Peter Guttridge - The Last King of Brighton

‘What do you think? Gardening. That lighthouse up on the top? Anyway, there’s this sexy French woman in it. Yvette somebody.’

Charlie walked back to the record collection.

‘Hello, hello – here he is. Matt Monro. Love Is the Same Anywhere . True or false, Johnny?’

‘That’s my mum’s.’

Dan broke into a mock-basso version of From Russia with Love. The four of them had seen the film together a couple of months earlier.

‘Oh that Russian bint from the film,’ Billy said. ‘You can have Christine Keeler, Dan, and I’ll have her.’

‘Johnny’s probably got her stashed away upstairs too.’

They all looked at Hathaway.

‘Come on,’ Charlie said, walking back to the sofas and sitting down, automatically touching his bandaged ribs as he did so. ‘Tell us about this girl you’re being so secretive about. When are we going to meet her?’

Hathaway was dying to tell but Barbara was almost paranoid about anyone finding out about them.

‘She’s just somebody who works for Dad.’

‘Did your dad set you up?’ Dan said. ‘That’s very modern.’

‘Ha ha. She’s a stunner but really nice too.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Charlie said. ‘Just tell us what she’s like between the sheets.’

‘Have you gone all the way?’ Billy said.

Hathaway felt a lot for Barbara but he was seventeen. He fought to keep the smirk off his face.

‘You have, you sod,’ Dan said. ‘You bloody have.’

Hathaway saw Charlie watching him. Of the three gathered round him, Hathaway reckoned Charlie was the only other one who’d actually had full sex with a girl – at least to hear him talk. But Hathaway had gone one better. He took a sip of his drink.

‘She’s ten years older than me.’

‘Lucky bastard,’ Billy said.

‘Ten years older,’ Charlie said, possibly sceptical, possibly jealous. ‘Bet she’s shown you a thing or two.’

Hathaway couldn’t stop himself.

‘She does French.’

‘Does French,’ Charlie said. ‘Hark at him. A month ago he thought vagina was an American state and now he’s the bloody Kinsey Report.’

Bill and Dan fell about. Hathaway grinned.

Charlie sat on the arm of the sofa.

‘Should we try to get our own back on those Teddy boys?’ he said.

Dan stopped laughing.

‘Are you mad?’ he said. ‘They gave us a real kicking.’

‘But they did smash up our gear,’ Charlie said. He reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a long bicycle chain. ‘And next time, I’m ready for trouble.’

The others stared at him.

‘Have you got Sonny Liston in the other pocket?’ Billy said. ‘Cos that’s who we’re going to need.’

Hathaway didn’t say anything but instinctively touched his nose. The swelling had pretty much gone down now and the colour faded from round his eyes. Every time he thought about the beating he’d sustained he got angry about the Teddy boy who’d unbuttoned his fly. If the other Ted hadn’t stopped him, Hathaway was sure the man would have pissed on him. He hadn’t told anybody about that but he fantasized killing the little creep in various bloody ways.

‘I think my father’s company is going to sort out insurance,’ he finally said.

‘Can’t it sort out those buggers too?’ Billy said. ‘Like your dad sorted out Nobby Stokes.’

Charlie looked at Hathaway with interest. Dan looked away. Hathaway bridled.

‘What do you mean, Bill?’

Bill caught his tone.

‘I didn’t mean anything by it, Johnny.’

‘Yes, but what did you mean?’

‘C’mon, Johnny,’ Charlie said. ‘Even I heard the story about your dad and your headmaster, and I wasn’t even at your school.’

‘It gets exaggerated in the telling,’ Hathaway said.

‘I was only joking,’ Bill said.

Hathaway nodded.

‘I know.’

They sat listening to The Beatles in awkward silence, then the phone rang. Hathaway walked over to answer it.

‘Get those dancing girls out of there now, Johnny!’

It was his father.

‘Max Miller’s dead,’ his father said. ‘Died back in May and I’ve only just heard.’

‘Where are you, Dad?’

‘Never mind that. Your mother sends her love. Your granddad knew him, you know, when he was starting out. He was Thomas Sargent back then. Lived in the same house on Burlington Street for fifteen years. Damn shame.’

‘How old was he?’

‘About seventy, so he’d lived a good life.’

‘When are you coming back, Dad?’

There was a pause, then:

‘Son, do me a favour and take a walk down the street.’

‘Now?’

‘No, son, next week. Of course, now.’

‘But, Dad-’

‘Humour me, son.’

Hathaway put the phone down and called to the others: ‘I’ll be back in five minutes.’

He walked down to the phone box on the corner. Somebody was in it. Hathaway hesitated for a moment then tapped on the window. The man looked round, irritated, saw Hathaway and pushed open the door a few inches.

‘My father – sorry…’

‘I’ll call you back in half an hour,’ the man said, putting the phone back on its cradle.

‘Sorry,’ Hathaway said again. The man waved Hathaway’s apology away as he walked down the street, shoulders hunched.

Hathaway stood in the booth waiting for the telephone to ring. His parents probably had the only telephone on the estate, but his father never made or took calls from there, preferring to use this phone box. Everybody on the street knew it was ‘his’ phone box and respected that fact.

Hathaway knew the respect came out of fear of his father. It wasn’t something he liked to think about. The telephone rang.

‘Johnny?’

‘I’m here, Dad.’

‘Johnny, your mum and I are staying out here a bit longer than we thought. Another month probably. We wondered if you’d like to join us?’

‘Where are you exactly?’

‘Spain.’

‘Spain’s a big country, Dad.’

‘Showing off your geography lessons again? Humour me, son. You know I’ve got my funny ways.’

‘I think it’s called paranoia, Dad.’

‘No – it’s called caution, son. So what do you think?’

‘The group’s doing well, Dad. I need to be here, really.’

‘As you wish. Your mum wants to know whether you’re eating properly.’

‘Of course. Is she there?’

‘She’s out by the pool but she sends her love.’

His mother was growing increasingly eccentric. Menopause, his father said, but Hathaway didn’t really know what that meant.

His dad hung up.

Barbara came to see the group that evening. Unwillingly, but Hathaway had insisted. She sat right at the back, looking uneasy. Hathaway introduced her to the others during the break, but nobody could think of anything to say so the rest of the group left the two of them sitting together.

Afterwards, in her car, she wasn’t in a talking mood. She gave him French instead.

‘Did you enjoy the gig?’ he said later.

‘Look. They’ve seen me now – OK? You’ve proved you can pull an older woman. Congratulations.’

‘I don’t get what you’re so cross about.’

‘You wouldn’t.’

‘You’re not being logical.’

She laughed and reached to wipe the steamed-up side window.

‘One word of advice, John. Don’t ever tell a woman that she’s not logical if you want to keep everything that belongs to you.’

‘But you’re not.’ He could feel spots of red burning on his cheeks. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way-’ She snorted. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way,’ he continued, ‘but I did pull you.’

She gave him a savage look and turned away.

‘I have to go,’ she said, staring out the side window. ‘Early start tomorrow.’