Chapter Seven, Part 2

The Beat Goes On
by Adele Minchin

(Page 2 of 7)

It's a different story on the weekend, though. On Saturdays you couldn't get a seat if you tried. It's chocker-full of grannies blocking the aisles with their shopping trolleys, and mothers with their children and pushchairs. You can guarantee that they'd all sat in exactly the same seats years ago when they were at school themselves, and I often prayed that I wouldn't be going to the same caff a few years down the line with a bunch of screaming kids round my ankles, scrabbling the money together for a cup of tea.

Emma and I managed to get a corner table by ourselves and ordered a Coke with two straws.

"I've spoken to someone at the support center," Emma said with slightly more enthusiasm than at the beginning of the week.

"What did they say? Are you going to go?"

"Well, yeah, they want me to go along this Saturday to have a look around, meet some people, and just have a chat with them. I don't have to keep going if I don't like it."

"Are you still worried about going on your own, though?"

"No, no, not really. I mean, of course I'm nervous about the whole thing, but, well, they sounded really nice on the phone."

"What does your mum think? Have you told her they've invited you there on Saturday?"

"She's come round to the idea a little bit, and she's given her consent, but she's still adamant that she doesn't want to have anything to do with it herself. My counselor says she's still trying to come to terms with my illness, that she's a long way from accepting what has happened to me and that that's why she's rejecting help and support. She can't seem to see that by going to this center they would be able to help her come to terms with what has happened and to move on. Anyway, she's said that she'll come into Manchester with me, take me to the center to check out what sort of place it is, and will come back at the end of the day to pick me up. She keeps saying that she won't be staying very long, but we'll see."

"I hope it's all right. It's worth having a look, anyway, and as you say, if it's too much like being back in the Brownies you can just walk."

"Well, watch this space. What are you up to on the weekend?"

"Me and Sarah have been invited to a party that somebody from school is having at a new bar in town on Saturday night. Why don't you come after you get back from the center — you can tell me all about it then. It should be a good night. Good music, I reckon. I know the DJ."

"Yeah, I'd love to. I feel as though I haven't been out partying for ages. Then again, I haven't exactly had much to celebrate. Just let me know all the details and I'll meet you there. Who's this DJ then? Anyone I know?" she quizzed me.

"Oh no, just some boy I met at that gig the other night. He's in our sixth form; name's Darren. He seems to have okay taste in music, so he should play some decent stuff."

"I could do with a good night out."

"Listen, I'd better go. Mum'll have the tea on, and you know what she's like if I'm late and disrupt the timetable."

"You'd better get yourself home and report for duty then." Emma grabbed me by the arm and frog-marched me out of Georgio's in exaggerated military style: "Left, right, left, right, left, right."

I woke up early on Saturday morning thinking about the party. I couldn't seem to get Darren out of my head; I was really looking forward to seeing him again. It was crazy, because I didn't even know him properly. All I knew was that he was gorgeous and had the most beautiful to-die-for eyes. He seemed more mature than the other guys I knew — at least he hadn't talked nonstop about fast cars and football in front of me. And the best thing was that he loved music and knew his stuff. I was sure we could spend hours bending each other's ears about the latest samplers and drum machines. It was quite clear to me that we were made for each other.

Sarah and I had planned that I'd get to her house at about seven o'clock to get ready. Her mum goes to her church every Saturday to clear up the confetti after a wedding and to make sure the place is spick-and-span for the Sunday service. Afterward she goes for tea with the priest. It's great, because we get to have the house to ourselves. We can turn up the music and have plenty of space to get ready in.

But it seemed that seven o'clock would never come, so I just lay down on the fluffy rug in my room and flicked through some magazines and let my mind drift. I started thinking about Sarah's mum and all that religion stuff again. I don't think I'm religious or anything. Well, I've never really been to church apart from school carol services at Christmas, so I don't know much about it all, but sometimes I can't help thinking that if there is a God why does he or she allow such terrible things like HIV to happen to people? Why are there so many natural disasters in this world and so many diseases, wars, and murders? What answer could Sarah's mum give me? If God is so powerful and so good, why doesn't he or she install love and peace forever and ever, amen?

I know it's not that simple and I realize that the world is of our own making, but with things like HIV, which seem to be completely beyond any human being's control, it just makes you wonder why these things happen in the first place. What's it all about, you know? It gets you thinking, but if you think too much about it you just end up going round and round in circles. I don't think anyone knows the answer, not really. All I know is that a lot of bad things and a lot of good things happen in life and at the end of the day you've just got to get on with it.

I realized that I had been lying on my bedroom floor letting thoughts whirl around the room and bounce off the walls for quite some time. It was catching sight of my leopard-print top with the slashed neck poking out of my wardrobe that made me think about the party again. I'd decided to wear it with a pair of black trousers and my new sneakers, all set off by my cute pink choker with the tiny diamond studs. I wondered whether my diamanté tiara was going too far — I wasn't really sure what sort of a party it was going to be. I started getting a bit nervous thinking about Darren. Why had he invited us in the first place? Did he like me? I was worried that it would be awkward when I saw him because I hadn't seen him since he turned up at Sarah and my den at school, and I didn't even know if he'd remember inviting us. I was so glad that Sarah was going with me. She'll talk to anyone, even if it's only to give out abuse.

My stomach rumbled. I hadn't eaten since breakfast, so I went downstairs to make myself a sandwich. Mum was in the kitchen ironing and Sadie was sat at the table painting her nails.

"Oh, so you've deigned to join us at last. What have you been doing?" Mum asked.

"Oh, just philosophizing about religion, relationships, whether one wears a tiara to parties in Bury or not. You know, just your regular teenage musings on a Saturday afternoon."

"You're a cocky little madam sometimes." Mum looked disapprovingly in my direction as I squeezed behind her and the ironing board to get to the fridge.

"Whose party are you going to?" Sadie said without looking up from her polished nails.

"One of Sarah's friends is having a birthday party," I lied. Mum thinks Sarah is such a good-mannered, well-brought-up girl that she trusts me to do anything if she's involved. She's always going on about Sarah's disciplined, religious upbringing and wishes I were as well behaved as her. It makes me laugh — how wrong can parents be? — but I'm not going to correct her.

"So are you wearing the tiara or not?" Sadie quizzed.

"What on earth do you want to go wearing a tiara for? You'll just draw attention to yourself, have a swarm of young men buzzing around you and getting you into trouble," Mum said, waving the iron at me.

"Why do girls always get the blame for attracting attention to themselves when they get hassled by blokes just because they've got nice clothes on that they like wearing and that make them feel good about themselves? I'm making a fashion statement, not trying to impress the lads."

"I've seen girls downtown going out looking like floozies, with skirts that look more like belts and tops that show off all of their cleavage. They're asking for trouble," Mum retorted.

"So, do you reckon all women should walk around in sacks to stop men from being led into temptation? Why can't blokes just have some respect for girls no matter what they're wearing?"

"You might think you know it all, young lady, but believe you me it's a wicked world and things aren't as simple as you might think. If I ever see you out on the streets dressed like... like a... a hussy, I'll have your guts for garters." By now, Mum was ironing at a furious pace, her face all red as though she was going to blow up in a puff of hot steam.

I couldn't be bothered to argue. Mum always draws any argument back to the fact that she is older and wiser and she knows best, and that I'm just young and naïve and I'll learn from experience eventually.

In my haste to get out of the kitchen and as far away from Mum and Sadie as possible, I barged past the kitchen table, knocking over Sadie's nail polish as I went.

"Oh, Leyla, now look what you've done," Sadie screeched.

"So what? You're only drawing attention to yourself wearing that sleazy nail polish anyway. Imagine all the trouble you could get into." I smiled sarcastically in Mum's direction and skipped out of the kitchen.

The party was in the upstairs room of what used to be Valentino's wine bar, the sort of cheesy disco that Sadie goes to for a night out with the girls from Abbey National. It's just been bought out by some trendy Manchester club owner who's got plans for revamping it and getting some big-name DJs in there. He's named it the Mars Bar.

We walked into the downstairs bar, sticking to the carpet, looking for the stairs, and were pushed out of the way by a gang of girls on a hen night running after a distressed bride-to-be who had just caught her fiancé snogging someone in the Ladies. It was still Valentino's wine bar, new owner or not. The only difference was a precarious vase of fancy flowers on top of the jukebox and a list of posh beers chalked up on the blackboard and a sign advertising bowls of olives for £2.50. Despite those few minor changes, I still expected to see Sadie sipping a Bacardi Breezer in the corner.

Upstairs at the party, Sarah and I skirted around the periphery of the dance floor and tried to suss out who we knew there. Sarah spotted one of her brother Jamie's friends, so we went over to speak to him. It was mostly an older crowd of kids from sixth form and the local colleges, so I felt a bit self-conscious about being much younger than everyone else. I began to wish that I hadn't worn my tiara after all, despite Sarah's telling me a thousand times how fantastic I looked.

While Sarah chewed the ear off her newfound friend, I had time to search the room for Darren. I couldn't see him anywhere and was beginning to feel a little disappointed, thinking that he might not even show up, when I spotted him in the DJ booth with his headphones on, head down, concentrating on his decks like he was doing a maths test. I felt too shy to go up to him straightaway. I had a few butterflies in my stomach and wasn't sure what to say to him. I kept glancing at him out of the corner of my eye while trying to get in on the conversation Sarah was having, because I didn't want to be just stood around staring at him like a complete idiot. Eventually he stopped concentrating on his decks and caught me looking at him. Our eyes locked. He waved me over and I walked nervously toward the DJ box.

"All right? How long have you been here?" he asked.

"Oh, we've only just arrived. Enough time for Sarah to corner some bloke who will soon wish he'd never left the house tonight."

"Yeah, she's a feisty lady, that's for sure."

"Oh, she's great. I love her to bits. She's just got a gob on her like the Mersey tunnel, that's all."

"Well, anyway, welcome to the salubrious setting of Darren Mitchell's disco inferno," he said, twirling around in the tiny space.

"What are you putting on next?"

"I don't know. Why don't you choose. Surprise me."

I knelt down at his silver chrome record boxes, crammed full of vinyl, and started flicking through his collection. I was glad I had a chance to take a deep breath and try to calm myself down a bit. I wanted him to like me, but if I carried on being such a nervous wreck he was just going to think I was a dizzy idiot. I pulled out one of Sarah and my all-time-favorite tracks, one that I knew she would go mad for when she heard it. I removed it from the sleeve so Darren wouldn't know what it was and gestured for him to move out of the way so I could put it on.

"Do you know what to do?" he asked, looking a little anxious.

"Well, I've only ever used my gran's gramophone, but I'm sure I'll find my way around this new contraption," I said, totally deadpan, and when I was sure he was suitably worried I cracked a smile and punched his arm playfully. "Of course I know how to operate decks, for God's sake. You're not one of those blokes who think that boys spin the discs and girls flaunt themselves on the podium, are you?"

"No, of course not. I'd just forgotten you're as much of an anorak as I am."

"I'll take that as a compliment, shall I?"

Sarah went ballistic when our tune came on and dragged me away from the DJ box to dance. I felt great. It hadn't been so awkward talking to Darren after all, and he had seemed genuinely pleased to see me. I spent the rest of the night between the dance floor and Darren, and at about ten thirty Emma showed up. She'd got a taxi from her house, having dropped her mum off after they got back from the support center. We sneaked off to a quiet corner so I could fire questions at her about her day: "How was it? What were the people like? Was it a nice place? What did you do?"

"Leyla, I don't know where to start. It was mind-blowing. I was terrified walking into the room for the first time, thinking that all eyes were going to be on me — the positive one. But when I realized that it was a room full of people just like me who either had HIV or knew someone in their family who had it..." Emma gulped and fought back tears. "Oh God, I don't know, it made me want to cry with relief. Just seeing people my age, knowing that they understood what was happening to me, was incredible. All the times I've been to the clinic in Manchester for tests or whatever, I've never seen anyone my age, or even another girl, come to think of it. It's bound to make you feel like a freak after a while."

Copyright © 2001 by Adele Minchin

About the Author

Adele Minchin has worked in public relations for four years, first at Campaign Against the Arms Trade and currently in publishing. She is a volunteer at Body and Soul, the self-help organization that supports adults and young people living with or affected by HIV/AIDS. The Beat Goes On is her first novel and, shortly after its first publication, won the Branford Boase Award for fiction in the UK. Adele Minchin resides in London, England.