Chapter Eighteen
The next morning Theo woke up early and reached for his guitar, which he'd left lying on the floor. Mindful of Tim's faith in his ability to take care of the valuable object, Theo set about creating a make-shift stand. He sellotaped a drum stick to the top left corner of his desk so it protruded about six inches. This provided a kind of cradle for the guitar to rest in without the tuning forks touching anything and running the risk of becoming de-tuned (Theo did not yet know how to tune the thing). The only problem with this arrangement was that he had to move the guitar if he needed to get into any of the desk's drawers. But as an interim solution, it would suffice.
After breakfast he cycled out to the quarry again, but this time without his sketching kit. He still felt bad that he had left the quarry without thanking the manager and wanted to make amends.
He arrived shortly after nine and cycled down the dirt track to the quarry and parked his bike next to the Portakabin. He knocked on the open door and heard a voice say "Come in." When he entered, the manager looked up and said "Oh hi! Back for more?"
"No no, I just happened to be passing. I just wanted to say thanks for yesterday, and maybe I could come back again one day to draw some more?"
"Of course, of course" the manager said. "Any time. Like I say, you've got some real talent there, so keep at it."
"Thanks, I will" Theo replied. He was about to leave when he plucked up some courage and retrieved a small piece of paper from his pocket. "I thought you might like this" he said, unfolding the paper and handing it to the manager. It was a sketch of the Portakabin, with a figure - the manager - walking towards it. The sketch was in grey pencil with a few colours thrown in to bring out the sky and surrounding trees. He had written 'Hartham Quarry August 1983' in the bottom right corner.
"Why thank you," said the man "I'm gonna frame this and put it on the wall. Might be worth something one day ha ha."
"You never know" Theo replied and said goodbye again.
He was relieved that the liaison with the manager had gone according to plan and cycled home as fast as he could. The plan for today was to travel to Colerne to look at the notorious water tower from close up, and maybe get some good compositions of the concrete goliath towering over its surroundings.
He wasn't thinking of August Wells at that precise moment, or the lyrics that he had asked to compose music for, but suddenly something began to form in his mind. He saw the words THE DEAD WHITE SKY underlined in August's meticulous capitals and imagined them as blunt weapons, each one spoken with a violent stab of drum and guitar behind it.
The Dead White Sky
And then the rest of the chorus came in a melody completely at odds with what came before:
I don't want to die
What kind of bomb is this
That turns a man to mist?
The melody for these last three lines was pure pop, like something The Hollies or the Beach Boys would come up with. Its cheerfulness completely at odds with the solemnity of the subject matter. But Theo liked this... what was the word? Juxtaposition. But now he started to worry: had he heard this tune somewhere else, or was it his alone? He tried to think, singing the tune over and over again. He didn't recognise it, maybe it is mine! Now he wanted to get home as quickly as he could, before the melody evaporated. But would he be able to transcribe the tune on the guitar? Did he possess the ability to do that yet? He wasn't sure, but the important thing was to offload the melody somehow, to get it physically into the world. Then he remembered that his parents had a tape recorder tidied away somewhere. Maybe he could just sing the melody into the tape machine and then worry about the chords later on.
He cycled as fast as he could, reciting the tune in his head over and over, determined not to forget it. I don't want to die... What kind of bomb is this... That turns a man to mist... I don't want to die... What kind of bomb is this... That turns a man to mist...
He made it home and left the bike on its side in the front garden. He ran to the downstairs hallway, to the sideboard that the phone sat on - the last known resting place of the tape recorder. Luckily it was still there, right at the back covered by old copies of The Yellow Pages and Thompson's Locals. He took it up to his room, continuing to sing the melody to himself ... I don't want to die... What kind of bomb is this... But although he had a tape recorder, he had no tape. So he ran back down the stairs three at a time - What kind of bomb is this - to the same cupboard that the tape recorder had been in. Sure enough, there were some dusty cassettes there too. He grabbed the first one and looked at the handwritten contents label: 'Gilbert & Sullivan rehearsal May 1978'. He was pretty sure that his parents wouldn't be listening to this any time soon, so he took it up to his room - that turns a man to mist - and put it into the player. He rewound it to the beginning and pressed the Play and Record buttons. Then he began to sing, tapping out a beat on his jeans as he did so:
Under the Blood. Red. Sky.
I don't want to die
What kind of bomb is this
That turns a man to mist?
He hit Stop and then rewound the tape. He pressed play and a loud hissing sound emanated from the machine. He couldn't find a volume button, but suddenly the hissing abated and he heard a voice singing the melody - his melody.
He had never heard his own voice before. It sounded too soft for his liking, rather like a mother singing a lullaby to her baby. But as far as he could tell, it was in tune, and his melody had made it into the world. He breathed a sigh of relief and smiled with satisfaction. He still needed a melody for the verse to accompany this chorus of course, and then there was the difficult question of how he would play the song to August, but these were problems that could be overcome. He had taken his first step as a songwriter.
He took the tape from the machine and hid it in the bottom drawer of his chest, underneath his old cricket whites. Then he returned the cassette recorder to the downstairs cupboard. Too hyped to leave the house to go sketching, he instead picked up the sky blue Strat and plucked the dream melody he had mastered last night.
After lunch he went to the fountain to hang out with Pete and the others. He didn't mention the guitar lessons, the sky blue Strat or The Dead White Sky, preferring to keep them to himself until he felt more confident with the new direction life seemed to be taking. Mindful that Martine was coming round to his place that evening, he left his friends earlier than the traditional five thirty to air his room and make sure that the volleyball playing women of The Observer magazine were not on show.
After tea he sat in his room and waited for the sound of Martine's dad's car to come up the road. As he waited he picked up the guitar and practiced his new bar chords, but something sounded a bit off. He played each string individually and compared its sound to the note of the fifth fret on the string below it. This was the only way he knew how to tune a guitar. All the strings sounded fine apart from the A string. Maybe he had nudged the tuning forks when he moved it. He tightened the tuning fork of the A string until it sounded just right compared to the lower E string. But then the D string sounded out of tune compared to the A, and he couldn't tell if it was too low or too high. He fiddled on and on trying to get each string to sound right in relation to its neighbours until finally he reached a configuration that didn't cause him to wince when he strummed an open E. But now he wasn't sure if the guitar as a whole was tuned too high or too low. Maybe he would have to invest in one of those tuner things he'd seen in music shops.
He decided to soldier on regardless and try to find the chords to accompany the chorus for Dead White Sky. But he couldn't make his mind up on which note should be the opening one: if he played a high note, it sounded okay, but similarly if he played a note much further down the fretboard that sounded okay too. How were you meant to know which note was right?
Keen to find a distraction, he looked at his makeshift guitar stand and decided it might be wise to buy a real one. He also liked the idea of getting a mini amp, and maybe a fuzzbox
as well, to get that authentic punky sound. But a stand, an amp and a fuzzbox would pretty much eat through the entire first instalment of his holiday money. He did have some savings he could draw on, but would his parents be happy about him spending that money (which had been left to him when his gran died a couple of years ago) on guitar gear, especially as they had spent the last several years buying him drum parts?
He resolved not to ask his parent about his savings just yet. Maybe he should just buy one of the things he needed. He decided that the most pressing was the amp, as he already had the makeshift stand, and he might be able to borrow a fuzzbox from August (who seemed to have a plethora of effects peddles). There was a shop in Bath which specialized in selling second-hand musical equipment and stereos. He was pretty sure he could pick up a small practice amp there for about a tenner.
He opened the bottom drawer of his desk and counted his remaining money. Two twenties and a ten. If he bought an amp for £10, that would still leave him £40 to spend on fags, booze and going out until his next instalment was due. He'd just have to live without buying any new clothes for a while.
He put the money back in the bottom drawer and replaced the sky blue Strat in its temporary resting place. Then he browsed his record collection to find a suitable album to play for when Martine arrived. He decided on The Hollies, and lined up track one, side one just as he heard a car come to a stop outside.
Theo bounded down the stairs three at a time and managed to get to the front door before Martine had a chance to ring the doorbell. He opened the door and she entered, a smile on her face. She kissed him on the lips and the blood rushed instantly to his groin. She then made her way past him and headed up the stairs to his bedroom. Theo called to his parents that he'd be upstairs for a while and followed her up.
'The Air That I Breathe' by The Hollies was just finishing as they entered Theo's freshly aired room. "Ooh, I think my mum's got this" said Martine.
"Yeah, it's from the sixties. It's The Hollies."
Theo sat on the bed, hoping that she'd do the same. But instead she stood directly in front of him. He put his hands on her hips and hooked his thumbs underneath the waistband of her skirt. He pulled downwards, and she wriggled along to make it easier. The skirt fell to the floor revealing pale green cotton pants next to brown skin. He was about to take these off too but realised that the bedroom door was ajar. He leapt up quickly, closed the door and carried on with what he had been doing.
Twenty minutes later, side one of The Hollies 20 Golden Greats came to an end and Theo got out of bed to put side two on. "You don't have anything else do you?" asked Martine.
"Sure, what do you fancy?"
"Dunno. Mind if I take a look?"
"Course not. Would you like anything to drink - a hot chocolate or something?"
Martine said that she would, so Theo got dressed and went downstairs. When he came back into the bedroom, carrying two mugs of cocoa, 'I'm Alive', the opener of side two of 20 Golden Greats was playing and the now fully dressed Martine was placing the sky blue Strat back in its makeshift resting place.
"Oh hi!" She said as she saw him. "I couldn't find anything else I fancied, so I just put side two on."
"Oh okay" said Theo, feeling rather deflated that she hadn't found a single album that she wanted to listen to in his entire record collection. "Do you play?" he asked, motioning towards the guitar.
"Nah, I tried piano for a bit but couldn't get on with it. Nice guitar though, I like the colour."
"Me too!" replied Theo, glad that they could at least agree on a colour, if not an album. "I've just started playing. I think I might like to try and write some songs as well and maybe even sing a bit, you know, as well as drumming." This was the first time Theo had thought about trying to sing as well as learning the guitar. But why not? His voice seemed to be in tune on the recording he made earlier; it was just a shame he didn't have that Eddie Cochran wail. But maybe he could learn that, take lessons or something?
Ten o'clock came around, which was when Martine's dad had arranged to come and pick her up. Theo wasn't sure when he would next be available because there were some X-Tradition practice sessions in the pipeline but he said he'd phone her in the next few days to arrange their next date.
-
The next morning, Theo realised that he needed art supplies as well as the practice amp so he planned a trip into Bath where he could get the art gear from Harris's on Green Street, and hopefully a practice amp from one of the second-hand stores. Then in the afternoon he would head up towards Colerne to sketch that water tower.
He wore the Dead Kennedys t-shirt that he had borrowed from (and failed to return to) August, along with his Wrangler jeans and dusty Rucanors. There was no need for a jacket on such a sunny day, but he liked the idea of wearing his recently acquired beige sports jacket over the punky t-shirt, so retrieved it from his wardrobe.
He ran some Black & White through his hair and went to his desk to get some cash. He moved the sky blue Strat and placed it carefully on his bed, with its head hanging over the edge so as not to disturb the tuning forks. He then opened the bottom drawer and reached for the money. He pulled out two twenties but no ten. He looked in the drawer again, moving everything around but it was not there. Ten pounds had gone missing. He shook his head in disbelief. It had been there last night, he had counted it. Two twenties and a ten. He checked his pockets, the top of the desk, behind the desk, on his bed, under his bed, but it was nowhere. What could have happened to it?
Then an image of Martine replacing the guitar came into his head. What if she hadn't been admiring it, what if she had been looking through the desk drawers? She could have taken the money when he was downstairs making the hot chocolate. Maybe that explained why she had put side two of The Hollies on - she hadn't had time to find a replacement album and take the money.
The more he thought of it, the more likely it seemed. He knew his parents and his brother wouldn't dream of taking it (not without leaving a note anyway), and besides, he had been in his bedroom practically the whole time before Martine came round. It must have been her. The realisation brought tears to his eyes. How could she?
He stood there motionless, the two twenties in his hand. He was too hot in his jacket but he kept it on, sweat forming on his forehead and in his armpits.
Finally he summoned the energy to move and sat on the bed. He looked at his remaining money. What should he do? He thought about phoning her. But what would he say? Did you steal a tenner from me? She would only deny it, and then that would be that. No more Martine. Maybe she would phone him to confess. This seemed like the only thing to do: wait for a phone call of contrition.
Now he knew that today and the next day, and possibly several days after that would be spent anxiously waiting for her call and it did not seem fair. He wanted to enjoy his holiday; his drumming, his guitar, his friends, the sunshine, and Martine, but now it was all on hold while he waited for a phone call and an explanation that might never happen.
Despondent, he left the house with his too-hot jacket on and made his way to the bus stop. Despite his mood of dejection, the ensuing trip was a success and he picked up a used Marshall practice amp for a tenner, and much-needed paper and pencils from Harris's on Green Street. When he got back home he asked his mum if there had been any calls but there hadn't been. He then phoned August. He needed something positive to concentrate on, so he hoped that an X-Tradition band practice might be in the offing. As luck would have it, August had been productive and had recruited another couple of members and wanted to arrange a practice for the next day. Theo asked if he could come round today as well, on the pretext of returning the Dead Kennedys t-shirt (which he now realised was far from clean). August said sure, he was just hanging out by himself and would welcome the company.
Before leaving, Theo took the practice amp to his room and plugged it in. It made the low humming noise that had accompanied every practice session and gig he had ever drummed at. It was only then t
hat he realised he would need a lead to plug the guitar into the amp. He had completely forgotten about that. Bollocks! Maybe he could borrow one from August as well as the fuzzbox.
He rode out along the A4 to August's place. When he arrived, the front of the house was devoid of life but he could hear laughter coming from the back. He walked around the side of the old farmhouse to a patio area shaded from the sun by a rose-covered trellis. He saw August reclining in a garden chair, his feet on the wrought iron table in front of him, his shoulders being massaged by a woman he guessed to be his mum. August was bare-chested and the sides of his head were newly shaven, the resulting Mohican pulled back into a ponytail. The sides of his head were the only part of his upper body that were not a golden brown colour. Mrs Wells was the first to spot Theo:
"And who do we have here?"
Theo blushed as August looked up. "Theo old boy! Welcome! You haven't met my mum have you? Theo this is my mum Veronica, Ron for short. Come on over and make yourself comfortable."
Theo did what he was told but wondered if "comfortable" might include a massage from the rather imposing Mrs Wells. He found a chair and nodded towards August's new haircut, his eyebrows arched.
"Oh this" replied August. "You should see it when it's spiked up. Actually I've gone off it a bit; something of a cliché. Sophie did it for me, but I think I'm gonna let it grow out."
With this, Mrs Wells gathered her cigarettes and sun lotion from the table. "Well it's getting too hot for me out here boys. Would you like anything to drink Theo? We have squash, water or tea?"
Blushing afresh, Theo answered, "Um tea please."
"Earl Grey?"
"Yes please."
Theo did not know what Earl Grey was. Presumably it was something you got with a cup of tea at posh people's houses. A biscuit or a type of cake maybe. August grabbed his t-shirt from the back of his chair and put it on. He began to roll a cigarette.
"How's Martine?"
"Oh. She's fine thanks." But sadly, Theo did not know this. He didn't feel that he knew anything about her anymore, apart from the fact that she had a tenner of his.
"We should get the girls together one day, go for a drink. You know, a double-date. Ha!" Theo nodded and laughed as enthusiastically as he could. Oh how he would love to live in the world where such a thing was possible!
Mrs Wells returned with a tray and decanted two mugs of tea on to the table, along with a sugar bowl and a couple of teaspoons. "There you go boys. I'm off to cool down a bit."
With that Veronica - or Ron - wandered back inside, leaving Theo to ponder the lack of Earl Grey cake. She must have forgotten it. Should he mention it to August, or just let it pass? He decided on the latter, making do with the tea alone. Maybe he could have a rifle around the kitchen later. He took a sip from the thin porcelain mug and was met with the unmistakeable taste of washing-up liquid. Things were going from bad to worse. First no cake, and then this! Feeling dejected, Theo put the mug back down on the table.
"Shall we go upstairs; have a little smoke-y?" asked August.
This was a much more appealing prospect. They traipsed upstairs to August's room, the thick limestone walls offering a respite from the heat of the afternoon. In truth, Theo would rather have a couple of tins of lager than a smoke, but it would have to do. When they arrived, August walked to the far end of the room and opened the curtains revealing a large sash window, which he also opened. He then turned back towards Theo and appeared momentarily taken aback.
"Blimey! Are you pleased to see me or something Theo?"
"What?" Responded Theo.
August motioned towards Theo's crotch. Theo looked down and saw the outline of his inhaler jutting out at an uncompromising angle.
"Oh that. It's just my asthma inhaler, honest!" He took it out and looked for a flat surface to put it on.
"Don't panic, don't panic, only joking," replied August, "take a seat."
Theo sat on a large cushion in a corner of the room and August sat cross-legged on the floor. He opened a tobacco tin and started to roll a joint.
"Do you want to choose something whilst I roll this?" August said, nodding towards his record collection.
"Sure" replied Theo, "but I'll warn you: I'm not putting on any Crass."
August laughed. "Can't say I blame you. Put on what you like."
Theo looked through the collection, and was surprised to see some fairly mainstream stuff in amongst the punk: Fleetwood Mac, Supertramp, The Knack. He pulled out Sultans of Swing by Dire Straits.
"There's some blinding guitar work on that. Put on Romeo & Juliet, that's one of my favourite songs ever. I mean, if you want to that is."
Theo liked the song too, so he lined it up. August's stereo system was not a one-piece like Theo's Panasonic music centre; instead it had a turntable stacked on top of another rectangular unit with lots of large dials on the front. On either side of the units stood large floor-mounted speakers.
As the song began, August said "Turn it right up - that knob on the right." Theo complied and felt the floor vibrate as the bass and drums kicked in. August finished rolling his joint and lit it up. He inhaled deeply and passed it to Theo. He inhaled too, but not quite as deeply as August, wary that in his sober state the tobacco would make him feel queasy. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the music. He had never heard drums sound so loud on record before. They resonated just the same way they did when Theo sat behind his own kit.
Theo opened his eyes and saw August lost in quiet contemplation, his eyes now closed. Theo picked up imaginary drumsticks and started to play along. This guy is really pretty good, he thought to himself.
The joint, and then another, got passed back and forth between the two friends, and Theo started to feel very heavy. He stared at August. There were so many questions he wanted to ask him. Principally, he wanted to ask August to be his best friend. But was this something a sixteen year old could ask of another sixteen year old? On reflection he didn't really think so. Maybe he could tactfully enquire who August considered to be his best friend. That August had taken him to the Crass gig boded well of course, but that was more likely a result of circumstance than anything else. He had never met any of August's other friends, just his bandmates. Were his bandmates friends, or just colleagues? He didn't seem that close to Justin when he bumped into them at the last Planets gig. Maybe August led a solitary life and wanted Theo in it just as much as Theo wanted August in his.
'Romeo & Juliet' came to an end and August got on all fours and crawled towards the stereo. He leafed through the records with one elbow resting on the floor. This looked incredibly cumbersome and uncomfortable to Theo, but maybe August was having as much trouble with his co-ordination as Theo was. Clearly in no fit state to make an informed decision about what music to listen to next, he pulled out pretty much the first album he came to which happened to be Fleetwood Mac's Rumours.
"Ooh! This one's good! Stevie Nicks is well fit." He managed to get into a kneeling position and spent a minute or so trying to get the liner sleeve out of the thicker outer sleeve. He finally managed it by simply tipping the liner sleeve onto the floor. He then picked it up and tipped the album on to the floor, where it rolled to a stop next to Theo who picked it up, blew on in, wiped it with his forearm and handed it back to August. As August took the album from him, their fingers momentarily touched. August thanked him and placed the record on the turntable, somewhere in the middle of the opener of side one.
"Fleetwood Mac was formed by a drummer you know," said August, "Mick Fleetwood-Mac I think his name is." He fell back onto the floor lying on his back, his hands above his head, his eyes closed.
Theo stared at his taught brown stomach and suddenly another raft of questions came to mind. Principally, he wanted to ask August if he could wear his lumberjack shirts. If he could wear his lumberjack shirts with him still in them. If he could touch the tanned skin of his upper arms. Would your skin be as hot as Martine's? Can I lie next to you on the floor and find out
? Can I place my hand on that flat stomach? Can I move downwards until I am working you back and forth and the warm jets come?
Theo stopped and breathed deeply. Blood had rushed to his groin and his member was hard against his jeans. Next he imagined standing over August and straddling that tanned torso. He imagined leaning over and kissing his forehead, his cheekbones, his mouth. And that was where the fantasy stopped. The moment he visualized this other male face so close to his, he shuddered. He did not want the bony angles of another boy; he wanted the soft curves of a girl. Any girl - Martine, Laura, any girl. It had to be a girl to caress away the pounding in his jeans. This realisation came as a relief and made him laugh out loud.
The next thing Theo remembered was air-drumming along to 'All Night Long' by Rainbow. Had August put this on or had he? He couldn't remember. August was laughing at something. He was rolling around on the floor laughing. So Theo put down his imaginary drumsticks and started laughing too. Then he started to feel really hungry and decided that it might be time to seek out a slice of that Earl Great cake, or whatever it was. But he couldn't risk going down to the kitchen in this state surely? He guessed he'd have to go home. Would there be a message waiting for him from Martine? The thought sobered him up slightly. But do you sober up when you're high, or do you just become less high? He thought about asking August, who was still lying on the floor, still bare-chested and taking a long drag from another joint. Well I'm higher than August, thought Theo, at least I'm sitting up. The thought made him start laughing again and he forgot his hunger.
The next thing he remembered was being vertical and saying to August: "Two things: I forgot to bring back your Dead Kennedys t-shirt, and can I borrow a fuzz pedal? Oh and a guitar lead? That's three things." To which August burst into another bout of raucous laughter and Theo sat back down again to join him.