On the Bank Holiday Monday, at the end of the month, Hathaway and The Avalons were up on the Aquarium Terrace drinking coffee in the sunshine. They were all in their mod gear – turtle necks and pegged trousers. They’d been taking a bit of a ragging from a bunch of rockers sitting on the terrace but it was in good spirits. The rockers knew Charlie and liked the group.
They were planning the future of The Avalons, though Hathaway and Charlie seemed disengaged.
‘Look, there’s money to be made on the American air force bases in Germany,’ Dan said. ‘There’s this competition – if you win, you get a tour.’
Charlie snorted.
‘Is that a comment or don’t you have a hankie?’ Dan said, sounding peeved.
‘These competitions are cons,’ Charlie said.
Dan shook his head.
‘Definitely not,’ Dan said. ‘Johnny Dee and the Deedevils won one to tour Sweden.’
‘How did it go?’ Charlie said, looking out at the Palace Pier.
‘Well, they didn’t actually go in the end,’ Dan said, abashed. ‘Two of the group are apprentices and couldn’t get time off work. But the principle remains the same.’
Charlie shook his head.
‘Let’s stick to rugby clubs and universities and colleges. And the parks.’ He looked at Hathaway. ‘We have a gig in Stanmer, don’t we?’
Hathaway nodded absently. He was watching an army of mods come on to the seafront on their Vespas. They parked around the Palace Pier and spread out on to it and the beach.
Next a line of motorbikes roared off the Old Steine, looped up above the Terrace and, a few minutes later, came back down Madeira Drive and parked a few hundred yards from the Palace Pier.
‘Have you heard the Shads are doing bloody panto this Christmas at the London Palladium?’ Billy said. ‘Alongside Arthur Askey as Widow Twankey. That’s disgusting.’
‘You don’t want to go, then?’ Dan said.
‘Sod off. I can understand it with Cliff – he’s so square mums like him. But the Shads?’
‘What are they playing?’
‘Cliff’s Aladdin. And the Shadows are – and this is even worse – Wishee, Washee, Noshee and Toshee.’ Bill shook his head. ‘What next? The Rolling Stones in Puss in Boots?’
‘Now that,’ said Dan, ‘I’d pay money for.’
A group of mods came up on to the Aquarium Terrace. They came straight for the rockers, punching and kicking and pushing them out of their deckchairs. The mods outnumbered the rockers by about five to one.
‘Whoa!’ Dan said, starting to rise. ‘What the bloody hell?’
Charlie grabbed his arm.
‘Probably not a good idea.’
Five minutes later, the rockers were hanging off the side of the terrace whilst the mods were hurling deckchairs down at them. Some dropped from the balustrade to Madeira Drive fifteen feet below. Other mods surrounded them there.
That’s when the rockers from lower down Madeira Drive came running, swinging bike chains and yelling. And the mods came up off the beach to mix it.
Ordinary people scattered.
‘Come on,’ Hathaway said to the others, and they ran across the road on to the Old Steine. Over by the Royal Pavilion, Hathaway stopped them.
‘OK, Charlie and I need to get over to the West Pier. You guys should probably head home.’
Dan and Billy both frowned.
‘What do you mean you’ve got to go to the West Pier?’ Billy said.
‘It’s work,’ Hathaway said.
‘This could get worse,’ Charlie said. ‘You should keep out of the way.’
His voice was almost drowned out by another line of motorcyclists on the Old Steine.
‘This is not a place to stay,’ Hathaway said. He grabbed Charlie’s arm. ‘Come on, we’ll go up through the Laines and drop down.’
When Hathaway glanced back, Billy and Dan were standing in front of the Pavilion, watching them go.
Two days later, Hathaway and Charlie met with Dennis Hathaway and Reilly in the West Pier office.
‘How did it work out?’ Hathaway said.
‘It was a bloody mess,’ his father said. ‘Neither your mods nor your rockers exactly observed the no-go areas.’
‘There were a lot more than we expected,’ Charlie said.
‘I think you’re being a bit harsh, Dennis,’ Reilly said. ‘As riots go it was pretty well controlled. And we were on hand to ensure that all those who requested our protection received it. We were also on hand to pillage those that had turned down our offer. We did best out of the jewellery shops in the Laines.’
‘What about the Palace Pier?’ Hathaway said.
‘We didn’t go near, but the Boroni Brothers were enraged that they were invaded,’ his father said. ‘They had men out pretty sharpish but they still got trashed.’
‘Who are they blaming?’
Reilly shrugged.
‘They suspect us of everything but they’re not saying anything at the moment. I mean, it was a riot, wasn’t it? What they’re planning, who knows? The chief constable was seriously cheesed off. He was caught on the hop. No warning. I told him this was going to be a regular thing – no way to stop it now. He’s talking about confiscating scooters and bikes and taking them to Devil’s Dyke, so they’re going to have a long uphill walk to collect them.’
‘Will he give us a hard time?’
Hathaway shook his head.
‘He just wants a bigger cut.’
When Hathaway got in, his mum was with a gaggle of women in the sitting room. The spirits and mixers were out and they were laughing over the game of Monopoly they were playing for real money.
Hathaway knew most of them but he was introduced to two he didn’t know, both much younger than the others.
‘John, this is Elizabeth, the wife of Donald Watts. You know – whatsisname?’
‘Victor Tempest,’ the woman said. She was a slender blonde with a nervous smile. She put down her Coca-Cola. ‘Hello, John.’
Hathaway nodded.
‘Hello.’
‘And I’m Diana Simpson, the chief constable’s wife.’ She was a curvaceous brunette, arching her back almost grotesquely to lean forward. She touched the corner of her mouth with a red-lacquered fingernail and Hathaway had a sudden flash of Barbara. ‘I hear you’re a pop star.’
‘Maybe one day,’ he said, wondering how both Tempest and the chief constable, both middle-aged, had got off with women twenty years younger than them. ‘We’re playing at the SS Brighton tonight as support for Little Richard.’
‘I used to swim there,’ his mother said.
‘Mum – it’s an ice rink.’
‘It wasn’t always,’ she said. ‘It was a swimming pool first – biggest sea-water pool in Europe. I couldn’t swim from one end to the other, it was so big. Then they turned it into an ice rink. And now it’s all this other stuff too.’
Hathaway gave a little wave to the group of women.
‘Enjoy your game.’
‘I’ve just gone to jail, which is a bit embarrassing for a woman in my position,’ Diana Simpson said, tossing her hair. Elizabeth Watts watched her, her face impassive.
Hathaway’s older sister, Dawn, was at the concert. She was home for the weekend. She lived in a bedsit in London whilst she did a secretarial training course. Hathaway was pleased to see her. She was sparky and full of
