“Bloody hell! Your mum is a bloody nuisance.”
“I better stay home. The seminar’s at half past eight.”
“I’ll get you there on time.”
“My mother’s calling too early.”
“Fuckin’ aye! She’s really bolloxing things up for us.”
“That’s her plan.”
Sure enough, two messages awaited. “I don’t know where you are at this hour, but it better not be where I think.”
The phone rang before I could comment. I picked it up after the second ring. “Yes, Mama, I’m here. I was having a bath. It’s hot and sticky here and I’ve been running around all day. Can I go to sleep now? I’m getting up early for that seminar.”
“What time? I will give you a wake-up call.”
“I have an alarm clock. I don’t need you getting me up like I’m six years old.”
“I will ring you at seven, goodbye.”
“She’s calling at seven tomorrow. I’m not getting up at six to be here.”
“Fine. I’ll spend the night here, then. We’ll push the beds together.”
“That isn’t right, with Aimee gone and everything.”
“You prefer a ménage à trois?” He gave a mischievous look.
I laughed, whacking him with a pillow.
“It’s okay. You use Aimee’s bed. I’ll use yours.”
That was what we did, and sure enough, the next morning my mother’s call woke us at seven sharp.
“Yes, Mama, I’m up. I can’t talk. I have to get ready.” I hung up before she could say anything. I felt guilty for it, but she was driving me bonkers.
Keith rose from the bed and ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m glad I disowned my parents so I can do whatever the hell I want. I’m so bloody sick of your mum.”
“She has a way of erasing my enthusiasm these days.”
I met up with Emma at the seminar who thankfully had no problem covering for me. Keith learned how to have my phone ring at his place so when my mother called at nine p.m. I seemed like I was home. This would work until Aimee returned.
After lying to my mother that I was having a shower and going to bed early, I was free to attend The Piss Ants show that night. She was making my life so difficult, I no longer felt guilty about lying to her. It was now a matter of survival.
I took my proper place in front of the stage. As the first chords rang out, kids immediately slammed into each other, then leaped onto the stage, tumbling head over heels into waiting arms of comrades only to turn around and do it again. Beads of sweat sprayed into the air creating a fine mist as it lingered. Billy and Keith riled them by running around the stage, leaping onto amps and off again. Jimmy beat the skins with such energy his tank top was drenched with sweat before the show was half over.
The show ended with a cover of Clash City Rockers, but Keith changed the words to Piss Ants City Rockers.
The next day Keith had a late morning band meeting. I headed over to Ryan’s at lunchtime. Louisa greeted me with the usual hug, forcing me to eat. “The band is out picking up the tapes to sell in Liverpool. I think they’re on their way.”
As if on cue, four scruffy lads burst in.
“Is there anything to eat, Mum?” Ryan asked. “We’re starving.”
“It’s in the fridge. Help yourselves. “By the way, Keith, there’s a letter for you from your father. He says he’s sending your mail here since you won’t reveal your new address.”
Keith looked perplexed. “What could he possibly send me?”
“You won’t know until you open it.” She handed him the envelope.
“Bloody hell!” Keith uttered as he read the letter.
“Bad news?” I asked.
“The good news is though I broke our agreement about the car by leaving school, he won’t repossess it if I don’t get into trouble. But I’m to pay the insurance now.”
“Well, luv, being an adult means paying your own bills,” Louisa said.
He stuffed the letter in the pocket of his tattered Levis and wolfed down a couple sandwiches. “That insurance costs a shit load.” I heard him mumble, “bloody wanker.” The band disappeared to the cellar while I finished another sandwich and poured another glass of lemonade.”
“I hope this Liverpool show goes well,” Louisa confided in me. “Frank and I have strong reservations about it. I’ll be glad when Ryan’s at school again and not gallivanting all over the country. I’m supportive of this band, but I hope it doesn’t become too much of a distraction before he finishes at university.”
“Keith’s afraid Ryan can’t devote much time to the band once school starts again “He’s majoring in business management so staying in school will benefit the band. Like you, he was accepted a year early. He’s quite gifted. He could pass his exams and barely open a book.”
I didn’t mention I planned on tagging along to Liverpool.
I headed home before practice was over in order to take my mother’s call. As far as she knew I was answering the phone at my place. Keith was a genius for figuring out how to transfer my calls. The next day I would be in Liverpool and my mother believed I was going with my girlfriends.
The next morning we were awakened at 7:00 by my mother’s call. I wondered why we even needed an alarm clock. “What time is your train?” she asked. “You leave today, n’est pas?”
“I’m meeting my friends at the station at nine.”
“Well, you ring me the minute you arrive.”
“I promise I will.”
“I don’t think she suspects anything,” I said, getting out of bed.
“Good,” Keith responded with a yawn, fumbling for his first cigarette.
We managed a quick breakfast, leaving our dirty dishes in the sink, before loading our things into the Healey, then zipping to Bayswater. Very soon I would be in Liverpool.
We pulled up to the brick house with the big bay window and flower boxes. Frank was helping load the van.
“You’re bringing that shining ornament with you scruffy lot?” he said seeing me get out of the car. “I’m always at hospital when you’re here. I hadn’t realized you were going.”
“It took awhile to convince my parents,” I said with a smile.
We crammed into the van for the three-hour drive. The stereo blasted the Piss Ants, followed by Stiff Little Fingers, The Clash, Sex Pistols, and anything else punk, getting us in the mood.
Finally Liverpool emerged. I spotted the clock tower looming above the cityscape as we pulled off the motorway. The band had to be at the club for a sound check, leaving barely time to check in and find our rooms.
Our room was cozy and clean with a huge double bed gracing the center, adorned with a wheat-colored paisley duvet. Keith pushed me onto the bed. “I wish we had the afternoon to make out.” He kissed me.
“Do you ever think of anything else?”
“Not when I’m with you.”
“I’d love to oblige, but I promised I’d call my mother.”
Keith relinquished me with one final kiss.
I fumbled through my purse for my phone card and punched in my parents’ number. My mother instantly answered.
“I thought it might be you. How was the train ride?”
“Perfect,” I lied. “You know I love the train. I’ll be out late, so call in the morning.”
“I need to be sure you are with your friends. Let me speak with them.”
“Well, Lily’s in the shower and Emma’s at the store. It’s her time of month and she was caught unprepared.” I was now a pro at making up lies on a whim.
“I need proof they are with you. I will call in fifteen minutes.”
“We’re headed to the Walker Gallery. I’ll call when we’re there.”
“I’ll give you half an hour, then.”
I hung up. “Mon dieu,” I groaned. “She wants me to call when Lily’s out of the shower and Emma’s back from the store.”
“We’ll figure something out,” Keith answered.
We met the rest of our entourage in the lobby. Keith explained my predicament to Ryan. “Leave that to me,” he said.
Ryan approached two girls outside the club. “Would you two birds like backstage passes for tonight?” he asked
“Sure,” was their enthusiastic response.
“This young lady’s mum thinks she’s here with her friends. We need you to pretend you’re them on the phone.”
“We can do that,” they assured him.
We went down several stairs and into the club. I stood, mesmerized, scarcely believing I was actually in the famous Cavern. The walls and ceiling were constructed entirely in red brick making it really look like a cave.
Ryan interrupted me. “All right,” Ryan told me. “The rest is up to you.” We had landed in some office. He pointed to the phone.
I rehearsed the girls, then holding my breath, made the call. “Hello, Mama. We’re crammed into a phone box at Walker Gallery. Here’s Lily. Lily performed perfectly. Emma stumbled a little, but sounded convincing enough. I took the phone back. “There, are you happy? Can we go? It’s crowded in here.”
“I am convinced. Have fun. You earned it. I will call in the morning around eight.”
My mother was being so nice I almost felt guilty lying to her.
I hung up. “You two were spot on!”
Ryan gave them passes and the band signed autographs, and they were ushered out.
Keith grabbed me for a quick kiss. “You hanging about for sound check? It shouldn’t take an hour.”
“I’ll hang about. I want to explore the club.”
While the band brought in their equipment, I wandered, wondering what the club was like when the Beatles played. I wondered if John Lennon’s spirit was here. I wandered through an arched doorway into another large room bearing posters and photographs of not only early day Beatles but other famous acts too. There was an old poster for The Who and one for The Kinks. There was even a red phone box containing more Beatles pictures. I heard the Piss Ants play Clash City Rockers. Clash City Rockers gave way to No Connection. I climbed the thirty steps and stood outside. John, Paul, George and Ringo walked on this street. My thoughts were broken by some bloke. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”
I looked at him. He was maybe a couple years older than me. “I’m that obvious?”
“Not at all. I’ve just not seen you before. Where are you from?”
“London. I’m here on a sort-of holiday.”
He lit up. “I’ll gladly show you around.”
“I’m here with my boyfriend. He’s in the band playing here.”
“Who’s playing here?” He gazed up at the marquee.
“The Piss Ants. Tonight’s sold out, but maybe there are tickets for tomorrow. They’re the next big thing. You should see them while you can in an intimate setting.”
“How close are you to this boyfriend?”
“We’re engaged,” I stressed as nicely as I could.
“Well, I’m disappointed. You sure you’re from London? You don’t sound British.”
“I’m French studying art in London.” I pointed to my satchel.
He looked intrigued. “I’ll pay you 20 pounds to draw my picture.”
I laughed. “Sure, I have about half an hour.” I got out my supplies. He was fun to talk to as I drew him standing against the Cavern’s brick façade. His tousled blond hair made a great contrast. In a rugged way, he was handsome.
He had endless questions about what it was like being an art student in London. And what were my parents thinking letting me leave home so young.
“Now that’s a sore subject,” I said. “They live far away, but keep close tabs on me. It drives me bonkers.”
“So what are you, 16?”
“Nearly eighteen!” I thought it a daft question. I’d mentioned I was engaged. “I’m in my second year at The Royal Academy.”
“The Royal Academy? I’m in the presence of great talent.”
I laughed. “Now you’re mocking me.”
“Not at all. I’m more anxious to see your picture.”
With colored pencils, I made some finishing touches. “You can look now.”
He studied it. “I’m most impressed.” He reached in his pocket and placed a wad of cash in my hands. “I’m sorry I can’t get to know you.” He took his picture and walked off.
I gathered my things and headed back inside, settling into the tiny backstage room, and counted my loot. He’d given me fifty pounds!
The band came straggling in shortly after.
“Oh good, you’re finished,” I said to Keith. “Let’s do The Beatles tour.”
“We’re all taking the tour,” Keith said. “A bus leaves in fifteen minutes from here.”
I didn’t express my disappointment it wasn’t just us. I didn’t even get the chance to tell him of my recent commission. The coach arrived and I hopped on first, grabbing a window seat. Keith snuggled next to me. “This is a three-hour tour. We’ll have to eat quickly after so I’ll have time to warm up.”
I listened with half an ear as the coach took off. We stopped at the childhood homes of each Beatle. I took pictures and wished we could get off. We wound our way to Penny Lane and to the church where Paul and John reportedly first met. I longed to paint the church. Perhaps we could sneak out tomorrow. The tour dropped us back at the Cavern less than an hour before show time.
“We found a small fish and chips restaurant where Keith sipped Guinness and I had iced tea. We were finally enjoying time alone when some girl with spiky bleached hair approached. She wore so much blue eye makeup I wondered how she kept her eyes open. “Aren’t you in that band playing the Cavern tonight?”
“That’s right, The Piss Ants,” Keith replied.
“I’m going tomorrow. Could you sign this flyer for me?”
Keith scribbled his name. “There you are, luv. Cheers.”
She seemed reluctant to leave. “Um . . . I’m a journalism student at John Moores University. Could I interview you tonight? I could come right after the show.”
“Talk to my manager. He arranges all that.” He gave her a wink and I felt a pang of jealousy. Was he flirting with her?
I wanted to wave and yell, hello, I’m here also.
Finally she left.
“At last,” I said. “I thought she’d never leave.”
Keith took a final swig of his Guinness. “It’s all right. She just wanted an autograph.”
“I think she wanted more than that.”
He grinned at me. “Are you jealous?”
“No! I just don’t like girls flirting with you.”
I detected a slight rolling of his eyes. “Get used to it. That’s part of the territory.”
“I won’t. I’ll become more bold and intervene.”
Keith looked at me like I’d just sprung horns. “Are you my keeper now?”
“You didn’t need to flirt with her!”
“I wasn’t flirting.”
“You were too. You winked at her.”
“I was just being friendly.”
“You don’t need to be that friendly.”
He rolled his eyes again. “I don’t need you telling me how to relate to my fans.” He looked at his watch. “I need to go. You coming?”
“Of course. I want to change first.”
“I don’t have time. Meet me at the club. I’ll have Ryan look out for you.”
We headed in opposite directions. I’d take my time changing. If I was late it might give Keith time to rethink his behavior. He should be more sensitive to my feelings. I reached our room, shed my clothes, hanging them in the cupboard. I rifled through my bag, pulled out my slinky red nylon dress with spaghetti straps, then dug out my black and white scripted leggings and black elbow length, fingerless gloves. At the mirror I tied up my hair with a big black bow, then added the Vivienne Westwood earrings Keith had given me. Finally I applied black mascara and bright red lipstick, finishing with a hint of glitter
before donning my calf-length black boots. It was only a four-block walk, but I wouldn’t rush. I marveled at the sights of Liverpool, letting it sink in I was actually here.
I approached the club’s entrance and tried squeezing past other concertgoers sporting Mohicans of various sizes, safety pins in clothing and chains hanging from lobes and clothes. Some beefy-looking chap stood guard by the door. He didn’t look friendly. “Oi, you can’t be here,” he yelled at me. I was right about him not being friendly
“I’m with the band,” I tried explaining. “I got separated but they’re expecting me.”
He stared me down. “Couldn’t you do better than that?”
“Find their manager, Ryan Patterson. He’ll vouch for me.”
He gave me a lascivious look. “What’s it worth to you?”
“Never mind,” I shouted back. “You blokes have one track minds. I’ll hang about here. It’s a public sidewalk.”
“Suit yourself, but don’t cause trouble.”
“I’m seven stone. I can’t cause trouble.” I hoped I sounded as angry as I felt.
I admired all the attire of those in the queue. One bloke had a bleached blond paintbrush Mohawk that must have been a foot high. One girl had bleached hair gelled into spikes and wore a tight leather mini skirt. I had no idea punk was so alive in Liverpool.
“There you are!” My concentration was interrupted by Ryan coming around the corner. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Trying to get in,” I explained. “No one believed me when I said I was with you and I wouldn’t perform a lewd act with the guard to get in.” I glanced towards the slime who stood, arms crossed, guarding the door.
“Well, we really need someone to sell tapes. I forgot to ask you before.”
I followed him. “She’s with us,” he told Mr. Slime, who didn’t look at all ashamed about propositioning me.
I glared at him as I walked past.
Ryan took me backstage where the band was warming up. Keith saw me. “There you are! I was worried.”
I wanted to say, serves you right, but only said I couldn’t get in.
“I’ll sort you out a pass tonight,” Ryan said. He picked up three huge boxes of tapes.
I followed him to a far corner where he set down he boxes, took out a pocketknife and slit one open, then handed me a key. “This is for the lock box. The tapes are two pounds fifty. Mark tallies for each tape you sell.”
I unlocked the box and sat on the hard chair. It wasn’t long before I had customers. I enjoyed chatting with everyone.
The lights dimmed and everyone ran for the dance floor. No one came for me. I also needed the toilet. Should I leave the tapes? Where was Ryan?
The band hit the stage with No Connection. I craned my neck, then stood on my chair, but couldn’t see. Was Keith wondering where I was? Surely he expected me front and center.
“ . . . There’s no connection ‘tween me and you. I’m not connected to what you do,” Keith sang.
I barely saw him running across the stage, making eye contact with everyone up front. I wanted so badly to be there and still had the pressing problem of needing the toilet. I could murder for a drink of anything now. Why was I forgotten? I didn’t mind selling tapes. But did that mean I couldn’t watch? I so looked forward to this trip. I stepped off my chair, nearly stumbling, but regained my balance. I shoved the tapes into a corner, grabbed the lock box, and went to the front where someone was still letting in a few stragglers. I explained my dilemma and was assured someone would relieve me shortly so I returned and again stood on my chair. They were playing Nightmare On My Street, a song about Keith’s tumultuous childhood. Some girl yelled, “You’re gorgeous, Keith!”
Keith blew her a kiss and the band tore into another song. Did he have to do that?
At long last, someone relieved me. I stepped off my chair, more gingerly this time, and headed for the toilet. I bought myself a Perrier and looked about for Ryan. I checked backstage, then scanned the crowd. He was tall enough to tower over most everyone, but I was too short. I returned to my post.
“It’s about time,” the woman screamed above the music.
“Sorry,” I shouted back. “There was a queue in the loo and I needed something to drink.” I stepped back onto the chair and continued to watch what little I could see.
During the break I was bombarded with people wanting the tape and I frantically took money, wrote a tally and repeated. The queue moved so quickly I couldn’t chat. I hacked open another box using my hotel key. Still, no one got me. The band returned, and again everyone dispersed. I stood on my chair and got a stiff neck.
They played Down at the Pub, followed by All You Punk Rockers. The band exhibited their usual manic energy. Keith was in top form even without me up front. Maybe he doesn’t need me after all. Even after the show, no one came. The crowd yelled for an encore so loudly I was sure they were heard throughout Liverpool. The club shook in the rhythm of the thundering chants of “Piss Ants! Piss Ants!” I got a few customers, so jumped off my perch once again. The band returned and performed a couple Clash tunes. Then the house lights brightened and there was another mad dash to buy tapes. I kept up as best I could. What was happening backstage? Were there groupies? I lifted them anyway and trekked across the entire dance floor to the backstage area. Ryan was there and Keith was on the sofa looking chummy with some girl. I suddenly realized it was the girl from the chips shop.
“Great, how many tapes sold?” Ryan asked.
That was all he could say? No sorry I didn’t help carry them? No thanks for staying the entire time? Keith didn’t even notice. I glanced in his direction and was even more appalled that not only was he all cozy with some girl, it was the girl from the chips shop. I shoved the boxes at Ryan and threw the tally sheet on the floor. “See for yourself!” With that, I stormed out, ran up the stairs and back to the hotel. I was so furious I fancied getting a train back to London. I noticed a light blinking on the phone — probably my mother leaving messages, but she was the last person I wanted to talk to. I shed my clothes, then washed up.
I was at the mirror brushing out my hair when I heard a key in the door. Keith stepped in, parking his guitar against the wall. “What the hell happened back there?”
[To be continued… Click here to view all chapters.]
