Дэвид Митчелл - Utopia Avenue

A dignified scene I’m afraid it was not.

‘I’ll prove it,’ she cried, ‘my love for you –

I’ll prove it, I’ll prove it, I’ll prove it.’

The clock in Fungus Hut said 7.05 and Elf had to think: 7.05 p.m., or 7.05 a.m.? The evening, she decided. The band had started the November sessions for their first album with the low-hanging fruit of the older songs, but these kept evolving in the studio. By Friday of the first week – day five of ten – they were still on song three, Elf’s ‘A Raft And A River’, and badly behind their schedule of a song per day. Elf wanted jazzier drums and worked with Griff on a rippling, choppy arrangement with wire-brushes. By the tenth take, she was happy. The RECORDING sign went off and Bruce slipped in, winking at Elf and taking a stool in the corner of the control room. Digger pressed playback. The tapes revolved.

The song began. Elf kept glancing at Bruce.

Bruce just sat and listened with his eyes shut.

Elf loved the take, and wanted Bruce to love it too.

‘It’s a beautiful thing,’ said Levon.

‘Done ’n’ dusted,’ said Dean.

‘Nice work,’ said Griff.

‘Agreed,’ said Jasper.

Bruce appeared still to be making up his mind.

‘Great.’ Elf told herself that just because she and Bruce loved each other didn’t mean he had to love everything she recorded.

‘I’ll mark this tape as the master, then,’ said Digger. ‘You’ve got till a quarter to eight before I kick you out.’

‘Who’s in after us?’ asked Dean.

‘Some kid of Joe Boyd’s. His name didn’t stick. Nick Duck, Nick Lake, or something. I need to clean some of your shit up.’

‘Time for a run-through of “Wedding Presence”?’ suggested Levon. ‘It’ll save time tomorrow morning.’

Elf couldn’t stop herself. ‘Did you like it, Bruce?’

She sensed Dean, Levon and Griff swapping looks.

Bruce breathed in. Bruce breathed out. ‘Honestly?’

Elf’s heart shrivelled. ‘Of course.’

‘Well. If you want a folk-jazz curio, mission accomplished. I know , I’m not in the band’ – Bruce glanced at Dean – ‘but in my asked-for opinion, the song’s suffocating. What’s wrong with playing the beat on the first-and-third?’

‘I asked Griff to “drum the river”,’ said Elf.

Bruce paused. ‘Right.’

‘If my girlfriend’d put together a song like “Raft And A River”,’ stated Griff, ‘I’d be less of a cold fookin’ fish about it.’

Bruce sniffed. ‘Elf and I believe honesty matters.’

‘Oh, aye? “Honest”, like when you fooked off to Paris?’

Elf felt scorching up her neck, face and ears.

Bruce did his easy smile. ‘It’s a good song, but it’s buried under too much smart-arsery on top. Word to the wise. If you want to know how to record Elf, play “Shepherd’s Crook”.’

‘We could try another take,’ began Elf, ‘with a more basic—’

‘ No , Elf,’ said Dean. ‘It’s great as it is.’

‘I wouldn’t touch it,’ said Jasper.

‘No fookin’ way,’ said Griff.

‘If a basic drum pattern’s beneath you, Griff,’ said Bruce, ‘I’ll play it, and you can—’

‘Lay one fookin’ finger on my kit and I’ll ram—’

‘ Stop it ,’ groaned Elf. ‘Just stop it. Stop it.’

‘If your corner needs defending, Elf,’ Bruce told his girlfriend, ‘it’s my duty to do that.’

‘Yer Knight in Shining Armour act’d be more convincing, Sir Bruce,’ said Dean, ‘if yer weren’t such a bloody leech.’

Bruce laughed. ‘ I ’m a leech? And you’re living rent-free in a luxury flat in a Mayfair mews how , again?’

Dean stood up. ‘Yer want to take this outside?’

‘Guys, let’s just cool it,’ intervened Levon.

‘I am cool.’ Bruce put on his jacket. ‘No, I don’t want “to take this outside,” Dean. Not because I’m afraid of you. I’m just not fifteen years old any more. Elf, love, I’ll see you later.’

Bruce left without another word.

‘Dean!’ Elf is quivering with anger. ‘What if I insulted Amy in front of you? Or discussed Jude, or all your Away Dates, just to rub her nose in it? Griff, how dare you bring up Paris? Bruce was only trying to help – and you tore strips off him? What is it with you two? Un-be-fucking-lievable!’

Dean and Griff looked at each other, unimpressed.

Elf grabbed her bag and walked out.

Three months later, onstage in McGoo’s, Elf goes operatic on the last ‘Prove it!’ of the first verse, and hyper-enunciates the T of ‘it’. Jasper bends the G down, like a motorbike roaring off a quarry’s edge. He glances up at Elf, who nods at Griff tapping on his hi-hat: five, six, seven, eight … Next verse. Elf glances at the Pictish Queen and the Seven Sisters. They’re all staring up at her, wide-eyed, hooked, smoking, nodding in time. Word has reached Scotland about who and what inspired the song, Elf guesses … if ‘inspired’ is the right word . Even Felix Finch wrote about the rumours surrounding Shandy Fontayne’s Top Five hit in his Daily Post column last week. Levon was pleased the band had won its first inches in a real newspaper, without him lifting a finger. Unless it was Levon who told Finch , it only now occurs to Elf, who dismisses the idea. Whatever the source, the column inches doubled the following day with an angry denial from Shandy Fontayne’s office and a letter to Moonwhale promising legal ruination if the ‘public slander’ against Bruce Fletcher is traced back to Elf Holloway. No doubt there’s more to come. Melody Maker and New Musical Express are stirring the pot. When next week’s editions hit the newsstands, the story looks set to boil over. If asked by anyone, Elf’s supposed to say, ‘Our legal counsel has advised me not to comment’ – but Ted Silver, Moonwhale’s lawyer, didn’t say she couldn’t sing about it. Elf plays the glissando into the second verse and sings with sharpened edges:

He’d write a hit that’d prove ’em all wrong

And he’d run at the front of the pack. But

He hunted a hit and no hit came near.

He stared at the page but the page stared back.

‘I’ll prove it,’ he swore, ‘I’ve the Midas touch –

I’ll prove it, I’ll prove it, I’ll prove it.’

After running out of Fungus Hut, Elf caught up with Bruce outside the Gioconda café. They went in and sat at the back and ordered two bacon sandwiches. Traffic’s ‘Hole In My Shoe’ played on the radio. ‘Dean and Griff were prize shits to you just now. Yet you’re so calm. You’re … just great.’

Bruce stirred sugar into his coffee. ‘As the Good Lord said, “Let he who has never been a prize shit cast the first stone.” And’ – he made a guilty face – ‘They had a point. About Paris. To my shame.’

Elf kissed her forefinger, reached across the table and planted it between his eyebrows. ‘Ancient history.’

Bruce smiled an I-don’t-deserve-you smile. ‘Fact is, I think Fletcher and Holloway make Utopia Avenue a bit insecure. “Darkroom” was a minor hit – but what would it be without Elf Holloway’s keys and harmonies? A third-rate “See Emily Play”. What’ve they ever done to compare to “Shepherd’s Crook”? Griff played drums on two lesser Archie Kinnock LPs. Dean’s got Battleship Potemkin on his CV who only ever recorded a couple of demos, and Jasper’s got “Darkroom”. As for Levon – sure, he’s a decent manager, but being Mickie Most’s gopher for a few months doesn’t mean you know your way around a control desk. I just wish they were man enough to say, “Bruce knows stuff we don’t. Let’s learn from him.” But that’s guys for you. Competitive idiots.’