His 'n' Hers (8 page)

Nick, Ed, Damon and I are in the Jug of Ale about to have a post-gig pint. It was a really good performance tonight. We played well and Nick and I have been talking about maybe sending our demo tape to a few record labels. I’m about to go to the bar to get some drinks when Damon coughs like he’s got something important to say.

‘I’ve got some bad news for you, boys,’ he announces. ‘I’ve been offered a job in London.’

‘Doing what?’ asks Nick.

‘Recruitment consultancy.’

‘When are you off?’ I ask.

‘At the end of the month.’

‘What about the band?’ I ask, even though I already know the answer.

‘I’m really sorry, guys, I’m going to have to leave. You can carry on without me, surely?’

‘Well, actually,’ says Ed, ‘I’ve been trying to find the right time to tell you but I’m going home to Portsmouth.’

‘To do what?’ I ask.

‘I’m going to move in with my girlfriend.’

‘But what about all the hard work we’ve done?’ I say to them both. ‘We can’t give up just like that. I think we could really make it.’

‘It’s just pipe dreams,’ says Ed. ‘University’s over now. We’ve got to get on with real life, mate.’

Damon and I are standing outside the pub with the band’s instruments, waiting to go home. Ed and Nick are still inside, using the toilets. We’ve been talking about the band and he’s apologised a million times for leaving and I haven’t got the heart to give him a hard time because I think he’s genuinely upset about it.

‘Do you think you’ll start another band in London?’

‘I don’t know about start, I might join one.’

I nod thoughtfully. ‘And what about Alison? Is she going to London with you?’ It’s been the one question I’ve wanted to ask him since he told us his news.

‘Hopefully,’ he replies. ‘Things are good between us. I kind of think that Alison might be the One.’

‘Well, best of luck and all that,’ I say, shaking his hand. ‘I’m sure the two of you will have a great time down there.’

‘Cheers,’ he says. ‘I really think we will.’

It’s late and I’m sitting up in bed fully clothed reading over the lyrics to the last song I’m ever going to write. It is, like most of the songs I’ve written in the last few months, about Alison, although in a roundabout way it’s about love too, and getting older and political complacency and the band falling apart and getting a job and everything else that’s on my mind.

I’m standing in the Kings Heath branch of Blockbuster with my girlfriend Louise, a second-year medical student at Birmingham University. I met her at a student night in a nightclub near Five Ways called XLs a few weeks ago. She’s nice but she’s nothing like Alison. All the time we’ve been together – three months in total – I’ve had this picture in my head of Alison bumping into me and Louise looking all shiny and happy and new. Alison will be so devastated at having chosen Damon over me that she will break down crying.

For the past forty-five minutes I’ve been waiting for Louise to make a decision about which video we’re going to watch, and anyone who cares to take the time to read my body language will have observed that I am currently annoyed, exasperated and depressed – in that order. ‘Come on, Lou,’ I say to her. ‘You need to make a decision before the shop closes.’ I point to a video at random. ‘What about
Cape Fear
?’

‘Too scary.’

I pick another at random. ‘
Terminator 2?
’

‘It’s a boys’ film.’

‘What’s it about?’

‘It’s got Macauley Culkin in it and some girl I’ve never heard of.’

‘I couldn’t stand him in
Home Alone
.’

‘What’s it about?’

‘
JFK
,’ I replied tersely.

‘Who’s that?’

‘Who’s
JFK
? Are you telling me that you managed to get into medical school but you’ve never heard of John Fitzgerald Kennedy? He was President of America in the sixties.’

‘Was he?’

‘Yes.’

‘Sounds boring.’

‘Saw it.’

‘Right,’ I say forcefully. ‘That’s it. I’m going to choose the film we’re going to see. Nick was banging on about some French film he saw ages ago called
Betty Blue
. You wait here and carry on looking and I’ll go and see if it’s any good and if it is we’ll watch that, okay?’ I look around the store. ‘Now where’s the art-house section?’

The art-house section turns out to be more of an art-house shelf, featuring the following empty video boxes:
Tampopo, 8 and a Half, Bicycle Thieves, La Dolce Vita, Jean de Florette
and
Betty Blue
. I pick up
Betty Blue
and study the cover to try to work out what it’s about. After five minutes or so I’m none the wiser. I have, however, come to the conclusion that there’s a strong chance the lead actress – Béatrice Dalle – might be naked in it. Given that the French are, perhaps, some of the best purveyors in the world of on-screen nudity I end up putting the box back on the shelf. Is it a good idea to watch a self-confessed ‘erotically charged’ video with Louise when there’s a good chance I’ll be calling time on our relationship before the evening’s out? Still undecided, I reach out to pick up the box again and reread the back when an alien hand enters my line of vision, attempting to do the same. I look round abruptly, and I’m surprised to discover that the hand belongs to someone I know.

‘It’s you,’ I say, still clutching a corner of the video box.

I can’t believe it, I think, imagining what it would be like to kiss her again. Here I am leaving Blockbuster with the girl I adore most in the whole world when less than an hour earlier I’d entered with a girl I didn’t even like that much . . . Louise!

Damn.

What am I going to do?

What if she’s spotted me?

What if Alison’s spotted her?

What am I going to do?

There’s only one thing I can do.

I remove the video box from my jeans and hand it to Alison. ‘Can you pay for it?’

‘You really know how to flatter a girl,’ says Alison, holding the video at arm’s length and wrinkling her nose. ‘Why don’t you pay for it yourself?’

‘I’ve got something to do.’

Alison can tell I’m being evasive. ‘Which is?’

‘Checking out the happy endings in the new-releases section.’ Before she can say anything I’ve disappeared to find Louise.

‘Have you got the film?’ asks Louise, when I arrive. ‘I’ve been looking at
JFK
again and I didn’t realise it had Kevin Costner in it. I quite like Kevin Costner.’

‘This isn’t working,’ I tell her firmly.

‘What isn’t working?’

‘You. Me. This. Us. We aren’t working.’

‘You don’t want to go out with me any more?’

‘It’s not you. It’s me. We’re too different. I like French films with subtitles, you like . . . well, I don’t think you like anything. Let’s face it, it was never going to work, was it? Let’s just go our separate ways and try to remember the good times, eh?’

‘I can’t believe this,’ says Louise, almost tearfully. ‘Is this because I didn’t want to watch that Arnold Schwarzenegger film?’

‘No, of course not. It’s nothing to do with videos. It’s to do with us. We’re just not compatible. I feel awful. But believe me when I say this is hurting me more than it’s hurting you.’

Overcome by anger Louise, with all the dexterity of a discus thrower, hurls the copy of
JFK
she’s holding at my head. Lightning quick, I duck out of the way and it continues across the shop floor until it meets a small child coming the other way and skids to a halt on the floor. The child bursts into tears, Louise runs out of the shop and I breathe a huge sigh of relief.