Gabriel's Gift (12 page)

‘I'm very proud … of Lester,' said Gabriel.

‘Good, good.' said Speedy. ‘Me too.'

‘Really, aren't you pleased?' asked Dad, trying to peer into Gabriel's glasses. ‘Everyone can see it now. It's democratic, right? And of course you can come and sit here and look at it whenever you like.'

Gabriel asked Speedy, ‘Does Lester come here?'

‘Oh yes, yes. He has been here, a few years back,' said Speedy. ‘But I can't say he's a regular visitor, no.' Gabriel sighed in relief.
‘But his friends come in. Like guide dogs, they keep an eye on things for him.'

When at last, having ordered more drinks and food for Dad, and having spotted a TV presenter and a footballer at the entrance – though he was only a mid-fielder from the First Division – Speedy sped away. Gabriel tried to breathe more easily and take in the enormity of what had happened.

‘You're quiet,' said Dad. He was eating and drinking rapidly. ‘It's free.' His cheeks were bulging.

‘So? I'm thinking.'

‘Thank God for that. Your eye is twitching too. Do you know why?'

‘Did you get a good price for the picture?'

‘Sorry?'

‘Did you, Dad?'

Gabriel saw his father's embarrassment. It hadn't been his intention to make his father feel bad. In fact Gabriel had been thinking that, despite everything, they all had what they wanted. Gabriel's mother had a picture by ‘Lester'; Speedy had a picture by ‘Lester'; Gabriel had the original in his room; and his father had some money.

‘Not what I'd expected or hoped for,' said Dad. ‘Speedy's shrewd. But what I got was better than nothing.' Dad leaned across the table. ‘Sometimes living is more important than a few squiggles on a piece of paper.'

‘What will you do with the money? Get a flat in a mansion block?'

‘A flat? A toilet, maybe. Or a window – without curtains!' His father laughed without humour.

‘How long will the money last?'

‘I've saved some for you, but otherwise it's nearly gone.'

‘On what?'

‘Food, booze, rent and my debts, which are considerable. It's expensive out there. Mum always looked after the money. I had no idea what things cost.'

‘What will you do now?'

‘I've borrowed more from the man downstairs. I had no choice. What else could I do?'

‘How will you pay it back?'

‘Really, I don't know,' said Dad. ‘I had a bad argument with the landlord and he's told me to get out. I'm going to end up sleeping on the street. Look out for me at tube stations singing “The Streets of London”. I'm afraid it might be the end of the road for me, Angel.'

‘Can't you stay with a mate?'

‘For how long? Anyway the wives won't have me there.'

‘Why?'

‘They say I'm a bad influence! Me! I've known those people for years – and they won't have me in the house! I tell you, kid, after a time, all a man wants is a little peace. Unfortunately, the calmest state of mind is happiness, and I'm a long, long way from that. Anyhow, I don't think I should burden you with this. Is she seeing anyone else?'

‘I don't think so.'

‘She is, then.'

‘I didn't say that.'

‘You did. Is it that guy who was there the time I phoned? How often does she see him? Is he sleeping on my side of the bed with his head on my pillow?' Dad sighed. ‘Sorry to ask you this stuff. How would you know anyway?'

‘I do know. I was under the bed.'

‘You were what?'

‘Only joking, Dad.'

Dad leaned forward, screwing up his face and squeezing his hands between his knees.

‘You're making me crazy, Gabriel. Jesus! Will he move into my house? Will he take you, too? Christ, Gabriel, really I don't want to know. I'm being wiped out. All the people closest to me have let me down. I've lost everything. Cheerio.'

‘No, Dad.'

‘I hope he's looking after her. How old is he? Younger than me, and very active, too, I expect. She could be a beautiful lover, your mother. She'd do things to my ears, to my face, and the rest of me, for that matter, that would make your hair stand on end. That was when she bothered. But she stopped. It all stopped, and she started wearing those big grey knickers. That's the thing about love, it's a fire you have to feed, otherwise it goes out. This one, I'm afraid, is going out.'

Gabriel said nothing.

Dad said, ‘What a mess.'

His father turned his face away. Gabriel handed him a napkin. Dad blew his nose.

‘Oh, Dad,' said Gabriel.

‘If you're going to go on about how I've crooked you –'

‘But I'm not!'

‘Yes you are! We can always get the picture back.'

‘What? How?' said Gabriel.

‘Speedy said I could buy it back from him if I decided to change my mind.'

‘But we'll never get the money.'

‘We'd have to pay a bit more for it, too. Speedy's got a good nose for a number of things and profit is the first of them. I've still got some of my instruments in a mate's garage. I'll sell them. The bike, too.'

‘You need those things.'

‘But why, Gabriel, would we need the picture back? Even if I had the 'Mona Lisa' in the living room I wouldn't look at it all the time. The thing is, I don't know how much more of this I can take.'

‘More of what?'

‘These blows to the heart. Gabriel, I'm losing hope. I need all my resources but I've never had less. Can you believe it, you're all I've got! I've always liked being with you too much. Why didn't I achieve anything with my life? I'd rather spend the day hanging out with you than working or hustling. If anyone asked me who my best friend was, I'd say you. Christ Almighty!'

‘Dad, Dad – don't cry!'

‘Let's get out of here. I don't want Speedy to see me blubbing.'

‘Right.'

When they'd finished their food and were about to leave, Speedy came over to the table.

‘I forgot to tell you.' said Speedy. ‘There's this kid – the son of a personal friend of mine, the movie producer Jake Ambler. The guy who made
Timeless Saturday
and all that other great stuff.'

‘We know, we know.' said Dad, wiping his eyes. ‘
Timeless Saturday
is one of the greats. The way he edited that middle section and uses music to –'

‘Jake loves the waffles in here. Have you had them? I'm not allowed to trust him with the ice-cream – it's like cocaine to him. His kid is in a group, they've even got the possibility of a record contract and all that, but he can't play that well. He's stuck at a certain point. You know what I'm talking about, Rex. Jake and I were gossiping about Lester and your name came up. Jake saw you play a lot of times. I told him, “Rex has been coming in here on business. Rex helped me start up at the beginning.”'

‘You told him that?'

‘Yeah. You said to me, years ago, “You'll be more successful than any of us.”'

‘That's right. And you are, man. You're one of the great … great multimillionaires of our time.'

‘Sweet of you, Rex.'

‘Why is it, d'you think, that almost everyone I know has got more money than me?'

‘Maybe it's connected to the fact you don't work, Rex.' Gabriel tried to stop himself laughing. Speedy went on, ‘Listen, Jake knows, without me telling him, that you're one of the best. I said you wouldn't mind going over to his place and showing the kid a few of those chunky rock ‘n' roll chords –'

‘I don't know about showing him some chords,' said Dad. ‘As it is, people don't use instruments any more. It's all computers. Besides, I'm pretty busy at the moment.'

‘Wow. What are you doing?' said Speedy He looked at Gabriel and crinkled his nose. ‘I prefer gossip to food.'

Dad said, ‘There's this opera about –'

Gabriel squeezed his father's arm. ‘Dad, listen to him. It's a stroke. Please carry on, Mr Speedy.'

‘Jake will pay well, there's no problem with that. The more he pays, the more he'll appreciate it. Isn't that always the way?' Speedy pursed his lips. ‘You'll be able to upgrade your bike.'

‘Bike?'

‘I've seen you on it.'

Dad got up. ‘Jake can blow it out his arse. We're not so desperate that we're going to start working for a living.'

‘We are,' said Gabriel. ‘Aren't we?'

Dad stumbled towards the door.

‘Dear, oh dear,' said Speedy. ‘Who's pissed on his rose bush?'

‘He's broken up with Mum.'

Speedy nodded. ‘I see.'

Gabriel said, ‘Please, Mr Speedy, what's the number of this boy who needs the talent lessons?'

‘I'll give it to you.' Speedy moved closer to him. ‘But only if you promise something. I want you to come and see me.'

‘Me? What for?'

‘Oh I like a direct boy. Gabriel, we can talk. I know what it's like.'

‘You know what what's like?'

‘The turbulence that young guys are prone to.'

‘I see. Thanks.' Speedy's pen was poised. Gabriel said, ‘I will come by.'

‘So you should. You know where I am. I can guarantee that it'll be worth it. Here.' He wrote down the name and phone number on a piece of paper.

‘Thanks again.'

‘The pleasure is mine,' Speedy said. ‘You have a very pleasant manner. See you soon.'

Speedy was smiling at him. Gabriel wondered if he'd smile if he knew the true history of ‘Lester's' picture. Luckily Gabriel wouldn't have to see him again.

Sitting in the entrance hall of Dad's house, surrounded by several men and clicking a long string of beads, was the man with curly slippers who had lent Dad money. Once more he nodded at Gabriel and his father.

Dad had bought several cans of beer on the way home. Before he could go upstairs and drink in earnest, Gabriel led him to the telephone in the corridor and told him to ring the film producer.

‘Now?' his father kept saying. ‘Why now?'

‘Why not now?'

‘He's an important man. He'll be in Los Angeles with movie stars, or somewhere not anywhere near us.'

Gabriel extracted the piece of paper from his pocket, dialled the number and handed his father the receiver.

‘Big Picture Films. Hello, hello –' the voice on the other end was saying.

‘Say who you are,' urged Gabriel.

‘Rex Bunch speaking.' Dad whispered, ‘For better or worse.'

‘Who?' said the voice. ‘Can you tell me what it is about?'

‘Guitars. And chords.'

‘Sorry?'

To Dad's surprise and disappointment, he was, eventually, connected to Jake, who said, ‘I'm so pleased you rang. Rex –'

Pushing his ear close to the phone, Gabriel could hear how keen Jake was. He was saying that years ago he had seen Dad on stage with Lester.

‘That was my sound,' Dad interjected. ‘We did that together, Lester and I!'

‘Incredible! I still play those records in my cars. Please, could you come over this afternoon and help my boy out?'

‘I would,' said Dad. ‘But the thing is –' He started to explain he was working on his opera about rebirth.

‘Oh,' said Jake. ‘Thanks anyway for ringing. Are you absolutely certain –?'

Gabriel grasped his father's wrist and twisted it until he agreed to give a first lesson later that day.

Gabriel was pleased: it meant he could accompany his father to ensure that he didn't deliberately make a mess of things.

‘Why are you bothering me with all this?' Dad was trying to pull himself upstairs. Gabriel had begun to realize how drunk Dad had got at Speedy's. ‘I need to rest while I've still got a bed.'

‘Rest? You haven't done anything!'

‘Seeing Speedy makes me feel weak.'

Dad might have been feeling weak but next to the bed was an orange box on which were his rolling papers, glasses and notebooks. Dad kicked the box across the room.

‘Fuck everything – I'm not going anywhere!' He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. The beer cans, one of them open, were on the floor where he could reach them. ‘Goodnight. I'm sorry for everything, kiddo. Turn out the lights. Forgive me and kiss me.'

‘I'm not kissing an arse like you.'

‘Your own father's a bloody arse now?'

‘You are,' said Gabriel.

His father said, ‘I wish I had the strength to thump you! Now piss off and don't bang the door – it might fall off its hinges and I'll have to pay for it!' Dad laughed to himself and sang, ‘Valhalla, I am coming!'

Soon his father was snoring. Gabriel knew he wouldn't wake up in time to give his lesson.

Gabriel left him and went downstairs. Every step he took away from the house made him feel bad. Archie was restless; he didn't say anything, but he wasn't happy. Gabriel wanted to go to Mum's bar and ask her to try and get Dad out of bed. But she wouldn't be prepared to do it; she'd given up on him. Everyone had, now.

Gabriel waited at the bus stop. He'd count to a hundred. If the bus didn't come, he'd go back. He started to count; he lost his place and started again. He decided to do it backwards. The bus came. He got on and started up to the top deck. He couldn't just go home and think about something else.

As the bus was gathering speed, Gabriel jumped down the stairs and threw himself off, scuffing his knee and grazing his hands. He couldn't forget how, months ago, his father had rescued him from the ‘drum'.

He went back and kneeled beside his father's bed, talking into Dad's face. He looked so relaxed for the first time in months that Gabriel didn't like to disturb him.

‘Wake up,' he said. ‘You can sleep later,'

Dad stroked Gabriel's face. ‘It
is
later. I was dreaming that I was at an airport but they wouldn't let me on the planes and I was crying. Gabriel, if I'm asleep, at least I'm not feeling wretched.'

‘You know what Mum says?'

‘Who cares? What does she think?'

‘She says you're useless, a waster, lazy and slow. What kind of future will I have watching you sit on your arse and drink all day?

‘She said that?'

‘She says I can't see you if you're going to depress me with your hopelessness and self-pity.'

‘It's what she would say. Everyone says it.'

‘I don't. If I don't have a proper dad, who will look after me? I still need you, Dad. I want you to do this thing for me.'

‘What thing?'

‘Go to Jake's as arranged.'

‘I'm not in the mood, Gabriel. You know how I'm feeling.'

‘You'll cheer up when you're there. We need the money. Dad –'

‘Why are you getting upset?'

‘Your stupidity makes me upset! Give me a drink!'

‘Hey, put that down right now! It's the strongest there is – you'll puke! Take it easy, little guy. I don't like to see you like this!'

Gabriel said, ‘I'm not leaving until you get up!'

‘Right, right,' said Dad. ‘I see. Please put the beer down.'

‘Get up, then!'

‘Wait …'

Gabriel watched Dad slowly begin to move, as if he were discovering for the first time that he had a body. When Dad got to his feet Gabriel gave a little cheer.

Dad began to throw his clothes about.

‘Boy, help me find my razor. I'm not going to cut my throat, though I've been considering it for the last few days. I'll shave. You're the only person I'd do this for. I wouldn't take orders from anyone else!'

Gabriel went up the hall to borrow an iron; together they pressed Dad's white shirt, holding it up and turning the sleeves and tail here and there, like explorers who'd come across an object they'd never seen before.

‘Better clean your teeth,' said Gabriel.

‘I smell now?'

‘You've been drinking. And you smell of fish.'

‘This is rock ‘n' roll.'

‘Not today, I'm afraid.'

Dad asked, ‘How are you feeling now?'

‘A bit better.'

He made his father leave with plenty of time to spare, as Dad used to do with Gabriel himself, before school. This time, as Dad had his guitar and it wasn't far, they walked.

Dad moaned all the way like a morose teenager. ‘Why would anyone want to be taught to play the guitar? Play is playing. I learned from records.'

‘Take it easy with the philosophy,' suggested Gabriel. ‘Hold the five-pound notes at the front of your mind.'

‘Money's not everything. It's just that I've been feeling a bit low these days –'

‘You'll be telling me you've got a tummy ache.'

‘People only ever learn what they want to learn, just as you can't force them to eat.'

Gabriel said quickly, ‘Maybe you can introduce them to food they've never had before.'

This encouraged Dad, but Gabriel could see that his pride was bruised by the possibility of this job. He wanted to see himself as a working musician. Teaching was the death of invention and certainly of pop glamour. Somehow Dad had to be convinced that it was possible to instruct as well as to play and perform.

The two of them stood outside a big house with iron gates, like menials beyond a medieval castle. Gabriel held the guitar in one hand and his father's hand in the other, for fear he would slip
away.

‘Christ,' said his father. ‘You wouldn't catch Jimmy Page doing this.'

‘You're not –' Gabriel stopped himself.

Dad didn't hear; he was looking up at the house. ‘Look how posh they are – I expect they have their pyjamas dry-cleaned.'

The gates opened automatically as a robotic voice on an invisible intercom said, ‘Visitors, please enter now.'

In the entrance hall they passed a line of oriental staff in white uniforms with shiny buttons in which Gabriel could see a fish-eyed distortion of his father's worried face. Being given instructions by a man in a black suit, the servants had their hands crossed in front of them, as if they were naked and didn't want their intimate parts exposed.

Gabriel gazed up at a wide curved staircase and imagined a singing diva in a trailing white dress coming down it. Around them it was as busy as backstage at the opera. The staff and producer's assistants hurried between wide rooms containing gilt and velvet furniture, overhung by intricate chandeliers. There must have been a fancy-dress party going on, as little girls dressed as princesses and boys in pirate costumes were ushered about by nannies.

The kid himself, Carlo, was about two years older than Gabriel. He was brought to them – or rather, almost dragged across – by a woman whom Gabriel guessed, from his knowledge of Gothic tales, to be the housekeeper. She rid herself of the boy – if he'd been a thing, she'd have flung him down, and if she'd been allowed, no doubt she'd have stamped on the thing, too – and disappeared with some relief and haste.

Carlo was bony and crop-haired, with a criminal grimace, wearing a Chelsea shirt over torn baggy jeans; his feet were bare and dirty.

‘How are you today?' said Dad. ‘This is my boy, Gabriel. He goes to Chapman High. D'you know it?'

‘Na.'

‘Where do you go?'

‘Nowhere … if I can 'elp it.'

‘What, if anything, do you want?'

There was a silence. At last the boy said, ‘A tattoo.'

‘Right. Where?'

‘On me bollocks and round me arse.'

‘I see,' said Dad. ‘Interesting. Not a lot of people are going to enjoy it there.'

‘'Ow d'you know?'

‘I don't, really. I don't do tattoos, but I can play guitar at bit.'

Carlo had undoubtedly been well brought up but was unable to put one word beside another without grunting and snarling between them, and he suffered to look anyone in the eye.

‘This way, I suppose,' Carlo mumbled, after the three of them had been shuffling about. To Gabriel he said, ‘You coming an' all?'

‘D'you want me to?' murmured Gabriel.

‘It's up to you.'

Carlo started up the stairs.

‘Public school education,' muttered Dad to Gabriel. ‘One of those schools for talented parents. At least the working class have manners. A Chelsea supporter too, of all things. I'm off.'

‘Wait.' Gabriel held on to his father with both hands. ‘Come on. At least let's have a look.'

Gabriel and his father followed Carlo up the staircase to a vast living room with a view of the Thames. There the boy stood with his back to a bookcase and stuck his arse out. At this the bookcase smoothly swung open into his part of the house.

Behind the bookcase Carlo had two or three teenage rooms, including a kitchen and bathroom. It was a rich squalor the boy had made for himself; among the mounds of clothes, magazines and CDs, Gabriel noticed computers, a drum kit, various guitars and, in the distance, a shiny grand piano. There was a basket containing dozens of pairs of sunglasses.

Carlo sat in a window, turned away from them, craning his neck as if he urgently needed to inspect Battersea.

‘D'you want to play something … on the guitar?' said Dad. ‘Or do you want to do something else? I don't give a –' Gabriel gave his father a scalding look. ‘I don't really mind. It's your time.' He was looking at the boy in annoyance and sat there with his coat buttoned up.

Carlo shrugged.

Gabriel was becoming apprehensive, wondering how long Dad would remain patient. If his father walked out, it would be
the end, his teaching career terminated within twenty minutes. Gabriel had no idea what sort of job his father would do, anyway. It was true that Dad could play; he could also scratch his backside and fiddle in his ear at the same time: it didn't follow that he could instruct anyone in ambidexterity.

Carlo did, at last, decide to say something. ‘You know what you are?'

‘What am I?' said Dad. ‘Been trying to find out for years.'

‘You're a … You're a …'

Dad said, ‘I'm waiting here, but you haven't got the balls to say it, little big guy. If you do it'll be annoying, but at least it will be rock ‘n' roll.'

‘Wanker,' said Carlo.

Gabriel was holding his breath. Dad winked at him.

Dad unzipped his acoustic guitar and lightly strummed what sounded like a pleasant folksy tune.

‘What d'you think?' said Dad.

‘Wanker scumbag,' the boy repeated.

‘Hey!' said Gabriel.

‘What is it?' said the boy. ‘Something to say?'

‘Dad –' said Gabriel

‘Dad …' imitated the boy. ‘Is that your daddy-poo?'

Gabriel's eyes fixed on a Coke bottle on the table. He intertwined his fingers and clicked them. Carlo was sneering. Gabriel started to get up, breathing hard. Carlo got to his feet, too. The boys moved towards one another until they were face to face.

‘Yeah?' said Carlo.

‘Yeah?' said Gabriel.

Dad said, ‘Sit down, Gabriel. You, too, Carlo. Sit down! Now, cool it, people. Cool it! Jesus, I'm sweating all over the place now. Good.'

When the boys had regained their places Dad lay the guitar down and looked about enquiringly with meanly flashing eyes. Things weren't right for him and they weren't getting better. ‘Funky Fingers' had, after all, played with Lester Jones at Madison Square Garden. For three nights they'd ripped the place apart. No one, apart from the Stones, had been that good.