Chapter 39
THREE WEEKS LATER
Shane
As he arrives in his home town, Shane reminds himself that he’s doing the right thing.
His mum is sick and Pete is a useless bag of shit, so of course he has to be there with her.
No question about that. But his feelings about his mother are complicated, and when she texts to say she’s been discharged from hospital and is now back home, he feels he can justify not heading over to see her right away.
Instead, he parks in the town centre. How weird, he thinks, to be back here again so soon. It struck him last time how much had changed, on the surface at least. But now he realises that the bones of the place are the same.
When his big brother hotfooted it to Germany, Shane knew – even at eleven years old – that he too would get away at the first opportunity.
At least, out of his mum and Pete’s house.
At first, he and Paula had moved into a tiny flat above a dentist’s on the other side of town.
However, it was only when they arrived in London that he felt like he actually belonged.
Somehow, the huge, sprawling city both fuelled and soothed him.
It still does. He has always loved how you can be anyone there.
He buys a takeaway coffee and passes what was once Billy Hardacre’s newsagent.
Shane had done his paper round from here, handing roughly 90 per cent of his earnings straight back to Billy as he bought all the music papers: Sounds, Melody Maker, NME.
It’s now a vape shop, its window crammed with products in dazzling hues.
Around the corner his attention is caught by a shop he hadn’t noticed last time.
It’s a record store. This is probably very wrong of him, with his mother having only been sent home this morning, following her heart attack.
But Shane can feel it, even through the shop’s closed door: a strong gravitational pull which he is unable to resist.
Once inside, he starts to browse the boxes of records, imagining what Pete would say if he could see him now. Pete, who’d mocked his skinny build and once threw a baked potato at him – a Maris Piper grenade – sending baked beans flying across the living room. Waste of bloody space, that kid!
Shane glances over at the man behind the counter. In his checked shirt, with silvery close-cropped hair and glasses, he is the archetypal record shop guy. ‘Has this place been open long?’ Shane asks.
‘Just a couple of weeks,’ he replies.
‘Wow. Good to see it.’ Shane scans the wall display of album covers. ‘What was it before?’
‘Been lying empty for years. But it was a café a long time ago. The Milk Bar, I think it was…’
‘Oh, yeah. Mary’s Milk Bar.’ Shane smiles. Just six weeks ago, when he was here for Ravi’s celebration, the original signage was still up. ‘It was a big favourite back in the day,’ he adds.
He catches the man studying him now, as if trying to figure something out. ‘You grew up around here, right?’
‘Yeah.’ He nods.
‘You were in a band, weren’t you?’
Shane chuckles. ‘That’s right.’
‘With Ravi Kapoor? And, uh…’
‘Josie. Josie Metcalfe, yeah…’
‘I saw you!’ The man grins. ‘You used to play at the Royal? Down in that horrible old basement bar?’ Shane confirms that that’s correct, and the reminiscences floodgate is flung wide open.
Yes, the man knows that Ravi has died – he’s a friend of her brother’s.
Of course, Shane reflects – everyone knows everyone around here.
On and on they chatter until finally, the man apologises, saying he’ll let him browse in peace.
‘It’s been really good to chat,’ Shane assures him.
He is aware, as he flips through box after box of records, that any decent bloke would be rushing to his sick mother’s bedside, but he’s nearly done.
It’s in the last box that he spots it. The bargain box: everything for a quid.
He pulls it out and examines the cover which depicts a handsome young man with a mop of dark curls, a roll-up clamped between his lips.
He takes it to the counter and hands it to the man. ‘Boris Gilmore,’ the man murmurs. ‘Can’t say I’ve ever played this…’
Shane smiles, fishing a pound coin from his pocket. ‘I’ve heard it’s pretty good.’
He leaves the shop with his purchase, tempted to take a picture of it and send it to Boris, but remembers he’s away at a wedding this weekend. After forty years together, a couple of his muso mates are finally tying the knot. ‘Fools rush in,’ he chuckled to Shane.
And now Shane’s chest is tightening because he too should get a move on.
He climbs into his car and drives through town and out to the estate where, instead of parking right outside his mum’s place, he stops outside Josie’s old house.
He remembers the day a bird flew into it, and how petrified he’d been as he’d caught it, but hadn’t let on.
He remembers more birds, out the back: where Josie’s dad kept his beloved homing pigeons.
Off they’d fly, far above the huddled terraces and mill chimneys and green, undulating hills.
Sometime, Shane decides, he must bring the kids up here.
It’s been years – there’s no bond between his mum and her grandchildren – but they could do a tour, make it a bit of a holiday.
West Yorkshire might not top his kids’ wish lists but it is where Shane is from.
It’s a part of him that he’s tried to push away, but which seems to keep calling him back.
Having always lived in south London, Elaine used to mock his accent.
Shane didn’t mind, not really. What got to him in the end was feeling that his home wasn’t his any more.
That’s why he’d gritted his teeth and explained that it was time for her to move on.
He’d expected things to drag on interminably, but in fact, a friend of hers had a room going and Valter had helped her to move her stuff, and that was that.
Having a reason to reclaim his spare room had made things easier.
Because soon, Ryan would be coming to stay for an unspecified period, just for a bit of respite from Tony.
Shane is fine with it – of course he is, it’s his son!
– and naturally, his loyalties will always be with his kids.
But he knows it’s not quite as clear-cut as Tony being a pain in the arse.
Having been round to discuss the whole thing with Paula, Shane learnt that Ryan’s real issue is being expected to help around the house.
‘Tony’s always on at me,’ he’s complained.
Well, yes – the success architect might be irritating, but he’s a good man, really.
He tries with Ryan and Liv – there’s no doubt about that.
And Shane won’t allow Ryan to strew his stuff all over the place as Elaine did.
In contrast, Shane and Ryan will be two adults living together in a mutually respectful manner.
He won’t be running around after him as if he were a little kid.
At least, that’s the plan! It feels a little like the time Ravi asked Shane if he’d like to be in a band with her. He was trepidatious but also knew, deep in his heart, that it was going to be great.
Outside his own front door now, Shane takes a deep breath and presses the bell.
When no one comes, he opens it and steps inside, ready to fix on a clenched smile – the kind you give the doctor when he makes a bland remark (‘It’ll be over before you know it!
’) before the rectal examination. ‘Hello?’ he calls out.
No reply comes, so he shouts, ‘Mum?’ And then, with his heart thumping dully, he climbs the steep flight of stairs. ‘Hello? Mum – it’s me!’
Her bedroom door is shut. He swallows hard, wondering if this is it. That, while he was raking through boxes of records and merrily reminiscing about that gig at the Royal when Ravi tripped off the stage, his mother was—
‘Is that you, Shane?’
His breath catches and he pushes the door open to find her sitting on the edge of her bed, coat buttoned up to her chin. ‘Mum!’ Relief surges over him and he hugs her.
‘Ooh!’ She smiles, lips pressed tightly together, as if she hadn’t expected that.
‘I was worried,’ he announces.
‘What for?’
He looks at her, wondering where to start. Because Pete called to say you were in the acute cardiology ward. Because until about forty seconds ago I thought you were dead.
‘Well, I know you’ve been through a tough time,’ he says.
‘Fuss over nothing,’ she declares, getting up.
‘Mum, I’ve just driven all the way up from London to see you—’
‘Did I put you out?’
He shakes his head, exasperated. ‘No, of course not! That’s not what I meant…
’ Her face softens and she does something she has never done in his life: she links her arm in his.
And then, with Shane still reeling in shock, she announces, ‘I thought we could go for a walk, son. I could do with some air. I’ve been sitting here waiting for you. ’
‘Sorry I’m a bit late,’ he says, flushing.
‘Ah, that’s all right.’ She peers at him, seeming to study him properly, perhaps for the first time. ‘I’ve got rid of Pete. Did I tell you that? So now I’ve got all the time in the world.’