Summer of '76 (28 page)

‘I am grateful,’ he says, and all at once he’s compelled to call Martin, to reach out for him across the darkness of this rainswept August night, as the raging wind batters against the windows and doors of the little bungalow in Blake Avenue. He makes his way along the hall towards the telephone stand, where he hovers a moment, gathering his thoughts. He places his hand on the receiver – and it rings, sending a judder of fresh adrenaline through his veins. He lets the phone ring twice, then picks it up, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

‘Hello?’ he says with some hesitation. There’s a short silence on the other end of the line. ‘Mart? Is that you?’

‘
It’s Dad
,’ Martin whispers, his voice muffled as if he’s cupping his hand around the mouthpiece. ‘He can’t get out of bed. Can you come over?’

The rain batters against the glass panels either side of Luke’s front door, streaking channels of tears down its frosted vertical stripes. Martin has never asked Luke over to his house. ‘What is it, Mart? Is it his bad back?’

Martin’s voice is hoarse with fear. ‘I’ve never seen him so bad, Luke. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He keeps begging me to fetch the gun and finish him off.’

‘I’ll get my dad, mate. We’ll be there in ten minutes.’

Martin hangs up, leaving nothing more but the desolate whirr of an empty line. Luke stares at the receiver a moment, as his brain shifts gear. ‘Dad!’ he calls along the hall, already reaching into the cupboard for his raincoat. ‘Dad!’

Dad and Simon appear in the hallway, a matching frown on both tanned faces.

‘We’ve got to get over to Martin’s place. He needs us.’

Despite the recent downpour, meteorologists and weather experts continue to deliberate over the effects of the ceaseless summer, many claiming it will take years for the water table to return to a healthy level. But to the rest of the country – to the everyday folk in their houses and gardens, in their cars and buses, in their school rooms and offices – the summer of ’76 is over; the heatwave has finally broken.

After the service, the small congregation meanders in the sunlit gardens of the crematorium, a sea breeze whispering in the clear air. Luke sticks close to Martin’s side, the pair of them wavering quietly beneath the adjacent oak tree, not sure what to do with themselves now that the funeral is over. There’s a careful hush among those assembled; it seems many here hardly knew Alan Brazier at all, most having been gathered by Richard and Joanna Wolff over the few days since he died, making up numbers for Martin’s sake.

Leaving Nanna sitting on the shaded bench between Simon and the vicar, Kitty runs to Martin, taking him by the hand and pulling him towards the wide, dried-out lawn, where she spins in circles and points out birds perching in the overhanging trees. He looks like a proper man in his new suit, picked out with Mum’s help from Chiesman’s department
store in Newport. Luke joins his parents as they stroll to the edge of the lawn with Teddy and Rhona from the Spar, all of them dressed in black – such a stark contrast to the
bleached-out
shades of this summer.

‘Bless him,’ says Rhona, her eyes following Martin as he picks Kitty up and wanders around the edges of the shrubbery. ‘He only had his dad, didn’t he, Jo?’

Teddy purses his lips, resembling a member of the mob in his Fifties suit, his meaty hands clasped together respectfully.

‘Yup,’ Luke replies. ‘I don’t think he’s even got aunts or uncles. None that he’s ever mentioned, anyway.’

‘Such a shame,’ Rhona replies.

‘He’ll be alright,’ Dad says, slipping his hand around Mum’s waist. Kitty waves from across the lawn; they all wave back.

‘So what did the doctors say?’ Rhona asks in confidential tones. ‘You spoke to them at the hospital, didn’t you, Richard?’

He nods.

‘They said he’d been ill for months. Initially the doctors didn’t spot it was cancer, but, when they suspected it, he just refused to go for tests.’

‘Poor beggar,’ says Teddy, reaching inside his jacket for his cigarettes. He taps one out on to the heel of his hand, before bringing it to his mouth, continuing to talk around the filter as he lights it. ‘What a way to go. Did Martin know he was ill?’

‘He knew something was wrong,’ Luke replies. ‘But he had no idea it was serious.’

Simon joins them and, seeing that Teddy is smoking, appears instantly relieved and reaches for his own cigarettes. Teddy offers him a light, and Luke resists the sudden urge to ask if he can have a fag too.

Dad tugs at his tie, loosening it enough to undo his top button. ‘Martin said he’d been trying to get him back to the
doctor’s for weeks, but he wouldn’t have any of it. And then, of course, once we did get him into the hospital, he didn’t even make it through the night.’

Rhona gasps softly, absently wafting her hand to bat the cigarette smoke away. Cradling her little handbag in the crook of her arm, she opens it up and brings out a packet of mints, peeling back the crumpled wrapper and offering one to Teddy, who’s still mid-cigarette. She drops the packet back into her bag and snaps the clasp shut, shaking her head sadly. ‘There but for the grace of God.’

The McKees join the group, looking as out of place as everyone else. Marie embraces Mum, stepping aside as John awkwardly stoops in to kiss her.

‘Thanks for coming,’ Mum whispers.

‘Not at all, darling.’ Marie caresses the lapels of her dark jacket, and glances in Martin’s direction. ‘
So
sad.’

Dad shakes John’s hand. ‘Good to see you, John. Been keeping busy?’

‘Always busy,’ John replies, sweeping restless fingers through his white hair as Marie holds her arms out to embrace Dad. She kisses him twice, holding on to his upper arm as she talks.

‘You know John, Richard! We can’t keep him out of the office for more than a few days, or he starts getting withdrawal symptoms.’

Looking at them standing there in their sober suits and greying hair, Luke finds it almost impossible to believe they’ve so recently been the hosts of these parties. He pushes away an unbidden image of John and Marie mingling among their guests, carrying trays of drinks and nibbles, and letting it all hang out.

‘Oh, hello, Luke – and Simon!’ Marie says, letting her hand drift away from Dad’s arm as she kisses Simon. ‘I am glad we came, Richard – it doesn’t look as if he knew many people around here, judging by the congregation. So what will happen with Martin now?’

Dad ruffles Luke’s hair, just as he used to when he was small. ‘We’ll help him work it out, won’t we, Luke?’

‘Maybe I should go and see if he’s alright,’ Luke says, and he leaves his parents with the others to amble across the crunchy dried grass, hands in pockets, wondering what he’ll say to Martin when he gets there.

‘Go and find Mummy,’ he tells Kitty when she sprints over, and she bombs past, heading back to the edge of the path, where Dad swoops her up into his arms.

Martin is standing at the foot of a young poplar tree, his long arms dangling at his sides, head tilted in concentration. Birds chatter in the branches above.

Luke stops a few feet away. ‘You OK, Mart?’

‘Hi,’ Martin says as he looks round, seeming surprised to see Luke standing there. ‘I was trying to show Kitty the chaffinch.’

‘She’s gone off to find Mum,’ Luke replies, cocking a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Just thought I’d come and see how you’re doing. You did really well in there, mate. It can’t have been easy.’

Martin reaches up and snaps off a leaf, turning it over in his large hands, studying the veins closely.

‘It was good of your dad to stand up and talk like that – I know everyone probably thinks it’s pathetic, but I just couldn’t do it.’

‘No one thinks it’s pathetic, Mart. Christ, you’ve been through enough without having to get up there and do a big speech in front of a bunch of stuffy suits and hats.’

He moves closer and prods Martin’s arm, making him look up. He looks ten again, like an overgrown child dressed in a man’s suit, and he smiles weakly, crumbling the leaf between his fingers and letting it fall to the ground.

‘The poem he read out was really nice.’

Luke flicks his head for Martin to walk with him, and they follow the line of the manicured hedge until the lawn opens out into the woodland path. ‘My mum chose it. I know
it’s about a carpenter, not a framer, but still – I think it was a good choice. She’s written out a copy for you to keep.’

They walk on through the woods, silent but for the soothing twitter of birdsong, and the occasional clatter of the wood pigeons as they rise up through the leaf canopy. The first signs of autumn are more visible here, where the
moss-cloaked
foot of each tree is joined by an explosion of earthy mushrooms and tiny red toadstools, coaxed out by the recent humidity and rainfall. Further up the older trunks, large, brightly coloured fungus fans out in elaborate formation, wrapping around the bark in vibrant swirls of yellow and orange, its delicate flesh as tender as chicken.

Luke glances at Martin, trying to read his expression, the contours of his long face ever-shifting as they pass beneath flickering slices of early afternoon light. As ever, Martin’s focus is in the treetops above as he scans for wildlife, occasionally pointing to the red squirrels that skitter from one branch to the next, searching out food for their winter reserves. At a fork in the path the lads slow their pace, coming to a stop in a warm pool of sunlight that breaks through the parting of leaves overhead. Luke casts his gaze along the rough paths, wondering where each leads to.

‘Which way, mate?’ he asks, turning to see Martin carefully folding his jacket on to the dusty earth before he reaches up for a low branch and starts to climb the tree. ‘What about your new shoes?’ Luke laughs. He watches as Martin steadily ascends the enormous trunk, moving surprisingly gracefully for a man of six foot five.

Martin pauses to look back, his movements causing a vortex of dust motes to dance and swirl in the warm pillar of light between them.

‘I hope I never have to wear them again,’ he says. ‘They pinch like hell.’ With a bob of his head, he beckons Luke to follow behind.

Once Martin has established himself on a sturdy crook of the tree, Luke goes after him, instinctively using all the
same footholds and supports that Martin had scaled moments earlier. Seconds later he’s sitting beside him, looking out over the treetops, into the gardens of the crematorium, where he can just make out his parents, still in conversation at the edge of the path. Martin lifts a foot and inspects it, checking out the deep scuffs across its polished toe.

‘Look at Kitty,’ he says, pointing over to the gardens, where they can see her tiny figure performing clumsy cartwheels along the lawn.

Luke smiles. ‘Nutter.’ His affection for her swells as he watches her from a distance, oblivious as she is to the events and revelations of this restless summer. She runs past the group of adults; Simon jumps out to catch her and her little arms shoot up in delight as she lets him.

‘I don’t know what I’d have done without you over this last week, Luke,’ Martin says, as he continues to gaze over at the family scene. ‘And your folks. It’s been –’ He stops short, the muscles in his jaw clenching tight, his nostrils flaring.

Martin’s hand rests on the branch between them and Luke presses his own upon it, letting it linger long enough to convey his understanding. ‘You’re not on your own, mate. You do know that?’

Martin breathes deeply, his hand moving swiftly to remove a tear before it has a chance to fall. ‘But the thing is, I
am
.’ He turns to Luke. ‘I mean, you’ll be leaving next week, and I can’t stay at your place forever. I’ll have to go back home sooner or later – and I just don’t know if I can face it, rattling around that place on my own, with my dad not there.’

Luke looks away, focusing resolutely on the group beyond, biting down on his teeth to control his own tears. He thinks of his family: his dad with his well-meaning bullshit and jovial warmth; his mother, quietly bending her will to the needs of them all; and lovely Nanna, who’s just there, always the same, with her shepherd’s pies and bad language. He sees Martin in his mind’s eye, a solitary figure sitting at the table in that cold shell of a house, drinking tea from his last chipped
mug, with nothing to look forward to but loneliness, as Luke sails away into the bright world beyond. A tree sparrow lands briefly on the adjoining branch, taking to the air again at the turn of Martin’s head.

‘But you’ll have all sorts of choices to make now, mate,’ Luke says. ‘You’ll be able to do that photography course you talked about? I know it’s bad now, but your life could really change, if you wanted it to, Mart. In good ways.’

Martin picks the bark dust off his trousers, smoothing the new material flat against his thighs. ‘You know, he wasn’t all bad, Luke. Dad. He had a good side to him too, when he wanted. When he let it show.’

Luke nods, watching the dispersing group on the lawn as people head back to their cars to make way for the next service. His parents disappear beyond the screen of trees. ‘I know that, mate. Everyone loves their parents, no matter what. I mean, look at my lot. They’ve hardly turned out to be straightforward, have they?’

Martin lets out a small laugh. ‘
Swingers
,’ he whispers.

Luke laughs too, shaking his head. ‘Man, there’s more to that story than you could ever imagine.’

‘Is that good?’ Martin asks, looking concerned.

‘Kind of. Well, yeah, it is – it’s all good. Maybe I’ll tell you over a pint later? Dad and Simon said we ought to take you down the Crab and Lobster, to raise a glass to your dad. What d’you reckon?’

‘A beer would be really nice.’ Martin nods slowly, his face relaxing for the first time all day. ‘Oh, that reminds me,’ he says. ‘I found this.’ He reaches into his trouser pocket and pulls out a small photographic reel.

‘The missing film?’ Luke gasps, laughing aloud. ‘This is really it? Man, that’s brilliant news. This one’s going straight in the bin where it belongs.’

‘I reckon we can do better than that,’ Martin says as he cracks open the plastic casing and drapes the long thin negative over the branch between them. He takes the silver
lighter from his inside pocket and holds it up to show Luke. ‘I knew it would come in handy.’

Luke watches as Martin snaps off a small twig and holds out one end of the film, reaching across to light it. It quickly takes light, small licks of fire travelling up its length as Martin feeds the other end of the film up over the branch until nothing remains but an oily patch of tar.

‘Now you can forget about it,’ he says, and he clicks his lighter once, ker-chink, and returns it to his inside pocket.

There’s the crunch of footfall on the path below. Luke brings his finger to his lips, and they both incline their heads to listen out.

‘So that’s where you’ve got to,’ Dad calls up, stepping back so they can see each other clearly. ‘Are you boys smoking? Look at this, Jo,’ he calls back along the path.

Luke turns back to Martin, talking softly. ‘Mart, promise me one thing. When I’m over at college – you’ll come and stay with me some time? Check out the courses, see what you think of the mainland?’

Martin stares at him. ‘You’d really want me to?’

‘Of course I would, you idiot,’ Luke replies. ‘Honestly. I’ll be mad with you if you don’t.’

Mum and Kitty fall into view, and together with Dad they stand in the light clearing, shading their eyes and peering up into the tree.

‘
Two little dicky birds sitting on a wall
,’ Dad says in a sing-song voice.