Candy and the Broken Biscuits. Lauren Laverne
goes unnoticed. Unhappily this makes me look as nuts as my outfit – try as I might, I just can’t keep my eyes off him. He whizzes around like a gust of wind through the busy Day Centre, delighted to be at an actual live party with real human people (even if the birthday girl is eighty-four). Clarence might be out of sight but he isn’t out of trouble. My gaze flits around the room in search of him. People can’t see him but they flinch as he whooshes by, wondering what just happened (especially Glad’s friend Alf, whose toupee is left spinning round like a record after one of Clarence’s fly-pasts).
I’m keeping one eye out for Clarence among the dancing crowd (who are getting stuck into YMCA) when Mum and Ray arrive.
“Superb event!” Ray says to Glad, shaking her hand.
A dose of dullness is exactly what this party needs. So – strangely – as he and Mum cross the room, I find I’m almost glad to see him. “Where have you two been?”
“Hello darling!” trills Mum a little bit more loudly than necessary. Is she a little bit tipsy? “We’ve been celebrating!” She’s tipsy. “You’ll never guess. Ray has bought me an engagement present. A holiday in the Lake District! Very romantic.”
“Skiddaw,” says Ray, evidently very pleased with himself.
“Come again?”
“Skiddaw, Candy!” choruses Mum. “It’s the fourth highest mountain in England and our hotel is just below it. Did you know some of the greatest literature our country ever produced was inspired by those views?”
Ray nods, “And the bass player from Jethro Tull.”
“Anyway, darling,” Mum continues, breezily, “I told Ray that I couldn’t possibly consider leaving you on your own for seven whole days.”
As she’s already quite clearly had a celebratory glass of something-or-other and has therefore decided she is going, I leave a pause for her to fill.
“Unless…”
Bingo. “Unless what, Mum?”
“I mean I couldn’t. Unless you were happy on your own? I mean, Glad’s right next door and your little friend can come over and keep you company. What’s her name again?”
“Holly, Mum.”
“That’s it! Holly. Such a sweet girl.”
And my only friend in the world for, like, four whole years. Would it kill you to remember her name? I think to myself.
“So it’s decided then? We’re going?” Mum squeaks in excitement, putting her arms round Ray and giving him a squeeze.
“Apparently so,” I shrug. “Have a great time. When are you going?”
“T minus fourteen days!” beams Ray. “We’d better get our crampons ready!”
“Excuse me?”
“I said we’d better get our crampons ready. And other climbing equipment. Your mother and I are going to scale Skiddaw.”
“You. And Mum. You mean my mum? You’re going to climb…” I turn to Mum confused. This is a woman who last wore flat shoes to her first Holy Communion. The most practical item in her wardrobe is made of PVC. I try to picture Mum dressed for a freezing March hike up one of England’s tallest peaks. Can’t. I take a swig of punch (which Glad claims is non-alcoholic, although on a day as mad as this, frankly, how would you know?) Mum’s eyes begin to mist.
“We’re going up the mountain, Candy! So romantic, don’t you think? A metaphor for our new life together! I’ve always loved the great outdoors as you know…”
“HA!” It’s a goose-like honk of a laugh, and it escapes before I can stop it. She looks hurt. “Sorry, Mum.” I put my hand on her arm, fighting to submerge a particularly buoyant smile and not quite managing. “I’m sorry, but when have you always loved the great outdoors?”
“I’ve always loved getting out and about, up and down the coast, breathing the fresh sea air…”
“Yeah. Through the window of a car!”
“That’s as may be. But now I’m ready to get out among it all, and Ray is quite the rambler.”
“He does go on a bit, I’d noticed,” I mutter under my breath. Ray doesn’t hear but she does. There’s a pause, during which Hot Chocolate’s You Sexy Thing starts up. Ray slinks off to dance. I make a conscious effort not to look.
“That’s not what I meant, young lady. You’re impossible! Can’t you just be happy for me about this one thing?”
“I am happy, Mum. You and Scott of the Antarctic go off and enjoy yourselves. Just make sure you take the number of the local Mountain Rescue with you when you go.”
A few hours, eighty-four candles, lots more cups of punch, a very loud chorus of Happy Birthday and one tearful (on the part of Glad) rendition of Clair de Lune later, it’s time to leave. Ray escorted Mum home a while ago. “She’s a bit tired and emotional,” he explained, pulling her arm over his shoulders in a bid to keep her vertical. “It’s been quite a week for both of us. Do you want me to come back for you with the car?”
Awkward – him doing Dad-stuff. I suppose he thinks that’s his job now. For a second I imagined BioDad coming to pick me up and take me home instead. I pictured him driving a monster truck with massive wheels that rolled straight over Ray’s Mondeo until it looked like a tea tray. I twisted my mouth to one side and shrugged. “Nah, I’m walking home with…um, with a friend.” I extricate Clarence from the mobile DJ’s CD collection which he is flipping through making comments of the “Ugh!”, “Pah!” and “Bo-ring!” variety. I wish Glad one last ‘Happy Birthday’ and head out into the night.
A few moments later we’re outside in the darkness, wending our way up from the old docks to the coast road. The snow has stopped, but there’s a thick, white blanket over everything but the sand. The place is soundless except for my footsteps and the slurp-slurp of the sucking black waves. I pull my collar up and (for the millionth time) regret that I am wearing so few clothes underneath my coat. Whatever Clarence turns out to be, I think we can rule out personal stylist. He’s hovering ahead looking out to sea, outshining the pale winter moon above him.
“Quite surprising. And quite, quite beautiful.”
I look around, picking up my pace to keep warm. “I s’pose you’re right. The snow and stuff. It’s pretty.”
“Not this! Ha! Beautiful. Well, I suppose you’ve never really been anywhere, so how could you know? No, I mean life, Candy. Your life. Too small. But it has…the makings of something.”
We’ve reached a deserted bus shelter – my stop to get home, across the road from The Blue (currently slumbering like the rest of the street: lights off, shutters down). I check the bench for grossness – negative – and perch on the edge, joined by Clarence. We’re both staring out to sea. That is, I presume we are. The view is so dark we could be looking over the edge of the world.
“So you’re really real, then? And you’re staying? I won’t wake up tomorrow and this will have all been a dream?”
Clarence stretches a small sparkling hand forward and places it on top of mine. “Quite the reverse, my dear. You will wake up tomorrow and that will become your dreams. Your music is going to cure your ills and answer your questions. And best of all, it’s going to make you a star.”
“Clarence, you might be, like, magical, but I hope you realise what a big job this is. I’ve got no idea who or where BioDad is. My band have got one messed-up guitar, there are only