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Noddy was at the bar, deep in conversation with Janine, when the music on the hi-fi twanged off and out. Dirk had been trying to butt into the conversation, which Noddy thought was extremely rude. His comments of “Hoi! Go outside if you’re going to do that!” and “You dirty sod! There’s people trying to drink in here!” were quite distracting. He had even flicked a towel at Noddy while he was innocently trying to clear a space on the end of the bar so they could be more comfortable. So much for German hospitality.
A cloud of smoke billowed from under the stage. The lights dimmed. The main act of the evening was about to make its appearance. Sure enough, there came the familiar rumble as Dirk strummed his bass. Heads turned. Seats were pushed back from tables. Noddy climbed off the bar and straightened his shirt, making sure his fly was zipped. Janine sat up, shook her hair back into place and handed him his mug. She took a swig of the Bacardi concoction she’d been drinking, quite comfortable sitting on the end of the bar. She leaned forward, a sparkle in her eyes, and was about to say something deep and meaningful when the howl of a guitar cut through the smoke-filled air.
Before the second chord had been struck Noddy was heading for the stage, jostled by the rest of the club as they leapt to their feet and joined the lemming run. Because that howl could mean only one thing. Urban Assault was here. And they were heading straight into “Breaking the Law.”
As Noddy hit the front of the crowd, throwing his left foot up to brace against the knee-high stage, Cliff launched himself from behind Sven’s drum kit, microphone in hand.
The front of the stage was a solid mass of hair as a dozen heads banged in time to the beat. Further back, more bodies pushed and bounced against one another, surging back and forth as the rhythm took control. The band ripped through the first half of the cover, playing it faster than anyone remembered it being the previous weekend. Not that Noddy was about to complain. The pounding beat, the blistering guitars, the shove of the crowd, this was what he lived for. One hand gripping his skull mug, the other trying to keep up on his air-guitar, there was nowhere he’d rather be.
The solo sprang like a living thing from the last line of the second verse, as Paul took his place at the front of the stage. He’d been playing guitar since he was in nappies, and on nights like this, you could hear the results. Horned salutes stabbed the air. Mugs and bottles were held high in adulation. The crowd launched into their own version of the solo, frantic fingers playing notes that hadn’t even been invented yet as hair and sweat filled the front row.
Then the inevitable mosher climbed onto the stage, threw his arms in the air and dived into the crowd. He landed way off on Noddy’s right, as his buddies broke his fall and helped him to his feet. Paul grinned and played on.
The next verse came and went, becoming a second guitar solo, with Mike doing the honours this time. The crowd was rapidly banging its way into a frenzy. The skinhead on Noddy’s left lost his balance and swayed for a moment, then was gone. In his place stood Morag, head down, foot up, mug held precariously by two fingers as the rest of them danced along the air-strings.
A second stage-diver appeared, bouncing onto the platform and tossing a fist in the air before launching himself after it. But this one had miscalculated. Everyone in front of him moved as his feet left the stage. He hit the floor face first, boots spinning out of sight as Cliff finished the final chorus.
And that was it. The end of the song. There was silence for a split second, while heads stopped bouncing up and down, then the audience erupted in a roar of appreciation. Every single person on the floor was yelling, screaming, waving their fists in the air. Most of them took up a chant. “More! More! More!”
*
NODDY HEADED BACK TOWARDS the bar. Janine was waiting with a fresh beer and blue eyes that pierced through to his soul, pulling him into their bottomless depths.
He accepted the beer, raising her hand to his lips and pressing them against it. “So are we good, Girlfriend?”
She nodded. “Yes, Boyfriend. I’ve been waiting for you to move back in. Next time we argue, please just tell me how you feel. Shout at me, even. Get it off your chest. Hoist me over your shoulder and spank me, if you have to. End of argument. Doesn’t that sound better than storming off and not talking to me for a week? And just when we were planning to move down to the coast together?”
She had a point. He fell into those deep blue eyes, seeing everything he had ever wanted.
“With every shattered wine glass and hyperventilating meltdown, we can build a devotion so powerful it takes our breath away. Together we can write an unforgettable love story with blood, sweat and tears. Every drop that’s in us.”
He didn’t know what to say. Her words often had that effect. He was relieved when the band kicked into their next song and he kissed her quickly before pushing his way through the crowd to get back to the front of the stage.
*
THE SECOND SET WAS intense. Noddy threw himself into it, starting a thrash session that saw some of the younger crowd stagger back away from the front line, dizzy and bleeding and looking for air. The older regulars took their place, relishing a chance to cut loose and push the limits. After the first few songs, jackets and shirts were discarded, leaving a wall of hair and tattoos with the odd set of colours here and there. The band rose to the challenge, Dirk and Sven pushing the rhythm section so the guitars had to race to keep up.
And keep up they did. Riff after riff. Hook after hook. Verse. Chorus. Solo. Repeat. It became a sweating, panting, screaming animal with fifty heads, all thrashing in time to the thunder from the stage.
And the beast would not die. When it was over, they yelled for more. The band delivered. Original songs exhausted, they ripped through more covers. Generals. Big Women. TNT. Lean On Me. Then they threw out their own challenge. Seek And Destroy. Played even faster than the original. Mike broke a string during the intro but played on, ignoring the pain from his tortured fingers.
Cliff launched himself into the pit after the second chorus, joining the front row in a frenzy of insane air-guitar playing as they formed a solid wall to keep the mosh pit from erupting onto the stage. Then he was back up there with the band for the last verse, struggling to keep his damp hair out of his face as he closed with the final chorus.
“That’s it. No more.”
The crowd took up the inevitable chant, voices raised in protest to demand that the musicians play on till the end of time.
Dirk stepped to the microphone, already unstrapping his bass. “Fuck off.”
“More!”
“Fuck off. We’re done.”
And when they left the stage, the crowd realized that they were.
*
“WHEN ARE YOU LEAVING?”
Noddy was nursing his beer in a dark corner of Valhalla. The nightclub, not the mythological Viking hall. He lifted his boots off what had once been a red leather couch, making space for Morag to sit opposite him. She inspected the exploding foam rubber, cratered with cigarette burns, kicking it first to make sure it was dead before risking physical contact.
Noddy shrugged. “Soon as we can, I suppose. We’re both sick of this place.”
Morag pulled two fresh beers from the inside pockets of her leather jacket, handing one over. “That makes three of us. Wednesday 13’s not going to wait forever.”
Noddy laughed. “Are you still drooling over him? Thought you would have got over your crush by now.”
Morag’s eyes, already large through the masterful application of artistic brush strokes, grew larger. “You mock destiny?”
Noddy’s only response was to shake his head and finish his old beer.
“It’s meant to be, you know. I just need to scrape together enough cash to get to the States. Then he’s mine.” She kicked him affectionately. “We could do it. You and me. One big score, enough to get us both out of here.”
“I’m keeping my nose clean these days. No more pulling moves. No more running from the cops.”
Morag snorted. “What else can you do, Noddy? Do you have some secret qualifications you’ve been hiding from us? We were a great team, once. Back when your balls still belonged to you.”
He took a deep breath and looked away.
“Come on. You and me, like the old days. Then we can reinvent ourselves somewhere else, start new lives.”
No response.
“You know it’s the only way we’ll ever get out.”
Noddy sighed. “It’s not going to happen. I shouldn’t even be talking to you, after that stunt you pulled earlier.”
Tattooed eyebrows lowered. Crimson lips pouted.
“If you two are finished making duck faces at one another.” Janine was struggling to get one arm into the sleeve of her technicoloured woolen coat, a souvenir from Camden market. Morag glared at Noddy, eyes and head conspiring to force him from the couch until he had successfully maneuvered the coat into position.
“Are you okay, love? You look a bit run down.” Morag’s concern was obvious and genuine.
Janine smiled. “Just tired, I guess. It’s been a long week.”
“Don’t let them get to you. Especially this one.” Morag flicked her eyes at Noddy as he gulped his beer, readying himself for the short walk home. “He’s a handful, but you know how to keep him in his place.”
Janine laughed out loud, eyes moving easily between the two of them. “If he could only find his own place. In the world. In life.” She reached up and stroked the momentary disappointment from Noddy’s face. “But he will. As soon as we’re away from all of this.”
Morag raised her drink in salute. “Amen to that.”