Joseph Channing sat in his most comfortable armchair while sunlight streamed in through the sitting room window while he was surrounded by the precious artefacts of fuirniture that had been handed down through the generations. he was feeling satisfied with life, having thoroughly enjoyed his set to with Sir Alan Peasemarsh the other day. He had felt that his life was travelling into the shallow waters of purposeless living and was seriously wondering if he was losing his grip, that his faculties weren't what they had been. This victory had brought out his naturally combative nature and had reassured him that when he chose to bite, he still had mastery of the situation. He felt a warm sense of kinship with his worthy allies Monty everard and John Deed and free in his own mind. He was in the gentle afterglow of his life which still held a future for him. he'd got to a point in his life a number of years ago which was where he needed to be but certainly wasn't something he'd foreseen.
It had been too easy when he was growing up to follow the right path in life that would enable him to succeed without any great effort. He'd gone to Eton Public School, Brasenose College Oxford, Bar School and onwards and upwards through the legal profession. This path was greased by the fact that everyone he got to know had been to the same sort of school and university, including the LCD civil servants and politicians. They were all part of the same club and he never questioned the value system he was born into. His unthinking devotion to the greater good saw him elevated the the Court of Appeals and provided for a comfortable material ezxistence by and large.
The first exception to this was the emotional knock of losing his wife in a senseless car accident when she'd been driven to a weekrend to the country and he'd been weighed down with an important court case and so hadn't been with her. He'd taken a long time to get over this, even with the traditional stiff upper lip. Their adored daughter Georgia had been at public school when this had happened. She was so young at the time, preserved as an image of her at the time, fresh-faced, with a wide brimmed straw hat, with long golden hair. He'd driven up in his Rolls Royce into a foreign land that was her world, not his much as he'd been one child at eton with his contemporaries and another child when coming home from the holidays. It was the way of the world for his class. He could still remember her wrinkled frown of bewilderment when she saw him and she somehow knew there was something up. How he broke the tragic news to her, his memory was mercifully blank on the matter as the whole tragedy, an inadequate word, finally broke through. All that he knew was that, while affectionate as she was towards him in her own way, she grew a protective shell around herself and it might have explained why she became a heartbreaker when she discovered the opposite sex.
Why she chose John deed as a serious suitor was something he never understood at the time. While the man was unquestionably bright, his background was unsuitable, he was an arrogant upstart and quite unlike previous boyfriends who werew far more deferent to him and more malleable. Perhaps it was John's very badness that appealed to his daughter though he could never understand it. Sure enough, he conformed to his instincts by serially betraying her. For years, he could never forgive the man for the wrongs he'd done her, especially when he became perversely successful, a high court judge.
Looking back on these past events, it was as if he was reading a story far removed from himself, especially his former self. There was a classic confrontation between the upstart young buck and the existing older leader of the pack. He had to admit it that John had been a lot quicker than he had been in understanding the corruptiuon at the heart of the establishment as only an outsider could do. It had all centred on Neil Haughton Minister for tade and Industry and George's new boyfriend to whom John had taken a violent dislike from day one. He'd socialised with the man for George's sake though he'd never warmed to him. Only when he'd been passed over for elevation to the House of Lords had he got angry and this coincided with John telling him that he'd been used as insurance for insider share dealings from which he'd profited. He had taken a good look at his life and shifted his allegiances. At this time, Neil Haughton became Home Secretary and put himself on collision course with the brethren as traditional freedoms became encroached upon. He'd warmed to the younger man who'd been proved right all along.
Curiously enough, when George dumped Neil Haughton and tyook up with the very personable Alice Swinburne, joseph discovered a wholly unsuspected ability to go with the flow, listen to what his heart was telling him and throw off the useless lumber of thinking that had become outdated. He realised that all his career strivings had secured himself a comfortable position in life so why not enjoy what he'd got?
Most enjoyable of all was Christmas when George and Alice, John and his granddaughter Charlie came over to stay and the house which was normally quiet, resonated with the cross current of several conversations at once as part of good cheer and good fellowship. In between whiles, George and Alice visited him every Wednesday evening for a very companionable time. He could sit back, a glass of whisky at his side and enjoy the pleasure of charming female company.
"You must look after your health daddy," George chided him earlier on this evening."You need to watch out how much you eat and drink."
"Nonsence," boomed Joseph in optimistic vein."I'm as fit as a fiddle, never felt better. I certainly haven't lost my faculties."
"You're referring to your latest escapade in trouncing Sir Alan Peasemarsh in his futile attempt to retire you, Monty and John before your time. I'm absolutely sure that you were splendidly firm, daddy, and that's why you're feeling good about yourself. It doesn't mean you don't have to take care of yourself," persisted George.
"Don't worry about me. Combativeness and malt whisky is the rocket fuel; that keeps me going. You're the same as me except that your tipple is dry martini," chuckled Joseph, with a meaningful glance at her topped up glass.
"We're talking about you, not me," countered George with superb timing. While Alice could see her partner's point of view, she couldn't help smiling at the verbal sparring that she and her father inevitably reverted to as a bonding device. She could sense that this strong-willed man who had always treated her with kindness, was mulling over these matters in the depths of his alert mind.
Joseph had never thought of dying, he reflected to himself in the secret darkness of bedtime as his daughter's words had punctured the fuzzy soft feelings that accompanied a nightcap ot two with sharp edged logic. Others had died- he lived. That was all. True, he'd been putting on weight over the years and he waswn't as nimble on his feet as he once was. he'd live and live until events happened that decided otherwise. That was all. His daughter was indwependent and as near as dammit happily married as he would wish. He had done his best in securing his future. He had come to live by beliefs that ensured him a comfortable night's sleep and accepted that his ideas had been dusted down and refurbished. He was happy and all he could do right now was to keep on keeping on like he'd done throughout his life. He might ease back on the alcohol a bit as George was sure to nag him on the matter in her well-meaning fashion. He would not surrender to killjoy puritan ways like that dratted Haughton, simpering virtuously over a glass of mineral water while being prepared to sell his soul for self-advancement up the greasy pole of success.
Mel Bridges couldn't help but wonder at the way her life had changed back and forth in the last few weeks to leave her with completely changed perspectives. Initially, it had been downhill all the way.
She'd been living with the very girlish Isobel after a chance encounter in a gay pub after she'd been discharged from prison. She'd ended up in bed with her as each saw the other as an object of desire. She'd played or hung out in enough pubs when she'd played in a band but working in a pub had been new to her. Isobel ran the pub and when it came to it, Mel found out that her magic repartee, looking cool and having a deft hand serving drinks got her through a short learning , they hit it off to begin with though she had to admit that she'd never come across a woman whose voice cooed and was dressed up in her trademark unbelievable high heels and frothy black lace dress. Her battered guitar was propped up in a corner of their bedroom and remained neglected. As the weeks went on, she discovered that she was subject to unpredictable moods which were unrelated to what Mel had been doing. Another problem was when Isobel coyly suggested that they sh shopping together for a sex toy and Mel at last saw how everything had led up to this moment and she was politely unenthusiastic. This rubbed Mel up the wrong way as, though she traded on looking like a rather faded rock star, her attitude to sex was strictly the natural way. She hadn't had any complaints, let's put it this way, she thought. as time went on, tension started to build up between them, especially when Mel started to feel like an employee while ysobel lorded it over the social scene. Finally, everything blew up in screaming argument and Mel promptly decamped herself to a bedsit she'd heard of from a regular customer now that she'd found her fet. She trooped off, carrying her guitar caswe and her sackful of belongings and her final wages and thoughts of what the hell she was going to do next.
There was nothing for it, mused Mel as she woke up with a bad taste in her mouth. she stared gloomily at the dark shadows of her bedsit which had leftover wallpaper from the worse designs of abstract shapes and colours left over from the seventies. It was a big step down from the thin, tatty duvet and rumpled sheets when compared with Ysobel's ultras femiine perfumed boudoir. She had to grin and bear it as she hadn't any other choice. In fact, she had to face the repellent truth that the range of life's choices was closing down on her. She knew she had to stroll down to the local Job Centre and get her claim in while she looked around for other bar jobs. The pay was bound to be shit but they didn't ask for references or too many questions.
An hour later, she was disgustedly on the phone in a public area of the Job Centre with everyone gawping at her. She was talking to Miss Jobsworth at the call centre who asked her a series of inane questions and at the end of it, was told that everything she'd been painfully explaining would be posterd out to her in due course. There she was, some Job Adviser who could have taken a claim form off her who rules and regulations decided couldn't do this any more. she'd only do it if she brought in this customer statement with her, as if she had any frigging choice where she went to for ready money. She noticed that the place had been smartened up with some MFI furniture and yellow and green paint but had gone down the pan concerning practical details.
A few days later, she'd stretched out the money in her pocket to breaking point and had trooped off back to the said Job Centre clutching her envelope which contained a load of typewritten jargon and most of it meant sod all to her. She'd had no joy with the local pubs and had become more prickly and downhearted than before. She was desperate to be back in the swing of things and not to feel like a reject from society. All she wanted, she muttered to herself as she walked, was to know when she would be frigging well paidf. Last time when she'd done this was when the band had taken a temporary dip in gigs and it filled in their finances. Of course, she wasn't to know that the temporary upswing had been followed by a relentless slide to oblivion when she'd got into the drugs dealing game.
As Mel slouched in the formica chair, she was acutely conscious of waiting for the man to call her over for the interview as her passport for ready money. In her mind, the situation was dead simple. She was flat broke, sacked by her last boss for personal reasons and needed this benefit to pay the rentman and would take any job within reason. When at last her name was called, this basic information was stretched and complicated beyond reason. The main sticking point to this jobsworth was exactly how come she'd lost her last job.
"What I don't understand, Miss Bridges, is just why your last employer terminated your employment. Weren't you pulling your pints properly? If you lost your last employment due to misconduct or leaving voluntarily, we might not be able to pay your benefit," she chirped brightly to the increasingly wound up Mel Bridges. She was conscious that she didn't feel too clean and her hair was a mess while this other woman's dress, makeup and perfume was immaculate..
"All right,, let's put it this way," Mel replied with restrained patience in her natural middle class accent while incipient anger was threatening to burst through."I was in a lesbian relationship with the pub owner who was very girly and she took me on as she fancied a bit of the rough. She was a neurotic and became increasingly hard to live with and we split up. She wasn't going to keep me on just on the basis of my professional accomplishments so I lost my job and a roof over my head."
"So nothing in the way you performed your job got in the way of your continued employment, right?" the woman said brightly after a distinct silence during which she swallowed some inconvenient air. In this split second, Mel knew that she was in by pure blind chance. For the rest of the interview, she let everything wash over her head.
With escaping tension exuding from her every pore, she tottered away over to the job point where she scanned the various offerings. finding nothing in her line, she walked out of the Job Centre and let out deep breaths of air and pent up tension.
She leaned up against a wall and reached for her pack of cigarettes. Though prison living had stepped up her nicotine intake, she had quickly realised already that she had to eke out her limited supply but this ordeal justified a reward. She lit it and inhaled deeply before blowing out smoke. All this time, the dazzling sunlight made her feel dizzy with a sense of satisfaction.
"Mel Bridges. well i never. didn't think I'd ever catch up with you again but I'm glad to see you," said a clear voice from behind her. It swam out of her distant past and further disorientated slowly turned her head and, upson of her, hovered a vague shape providing indiostinct colours and details.
Finally, she got her vision straight. The woman was fashionably dressed with expensive boutique brown leather jacket, bright coloured trousers, high heels and carefully applied makeup. Her voice and body language started to rough in details in her memory bank. Slowly, it computed.
"If I'm not mistaken, you's my old bass player, Lorna Edwards," Mel said slowly while memories started streaming back from her unconscious. years ago, she had joined her band after Jo Mills performed with her and copped out when she took fright at her feelings for Mel. Lorna had been a straight down the line, matter of fact woman who let life in a rock and roll band take her wherever it led. She's stuck with her until the band was heading for crack up time and suddenly disappeared into the ether. Mel's eyes looked vaguely into the distance while Lorna's face fell at this apparent non recognition.
"Don't say you don't know me played together long enough.
"Of course I remember you. I was just heading off down memory train in my head, I mean memory lane," Mel replied as best as she could, trying to smile."I've known better days. I've just come out of the dole office. Perhaps that's something I'll write a song about some day,"she confessed frankly with shaky confidence.
Lorna immediately felt sorry for her old friend .Her woes were written all over her face, in her body langtuage and the beat up clothes she wore.
"If you're not doing anything else, have a meal on me as I was going to head that way. I've got some ideas," Lorna suggested in a mysterious fashion.
Mel was interested and this could get over her hyper-stressed mood earlier on. she felt a tentative connection back with her past when her dreams were still positive and hadn't been trampled into the mud. She walked off down thwe road with her friend to see where life might take her. In any case, she could do with a decent meal.
The two women strolled on down the road where a particularly pleasant cafe caught Lorna's eye. she gestured to Mel who was only too grateful for the offer. Once inside, the two women bought a latte coffee and a hot cheese and ham baguette each. To Mel's deprived palate, the hot food tasted absolutely marvellous. She was conscious that she was being paid for but she paid it no mind and they chatted away about inconsequentials. For the first time in a while, she started to feel part of the human race.
Once the bill was paid and they went out into the fresh air, they walked a little further till lorna pointed to the shiny silver streak of automobile which appeared from out of the blue. She opened the passenger door for Mel who found herself reclining back in the comfy seat and whisked off down the road. it felt like a magic carpet ride and the sadness of her city streets were left behind her. She let Lorna drive her this way and that way until with a screech of tyres, she found herself facing a slab-sided building and a front door that told her it was OK to enter. She was starting to feel good but was wondering what the passage past the receptionist held in store. Lorna pushed open the door and entered the most wonderful place imaginable, a true to life recording studio. Right in the middle of the room, Mel's tunnel vision focussed upon a plastic chair and amplifier and leaning against it was a gleaming red electric guitar side by side with a microphone stand, all hooked up to snaking cables. .
"You're giving this to me?" stammered Mel, most uncharacteristically stumbling for words.
"They're yours already Mel. Don't you recognise them. I salvaged them from the council house you lived in once. There's your bass guitar as well," Lorna said in her kind manner.
All at once, it came back to her. A long time ago, she'd moved out to the country where Jo used to live and they'd bumped into each other at the village shop and she and Jo played music together before they'd become lovers. This was in her wild and careless days of being a drugs baron and pretend musician before she'd been imprisoned. It looked as if her old friend had ideas of her going back to her roots but this time for real.