7. Because of a motorcycle
Ian
The image of Henry Dashwood riding my motorbike kept me company and made an otherwise tedious, tiresome and boring day rather pleasant.
At the end of it I got a ride home from Alex; my friend, member of my band and occasional co-worker on daytime jobs.
He also had a bike. It wasn't as good (or as orange) as mine, but it worked okay. Sitting in pillion with my arms around his waist I tried not to pretend that Alex was Henry but failed miserably. I don't think he noticed. If he did, he didn't mind. Alex is straight, he knows I'm not, and he's fine with it.
Home, I greeted Mrs. Green, my landlady, and went to my room. It was quite small, but I urgently needed a place to live after Clive had kicked me out of the house in which I had lived for nearly four years, and I couldn't afford a larger room.
I was fetching a drink from the fridge, wondering where my bike (or rather, Henry Dashwood) would be right now when the bell rang. A couple of seconds later Mrs. Green hollered my name.
I got downstairs and saw Daphne standing in the hallway.
"We've come to return your bike," she said with a bright smile. "Henry's outside. He can't seem to get away from it. I think he's fallen in love."
I felt my face turning beet red. "Your father is here?"
He was. Still sitting on my bike. He had put away his sunglasses and was looking a little... caught, perhaps?
"Ian." He cleared his throat. "Marvellous motorcycle. Thank you for allowing us to borrow it today."
"We had great fun," Daphne cut in. "I told him to go to Spitalfields. He had no idea how to get there, but we rode around, asked a couple of times and managed to arrive."
I heard her talk but I didn't see her, for I couldn't keep my eyes off Henry. I did remember to look at my shoes occasionally, in order not to be too obvious or appear to be rude.
"I bought some summer dresses," Daphne was saying. "And Henry got a tattoo. Have a look."
I walked over to him. He pulled up his sleeve a little. It was a black, circularly braided pattern, about two inches in diameter. I touched it.
Yes. I touched it. What was I thinking?
Well, I was thinking that I didn't like it on his wrist, which was perfect and didn't need decoration.
At the feeling of his warm skin I pulled my finger back as though I was stung. When I looked up, I saw that he was staring at me.
"It's henna," he said hoarsely.
Only when Mrs. Green came outside I was able to avert my eyes.
"Oh, my god!" My landlady was clearly in awe for Lord Dashwood, even though I was fairly certain she voted Labour.
After a rather awkward moment, Daphne announced that she wanted to see my room and Henry insisted he come along. I found it a terribly embarrassing suggestion.
Nevertheless we climbed the stairs, me at the front, Daphne in the middle and Henry at the end in the queue.
The first thing Daphne noticed when I opened the door was my Strokes poster.
"The Strokes!" she screamed, excited. "They're my favourite band."
They are my favourite band as well and I had tickets for their upcoming concert. Two of them, to be precise. I got them from my parents for my birthday. 'To go with a friend.' They must have been pinching and scraping to get them but, as my father put it, "You only turn twenty-three once in your life."
I was contemplating asking Alex to come with me, but hadn't invited him yet. He liked The Strokes almost as much as I, but so did the others. There was no reason why I would choose one band member over the rest.
I don't know the exact cause of the decision I made. Perhaps it was that Daphne Reynolds was a really nice girl. Perhaps I was feeling guilty for leading her on. Perhaps it was that whom I really wanted to invite to the concert was her father, and she was as close as I could get to him.
Anyway, I said, "I've got two tickets for their concert in three weeks at Alexandra Palace. Would you like to come with me?"
Daphne sort of shrieked. It had to be taken as a yes, obviously.
"Well, that's settled then," I said by way of platitude.
Henry announced that it was time they went home. He called the manor on his mobile phone and gave orders to tell the driver to fetch him and his daughter at the given address.
When we got downstairs, Mrs Green had just made 'a nice cup of tea'.
The four of us drank it in her living room. It was extremely awkward. My landlady chatted with Lord Dashwood about politics. Wasn't it a shame this? And didn't he agree that?
Henry just hummed and nodded.
Daphne assured Mrs Green several times that "the tea was really nice".
When the driver came to collect them I didn't feel an ounce of regret to see them leave.
Henry
After we escaped from the paparazzi, my daughter took me to Spitalfields in order to 'shop'. It was a long time since I'd been there.
I found an old record from Cuckoo Owl, Daphne bought some very colourful dresses and she insisted I get a henna tattoo. It startled me a little how much I enjoyed being free from responsibilities for once.
When we rode home, the street in front of the manor was crowded with reporters, so I floored the bike and allowed us to escape a second time.
At some point Daphne decided we return the motorcycle to Ian. I regretted this a little but she was, of course, absolutely right.
As Daphne didn't know where Ian lived we first rode to Great Britain's Grand Hotel. I had to buy a map to get there (employing a chauffeur does have certain drawbacks).
Great Britain's Grand Hotel was a shockingly shady place.
"Good afternoon," I said to the young man sitting at what appeared to be the reception desk.
"Hey," he replied dully. Then, looking at my daughter, he seemed to awake. "You're that girl from the papers. Daphne. Cool!"
From his glare towards me I gathered that he didn't think I deserved the same qualification.
"We borrowed Ian Wallace's motorcycle today," I said. "We'd like to return it, but we haven't got his address."
Fortunately, the receptionist had it and he was willing to give it to us. To Daphne, that is.
The address was in a rather dodgy neighbourhood. When Daphne rang the bell, the door was opened by a woman in her late fifties; a little old to be Ian's mother, a little young to be his grandmother.
Daphne was invited in, the door closed. I was still sitting on the motorcycle, finding it difficult to part from it.
After a couple of minutes Daphne came outside again, with Ian. I felt a little awkward under his stare. Perhaps he didn't like me sitting on his bike. Perhaps he found me unnecessarily possessive over it.
"Marvellous motorcycle," I said. "Thank you for allowing us to borrow it today." I still couldn't bring myself to get off it.
Daphne was telling him about our day while Ian kept staring at me. I found myself staring back, I just couldn't help it, and I was wondering whether this was how a deer in headlights must feel.
"I bought some summer dresses," Daphne was saying. "And Henry got a tattoo. Have a look."
He approached me and I automatically pulled up my sleeve. He touched the pattern on my wrist and I sat petrified.
He frowned and took his finger away.
"It's henna," I said stupidly, as though I owed him an explanation.
The woman who had opened the door for Daphne came outside, apparently curious.
"Oh, my god. Lord Dashwood!"
I prayed she wouldn't hurry inside to notify the press.
Daphne ended an awkward moment by announcing that she would like to see Ian's room.
I insisted to come along. I didn't feel like staying behind and having an obligatory chat with the woman who seemed so excited to meet me in the flesh. And, as I registered once again, I was rather opposed to the idea of leaving Daphne and Ian unchaperoned.
Ian's room was upstairs and it was painfully small, but Daphne instantly spotted a poster from The Strokes on the wall and couldn't have been more excited, as they were her favourite band.
The men on the poster reminded me a great deal of The Beatles.
"I've got two tickets for their concert in three weeks at Alexandra Palace," Ian said to Daphne. "Would you like to come with me?"
Of course she did, and I could hardly tell her she wasn't allowed to go. I wasn't that kind of dad. She wasn't that sort of girl.
To distract myself from my unease I announced that it was high time for Daphne and me to go home. I called the manor and gave orders to tell Stanley to collect us.
When we got downstairs, the owner of the house announced that she had just made 'a nice cup of tea'.
"Thanks, Mrs Green," Ian said. So she wasn't his mother or his grandmother but rather his landlady.
The four of us drank the tea in her living room. The situation was very awkward. I didn't know what to say to Mrs Green who seemed to want to hear my considered opinion about politics. I just hummed and nodded at anything she said.
The sight of Ian and Daphne sitting very closely together was distracting. Daphne's repeatedly assuring Mrs Green that the tea was really nice made me nervous.
I felt quite relieved when Stanley came to drive us home.
As we arrived at the manor some diehard reporters were still standing guard at the gate. I ordered Stanley to drive around to the back of the house. There, Daphne and I sneaked inside.
Apart from the awkward ending of our visit with Ian, my afternoon with Daphne had been wonderful.
I was feeling good, loose. It was truly amazing what a ride on a borrowed motorbike and a visit to Spitalfields could do to a man.
I felt like trying on my old leather jeans. Although they were very tight, they still fitted. I also put in an old earring. (I had my left earlobe pierced in Morocco most of two decades ago.) I found that I looked great in the mirror. My reflection had me playing a few bars of air guitar.
I was caught by Glynnis, who wasn't pleased. I felt strangely unaffected by her shock, and when she left I still felt I deserved to be qualified as cool right now. Subzero even.
