Die Hard Mod (4 page)

‘I’m guessing you’re from
Northern Ireland
… you sound just like Colin Murray off the radio or that ginger comedian bloke, whatshisname…’ said Sal.

‘Patrick Kielty’ said Steve, cringing. ‘Nice to be mentioned in the same breath as those A-listers. Anyway, I’m not really a showbiz fella, more a practical type so if ye know of any jobs goin’, I need to fund the rest of this wee seaside break.’

‘I’m a teacher so I don’t know how much use I’d be with your job-hunting’ said Sal. ‘… but I could ask around.’

‘Ach I’m sure I’ll have nae bother finding somethin’. So anyway, who are ye down here with?’

‘Oh, just tagging along with a mate and her boyfriend… think they took pity on me or something… knew I needed to get out instead of just lying around watching my West Wing box-sets.’

Sal explained how she’d split up with a long-term partner five months previously and was just tentatively venturing back into the singles world.

‘Thing is, I’m pretty self-contained and I’m busy at work during the week but weekends can actually be the hardest… reading the Sunday papers on your own with just Radio 4 for company can really bring on the self-pity sometimes, you know.’

‘You’re breakin’ my heart here, Sal,’ said Steve with a grin. ‘C’mon, you’re not gonna be single for long… you’re lovely… ye know you’ve got really kind eyes, don’t ye?’

‘Thanks,’ she said coyly. ‘Windows to the soul and all that. Either means I’m kind-hearted or just too bloody soft, eh?’

Steve looked at her gentle blue eyes intently and concluded that unless his gut instinct was badly betraying him, this girl didn’t have a bad bone in her body. He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and kissed her. Her soft lips eagerly met his and he felt a thrill more real than anything the drugs had offered him earlier.

After their kiss, Steve put his arm around Sal and they held hands as they exchanged stories about their respective lives in
Belfast
and
Brighton
. It was getting close to
2 am
and lights started to go up. As the other clubbers began filtering out, Steve could see Bobby sat by the bar on his own, supping the remnants of his beer.

‘Hey Sal, guess I’d better have a word with the fella I came down here with.’ He nodded towards where his new friend was sitting.

‘So you’re a mate of Bobby’s then? That’s
Brighton
for you… never mind six degrees of separation, it’s usually just one. My ex, Rich, used to play bass in Bobby’s band. Bit of a local character is our Bobby boy. Overdoes the partying a bit too much, bless him, but he’s got a heart of gold.’

‘Well I’m glad you approve of the company I keep, Sal, ‘cos it would be nice to see you again.’

‘I’d like that too, Steve. Bobby has my number if you want to get in touch.’

They briefly kissed again before Sal got up to join her friends who were waiting for her at the foot of the stairs. Before leaving, she waved over to Steve again and blew him a parting kiss.

9

Emerging from the club to the sound of seagulls and drunken laughter, Steve and Bobby agreed that they were both feeling peckish. They walked across the road to a fast food place where they each ordered a burger and a can of Coke. They got a window seat and watched random characters in various states of intoxication stumble along
West Street
.

‘Have been meaning to ask ye somethin’ Bobby,’ said Steve.

‘Fire away, boss.’

‘Thing is, I haven’t sorted maself out with anywhere to stay and was wonderin’ if I could crash on yer sofa tonight. There’s a youth hostel in
Brighton
aint there? Was thinkin’ of checkin’ in there tomorrow.’

‘Well you’re in luck, boss. My flatmate’s staying in
New York
with his girlfriend and won’t be back until the end of August. I could do with the extra cash so if you reckon you could manage fifty quid a week, you can have his room for a while as long as you leave it like you found it.’

Steve shook Bobby’s hand.

‘It’s a deal, mate. Yer a lifesaver, so ye are. I’m pretty well house-trained actually. Ye know the Mod motto, ‘clean living under difficult circumstances’? Well that’s me to a T, so it is.’

‘Well that’s handy, boss, ‘cos I’m a bit of slob myself,’ laughed Bobby. ‘C’mon, let’s make a move. I’m meant to be on site tomorrow at eight. Got a bit of labouring work at this big Regency gaff that needs gutting.’

‘Jesus, yer gonna feel like shit havin’ to do some hard graft after a night on the tear,’ said Steve, shaking his head.

‘I can handle it… get to the caff for about quarter-past seven, couple of bacon sarnies and some strong coffee with three sugars and I’ll be right as rain.’

The streets were nearly deserted as they walked along
Western Road
towards Bobby’s flat on
Lansdowne Place
. At the junction with
Montpelier Road
, a homeless guy was lying at the corner outside Waitrose supermarket and Steve reached into his pocket to chuck him a few quid. As he did so, a couple of crop-haired geezers in over-sized trainers and tracksuit bottoms appeared from round the corner. One was thick-set and swarthy and wearing a
Liverpool
top; the other was pale, lanky and rat-faced with an Abercrombie & Fitch t-shirt. They walked straight up to Steve and Bobby.

‘Alright lads, ‘ows it goin’?’ said the stockier of the two, blocking Steve’s way on the pavement.

‘I’m fuckin’ doin’ rightly mate but would ye mind gettin’ outta my way?’

Bobby chipped in.

‘C’mon lads, we’re just on our way home… we don’t want any hassle.’

The guy refused to budge.

‘Just hand over your fuckin’ cash you cunts and we’ll be done with ya.’

Steve stood his ground and screamed in their faces.

‘Look, you arseholes… yer not dealin’ with some student poofs here… I’m from fuckin’
Belfast
so don’t try ‘n pull yer hard man bullshit with me… get the fuck outta my way or I’ll knock yer fuckin’ ballix in!’

With that, the rat-faced one produced a blade from his pocket and shoved it against Steve’s throat.

‘Listen, you cunt… I don’t give a fuck if you’re from downtown
Bronx
… givvus your fuckin’ wallet, now!’

Steve stood rigid with his arms dangling at his sides as his assailant rummaged in his pockets.

‘What have we got here then?’

He opened Steve’s wallet and grabbed a bunch of notes out of it.

‘Fuckin’ ‘ell… he’s got some ‘undred quid notes here and a few fifties… ‘

No sooner had he grabbed the cash than the muggers were sprinting eastwards down
Western Road
, leaving Steve and Bobby standing there, stunned.

‘Fuckin’ ‘ell, boss… don’t tell me that’s the sum total of your cash.’

Steve crouched down to pick up the discarded wallet from the pavement and looked up at Bobby as he checked its contents.

‘Well mate… lets just say that I’m well and truly fucked.’

10

When Steve awoke in Bobby’s flat at around ten, he was on his own and a night of fearful dreams had left him feeling disorientated and anxious. He went into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea and found a set of keys, a map of
Brighton
and a note.

Chin up
Belfast
Boy. I’ll ask the guv’nor at work if he could do with an extra pair of hands so we can sort out your cash-flow problems. Not much grub in the house but you can get a good fry-up in Belchers. I’ve marked it on the map. Also marked the
North Laine
area which is coolest place to go for a stroll in this town. How fuckin’ good a host am I, eh? Should be back about six. P.S. Flat could do with a bit of a clean if you want to help earn your keep!

The note cheered Steve up and he realised that being befriended by Bobby was one plus that he could draw from the last few days. He made his tea and wandered around the flat as he supped it. Bobby wasn’t kidding about it needing a clean. There were ashtrays full of old roaches, empty beer cans and Sunday papers still strewn across the living room floor.

The room was dominated by a 1968 poster of The Beatles that Steve recognised as a still from the promotional film for
Revolution
. Behind the TV there were shelves crammed full of rock ‘n roll biographies and DVDs of comedy classics like
This is Spinal Tap
and
Monty Python and the Holy
Grail plus assorted football anthologies. A proper lad’s ‘back to mine after the pub’ kind of flat, he concluded

Steve set about tidying the place up. Once he had, and with the blinds pulled up and sunlight streaming through the Victorian sash windows, it revealed itself to be quite an attractive flat with stripped wooden floors and original cornicing on the high ceilings. If
Brighton
was the kind of town that someone like Bobby could afford to live in a place like this, it couldn’t be all bad.

Steve made himself another cup of tea and flicked through Bobby’s CDs. He pulled out
Five Leaves Left
by Nick Drake.

The plaintive melancholy of the album seemed perfect for Steve’s mood and halfway through the
song
River
Man
, he began weeping. Despite everything that had happened to him since Friday night, all the turmoil had remained bottled-up so the outpouring came as a welcome release. Steve knew the tears weren’t just for Doug and he felt slightly ashamed when he realised that some of them were shed over a fistful of notes that a pair of scumbags were now probably spending on charlie or smack.

After cleaning up the flat and washing a sink-full of dirty dishes, Steve headed into town with Bobby’s map folded in his back pocket. He didn’t really fancy a fry-up so he sussed out a route so he could head straight to
North Laine
via
Western Road
and
North Street
. He was hoping that he might spot some locations from
Quadrophenia
along the way but nothing he saw sparked any recognition.

By the time he reached
Gardner Street
, Steve had realised that the type of people who would attract curiosity in
Belfast
because of their quirky appearance seemed to be the norm in
Brighton
. He’d never seen so many tattoos, piercings and outlandish fashion statements on display in such a concentrated area. On one hand he was impressed by the ‘anything goes’ atmosphere but at the same time his Northern Irish contrariness made him feel that it was a little too easy to be an individual in Brighton. By its very nature, true rebelliousness needs something to kick against and what would provide a rebel with grist to the mill in a place like this, he wondered?

Walking along Kensington Gardens in the sunshine, his brain went into the default mode of hoping he would spot Jeanie and, just like in the nightclub the previous evening, there was no shortage of look-alikes who’d momentarily set his pulse racing until he realised that it was yet another cutie with a dark bob and a slim physique.

‘Snap out of it!’ said a voice in his head. ‘Listen to yer higher self, ye twat… this Jeanie thing is just piling on the misery… Johnny was right, you’ve got enough on yer plate already… c’mon, think positive… yer miles from where Trevor and Donzo might find ye, in a place where no-one gives a fuck what ye look like or what religion ye are…
Britain
’s
San Francisco
… that’s what they said in that travel supplement, remember? Down by the seaside… yeah, the sea… that’s what ye need!’

On
Sydney Street
, Steve stopped the first friendly face he saw – a hippy woman with a raggle-taggle pair of kids trailing behind her.

‘Sorry to bother ye luv, was just wonderin’ what’s the easiest way to get to the seafront from here?’

The hippy woman smiled. ‘Oh I love that accent… Irish, yeah? Well it’s dead easy… just turn round and keep walking in the opposite direction and you’ll be there in about ten or fifteen minutes.’

She looked at Steve intently for a few moments.

‘Are you okay, man?… I’m just getting an energy off you like something’s troubling you? You’ve been through some bad shit, aint ya?’

Steve was taken aback but touched.

‘Well that’s true… been through a bit of a rough patch, right enough.’

She lightly stroked the side of his face.

‘Maybe meditation would help you… find somewhere quiet and repeat a mantra… you could try ‘
Om
ma ni pad me hum’.’

‘… or as they say back home, I could just take a big wise-up tablet.’