twenty-eight

Although Danielle assured us that she had sold over two hundred tickets for the gig, by half-past-seven there were still only a handful of people milling round the hall. One or two of the meagre audience did occasionally jiggle to the Chuck Berry, Howlin Wolf and Curtis Cline tracks that wailed through the college sound system, but the rest of them appeared disappointingly disinterested in what was going on. And I was starting to slump into a pretty bad pre-gig depression as me, Tony, Alex and Stewy lingered at the back of the hall nervously sipping pints with Debbie, Alex's girlfriend, Janet, and my dad (who was under strict instructions to stay on the orange juice).

I was slouched there, one hand flat in the back pocket of Debbie's jeans and the other clutching my third or fourth pint of Black Label, when Terri suddenly appeared. She looked stunning. Terri had always been beautiful, even when she was at her most anorexic (during her dressed-down, anti-fashion phase). However, in the previous months, Terri had gained a little weight, fleshing out the hollows of her face and her neck (which had begun to resemble the neck of a Greek goddess rather than that of a hungry chicken, as it once had done). Even Terri's ironing board chest and acorn-like buttocks had curved a little. And though she was still very skinny, she appeared more glamorously slender than dangerously thin - more Belgravia than Belsen.

Terri still clothed herself from jumble sales and charity shops (she'd helped me choose and take in my own 'Save The Children' trousers), but the jumpers and trousers she'd previously favoured had been replaced by light and airy dresses.

That evening she wore a short, floral-print dress of bum-hugging cotton, translucent white tights and seventies platform shoes. I'd never before seen her wearing such carefully applied make-up. She'd always worn a bit, but nothing like she had on that night. And with her bright red lips and precisely plucked eyebrows, she looked like she'd just stepped off the cover of Vogue.

Terri didn't see us at first as we skulked in the shadows at the back of the hall and looking slightly lost for a moment.

"Fuck me! Who's she?" murmured Alex nudging me in the ribs.

"Oi, Terri," shouted out Stewy. "Over here."

Terri turned and her face lit up as she saw us. She nodded at Stewy and smiled at me, then performed a tongue-in-cheek pirouette, her skirt rising up to reveal a flash of white knickers, as she whirled round. I took my hand out of Debbie's back pocket as Terri pranced over.

"Hello," I said. "You're looking...uhmm...different."

Terri laughed and put her hand on my shoulder.

"I thought ya' said fancy dress," she said.

"It suits you," said Stewy.

"It certainly does," said Alex. Tony nodded.

"It's nice," he said.

"I'm Peter's father," said dad, carefully looking up and down Terri's legs like a plumber inspecting a pair of pipes for leaks. "Pleased to meet you."

I suddenly realised that Terri was now surrounded by a circle of four lads and my dad. And that Debbie was directly behind my back.

"Oh sorry," I said pushing Alex to one side slightly, to open out the circle. "You haven't met Debbie have you?"

"Hi," said Terri smiling broadly.

Debbie forced a smile and put her hand defensively round my waist, pulling me back towards her, nails digging into my hip. And I realised, with more than a little guilt, that all traces of my earlier depression had now totally gone.

Half-an-hour later when we went up on stage to switch the amps on, the place was packed. Danielle told us that in addition to the two hundred tickets sold in advance, about the same number of people had paid at the door. My hand shook slightly as I gaffer-taped our list of ten songs (scrawled in the customary black marker pen) to the floor in front of my monitor.

Whilst, checking the connections on the effects units (ticking off a checklist that Tony, in his usual orderly fashion, had prepared), I looked down, and it suddenly seemed as if there were about ten thousand people in the hall, rather than four hundred. God knows where the people had all came from.

There were goths with black, chimney-brush hairdos and purple make-up, rockers in denim and leather, a couple of mohicans (one green, one tangerine) their ears pierced with more rings than a curtain rail, college girls in beads and long hippyish, Indian skirts, and psychobillies with green bomber jackets shaved heads and crazy bleached quiffs (more tribes than at a native American reunion!)

The funny thing was I didn't recognise a single one of the swarming mass of faces. Of course, there must have been some people there I knew from school or had passed whilst walking through the streets of Westing. But probably I'd only ever seen them in the clothes they wore to work or college. Probably when they were all dressed up to go out they looked like different people. Maybe they were, in effect, different people. But I didn't mind that. It was actually quite a relief to be playing to an audience of strangers. If anything went wrong and you cocked up, you could melt away into anonymity at the end of the night. But I was unusually confident that nothing would go wrong. And as it turned out I was almost right.

When we'd finished setting up the instruments we exited from the back of the stage (so that we could make a dramatic entrance five minutes later). We clambered over an assault course of props - a cardboard coffin (left over from the Dracula musical), a box of musty, crimson velvet cushions, a giant, gold plastic candelabra and various fibre-board, wooden-based backdrops. Then we wove our way along the sides of the hall (where most of the audience had congregated) back to where Debbie, Janet, Terri and Dad still stood.

As we approached them, I noticed Dad was supping a two thirds full half-pint glass of Guinness.

"I thought you weren't meant to be drinking that stuff," I shouted over the noise of the music.

"It's only the one," said Dad sheepishly. "Your friend here kindly bought it for me."

He nodded towards Terri.

"It's all right," said Terri. "It's only half-a-pint."

"Remember you've got to drive us back," I said. "Anyway, didn't that counsellor woman say that you shouldn't...."

"Don't worry," said dad quickly, with a little laugh. "Everything's under control Peter. Better not mention it to your mother though. You know what she's like."

"I said he shouldn't have it," said Debbie, indignantly "But she bought it for him anyway."

Debbie glared at Terri as dad gulped down the remains of his Guinness.

"Oh well, " I said. "I suppose a half won't hurt. But take it easy"

"Honestly Peter, I'm fine," said Dad, peering down into his empty glass and then glancing thirstily over at the bar. I'd seen that look in his eyes before, but unfortunately before I had a chance to remove the glass from him, the Buddy Guy track that was blaring over the PA suddenly faded and Tony tugged at my arm.

"I think we're on," he said.

I turned and saw Danielle walk up onto stage, whilst Alex and Stewy waited in the wings, beckoning to us.

I turned and gave Debbie a quick kiss.

"Keep an eye on them, will you."

Debbie folded her arms.

"They can do what they like," she said. "They can both die of alcohol poisoning for all I care."

"Great," I said. Terri kissed me on the cheek.

"Good luck," she said.

"Come on," said Tony and physically dragged me toward the stage, where Danielle stood in front of the microphone searching the sea of faces. She spotted me and Tony making our way through the crowds and launched into her introduction.

"Welcome to blues night at Westingshire College. Later on, at around ten, we've got Blue Murder on stage." A small cheer (which I guess was probably Blue Murder's guitarist) came from the back of the hall. "But first one of Westing's newest bands. They're young and they're hot," she smirked. A few girls screamed sarcastically and the punk with the tangerine mohican let rip with a loud wolf whistle..."They're Casino Royale."

Through subdued applause, me and Tony (with unintentionally dramatic timing) jumped up onto the stage, slung our guitars over our necks and started to play. Of course, in the heat of the moment I started playing the intro to completely the wrong song (a fast rocky number, called Just Can't Handle Temptation).

Luckily, the rest of the band (thank God) realised what had happened and joined in on cue. I turned to them grimacing and mouthing, 'Sorry, wrong one!' But Stewy, Alex and Tony just smiled with excitement as I launched into the first verse, which went a bit like the beginning to Blue Suede Shoes.

Done a lot of bad things in my time

Some so bad I hardly dare to mention

I guess when it comes to sins of the flesh

I just can't handle temptation!

Cue manic drumming, throbbing base, Carnegie-Hall reverb and shit hot rock n' roll riff on 1966 Epiphone Casino. From that moment I was totally gone. The rest of the gig is but a confusion of splintered sounds and images, as if someone had smashed my memory like a glass bowl and stuck it back together in the wrong order with half the pieces missing. Partly, that was probably due to the beer, but partly also the way playing live obliterates your senses. The music is so loud and the excitement so great that your consciousness is swallowed up and the music is all that exists. It's like sleep walking. Honestly, all I really remember is that during about the second or third song a couple of blokes got up and started to dance in the middle of the hall. I can't remember what happened in between, but by the last song practically everyone in the place was dancing.