daughter, or niece of the gardener. You remember?
Lovely little red-headed girl. Always smiling and very agreeable.
What was her name?”
“Gina,” he said
quietly.
“Gina,” Lucinda
repeated loudly and took a swig from the bottle of expensive single
malt. “That was it. And what happened to Gina?”
“This is not the
time or the place,” he thundered. “And …”
“She got extremely
bored of an unhappy young man. And she went, taking her sweet
little red hair and bounce away with her.” Paul's eyes narrowed,
and Lucinda smiled at her incandescent brother. “Only what you are
doing to Jack, happened to you. You think it's some rite of
passage, to be a bastard to your children?”
“Get out!” Paul
shouted, but Lucinda sat unmoved. “I said …”
“I heard,” she
told him. “And I am ignoring you. As I bet you wished you ignored
our father.” He gulped, and Lucinda cleared her throat. “’Cause by
the time you did stand up to him, sweet little Gina was off being
agreeable with someone else. So, Jack isn't working for you, he
wants to be free for a few weeks. Give 'em that, 'cause when he
starts working, he ain't gonna stop 'til he's in his sixties.” Paul
shook his head, and Lucinda added. “Or has a nervous
breakdown.”
Paul flinched, and
she got up. “It's my choice, it's my …”
“It's Jack's
actually. But if I find him working next week, I might just look to
see about my shares in the firm and what rights I have to manage
it. After all, I have a vested interest in my nephew's future
employment as well.”
“But … we
agreed.”
“Yeah. And you
also told me when you cried yourself to sleep every night that if
you had kids you wouldn't be like our Dad was. You break your
promise, I break mine.” He grunted and gestured wildly at his
departing sister. “Now I'm off to the Off License, want
anything?”
Jack looked at his
father. “Happy now?” The middle-aged man thundered, and Jack
shrugged.
“Yeah, I think I
am!”
* *
* * *
Paige and Claire
straightened their T-shirts and looked at each other. “Let's hope
this one goes better,” Paige muttered as they approached the pub on
the outskirts of Croydon.
Their attempts at
trying to find a venue where they could play live music was proving
fruitless. The more popular pubs were not interested in a band
doing their first live set, and some of the smaller, niche venues
wanted particular styles of music.
Paige and Claire
felt patronised at their penultimate pub when the owner called them
“schoolkids who want to play” and Paige swore at him, en route to
being ejected from the tiny establishment.
Claire and Paige
strode into the bar more confident than they felt. “Could we see
the manager, or landlord, or whoever?” Claire asked when the
barmaid gave the two teenagers her attention.
“'Ey, you old
'nuff to be in 'ere.”
“Err … yes!” Paige
replied and then had to find her purse to show the barmaid her
photo identification to prove this fact. “We just want to speak to
the landlord.”
She shook her head
and shouted through a doorway at the back of the bar. “Terry!
Terry! Some girls to see ya!”
A bald-headed,
rotund gentleman bustled into the bar and looked at the slim Paige
and curvy Claire smiling unnaturally at him. “What d'ya want? Ya
better not be 'ookers wanting to put ya cards on my noticeboard! I
said no to the last lot.”
Claire and Paige
scoffed. “Do we look like hookers?” Paige looked at her clothes as
Terry gave a muffled apology. “I really need to think about my
dress sense.”
Claire tutted at
her friend. “We would like to play a gig at your pub,” she told
him, and he groaned.
“Not another one.
Look, 'ave you done any locals before, 'cause I ain't see ya?”
“No,” Claire
admitted. “But …”
“I don't do
untried bands. 'Cause what happens is they never turn up, and I
look like a dick. And when they do they can't sing. Good at karaoke
are you?”
“We did meet at
Lovely little red-headed girl. Always smiling and very agreeable.
What was her name?”
“Gina,” he said
quietly.
“Gina,” Lucinda
repeated loudly and took a swig from the bottle of expensive single
malt. “That was it. And what happened to Gina?”
“This is not the
time or the place,” he thundered. “And …”
“She got extremely
bored of an unhappy young man. And she went, taking her sweet
little red hair and bounce away with her.” Paul's eyes narrowed,
and Lucinda smiled at her incandescent brother. “Only what you are
doing to Jack, happened to you. You think it's some rite of
passage, to be a bastard to your children?”
“Get out!” Paul
shouted, but Lucinda sat unmoved. “I said …”
“I heard,” she
told him. “And I am ignoring you. As I bet you wished you ignored
our father.” He gulped, and Lucinda cleared her throat. “’Cause by
the time you did stand up to him, sweet little Gina was off being
agreeable with someone else. So, Jack isn't working for you, he
wants to be free for a few weeks. Give 'em that, 'cause when he
starts working, he ain't gonna stop 'til he's in his sixties.” Paul
shook his head, and Lucinda added. “Or has a nervous
breakdown.”
Paul flinched, and
she got up. “It's my choice, it's my …”
“It's Jack's
actually. But if I find him working next week, I might just look to
see about my shares in the firm and what rights I have to manage
it. After all, I have a vested interest in my nephew's future
employment as well.”
“But … we
agreed.”
“Yeah. And you
also told me when you cried yourself to sleep every night that if
you had kids you wouldn't be like our Dad was. You break your
promise, I break mine.” He grunted and gestured wildly at his
departing sister. “Now I'm off to the Off License, want
anything?”
Jack looked at his
father. “Happy now?” The middle-aged man thundered, and Jack
shrugged.
“Yeah, I think I
am!”
* *
* * *
Paige and Claire
straightened their T-shirts and looked at each other. “Let's hope
this one goes better,” Paige muttered as they approached the pub on
the outskirts of Croydon.
Their attempts at
trying to find a venue where they could play live music was proving
fruitless. The more popular pubs were not interested in a band
doing their first live set, and some of the smaller, niche venues
wanted particular styles of music.
Paige and Claire
felt patronised at their penultimate pub when the owner called them
“schoolkids who want to play” and Paige swore at him, en route to
being ejected from the tiny establishment.
Claire and Paige
strode into the bar more confident than they felt. “Could we see
the manager, or landlord, or whoever?” Claire asked when the
barmaid gave the two teenagers her attention.
“'Ey, you old
'nuff to be in 'ere.”
“Err … yes!” Paige
replied and then had to find her purse to show the barmaid her
photo identification to prove this fact. “We just want to speak to
the landlord.”
She shook her head
and shouted through a doorway at the back of the bar. “Terry!
Terry! Some girls to see ya!”
A bald-headed,
rotund gentleman bustled into the bar and looked at the slim Paige
and curvy Claire smiling unnaturally at him. “What d'ya want? Ya
better not be 'ookers wanting to put ya cards on my noticeboard! I
said no to the last lot.”
Claire and Paige
scoffed. “Do we look like hookers?” Paige looked at her clothes as
Terry gave a muffled apology. “I really need to think about my
dress sense.”
Claire tutted at
her friend. “We would like to play a gig at your pub,” she told
him, and he groaned.
“Not another one.
Look, 'ave you done any locals before, 'cause I ain't see ya?”
“No,” Claire
admitted. “But …”
“I don't do
untried bands. 'Cause what happens is they never turn up, and I
look like a dick. And when they do they can't sing. Good at karaoke
are you?”
“We did meet at
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