Stories We Could Tell (24 page)

But Terry didn’t tell her anything, and he didn’t look at her, and he watched his old friend carefully pummel the Pro-Plus to yellow powder with the bottom of his thermos flask.

‘Ah, sex and drugs and rock and roll,’ Peter said wistfully. ‘Tell me all about it, Terry.’

Ruby Potter
.

Her name sent Leon into a rapture where he saw fleeting visions of future possible lives.

Ruby Potter. Ruby Peck Mrs Ruby Peck. Mrs Ruby Potter-Peck. Leon Potter-Peck. The Potter-Pecks. Look, there go the Potter-Pecks
.

But away from the swirling lights of the Goldmine and in the unforgiving glare of the doughnut shop, Leon learned that the most beautiful girl in the world already had a life of her own.

‘You can call him if you want,’ said her fat friend, picking a custard doughnut from the box on the table, and sending Leon’s heart tumbling. ‘There’s a phone booth at the end of the road. Go on – why don’t you call him?’

‘But I don’t
want
to call him,’ said Ruby, her lovely face fierce with defiance.

Dunkin’ Donuts was lit like an interrogation room and, sitting at a Formica table that was bolted to the ground, Leon was forced to ask himself some tough questions.

Like, who the fuck were they talking about? And what was this bastard to Ruby? And how, oh how could Leon have been so dumb to imagine that a girl like Ruby Potter could ever really be interested in a boy like him?

But when he looked at her face, none of it mattered. Leon looked at Ruby, and she smiled at him over a chocolate doughnut, and the world made sense. The bad stuff slid away and he lived in the blissful moment.

‘Well, I don’t know why you don’t call him,’ Judy said, removing a dab of cream from her lips. ‘You know you want to.’

Leon saw it as a good sign that Ruby had a friend with a weight problem. What a wonderful heart she must have, thought Leon, to have a fat friend. How sensitive and deep Ruby must be, to not care about something as trivial as physical appearance. Beautiful on the inside as well as the outside, he sighed, poking a finger into his jam doughnut and then sucking the raspberry goo.

They didn’t ask him what he did. That was strange because in the world of his parents, and even at
The Paper
, it was the given icebreaker. And what do
you
do? But not to Ruby and Judy. They came from a different kind of working world. He found out she was a hairdresser only after she had made a long speech about the merits and drawbacks of Autumn Gold.

‘I write about music,’ he told them, hoping to impress. ‘In fact, I’m working tonight.’ Trying to sound important now. Do you
have any idea how busy I am? ‘I’m meant to do this thing,’ Leon said. ‘Do you want to see a band? There’s this band I’m meant to see.’

‘A
band?’
Ruby said, frowning, making Leni and the Riefenstahls sound like Joe Loss and his orchestra. He was hoping that she might come with him. He was hoping that they might make a night of it. But his career just seemed to perplex her. Going to see
a band?

‘So can you get tickets for Queen at Wembley?’ Judy said, suddenly more interested.

Leon tried to hide his contempt. He failed. ‘Probably,’ he said. ‘But why would I want to do that?’

‘Because Freddie Mercury’s great,’ Judy shouted angrily, ‘you butt-fucking queer.’

Ruby slammed down her doughnut.
‘Judy!’
There was a grace about her, Leon thought, and somehow it illuminated her perfect face. She had no doubt left school at fifteen, and never had any of what Leon’s father called his ‘advantages’. But Ruby Potter had more natural grace than anyone he had ever met.

‘Who have you met then?’ Judy said.

Leon drew a breath. ‘Bob Marley. Patti Smith. Joe Strummer. Paul Weller. Pete Shelley. Phil Lynott. Johnny Thunders. The Sewer Rats.’

‘Have you met Abba?’ ‘No, I haven’t met Abba.’

Judy turned away with a sneer. ‘He ain’t met nobody.’

And then Leon saw them. Dagenham Dogs. Two of them, one on either side of the street. Shaven heads gleaming. Coming towards Dunkin’ Donuts, playfully tossing a dustbin lid at each other. Leon watched one of them catch the dustbin lid, stagger into the road, and hurl it back at his mate with full force. The dustbin lid went sailing over the head of the second Dog and clattered into the window right by their table.

Judy was on her feet screaming abuse, and Ruby dropped her
doughnut. The two Dogs guffawed with delight and approached the window, rubbing the front of their trousers and making obscene gestures. But by then Leon was under the table, on his hands and knees, watching Judy’s foot stamping with fury. He didn’t come out until he heard the Dogs retrieve their dustbin lid and go cackling off into the night.

‘Found it,’ he said, sheepishly coming back up. ‘My contact lens. It’s okay. Found my contact lens.’ The two girls watched Leon putting the imaginary contact lens into his eye. Then he blinked at them furiously. ‘That’s much better.’

‘Look, Ruby,’ said Judy.

She was indicating a car full of neat, well-shaven youths that had pulled up outside. A stocky youth in a cap-sleeved T-shirt and Prince of Wales check trousers got out of the car and walked into Dunkin’ Donuts. Grinning broadly, he saw them and came over, sitting on the edge of their table.

‘Well, well, well. Little Ruby Potter. As I live and breathe.’

There was a half-eaten chocolate doughnut in front of Ruby. The youth in the capped T-shirt plucked it up and popped it in his mouth.

‘Oy, you mucky pup!’ said Judy, punching his pale, hairless arm. The youth made a great show of enjoying the doughnut, smacking his lips and rubbing his flat belly.

‘You suck,’ Judy said.

‘You blow,’ snarled the youth.

‘You
wish,’
said Judy.

‘I
know,’
said the youth.

‘Ignore him, Judy, and he’ll go away,’ said Ruby, all imperious.

The youth laughed, and leaned closer to Ruby.

‘Where’s Steve tonight then?’ he said in a stage whisper.

Ruby took a small round mirror from her handbag and made a great show of staring into it and rearranging a few strands of hair. ‘Don’t know, don’t care,’ she said.

The youth chuckled, as if he knew the awful truth. Leon smiled weakly. The bozo had not even bothered to acknowledge his existence.

‘You want a lift back?’ the youth said. ‘We got the Escort outside.’ He leaned on the table, leering in her face, oozing phoney sympathy. ‘Don’t worry – Steve will understand.’

‘I don’t care what Steve understands!’ Ruby said, her voice rising.

Leon felt like crying. I should have known.
Steve
. Probably all the really good ones have a boyfriend called Steve who can kick your head in.

‘Who’s we?’ Judy said. Leon could tell she was quite interested in the prospect of a lift home.

‘You know,’ the youth said. ‘Ron. Alfie. Lurch.’ Ruby and Judy rolled their eyes at each other. ‘Those creeps,’ Judy said.

‘We don’t need a ride,’ Ruby said. ‘We got one already.’

Leon realised she was smiling sweetly at him. He wondered what it could possibly mean. Panic fluttered inside him. She didn’t think he owned a car, did she?

‘Suit yourself, darling,’ said the youth, still cocky, although Leon could tell he was disappointed. ‘We’re right outside if you change your mind.’

He eased himself off the table, still acting as though Leon was invisible. And Leon thought – why is she surrounded by all these horrible people? I must save her. They show her no respect, they do not cherish her the way she deserves to be cherished.

‘He’ll tell Steve he saw you,’ Judy warned darkly.

Ruby laughed, her eyes sly. ‘He can tell Steve what he likes, can’t he?’

Judy was all doom and gloom. ‘Steve will go crazy…you down the Goldmine on your own…’ A knowing look at Leon here. ‘Having a good time…’

‘Do him good,’ Ruby said, and Leon saw that she was capable
of being ruthless. The beautiful must be like that, he thought. They do what they want.

Then he was scrambling after the girls as they traipsed out into the street where a canary yellow Ford Escort was parked right outside Dunkin’ Donuts. There were four youths inside, all of them wearing capped-sleeve T-shirts, all leaning out of the windows and grinning. None of them had cut their hair yet. Donna Summer’s ‘I Feel Love’ was turned up on the radio. Leon quickly checked the street for Dagenham Dogs. But they had gone, no doubt off to join the mayhem at the Western World. There was an abandoned dustbin lid in the middle of the road.

‘Oooh, it’s so good, it’s so good, it’s so good, it’s so…’

‘Any more fares, please,’ the tallest one shouted. ‘Ding-ding!’ He had to be Lurch. Judy leaned her head into the window but Ruby held back, waiting for Leon to say something. He stared at her helplessly.

‘Where’s your motor?’ Ruby asked him.

He spread his arms. ‘I don’t – I haven’t…’

Judy turned on him, hands on hips, icy fragments of doughnut still on her lips. ‘You haven’t got a car? Then how are we meant to get home?’

He turned to Ruby, his head spinning. He would probably never see her again. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

Judy was already climbing into the back of the yellow Escort, squeezing herself between the two youths on the back seat. They all cheered. Donna Summer came closer to orgasm.

‘Come
on
, Ruby,’ Judy shouted.

But Ruby shook her head and turned away, her arms folded across her chest. They waited for a moment, making sure she really meant it, and then the Escort took off in a blur of burned rubber and ‘I Feel Love’. Leon caught a glimpse of Judy on the back seat, giving him a two-fingered salute.

‘What are we going to do?’ Ruby said. ‘How am I going to get
back?’ And then she noticed his bruise for the first time. ‘What happened to your face?’

‘Oh,’ he said, touching his cheekbone. ‘I got this on Saturday. Down at Lewisham. You know – the riot.’

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Lewisham. Yeah, my dad was there too. Protesting and that. He feels strongly about these things. Just like you.’

And Leon didn’t dare ask. He didn’t dare ask the most beautiful girl in the world which side her dad was on.

Nothing. Not a thing.

Just nostrils caked with crushed Pro-Plus and nerves clattering with caffeine. Terry and Peter stared at Sally and Kishor on the other side of the glass, swapping reels of tape, the pair of them as busy as dockers with a ship in.

‘It’s all been done before, anyway,’ Peter said.

Terry looked at him. What was he going on about?

‘All this new music,’ Peter said. ‘All this blank generation bollocks. The Stooges and MC5 did it first. Even before that. On the first Hendrix album. “I Don’t Live Today” – that’s about as blank as it gets. And then he
died
. Jimi
died.’
Peter took a swig of flat Tizer and warm gin. ‘What these bands are doing – it’s all been done before.’

Terry exploded.

‘Not by us! Not by me! Fuck! I hate it when people say that!’ He was on his feet. He was tired of hearing this stuff. He was tired of being told that everything was shit and nothing had happened since the Sixties. He wasn’t young ten years’ ago – he was a kid. And he wouldn’t be young in ten years’ time – he would be an old man.
This
was his time. Now. Tonight. Right here. And it felt like some fucker was always trying to spoil it.

‘I’m sick of having to bow down to all these old bastards in their thirties! You think Johnny Rotten’s going to live to see forty? You think Rotten’s going to turn into Des O’Connor? It doesn’t matter what anybody else has done –
we
haven’t done it!’

Peter snorted. ‘Tell you what – shall we nick some gin?’ he said.

Terry only had to think about it for a moment. ‘Yeah, all right. Let’s nick some gin.’

There were always odd bottles of gin stashed at the bottom of desks in the office. It was the only thing to steal in the factory. Terry and Peter wandered through darkened rooms trying desk drawers until they found something. It was already half-empty. Some poor little clerk wiping himself out at elevenses. Peter unscrewed the cap on the bottle and took a long pull.

‘Got any Tizer left?’ Terry said.

Peter shook his head, taking a swig from the bottle, and grimacing with disgust. ‘I hate this stuff,’ he said.

‘Yeah,’ Terry said, taking the bottle. ‘Worst drink in the world.’

Leon stood outside the locked doors of the Red Cow, quietly cursing, and hours late for Leni and the Riefenstahls.

‘It looks shut,’ Ruby called from the back of the black cab.

Leon peered through the dusty glass of the Red Cow, knowing it was pointless. He had missed the gig. Because of a girl. Because he was dancing.

And he knew this was serious. As long as the cleaners or the straights at
Country Matters
didn’t see you, nobody cared what you did at
The Paper
. Kevin White didn’t care if you shot up with Keith Richards, shared a spliff with Peter Tosh, or snorted sulphate with Sid Vicious. Nobody cared – as long as you
did the work
.

But whatever drug was in your system, and whatever rock star was turning blue in your bedsit, White and the older guys expected you to get your copy in on time. Among the chaos and chemical excess of
The Paper
, a steady work ethic endured. Clean copy, the correct length and on time. The only things they took seriously at
The Paper
were music and deadlines.

‘You getting out or what, mate?’ said the taxi driver.

But the good thing is, thought Leon, I already know what I think
about Leni and the Riefenstahls. I don’t really need to see the silly cow strutting about in her jackboots to know I don’t like her. So what’s to stop me writing about an event that I didn’t actually see? It’s just as true – isn’t it? I
know what I am going to write before I even start writing
.

Leon turned back to the cab and Ruby’s perfect face, happy again, and feeling like he was becoming a real journalist at last.

The big problem was Dag Wood’s penis.

Terry had seen it – an enormous, barnacle-encrusted todger that would not have been out of place in a porn movie. That giant knob haunted Terry’s dreams, and filled his Pro-Plus reverie with anxiety and dread.