Peter Guttridge - The Last King of Brighton

His father had just grinned.

Tonight they were on the West Pier supporting Pink Floyd. Elaine would be somewhere in the audience with some of her student mates.

Tony and Charlie turned up together. Billy and Dan turned up at seven prompt, in military jackets and jeans.

The Avalons had proper dressing rooms for a change, but they all went out on the pier and leaned over the balustrade. They shared a joint.

‘How are you doing, gents?’ Hathaway said.

‘Not great actually, John,’ Dan said.

Hathaway tilted his head.

‘Oh?’

‘We’re a bit worried about what’s going on with the group,’ Billy said.

‘Things are going great, aren’t they?’ Hathaway said, passing the joint along.

‘Onstage, yes, but offstage, no…’ Dan tailed off.

‘Offstage?’ Hathaway said. ‘What about offstage?’

‘Look, what you and Charlie want to get up to is up to you,’ Billy said. ‘But we just want to be in a successful rock ’n’ roll band.’

‘And we think,’ Dan said, ‘that the stuff you’re doing is putting that success at risk.’

Hathaway looked puzzled.

‘What stuff are we doing exactly?’

Dan shook his head.

‘C’mon, John. Don’t treat us like fools. The two of you are selling drugs with our roadie friend, Alan. And you’re both busy managing other acts. We hardly even have time to rehearse and there’s a lot of new music we should be covering.’

‘We want you to stop dealing at our gigs,’ Billy said.

Hathaway looked from one to the other.

‘Well, that’s going to be a bit complicated,’ he said.

They waited for him to go on.

‘I mean there are other people involved. They wouldn’t be too happy if we chucked it in.’

‘Couldn’t they find other people to do what you’re doing?’

‘Again, it’s not that simple.’

Hathaway seemed to ponder. Pointed at the joint in Dan’s hand.

‘Look, I know you guys smoke dope. You don’t see anything wrong with it. We all think it should be legal, but until it is Charlie and me are providing a service.’

‘But it’s illegal. You could end up in prison. And we could easily be accused of being accomplices.’

‘Not a chance of either of those things.’ Hathaway said.

‘Oh – really.’

‘Really. The police are in on it.’

‘Bugger off. The entire force?’

‘People that count. Look, I’m trusting you with this. The fix is all the way in.’

Dan and Billy looked at each other. Billy spoke.

‘OK, but there’s something else. The direction the group is going. Bill and me, we want to go an acoustic folkie route.’

‘Folkie?’ Charlie said, disgust in his voice.

Hathaway put his hand on Charlie’s arm. He knew that Bill and Dan rehearsed a lot together. Bill had been teaching Dan guitar.

‘OK, here’s a deal. Why don’t you set up as a duo and run a folk club?’

The other three looked at him with varying degrees of surprise.

‘You want to break the band up?’ Charlie said.

‘You’re sacking us?’ Billy said.

‘How are we going to set up a folk club?’ Dan said.

Hathaway latched on to Dan’s remark.

‘As you know, my dad’s company has branched out into pop promotion. Managing bands, running tours – and running clubs. We’ve been thinking about a folk club.’

‘Nobody told me,’ Charlie said.

‘Didn’t think you’d be interested in a folk club, Charlie, and your hands are full managing acts,’ Hathaway said. ‘Anyway, Dan, we wouldn’t expect you to run it but maybe you and Bill could host it.’

Bill and Dan looked at each other. Nodded.

‘We could do that.’

‘So that’s the end of The Avalons?’ Charlie said.

‘Not necessarily,’ Hathaway said. ‘There’s no reason why you couldn’t do both, is there?’

Billy shook his head.

‘Of course not.’

Hathaway looked at Charlie.

‘You OK with that?’

Charlie didn’t say anything for a moment. Then:

‘As long as I can manage these two.’

Bill and Dan laughed. Uncertainly.

Hathaway took Elaine down to Cuckmere Haven. After a walk along the shingle beach beneath Beachy Head, the chalk cliff glaring white in the sunshine, they got fish and chips in newspaper from the cafe and sat on a bench looking out to sea.

Although Elaine was doing American studies she wanted to be an actress. She also wanted to go to India.

‘What do you want to do with your life, John?’ she said. ‘You can’t want to spend it all in Brighton.’

‘Course not.’ He gestured to his left. ‘I’m fond of Eastbourne too.’

She punched his arm.

‘There’s this film called Blow Up; looks like it might be your cup of tea,’ he said. ‘Bloke called David Hemmings – I met him in Brighton last year when he made a film about a pop band here. Do you fancy seeing it?’

She smiled and sucked on the straw in her bottle of pop.

‘Here endeth the discussion about John’s future.’

‘Well, what about you?’ he said, a little heat in his voice.

‘You know about me. India for six months, then acting.’ She leaned into him. ‘Come to India with me. We’d have a groovy time.’

Hathaway kissed her forehead.

‘Except that I’m not a footloose student, I’m a working man. I can’t just chuck in my job and head east.’

‘Sure you can; you just have to want to.’

She reached into her voluminous handbag and pulled out an A4 book. She laid it beside her and continued to root.

‘What’s that?’ he said.

‘My diary, volume three.’

‘Must be a serious diary.’

‘Oh it is. Have you heard of Anais Nin?’

‘Is it an Indian takeaway?’

‘Ha ha. She’s my inspiration. Ah, here we are.’ She brought out a parcel wrapped in brown paper with a red ribbon around it.

‘A little gift for you.’

Hathaway was touched. He’d never, ever had a gift from a girl.

‘John Donne,’ he read on the cover of the first book.

‘Most beautiful love poetry in the world – but don’t get any soppy ideas. Just wanted to bring a bit of beauty to your cynical soul.’

‘Soppiness discouraged. Got it.’

He looked at the other book.

‘What is it?’ Hathaway asked.

The cover was red plastic and the book a bit bigger than the prayer books they used to have at school.

‘It’s the words of Mao Tse-tung,’ Elaine said. ‘Give you something to think about.’

She looked at him earnestly, which made him want to shag her even more than usual. A girl with a passionate mouth trying to look serious always did that to him.

Hathaway looked at the book.

‘That chink who keeps sending death squads to kill James Bond and finance nutters like Blofeld?’ Hathaway said. ‘He’s a Commie, isn’t he?’

‘Communism is more complex than that. At Sussex there are Trotskyists and Leninist-Stalinists. Mao is the world’s most rigorous Leninist-Stalinist, so now a lot of people are calling themselves Maoists.’

Hathaway flicked through the pages. Elaine grinned at him.

‘Where’d you get it?’ Hathaway said.

‘They’re free to anyone who wants one.’ She grinned again. ‘Ninety million in print round the world.’

‘But you’re always telling me I’m a filthy capitalist.’

‘You can change.’

Hathaway thought about the business he was in.

‘I wonder,’ he said.

When they walked back to the car park, a police car was parked beside his Austin Healey. Sergeant Finch was lolling against the bonnet, face turned up to the sun. He stepped forward when he saw Hathaway approach.

‘Sorry to disturb your day, John, but the chief constable would like a word.’