CHAPTER 28
Kate turned up by car, as I had suspected she would, in order to start ferrying some of Ginny’s stuff to their new house. To my surprise, she brought in a suitcase which was obviously full from the effort she took to bring it up the stairs. She laid it on the bed.

“They mostly aren’t in your size…yet. This is a mix of old things that friends had and stuff that Ginny got fed up with. If you are going to be yourself at home, then you need something to wear. Sal’s blessing on it”

Ginny had to have her say, of course. “Waxing, Price, waxing those legs before you even think of a skirt. There’s hairy and there’s fucking carpets.”

Kate was softer. “You have the endocrinologist next week, love, and before that the big hoe-down. If you have a minute or two free before that, I think it might be a good idea to have a chat with Jerry, and Simon the vicar. They may have some requests---no, not that sort, it’s not that sort of event. More to do with the pacing of the day, and I think it would be a good idea to say hello. What’s in the box?”

Ginny was bouncing. “Please miss, I know, and she’s gonna take it to bed!”

I sighed as theatrically as I could manage. “Sex mad, that woman”

“Well, if you had a wife as edible as my Katie, wouldn’t you be?”

Her face fell. “Sorry, Annie, I didn’t think”

I smiled back. “Do I look upset? We just need to work out what you need to leave here, if you are going to be popping back and forth. Kate, would you want to find some cupboard space for some stuff of your own? Toothbrush, etc? I’m sure I can find some space between the weaponry your wife secretes everywhere”

“That isn’t weaponry, that’s decent kitchen equipment!”

“You don’t check the balance of a French cook’s knife by holding it by the point and making throwing movements, Ginny!”

“I’m a fucking woman, we multitask!”

“Yeah, well when I get a zombie in the kitchen I’ll remember that. In the head, isn’t it?”

Ginny got all puppy-eyed at that. “Can we please, please, please watch ‘Aliens’ tonight?”

Kate stroked her hair, almost as she would a child or, indeed, a puppy, but a six-foot Amazon puppy. “Of course, my sweet. Annie is a girl of taste and refinement, and I spotted the boxed set ages ago.”

They were such an odd mix. Kate was very much the professional woman, Ginny the mad axewoman, given the chance, and yet together, once past the mad games and badinage, they were so tender it hurt. They were so different to the Woodruffs, or the McDuffs, but there was the same interdependence, the same unconscious physicality. One was never apart from the other very long, little touches constant and fleeting. I felt guilty that my own weakness had kept them apart for so long. As if by telepathy, Ginny looked across to me,

“Are you really sure you will be OK when I am home, mate?”

“I will be. I have some idea where I am going, now, and more than that I have---I know that I have–real friends. That makes a hell of a difference. Now, it has been a stressful day, but a good one. Would you two mind if I actually got a bit squiffy tonight?”

Kate grinned. “I sort of expected that one, there’s some bottles in the bag. Now, darling, sweet, doll face, have you started cooking?”

“No, why?”

“Tonight we can haz curry from a taxi! I slipped the frozen yog into the freezer, so it is all-girl full-on decadence tonight. Curry, wine, frozen dairy products and Sigourney Weaver in a vest!”

After Ginny stopped cheering, Kate gave me a puzzled look.

“I nearly forgot–what the hell do you have in that box?”

I showed her Saburo, and she sighed. “I know little about those things, but that looks so, well, bloody sensual. What’s it sound like?”

“Sex in a tube, Kate, sex in a tube, and loneliness and wildness and warmth and any and all of the seasons. Take my word for it, or come along at the weekend for the dance. Saburo will be there”

We had curry, we had yoghurt, we had far too much wine, we agreed that the only solution was to take off and nuke the whole site from orbit, because it’s the only way to be sure, and I am absolutely certain our combined shout of “Get away from her you BITCH!!!” was heard in Brighton. It was, in short, a very good night, and I managed to sleep without dreams for once, just me and Tabby and Saburo.

I missed Ginny after Kate drove her away the next morning. She filled everywhere around her with life and sound, and suddenly the place was empty. Just for a couple of nights, though, but still I felt it. I rode into work pensive. How exactly were the various characters going to play it? Den was still shadowing me, so I met him in the locker room, where he gave me his normal greeting. Jim was the boss that evening, and once again it was a nod and a smile as I came on shift.

“A word, Sergeant?”

Once in his office, he looked at me closely.

“Still can’t see it, but then…what’s the plan of action?”

“Got the dance at the weekend to play for, then I see the bloods man a couple of days later”

“He going to do the vampire bit?”

“No, that was done by Doc Khan and the samples sent to him”

I started to laugh. “Khan’s a funny old bugger, he tells me I’m going to snuff it and then when I start doing as I am told he says I’m just trying to spoil his terrible reputation by getting better, how will he hold his head up at the undertakers’ Christmas party? And it’s all done dead-pan, in that Pakistani accent that I am sure he fakes, and there’s just a little grin at the end. Why can’t we have someone like him as the FME?”

“Annie, you’d wish our clients onto a decent bloke like Khan? Not very grateful, are you?”

“Point taken, skip. Now, talking of clients, let’s see what we have. Oh fuck….not him again!”

“Which one?”

“Young Darren Eyres. Same every time, takes a dump in the cell, right on the mattress”

“Well, let’s hope he hasn’t been at the curry, unlike some people I can smell. Price, you may be heading for womanhood, but you still fart like a bloke. Leave the door open, for god’s sake!”

He hadn’t been, but he did, and we added a criminal damage charge to his usual TWOC. Dennis was fascinated.

“You get him in often? I noticed he called you Sergeant Price”

“Yeah, Darren is in a local home, supposedly a secure establishment. Supposedly. He just wants some fresh air every now and again, and he likes cars, and he’s only fifteen, aye?”

“Yeah, but to take a shit in the cell!”

“Did you notice where he did it? On the mattress, well away from the blankets and stuff. Vinyl, easier to clean even than the floor. He keeps his reputation up with his mates, and at the same time doesn’t cause us too much shit–oh, fuck it, you know what I mean”

He leant in close. “When you say things like that, I can actually see what you mean about yourself. You are a good bloke, pal. I am sorry life has fucked you over. That should be quiet enough to have escaped the tape”

He stood back up. “Curry last night? You are making me hungry. What say we order pizza to the nick tonight?”

“Ginny has made my tea. I have to be good after last night”

“Well, let’s see what the others have to say”

Soon, there was a sizeable delivery order for our little enclave, as the civilian staff added their requests and Den called in support from the front desk. He was on the phone two minutes later, spelling out exactly where to bring it.

“Yes, along the Boulevard, straight across the roundabout…yeah, next left. No, not next to the Police Station, IN the place! Forty-five minutes? Great!”

It came, and he ate it n front of me, the sod. So I had a slice. And its friend. And a friend of a friend. Well, I would ride it off the next day. And so the shift, and the rest of the week, went. No dramas, no solved-in-an-hour police procedurals, just welcoming new guests and disposing of the old ones. I even managed to persuade some of the crew, including Den, to come along for the Saturday’s event.

That came round far too quickly, and I was nervous as hell as I rode out to St Nick’s. I hadn’t taken the advice to have a word with either vicar or outreach worker, so I was more than a little apprehensive as to what I would find. As it turned out, Simon, the vicar, was delightful, greeting me at the lych gate, and I felt the kindness almost flowing out of him. Here was a man who worked for a church that included people who would jump ship rather than have any dealings with my sort, and even though he wasn’t aware of my position I could still feel the strength in him, the passion.

“You’ll be Adam, then? You helped poor Melanie at the last?”

With a fucking shovel and a vinyl bag. “I did what I could, Reverend”

“Simon. I’m Simon, no more, no less. Thank you. She’s over here, in a sunny spot.”

He led me to a stone of a very familiar type, that of the serried ranks n Flanders and Picardy, with the Marines badge cut into it. Simon showed me the flowers fresh on the grave.

“This is what it is all about, Adam, the chance to shout at the devil and remember the lost. Celebrate life, as well, and I can’t think of any way better than song and dance. I could give you the scripture, but we both know what it says. Thank you for joining us, Stephanie promises great things from your playing”

“Compared to hers? I don’t think so”

“Adam, my friend, just enjoy the day and keep in time…ish, is all we ask”

“Er, I will do my best”

Steph and family were round the back, setting up the kit on what was turning into a glorious day, and a short man with a beard and wide hips was helping them.

“Hi! Adam? I’m Jerry, this is partly my show here, so welcome and thank you. I believe you are going to try and outplay our resident dervish”

Shit, I really was getting set up for a fall. Eric cycled past, waving as he went, and Jerry led me out to the dance area, his hips swinging as he went. So obviously transgendered, so don’t-give-a-shit in his manner. Would that, could that be me in the coming years? Out, as myself, happy, smiling at the world.

People were drifting in, and a CD of Capercaillie was playing over the PA as tables were set out and the flaps of the tent with the pre-racked beer were drawn back. Instruments were arriving, including a double bass. We had rehearsed in sections, as best we could, so this would be our first real outing together. A stupendously upholstered lady with long dark hair was testing the mikes, and Steph introduced her to me as Di Yale, make no jokes about clocks, nor the number seven. Our caller. Apparently folk types need directions in where to go, like an improved satnav.

The entire Woodruff clan were there, including an older couple introduced to me as Big Bill and Angela, and I received a string of hugs, all with the whispered word ‘Annie’. By the time they had all had a go, I was near to crying. Not unhappy, fuck no. Get it together, join the crew, get Saburo tuned and Timmy miked up ready for the grunting. In short, it was an odd sort of organised chaos where I was waving at the last minute as people I knew passed me by and at the same time wrestling microphones and music stands, seats and instrument cases. Once again I blessed electronic tuners as we got our mix into unison in double quick time.

We were a good spread of sounds. Geoff had a pretty bouzouki and two different mandolins by him, Bill a squeezebox of some sort, Kelly a Christmas tree of various hitty percussion things, Jan her bodhran and Steph and I our own axes. Eric was plugging his device in, giving me a grin as he did so, and I peered out at what was now quite a crowd trying to spot my friends as someone I didn’t know erected the bass.

Di made the introductions. “This is Ben, one of my regular musicians. Ben, these are a bunch of my irregulars. All ready? As in tune as you can manage? OK!”

Simon took her nod and came up to the mike.

“Friends, welcome to another Music Day at St Nick’s. Once again we have been blessed with beautiful weather and graced with a fine, if random, collection of musicians. We all know what we remember here each year, so I have no need to dampen the day for you, but I will say one thing: today we celebrate love and life, and life means movement, so move out onto the floor for the first dance! Our delightful caller tells me---four couple square sets”

Di took over. “Thank you Simon, and as is becoming traditional here, it’s ‘La Russe’. Please leave your fur hats to one side”

We set off, and Ben proved to be one of those pick and slap bass players that can really drive a band along, the deep boom of the instrument buzzing in my body as I followed Steph along the simpler tunes. It was fun, the way ensemble playing usually is, as the simple joy of making music is amplified by the smiles of those around you. I caught glimpses of friends in the whirling mass before us, Sally and Stewart, Ginny and Kate, and Den, with a string of partners as the dances evolved, several of whom were Ruth. Some of the sets were smooth and precise, some were random chaos, but everywhere there was laughter, Di sweeping it along with good and often saucy humour. I was astonished when she called an end to the first half; had the time gone so quickly? Eric came over with a grin.

“This is magic, Annie, Steph! I haven’t had so much fun since the day my brother’s dog Rover...”

And several voices, including Di, Ginny and Kate, joined in with “GOT RUN OVER!”

Geoff picked out a little phrase on his mandolin. “When it’s fiesta time, in Guadalaccchhhhhhhhhhhhara….” and we were off. Three Lehrers later, and Geoff cried off for beer.

Fun. It was all fun. I was among musicians, and Eric, and the instinct was there, the feel for the sound, the rhythm, and I cursed the last two years of stupidity. Ginny brought me a beer, and I realised that she had eased her regime a little, that she was trusting me to be sensible.

Another little bit of me healed just then.

Jerry was at the mike as we finished our pints.

“This is the boring bit, where I ask you for money. Well, sort of, but not that much. My minions will be coming round with raffle tickets shortly, and the money is going, as usual, to our little youth centre here. We have had issues in the past, accusations that we are a gay conversion centre, with serried racks of Gayness ready to be injected into unwilling infants. Well, it hasn’t worked on me, as my wife can tell you. Wife? No? Obviously the cheque hasn’t cleared yet.

“This is a place where kids can talk. It’s not just about sexuality, or gender issues, but about issues such as pregnancy, or abuse, or self-harm, all those things young people find it so hard to talk about. We remember the tragedy that began this event, and please God we never see another. Thank you for coming, thank you in advance for your generosity. Now, back to the music!”

Do or die, Annie. I stepped forward to the mike, Saburo smooth in my hands. The others stood silent behind me as I raised the flute, and the first long note wailed out over the crowd. I held it as long as I could with my lungs making a loud request for me to learn circular breathing, then cut it sharply off. The next one I overblew, and the pitch leapt upwards before I let it drop again, and then I flowed into the simple figure I had put together. No tune as such, just a series of notes as atmospheric as I could manage. As the last one died away, and I reached for my other instrument, I heard a faint ‘shit!’ from Eric. Before the silence broke, I launched into the lilt of the Tull, and got a few cheers of recognition. Eight bars in, the double bass started a soft thump-thump, and then Geoff, Jan and Kelly came in on bouzouki and percussion. It wasn’t the sort of tune for squeezebox, nor for banjo, but Eric had produced a six-string acoustic guitar from somewhere and fitted in seamlessly.

As I came to the end of the exposition, Steph took it up, and we duetted for a while, almost in unison, till with a wave of the flute I took off. Slowly at first, just changing the tone from soft lilt to a harder, sharper-tongued approach, until I turned to the others. Chop down with the flute end for silence-- let rip. Ka-thump from the band---solo---band----solo, then start the melody and variations as I turned away and left the band to drive the rhythm as, to put it simply, I went as apeshit as I could, praying for Ian Anderson to help me keep it together. I cocked an eyebrow at Steph, who was rocking slowly nearby, hair all over the place, and I cued her in, lowering mine as she thrashed hers. Double-stopping, even triple at times, third position on the E-string, she screamed her reply to my solo, and with a slash of her bow, called me back in.

We danced back and forth, and I moaned and shouted through the flute as I played, and finally, finally, as Steph careered around the stage with her hair and bow flying, I had to do it, and to a roar from the audience I brought my right foot up to my left knee and started playing the repeated phrase that was our signal to drop back into the melody. Fuck, we were good!

We settled back into the flow of the tune, and the band carried us along, and then Steph and I almost nuzzled together as we drew the curtains on our duet.

There was silence, just for a second, then a roar from the crowd and a round of hugs from the other players. I was absolutely drained. Steph leant close to me and whispered “Almost, but not quite, better than sex, isn’t it?”