In The Middle (CH 10)

                   **IN  THE  MIDDLE**

🚿In utter amazement, Saskia had just learned that Neil was, back in the day - a punk.  A whole spiky-green-mohawk, studded black leather jeans and ripped band tee shirts, plug and safety pin chains affair.

   'No way, Dad! No way did you go around like that!'

   'I'm telling you. I saw the Sex Pistols loads of times!'

   Through narrowed eyes she look at him, she wasn't convinced, simply couldn't muster up an image of this at all. 'Why hasn't mum mentioned it?'
   'It was before we met - honestly.' He laughed at her expressions of dubiety. 'Look, I'll see if I can muster up a photo sometime, I'm bound to have one locked away somewhere.'

   This revelation was drawn out by pure chance.  As it happened, the club that they were due to go see Saskia's friends perform in, was the same underground club - Divers - that Neil once frequented himself when he was into the punk rock scene. Such stark familiarity felt peculiarly intrinsic than coincidental. How could he not go? But toying with her a bit longer - now serendipity had helped make his mind up -  was far too tempting to let pass.

   'You are still coming, aren't you? I've told my mates you'll be there and you'll enjoy visiting an old haunt again.' 

   'Oh, I don't know ... still feel I'm a bit too old.'
   'Doesn't matter if you're a raptor or not, loads of older folk are always there. It's for local bands mainly, all ages come to cheer them on. Say you'll come, Dad, I'm dying to show you off!'
   'I'm not a pair of shoes, Saskia!' 

   She tutted her frustration back at him. 'Just come - stay for a coupe of drinks at least?'
   He knew that she wasn't seeing her friends so much for playing catch-up with him, so it had always felt like a meeting-her-half-way kind of offer. 'It's this week, isn't it?'

   'Thursday night. I was planning on catching the train after work, you could meet me off it?'

   He hissed out a lengthy sigh. 'Alright, you win - but I'm outta there like a shot if I am the only raptor. I mean it!'
   'You're a gem, Dad.' She bounced up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. 'You'll like the band, they're sort of new wave-ish - listenable enough. I know the lead singer from high school.'  
   Chewing the inside of his cheek in premature foreboding, he said adamantly while physically pointing out his message with serious finger motion: 'Me. Raptor. Outta there - okay?'
   'Sure'.  And she ran off to phone the news to her mate, while he - although mostly dreading it - felt secretly gratified for being considered such a cachet showpiece.

There was no time for Neil to change from his suit. A phone call back from China kept him an hour longer in his office, and by the time it was sorted Saskia had already been on the train. To keep his evening events from office knowledge, (he didn't want mocked) he decided to meet her directly from the station. No ruddy way would he be waiting outside the venue by himself till she showed; old suited geezer hanging around a bunch of lollygagging gig kids? Nah! Plans made were plans made, and as bothersome as they may be he was sticking to them.

   Taking a train himself, which he rarely did, he felt stupid having to double check with the station staff that he was on the correct platform. But she come flitting off the scheduled one, waving a hand and hanging on to her hat with the other, her favourite red tartan mini skirt swinging with each bouncy step.  As she approached, he again questioned himself on what in God's name he was doing. Nonetheless, he greeted her with a hug and kept his face happy and gait casual, with no hint of hesitation as they headed for Divers. 

   On reaching the venue, before he let the basement stairs engulf and spiral him down from pavement level, he took a few moments to absorb his youth before reentering the place. A kind of lost scent swirled over him, as he recalled Thomas, Colin, Barry and Gregory, all punk friends in full anarchic regalia, with names not to be called out lest it ripped their eminence asunder. Yes, the memories sucked him back all those years; gangs of coloured hair and eyeliner that had to be desperately removed before work in the morning. Wet arses from pavements, sat on for hours before doors opening. The effing and blinding, false bravado and bruise-comparisons. Any misgivings about coming here were exchanged now for welcoming nostalgia. Even the paint on the railings looked as if was still the same flaky, neglected coat. 

   'Right,' Neil said, 'ladies first.' 

   'Ladies...?' Saskia jested, 'In Divers? That's gig blasphemy here, that is!' Saskia jested, and led him down. 

  She was greeted right away by a small group of friends at the bar while Neil hung back and let the greetings-before-the-meetings occur. Never before had any of them met or even knew a multi-millionaire - it was surprising enough to discover she even had a father.

   As the young ones exchanged banter, Neil was transfixed at his old entertainment pit. The place had, as expected, its decor changed but still kept the element of rough and ready, while the pillars and posts, toilets and light fittings all appeared - as did the bar - in original form and placement, and still providing a starting block for up and coming musicians. 
   When it came to the one-to-one introductions, he was met with an almost wary silence and just brisk, hello's in return. It wasn't being in the presence of a parent that induced silent respect, or fact that he was Scottish and they feared not to understand the accent - it was the fact he was worth a hefty bob or two! Prosperity or not, Saskia painted him as a down to earth guy, but a test of that was about to transpire.

   Dan, a good friend of Saskia's from her high school drama class, bounded through from the sound check session on realising she was there. This big, grizzly guy (all bushy bearded, long haired and leather coated) approached Saskia, grabbed her, and in one fell swoop dipped her backwards, quoting from Twelfth Night but in his own- version ramble,
   'Here cometh my dainty one! If music be the food of love, play on... ' Then he kissed her full on the lips, for no longer than a few seconds, and swept her upright again. Saskia laughed and threw arms around him.
   'Hi Dan! God it's been over a year since we last saw each other!'
   'Hello, beautiful!'

   Dan knew he'd never mean anything in the heart department from Saskia, so always settled for a kiss. But he'd drop any girl for her, in the flick of a switch. Enjoying every moment, Saskia then took a perverse pleasure in introducing him then to Neil, as a mortified Dan, reddened readily, mumbling away between an apology and explanation, till Saskia set the record straight.

   'We took higher drama at secondary school, Dad. This is always how we always greet each other, it's just our 'thing'.

   Curling in his bottom lip, Neil, staring the whole time, slowly raised his hand, putting a damper on that little theatrical moment. 'Hello, Dan ... pleased to meet you'. No smile. On purpose.

   'You too, Mr, um ... '
   'Balfour,' Neil finished for him.
   'Yup,' the big lummox swallowed, nodding away uneasily. He really was just an oversized pussycat.

   The barman rang a bell and announced loudly that the bands would be on stage shortly, and opened the hall partition. With that a wave of frenetic bodies rose from their meantime tables, clanking glass, spilling beers and swear words in desperation to claim a table near to the stage.  

   'I'll keep you a seat, Dad!' Saskia called as she was swept away in the flow straight past him. Neil simply rooted himself till the coast - and the bar area - was clear. 'Large JD on the rocks, please,' he ordered. On placing down the drink, the extremely young looking barman (maybe it was still a haven for underagers) smiled and asked, 'First time here?'

   'Use to frequent here, actually, but it's my first in a very long time.'

   'Ah ... don't think any of the acts tonight will be worth the ink, the more promising ones are usually kept till the weekend.'

   Neil pursed his lips a little, frowning out the barman's statement, a bit befuddled. 'Sorry?'

   'Oh, um ... ' the lad said while rinsing out glasses at speed, 'is there a particular band you're in to see? Hope I haven't put my foot in it.'
   Then he clicked on; he was standing there like a veritable music scout in his Saville Row suit, possibly after the next Top 20 artist whose songs he wouldn't give a shit about once the deal was sealed. Sure, he wasn't stylized to happily step on a piss-ridden floor at the urinals, so he understood why his clothes kind of led to the young man's conjecture. The venue had, after all, produced quite a few mainstream bands in its time.

   'I'm not!' Neil shook his head, keen to rid such a possibility, 'I had other plans tonight but my daughter roped me into coming here straight from work instead.' Neil necked his drink in two goes. 'Better go find her... keep the change.'  He tapped by the coins left over.
   'Cheers! Enjoy your night,' the lad said politely, and when out of earshot commented: 'you're gonna hate it!' ***

The hall filled with people rapidly, high spirited voices collecting in sudden rushes of volume as the support band was screeching its instruments in preparation for the first song. Christ, this was going to be loud. Not even his trip down anarchic memory lane where he pogoed like an idiot, could stop him from bracing himself at the old 'one, two, one, two'. But he was rather relieved that there were a few older others already sitting at tables, probably feeling similar.     

   Saskia was at the hall bar with the skinny guy with too much hair gel and the boniest hand he'd ever shaken.

   'Dad!' she called as he passed. 'We're over at the side table,' then pointed it out.

   'Great,' thought Neil, 'Right next to a humongous bloody speaker!' 

   'What d'you want to drink?'

   Waiting beside her until the orders were placed on a tray, Neil flicked out a £50 note from his wallet. 'It's okay, we've put a kitty in.' Saskia told him, but he flicked the money between two fingers more insistently at the hesitant barmaid, who this time took it and rang the sale through the till. She, also, was told to keep the change.  And while his wallet was still out in abundant-generous mode, he drew out a bundle of  £20 notes. 'Treat your friends,' he told Saskia, while scrawny Joseph stood in jaw-drop mode, 'I know you don't see them often.'

   'Dad, there's no need!' 

   Though he knew, she knew and they knew he could well afford it, it truly wasn't part of the night's agenda - a round or two at the most maybe - the young group had not awaited a free ride. Tonight was more to do with pride and common connection; another factor to help bind their lost years. 'I'll get my own, sweetheart. Honestly.' With a twisty smile and a scrunched up nose, she accepted and led the way back to the table. 

   The second Neil's arse met the chair he physically jumped as the support band kicked off in sync with him sitting. If nothing else, it would at least mask vibrations if a heavy duty lorry passed over! For having been a hardcore London punk, he had always felt nervous when the joint's chandeliers shook!
   Thankfully, as the night wore on the booze started to loosen restrained tongues - double helpings of shots at a time being a huge benefactor - and Saskia's friends were left gobsmacked when she snared Neil into his erst, punk territory- talk ... well, shout, actually. Even with the music having temporarily stopped to allow the main band to set up, the hall still annoyingly resounded with voices and bustle.  He knew his throat would protest from it's thrashing in the morning. Then the table cleared as quickly as the bar did the second the band's frontman's lips met the mic to welcome their following. Neil was left (sitting this time) like a ninny on his own, while the fans got within spitting distance— if not closer— to the performers. This abandonment was, however, pre-decided by Saskia. An elbow in the face, or any bruise in any manner, was not quite the memory or souvenir she wanted him to be taking home.******

As the floor overcrowded with fans, Neil's table was forever getting bumped into. Why couldn't they just stay in their ruddy seats? But then he thought that a bit unreasonable - it was just the old pot, calling the new kettle, black.  Leaving the table, he wound his way toward other raptors standing at the back near the PA system. Leaning his shoulder on the same thirty year old (or more) scuffed-stained pillar, he was actually getting a better view with being a few steps higher up. 

   Saskia noticed the empty table, checked the bar and panicked when she didn't see him there, but his wave caught her eye and she relaxed. He managed to lip read her mouthing: 'Bloody brilliant!' while stabbing a finger towards the band. In return, Neil nodded with high-rise brows and a faux, I'm enjoying myself smile, all the while wishing he was outta there! Saskia faced forward and back into fan mode. When would his torture end?

   Finally, the last song was announced, and Neil surprisingly found his foot tapping along to the catchy little number (oh, the wonders of alcohol and relief!). During the chorus, he watched as Saskia waved her hat in the air, until the lead singer noticed, then beckoned her to throw it. Bending his knees, she frisbee-like spun it towards him. Destination; his head. If she misses; the suede hat is flattened. But the guy judged it to perfection; this little trait the band kept up every time she went to their gigs! Neil found the quirky move rather, well, moving, gleaning that his wee lassie was a popular girl, admired by a faithful bunch of friends. From what he gathered, they had all attended university and now had good jobs, with the exception of one who seemed very muddle headed, but nevertheless, simpatico. 

   His heart went out to his daughter who'd been there for her mother and grandfather, all those life-conforming years stuck in a cafe sacrificing a potential better future - lest she yearned for a job at Ikea!

   Saying their goodbye's in typical drunk-huggy style (Neil very much an outlier as this was going on), he marveled at the youth of today, especially the way they knocked back alcohol like there was no tomorrow. Most of them would no doubt be fresh for work in the morning, while he stood seriously contemplating the day off; he was usually in bed by now.  But he did promise to see her on the last train home. Thankfully that was only a ten-minute walk away.

Linking arms as they walked, Saskia reveled in the success of the gig, with Neil enjoying himself a fraction more than he'd care to admit. The way she was downing those shots he was amazed she was still upright. Thankfully she chose not to wear heels so kudos to those clumpy boots for their perpendicular support. 

   Doing his best to keep up with her babbling, he had to pull her onwards and away from the enticing smell of the fish and chip shop they were passing.

   'Go on, Dad,  just a bag of chips!'
   'Look, your last train is in fifteen minutes and there's a long queue, we can't stop.'
   Under a hugely exaggerated huff of air, she plodded on with her angry stomach and its false hunger, until a little further along, they were heading towards a group of lads that Saskia had some hassle with at the bar during the gig. 'Ah, shit...' she said under her breath. 

   'Woohoo, look who it is ... no wonder you got nowhere with her, Seb!'  Neil wasn't really making any sense of the quips they were throwing among themselves until one leaned out and slapped him on the shoulder as they passed.  'Well done, old timer!'

   Now he clicked. So the lamebrains thought that Saskia must have a thing for older blokes and that he'd just picked her up.  'Behave, lads, she's my daughter!' 
   Turning round the mouthiest one shouted from behind them; 'You're joking, mate ... if she was my daughter I'd still be giving her a bath!' 
   Stopping dead, Saskia roughly pulled her arm free and fast-paced it back to the lad in front with his arms crossed; a bolt of fast-acting ferocity surging through her.  'What did you say? What the hell did you say!? A bath... eh?'  In a millisecond she pulled back her fist and punched him straight in the mush.

   Under a chorus of lengthy wows, everyone's arms—including Neil's—  everyone's arms shot up, hands landing on the sides of their heads like a footballer that just missed a goal.  Luckily, one lads quick catch-reaction kept his mate from a possible head crack off the pavement. 

   Neil stood rooted and shocked, while one of the gang now saw the funny side and laughed at the  stupefied dickhead that had just been decked by some dizzy blonde; bang goes his muscled-bravado now! Saskia continued to rip into him;  'Don't you dare disrespect my father! A bath? You cheeky bastard!'

   Grabbing the shoulder of her jacket, Neil tugged her around and pushed her forward, raising I'm sorry palms up for a few seconds. The assault was very unexpected, but her next words just astounded. As she tottered along a few steps in front of Neil, she called over her shoulder. 'He'd shower me anyway if he was going to, he'd never let me sit in my own filth!'  

   'Jesus Christ!' Neil stood, briefly motionless at her comment and now coarsely dragged her—mega- quickly— along by the hand, as laughter amplified behind them 'You're incorrigible lady!'

   'Am I? Okay ... whatever that means.' Saskia said, stumbling along with his grip on her hand at crushing point. 

   He was mortified and took a quick glance back to check their distance. With the vision of the young lad still on the ground with his bloody nose, he'd just caught an abstruse side of her coming from nowhere; but no doubt fuelled by booze, frustration and a lack of chips. 
   'Dad, those gits were hassling me and Luce at the bar earlier, they were being vile. The ruddy bouncer threw them out -  he deserved what he got!'
   'Yes,' he sighed, 'perhaps ... but did you have to say THAT?'

   She threw her loose hand in the air, then let it drop. 'Well, maybe not... it just came to me.' She tried to stifle a giggle. 'I thought it was funny, though!'

   'God almighty.' He marched her on even quicker; the sooner she and that peppered tongue of hers were on the train the better. Thankfully,  was only five minutes to until her train had pulled in, preferring to stay with her until it took off (just in case she did!) again.  'Text me when you're home, okay?'  She promised to take a taxi straight from her stop. 'In fact, text me when you're in the taxi first... '

   On doors opening, she stepped in, and turned to say goodbye by grabbing his tie with a double twist, giving him a full five second kiss on the lips!

   'Mwah, Dad-eeee! I'll call you tomorrow... love you!'  

   If Neil hadn't yanked his tie quick enough, it may well just have caught in the closing doors! 'Text me when you're in the taxi.' he reminded her again.

   'Okay-eee!'
   As she glided away, Neil let out an enervated sigh, urging his heart rate to drop to normal. The station was near empty, so no-one was really paying attention to her daft antics apart from railway staff. He needed very much to take a seat to come to.  'Why the Hell didn't I just let them use their kitty?' he soughed. He'd never seen Saskia in such a state. Mr Moneybags had stupidly - but kindly - infused an ethanol free-for-all.  After a couple of minutes he rose and said: 'Sod it - I'm getting a sausage supper!'

   He swaggered his way back to bag some soggy, greasy chips, (hoping that the boys had sodded off) still not quite believing how, in a matter of weeks, life had transformed him from a pertinacious, repetitive human, into a bloke readily on his guard.  Oh, Saskia Reymarr, what have you done to me?

 

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Around 10.50 am, she called him at work. Bent over a particularly important document he was trying to finalise with Jacqueline's assistance, the sudden beep of his mobile startled them. Thinking it best to answer, in case it was important, he said rather chirpily, 'Morning, sweetheart... everything okay?'

   'No, it's not. Dad, I'm so sorry about last night, I hope I didn't embarrass you too much.'

   Neil flicked his eyes across to Jacqueline, who kept her head down but hearing every word. 'It's fine.'

   'No it's not!' she stated again. 'I don't usually get that drunk and as for that idiot I lamped... you should have heard the way he spoke to us at the bar! I know it's no excuse but please believe it's really not like me, I've been feeling bad all morning...' Bad and with the hangover from Hell.  'Bugger, gotta go; customer. Call me later, yeah?'  

   'Will do.'                                                    

   'Love you, Dad. Bye.' And there she put the phone down on him, giving the back of her neck a good rub; her head feeling way too heavy for it.

   The grin on Jacqueline's face that was downcast, was still pretty clear. 'That sounded fun. Good night last night, then?' she teased. 

   'Mental! Too old for gigs!'

   'You were at a gig?'

   'Friends of hers - don't ask.'

   'I won't.' she said. Wise not to press things anymore. 

   If nothing else, he at least got some comfort in knowing that Saskia could handle herself - if such times were to again arise.

          end of ** IN  THE  MIDDLE**    !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!