'You watch,' I told her. 'The band's called Ffff-rozen Gold; the album'll probably be called Frozen Gold and Liquid Ice and the first single'll either be a song c-c-called "Another Rainy Day", or "Frozen Gold".'
She smiled. 'You seem taken with the name.'
'It's a t-terrible name; they wouldn't take any of the names I suggested. But I thought if we have to have that name then what c-can we do to t-turn it into an asset, you know? Something that'll work for us, so I t-took the letters of the t-t-two words, right? F and G, and just tried strumming the two chords, one after the other, and it sounded all right; sounded really good. So they form the start of the song, see? That'll be the first thing you hear on the album; F, G. Our c-c-code, see? Our theme tune, sort of. Not as c-clever as Bach using B, A, C, H, but it's clever, isn't it? It's the sort of thing that gets you publicity, see? Cos it gives people something to write about, or mention on radio programmes; makes people remember the name, too.' My mouth was dry, I was doing so much talking. I gulped at my pint. I was gibbering away at a speed that would normally have had me tripping and stumbling over every word, but I was so excited my stutter, for a change, couldn't keep up with my mouth.
'Well, don't be too clever,' Jean said. 'People don't like folk that're too clever. Nobody likes a show-off.'
'Yes, they do!' I laughed. 'That's what all rock sss...tars are!' She didn't look too impressed. 'Aw, don't worry,' I told her. 'I'll not be the one that's showing off. The others can do that. I'm staying in the background, basically. An I don't want to write symphonies or anything show-offy like that; I just want to write songs, stuff you can whistle.'
'Whistle,' Jean said. 'Aye.'
I took another drink. ' Anyway... how are you?'
She shrugged, looking into her glass. 'All right. Don't think I'm goantae go tae the art college after all though, but...'
I vaguely recalled she'd wanted to do art in Glasgow. 'Oh... I'm sorry. How no?'
'Oh... you know; various things. Not to worry...'
'How's your mum these days?' I'd remembered her mother suffered from arthritis.
'Ah, much the same,' she said. 'They send her away for tests and physiotherapy an that, but there's no really much they can do. Alec's found a job though, down at Inverkip.' I remembered Alec; he was one of the brothers with the come-and-get-yer-arms-broke eyes. 'So;' she looked at me. 'When you off to London?'
'Umm ... don't know yet. I've handed in ma notice; leave next week. We might go down the week after next; maybe a b-bit later. But the album's to be finished by the end of October. The record company's got a flat near the studio they'll put us up in for free. It's near Oxford Sss...treet. You know? Where all the shops are.'
'Aw, aye.' Jean said, nodding. She seemed gloomily amused somehow. I looked at her, and I remembered the times we'd gone out, and cuddling her, and how good her mouth had felt when I hadn't cut her lip or missed it entirely and kissed her nose; I remembered that time in the darkened room, before the bluebright, silent television; the texture of her skin and the touch of her lips and the hot, sharp scent of her.
This was, after all, the woman I'd promised to take away from here, even if she'd been sure at the time it could never happen and it was all just a pipedream. But I'd spoken a kind of vow, made some form of pledge to her, hadn't I?
Suddenly I wanted to hug her right there; take her by the shoulders and say, 'Come away with me; come to London, come and see me be famous. Be my girlfriend, be mine, or just be a friend, but don't stay here; come away!' I was so fired up with enthusiasm for life in general and my own future in particular that nothing seemed impossible just then; I could do what I wanted, I could make things happen, I could command the world. If I wanted Jean to come with me, I could do it. Difficulties and problems would evaporate before the brilliant force of my decided future. Why not? Why the hell shouldn't I ask her?
I thought about it. Why not, indeed? We liked each other; maybe we'd even loved each other, and we'd been nearly-lovers, or just-lovers. The only reason we'd split up was because I'd been so clumsy in every way with her; but I was getting better at controlling myself now. My stutter had improved, I was tramping on fewer feet and spilling fewer drinks — all right, so I'd spilled a little of Jean's a few minutes ago, but that was nothing compared to what she was used to me doing— and best of all I didn't get so embarrassed any more; I'd never again leave without seeing her, without saying goodbye. But why not make up for leaving without seeing her that time at the hospital? Why not make it so I'd never have to say goodbye again? Why not?
There was a quivering, terrifying but incredibly exciting, almost sexually intense feeling in my belly as I thought about asking Jean to come with me. It was like the feeling I used to get playing chess in the school club, when I'd set up some trap, or had seen a brilliant, game-winning move, but it was my opponent's move, and I was sitting there, trying not to tremble or sweat, praying that they wouldn't see the danger they were in. The same feeling I used to get in class, knowing I had something to say and trying to pluck up the courage to say it...
The words were forming like a song in my mind. But would it be right to speak them?
This was my one big chance. I'd been outrageously lucky so far; I felt like I must have used up the luck of half a dozen normal lifetimes just to get here; there'd never be another opportunity like this. Could I afford to push it even further, try to make that luck stretch to encompass two rather than one? Was it wise or even possible to burden myself with more things to think about, another person to worry over ?
I might speak, I might say all I felt and persuade her to come with me, and then screw it up. Even if I was going to screw it up anyway, and her being there would have no effect for good or ill, could I take on the responsibility of messing up her life as well as my own?
And... wouldn't it be wiser to wait? See how things worked out. Set out unencumbered for the big bad city and take the risks with only myself to worry about, and then, if I was successful, I could always come back, having prepared the way, and ask Jean to come with me then. Spare her the times of hassle and hard work and nerves, when all was uncertainty and worry. Wouldn't that be better?
And wasn't Jean already part of my past, part of Paisley and school and all that had gone before? That might sound cruel, but how could I ever know the truth of it without getting away from everything I'd known until now, so enabling me to see it all in perspective?
I hesitated, on an edge of indecision.
'Well, look, Daniel, I've got to go.' Jean finished her drink.
She looked at her watch. 'Ma mum's expectin me; I'm late already. D'you mind?' She picked up her bag from the seat.
I felt dismayed, let down, but said, 'No, of course not. Hey, I hope I didn't keep you too long.'
She got up, stood by the table. I stood too, feeling awkward, wondering if I should kiss her cheek, or cuddle her, or shake her hand, or what. She just nodded at me, looked me up and down, took a deep breath and said, 'Well, Daniel; just don't forget all your old pals when you're famous.'
I laughed. 'Aw, naw ... no...'
She smiled with one side of her mouth. 'See you, Daniel.'
'Aye... yeah, see you, umm, Jean.' I'd almost called her Chris. I watched her go to the lounge door and out into the sunlight.