Tap
TWO DAYS AFTER CHRISTMAS, Dad was in the front room listening to an LP of the Red Army Choir he’d bought himself as a Christmas present; Judith was in the bedroom, playing her guitar; Mum and Auntie Sheila, who was staying with us for a few days, were in the living room watching telly, eating the sweets that were left over from a selection box; and I was in the kitchen, cooking. I was making a cheap, egg-free pudding because eggs were expensive. Apple crumble didn’t have eggs.
The mixture was just turning into crumbs between my fingers when the phone rang. ‘Telephone!’ I shouted. ‘Phone!’ The phone kept ringing.
I walked into the hall, wiping my hands on the apron I was wearing. It made me feel like a different person, like someone sensible. I picked up the receiver.
And yet still my heart thudded when a voice said, ‘Is that Linda?’ I had dreamed of Tap’s phone calls so often I knew who it was. And he had said my name. Now. When it almost didn’t matter.
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘At least you’re in,’ he said.
‘Mmm. Yes, I am.’ His tone implied I was last on the list. I wondered who else he’d rung.
‘How you getting on?’ he said uneasily.
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘I’m just doing some cooking. How did you get my number?’
‘Phone directory.’
‘Really?’ He knew my name and my surname? Now?
There was a pause. ‘You coming to the trial of the century?’
‘Which trial do you mean?’
There was silence.
‘Your trial! When is it?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘Well, I’m not at work this week,’ I said. ‘I’ll try and come.’
There was a pause. ‘How’s the Mini?’ I said.
‘History. I’m about to get myself a new car. American. It’s a Corvette. Powder blue. Pretty flash. I’m getting it tonight.’
‘Tonight? It’s a bit late, isn’t it?’
‘What? It ain’t nine o’clock yet. Yeah, tonight’s the night.’
‘Will it be expensive?’
‘Depends what you mean, expensive.’
I didn’t know what I meant. ‘So at last you’re getting your American car.’
‘What you talking about?’ he said suspiciously.
‘You were going to get one from the base, weren’t you? A Chevy?’
‘Blimey, you’ve got a good memory. Nah, that fell through.’ There was silence.
‘So . . . so this one,’ I said. ‘Has it got those big wings?’
‘Yup.’
‘I can see you driving round town in that.’
He laughed. ‘Yeah?’
‘I can see you with the windows down,’ I said, ‘your elbow on the window, good music coming out.’
‘Not the Beatles,’ we said together.
‘Driving down London Road, giving them all a wave.’
‘Or two fingers. Yeah.’ There was a pause. ‘And then?’
He wanted me to keep the conversation going. ‘Then if you wanted to show people what the car could do, you could . . . take it on the bypass.’
‘Yeah!’
‘And it would be the Animals on the wireless, singing “It’s My Life”.’
‘Yeah, man,’ he said in his put-on American accent, ‘that’d be great. Then where?’
‘Well . . .’ I couldn’t think. ‘You could drive it to court. You could park it outside, run up the steps, slam open the doors of the courtroom and tell them, “You can’t put me away, I’ve got a car that needs a lot of attention”.’
‘It ain’t funny.’
‘I know. I know.’ I’d spoiled it. ‘I’m sorry.’
There was a silence and then a sort of gulp. I wondered if he was crying. He coughed. ‘So anyway, I’m getting it. The car. From this Yank.’
‘I bet it’ll really suit you.’
‘It will.’
‘I bet.’
‘Yeah.’ He sounded so sad. ‘Fuck off!’ he shouted.
‘What?’
‘Not you, someone wants to use the phone. Will you come, then? Tomorrow morning. Ten thirty.’
‘Yes,’ I said.
From the front room the voices of the Red Army Choir rose to a crescendo of powerful harmony and now I felt a sob in my throat. They didn’t sing about religion, they sang about work and struggle, they sang together with enormous emotion and control, first whispering in a sort of chant and then bursting out into a glorious celebration of victory and justice. At that moment the music reflected my own feelings. I would go to court alone; I would support Tap in his hour of need. I would be there and he would know it, and he would turn and see me and be uplifted by my presence.
*
Grey clouds hung low in the sky and cars had their headlights on as they swished by in the rain. I ran up the steps of the Shire Hall. I scanned the list of cases. There was Tap’s name, R v Tappling, 10.30 in Court Two, but beside it there was a note in blue pencil, ‘Adjourned till 2’.
Four hours! I decided I’d go to the library for a while, and then I’d go to the Orpheus.
As I came out of the Shire Hall, Mick Flynn was walking past the Saracen’s Head pub with his mate Jeff. As they came towards me Jeff said, ‘Watcha, Linda.’ He looked as if he was on his way to work, in white overalls and big boots that were streaked with rain and dust. ‘You didn’t come for the trial?’ Mick said.
‘Yes, he rang me last night.’
Mick sighed. ‘It’s not happening.’
‘I know. It’s been adjourned till two o’clock.’
‘It won’t be happening today.’
‘What do you mean?’
Jeff said, ‘I’ve got to get off to work. All right, Mick?’
‘Yeah, I’ll be all right. I’ve got Linda with me now.’
Jeff ambled down New Street.
‘So what’s happened?’ I said.
Mick lifted his head. ‘He nicked a car from some Yank.’
‘Nicked it?’
‘There was a chase.’
‘But he was buying it, last night.’
‘Well, he didn’t buy it. And then there was an accident.’
‘No!’
‘Not him,’ Mick said. ‘He crashed the car, the car turned over and he knocked this lady down. Then he got arrested. Half past eleven last night.’
I stared at him.
‘Was it an American car?’
‘Yeah, apparently,’ Mick said.
‘Is he all right?’
Mick almost drawled, ‘He broke his leg.’
I took a breath. An image of a crash flashed into my head, the crack of a bone. I couldn’t understand his expression, he looked so serious.
‘The lady he knocked over didn’t make it,’ Mick said. ‘It was a pensioner. She’d just got off the bus. He knocked her flying.’ Mick almost spat, as if he was reliving his own stupid crash. ‘She’s dead.’
I looked at Mick, but I wasn’t seeing him; I was seeing Tap in his new powder-blue car, his American dream come true, cruising down the highway, murmuring in an American accent, flicking cigarette ash out of the window, listening to the radio, tapping out the rhythm of a song on the steering wheel. And then what? Catching sight of the police in the rear-view mirror, and speeding up? Did he skid? Did he see what was happening?
‘Where is he?’ I said. ‘I ought to go and –’
‘He’s in hospital, under arrest.’
‘How do you know?’
‘His mum rang me. No one can see him.’
I didn’t want to be out here in the rain. I wanted the safe darkness of the Orpheus. I wanted Blond Don to dance round the corner. I wanted someone to shout out, ‘Hey Brenda, give us two coffees.’ I wanted a good, loud record on the jukebox, the trumpet blast of ‘Harlem Shuffle’, to drown out the clamour of questions in my head.
‘Let’s go up to Snows,’ Mick said. ‘I’ll buy you a glass of milk.’
‘All right.’ I felt such an idiot. I thought I was going to save Tap, but he was nothing to do with me; he had a whole other world. Sandra was courting strong. New young mods were parking their scooters in the street outside the Orpheus and Mick Flynn was going to Snows. Even Sylvie was getting married. Everything was changing. I had no choice; I was going to have to find another life for myself. I felt something like relief. It was time to move on. I was free to move on.
I left Mick in Snows and caught the 52 to the bottom of Sperry Drive. As I approached the shops, I crossed over into the Crescent. Sylvie answered the door. She looked at me questioningly, and it felt awkward, remembering how we parted on Christmas Day, and I hadn’t replied to the wedding invitation. But then she smiled at me and my face crumpled.
‘Linda, lovely, what’s happened?’ she said.
‘Tap’s killed someone,’ I blurted out.
‘Oh my Lord come in.’ She put her finger to her lips. ‘Mansell’s having his nap.’ We crept into the kitchen.
As she made tea I told her about Tap and the car, the police chase and the accident. She poured out two cups and sat down. She asked me how I felt. I said, ‘I feel really sad, as if he’s the one who’s died.’ It was comforting to talk about him with her. I told her about the Fred Perry, about the phone call where we’d discussed the powder-blue American car and how he’d put on his American accent. ‘But now I feel almost relieved,’ I said. ‘I don’t have to worry about him anymore. Is that terrible of me?’
‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘I think it’s quite appropriate. And you’ve been very good to him. He was lucky to have you as a friend.’
I looked at her, being so kind and thoughtful. I said, ‘And Kenny’s lucky to have you.’
‘That’s a nice thing to say.’ She took a mouthful of tea. ‘I’m going to marry him.’ She hesitated. ‘I think I rather want to.’
‘Are you sure you don’t want Bob?’
‘You don’t give up, do you?’ she said. ‘I’m sure there’s a job where persistence will be an admirable trait. But don’t let Kenny hear you. He worries. About Bob.’ She shook her head then briskly stood up and said, ‘I think I can hear our boy. Let’s go and find him.’
*
We were in Sandra’s bedroom, sitting on her bed. It was New Year’s Eve, but neither of us wanted to go out.
I told her about Tap, and she was shocked and sympathetic but said in her view I was better off without him. She had brought up her mum’s catalogue and was flipping the pages to find the ring section.
‘Ooh, not wedding rings,’ she said, and quickly turned the page. ‘No thanks. Wonder what sort of wedding ring Sylvie’s going to have. A curtain ring, probably. Or a Polo, the mint with a hole. She’ll say, “It’s white gold, you know”.’
‘She doesn’t talk like that,’ I said.
Sandra had also been invited to Sylvie’s wedding because she was my friend. ‘And because I babysat before you did,’ Sandra reminded me. Mr and Mrs Brady had been invited because Mrs Brady worked with Mrs Weston.
I gazed at the glossy page of rings. ‘She says Kenny’s a good man,’ I repeated. ‘And she needs security.’
Sandra snorted. ‘Has he still got that beard?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s a lot to pay for security.’ She put her finger on the picture of an eternity ring she liked. ‘What do you think about this one?’
It was marcasite. I didn’t like marcasite. I’d thought she didn’t either. ‘Mmm, not bad,’ I said. It was nice to be with Sandra again, laughing and gossiping like the old days. I was pleased she was coming to the wedding. Things were changing, but perhaps some things could stay the same.