Another example of this sad truth presented itself just a few minutes later. Her mother went to say something to the girl behind the bar. She was pointing at the little shelf of CDs that were kept there to use as background music, and Alison knew exactly what was coming next. Val’s sole top-twenty hit (from twelve years ago) was included on any number of compilation CDs and, sure enough, before long she had persuaded the girl to slot one into the CD player and search forward for the relevant track. Over the pub’s PA system the familiar keyboard riff soon blasted out, broken up by an offbeat drum pattern, providing an angular but catchy backdrop to Val’s strong, plangent melody, with her three fellow bandmembers oohing and aahing behind her in competent close harmony.
With an apologetic but proud smile at her companions, Val wandered back over to their table. Just in time to hear Selena say:
‘Ooh, I love this song.’
‘Really?’ Her surprise was obvious. ‘You know it?’
‘It’s one of the first things I can remember hearing. My mum used to have it on in the house all the time.’
‘I wrote it,’ said Val, and watched thirstily as a respectful amazement transformed Selena’s face.
‘You did? You wrote this?’
‘Yeah. That’s me singing. I’m that Val Doubleday.’
Selena didn’t actually recognize the name; it was the name of the band that was remembered by those who remembered the song at all. All the same, she was impressed; more impressed than even Val could reasonably have hoped for.
‘You sang this on Top of the Pops, yeah? I remember the little dance routine.’
‘Oh, God … We practised that for days.’ She set off down a well-worn path of reminiscence, recalling how Louisa, the fourth, blondest and prettiest member of the group, had developed a mental block about their simple dance moves and they’d had to spend the best part of a week in a London dance studio with an increasingly exasperated choreographer. Alison had heard the story many times before, and recognized by now that it took the form of a classic humblebrag: the underlying message being that the four of them may have been ditzy and naive but at the same time, they had been serious players, with the resources of a powerful record company behind them. It was dull having to listen to all of this again, but still, it gave her mother pleasure to tell the story, so she listened with a patient smile on her face and didn’t interrupt.
‘So what are you doing now?’ Selena wanted to know. ‘Are the four of you still together?’
Val laughed. ‘No. We split up ages ago. Straight after we did our first album.’
‘But you’re still in the music business, right?’
‘Of course. I can’t stop writing and singing. It’s in my DNA.’
‘Val’s an incredibly creative person,’ Steve said, sliding a proprietorial arm around her shoulders.
‘And guess what?’ said Val, looking pointedly at her daughter, whose scepticism remained unspoken but, to everyone around the table, palpable. ‘Cheryl emailed me today about the new song.’
‘Really? That’s great. What does she think?’
‘She hasn’t had a chance to listen to it yet. But she said she was really looking forward to it.’
‘Oh, OK. Wow. Well, that’s a real breakthrough …’
The sarcasm was cruder and more bitter than she had intended. Val looked down, unable to meet her daughter’s gaze, and took three or four rapid sips from her gin and tonic.
‘Your mother doesn’t need that kind of cynicism right now,’ Steve said.
Alison’s eyes lit up angrily. ‘Why does it matter to you?’
‘Because Steve cares about me and my career,’ said Val. ‘He’s going to get me some downtime in the studio at college, so I can do a better version. You know — he’s doing something constructive. Something helpful.’
‘About that, love,’ he said, leaning in closer to her. ‘I’ve been having a word with Ricky, the engineer, and he reckons that Tuesday evenings would be the best. If you could come in after nine …’
Alison only half listened to the rest of their conversation. She could tell that Selena was feeling restless and embarrassed: maybe it had been a selfish idea to bring her here, to thrust her into the middle of this awkward family situation. It angered her, too, to see that Steve was already well on his way to being reinstalled as her mother’s confidant. Soon Val had taken out a letter she had been given at work that day — something about a reduction in her working hours — and was discussing it with him.
‘The thing is,’ she was saying, ‘I can’t support the two of us on anything less than I get at the moment. No way. It’s just not possible. Especially not with the winter coming up, and fuel bills …’
‘Don’t worry, babes,’ he said — the arm never leaving her shoulders, staking its claim to ownership ever more tightly — ‘we’ll sort something out. Just give me time to think about it.’
Alison’s glass was empty. So was Selena’s. She didn’t suggest buying another round.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘I’ll walk you to the bus stop.’
Selena rose to her feet with every appearance of relief.
As they walked along Warwick Road, bathed in the evening sky’s final sunset glow, the smell of chips and kebabs and jerk chicken steaming out from the fast-food outlets, Alison took Selena’s arm and said:
‘Sorry. That was even more horrible than I was expecting.’
‘That’s OK. But you should have told me you had a famous mum. That’s just awesome.’
‘Well, she’s not famous any more, not by any stretch of the imagination. But she does write good songs still. I try to … hold on to that.’
‘What were she and Steve talking about just now?’ Selena asked. ‘When she was showing him that letter?’
‘Something to do with her work. She works in the library in Harborne.’
‘So that’s what she is now, is it? A librarian?’
They had reached Selena’s bus stop. They could see the bus in the distance, one set of traffic lights away.
‘At the moment, yeah,’ said Alison. ‘But even that’s not looking good. They’re cutting her hours back. Libraries aren’t getting the money any more.’
‘I thought they were building a big new one in town. Spending millions on it.’
‘True, but … Well, I don’t know. Don’t ask me how these things work.’
She spoke these words unthinkingly, formulaically, as the bus rumbled towards them and her conscious mind dissolved into panic at the thought of what form, exactly, her farewell to Selena should take. A hug, a friendly hand on the arm, a kiss on the cheek? In the event, it was a clumsy mash-up of all these things. The hug lasted longer than either of them had been expecting, and involved a certain amount of affectionate back-rubbing, and they touched cheeks rather than kissing; but in the process Alison’s lips brushed against Selena’s ear, and the memory of its texture stayed with her for the rest of that evening, along with her delicate, animal scent. As she walked home, she continued to savour them both, and realized that she was singing to herself, over and over, the chorus of her mother’s new song:
Still I try to do my best, but I need your breath
As the moonshine controls the water,
I will sink and swim.
*
Perry Barr — Handsworth — Winson Green — Bearwood — Harborne — Selly Oak — Cotteridge — Kings Heath — Hall Green — Acocks Green — Yardley — Stechford — Fox & Goose — Erdington — Witton — Perry Barr.