‘I, er, haven’t seen much of it yet. We’re just doing a trim, right?’ A bead of sweat passes over his brow. ‘Right?’
‘Yeah, yeah, just a trim. Got it,’ Bruce replies, still with the clippers vibrating away in his fist.
‘It’s just that you’ve got the clippers out. And…well…there’s not even a guard on it…’ Bruce gives him a pointed look in the mirror and he instantly backtracks. ‘Nope, you’re the pro. Don’t mind me.’ He laughs nervously.
‘She had you down to the Glider for a dance yet?’ Bruce gestures to me with his head and edges the blades closer.
‘The Glider?’ Arthur asks, only one of his eyes still barely open as he squeezes the other tightly shut.
‘You know, the Gliderdrome?’ Bruce looks genuinely concerned. ‘In Boston?’
‘Boston?’ Arthur opens his eye a little more. ‘Like, America, Boston?’
Instinctively, my hands shoot up to my face and I groan into my palms. ‘Where’d you find this kid, Bea?’ Bruce shakes his head with a baffled smile. ‘Bloody America. We’ve got the proper Boston, don’t you know.’
‘So, you have a Boston…just down the road from a New York?’
‘Aye we do, lad. We havetheBoston ten miles fromtheNew York. The Pilgrim Fathers set sail from our docks but they clearly didn’t take any original naming ideas with them. They just pinched the names of all our villages and now we’re the ones stuck explaining that we’re not American,’ Bruce explains, getting a little heated.
‘You should have heard them when I was at uni,’ I join in. ‘Surrounded by some of the most intelligent people, yet they couldn’t grasp that me, with my farmer’s accent, wasn’t a Yank.’
‘You went to university?’ Arthur swings around in the chair to look at me in surprise.
‘Why is that such a shock?’ I chuckle, trying not to let his disbelief offend me.
‘No, no, it’s just…I can’t imagine you doing anythingother than, you know, the farm stuff.’ He tries to explain himself, knowing he’s digging himself a hole.
‘Our Beatrice was going to be the next big thing after your dad, you know,’ Bruce butts in and I bumble a series of noises, hoping he will stop talking.
‘An actor?’ Arthur’s eyes widen again.
‘No,’ I mumble, ‘screenwriter.’
‘You never told me that.’
‘You never asked.’
‘You’re waiting for your big break?’ he says, suddenly energetic. ‘I could always show your work to a few people I know—’
‘I don’t do that stuff now,’ I say bluntly and before Arthur can persist with any more personal questions, Bruce shaves a strip of his precious hair and he’s suddenly stuck fast to his chair and unable to move.
‘Your dad was banned from the Gliderdrome once upon a time.’ Bruce is a great many things, but perhaps his best quality is his ability to know exactly when to change the subject.
Chapter 16
Arthur
‘Really?’ My interest piques instantaneously and Bruce swings into action. This must be what Beatrice was talking about.
‘Yup. That place had all kinds of stars playing there back in the day. The Who, Stevie Wonder, Otis Redding, Elton John. Now there were a few rumours flying around that “Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting” was written about a rather raucous night in there. Turns out it was about a pub a few towns over, but your dad and his old pal James took it upon themselves to keep a tradition going.’ Bruce chuckles at his own story, as he slides the clippers through the back of my hair and they snag at the nape of my neck. ‘They stormed the bingo hall, then started a fight in the dance hall. Banned for life after that. I don’t reckon he’ll still be losing sleep about that now though.’
My mind swims with questions. The more I hear of thisversion of my father, the more I wonder if they all have me confused with someone else. My dad has never so much as refused to pay his TV licence or got a speeding ticket, let alone started bar fights.
‘Thick as thieves those two.’ Bruce takes another chunk from my hair but this time I can’t bring myself to be bothered. ‘They must have been about eighteen when that happened. Jimmy left not long after that too, joined the army. A bit of a different path to your dad.’
‘Wait, James, as in Jimmy? From the Big Apple?’ I look to Beatrice in the mirror, and she nods her head with a sad smile.
‘You’ve met him?’ Bruce asks with a grin. ‘How’s he doing? Poor bloke. Terrible what happened.’
