life. She was perched on the ratty sofa in the poky dressing room with Hathaway, Billy and Dan when Charlie barged in.
‘I didn’t know Little Richard was a poof,’ Charlie said. ‘Fuck me.’
‘He’d probably like to,’ Billy said.
‘He just nipped my bum.’
‘Sparkly suit, lots of eye make-up,’ Dan said. ‘How did we miss it?’
Charlie looked appreciatively at Dawn.
‘Excuse the language. Didn’t know we had visitors.’
Hathaway introduced her.
‘You work for my dad, don’t you?’ she said.
‘That I do,’ Charlie said. ‘He had his son working for him but decided he needed somebody reliable too.’
‘Bugger off,’ Hathaway said, reaching for his guitar and taking a string out of his pocket.
‘Oh, here he goes again,’ Charlie said. ‘Bloody Banjo Bobby.’
‘What do you mean?’ Dawn said.
‘This is a banjo string. A “G”. I’m putting it at the top of the guitar, then all the other strings one lower than they should be. It sounds great – you can bend them all over the place.’
‘Until it goes out of tune,’ Billy said. ‘Then your chords sound crap. And it sounds crap when you strum it.’
‘Chords?’ Charlie said. ‘In the plural? When did he learn another one?’
‘Boys, boys,’ Dan said. ‘There are so many ways a guitar can go out of tune, it’s a wonder they’re so popular.’
‘And you can bugger off,’ Hathaway said. ‘Your idea of musicianship is shaking a tambourine.’
‘I shake maracas too. And play the mouth organ.’
‘What, your Manfred Mann mouth organ?’ He turned to his sister. ‘Dan bought – by mistake, he claims – a mouth organ that only plays the chords for the mouth organ riff on “5-4-3-2-1”, the Ready Steady Go theme. He used it on “Love Me Do” and the results were diabolical.’
‘I saw that Tony Jackson in a club in London,’ Dawn said. ‘He was so out of it he threw his tambourine into the audience and it hit a girl in the face. He nearly got lynched by her boyfriend and his mates.’
‘We supported him once. He was out of it then too. He peed against the dressing room wall instead of using the loo.’
‘Ugh – that’s disgusting.’ She turned to Charlie. ‘So you’re getting quite famous, supporting all these big names.’
‘Holding them up, do you mean?’ Charlie said, and Dawn giggled.
‘Famous in Brighton,’ Hathaway said.
‘Do you have a following?’
‘Not exactly,’ Hathaway said. ‘We irritate a lot of people. We’ll be playing Motown and the boys will want to jive-’
‘With each other, mind,’ Billy said, ‘not with girls.’
‘And we’re getting used to beer bottles being thrown at us,’ Dan said.
‘I never feel we’ve connected with them,’ Charlie said, ‘unless they’re showering us with beer and trying to crack our skulls.’
Dawn giggled again and gave him an up-from-under look. When she looked away, Charlie winked at Hathaway.
‘Good-looking lass, your sister,’ Charlie said the next day as he and Hathaway walked down the West Pier.
‘Keep your hands off,’ Hathaway said, only half-joking.
His father was ranting to Reilly about Harold Wilson when they reached the office. He was furious Labour had got in.
‘Bloody bunch of lefties. Dennis Healey, Jim Callaghan, that drunk Brown. And as for Harold Wilson – we should swap him for Mike Yarwood – he couldn’t do worse.’
‘Good morning, lads,’ Reilly said. ‘How was your gig last night?’
‘A triumph, Sean, as always,’ Charlie said. ‘A triumph.’
‘By that he means nobody threw any bottles at us.’
‘A breakthrough event, then,’ Reilly said.
‘We’re gonna have to kick you out of the office in a few minutes. We’ve got royalty coming.’
Charlie and Hathaway both frowned.
‘The chief constable is paying a state visit.’
‘His wife was around our house the other week playing Monopoly with mum and her coven.’
‘A looker, isn’t she? I don’t know what she sees in exorbitantly wealthy Philip Simpson.’
‘Maybe she has a thing about uniforms,’ Reilly said drily.
‘Is he that wealthy?’ Charlie said.
‘He’s coining it,’ Dennis Hathaway said. ‘But he’s still annoyed about that Bank Holiday do and he wants us to sort out our differences with the Boroni Brothers. That’s what he’s coming for.’
‘How are you going to play it?’ Reilly said.
‘Well, a little bird told me something that has intrigued me.’
‘Wasn’t a Finch, was it?’ Reilly said.
Dennis Hathaway grinned.
‘You two lads get into the storeroom. Listen and learn.’
Philip Simpson arrived about five minutes later. He was in his standard civvies: a checkered sports jacket, khaki trousers and brown suede shoes.
‘I haven’t got long, Dennis. Having lunch with the leader of the council.’
‘Poor you. Frank isn’t exactly a stimulating conversationalist.’
‘You know him well?’ Simpson said.
Hathaway leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head.
‘I own him, Chief Constable. Anything you want to talk to him about, you may as well talk to me.’
Simpson shook his head.
‘A finger in every pie, Dennis. You’ll be trying to take over the town next.’
There was asperity in his voice.
‘Not a chance, Philip. I like where I am. I’m a born liege lord. But I do like to take advantage of opportunities when they come up. I thought it might be useful to have the council in my pocket. Frank was working for me when I forced him to stand for election as a councillor. Man can scarcely write his own name. He’s been cursing me ever since because of the council meetings.’
‘Now he’s the leader of the council,’ Simpson said thoughtfully.
‘And he loves being the boss man; still hates the meetings. I’ve had to hire someone to read the committee reports and write a one-paragraph precis of each one for him, so he has a vague idea what decisions he’s making.’
‘Or that you’re making.’
‘Far be it for me to take the credit…’
Simpson leaned forward.
‘Do you control planning?’
‘Astute of you, Chief Constable. Let’s say I have input, yes.’
‘There seem to be some opportunities for investment in the town.’
‘Indeed, yes.’
Simpson showed his teeth.
‘Just make sure the man with the biggest private army in the county gets his.’
‘Right you are, Chief Constable, right you are. By the way, I hear you’re shifting shop.’
‘We’re moving to St John Street, yes. We’ve outgrown the old police station.’
‘Just as well to get away from the ghost.’
