Blinded By The Light

“So,” Kevin carried on. “What are you up to this weekend?”

“My little secret,” I said, trying to sound as careless as possible.

“Come on! Who is she?”

“Girl I met last week coming back from Birmingham,” I lied.

“You’re a fast worker,” Kevin said.

I felt a shit for lying but pleased the lie took effect. And then I thought, what the hell, I might as well make the most of it.

“Yeah, an artist. Lives out in West Yorkshire. I’m going out to her place.” I sounded cool. I liked how I sounded. Of course, I knew this meant I would never go to Todmorden now. But I wasn’t going to go, anyway.

“An artist, eh? So what are you going to do? Model for her? A Life class?” Kevin sniggered.

I laughed as if to dismiss his insinuations but concede nevertheless that there might be something in them. Yeah, all right, I was right down there at his level. But it felt good to impress, even a shit like Kevin. And the lying didn’t bother me. Everybody lies, even when they don’t mean to. Then some punters drifted in and we separated.

Business picked up, and I didn’t have any more time to think, except about what would make good Christmas presents and the new features of the latest Tomb Raider. Before I knew it, it was six o’clock, and Kevin was pulling down the grille at the front of the shop. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel too tired. I waved goodbye to everyone and sauntered to the bus stop.

Waiting for the bus, my mood began to spiral downwards again, perhaps because I was alone. Being with other people lifts me, makes me act OK, even if I don’t feel OK. By myself, reality bites. The reality was that I had nothing to do and it was Saturday night. Even Gemma was out with her mates, and when I got home she’d be prancing around asking me if she should wear her pink top, or the black one, and which trousers. I’d spend the night up in my room or in front of the box with my aged parents. If my luck was really in, Dad would buy in a four-pack of lager. Great.

Lower Fold Farm, Lumbutts, near Todmorden. I’d drive down the M62 to Milnrow, then go on through Walsden. I was pretty sure that Lumbutts was on the moors, a bit further down than Walsden. It would be interesting to see the farm. Not that I would see much in the dark. Stupid idea. Maybe there were some films on Sky. The bus came.

It was weird – for the first time in ages I had some energy. I wanted to go out. I wanted to go into town with my mates, only they were scattered all over England, in different campus bars at different universities. You can’t go clubbing by yourself.

And then I had my brainwave. Stu was still around. He’d failed all his A2s and was retaking them at a local college. I got out my mobile and texted him. My luck was in. He was at home, no plans, but no money either. I texted him back. I told him about a party I knew in Tod, that I had a sort of invite to. He said he was up for it. I said I’d pick him up on my way, as he lived in Rochdale. Sorted. Even if the party was a disaster, we could have a drink or two instead.

Now I’d decided to go to Todmorden, I realised it was what I’d wanted to do all along. Because Kate and Nick were new people, they were different. Everyone was meeting new people now except for me. I wanted to have an adventure too. I wanted to start living. So I got home, reminded Dad he said I could have the car, listened to the lecture about not drinking and driving, changed into some jeans and a sweatshirt, shovelled down the dinner Mum had made, told Gemma the pink top looked better than the black. And I was in the car, stereo playing loud. I was moving, life was moving again. At last. This was more like it.

Because the music was playing so loud I didn’t hear my mobile the first couple of times. I was already driving through Rochdale and it was in between tracks before I heard the ring. I pulled over to answer. It was Stu.

He sounded like death. Apparently he’d just spent the last hour or so throwing up. Either a stomach bug, he said, or something he’d eaten. Either way, he was going to have to cancel on me. I said that it was OK, and wished him better. He said he’d ring in a few days.

So much for my Saturday night.

Then I realised I had two choices. Either I turned the car around and went home, or carried on to Todmorden. Neither appealed. But just then, going back home seemed the worse of the two alternatives. I’d been vegetating all week, and as much as I love my parents, they aren’t exactly stimulating company. Going to Tod was risking the fact Nick and Kate wouldn’t remember me, or would have changed their minds about seeing me. But on the other hand, if it was a party, I could just blend with the crowd. It dawned on me I’d never gone to a party or club by myself before. That made me smile. I teased Gemma often enough about being a pack animal, and here I was, hesitating about going to a party just because I was on my own.

That decided me. I started the engine again and drove on. I saw an off-licence and pulled in, leaving the car to get some Bacardi Breezers – I didn’t want to arrive empty-handed. I was feeling better already The roads were clear, and just as I had remembered, the way to Lumbutts was clearly signposted just outside Walsden. I put the car in second as I took several steep corners past stone-built cottages teetering on the side of the road. I crawled along, as the road was narrow. On my left the whole of Todmorden was laid out, a sprinkling of yellow lights. On my right, dark masses of hills.

Eventually the road levelled out and I was up in the moors. I guessed I must be near the Pennine Way, but it was too dark to see much. It occurred to me then I might not find it easy to locate Lower Fold Farm. So I slowed right down, checking to see no one was behind me. The road was completely empty. I was the only idiot up here on a Saturday night.

In fact Lower Fold Farm was easy to find. There was a large painted board on my right announcing it. A rough track between two gateposts led to it. I turned in carefully and was relieved to see lights were blazing from the windows. The car bounced along the track and I tried to make out the size of the farm. There was the main house, painted white, several stone outbuildings and a grey-looking caravan. A rusty Transit van and a scooter were parked outside. I was too curious to be nervous now. I left the car by the side of what looked like an old barn, locked it and made my way to the front of the house. Too late to turn back. It seemed quiet for a party. What if I’d got the wrong day? I banged on the door.

Nick opened it and seemed to recognise me immediately.

“It’s Joe!” he shouted. There were footsteps and Kate appeared, her hair flowing loose.

“I knew you’d come,” she said, smiling.

3. From Rendall’s Laws Governing Purity: Abstinence (#ulink_34f1c9bf-0bd3-5e64-96fa-4faa481f9a64)

White Ones, and those aspiring to be White Ones, should refrain from those substances and impure actions which cloud the vision. You shall not imbibe alcohol or caffeine; neither smoke tobacco, nor use any artificial substances – legal or illegal – to alter your consciousness. You shall not gamble nor overeat. You should not fix your mind on worldly success, nor love another as much as you learn to love the Light. Purity leads to enlightenment. I have spoken.

Funny how as soon as you cross the threshold of a new place you yourself become different. The place exerts an influence. Like I’m different collecting empties at the Red King from the way I am at Electric Avenue. Different again when I’m with my mates. With Kate and Nick I was different once more, and I liked this new me.

They ushered me into the house, made me feel welcome immediately. They said they’d been talking about me and felt they should have stressed more strongly that they had meant the invitation for tonight. I was flattered I’d made such an impression on them. In my fantasies, people sought me out. Now it was happening for real.

I don’t know what I expected their house to be like. In fact it was a rambling old farmhouse and the centre of activity was a large kitchen. That was where they took me. In the middle of it was a wooden table laid out with food and drink, and around the table a few people were seated, late teens, early twenties. More people were standing around. Naturally they all turned to see who I was. Then some people made a space for me at the table, although I wasn’t ready to sit down yet. I put my Bacardi Breezers down on the table and hoped that would be the sign for someone to offer me a drink. I know Dad had lectured me about drinking and driving, but one drink now would help me relax, and I’d stay long enough for it to have time to wear off.

Then Nick came over, holding a bottle opener.

“Do you want one of those?” he smiled, indicating the Bacardi Breezers I’d brought with me.

I did. I drank it straight from the bottle. I suggested he have one but he shook his head ruefully.

We were joined by Kate and a bloke about my age. Then a slightly older man came up to us as well. Instinctively I straightened, stood to attention. Some people have that effect on you.

The younger bloke turned out to be called Will.

“This is Fletcher,” Kate said, smiling at the older one. “I told you about Joe, Fletcher. He’s the person Nick and I met on our way back from Wolverhampton. Fletcher’s the tenant of the farm, Joe. We’re all responsible to him.”

I gave him the once over. He was tall, cool blue eyes, rather intense. He wore a white kaftan and I immediately had him down as one of those ex-hippie types who are into ecology and tree-saving and that. He seemed friendly enough, though.

It turned out Will ran a charity shop in Hebden Bridge, and Fletcher was the tenant of the farm. He grew stuff in the adjoining land and looked after the place. Will seemed more normal. He grinned quite a lot, out of shyness, I reckon. His head was shaved; he wore a white football shirt with the name of some bloke I didn’t recognise on the back. They asked me quite a bit about myself, and as the Bacardi took effect, I found myself more and more ready to answer.

Quite an adult party, I thought, looking around me during the lull in conversation. It was all talk, no music. Maybe this was just a warm-up session. The other thing I noticed was, I was the only person who seemed to be drinking. There were jugs of fruit juice on the table, and bottles of water, but that was it. The food was mainly dips, hummus, vegetable sticks and hunks of bread. The lack of alcohol puzzled me, and I wondered whether this was because they did something else. This was just the sort of place you could grow your own. I looked around the kitchen. Sure enough there were things growing in pots, but nothing that looked to me like cannabis.

It’s a bit weird being the only person drinking. You feel like you’re undressed in a room full of clothed people. Still, that didn’t stop me helping myself to another bottle. I looked around the room again, and saw Kate talking to a girl. She was stunning. Shorter than me, with loose blonde hair and dark eyes. Kate noticed my repeated glances in their direction, and brought the girl over.

“This is Bea,” she said.

“B?” I said, puzzled.

“Beatrice,” the girl explained. “Which is a bit of an embarrassment, so I get everyone to call me Bea.”

I was going to say something stupid like, to be or not to be, but luckily I stopped myself in time. I grinned at her. I could see now that her eyes were brown, contrasting dramatically with her fair hair. Kate didn’t seem to be there any more. I asked Bea whether she lived on the farm.

“No,” she said. “But I’m going to. They said I could move in during the week.”

I nodded. “So where do you live now?”

“In Rochdale,” she said. “With a sort of friend. I’m studying at the college. But I sing too.”

This was getting better and better. I definitely fancied her and she looked around my age. I had a good feeling about tonight. I gestured in the direction of the Bacardi Breezers and asked her if she wanted one. She shook her head. Then she smiled at me impishly.

“Why are you drinking it?”

I shrugged. “It’s a party, innit?”