1965
‘ Ice hockey?’ Hathaway said. He was sitting with his father, Reilly and Charlie in deckchairs on their private end of the pier. It was a sweltering Spring day and all were wearing shorts and open-necked shirts, except for Reilly, in sports jacket and cavalry twill, still managing to stay cool as a cucumber. All but Reilly had ice cream cones.
‘These Canadian guys in the war kept going on about it so I gave it a watch,’ Reilly said. ‘Good, aggressive game. The Brighton Tigers are among the best in the country – just won the Cobley Cup against the Wembley Lions. They play at the SS Brighton.’
‘Are you a skater, then, Mr Reilly?’ Charlie said.
‘Sean. Used to be. I still do it from time to time. But SS Brighton is closing down in a few weeks – end of May.’
‘Snow melting?’ Charlie said, grinning.
Reilly gave him a look.
‘It’s being pulled down to make way for a shopping centre, and next to it Top Rank are building this concrete box. A monstrosity. A dance hall with bars, opening November. The old place is closing in October with the Tory party conference – there’s probably a joke in there somewhere but I can’t find it.’
‘If it’s a monstrosity, how did they get planning permission?’ Hathaway said. His father just looked at him.
‘It’s all progress, Sean,’ Dennis Hathaway said, grimacing as melted ice cream ran down his cone and on to his wrist. ‘There’s going to be a lot of development in Brighton over the next few years and we’re right in the middle of it.’
He waved the cone at their surroundings.
‘We’ve got to get off this pier before it rots away. Shit.’ His scoop of ice cream had toppled out of the cone on to the wooden boards. He tossed the cone over the railing into the sea and wiped his hand on his shorts.
‘We’ve got the site clearance for Churchill Square shopping centre this year. That’s going to be massive. Three years’ work before any shops open. We’re providing the labourers. And the machinery. We’re investing in Brighton’s future.’ He winked. ‘And our own.’
Billy, Dan and Tony, the group’s new rhythm guitarist, hove into view, also in shorts.
‘Rehearsal time,’ Hathaway said. Charlie groaned and Hathaway kind of knew how he felt. Hathaway was enthusiastic about his music but he was also drawn more and more to the family business. If he was honest, he enjoyed the respect – OK, fear – in people’s eyes when they found out who he was. He knew Charlie got off on bandying Dennis Hathaway’s name around.
Dan had bought a Vox Continental organ on HP, under the influence of Georgie Fame and the Dave Clark Five. He’d always played piano so had got the hang of it pretty quickly. He was singing ‘Glad All Over’, accompanying himself on the organ, when Dennis Hathaway came in and stood at the back of the store. His legs looked like tree trunks in his shorts.
When The Avalons came to the end of the song, Hathaway said:
‘Very impressive lads, very impressive. Freddie and the Dreamers will be quaking in their boots.’
‘Dad…’
‘Just kidding. I wanted to suggest something else to you, about the group. Wondered if you could do with a roadie?’
‘We can do it ourselves,’ Charlie said.
‘I know you can, but you’re musicians. You shouldn’t have to lug your stuff as well. I’ve got a reliable bloke in my office looking for a bit of extra work. A grafter. I’d be happy to lend him to you. He’s got his own van so that would free you up a bit, Charlie.’
‘I get paid for my van.’
‘But is it worth the hassle? Anyway, I’m sure we can work something out for all of you. Shall I bring him through?’
The Avalons looked at each other and nodded.
Dennis Hathaway returned a moment later with a tall, broad-shouldered man in his late teens in a white T- shirt and jeans. He had a fag in the corner of his mouth, his hands dug deep in his trouser pockets. He slouched a little, James Dean style, as he squinted through his cigarette’s smoke.
‘Alan, say hello to next year’s chart toppers.’
He sniffed.
‘All right,’ he said in a cockney accent.
The Avalons were busy three nights running that week. Alan was hard-working and efficient, though he preferred to roam the front of house during their actual sets. Hathaway would see him drifting through the audience, cigarette clamped between his teeth, having a quiet word here and there. He immediately guessed what that meant and was annoyed his father hadn’t told him.
Saturday night they were at the Hippodrome supporting The Who. Hathaway, Billy, Dan and Tony were chatting up some girls when Charlie jig-a-jigged over.
‘Charlie – you OK? You look a bit-’
‘Right as rain, Johnny, right as rain. Me and their drummer, that Keith guy – he’s mental he is – you know he’s pissed in his wine?’
‘Pissed in his wine – why?’
‘Not his own wine – the wine of that guy with the big nose. He hasn’t noticed – been swigging it back from the bottle. The others know. They’re cracking up in there.’
Hathaway reached for Charlie’s sunglasses. Charlie reared back.
‘Sorry, Charlie, but you seem a bit-’
‘Did you know our roadie is a dealer on the side?’ Charlie said. ‘Uppers, downers, blues, speed. He’s a mobile chemist that lad.’
Hathaway waved the girls away.
‘Alan is dealing drugs?’ Dan said.
Hathaway turned back but said nothing.
‘He’s a right little wheelerdealer,’ Charlie said. ‘He’s just told me their roadie is offering us a deal on a hundred-watt Vox amp.’
‘Hundred watts?’ Billy said. ‘That’s bloody enormous. And a Vox? We gotta have it.’
‘We’d never get it in the van,’ Hathaway said.
Charlie cackled, jerking his body in another weird jig.
‘They use an ice cream van. They nicked the amp from the Ready, Steady, Go studio last week. It’s got the show’s name plastered all over it.’
‘Receiving stolen goods?’ Dan said. ‘We can’t do anything illegal.’
Charlie looked at Hathaway.
‘Yeah, right.’ He cackled again. ‘That Alan. His speed is bloody… speedy. Talk about m-m-my generation.’
The others all laughed at Charlie, though Dave, Bill and Roy probably shared Hathaway’s concern that a drummer on speed wasn’t going to be exactly consistent keeping the beat.
Hathaway met a girl called Ruth that night. She was up for anything. The next day he took her to the open- air swimming pool at Black Rock. He spent time there when he could, usually chatting up girls rather than swimming. It was sheltered by the cliffs, so could be really hot in the sunshine. When he was a kid he’d often played in the rock
pools there. Now he made Ruth shudder telling her how the head of the Trunk Murder victim had been found in a rock pool back in 1934.
He was surprised to see his father and Reilly walking around, deep in conversation with another two men. All of them looked overdressed in dark suits.
His father saw him and Ruth in their deckchairs. Ruth was wearing a skimpy bikini and Hathaway saw her self-consciousness as his father stared down at her.
