Give The Devil His Due (39 page)

       So off we went to Gavin’s gig. I was probably taking a very big risk in doing so. If Gavin spotted someone he knew (and he knew plenty of people) their presence would be announced to the crowd – usually in some form of ridicule. But as we needed cheering up, and I had sort of said to him I'd go, go we did.

       Gavin wanted to show off his new toy. Who could blame him? I was beginning to feel like the Will of old. The wonder cream my GP had prescribed had worked wonders. I could even dance if I felt like it. I didn't. But all the pain had gone. Yes the memory of the examination still remained, but that was small potatoes compared to what I'd been going through with my grapes. So the time had come to forget about the quest, and time to support Gavin.

       The Coopers was a big pub. It had been called The Coopers Arms but the latest owners had decided to drop the ‘Arms’, I don't know why. I thought the name sounded better with it. The pub had a decent-size stage and the room was plenty large enough for you to make yourself heard at the bar while the band played.

       Gavin’s band was a tight outfit, with him most definitely the leader. He chose the tunes, he played the solos, he was the spokesman. That was fine though because he was the personality.

       The band was called ‘Pair an' a G-string’ which was pretty tame by Gavin’s standards. Gavin liked to shock, and usually did. I was quite shocked when they asked us for a tenner each at the door. Gavin had neglected to mention that bit when he came round to fix the toilet, but hey, plumbers and overcharging, who’d have thought it? Everyone needed a lift, so we handed over our dosh and in we went.

       As we entered the pub, the band was just striking the last chords of the number they'd been playing. On the final cymbal crash the crowd started cheering and whistling. They were rowdy and Gavin loved every second of it.

       Gavin clicked his fingers, the sound-and-lights guy plunged us into complete darkness. The crowd went very quiet indeed; you could almost hear a pin drop and then it started. Chuh – ChungChung – Chuh Chung, Chuh – ChungChung – Chuh Chung. The familiar guitar riff of
You really got me
.

       The crowd started cheering; we were still in darkness. Staying in time with the music, the drummer gave the low tom a heavy clout with both sticks. As he hit the drum, a spotlight beam came on, focused to pinpoint accuracy. The room remained in darkness apart from the beam, now shining on its target.

       Gavin stood there with his back to the audience. His tight leather trousers had no arse in them. He was wearing a leopard-skin thong, the glare of the beam reflecting from his shiny bare-arse cheeks. With every Chuh he'd twitch his left cheek, with every Chung he'd twitch his right. Chuh – ChungChung – Chuh Chung, Chuh – ChungChung – Chuh Chung.

       If I'm honest it was quite impressive. The cheering and whistling was getting louder. I wondered how many people in the crowd were secretly tensing their arse-cheek muscles to see if they could do it. I'd tried and failed. The twitching continued; the bass and drums were now in. Suddenly the drummer smacked the snare drum three times and Gavin swung round to face the crowd, with his husky vocals taking over from his twitching arse, the enthusiastic mob was soon in a frenzy and Gavin in his element. I looked at Tegan. She was blushing. I asked her, ‘You all right?’

       ‘Yeah, he's really good.’

       ‘He is a bit of a showman, it must be said.’

       ‘That arse thing. How does he do it?’

       ‘Oh, been trying yourself have you?’

       ‘No, it’s so hard to do. I just wondered, that's all.’

       I'd caught her out. ‘You must have been trying, otherwise you wouldn't know.

       ‘Well OK, I did have a little go.’

       ‘I think everyone in here has been
having a go
.’ I suspected that Gavin had probably been practising in front of the mirror for several months to perfect his arse-cheek trick.

       I decided to wind her up. ‘You can ask him when he comes over during his break.’

       ‘No, I'd be too embarrassed.’ Whether she was embarrassed or not, Gavin would be over in between sets.

       He carried on with more of the same, guitar soloing to his heart's content. If the drummer took a 16-bar solo then Gavin took a 32-; if the bass player turned himself up a bit then Gavin turned himself up that little bit louder. It didn't matter though; he was giving good value for money.

       When the end of the first set came, I found myself actually wanting more. Then Gavin addressed the crowd. ‘We're going to take a ten-minute break for quarter of an hour. See you back in thirty minutes!’

       I was looking forward to having a chat and buying him a pint. He was now walking in our direction, high-fiving a few people and having a word here and there. Suddenly he was standing next to us.

       ‘So, what do you think?' he asked me.

       ‘It's very good Gavin. The crowd’s really enjoying it.’

       ‘How's the sound?’

       ‘Great, I can hear everything. You especially.’

       ‘Well that's the way I like it!’ He looked at Tegan. ‘Hi, we haven't been introduced. I'm Gavin, Will’s plumber.’ He grabbed her hand, put it to his mouth and kissed it.

       She blushed and then answered, ‘Yes, Will told me. I'm Tegan.’

       ‘Tegan wants to know how you do your bum trick,' I said.

       Tegan stared at me – daggers. Gavin spun round and twitched his arse at high speed L-R-L-R-L-R-L-R-L. We both started laughing. Gavin turned back round to face us. ‘Plenty of practice and natural ability. Have you tried?’

       ‘Yes, but I can't do it, so I'm not going to try any more,’ Tegan admitted.

       It was time for a change of subject. ‘I didn't know you had such a big following Gavin.’

       ‘Yeah, quite a few of them are my customers. Others are friends, but all are appreciators of great music and Gluteus maxterity.’

       I had to give it to Gavin. He knew how to big himself up. He also knew how to bring the subject back round to his skilful arse.

       I tried to change the subject again. ‘Do you fancy a beer Gav?’

       ‘Negatory on that one my friend. I don't drink during performances. I have to stay on top of my game. Besides, I'm driving. Can't leave my new guitar here overnight. It might get nicked. There are a lot of envious people out there.’

       ‘I thought you said they were all your customers and friends.’

       ‘Friends they may be, but when it comes to a man's axe then it ain't worth taking the chance.’

       ‘If you fancy, after you're finished we could have a couple, back at mine. Leave your guitar in the house, the van’ll be safe in the street tonight and you can pick them both up tomorrow?’ I could see Gavin mulling it over.

       ‘Mmm …, might be a plan. Let's see how the next set goes and we'll take things from there.’

       What did he mean? Was he expecting to get canned off and run out of town? I couldn't see it myself, especially not with the way that the first set had gone. As Gavin took to the stage for the second time, the crowd started cheering again. Even more outrageous than the first delivery, the opening number had pyrotechnics. I thought they were illegal in pubs, but hey – this was
Gavin Gittings
. I guess the theory was that if anything went wrong and someone caught fire, he could always turn the water pressure up and hose 'em down.

       About half-way through the second set, Gavin thought he would be funny and decided to introduce me to the crowd. He asked them to welcome his good friend over on holiday from Germany – Helmut Rhoid. I knew it had been a mistake telling him I’d been to the doctor’s.

       He got the crowd to chant
Helmut!
a few times and then give me a round of applause. It was a bit annoying really because Phil, never one for wasting an opportunity to wind me up, decided to start calling me Helmet.

       It didn’t end there. While I was at the bar, a really irritating anorak came up and asked me in a bad German accent which part of Germany I was from, to which I replied, ‘I'm from here.’

       He responded in his bad German accent, ‘Herr Rhoid, it is better in Wales than in Germany, no?’

       I could see he wasn't getting it, so I just humoured him. ‘Nein Dummkopf, Churmany iz far supeer-reearr und vil olvaze be mein hom-lend.’ He looked a bit insulted and buggered off. Having done my bit for Welsh–German relations, I was able to sip my pint without further annoyance.

       Gavin had already played three encores, and not a man to quit while ahead, decided to give the crowd one last tune. As he exhibited his guitar-playing skills, recreating the famous solo from
Another Brick in the Wall
and adding a few custom licks of his own, I reflected on the evening. It had been a good shout coming to the gig. Everyone, with the exception of Neil (still back at the house and hopefully not feeling quite as ill as when we left him) had had a great time.

       The gig over, Gavin packed his kit away; I lent a hand. The pub was virtually deserted; just a few stragglers left, struggling to finish their drinks as the bar staff cleared up.

       Taxis were waiting outside, hoping for extra business on a quiet Wednesday night. Peach, Phil, Denise and Tegan took one and I went with Gavin in his van.

       About fifteen minutes later we were pulling up outside the house, with the taxi just behind us. Gavin grabbed his guitar case and locked the van. We trooped up the path, the girls were giggling behind us – obviously ogling Gavin as he walked. If any of the neighbours were watching, God knows what they were thinking. I opened the front door and turned to them.

       ‘Try and keep it down. Neil's asleep upstairs.’ They were still laughing. As I opened the lounge door and put the light on Tegan screamed.

***

Neil was on the floor, quietly groaning in agony. I leant down. He was trying to say something. His voice was so weak. ‘De Vi …, De Vil …’

       ‘Neil, don’t talk.’ As soon as I heard the second syllable I knew instantly who was responsible for what had happened to Neil. I looked at him and felt so deeply shocked. The sight was horrific. He looked as though he'd been in a road traffic accident. He was almost unrecognisable.

       Denise and Tegan were sobbing. Both dogs were lying on the carpet close to Neil. I could see no movement from Maude, her little body – lifeless. Pugs was a few feet away from her and barely breathing. Denise went to grab the phone.

       ‘No Denise, don't!’

       ‘Will, are you out of your mind? He needs hospital treatment now. He's probably got internal injuries. He could be bleeding to death.’

       ‘Denise, I'm begging you. Don't call an ambulance.’ I looked at Gavin. ‘Gav, let’s get him to hospital in your van.’

       Gavin looked at me shaking his head. ‘Don't be stupid, I'm not going to move him.’

       Denise was starting to dial. ‘Denise please, we'll all go to jail if the police and ambulance are called.’

       The others stared at me as though I was having no thought for Neil. In my mind it made more sense for
us
to get him to hospital. Gavin's van was outside. There would be no delay. Denise still had her hand on the phone.

       Suddenly Phil spoke. ‘Will's right Denise. We could all go to jail, including Neil, if the police have to come here.’

       Denise stopped for a second, and put the phone down. ‘Right Will, I need duvets and the strongest, biggest blanket you've got. Quick!’

       I dashed upstairs and pulled the blanket that was on the spare bed really hard. It came away from all the other bedclothes. I ran downstairs, gave it to Denise then raced back upstairs, grabbing the duvets off my bed and Neil’s.

       By the time I got back downstairs, Gavin and Phil had moved some of the broken lounge furniture out of the way, Denise had laid the blanket out lengthways and doubled it over.

       ‘Here are the duvets.’

       ‘OK, come with me.’

       Apart from Tegan, we all went outside. Gavin unlocked the van and got his gear out. Phil and Peach took the flight cases and brought them inside. Gavin was helping Denise spread the duvets out to make a sort of cushion for Neil to lie on. A few seconds later she was back in the house.

       ‘Now, I’m going to move him very gently on to the blanket.’

       ‘Let me help you.’ Peach helped Denise carefully get Neil on to the blanket. Neil's groaning was getting louder. He was obviously experiencing severe pain. In no time he was on the blanket, but his suffering seemed to be increasing.

       Denise looked at us. ‘I want each of you to take a corner and be very, very careful. We're going to lift the blanket. Try and keep it as tight as you can so he isn't moved about too much.

       ‘We'll put him into the van through the back. Once we get him a little way in, Will, you and I are going to come through the side door and take both corners bearing the weight. We can then ease him in the rest of the way. Is everyone clear what we’re doing?’ Everybody nodded.

       We did as she instructed. Soon Neil was in the van and on his way to A&E. I sat in the front with Denise and Gavin. He was driving fast but not dangerously.

       ‘When we get to the hospital let me do the talking,’ said Denise.

       ‘OK.'

       She touched Neil’s face. ‘Neil.’ He didn't answer.

       ‘NEIL!’ He groaned.

       ‘I found you staggering along the bypass. You were on your way into town to get money from a cashpoint and someone jumped you from behind. Have you got that?’ There was no answer.

       ‘NEIL, DID YOU JUST HEAR WHAT I SAID?’

       Neil let out a very faint ‘Yes’.

       We arrived at the hospital. Denise ran into A&E, very quickly returning with paramedics. I watched as they carefully got Neil out of the van. He was immediately rushed inside.

       At the A&E desk, Denise explained to the receptionist that she was Neil’s girlfriend and how he’d been supposed to meet up with us that evening and when he didn’t show, she'd gone looking – finding him in the road ‘out of it’. The receptionist was typing this information as Denise was relaying it to her. She finished typing and told us to take a seat in the waiting area.