Autumn 1977

Autumn 1977

Nothing seemed to fit. All his clothes were either too big or too small. Nothing gave satisfaction, felt comfortable, looked good. Three months into his job as a bank clerk, straight after leaving school, Kenny Inn had suffered a minor but annoying weight gain. His old clothes were too tight, and his trousers seemed to make his arse look massive. On the other hand the next sizes up were just a bit big, which meant that his latest trousers had a tendency to fall from his waist, and that at a time when belts were definitely out, and his shirts were too wide around the collar, but for some strange reason too short in the sleeve, and his jumpers were certainly baggy, but not long enough. It was a bit of a crap paradox. He'd put on weight and his clothes were too big, and he seemed to be constantly engaged in the ritual of tucking his shirt back into his trousers, pulling his trousers up, and pulling his jumper down.

The materials of his clothes were also a source of much grief. He couldn't understand why the only jumpers available seemed to consist of the thick and itchy woolly type. Wearing them meant you were too hot, not wearing them meant you were too cold. He had a new leather jacket, black with long collars, but unlike his old famous brown bomber jacket, the leather didn't crease or age in a satisfying pleasing way, instead it just bent, like plastic. Yet this was just irritation, his shoes on the other hand killed him. Why did they make them so narrow? His corns had taken over his little toes and he was starting to walk with a visible limp. He would go to the shoe shop to try and sort something out but return home with more of the same thing.

And gone were the days of tasty haircuts. Rather than being distinctive, and recognisable, his bland brown hair was neither long nor short, and his moderately high and sensible side parting gave him just enough of a quiff to comb.

He had to rush, Natalie was expecting him, and he had to be on time to keep her happy. It was early evening on what had been a dreary and cloudy Saturday, but at least they had a party to go to. As he stood facing the mirror, dressed in his cream shirt, his thick woolly brown V-neck jumper, and his loose jeans, he avoided eye contact with himself, like people of more mature years are inclined to do when they try to ignore the lines, the grey hair, the saggy chin. Yet Kenny was just eighteen; his face wasn't his main worry.

Late Autumn, 1977, and Kenny viewed his last year at school as a nothingness, a disappointment. The friends he'd acquired over the years, and were particular to school, had disappeared startingly quickly, back to their own areas or communities. Kenny had been no exception, and without the compulsory melting pot of his school, his friends were now mainly white English, like himself, and those he knew from the Turkish-Cypriot, Greek-Cypriot, West Indian, West African, Bangladeshi, Pakistani, and Hong Kong Chinese communities, were like distant memories. He'd passed his 'A' level exams, with adequate although poorer than expected grades, but in any case, he hadn't needed them for his job as a bank clerk, which he didn’t consider as anything special. He hadn't even had time to reflect on, or mourn, the passing of school before he found himself at work. The traditional caravan holiday with his mates hadn’t been considered, although, in all likelihood, he wouldn't have had anyone to go on holiday with anyway. There had been no noticeable parties, no end of exam celebrations. The whole year had been bitty, characterised by dullness. To most people, especially his parents, Kenny was doing alright, but he felt an inner disappointment, which came from the knowledge that he'd finally got to be where he'd been lined-up to go, that he'd somehow 'done the right thing’ and realised that he didn't like it that much. What had been his expectations? The fact is that Kenny hadn't thought about them.

An incident had occurred about a month ago that Kenny replayed in his mind whenever he began to think about the year. He was with his old school friend Eddie on a Stag night at the fag-end of some boring Essex high street, where the pubs, with their brightly lit interiors, seemed especially boring. The groom to be was a relative of Eddie's. Kenny didn't know him or any of his friends, and to make things worse they seemed determined to stay in the same pub all night, which oddly for Essex was located on top of a hill, and play pool, leaving Kenny constantly looking at his watch, anxiously waiting for the crowd to see sense and make for a disco, a lively pub, anything. But nothing happened. Eddie was useless, and seemed content to go along with it all, and play that poxing game pool. The only thing of interest to occur was the appearance of two girls, one tall and thin, the other small and fat, who hovered around the so-called Stag party and would not, for some strange reason, remove their long overcoats, which they kept buttoned up for the entire evening.

Kenny tried to speak to them, but it was hard going. They seemed to fancy, to Kenny's irritation, some fat greasy relative of Eddie's. Why him for fuck's sake? The only small talk Kenny managed to extract concerned supermarkets. The girls seemed very impressed with supermarkets; they ‘fulfilled your needs’ and ‘sold everything you wanted’. Kenny got pissed and that was that, on the expensive, flat, and tasteless lager, and, when time was called, he had nothing more to look forward to but a pricey trip home in a taxi.

On emerging from the pub, Kenny noticed, topically enough, a supermarket trolley leaning against a lamppost which was preventing it from rolling downhill. In an act of spontaneous bravado, incited by boredom, Kenny grabbed both sides of the trolley from behind and managed to lever himself into it, feet first, with his knees pulled up against his chin so tight that he found he couldn't get out. As he wobbled uncomfortably, the 'Stag Party' suddenly sprang to life and decided that a laugh could be had after all. Like rugby players moving into a scrum, the drunken and burly men piled up behind the trolley, pulled it from the lamppost, and, breaking into a run, violently shoved it downhill on the pavement.

At least Kenny was facing forward and spared the smirks, but he heard the laughing, and the jeers of ‘stupid cunt’. Kenny grasped at that moment that as far as everyone else was concerned, he was the boring bastard, and that his moping hadn't gone unnoticed. It served to reinforce his belief that he'd had a really crap night, and surprisingly enough as he headed downhill, quickly picking up speed, he couldn't at first think of anything else.

But then the situation became somewhat surreal. Watching the shops and businesses fly past and the streetlights turn to blurs, Kenny's mind started to drift. A chemist he passed reminded him of the times he'd bought himself after-shave, like Aqua di Silva, or, going back further in time, talc and soap as presents for his mum and dad. An off-licence immediately recalled the cans of rubbishy lager and awful cider he'd purchased, often with an accomplice, to take to parties, or just to drink in the street. A post office brought memories of standing in long queues, waiting to buy postal orders to send to the agent of the south coast holiday caravans he'd rented with his brother, Tom, and friends such as Eddie; banks recalled interviews recently attended; vegetable shops and newsagents, the part-time jobs he'd had as a kid; electrical shops, the record-players he'd bought on hire purchase once he'd got his dad to sign the papers; record shops instantly brought tunes to his head and the events they marked; pubs brought mixed emotions and images, pint glasses, bottles, girls, smiles, boredom, fights, broken glass, music. In his trolley, stuck, unable to steer, unable to stop, Kenny saw his life whizzing past him.

And then he saw the traffic ahead at a busy junction to which he was heading, and he began to panic. Short, painful cries sprung from his lips, which then evolved into full-blown shouts of ‘Fucking hell!’ and in vain he tried to shake the trolley to make it crash to its side. As the cars loomed nearer Kenny felt helpless, and were it not for the deficiencies of the local borough council, the trolley, with Kenny inside, would've taken a new, upward direction, for it was a large crack in the pavement which came to his aid, causing the trolley to capsize suddenly and spill its contents just short of the junction.

Kenny sat for a while nursing his sore elbows and knees while either side of him people walked past, taking no notice whatsoever. It was Kenny's habit to forget bad times, to blot them out of his memory, but Kenny thought of that night a lot. He was just eighteen but couldn't look himself in the face.

Kenny's parents didn't bother to reply to his goodbye as he walked out the front door wearing his imitation-like black leather jacket. He still had the courtesy nonetheless to lock up the heavy door and to shut and secure the iron security gate, charmingly crafted in wrought iron, in a traditional English garden style. With the many keys in his pocket, Kenny rushed anxiously towards an alleyway, a shortcut, which, because he was in a hurry, he was going to risk as his exit route instead of his usual well-lit path. Seeing no-one within it he sped through and made his way to the main road that led to Natalie’s house. Once at the road it wasn't such a bad walk. The pavements either side of the road were wide and spacious, and trees, London Planes, lined the route, while roadside lampposts provided adequate lighting. Natalie lived in a small block of maisonettes, an elderly building, solid in its brown brick construction and thick balcony walls. He arrived at her door, at a far corner of the ground floor, puffing and sweating, and although he'd been rushing he felt that perhaps, not for the first time in recent months, he'd over-dressed and should've left his jumper at home. He always seemed too hot when walking.

Kenny hoped that if Natalie opened the door she would lead him into the kitchen rather than into the living room where her parents would be. It wasn't that he didn't get on with them, only he never had anything to say in their company. Many a boring night had been spent just watching the telly with hours passing and not a word being spoken. He was lucky; Natalie not only welcomed him at the door with her usual grimace, but he could see she was ready to go, as she was wearing her lime-green party dress which he’d helped her buy, that is, he’d chosen it more or less and provided the money, but she’d bought it at the shop. He didn’t think she liked it much, and she soon covered it with her long black leather coat.

'Took you long enough.’ He was early, but obviously not sufficiently.

Despite this greeting he held her hand on the way to the bus-stop, to do otherwise was a sign of him having the hump and this would inevitably lead to a row, and Kenny didn’t want to be troubled with one of those at the moment.

The year had also been one of couples. Within a very short space of time all of Kenny's close friends and his brother had embarked on what seemed to be long term relationships. It was Tom and Jennifer, Eddie and Patsy, Derek and Lorraine. Kenny had found that his nights were becoming even more boring as he was hardly going out, ostracised, essentially, by not being part of a couple and therefore not quite fitting in to whatever social occasion happened to arise. Quite frankly he had to find himself a girlfriend and go with the flow. A form of dread had set in as he pondered a life of being ‘blown out’ by everyone he knew.

And then Natalie rescued him. He’d met her less than a year before and at the time didn’t think much of her. To Kenny she’d looked like an old frump. Her short black hair had been too boyish, or manly even, the kind of hairstyle Kenny expected to see on his older female teachers, and her clothes had been very basic, fashion wise, tight fitting light tops, and long dark skirts, with man-made fibres such as nylon dominating throughout. On her reappearance her very same hairstyle became futuristic and forward looking; like her dress sense, which also hadn’t changed, but through its limited colour range and immobility of tone was reflective of upcoming trends. Not that Kenny approved of any such hairstyles or clothes, but the description of Natalie as a ‘frump’ could at least be discarded.

When Kenny and Natalie started going out, and on matters other than looks, there was good and not so good. Kenny found that conversation with Natalie was not the most exciting he’d experienced, as she didn’t seem to have a great many interests, anything that interested Kenny that is, but she would listen intently, or silently, he couldn’t tell which, to his rantings and pontifications. She was very generous, regularly buying him presents, although he reciprocated in full if he thought there was something she needed. The arrival of a bit of ‘how’s your father?’, which came after the traditional and mandatory period of at least two weeks of courtship, made things even better, at least for Kenny, for not long afterwards she kicked him in the bollocks.

She just decided to pack him in. There wasn’t any clear reason. He was just ‘getting too much of it’, whatever that meant, and he was ‘giving it all this, and all that’. Kenny was distraught, as he was having a miserable time at school and was hardly seeing his friends anymore, even with Natalie. It just seemed a bit too much. It wasn’t a question, as he saw it, of feeling sorry for himself, things were just not going right. And what's more, he and Natalie had said they loved each-other; did that mean nothing? Kenny begged her to have him back. At first, she didn't want to know, but she eventually gave in, and as a result they began to make plans. He started to save for an engagement ring; she started to talk about places to live once they were married. Now and then she'd kick him in the bollocks again and pack him in, put him in his place, so he believed, and accordingly he would beg her to relent and take him back, and this would happen.

But the boot was moving to the other foot. Too much humiliation, and what he saw as her tendency for cruelty, had made Kenny weary and he was fighting back. When packed-in he was staying that way, and it was her calling on the phone. If arguments and rows were needed, he would give them and wouldn't be so scared of the consequences. His newfound arrogance meant that she nearly always had the ache with him, or cause to complain and moan, and this was being reflected in her face, which meant that Kenny had a new pet name for her, Face-ache, although he never dared tell her.

Yet he couldn't chuck her in, or resist responding to her calls. He kept seeing her as he remembered, or imagined her to be, when she made her reappearance, and he thought it may be possible for that incarnation to return. Sometimes he even felt that his thoughts were too sickeningly sentimental to be true, or where on earth he got them from. In the end she was his girlfriend, there was no-one else. It was like he was on that fucking trolley; he couldn’t get off, and if something was to change it would have to be by accident.

With some peace of sorts currently between them, Kenny and Natalie, hand in hand, walked to the bus-stop, quickly, nervously. With her gold chain necklaces tucked away into her dress and her shoulder handbag secured firmly, they eyed anyone else on the pavement suspiciously but tried not to stare, and as usual not saying much to each-other, but she did have one or two questions.

'So, Tom and Jennifer don't mind having this party? I mean they haven't been in their new house long. I'd thought they would've got married first before they started celebrating.’

'Well, not exactly,’ Kenny replied, ‘I think it’s called a moving-in party.’ He tried not to sound sarcastic. ‘They haven't seen anyone for a long while, so I think they want the party to see old friends and that.’ He perked up a bit when he said, ‘Most people we know will be there.’

'Most people you know,’ she snapped. There was a pause as she savoured the moment. 'So,’ she said again, and continued, 'where do they live exactly?'

Kenny answered, somewhat miserably, mainly because of his contemplation of the journey, 'East Ham.’ Natalie reacted with a groan as Kenny explained, ‘We've got to get a bus to the station, and then a tube, after that, it's a bit of a walk to their house.’

For the rest of the journey they stayed mainly silent. A dreary bus ride, on a dirty clapped-out double-decker, was followed by an equally dreary and over-long tube journey, on a dirty clapped-out carriage. On both journeys the seats were worn and dusty, and Kenny clenched Natalie’s hand, not daring to risk letting go, although not for safety's sake.

The last leg of the journey was on a busy main road, and the walk did go on a bit, with the accompaniment of red buses, black taxis, and dirty fume blowing cars. The traffic was far too slow to even consider boarding another bus. Again, Kenny and Natalie looked around anxiously, although in truth hardly anyone else trod the pavement. With the road leading to the conclusion of a T-junction, Kenny led Natalie to the right, which brought, suddenly and unexpectedly, a street of terraced houses.

With its rows of front gardens, many complete with neatly trimmed hedges, the street was almost suburban in appearance, despite the dramatic backdrop of large tower blocks in the background. Not that Kenny appreciated what suburban meant, ideologically, or culturally speaking, as some trendy intellectual on the television would explain. Kenny’s ideas were based on meetings he'd had with relatives, cousins, who lived out of town. For him, being suburban meant simply having a house, not a flat, in a 'nice' area, somewhere near the 'country', and away from the crime-ridden 'cess-pit' of Inner London. There was a consensus amongst working-class families in London that if you had the means to get out to somewhere better, then that’s what you did. Tom had the means to do so, and for this reason Kenny couldn't understand why he’d shacked-up with Jennifer in East Ham. It seemed so futile. What were they trying to hang onto?

Tom's house incidentally was one of the few which had no hedge, in fact the front garden was scruffy, with tufts of grass protruding out of cracked paving stone. Kenny's knock at the door was answered by Jennifer who smiled but didn't say hello, and simply left the door open to allow them in. She was a few years younger than Tom, dark-haired, and fond of deep coloured lipstick, which had served to piss off Kenny and Tom's mum no end, seeing that she, until recently, had to wash the stains from Tom's clothes. Jennifer's personal efforts were usually directed at her make-up, clothes wise she wasn’t worried, even if that attitude seemed to contradict the heavy use of cosmetics, and even on this occasion she was dressed casually in jeans and a red blouse.

Inside the large living room, which overlooked the front garden, Kenny could see that he and Natalie were among the last to show. Everyone else seemed to be there, his brother of course, Eddie and Patsy, Derek and Lorraine, a few other couples of more minor importance, and Colin and Eileen, which for Kenny didn’t augur well. Kenny would have said hello to most of them, but they seemed locked in a circle with their backs to the outside world, and although one or two turned around to acknowledge his presence, the circle stayed firm.

Dumping his and Natalie's coats on a chair in the kitchen, where a pile sat already, Kenny went to get some drinks, safe in the knowledge that he'd given Tom some money for booze, and so hadn’t been obligated to bring any drink with him. He quickly made an effort to sort out Natalie's needs. She wanted Cinzano and lemonade. They didn't have any, would Dry Martini do? It's basically the same thing. Oh, fucking hell, she doesn't want to drink that. Oh no, she doesn't want that. But they haven't got anything else. Oh no, she doesn't want that. But they haven't got anything else! Oh no she can't have that; she doesn't want that. So, Kenny pours her a Dry Martini anyway and gives it to her, and she's got the ache; she's got the fucking ache already!

Kenny took a can of lager from a pile on top of the fridge, not in the poxing thing mind, but on top, and tugging at the ring pull and hearing a faint hiss, took a swig of the warm tasteless fluid, before attempting to take Natalie's hand to lead her back into the living room. She quickly drew it away. She had the ache and had to show it, and it was his fault that they didn't have any Cinzano.

Once back in the living room, Kenny managed to catch his brother's eye, as he'd become detached from the circle and was looking around for something to do. Remembering that he was the host, he'd been on the verge of getting Kenny and Natalie drinks but saw with relief that they'd sorted themselves out. Tom looked very much the rugged elder brother. His hair, in a perm, footballer style, and his muscular physique, given his trade as a builder, contrasted with Kenny’s weed-like exterior.

'Made it at last,’ remarked Tom.

'Journey was a bit of a drag,’ said Kenny, 'just seemed to go on and on.’

Tom turned to Natalie. 'So how are you darling, alright?’

'Lovely thanks,’ Natalie said sweetly.

 Kenny took the opportunity to try again to hold her hand, but she jerked it away abruptly, and clenched it into a fist, while simultaneously maintaining a delicate smile at Tom. Kenny folded his arms; he wasn't going to try again.

Tom's departure from the inner circle had left a slight gap, which Kenny, not too subtly, took advantage of to squeeze himself into the group, leaving Natalie sulking by the kitchen door.

'Alright alright alright,’ said Kenny to all and sundry.

The girls smiled; the blokes nodded, except Colin who smirked and said, 'Hearken to the cunt, fucking alright alright alright.’

It was one of those statements which basically over-stepped the mark, but since it came from an acquaintance of sorts, and delivered within friendly company, it had to be endured. Kenny had learnt already that there is always someone, other than your other half, who doesn’t like you, and it’s not because of anything you’ve done. With Colin he’d never taken the piss, tried to pull his bird, stolen anything from him, owed him anything, but it made no difference. Colin was continually hostile towards him. Kenny had been in a similar situation before. During his early years at secondary school, there was some kid who constantly had a go at him, for no reason whatsoever, and it got to such a point that Kenny said to him in class, ‘I’ve had enough of this; after class you’re coming outside to sort it out.’ After the pips, off they both went to sort it out, and indeed it was sorted out; Kenny got a solid thumping.

In this case though, Kenny felt pity for Colin; his attempts to play the flash bastard didn't suit him, what with his long dark hair and middle parting; his silly pink shirt, and his wide clear framed glasses. Given that no bloke had worn pink since 1972, he looked more like a weed, not a hard nut. That, and the fact that Derek was knocking off his bird. Everyone knew, and Kenny guessed that Colin did too. That's why he was being so cocky, and towards Kenny in particular. It was a way of saving face, and because he didn't have the guts to confront Eileen or Derek. At least not yet, pondered Kenny, maybe booze would change things.

As casually as he could, Kenny did his best to ignore Colin and began to talk to Eddie. It was a source of admiration for Kenny, not envy, that Eddie seemed to look better year after year. He was a bank clerk too, but his interest in sport kept him fit. By now Kenny had noticed that he, Tom, and Eddie, were wearing the same shirts. It meant for sure that they’d had access to the pickings of the same stolen container lorry. For some blokes where he lived, hi-jacking container lorries was a respectable profession. Kenny made a mental note that should he remove his jumper then the three of them mustn’t line up together, otherwise they would look like a pop group, or some cheesy dance troupe. Of course, what pissed off Kenny was that the shirts looked so much better on Tom and Eddie, and both wore tight fitting jeans from which there was no chance of the shirts coming out.

'So how you been?’ Kenny asked.

'Not bad,’ replied Eddie. 'We've been talking about old times, you know, the holidays we used to have in the caravan. I said you were a right boring bastard and would never do anything.’ At this Eddie laughed.

'Yeah, full of action', quipped Colin.

Oh just Fuck off Colin, thought Kenny.

Derek joined the conversation. 'We even mentioned that bird you went out with, you know, what's her name, Aphelia....Aphelia dick ha-ha-ha-ha!!!'

Kenny caught Derek’s sneaky wink at Eddie and shrugged. 'Talk about me behind my back, why don’t you?’

The laughter continued, but as far as Kenny was concerned it moved into the background. Facing the window, Kenny caught the domino lights of a tower-block behind the net-curtains, and his mind began to wander.

New Year's Eve, just a couple of years back, although it seemed like ages ago, he'd gone to a house party with Eddie and Derek, and his then new girlfriend, Aphelia. On the way home, and well past midnight, Kenny and Aphelia sneaked off to Faustus Court, a block of flats near her house. It was only four stories, and he thought he would take her to the lobby at the top, a spot which was not frequented by residents too often late at night, and had a reputation as a place where blokes took their birds to snog them up. Kenny followed suit, despite her talking a lot, about a variety of things; she was quite articulate, Aphelia, knowledgeable and bright. She spoke about the Vietnamese War, comparisons between it and previous conflicts such as the Korean War, and the prospect of future inter-planetary probes to Mars. Kenny liked a decent conversation, but of course she said nothing that Kenny wanted to hear there and then. Eventually, as the talking took over from the snogging, he broke away from her with a sigh, and a tremendous look of disappointment, and made his way out of the lobby to the open-air balcony which gave access to the residents’ flats. His sense of grief was intensified by remembering some comments Eddie had made, before Kenny had started seeing Aphelia, that something had gone on previously between him and her, and Kenny couldn’t help but see himself as the bloke who is ‘nice to talk to’, about the worse insult that any bloke could have from a girl.

Leaning against the metal and glass railing, Kenny looked over the immediate skyline. From his position, two tower-blocks were visible, set one before the other, and separated by a short gap to the left of the nearest. Dark, and barely lit, except for the lights from a few apartments, their monolithic presence seemed to prompt a feeling of movement. By staring at them you almost entered a trance like state, in which the stumps seemed to grow and expand, and the only way you could remove the effect was to take a step back and shake your head. In the distance to the right of the stumps, in an area which wasn’t so built up, and almost quaintly, because it provoked images of life beyond the town, a banana shaped pattern of bright dots rising into the blackness, known as the ‘banana in the sky’ when he was a kid, highlighted a hill-side road.

Everything, surprisingly for New Year's Eve, was very quiet, and nothing seemed to stir within the nearby jumble of maisonettes and blocks of flats which preceded the tower blocks. Yet Kenny knew that something was happening, somewhere. Parties were still going on, blokes were getting off with girls, drinks were going down, and jokes were being told. Someone was having a great time, and Kenny longed to be at the same place, taking in the same experiences as that lucky sod that filled his imagination. He even began to think of the ‘good times’ of the past, similar events to his current imaginings, but found it hard to retrieve anything more than a few self-exaggerated recollections and vague memories.

Aphelia called him from the lobby, and he turned around to face her. He thought to himself how lovely she looked; there wasn’t another word that came to mind, or one that seemed more appropriate. The vandalised and hazy lighting failed to diminish the image, the slight smile, born somewhat by puzzlement, the freckled but pale face, the long, straight, shiny ginger hair which, contrasting with the matt blue fabric of her long overcoat, even managed to reflect some of the poor light. He liked her overcoat; it looked practical and warm, and Kenny thought it must have been expensive too. She’d unbuttoned it during their snogging session, and he’d noticed its label, one hundred per cent pure new wool! He’d even meant to ask her questions about it, like where it was made, but he hadn’t been able to get a word in.

As she stood before him, Kenny was driven to remember why he’d gone to Faustus Court with her in the first place, and he felt some of his misery fall away. He was grateful for that, and for her strong perfume, which helped mask the distinctive smell of piss that hung around the stairs that led to the lobby. And despite his misgivings about her talking he liked the sound of her voice. She was well-spoken for the area, as she didn’t swear a lot. And, hesitant for just a moment, she went on to ask him what the matter was. He wanted to mention Eddie, but thought that wouldn’t be a good idea, to accuse her, in effect, that she was going on so much because she’d rather be snogging his mate. At the time, Kenny was prepared to think that he might be wrong about her and Eddie, that Eddie had simply lied, and if that was the case he’d look like a prat if he brought up what Eddie had told him, as well as land Eddie in the shit. She might even chuck him in, and at that point she was the best, and in some ways, only proper girlfriend he’d had. His dad had even raised his pocket-money because of her, thinking his son would need more cash now he had a steady girlfriend. So, in answer to her question, Kenny replied, somewhat esoterically, 'I feel nostalgic.’

'Nostalgic?' she gasped incredulously, 'About what? Aren't you a bit young to feel nostalgic about anything?'

Good old Aphelia, thought Kenny, looking back. He hadn’t answered her as she was right; she was right about many things, although she wouldn’t have known he was feeling nostalgic about stuff that hadn’t really happened. And walking out on him many months later, was probably the best thing she’d ever done, for herself that is.

The laughing had faded, and Kenny was now staring at the floor. Regardless of what Derek had said, he turned to him to start a conversation. 'Alright Derek, how's it going then?'

'Not bad,’ said Derek. 'Here, how's the job? You've been there for a while now.’

Kenny shrugged. 'It's OK. No, I've been there a couple of months. The one thing that gets on my nerves mind, is the way that I seem to be the only one with a funny accent. I mean, here I am, in the middle of my hometown, and everyone takes the piss out of me.’ Kenny had said the last bit with a lot of emphasis, but Derek had already started to turn his back and was walking off. Oh Fuck, thought Kenny with a great deal of sarcasm. Yes, that conversation was heavy wasn't it? Mustn't over-do it.

At this point the music suddenly struck up, as loud as it was to go, with Tom starting a cassette tape in the large stereo he’d assigned to the back of the living room. The music was soul, obviously, but the safe, bland type, that had emerged in 1977. Despite this it brought an immediate reaction from some of the guests. As if switched-on remotely, most of the girls, Natalie included, began to dance on the spot. Kenny watched them with a hint of both puzzlement and sadness. Among them silky dresses or blouses proliferated, and most had the long wavy hair that made them look like something out of a high-profile American drama series, featuring extremely rich and plastic faced people. The more glamourous ones, such as Eddie’s Patsy, and Derek’s Lorraine, danced without moving their legs, as the action was on top. As for Natalie, she moved both top and bottom, and Kenny was surprised to see that she was quite a decent dancer. How he’d never noticed before he wasn’t sure. He’d been to discos and other parties with her, and they’d danced together often enough. He wondered if he’d missed something because he’d been more concerned with himself, how he looked, rather than her. In fact, Kenny remembered when dancing alongside Derek once at a disco, he’d said to his mate, ‘Do I look aright?’ Derek had pissed himself laughing and the comment was regularly pulled out by Derek to poke fun at him with friends. Looking at Natalie, Kenny reckoned that at any dance competition she’d knock spots off Patsy and Lorraine, although they’d win because of their hair. Natalie seemed to get the most out of the music, which was difficult, given its blandness. Oh Well, thought Kenny, at least the music isn’t punk rock.

It was this year, the year of the Queen’s Silver Jubilee, that punk had especially started to take off, but, where Kenny lived, hardly anyone listened to it. If you went to a pub, or a disco, you expected to hear soul and funk. Nothing else was acceptable. Kenny was annoyed by the music press, which he followed quite avidly, which went on about punk being a working-class movement, and politically to the left. Well, Kenny had gone to a dodgy East End comprehensive school, the type where boys got stabbed in the arse outside the gates as a form of punishment beating, where pupils would occasionally chase the headmaster around the playground with planks of wood, and when he’d left school he’d never known anyone who could be called a punk. The only time he’d encountered any punks was in the West End, coming back from a football match in West London. The posh West End had punks, for Kenny that spoke volumes.

Indeed, it was the posturing of middle-class music journalists that did a great deal to make Kenny loath punk, but he didn’t much like the latest form of soul music either. He couldn't understand how the energetic soul and funk of his younger years had led to the current mind-numbing dreariness. Surely, he hadn’t given up rock and progressive music for this? In a way he felt betrayed, but, then again, hadn't he himself committed an act of betrayal? With his mind wandering again he could see a pile of dusty and neglected albums lying on his bedroom floor, the LPs of his younger days, the ‘progressive’ stuff that he'd so ardently followed. Images began to come back, long hair, earnest faces, strange lights, surreal cartoons, and sounds too, virtuoso playing, sophisticated guitar solos, creative bass lines. It would be great, Kenny thought, to hear some of that again, just for a change. Almost as an act of penance, he made a resolution to himself that at the first opportunity that came he would stick some of his old LPs on the stereo, for ‘old times sake’. As the images of the pile of albums, and the earnest faces, lingered in his mind, Kenny began to feel somewhat sad, as if he'd neglected friends; let them down in some way. Kenny recognised he’d had an 'arty farty' bent; perhaps he should've stuck to it and been true to himself. And again, in his mental rantings against the music press, he felt anger that he was being told that the working-class had no business with ‘progressive’ music. His mates didn’t have to sing about living in high rise flats; they lived in them, and they went out to enjoy themselves, not stew in their own shit, by being reminded about the things they wanted to forget. And music, as he’d found with his ‘arty farty’ stuff, could take you somewhere else, somewhere better.

There was one girl who wasn't dancing, Eileen, she was standing up against a wall, with her back touching it but her hips thrust forwards, almost wriggling. She was talking to Derek. Colin stood nearby, holding his and her drinks, staring at the carpet and occasionally looking up. Kenny now understood why Derek had suddenly departed. He could also see what he saw in Eileen. She was small, thin, with long brown hair, and her black silky blouse, tied at the waist, matched her large, flirty dark eyes. As for Derek, he hadn’t changed, it seemed, since school. He dressed and looked older than his years, with sensible shoes and simple shirts, which harmonised with his old-fashioned short back and sides haircut. Sensible shoes indeed! The type that Kenny envied and admired but couldn’t bring himself to wear. Derek was a bit dodgy, never stayed long at any job, but Kenny had a soft spot for him. True, Derek and Eddie’s little secrets annoyed Kenny, but over the years Derek had proved a loyal enough friend who wouldn’t leave you in the lurch. Yet despite this, Kenny felt Derek should be a bit more like his shoes. He was out of order with this Eileen business, and it was bound to come to grief.

Another drink nonetheless was definitely in order, and he made his way to the kitchen to grab another can. Slurping the warm stuff, he emerged from the kitchen only to have his arm held by Natalie, who, looking straight ahead but whispering as loudly as possible, declared, 'My bra keeps falling down.’

 Kenny wasn't sure what he'd heard. 'You what?'

'I said my bra keeps falling down and I want to go home.’

 Kenny stared up at the ceiling and exclaimed, 'What the fuck are you talking about? And what do you want me to do about it?'

She continued to whisper loudly, 'It keeps coming undone, and with this dress I’m exposing myself. I have to go home.’

Kenny tried to stay calm, as this was typical Face-ache. She had the habit of taking a minor problem and magnifying it way out of proportion as a means of getting her own way. She hadn't wanted to go to the party; she didn't want to stay; she never liked the dress, and she'd found some ridiculous and pathetic reason to leave.

'Look,’ pleaded Kenny, 'let's go upstairs, to the bog or something and you can put it right, with a pin or something.’ She seemed to clench her teeth in frustration but nevertheless, with Kenny in close support, made her way to the door that led to the stairs.

Once up Kenny immediately saw Eileen waiting to go in the bog, currently occupied, so he quickly shuffled Natalie into an open bedroom to the left of it, to this she responded by closing the door abruptly as if meaning to bang the thing into his face. Kenny took a deep breath and was on the verge of charging into the room to have a go at her, but again he kept calm and felt he'd better wait for her outside. He stood with his back to the banister, offering the occasional embarrassed smile to Eileen, and he noticed the heavily made-up face of Jennifer in what seemed to be a junk room to the right of the bog. He pointed at her, a form of greeting he’d nurtured, only to be astounded by a remark that came from Eileen.

'Fucking perverts like you should be locked up.'

Kenny was speechless. He almost dropped his can and stood open-mouthed before uttering, 'You what? What's all that about?'

She sneered. 'Pointing into the fucking bedroom. As if I'd go in there with you of all people.’

Kenny's expression turned to one of outrage. 'I was fucking pointing to Jennifer.’

It was Eileen’s turn to panic. 'Where?’ she said, as she turned around to see Jennifer waving.

Kenny was already walking down the stairs. It didn't matter that he'd been vindicated, because the esteem in which Kenny rated himself had been extremely damaged. Someone, an attractive girl, had thought of him as a creepy prat, not as a good-looking geezer who knows and does the business.

There was nothing more for Kenny to do but to go to the kitchen and get another can of shit. At this point he just couldn't be bothered to make conversation with anyone. He just stood by the fridge, taking regular swigs from the can, looking gloomy and feeling hurt. Nothing is going right, thought Kenny, and as for the lager, Shit, it’s like fucking crap warmed up. 

‘Hello sweetheart.’ Jennifer had walked into the kitchen to pick up some sandwiches, stacked on a plate which lay on one of the old and rickety kitchen units. ‘You ok? Don’t take any notice of Eileen.’ She wasn’t much older than Kenny but, because she was going out with his big brother, she could talk to him like his mum. And such talk left him vulnerable. Sympathy, kind words, and insults from girls had the same effect and could bring him near to tears. He recalled a time, long ago when he was just four years old, how he’d come off a roundabout at the playground near his estate. It was a super-fast metal roundabout, and was being pushed by the ‘big boys’, although just nine to ten years old, and because of the speed they built up Kenny wasn’t able to hang on. As he lay on the floor crying, one of the ‘big girls’ came to help him and carried him home. He remembered how comforting it felt to be in the arms of one of the ‘big girls’. She was like the big sister he never had. And although he would admit to the feeling being somewhat pathetic, he felt a sudden and tremendous longing for Jennifer to cuddle him, make him feel better, and relieve him of his doubts and confusion. He felt that Jennifer could do this; in a way that he never expected from Natalie. Of course, nothing of the sort was going to happen, not between him and his brother’s girl, and not least because she seemed distracted by a noise from the front of the house, which made her leave abruptly.

Her departure made him aware that Natalie was behind him and raring to go, and she did go on. Kenny answered her, but only in his thoughts.

'So that was fucking funny wasn't it?'

Depends what you're talking about.

'Leaving me on my own.'

Fucking cow, she slammed the door in my face!

'I could've been really shown up, up there.'

No, I was the one shown up.

'You're just all you. You only think of yourself. Everything is me.'

Here we go again, fucking hell's bells.

'I don't know why I bother; you're so fucking selfish.'

Keep your bra on...ha-ha!

'I didn't want to come here, it's just your lot.'

This lager is shit mind. Why do we drink it?

'All this talk about engagement, getting married, it's just

bollocks.'

Like this lager, fucking hell it is shit.

'You You You. Me Me Me. That just sums you up.'

Fucking hell it is, it's......

'Fucking shit!' The words at last came out as Kenny hurled the can at the kitchen sink nearby. It hit with a dull clank, sending up into the air a creamy yellowish stream of foam that fell on both Kenny and Natalie, baptising them both in absurdity.

In next to no time Kenny had torn off his jumper, 'And I fucking hate that as well!’ and holding it by the arms with both hands, began to slap it repeatedly against the floor, his face distorted with rage. Natalie looked on, head bowed slightly to her right, lips tight, and a look that said, regardless of the lager she wiped from her brow, that she was enjoying seeing him lose his marbles.

'Go on,’ she said, 'show me up.’

Kenny kept on with his whacking. The jumper had to be punished; it needed to be punished; it made him look like he felt, and he didn't even pause when he replied, 'Fuck off.’

Natalie grinned and said slyly, 'You're showing yourself up as well you know.’

Kenny caught the mockery in her voice, and this did make him stop and look at her. 'Fuck off,’ he said again.

Natalie did no more than turn her back and look up at the ceiling, while shaking her head. There were some other couples in the kitchen, but funny enough they hardly took any notice, or seemed not to. After all, what was going on was nothing special, couples have rows, especially at parties. Kenny didn't care what they thought; he was off, and tucking in the back of his shirt, which had pulled clear from his jeans, he made his way through the dancers, still riveted by the bland soul music, and while trying to fold up his sleeves, to hide the fact that they looked too short, fumbled his way out of the house and into the front garden. And there he was met with another commotion, although not of his making, and which caused him to pause.

To his left, with their backs to the low garden wall, Derek and Eileen stood side by side, silent, surprisingly impassive, while Colin shouted and swore at the pair, hurling his arms around, trying to get at them, to do who knows what, but being held back frantically by Jennifer and Tom. Lorraine was nowhere to be seen.

Kenny gathered that she was probably being comforted or calmed down by Eddie and Patsy, in the bog, or a bedroom, where she would be screaming tearfully, something like, ‘The bastard, the fucking bastard!!!’

And Patsy would be consoling her by saying, ‘They’re all bastards Lorraine,’ while nodding firmly in agreement.

Meanwhile Eddie would be standing in the background, not saying anything, not wanting to break up this solidarity between the girls, but not wanting to be labelled either.

As for Colin, there was nothing unusual in his rantings, which Kenny had heard before, by someone else, at some other party.

‘You think I don’t fucking know what’s going on?!!!......You take me for some kind of fucking cunt?!!!’

Kenny didn’t think his help was needed and started to walk towards the gate, until he was interrupted by Tom landing one on Colin and sending him towards the cracked pavement, causing Kenny to jump to the right, instinctively, although by no means with integrity, to get out of the way. Tom’s punch wasn’t nice. For Kenny it seemed a bit unfair for Colin to cop it, considering the circumstances, although he did wonder whether Colin had been rough with Jennifer, and Tom wasn’t going to stand for that. Indeed, Colin was a prat, and Kenny had wanted to smack him in the gob often enough. Yet Kenny found it hard to excuse his brother. At that moment he felt so sorry for Colin. His feelings came from a sense of empathy for Colin’s undoubtedly wounded pride. When Colin had ventured out that night, he saw himself as a tasty geezer, no matter what others thought. Now he lay sprawled out on the ground, his glasses wrapped around his head in a comedic fashion, and his so-called girlfriend, with her bit on the side, watching on and doing nothing.

Such thoughts dominated Kenny’s head, until he saw Tom and Jennifer, almost in a panic, standing over Colin as he lay senseless, both shouting ‘Colin! Colin!’ repeatedly, as if to wake him. Kenny began to feel their alarm, and it was with some relief that he saw Colin sit up, looking dazed but otherwise fine, and adjusting his glasses as well as he could. Seeing this, Kenny left the garden, walking past the still silent and motionless Derek and Eileen, and headed smartly towards the main road with the intention of going home, alone, but he was being naive.

'You can't just go,’ Natalie called out, following swiftly up the rear. 'Show me up like that...... We've got things to sort out and we need to do it now...Show me up.... Who do you think you are? You really showed me up.’

 Kenny was having none of this and began to run. Although he took little exercise, he still liked to think of himself as capable of indulging in some physical exertion, and soon he reached the main road, panting a little but basically alright, feeling confident that he’d ‘got away’.

'Makes you feel good does it? Showing me up like that.... Showed yourself up as well...think you can just run off...we have to sort things out.’

‘Bollocks,’ the word came out spontaneously, and Kenny began to run as fast as he could, to the extent where he felt as if he was hurtling down the main road, the wind blowing against his hair, and his arms pumping as fast as his legs were moving. The traffic had died down but any lights, whether from lampposts or from cars, seemed like passing blurs. Of course, it wasn't that Kenny was running fast, only that he hadn't run for a long time, and his sense of speed was relative to his own experience, and within a few minutes his lack of fitness became too apparent. His panting became louder, quicker, and more strained, until it assumed a high-pitched wheezing sound. This condition wasn't helped by the cold air, which was causing his throat and lungs to hurt, or the lager, which was getting its revenge by gradually creeping up from his stomach and back into his mouth. Kenny started to wobble; his knees began to ache; his feet felt as if they'd been lacerated  by his ill-fitting shoes, and he stalled by a lamppost, on which he rested his arse while holding his knees to support the rest of his body. Here he puffed, panted, wheezed, and felt sick.

'You sure you're finished?' Natalie stood before him. She seemed as if she was hardly breathing, and Kenny would have felt more scared, if he hadn’t remembered that she’d been a champion runner at school. He’d forgotten that when he took off. There was something else that perturbed him, a look she gave whenever it was time to ‘make up’, or ‘sort it out’. At first Kenny had thought that it was just the way she appeared when she was upset, but then he’d began to realise it wasn’t that. Her expression was one of resignation, moving towards bitterness, classic Face-ache, as if she was going through the motions of an act she didn’t want to perform.

'Please,’ said Kenny, hardly able to get the words out, and his breath steaming, 'please, go away. It is finished, actually. It’s finished.’

'Why should I? said Natalie. ‘You're the one that started it all...show me up.’

'Look,’ gasped Kenny, ‘just let it rest...I just want to go home.' Natalie said nothing and just stood still with her arms folded. And then Kenny lied. 'Alright. Alright. I tell you what. Look, go back to the party and I'll be back in a minute, just need to sort myself out. We'll then go home, like you wanted. Yes?'

'No, it's Ok. 'I'll wait with you.'

'No, no,’ Kenny was trying hard not to sound as if he was pleading, 'you're right, I showed everyone up. I'm a bit embarrassed; I just need a few minutes. Look, you're going to get really cold if you stay here.’

‘No, it’s Ok,’ said Natalie again.

Several minutes passed as the pair continued to face each-other, Kenny still panting and wheezing, but recovering, and Natalie motionless. Kenny was on the verge of giving up and going back to the party; thinking that perhaps it was for the best, maybe he’d been a bit stupid, and just as he was about to state his intention he thought he’d try one last time to get her to go.

‘We’re supposed to love each-other. That’s what we say to each-other, but I don’t get it, what’s happening. I don’t. We’re constantly having rows. All the time we’re at each-other’s throats.’

 Kenny couldn’t fully articulate what he wanted to express, and with Natalie remaining silent for the moment, he went off on a tangent, as usual, but this time outside his head, and for Natalie’s benefit.

‘You know, I was thinking. Can I tell you something? This may seem weird, and I know I’m a bit pissed.’

 Natalie shrugged. ‘Ok. Go on.’

‘Well. It’s like this,’ continued Kenny. ‘I passed a junk shop, a little while ago. I hadn't noticed the shop before, probably because it’s, well, a junk shop, you know, stuffed with mouldy furniture, scratched cigarette cases, faded prints, those, sort of, heavy iron ashtrays on stands. But the worse thing, I tell you, worse than all of that, was a set of marriage photos, like from 1973 or 1974, faded, in those cheap, plastic frames, which was what they were probably being flogged for.’

Kenny stopped speaking for a moment, to get his breath. ‘And there was the groom, in his “I had my hair short but I've let it grow” hair-style, right, his awful bright tie and dark shirt, and this ludicrous grin, and the bride, the bride, she had this,  “I've had my hair done especially”, look, and everything she seemed to be saying was, “Car. House. Cake. Big Wedding Do. This dress cost lots. Don't want that. Don't want this.”’

Kenny took another breather, and Natalie remained silent, patient, allowing him to carry on. ‘And I thought, how is it, right, that people, who obviously said at some point that they loved each-other, could fall out like that, and flog off their, so-called most precious memories, for rag and bone? I know, couples break up all the time, divorce happens a lot, but how did they get together in the first place? How did they get this far? And, you know, I thought to myself, the grin of the wanker in the picture, that could be mine, that’s how I could end up.’

Natalie’s eyes were swelling with tears, and Kenny noticed this and paused again. He hadn’t seen her do that before, although he’d done it in front of her often enough. ‘The problem is, it’s just too easy to go along with things as they are, and people have this fear of being left out, and not, maybe, “doing the right thing”, and so they’re on the road to crap. But listen to me, sometimes “Going steady” is basically an attempt to re-live a first night at the disco, and it doesn’t always work out, especially when you get to know each other.’

At this point, Kenny waited for her to say something, but she didn’t, so Kenny decided to close his mighty speech. ‘I just feel so bloody guilty. I mean, who is the real loony, you or me? Is it my fault this crap is happening?’

Natalie stood silent for a while before delivering her verdict on that last statement, and everything else. ‘Kenny, you’re really clever you are, what with your ‘A’ Levels and that. But Kenny, you do talk a right load of old bollocks.’ She held up her right hand to quell any complaint on his part. ‘I get it, I’ll never be in a marriage photo with you, never. You want to call it a day, fine, but just come out with it and don’t give me all that crap like you do. And by the way, don’t think I came running after you just to sort things out between you and me. You made a right spectacle of yourself, believe me. You looked like a nutter, and you have some explaining to do back at the house.’

‘I didn’t think anyone noticed, or was bothered,’ Kenny said, sullenly. ‘I mean, what with the rest of the stuff going on, Derek and Eileen, Colin, who gives a toss?’ He was deflated at the reception of his fine thoughts and words and didn’t even notice he’d revealed his lies about being embarrassed by the way he’d behaved. ‘Anyway, what do you care about how I looked? You seemed keen enough to wind me up.’

‘Exactly’. She fell quiet momentarily, amazed at her own admission.

‘You what?’ Kenny almost looked menacing. ‘Fucking what?’

Natalie wasn’t scared in the slightest. ‘And before you bring it up again, no, this business and crap between us isn’t just your fault. I’m not perfect, I know. Not only do I wind you up, I even enjoy it now and then, and you know why?’ She looked down at the floor, unusually so. During intense conversations her dark brown eyes were normally able to stare him out, given that Kenny had found it hard recently even to look at his own reflection, but she soon raised her face.  ‘Well let me tell you.’ Again, another gap, and Kenny began to feel nervous. ‘Sometimes, I just can’t stand you.’ A massive look of relief came upon her face. ‘There, I’ve said it. I see you, and I resent you.’

Kenny was gobsmacked; he was sure she meant to say ‘hate’ but couldn’t quite get there. ‘I don’t get it. You honestly feel that way?’

 ‘It’s like this Kenny. You never wanted to be with me, did you? I was available; you were desperate.’

Kenny was quick to protest, ‘Now hang on. We were great at first, that is, until you started having a go at me day in and day out and packing me in for no reason.’ He then added, dismissively, with a wave of his hand, ‘We’ve been through this, loads of times.’

Natalie immediately rejected his attitude and stance and pointed her finger at him in counter accusation. ‘You’ve been through it loads of times, as you’ve seen it. And yes, great at first, until you started to seem disappointed, and never happy. It was as if you wanted to be somewhere else but was making do with me. I began to think that I was the cause of your miserable gob.’

This had Kenny wondering. If he called her Face-ache in his head what did she call him in hers? As he contemplated this question, he even stopped listening to her for a while and then, in order to catch up, had to say, ‘Sorry, what was that?’

‘Fucking typical! I said, it seemed to me that I wasn’t giving you any bloody pleasure. Anyway, instead of hanging about waiting for you to put the boot in, I decided to put the boot in first, whether by having a go, as you say, or by chucking you in.’

‘So why did we get back together then?’

‘Didn’t we say we loved each-other? Didn’t you just go on about people going along with things, even if nothing is working out? And look at you, even now, when you’re all over the place, not bad eh? I used to think to myself, why shouldn’t I have a decent, good-looking boyfriend; it’s not as if I’m some kind of ugly pig.’

‘You were just using me then.’

Kenny added an extra tone of self-righteousness to his remark, but Natalie quickly slapped him down. ‘Oh, get lost will you! I did want to try again with you, but every time we got back together nothing changed. I still didn’t trust you, and things started to get worse. As you said, people get to know each-other properly, sooner or later, and when people get to know you properly, as I did more and more, they realise you can be a right stupid git. Have you ever thought about that?’

In fairness Kenny had, but he had no time to say anything as Natalie took a deep breath and went quickly back into her diatribe. ‘And do you know how much you go on about how shit and crap everything is compared with the past? It doesn’t matter what you’re talking about. Friends, clothes, music, even shoes. Shoes! Why don’t you just sort it out for fuck’s sake?! Should any of that matter? Shouldn’t you be happy just being with me?’ Kenny could see a theme here, but again, before he could make any comment, she had a further declaration, ‘And sometimes I don’t know where you are.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘In your head. The daydreaming, like you did just now. I don’t know what’s going on in your mind. Probably thinking about your disappointments. And do you know anything about me?’

Kenny looked confused. ‘Of course I do. What a thing to say.’

‘Oh yes? So where do I work?’

‘In a shop.’

‘And which one? Come on.’

‘Marks and Sparks,’ Kenny replied confidently.

‘Fucking hell Kenny!’ she shouted, ‘I left that place two months ago.’ And she shouted again for effect, ‘Fucking hell!’

‘Anything else you want to add to the “why Kenny is crap” list?’ muttered Kenny. He was thoroughly browbeaten, and this was the best retaliation he could muster.

‘Oh fuck this,’ she said wearily, and openly in tears. ‘I’m going back to Tom and Jennifer’s. You do what you want.’

Kenny’s traditional working-class protectiveness momentarily took over, even if ill-timed. ‘But how you going to get back home from the party?’

‘You didn’t think about that when you ran off,’ she said smartly. ‘I’ll get a mini-cab. I’ll be alright.’

As Natalie began to walk away, she glanced at him just once, with a look of sad acceptance, rather than her usual countenance of resignation and going through the motions, and together with her tears, her expression moved Kenny to feelings of remorse, shame, and doubt. Maybe he should go after her. Act like a proper boyfriend. Tell her she shouldn’t cry, that everything was alright, and he called to her, ‘Natalie.’ He called again, more firmly, ‘Natalie!’ but she didn’t look back, instead she broke into a run and shot off quickly, far beyond his ability to catch her. Bewildered and confused, new thoughts came to Kenny’s head. What was all that about? He couldn’t make it out. Why had she run after him, to sort things out, just to run off herself? Was that her way of getting her own back? Kenny felt his nose put right out of joint. Bollocks! There was no way he was going to follow her back to the house.

After Natalie turned the corner, Kenny stood up from the lamppost, on which he'd been stuck rigid. He was no longer breathing rapidly but his sweat was turning cold, and this was making him feel quite chilly. He began to walk to the Tube station, slowly at first, looking back occasionally to see whether Natalie had reappeared. Gradually he began to walk more rapidly and confidently, even attempting to trot to get out of the cold sooner, although his corns, which felt as if they were about to explode within his shoes, brought each effort to a speedy end.

Back on the Tube train, Kenny considered that overall he’d been weak in his row with Natalie, and had allowed her, in effect, to leave him feeling like a wally, so he resolved to be firm, and not let sentimentalism rule his judgement on splitting up with her, particularly since he couldn’t remove her last glance from his mind. Nothing seemed to stop them getting back together after seemingly breaking up. Why wouldn’t that happen again? 'Just a week,’ he said quietly and pompously to himself. If he could refrain from contacting her for a week, not speak to her on the phone should she call, then it would be easier for them both to make the split permanent, but he considered how difficult the morning was going to be, when the memories came flooding back, and he’d want to make amends.

As Kenny pondered various options and possible occurrences, Natalie’s last expression materialized again, and with it his realisation that the change in her look was far more profound than he’d first thought. The countenance wasn’t Face-ache’s at all. It belonged to Natalie; he was certain of it, and Face-ache, this malevolent spirit, was gone. Not that it made any difference to Kenny’s choices; he also saw that he and Natalie were undeniably finished as a couple. Natalie had exorcised Face-ache, true, but he had the power to summon her back. With him, Face-ache would naturally possess her.

Like Natalie, it was Kenny’s turn to feel a sense of acceptance. This emotion tempered his sadness, for although he would miss Natalie, he understood that in real life he hadn’t been quite with her for a while. And, to add to his moods, he felt both regret and guilt at the role he’d played in conjuring up Face-ache. Natalie will never know what he called her in his head, but she must have felt the abuse regardless.

There was nothing left for Kenny but to recite the usual epitaph, as delivered at the end of his relationships. Good old Natalie, he thought. Then again, Fuck that. Something else came to his mind, She’s good, being gone. He’d read that somewhere in his school Shakespeare, not that that mattered, except, as he remembered, that the expression meant that she appeared good, now that she was gone, not that it was good she’d fucked off. And did he really have to add the other standard stuff? Something about walking out on him was probably the best thing she’ll ever do, for herself that is. And, thinking about it, what he’d told Natalie about the wedding photos in the junk shop was right. What is this ‘going out together’ business? Why do we always get the ache when things aren’t perfect? And parties? Aren’t you meant to enjoy yourself at them? Or is bickering, cheating, fighting, dancing to crap music, and drinking disgusting lager the reasons you attend?

At that moment, the dejection Kenny had felt all night became worse, as an unwelcome sense of self-worth, which had been banging at his door for ages, finally managed to smash the bastard off its hinges. It had faced a lot of opposition. Most blokes of his age and background reckoned themselves. You grew up believing that ‘your shit don’t stink’. As a child he’d imagined there was nothing he couldn’t do, given the right opportunity and the right circumstances, or no situation he wouldn't have been able to handle. If he'd been a Spitfire pilot, he would've shot down Messerschmitts left right and centre. If he'd been in World War I, the shells would've landed about him everywhere, but he wouldn't have got hurt. On the Titanic he would've survived; from a blazing Zeppelin he would've escaped. As soon as he got into adulthood, there was no bunch of cunts that he couldn't give a good kicking, no limit to the lager he could drink, and no bird he couldn't pull. These delusions were firmly in the past. Right now, there was no doubt; he felt like a complete and utter wanker.

It took a while for Kenny to calm down. The tears hadn’t flowed. His expression had become blank, and he hardly blinked as he mentally ticked off the stops on the Tube map that led to his destination. Emerging from the Underground, he caught a blast of music from a passing car, the occupants having their windows wound down. He’d heard the piece before, a solid funk track from a few years back, but he couldn't remember where he'd heard it or what it was called. In his mind he saw images of himself and Eddie dancing to it, but had that happened?

Seated on the bus home, and staring out of the window, the title of the song came to him, along with various but certain memories. He didn’t dwell long on the track or the reminiscences. Not that the piece wasn’t decent, or that the memories were bad, just that he hadn’t danced to the track for ages and was unlikely to do so again. All things considered, the song had been and gone.