things.’
‘Like what?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘How long were you together?’
‘About a year.’
‘So it was serious?’
‘Enough for me to say yes when he proposed.’
‘You were engaged? What happened?’
‘It’s a long story, but it’s like I said, we both wanted different things and neither of us was prepared to compromise.’
‘And do you miss him?’
‘Every second of every day.’ Ginny wipes her eyes. I hadn’t noticed her tears until now. I wish we’d never ventured into this terrain.
‘Look at us, we’re a right mess. What we need is to bring the mood back up. You used to go out with a wedding DJ – what would he play right now to liven up the room?’
Ginny drains the last of her wine and stands up suddenly. ‘I’ve got just the thing,’ she declares and leaves the room only to return a few minutes later clutching a paint-splattered portable stereo, a framed photo and what looks like a cassette tape.
‘What’s going on here then?’
‘Prepare to journey back through the mists of time,’ says Ginny, tossing the cassette into my lap. I pick it up and read the label. Written in biro in my own barely legible scrawl are the words: Party Toons!!!! I recognise it immediately.
‘I can’t believe you’ve still got this!’
‘Funnily enough neither can I. I only came across it recently when I was redecorating the spare room. It was in a plastic bag with a whole bunch of other stuff from my student days. It really put a smile on my face.’
I was eighteen when I put together this tape for one of Ginny’s legendary house parties and it was wheeled out at every opportunity thereafter. I can remember the care I’d taken over it, selecting the tracks, balancing the commercial with the obscure and attempting to show off the depth of my musical knowledge gleaned from years of reading the NME . I try to remember exactly what I’d put on there: Public Enemy, New Order, The Wonderstuff, James Brown, Madonna, Bowie and if I’m not mistaken, a bit of Elvis too.
I gesture to the portable stereo. ‘Does that thing work then?’
‘Listen mate, this was state of the art when I got it and it’s lasted way longer than the last iPod I bought I’ll have you know.’
I throw the tape to her and she pops it into the machine, bends down, plugs it in and presses play. It’s Elvis singing ‘Kentucky Rain’.
‘I haven’t heard this in years! Do you remember how we used to sing this on our way home from the King’s Arms? Your neighbours must have loved us.’
‘I’m sure they didn’t mind that much. We were young.’
‘And stupid.’
‘And tone deaf.’
She hands me the framed photo. ‘Remember this?’
It’s a picture of the old gang: me, Ginny, Gershwin, Pete, Bev, Katrina and Elliot taken at school on the day we got our A level results. We all look so young, so innocent of what the world had in store for us which was no bad thing given that Elliot was taken from us so soon afterwards.
‘Where did you find this?’
‘In the same bag as the tape. I had it blown up at a shop on the high street. Can you believe this is us? We look like babies and yet we felt so grown up, like we knew it all.’ Ginny laughs. ‘We didn’t know anything.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far. There are some things I’m pretty sure we knew even then.’
‘Like what?’
I take the photo from her hands and set it carefully down on the coffee table in front of us and as ‘Kentucky Rain’ fades out I lean across and kiss her. And for the first time since leaving London I finally feel like I’m home.
16
It’s just after eleven the following morning and I’m curled up in bed next to Ginny. We’ve been awake for a while and after chatting about nothing in particular have now entered some way into what I believe will be a protracted period of comfortable silence.
‘What are you thinking?’
As I look at her lying in the crook of my arm I’m desperate to absorb everything I see: her
‘Like what?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘How long were you together?’
‘About a year.’
‘So it was serious?’
‘Enough for me to say yes when he proposed.’
‘You were engaged? What happened?’
‘It’s a long story, but it’s like I said, we both wanted different things and neither of us was prepared to compromise.’
‘And do you miss him?’
‘Every second of every day.’ Ginny wipes her eyes. I hadn’t noticed her tears until now. I wish we’d never ventured into this terrain.
‘Look at us, we’re a right mess. What we need is to bring the mood back up. You used to go out with a wedding DJ – what would he play right now to liven up the room?’
Ginny drains the last of her wine and stands up suddenly. ‘I’ve got just the thing,’ she declares and leaves the room only to return a few minutes later clutching a paint-splattered portable stereo, a framed photo and what looks like a cassette tape.
‘What’s going on here then?’
‘Prepare to journey back through the mists of time,’ says Ginny, tossing the cassette into my lap. I pick it up and read the label. Written in biro in my own barely legible scrawl are the words: Party Toons!!!! I recognise it immediately.
‘I can’t believe you’ve still got this!’
‘Funnily enough neither can I. I only came across it recently when I was redecorating the spare room. It was in a plastic bag with a whole bunch of other stuff from my student days. It really put a smile on my face.’
I was eighteen when I put together this tape for one of Ginny’s legendary house parties and it was wheeled out at every opportunity thereafter. I can remember the care I’d taken over it, selecting the tracks, balancing the commercial with the obscure and attempting to show off the depth of my musical knowledge gleaned from years of reading the NME . I try to remember exactly what I’d put on there: Public Enemy, New Order, The Wonderstuff, James Brown, Madonna, Bowie and if I’m not mistaken, a bit of Elvis too.
I gesture to the portable stereo. ‘Does that thing work then?’
‘Listen mate, this was state of the art when I got it and it’s lasted way longer than the last iPod I bought I’ll have you know.’
I throw the tape to her and she pops it into the machine, bends down, plugs it in and presses play. It’s Elvis singing ‘Kentucky Rain’.
‘I haven’t heard this in years! Do you remember how we used to sing this on our way home from the King’s Arms? Your neighbours must have loved us.’
‘I’m sure they didn’t mind that much. We were young.’
‘And stupid.’
‘And tone deaf.’
She hands me the framed photo. ‘Remember this?’
It’s a picture of the old gang: me, Ginny, Gershwin, Pete, Bev, Katrina and Elliot taken at school on the day we got our A level results. We all look so young, so innocent of what the world had in store for us which was no bad thing given that Elliot was taken from us so soon afterwards.
‘Where did you find this?’
‘In the same bag as the tape. I had it blown up at a shop on the high street. Can you believe this is us? We look like babies and yet we felt so grown up, like we knew it all.’ Ginny laughs. ‘We didn’t know anything.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far. There are some things I’m pretty sure we knew even then.’
‘Like what?’
I take the photo from her hands and set it carefully down on the coffee table in front of us and as ‘Kentucky Rain’ fades out I lean across and kiss her. And for the first time since leaving London I finally feel like I’m home.
16
It’s just after eleven the following morning and I’m curled up in bed next to Ginny. We’ve been awake for a while and after chatting about nothing in particular have now entered some way into what I believe will be a protracted period of comfortable silence.
‘What are you thinking?’
As I look at her lying in the crook of my arm I’m desperate to absorb everything I see: her
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