Dream On (4 page)

She pondered on an almost hourly basis whether
she'd done the right thing. Should she just bite the bullet, ask him to come back?
The way things were, they were not together but not apart. She certainly wasn't
thinking about moving on, maybe one day looking for a new relationship, and she
hoped he wasn't either; they'd talked, only a month or so ago, about him moving
back in at some point.

But not yet.

Just when he'd seemed to be taking some notice of
what she'd said - making sure of regular work all through the winter, actually taking
part in proper father-son activities instead of just visiting, getting Harley
thoroughly excited and worked up, and then disappearing - he'd come up with
this big idea about a new band. Apparently he, Shane and Ritchie, and some
drummer bloke with a stupid name, were going to dress up as Vikings. Ludicrous. Dave had played her a couple of the songs he'd written, and they
were quite good; at least it was proper music, not like that horrible thrash
stuff he'd played with Critical Mass, but she couldn't see them becoming the
rock classics Dave pictured.

"This is the one!" he kept saying.  "It was like the idea
just exploded in my head, you know?  Like the Big Bang! It's my time, now,
I can feel it in my bones!"

Now he'd taken all this rock star stuff out of
storage for a second airing, she knew it would be Critical Mass all over
again. Late nights, getting drunk, band practice taking precedence over her
and Harley, flirting with the girls in the audience, letting her down at the
last minute because he'd got a gig - and, no doubt, becoming so obsessed with
his idea of himself as a
musician
that he sometimes didn't turn up for
work on Monday, or Friday, thus pissing off Phil Wiseman, big style.

She could see it all happening, just the same as
before.

During Dave's bout of depression following his expulsion
from Critical Mass, Phil Wiseman had got so fed up with Dave letting him down
that he'd dumped him, and found another labourer. Said Dave was a good guy and
a good worker, but he needed someone who'd be there at seven-thirty every
morning, without fail. A lot of pleading on Janice's part was required before
Phil reconsidered. But those three months on the dole had taken their toll; it
wasn't just the lack of money at the time, but the fact that the Working Tax
Credit and all the rest of it had to be re-assessed once he was back working
again, and everyone knew that the Department of Work and Pensions always took
at least three months to get their act together. While Dave had been handing
his dole money over the bar of The Romany, Janice had to borrow just to make
ends meet, and she wasn't able to start making repayments until some time later. It had been a dark time, and recovering from the resulting debt had seemed like
an impossible task. Okay, they were straight, now, but Dave just didn't understand.
Yes, he was truly sorry about everything he'd put her through, but that didn't
make up for all the worry and despair she'd suffered while he was wallowing in
self-indulgence.

She'd allowed the resentment to fester inside,
unspoken, until one evening when he went for a Friday night 'after work' drink
and didn't come home until nine o'clock. Usually she just accepted such
behaviour; she knew men needed to be with men, that Dave worked hard all week, blah
blah blah, and she prided herself on not being a nag - but on that night she
was particularly tired after a busy afternoon in the cafe, Harley was
particularly fractious, and something inside her just snapped.

Dave had been surprised and very upset but
compliant; she'd been stubborn and unwilling to talk; he packed his bags and went
that very night.

That night she felt resolute, certain, but she
began to have doubts as soon as she awoke the next day.

What a pity she still loved him so much.

If only he could harness all his positive qualities,
and stop being such an immature idiot. But then, as Dave sometimes said, "if
my aunt had balls she'd be my uncle." If they were going to be happy together,
in the future, she had to accept how he
was,
not how she'd like him to
be. She knew that; it was her part of the deal. Now, what about his?

On Thursday night, when Dave had been round, he'd
been so busy talking about his new band that he hadn't even asked her how she
was. She wanted to talk to him about her latest visit to see her grandmother;
Evelyn had become quite aggressive about not being allowed to go home, upsetting
her mother, but Janice suspected that, as a topic of conversation, her family
problems would come a poor second to Dave's evangelistic monologue about his
rock 'n' roll future.

He hadn't kissed her when he left, either. She
worried, these days, that he might not fancy her anymore.  Even since she'd
chucked him out they'd still slept together on a fairly regular basis but, now
she thought about it, over the last month or so it had only been at her
instigation.

Dave said he might pop round later that night; he
was just going out for a few beers 'early doors' with Shane, but Shane and Ritchie
were going to see some punk band later that Dave said 'didn't float his boat'. He'd stay over, he said, then they could both take Harley to the park in the
morning.

Perhaps she should make a special effort. Make
Dave feel a bit special. Make it like a 'date night'.

"Get some candles and some massage oil!" said her
friend Carolyn, when she discussed it with her that afternoon. "Pack Harley off
to bed and make it dead romantic!"

No, that wouldn't work. She'd tried the
candlelight and soft music thing once before, after reading a magazine article
about putting the sizzle back into your relationship. Dave had turned all the
lights on because he couldn't see to read the TV Quick magazine, and asked her
to turn the music off because he wanted to watch telly and couldn't stand that
bloody Katie Melua woman, anyway.

But maybe she could get some beers in, and put on
some of that sexy underwear he'd bought her years ago. No, she wouldn't be
able to get into it. She'd put on two stone since Harley was born. She wasn't
fat, because she'd been very slim before, but she was certainly curvaceous
these days. Dave said he didn't mind at all, but maybe he did, really. The
underwear had been size ten, and she was a size fourteen, now. But she'd got a
black silky nightie thing, she could wear that, with the turquoise silk kimono
he'd bought her one Christmas - an alluring alternative to her usual t-shirt
and shorts sets, seven ninety-nine from Home Bargains.  

While Harley was stuck into 'Ice Age' she whizzed
around the bedroom, changing the sheets and plumping up pillows, opening
windows.  She'd get Harley off to bed early, have a bath using all the smelly
stuff she could find, use some of that body lotion that gave you a bit of a
tan, too. She'd wash her hair and dry it with care - perhaps, eventually, she'd
grow it back into that smart bob Dave had liked so much when they were first
together. A spray of the Eau de Prada he'd bought her last Christmas, and a
bit of make-up, too. Maybe if she behaved more like a girlfriend and less like
a wife, Dave might behave more like a husband.  Not how it
should
be,
but, alas, that was probably how it was.

She might be the mother of his beloved son, and
he'd never said anything to make her feel she was being compared and found
wanting, but always in the back of her mind was the knowledge that she was the
successor to the glorious Alison Swan.

When Dave came round tonight, an incense stick
would be burning and she would have a DVD ready for them to watch. Not one of
her favourite crime thrillers, or anything soppy and girly - one of those
things that Dave liked. 'Saw', perhaps. Hardly romantic, but Dave did love a
bit of blood and guts. She'd curl up on the sofa in her slinky outfit, open a
bottle of wine for herself, and greet him with a big smile and a beer. Like a
girlfriend, not a wife.

"The Scum City gig has been cancelled," Shane said.
 "We're going up The Bandstand to see Loaded 44. You coming?"

"Oh, shit," said Dave. "Yeah, I want to see them. Bollocks, I told Janice I'd go round tonight. I was going to, like, stay
over so I could take Harley out in the morning."

"Got you right under the thumb, ain't she?" said Ritchie,
into his beer. "Hardly worth moving out, was it?"

"No, she hasn't got me under the thumb," Dave
said. Christ, but he felt like thumping Ritchie sometimes. "Harley's my son. Wanting to take my son out doesn't constitute being
under the thumb.
Janice is his mother, so we take him out together. They come first."

"Yeah? Next thing, you'll be saying you don't want
to do the band after all," Ritchie said. "Well, she got right arsey when you
were in Critical Mass, didn't she?"

"No,
I
got right arsey when I was in Critical
Mass," Dave said. "I let her down. I'm going to do it right this time,
like, make sure I still give her proper support with the boy, however big Thor
gets."

"And Thor's going to hit the
stratosphere!
"
said Shane, and laughed. "Whoo-hoo!" He slapped his thigh, and turned to lean
on the bar. "Same again all round, Tina, love, and one for yourself. Hey,
you going to come and support us when we're playing, sweetheart?"

"Course I am," said the pudgy faced Tina, she of
the extensive facial piercing, enormous tits and, according to Shane, a 'shaven
haven'. Dave didn't think there had ever been a barmaid working in The Romany
with whom Shane had not been on intimate terms. Dave didn't know how he did
it; or, these days,
why.
Sure, he'd had his fun since he and Janice had
split up, but it wasn't the same as when he was younger; it just seemed a bit
empty if there wasn't some sort of connection with the person, and he always felt
guilty, now, if the girl wanted more than just a one-nighter and he didn't.

"So, you coming up The Bandstand, then?" Shane
said, handing him his pint.

"I want to," said Dave, and took a sip. He didn't
know what to do; it wasn't only that he genuinely wanted to see Loaded 44. Every
time he went out, these days, he thought,
maybe I'll see Alison. Ariel. Maybe
she's already come back.
Loaded 44 were just the sort of band they
would have gone to see together, way back then.

"Send Jan a text, tell her you'll be a bit late,"
said Shane.

"Nah, you don't want to do that," said Ritchie. "It'll be
Earache Central if she thinks you're going out on the piss instead of going
round to see her. That was what got you chucked out in the first place,
wasn't it?"

"Well, no, it wasn't quite that simple," said
Dave. He reckoned he understood some of the reasons for his expulsion from Greyfriars
Estate, though he wasn't about to start explaining them to Ritchie. "I'll just
come and see the first set. I can be round hers by ten."

"Bet you stay 'til closing," said Shane.

"Bet I don't," said Dave.

At a quarter to midnight, Dave let himself into
number twenty-seven, Woodstock Close, Greyfriars Estate. The lights were still
on; good, Janice was still up. He hadn't warned her he'd be late but he
thought he'd got away with it, because he'd checked his phone a couple of times
throughout the night and there was no sarky text message asking where the hell
he'd got to.

He found her in the dimly lit living room, lying on
the sofa. She was wearing some sort of silky thing, with that kimono he'd
bought her years ago. Nice! The effect was marred somewhat, though, by the thick
woolly socks she wore on her feet. Janice always got cold feet. Sweet.

"Look, I'm sorry I'm late, don't be mad at me," he
said, as he switched the main light on. Then he laughed.

Janice was fast asleep, with her mouth open; an
empty bottle of Blossom Hill stood on the table. The television was still on,
though the screen was blank. Dave picked up the DVD case. 'Saw III'. Pity, he
wouldn't have minded seeing that.

Dave took off his leather jacket, kicked off his
boots, and, carefully, so as not to wake her, picked Janice up; he would carry
her upstairs, bless her. She stirred as he lifted her, and snuggled her face
into his shoulder. She smelled of perfume, and she had some make-up on. That
wasn't like Jan, not unless she was going out. Perhaps she'd had a mate round,
or something.

As he carried her towards the living room door she
stirred again, and wound an arm around his neck.

"I love you," she said, still half asleep.

Dave didn't know why, but hearing her say that made
him feel very, very sad.

The Vikings had landed!

The first Saturday in October, at The Bandstand.

Their first gig.

Dave had wanted this to take place in The Romany,
where they would be assured of a good reception from their mates, but Ritchie put
his foot down.

"You've got to be joking," he said. "I'm not standing at
the bar dressed up in a fur rug and a skirt in front of the people I've been
drinking with at lunch time.  I'd feel a right pillock."

"Aye, you big soft Jessie! Isn't he, Dave?" said
Boz, nudging Dave in the ribs. "I've got to wear this helmet with two geet big
horns sticking out of the sides! I don't give a monkey's what people
think."

Dave liked Boz; he'd turned out to be a very cool, laid-back sort of guy, a professional. He would wear and do whatever the gig
required, without bitching about it, unlike Ritchie.

"Hmm, I'm with Ritchie, I'm afraid, Dave, mate. I'd rather play our local when we're a bit more, like, established," said
Shane. "It's not the gear - I think I look pretty fucking red hot, actually
-
it's just that if we totally bomb we'll lose all our cred and I'll never get
laid again, apart from pity shags."