Authors: Isabel Ashdown
Luke breaks the metal seal, raises the bottle and takes a drink, hooking an elbow out of the window to feel the breeze on his skin. ‘Cheers, mate.’
‘And nice threads, by the way – I see you finally ditched the flares.’
Luke stretches his legs out to admire his newly tapered black trousers, reaching down to snap off a loose thread that’s been left hanging. ‘Yeah, I got my mum on the sewing machine this afternoon. They look alright, don’t they?’
As he looks up, he sees Martin walking along the pavement towards them, an envelope in his hand. Luke turns his head away too late, and their eyes meet briefly before the car sails by.
‘Yeah, you look cool, man,’ Tom says. ‘Specially with the new boots. The ladies are gonna be falling at your feet.’
‘In my dreams. But thanks, Tom. For the Converse – I know they aren’t cheap.’ He takes another drink from the bottle, winces and hands it back to Tom, who seems to drink it down with ease.
Outside Samantha’s house they pull up at the kerb, and before Luke has the chance to get out Tom jumps from the driver’s seat, slamming the door behind him. He trots up the pavement towards the large detached house, casually jangling his car keys on his middle finger. ‘Wait there,’ he calls back as Luke fumbles to open his own door. ‘It’s your birthday, man – relax!’
Luke watches as Samantha’s mother opens the front door and invites Tom in. Tom looks back and leers comically, pointing his thumb towards the mother, performing a thrusting action before he closes the door behind him. The evening sun hits the large Georgian windows of Samantha’s house, reflecting the trees and telegraph poles that line her prosperous road. To the other side, a single swallow dips and glides over the long dried grasses surrounding the green,
displaying its pale underbody and tail streamers as it passes over. Luke closes his eyes and breathes deeply, taking in the salty dry heat of the island, listening to the distant squabble of gulls as they fight for leftover scraps of picnic down at the seafront. When he thinks of Martin’s phone call this morning, he feels a pang of guilty regret about lying; he just couldn’t bring himself to invite him along tonight, with his half-mast trousers and Monkees haircut, and so he told him he was working.
‘Never mind,’ Martin had replied. ‘Actually, Dad’s still a bit under the weather, so I didn’t really want to leave him on his own anyway.’
Luke was relieved at the time, but now he just feels like a bastard. He stretches across the driver’s seat to retrieve the scotch bottle, taking two large gulps before returning it to Tom’s door pocket, glancing up at the house as he does so. The front door of the house opens and Samantha appears on the top step, glowing softly in a tangerine trouser and waistcoat suit. Her bare arms are a smooth honey brown, and as she approaches the car Luke can see that the front of the waistcoat is cut just low enough to show a sliver of her cleavage. It’s only when Tom raps on the roof of the car that he snaps out of his reverie.
‘Oi, Luke, jump in the back!’
Without argument, he pushes the door open and lurches out of the front seat. He frowns at Tom over the top of the car as Samantha gets in in his place.
‘It’s your birthday!’ Tom says. ‘You’re getting
chauffeur-driven
, man. Just enjoy it!’
Luke gets in, and leans on to the chair-backs with his face between the front seats as they set off in the direction of the estuary. He’s so close to Samantha that he can see the fine downy skin on the nape of her neck when she gathers up her hair and draws it round to one side; he wonders if this is the night, if he’ll have the courage to make his move. Samantha tilts round to face him and for a breathless moment it’s almost
as if she’s able to see inside his head. Their faces are just inches apart, their eyes are locked, but finally he bottles it, can’t maintain the connection for a moment longer, and he flops back against the sweaty vinyl of the rear seat.
‘You are funny, Luke,’ she says, sliding a hand through the gap in the seats to run her fingers along the length of his thigh, where it rests briefly at the crease of his groin.
He pulls a daft face to make her laugh, and when she withdraws he exhales, wondering what it is she sees when she looks at him. Does she see a man or a boy? This evening he caught his reflection in the bathroom before they set off, and he stopped to stare, feeling as if he’d stepped out of his own body. He gazed at his wiry, tanned limbs, his straight dark hair and large eyes, and even in his new gear he still only saw the boy he’s always been.
Before long Tom turns towards the river, slowing down as the bumpy road narrows, and parking the car at the top end of the marina path. As they walk the last stretch, there’s an eerie quality in the air, with the man-made bulk of yacht breakers and rusting containers on one side, the low waters of the Medina river on the other. The clink of sails is constant, like tiny bells on the coastal breeze, jingling and chiming as they pass. It’s approaching nine o’clock, and the sky is now a vibrant orange-red, casting a warm hue across their faces, turned towards the stately silhouette of the
Ryde Queen
paddle steamer as it gradually comes into full view.
‘There she is,’ says Tom, his face glowing brightly in the vivid evening light. ‘What a beauty.’
The old steamer is magnificent, its huge red funnel protruding skywards, its dark profile like a lino-cut on the low shimmering water. As they draw nearer, music and voices lift towards them, growing in volume.
‘Man,’ Luke exhales. ‘I can’t believe I’ve never been over here before.’
Tom gives him a shove. ‘Man,
I
can’t believe you’ve never been over here before!’
Samantha clasps her hands beneath her chin, before hooking an arm through each of theirs, tugging them to speed up as they near the entrance to the ship and the nightclub inside. ‘Oh, my God – Gordon is going to love it!’ she says, clattering up the steps in her cork sandals. She flicks her hair and dances her fingers along the handrail as the lads follow her up the stairs. ‘You know what a disco diva he is!’
After they get past the bouncers and pay to enter, they make their way through to the main deck, where they find Gordon sitting on a bar stool alone, eating a burger. He’s wearing a floral shirt with a huge collar, and on the bar in front of him is a cocktail glass complete with glacé cherry and paper umbrella. His baby hair is brushed smoothly over to one side, where it curls thinly around his ears.
‘Hey, it’s the Holiday Camp Posse!’ he calls over, raising his glass. ‘Happy birthday, Lukester!’
The bar starts to fill up, and they order drinks, Tom refusing to let Luke put his hand in his pocket and insisting on ordering him a scotch and soda. ‘Now you’re a man,’ he says, ‘you’ll drink a
man’s
drink.’
The panelled walls of the deck are thickly coated in treacly red paint, with hints of navy blue showing through at the doorframes where the emulsion has chipped. More and more people arrive in small groups, many of them looking underage but appearing to be regulars, clustering around the dance floor and commandeering the comfy seats along the edges. The woman behind the bar calls many of the drinkers by name as they jostle to get served, the smoke from her cigarette spiralling overhead to combine with the hazy fug that drifts across the disco lights of the room. With their drinks in hand, they leave the crush of the bar to stand against a polished brass pillar at the edge of the dance floor, sipping from their glasses and surveying the room as it gradually disappears behind a wall of hot bodies.
Gordon pulls a flyer from his back pocket and unfolds it with a flick of his wrist. ‘We should check out the other
bars too,’ he says consulting the sheet of paper. ‘There’s the Admiral’s Disco on the lower deck, and the Normandy Lounge upstairs. One of the girls at work reckons the dance music is in the lower deck, and the oldies are on the upper. Fifties and Sixties stuff.’
‘What kind of dance music?’ asks Luke.
‘You know, classic disco, mainly,’ says Gordon. ‘Gloria Gaynor. Hot Chocolate. Tavares.’
‘It’ll be shit,’ says Tom, patting his spiky fringe with the flat of his hand, ‘but I’m prepared to go along with it for the sake of your birthday, Lukey-boy.’
Samantha finishes her drink, knocking her head back to drain the last drop. ‘Yummy,’ she says, arching back to shake her hair out. ‘Shall we go and explore, then?’
She leads the way as they wander around the various decks and narrow staircases of the boat, checking out the Perspex viewing wall that surrounds the engine room, the Swinging Sixties sounds of the Normandy Lounge and the wooden walkways of the main deck, where groups of youngsters drink and smoke against the deepening red of the sky. Finally, they end up in the Admiral’s Disco, where the music is thumping and the smoke-filled room is packed out with people dancing and drinking. At the edge of the dance floor, they congregate beside one of the tatty sofas, and Tom offers Luke one of his cigarettes.
‘Why not?’ he says, lighting up from Tom’s shiny chrome lighter.
Samantha has one too, and she raises an eyebrow at Luke as she puckers around the tip and tilts her face to take a light from Tom. ‘Birthday boy,’ she says in a lilting voice, pursing her soft lips and blowing a long cool stream over their heads. ‘So, what will happen to you this year, Luke? Your first year of manhood.’
Luke inhales his cigarette smoke, hoping he appears older than his years. ‘God, it’s all change this year,’ he replies, leaning back against the pillar, crossing his feet and smiling at
his new shoes. ‘It’s my last shift at Sunshine Bay on Sunday. Then I’ve got a week free before I’m off to Brighton.’
‘Lucky you, Lukey – you get to escape. I’ll do it too, you know, in a year or two, when I’ve saved up some money. I’m not sticking round here any longer than I have to.
London
, that’s the place to be.’ She taps her cigarette ash to the floor. ‘Are you nervous?’
He takes another short puff on his cigarette, enjoying the husky sound it gives his voice as he exhales. ‘I haven’t given it all that much thought really. Don’t know what to expect, I suppose.’
The DJ changes the record and Gordon breaks into a slow dance, swaying his body, snake-like, to Donna Summer’s ‘Love to Love You Baby’. Luke kicks out at him and he dodges, still dancing and weaving his fingers like a mystic.
‘You’ll love poly,’ Gordon says, still swaying. ‘Second year for me. I can’t wait to get back. Happy days.’
Luke laughs at Gordon’s crazy dancing, and when the track comes to an end they perch together on the edge of the sofa, as the other two make their way through the throng for another round of drinks. Luke watches as Tom places his hand on Samantha’s back, confidently easing her through the crowd and chatting to strangers as they gradually disappear from his line of vision.
‘You ought to get on with it,’ Gordon says, following Luke’s gaze. ‘It’s obvious you like her.’
‘Is it?’
‘Er, yes! But I wouldn’t hang around too long if I were you – she’s a pretty girl.’
‘I think she’s more into you than me,’ Luke replies with a little laugh.
Gordon pulls a reproachful face. ‘
Really
, Luke? I don’t think so, do you, honey?’
Tom and Samantha are now completely obscured by the wall of people that surrounds the bar. Luke scuffs at the floorboards with his foot. ‘I don’t even know if she likes me.’
‘Of course she likes you!’
‘Yeah, I know she likes me – but does she
like
me? Has she said anything to you?’
Gordon sticks out his bottom lip, lifting and rotating his cocktail glass as he considers the question. ‘Not as such. But it’s got to be worth a punt, Lukester. What’ve you got to lose?’
Luke wraps his arms across his chest and grunts.
The music switches again, and Gordon stands, placing his glass on the floor beside the sofa as he starts to dance again, twisting his hips loosely, limp hands worked by pumping elbows.
‘Piss off!’ Luke says, kicking out to shoo him away. ‘Everyone will think we’re a couple or something!’
Gordon raises one eyebrow and winks. ‘Alright by me, birthday boy.’ He swings his hips, throwing in a few disco hand moves, happily antagonising Luke, who squirms with embarrassment on the arm of the sofa.
‘They’re taking ages,’ Luke shouts over the music, trying to get a view of the bar across the darkening room. ‘Should we go and give them a hand?’
At that moment, Tom and Samantha re-emerge, each carrying two glasses overhead, Samantha shrieking as she tries to keep the drinks from spilling. The disco lights flitter across her unblemished skin and she hands Luke his drink, kissing him on the cheek as he takes it. His stomach flips and he seizes the moment to kiss her back, catching her on the side of the nose when she turns her head in surprise.
‘Ooh!
Two
kisses,’ she says, more to Gordon and Tom than to Luke. ‘Very French.’
‘Ooh-la-la!’ Gordon raises his glass. ‘To Luke – the birthday boy.’
‘The birthday boy!’ they chime. They clink glasses and at that moment, as the disco music pounds and the lights shimmer onboard the
Ryde Queen
, Luke’s glad to be here, away from the trouble and anxiety of Blake Avenue, here among the beautiful people.
As the evening progresses, they take it in turns to get the drinks in, spending much of the night on the dance floor, where Gordon’s eccentric moves attract much amusement. Luke knows he’s no dancer but he joins in, letting his body bend to the rhythm of the music, enjoying the dreamlike motion of the strobe lights that pass over their faces and sparkle in the moisture of their eyes. Samantha is a goddess, the central attraction; her hands rise and fall like birds, elegantly circling high above their heads, darting dangerously close to Luke’s body as she weaves between them. At one point, she slips her fingers along the waistband of his jeans, lightly caressing his skin before turning her back on him to dance with Gordon.
There’s a brief lull in the music, where one track ends and another begins, and they separate, as Gordon goes in search of the toilets and Samantha asks Tom for help at the bar. Luke’s view of the lower deck starts to tip and slide, and he staggers towards the stairs, in need of some air. Outside, it has grown dark, but the stars are out in abundance, and Luke ascends the wooden staircase, gripping the handrail and pulling himself up, one heavy leg at a time. He steps over rows of legs and handbags, bumping into a large man and apologising, steadying himself on his way towards the back of the ship. At the stern, he slumps his arms over the railing and gazes across the marina at the clusters of young people wandering about by the river’s dried edge, taking a break from the noise and crowd of the ship. Many of them are in couples, clutched together in embrace or strolling unsteadily, hand in hand, and Luke sighs deeply, as his mind drifts back to Samantha and the way she looked at him just now, when she left for the bar with Tom. Tonight’s the night; he knows it. Tonight you’ll be a man, my son! Luke laughs aloud, turning his back to the view, and he shuts his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to slide down to sitting, to rest his head against the lifebelt. It feels good behind his eyelids, fuzzy and muted as the thump of music vibrates through the
ship’s metal hull. He can see his mum inside the blank space and he stares at her, concentrating hard while he tries to work out what it is that she’s thinking. She’s smiling brightly, and her voice has that tinkling quality she uses when it’s not for real, but her eyes contain such sadness and he can’t quite grasp the answer to it. He recalls an earlier image of his parents standing at the centre of the kitchen in an easy embrace, her head resting upon his chest; his face in her hair, arms loosely wrapped around her waist as they sway to the music on the radio. When was that?