A Gothic Evening - Part Two

As promised, here's the second part of the story.

    Town on a Monday evening was like a Wild West ghost town with October leaves and crisp bags that drifted sadly about. The Art Centre was closed and silent, a skewed poster on the window informed that ‘Soul Scream’ would be playing live at the Queen Caroline in Stafford – coach leaves at 7.30. We sat down on the wall and Ant chucked us each a fag, he made a grand gesture of lighting them with his new Zippo lighter, and nearly burnt his fingers for his efforts. Matt looked thoughtful as he took a drag of his ciggy, then he turned to me with a wry smile.

   ‘Hope you don’t mind Rich mate, but as you and Emily are no longer an item – you don’t mind if I have a crack at her.’

   I felt a sharp wrench inside. Yes I mind, and well you know it you bloody vulture.

   ‘Not at all, good luck to you.’

    ‘That’s cool, cause I’ve already asked her out!’

  Ant must have noticed my lack of enthusiasm, as he added his own eloquent two penn’orth, ‘Rich’s just miffed that he never got the chance to get into her knickers.’

   A four letter retort sprang to mind but I said nothing.

    ‘Never mind mate, perhaps you’ll have more luck with these Goth chicks.’

    I’d recently listened to a new Bon Jovi song called ‘Blood on Blood’ about kids being friends for ever and all that. I thought it could have been written about me, Matt and Ant - but now I wasn’t so sure. We’d turned sixteen and something had changed.

   A few cars had pulled up outside the Art centre and a number of black clad folk with palid faces and impossible hair had started to trickle in - the gathering of the Goths had begun. There seemed to be quite a few girls, notably more than found amongst the metal crowd.

    ‘Wonder what she uses to get her hair like that?’ Ant gestured to a nearby Goth girl, she seemed to be wearing a sort of floral dressing gown and her raven locks stuck up wildly in all directions.

   ‘Go and ask her!’ Matt nudged his arm, ‘I wouldn’t mind gelling her hair for her.’

   Typical Matt humour - sort or Eric Idle crossed with David Lee Roth.

    ‘Good you could make it lads,’ Justin had arrived and was making his way through the throng. He had been in our last year at school but had left early (some say expelled) in slightly mysterious circumstances. I hadn’t known him too well, but he’d seemed an ok sort. In honour of the occasion he’d donned his old school jumper, although now it was tactfully adorned with slashes, and (bizarrely) a Cadburys Dairy Milk badge - there was also a hint of make-up. He seemed to know a lot of the Goth crowd and paused to flirt with a girl before joining us.

    By the time the venerable coach pulled up a small crowd had gathered and the smell of hairspray and petula mingled with diesel fumes. We clambered on board and headed for the back seats, they were of the old fashioned bristle type and smelt faintly of disinfectant.

   ‘How are you doing at college?’ I asked Justin.

    ‘Oh great they did me a favour expelling me from school.’

     We were joined on the back seat by a Goth lad and girl. The lad seemed a few years older than us and wore a greatcoat that looked like it had last seen use at the Battle of the Somme, his acned face was part hidden with a pair of dark shades. The girl was slim and surprisingly she had red hair rather than the usual black dyed locks. She was quite cute too, with large brown eyes, she flashed us a smile before sitting down.  The coach was now full and the driver pulled away from the Arts Centre and headed towards the A5. I glanced across at Matt, and he shot me a questioning look. I could tell what he was thinking. What on earth are we doing on this coach in the company of a tribe of Rocky Horror Show rejects. The lad fished around in his greatcoat and like a shabby conjurer produced a bottle of Strongbow cider, ‘Here you go lads.’

   Not wishing to appear an outsider I took a swig from the bottle, inwardly grimacing at the warm, sour taste. As I passed it across to Matt, I certainly hoped it was just only cider. The girl wandered up the aisle to talk to a friend, Ant leaned forward and in a low voice whispered ‘I want to do it with her!’

   ‘Do what?’ said Matt, ‘Breakdance? Ride a Tandem?’

   ‘No,’ Ant Frowned, ‘You Know.’

She wandered back and tumbled into the lap of the lad, and in a haze of cider fumes they started to snog noisily, while Ant stared fixedly out the window and fumed silently.