Candy

  I just nodded.

  She smiled and said, “Next time…”

  We kissed again, and she whispered things that made me smile, and then we walked through the evening to the end of our day.

  And that was it, a day at the zoo. One of the best—and weirdest—days of my life. I’m still living it now, every day, living it out in my mind—following the ups and downs, walking the pathways, reliving the moments of our Moonlight World…

  It’s a day that never dies.

  chapter seven

  “You’re wasting your life, Joe,” Dad said sternly. “You know that, don’t you? You’re wasting your life. If you keep on like this—”

  “Keep on like what?”

  “You know what I mean—all this pop music and everything—you and your Skaties…”

  “Katies.”

  “What?”

  “It’s Katies—not Skaties.”

  “I don’t care what it is. You’ve got exams this year. You should be studying—”

  “I am studying—”

  “When?”

  “All the time.”

  “You weren’t studying today, were you? You weren’t even at school.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “You lied to your teachers, you abused my trust…”

  It was eight-thirty in the evening. I’d been in Dad’s study for the last half hour. I hadn’t meant to get back so late from the zoo, but I’d kind of lost track of the time…and then the trains had been delayed, and I couldn’t ring Dad to let him know, because I wasn’t supposed to be on the train. So when I got back and he called me into his study, I guessed straight away that Gina had told him the truth—or what she thought was the truth—and I knew I was in for some serious talking. And when Dad gets serious, he really gets serious.

  “…I know it’s been tough over the last few years,” he was saying, “but that’s no excuse for wasting your time on things that don’t matter—”

  “I’m not,” I said.

  “No? You could have fooled me. How are you going to get the grades you need if you spend all your time playing at being a pop star?”

  “I’m not playing at anything. I just enjoy it—it’s good fun. And, anyway, it’s only one evening a week—”

  “And weekends.”

  “Not every weekend.”

  “And days out in London when you should be at school.”

  “I’ve already explained that,” I sighed. “It was just a one-off thing. It won’t happen again—”

  “No, it won’t,” he said coldly.

  “You don’t have to—”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” I hung my head in shame and stared remorsefully at the floor. I didn’t expect Dad to fall for it, but at least it gave me a break from the furious glare of his eyes.

  “Why do you have to do it?” he said.

  “What?”

  “Why do you always have to make things so difficult?”

  I raised my head and looked at him. “Difficult?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Look,” I said, “I’m sorry—OK? I know it was a stupid thing to do, and I know I shouldn’t have done it…but it doesn’t mean anything, Dad—really. It doesn’t mean I’m wasting my life—”

  “It means you’re grounded, Joe.”

  “You can’t—”

  “I can, and I will.”

  “No, but listen—”

  “No, you listen.” He leaned across his desk and gave me the look. “I’m going away at the end of next week. I’ll be gone for six or seven days. Until I get back, you’re grounded—do you understand? As of today, you’re not to go out on weekends, or after six in the evening, without my specific permission.”

  “But Dad—”

  He held up his hand. “I haven’t finished yet—are you listening to me?”

  “I just wanted—”

  “Are you listening?”

  “Yes,” I sighed.

  “Right—it’s half term when I’m away, but the same rules apply, and I expect you to follow them without any help from Gina. She’s got enough on her plate without having to watch over you all the time. I need to know that I can trust you, Joe. I’m giving you the responsibility for your own discipline, and if you don’t take it seriously, the only person you’ll be letting down is yourself.”

  I looked at him, wanting to hate him but knowing I couldn’t. He was my dad. Whatever I felt about him, I couldn’t hate him. I could hate his stupid reasoning, though, the way he treated me like a kid but expected me to behave like an adult. Why can’t you make up your mind, Dad? I wanted to say. Either treat me like a kid or treat me like an adult, but don’t keep treating me like something in between.

  “Did you hear what I said?” he asked me.

  “Yeah, I heard.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  I hesitated for a moment, thinking about Friday’s gig. I was torn between keeping quiet about it—and sorting out something when the time came—and being honest. It was tempting to keep quiet about it, but getting to London on Friday night without Dad knowing wouldn’t be easy. If I was honest, though, if I explained how important the gig was and begged him to let me go and he said no, then he’d be forewarned, so he’d be on his guard, making it almost impossible to get away without him knowing.

  I looked at him, trying to decide how to play it. His face was calmer now. It was still deadly serious, but the fury had faded and I thought I could detect just a hint of compassion.

  Or so I hoped.

  “What about Friday?” I asked quietly.

  “Friday?”

  “You know—the gig…with the group. The Katies. We’re playing in London…I told you about it, remember?”

  “How could I forget?”

  “If you’d just let me go to that—”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “It’s only one night…”

  He shrugged.

  I said, “But it’s really important, Dad. If I don’t go, they won’t be able to play. I’ll be letting everyone down. We’ve already hired all the equipment and everything, and there’s people coming to see us. We’ve sold tickets—”

  “You should have thought about that before, shouldn’t you?”

  “Come on, Dad…you’re not being fair.”

  “Well, now you know how it feels.”

  “But you’re always telling me about taking responsibility for things. What about my responsibilities to everyone else? The rest of the group, the promoters, the people who’ve paid—”

  “That’s different.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they’re not family, they’re just…”

  “What? They’re just what?”

  He shook his head. “Don’t start twisting my words, Joe. You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah…” I said, nodding my head as if I knew what he meant but didn’t believe him. Actually, I didn’t know what he meant, but I could see he was getting a bit flustered about something and that was all I needed to know. I kept on nodding, trying to look reproachful—which wasn’t easy—but, strangely enough, it seemed to work. Dad’s face was getting twitchy, and his mouth had lost some of its confidence.

  I kept staring at him.

  After a moment or two, he cleared his throat and said, “People are different, that’s all I’m saying.”

  I didn’t reply.

  “I don’t mean different like that,” he said, trying to dig himself out of a hole. “I just mean that some people mean more than others…” He sighed, realizing that he was only making things worse…and I suddenly understood what I was doing. He was right—I was twisting his words. I was making him think that his views offended me. I was forcing him to defend himself when he had nothing to defend. I was manipulating him, basically. Manipulating his fears and his prejudices. I knew it was wrong, and I could feel the guilt stirring inside me…

  But I did my best to ignore it.

  Sitting in si
lence…

  Suffering my false indignation…

  “All right,” Dad said eventually. “Where is this concert, anyway?”

  Yes! I thought.

  “Hammersmith,” I said quietly.

  “What time does it finish?”

  “Not too late…I’d probably be back by eleven.”

  He nodded slowly. “All right…I’ll think about it.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “I didn’t say you could go—I just said I’ll think about it. So don’t go thinking you’ve got one over on me, because you haven’t—understand?”

  “Of course.”

  “And,” he continued, “whatever decision I make, that’s it. That’s my final answer. I don’t want any more arguments—OK?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I mean it, Joe. I want your word that you’ll accept my decision, otherwise I’m not even going to think about it.”

  “OK,” I said. “I promise.”

  He gave me a doubtful look.

  “Scout’s honor,” I said, struggling to find some sincerity. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  “It’s not a joke.”

  “I know. I’m serious, Dad—I mean it, honestly. I promise…”

  Another look, this one a tiny bit warmer, then he took a deep breath, stretched his back, and let out a long drawn-out sigh.

  “All right,” he said. “Go on, then. You’d better get yourself something to eat, and then I think an early night might be in order.”

  “OK,” I said, getting up, relieved that it was all over at last.

  “And Joe…?” added Dad.

  I looked down at him. He suddenly seemed very old. Tired and gray, his long face ashen and lined, his body framed in the dark formality of an ancient suit…

  He looked as if he’d never been young. Never been anything but old.

  “Yes, Dad?” I said.

  His eyes fixed sadly on mine for a moment and I thought he was going to say something, something that would probably embarrass us both…but after a second or two he blinked the sadness away and said, “Nothing…it’s nothing. Go on, off you go. I’ll see you later.”

  “Yeah…OK. I’m sorry about everything…”

  He nodded silently, staring down at the table.

  I stood there for a moment, unsure what to do. Part of me wanted to say something else, to let Dad into my mind, to show him the truth of my feelings, but another part—the cowardly part—just wanted to get out of there. And that part was stronger.

  So, with a headful of conflicting emotions, I said good night, then turned around and shuffled out.

  It’s funny how easy it is to believe your own lies. All the time I was in Dad’s study, all the time he was lecturing me about responsibility and discipline and wasting my life, all the time I was apologizing for blowing off school and spending the day in London…all that time, and it never even occurred to me that I was lying through my teeth. As far as I was concerned, I had gone to London to sort out a problem with the gig. It didn’t mean anything. I was sorry. It wouldn’t happen again.

  I believed it.

  It was the only way to live the lie.

  But as soon as I was out of Dad’s study, the truth suddenly hit me. The real truth—Candy, the zoo, Moonlight World—and I realized that I’d just been lectured and punished for something I hadn’t actually done. Admittedly, I’d done something worse and got away with it, but still…

  Still what? said the voice in my head. You were lucky, really. You know that, don’t you? You were lucky. It could have been a whole lot worse…

  When I went upstairs, I found Gina waiting for me in my bedroom.

  “How did it go?” she asked anxiously.

  She was sitting on the floor, flicking through the pages of a music magazine, and it looked as if she’d been there a while. A ragged circle of books and CDs and empty coffee cups had formed on the floor around her.

  “I hope you’re going to clear all that up,” I said, nodding at the mess on the floor.

  She gave me a friendly sneer, then got back to the subject. “Come on—what did Dad have to say?”

  “Quite a lot.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Joe—I had to tell him. He was really worried about you. If I hadn’t told him, he would have called the police—”

  “It’s all right,” I said, sitting on the bed. “It’s not your fault.”

  “He would have found out, anyway—”

  “Yeah, I know—don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t have got you involved in the first place.” I looked at her. “What did he say when you told him you’d rung up school for me? Did he go mad at you?”

  “Not really. I think he was too pissed off with you to bother about me.” She looked up. “Are you grounded?”

  “Yep.”

  “How long?”

  “Until he gets back from wherever he’s going next week. Where is he going, anyway? To the cottage?”

  “No, it’s a work thing, in Edinburgh—the society’s annual conference.” She smiled. “Gynecologists galore…” The smile faded. “He’s going with Mum, they’re making a week of it.”

  I nodded absentmindedly, thinking about the cottage…Woodland Cottage. I hadn’t thought about it for a long time. It’s a little holiday place that Dad bought years ago, a rustic wooden bungalow hidden away in a little village on the Suffolk coast. We used to go there quite a lot when Mum was still around. It’s a really nice place—right out in the middle of nowhere, quiet and peaceful, surrounded by woods and fields, with a quiet little estuary nearby…

  “Joe?” said Gina.

  “Sorry—what?”

  “Did you get it sorted out?”

  “Get what sorted out?”

  “Whatever it was you went to London for—the really important thing about the gig. Remember?”

  “Oh, right…yeah, no problem. It’s all…uhh…”

  “Sorted out?”

  “Yeah.” I smiled. “Everything’s ready.”

  “You’re still doing it?”

  “Yeah—why not?”

  “I thought you said you were grounded.”

  “I’m on parole for the day.”

  “That’s great. I’m really looking forward to it.”

  I looked at her—momentarily speechless. I’d forgotten she was coming.

  “What?” she said, frowning at my puzzled look, then realizing what it meant. “Oh, come on, Joe…you invited me. Bring Mike along, you said—”

  “Yeah, yeah…I know…”

  “Don’t you want us to come?”

  “Of course I do…It just slipped my mind for a minute, that’s all.” I leaned down and ruffled her hair. “Sorry.”

  “Yeah, well…”

  “Don’t be such a sulk.”

  “I’m not.”

  I smiled at her.

  She smiled back.

  And we were OK again. We kept on talking for a while, not really saying anything, just passing the time, then eventually Gina got up and kissed me good night and left me alone with my thoughts.

  It was a lot to be left alone with—Dad, lies, Candy, lies, Gina, lies…so many lies it was hard to keep track of the truth.

  I started to clear away the rubbish that Gina had left on the floor.

  One thing at a time, I kept telling myself. Take one thing at a time. There’s no point in worrying about Friday until you know for sure that Dad’s going to let you go. If he doesn’t let you go, then it won’t matter what happens when Candy turns up and Gina and Mike are there…it won’t matter how you try to explain things, because you won’t be there, and neither will Gina and Mike, so there won’t be anything to explain.

  Right?

  The thing was, though, I knew in my heart that I would be there. It wasn’t just wishful thinking, it was a stone-cold fact, as inevitable as night follows day. No matter what Dad said, no matter what he decided, no matter what promises I’d made…I’d be there.

  No matter wh
at.

  I’d be there; Candy would be there; Gina and Mike would be there…

  It was going to happen.

  So, I could worry about it.

  And I did.

  And then, after a while, I stopped worrying and I started thinking instead. Thinking about Candy, and Gina and Mike, and the gig, and me…

  And, finally, as I got into bed, the thinking turned to something else, and I was alone in the dark with Candy.

  chapter eight

  The Black Room, Friday night. It was just past eight o’clock, and things were going from bad to worse. The sound check had been a disaster, the dressing room was a toilet, and Jason was out of control. He’d taken some speed to calm his nerves—a monumentally stupid thing to do—and now he was racing around all over the place, all wired up and fried to the eyeballs, sniffing and twitching like a lunatic.

  “Where’s my smokes? Who’s got them? Who’s got my bloody cigarettes? What’s this? Christ! Who put that in there? What’s the time? Where’s the song list? Jesus! This is ridiculous…”

  We’d arrived late, which wasn’t the best way to start. There’d been a mix-up with the hire van, so we hadn’t left Heystone until nearly six, and then Jason had taken a wrong turn on the way into London and we’d driven around God-knows-where for ages, trying to find Hammersmith. And then, when we’d finally arrived, there’d been all sorts of problems with the equipment, the worst of which was Bluntslide refusing to lend us their PA system. As far as we were concerned, it had all been agreed in advance—as long as their sound engineer ran the show, we could use their PA. Which was fine with us, seeing as how we didn’t have a sound engineer, anyway. But when we started setting up our gear for the sound check, sorting out the mikes and the sound levels and everything, the guy who managed Bluntslide got all snotty about it.

  “That’s five grand’s worth of brand-new equipment there. I’m not having a bunch of kids messing around with that.”

  He was a really nasty piece of work—a ratty little guy with razor-sharp shoes and a face to match. I think he thought it was part of his job to argue about things, whether they needed arguing about or not. Either that or he just enjoyed being a pain in the arse. Anyway, after lots of arguing—and lots of manic screaming from Jason—he eventually changed his mind and grudgingly agreed to let us use their precious PA. But by then it was getting on to eight o’clock, so we didn’t have much time for the sound check, and Bluntslide’s engineer wasn’t that interested in helping us out, and Jason kept storming off all the time…