The Boss (26 page)

Steve helped us pack our gear in and make sure it wasn't going to rattle around, then drove as far as Lingfield Farm. I took over, driving out through the
Breckland and onto the A11. It felt odd to be passing the turning to Brettenham, and I wondered if Stephen was home yet, perhaps making a careful selection from his collection of fancy wines for whatever would go best with his equally fancy cooking. All I'd had was a sausage sandwich, which had left me in need of repairs to my lippy.

By the time we got to Norwich it was beginning to get dark, with the lights going up, which made the club look all the more spectacular when we got there. There was a big hangar, just like the one we'd played in at Hockwold, only instead of just a door, the front was an aeroplane, a huge Second World War bomber with four engines and silver livery, even a half-naked Vargas-style pin-up beside a wooden staircase. Some of it may even have been real, but the fuselage was a corridor leading back into the hangar, with no tail to the aircraft at all, just a flight of steps down to the main floor.

The decor was straight out of the 40s, or at least it looked that way. All the tables were very neat, round and covered by cloths, well spaced around the floor with a central area open for dancing. Silhouettes decorated the walls, black on pastel green, of jazz musicians playing various implements, and all lit by mellowtoned bulbs beneath green and yellow shades. It had atmosphere, plenty of it, just not ours.

Sam was already there, and got Billy and several of his mates to help us set up. I could tell I was unpopular, presumably because they thought I should be Martin's plaything, with several of them casting me sour glances as if I was the scarlet woman of Babylon. Total bullshit, of course, because that was exactly the way they wanted me to be, except when they weren't the
ones getting the nookie. I did my best to ignore them, but it was impossible not to get a bit wound up by their attitude.

The bar was in keeping with the rest of the place, with two guys in monkey suits doing the serving, three different beers and a huge range of cocktails. It was seriously tempting to start in on the cocktails, but I contented myself with a beer while Josie watched the barman put together something called a Manhattan. Not many other people were there, and with no wish to talk to the Americans I went up on stage, seating myself behind my kit to practise and get the feel for how it would be to play.

We had lights in our eyes, like on a lot of stages, so I couldn't really see the main space, only my drums and the brightly lit crescent of floor where Josie and Sam would be playing. I didn't mind, because it's often easier to get lost in the music if you can't see the crowd, especially when the crowd doesn't look right or isn't really into the music.

Josie and I had been listening to the Buzzcocks on the way, and I began to tap out the rhythm to
Ever Fallen In Love With Someone
, which had stuck in my head because I couldn't stop myself from connecting the lyrics with my situation with Stephen. I badly needed to get all of that out of my head, and bagged myself another beer before starting to practise again. There were too many niggles in my head, and I wanted to be drunk, really drunk, so that the drumming was all that mattered.

We were opening with
Barbed Wire Love
, which is tricky because of all the changes, and I began to practise that, only to find the lyrics made me think of Stephen yet again. I just had to get out of myself, and
went back to the bar for a third beer, sure I could sweat the alcohol out while I played and promising myself I wouldn't bring anything up on stage.

People had begun to arrive, a mixed crowd of American servicemen, older men and women who shared a laid-back look and were evidently the regulars, along with plenty of our own crowd. I switched to
Homicide
as Josie joined me on stage, and began to feel a bit better. She was facing me, playing together the way we did in her garage, full of attitude and raw, sexual power, which helped to lift me and make me feel the same way. We went right through the song just on instruments, which left our own mob and some of the Americans calling for more. Some of the jazz crowd approved, more just looked bemused, and nobody left.

We were ready to go, and Josie climbed down to haul Sam out of Billy's close embrace. Her hands were full of beers as she climbed onstage, and she gave two to me, ducking down to speak as she put them on the floor. I just kept playing, now on my high, as she gave me a last few instructions. The footlights came right up as she stepped away and I was in my own cocoon of light and sound as Sam began to pick out the bass line.

Josie screamed out a welcome, defying the jazz crowd to like us or fuck off, and we had begun. I crashed into the song and hit the beat immediately, without even thinking, and it stayed that way, my emotions building with the song, and with the next, until I was oblivious to everything but the music and a tiny voice deep in my head telling me it was the last time, over and over.

I had to play, and play like I'd never played before.
Ever Fallen In Love With Someone
had me in tears, my
vision now no more than a haze of coloured light. Still I beat the drums with every ounce of my strength, to set the club shaking and draw screams and stamping from the crowd. The tracks had become a blur, each fading into the next, and I'd forgotten the order completely, just picking up each beat as Josie yelled out the title:
My Way
Sex Pistols-style, and
Teenage Kicks
, and
Homicide
, and
Pretty Vacant
.

My limbs were already wet with sweat, my muscles hot from playing, my brain buzzing. I was going to do it, to strip naked in front of all of them and play naked, defying them to stop the music and throw us out. All I needed was my cue, but Josie had come right back behind me, dropping her guitar but still singing with Sam, carrying the song on the bass alone in true chaotic punk style. She put the microphone to my mouth and I was yelling out the words, in wild excitement as she tore my top wide open, spilling my breasts out for all to see.

She'd snatched the microphone back, jiggling my breasts to taunt the crowd, with me still trying to play, but as the chorus finished she had pressed her mouth to mine, kissing me hard, only to suddenly pull back, give my tits a final bounce and stride back to the front of the stage. I managed to pick up the beat again, just as she retrieved her guitar and we were back into the song, only now with the crowd screaming their heads off and my ruined top wide open at the front.

As the song ended I simply peeled my top right off. My skin was wet with sweat, my mouth still tingling from Josie's kiss, my nipples hard. I was going all the way, no question. Josie was taunting the crowd, demanding to know if they wanted to see more. Suddenly she'd spun Sam around, jerking up her skirt to
show off twin, fishnet-clad cheeks, and with everybody's attention on them I slipped my own skirt down and off.

I was stark naked except for my boots and revelling in it, so dirty and so free, and about to be on display to the entire audience.
God Save the Queen
kicked off and I was playing nude, and not knowing if they'd seen or they hadn't, if they'd be into it or we were about to get closed down. Josie seemed to be off her head, improvising lyrics far worse than anything the Sex Pistols had come up with, and I could only guess when she was nearing the end, beating out a final crescendo on the drums, kicking out to send my kit flying and making absolutely sure everybody in the room got a good view, standing up to attention and snapping out a smart salute, in boots and not another stitch.

Josie had dropped her guitar. Sam's died with a whine, leaving only the delighted whoops of the punks in the crowd, clapping and wolf whistles from the Americans and a few of the others. I raised my hands, waving cheerfully as I wondered what to do if they demanded an encore, just as the lights came up. A man was walking towards us, the miserable, killjoy expression on his face all too familiar, although his words were lost in the din. It was over.

My bag was right next to me, the fire exit just a few paces away. I grabbed the first and kicked the second open, setting off an alarm. I didn't care, even if they confiscated my drum kit. I didn't need it any more, but I had finished on one hell of a high. Hidden behind a box van, I quickly pulled on my spare knickers, skirt and top, rendering myself legal and decent.

Nobody seemed to have followed me, and before
long people were spilling out of the front of the club, Josie included, holding her guitar and the microphone. I joined her at the van, unable to stop myself grinning.

‘What's happening?'

‘The usual shit, but he wants to keep it quiet.'

‘We're banned?'

‘What do you think?'

I just laughed. It felt good, like it always felt good, but this time, instead of the drawback being one more venue that wouldn't have us, it was that I'd never do it again. As I climbed into the van I was telling myself I'd had my run, but it wouldn't make the feeling go away. I heard Billy's voice, and stayed where I was as our gear was loaded into the back, my eyes closed as I thought of how it had felt to go nude in front of so many people, to have my top ripped wide, to be kissed on my open mouth by another girl . . .

‘Wake up, Fizz. You are fit to drive, aren't you?'

‘Yeah, sure, no problem. Just thinking how good that was.'

I felt OK, but unsure how much of that was adrenalin. Josie lit a cigarette and offered me one. I took it, despite having given up long before, and the matches, an old-style box from the Flying Fortress. For once I felt I needed to smoke, and finished two before letting the clutch in and moving cautiously out of the club car park. All the way out of Norwich I was expecting to get stopped, but nothing happened, and on the main road I gradually began to relax. I began to get tired too and pulled in at an all-night garage to pick up big frothy coffees with sugar on top and jam doughnuts. We ate them in a lay-by, Josie speaking between mouthfuls, the same thing she'd said maybe six or seven times since we'd left the club.

‘It was good, wasn't it, the best.'

There was something wistful in her voice, immediately making me feel bad for being the one who'd brought it all to an end.

‘Sorry, Josie, I . . .'

‘Don't be. You made my night.'

She paused, staring out of the window with her coffee cup held in her lap as if she was unable to look at me. I felt worse than ever, knowing she had to blame me. Rubber Dollies was her band, and always had been. It was so much a part of her image too, the thing that had made her popular at school and so cool hardly anyone had minded when she came out as a lesbian. I was struggling for something to say, but she spoke first.

‘I should be the one saying sorry.'

‘What for?'

I was genuinely puzzled, but she didn't answer, making me insist.

‘What for, Josie?'

‘Pushing you, touching you up . . . kissing you like that.'

‘That's all right. I said you could.'

‘Yeah, but I shouldn't have done it. I know you're not into me and . . .'

‘I didn't mind, Josie, really.'

‘I know, but . . . oh shit, you're going to hate me for this, but it was OK when you were there, but now you're going away, and I had to. I'm sorry, I just need you so badly, I always have, Fizz . . . and just to kiss you, just once . . . oh fuck!'

She'd burst into tears, sobbing her heart out with her face turned away and her hands shaking so badly I thought she'd drop her coffee. I still didn't know what
to say, completely taken aback by her admission and feeling stupid for not realising.

‘Hey, come on, Josie, don't cry. You never cry!'

‘You'd be surprised. Sorry, Fizz.'

As she spoke she'd wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing her make-up across her face. I struggled for something to say, anything to make her feel better.

‘It was nice, Josie. I liked it, really, especially when you . . . you know, jiggled me a bit. You got my nipples hard, and in front of all those jazz types!'

It was half true but I was also trying to make her laugh, and I did manage to raise a weak smile but as I reached out to hug her she pushed my arms away.

‘No, Fizz, don't. I can't bear it.'

‘Don't be silly, Josie, just hug me, will you?'

I wasn't taking no for an answer, taking her coffee cup out of her hands and gathering her into my arms. She didn't respond, still crying, and she wasn't even very drunk. I took her arm and put it around my waist, trying to get her to respond, feeling bad for her and asking myself why I shouldn't give her what she wanted the way I did for Steve and other friends too. What difference did it make? I like to give. Still I was full of confusion, not sure what I wanted at all, but with a rising excitement inside I didn't want to push down. At last I spoke, desperately trying to pretend to myself it was purely to be nice to her.

‘Josie? Come on, you can touch if you like. I don't mind, really.'

‘Not out of sympathy, Fizz.'

I hesitated, still holding her, forcing me to admit what I realised had been building up in me ever since I'd fantasised about her, maybe longer.

‘It won't be out of sympathy. It will be because I'm your friend, and . . . and I like it. Do you really think I'd have let you if I didn't like it? Do you really think I'd have got off with Martin over you beating me if there hadn't been at least a little something in my head? Now kiss me, you silly bitch.'

She was going to speak again but I'd lifted her head and pressed my lips to hers. I could taste the sugar from the doughnuts, and coffee, the sweet taste making it easier to kiss harder, and suddenly she had given in, and more. Her mouth wasn't just open under mine; she was returning my kiss, more forcefully than I'd given it. I let myself relax, telling myself I'd let her do as she pleased as she mashed her mouth against mine, with her arms tight around my back.