It sounds great – you can bend them all over the place.’

‘Until it goes out of tune,’ Billy said. ‘Then your chords sound crap. And it sounds crap when you strum it.’

‘Chords?’ Charlie said. ‘In the plural? When did he learn another one?’

‘Boys, boys,’ Dan said. ‘There are so many ways a guitar can go out of tune, it’s a wonder they’re so popular.’

‘And you can bugger off,’ Hathaway said. ‘Your idea of musicianship is shaking a tambourine.’

‘I shake maracas too. And play the mouth organ.’

‘What, your Manfred Mann mouth organ?’ He turned to his sister. ‘Dan bought – by mistake, he claims – a mouth organ that only plays the chords for the mouth organ riff on “5-4-3-2-1”, the Ready Steady Go theme. He used it on “Love Me Do” and the results were diabolical.’

‘I saw that Tony Jackson in a club in London,’ Dawn said. ‘He was so out of it he threw his tambourine into the audience and it hit a girl in the face. He nearly got lynched by her boyfriend and his mates.’

‘We supported him once. He was out of it then too. He peed against the dressing room wall instead of using the loo.’

‘Ugh – that’s disgusting.’ She turned to Charlie. ‘So you’re getting quite famous, supporting all these big names.’

‘Holding them up, do you mean?’ Charlie said, and Dawn giggled.