Chapter 9 - Nick, Sunday

Ooooooohhh, bad head. Bad, bad head.

I wish they’d play that bloody organ a little quieter. Serves me right for coming to church with a hangover, after less than four hours sleep. What was I thinking?! Even the most devoutly religious person would realise this was a dreadful mistake. But a family christening needs family, so one of us had to be here, and, as Simon or Mum refused to come in case they bumped into Dad and She Who must Not Be Mentioned, I guess it had to be me. Emma’s not exactly close family, whose cousins are nowadays? We’re strictly Christmas cards, wedding and funerals, although thankfully not many of the last two lately. But she’s nice, certainly a lot nicer than her snobby sister, so it’s good to see her again. Pity about the organ though.

So. Last night. Well, we met at the pub, although I was a bit late - last minute wardrobe crisis: I ditched the spangly top for a shirt, which felt comfier and looked more grown-up. God knows how that found its way into my wardrobe, I must have been going through a camp phase when I bought it. By the time I got there they were one round ahead of me - Brenda in particular was in good spirits, and at one point was sat on Big Ben’s lap. I think she was secretly trying to grope him but he didn’t seem to care. Steve’s mate looked a bit glum when he realised we were going to a gay club, but then Amy and her sister turned up and he started chatting them up in his monosyllabic way and seemed much happier. Only Ben looked a bit flat - I can’t work him out, I wasn’t even sure if he was gay to begin with, but the way he trails after Big Ben it soon became pretty obvious. Bless him, he doesn’t stand a chance, Big Ben is in a world of his own and the only person he’s interested in is himself. Of course sometimes he’ll include you in it if it’ll help him have a good time, but when you’ve served your purpose that’s that.

Several drinks later we were all starting to get a bit rowdy, so it was just as well it was time to get to the club. It wasn’t far, and so rather than work out which bus to take or jump into a few taxis we decided to walk. It was still warm so there were loads of people out and about, and when you’re pissed distance doesn’t really matter. Me and Brenda were skipping ahead of the others, and I think at one point we were singing show tunes. Oh God, how camp. And she was desperately trying to fix me up with Big Ben, despite the fact that she knows I’m off men at the minute and the only thing I’m taking to bed with me is a good book. But bless her for trying.

The club was packed - well, it was Saturday night, what did we expect? We had to queue, but it chilled us out a bit, and it’s always funny listening to other people’s conversations. The blokes in front were clearly having a bit of a tiff, but it was being carried out in a series of whispers and hisses. I fully expected one of them to flounce off at any second, but then they got in and later I saw them dancing madly with their tops off as if nothing had happened. My top was staying firmly on. This skinny frame doesn’t see the light of day unless it has to. I’m the proud owner of Morrissey’s body circa 1984, which stands out a mile amongst all those buffed, tanned young things. It’s a curse I have to bare!
Most of our crowd headed to the bar, but I was done drinking for the night - I’d already had far too much - it was water all the way for me. So I stood at the balcony looking down at the dance floor. It was still a little early in the evening, so the floor wasn’t packed and people weren’t off their heads yet and going for it. What never ceases to amaze me is how young they all are! I’d never have had the wherewithal to get into a place like this when I was a teenager. Or the cash for that matter. But they were here in droves, all decked out in new outfits, shiny and keen. So much hope. God I felt old. I might have slunk off then if Brenda hadn’t appeared, waving some lurid alcopop at me and beckoning me to follow her to the dance floor. As luck would have it one of those great early ‘90s house anthem was just starting, and before long I was waving my hands in the air singing loudly about how I was free to do what I want to do. Nice sentiment, and sometimes it seems like it might almost be true.
I think we pretty much stayed on the dance floor for the rest of the night. The rest of the group drifted in and out, sometimes in the company of cute strangers, but mostly it was me and Brenda. We must have looked like their parents, out for a night on the town, but I think we had more fun than all of them, because neither of us were expecting to pull - we’d just gone to dance, and dance we did, until my shirt was soaked and my fringe was damply hanging in my eyes.
At some point I remember Big Ben dancing with me, we grinned at each other, laughing as we waved our hands in the air, and he just reach for me and pulled me too him and we were snogging. Not tongues, not serious kissing, just drunkenly giggly kisses, until the music changed and he spun away into the crowd. God I’d forgotten what that felt like, kissing someone new. It’s been a while, but it felt good! I don’t think I saw him again after that, and I guess from the sad look on Ben’s face he must have pulled. I’m not surprised, he’s good-looking and up for a laugh, he probably could have got off with anyone last night. I wonder who he did get off with? But it meant nothing, and I think later in the even I may have even had a feel of Brenda’s bum, although god knows what that was about!
Ben ended up coming back with me. It was so late he didn’t want to wake his family up. Brenda would have took him, but he had an early shift and I’m far closer to work than she is. Besides, I had to be in this stupid church at this foolish hour, so I was getting up early anyway. It was a bit of a shock to find him on my sofa this morning, I’d more or less forgotten he was there. He hardly looked old enough to go to work, let alone go out dancing all hours. The last thing you need on a hungover morning is youth! Nothing is so aging as youth. Still, he sweetly thanked me for letting him stay, and even tidied away the pillows and duvet while I was in the shower. He looked far too perky, I wonder if he was actually drinking last night?

So then I dragged myself across town, unable to face a bus in a suit I called a cab and gazed out of the window all the way here as the driver sang along to Dolly Parton songs. I wasn’t in any state to make sense of a middle-aged man singing Jolene, but the sun was shining and it made a strange kind of sense. And it was certainly more entertaining than these dour hymns. I was remembering Emma’s Christening - I must have been seven or eight, and in those days it was still a separate service just for the family, not part of the regular service. I think Mum put me in a bow tie, and I definitely remember wearing shorts. There was probably a homemade cardigan I expect. But it was the late seventies and their church was going through a belated hippy phase, so I seem to remember singing some jolly song, not the dull hymns I recognised from school assemblies. There may have even been a man with a guitar. I think Mum wore a hat, and Emma cried all the way through the service.
She looks all grown-up now, but she still cried all the way through the service - I don’t think she stopped dabbing her eyes all the way through. The baby was oblivious to the whole thing, although he did cry once or twice when the organ played. I’m not surprised, the pianist played like a drunk and it was loud enough to shatter glass. Even the older aunts around me couldn’t make there voices heard over it, and I heard one or two of them muttering about it when they should have been praying. I just looked at my feet and wondered how much longer we had to endure. We were never big on God in our house, although we went to Sunday school for a few months. I think it was one of Mum’s attempts to get us to ’mix’, which were doomed as we didn’t want to. So this whole thing is a bit of a mystery to me, and I’m rather surprised Emma bothered - I don’t remember her family being any more religious than ours, but then I never expected her to be a Mum either so there’s no telling.
I think I saw Dad sneak into the back of the church just as it was about to begin, although it didn’t look like he had Shirley with him. I wonder if he’ll go to the thing afterwards? I’m not even sure where it is. Sounded like a hotel or a pub, I hope it’s not far or I’ll have to scrounge a lift with someone I don’t know, or worse still some relative I haven’t seen in years who will comment on how I’ve grown and wonder when they’ll be coming to a Christening of one of my kids. Fat chance. I’d have thought word would have spread by now.
God I wish that bloody organ would stop….