Ahead of his Time Adrian Cousins (most recommended books TXT) 📖

Martin drove out of the car park ahead of Jenny and me. I had to brake hard as a white Ford Capri, with a coat-hanger aerial, sharply pulled off from the opposite side of the road behind Martin’s Cortina.

32

The Damned

John and Frances always made a huge fuss of the kids. They’d turned a spare bedroom into a playroom-come-sleepover den for Christopher. John had set up a large Scalextric and a Hornby railway set which I imagined had cost a fortune. Frances maintained that the train set was John’s and not really Christopher’s, as John was obsessed with expanding his portfolio of rolling-stock at every opportunity. Although Frances was on rocky ground when highlighting the number of boys’ toys that had been amassed, as she had gone slightly crazy with dolls houses, Tiny Tears and Cindy dolls.

Frances spoilt both Christopher and Beth as they had far too many toys that he could find the time to play with, or Beth could appreciate; my two adopted children were spoilt. Tonight, Chris had his Chitty Chitty Bang Bang car, which rarely left his pocket while having a tug of war with John. His Stretch Armstrong toy had his arms and legs pulled as if stuck on the torture rack in the dungeons of the Tower of London.

Before tea, I had to intervene in an argument raging between John, Jenny, and her younger brother, Alan. The disagreement was regarding Alan’s attire, which John and Jenny thought was horrific. He’d attached chains to his black jeans, had a padlock securing a chain around his neck and had modelled his hair in spikes with the content of a whole can of Frances’s Harmony Hairspray. There was no question of ‘Is she or isn’t she’ or in this case ‘he’ as in those dreadful cheesy adverts on TV. However, hair spray aside, the real fury was regarding Alan’s decision earlier that day to have his ear pierced.

Apparently, a mate made the hole in his ear using the pin of his The Damned badge, whilst his girlfriend held an ice cube to the back of his ear to numb the pain. I tried to convince John and Frances it was a phase, and he would probably grow out of it. Jenny was furious with Alan for his lack of respect, and how could anyone like that dreadful music. Although only just born at the birth of the Punk movement, I grew up to love that genre and was secretly jealous of all the bands Alan would have the opportunity to see.

Frances said that Alan’s girlfriend was a shocking girl who constantly chewed gum and wore fishnet tights with only the skimpiest black leather skirt, which in her opinion didn’t sufficiently cover her modesty. Frances also thought her dreadful thick black makeup was utterly horrible, “What kind of girl would wear black lipstick?” she’d exclaimed over tea.

After we’d dealt with the dishes and, at last, the conversation had moved on from Alan and his girlfriend’s dress sense, John and I enjoyed a cigar in the conservatory. Frances and Jenny attended to the kids getting them ready for bed. Christopher wanted to stay the night, and John agreed to perform the bedtime story routine after we’d finished our Man-Chat, as he put it.

Frances had said not to let Jonny push me into joining his secret club, where they got up to all sorts of sordid things, as Jenny was enough woman for any man. She delivered one of Jenny’s super smiles, slapped my bum and left us to puff away. Although Frances was joking, the subliminal message was clear, reminding me what a wonderful wife I had – not that I needed a reminder.

Back in my old world, Lisa’s mother had suggested to her husband during mine and Lisa's troubled marriage that he could enrol me into his secret organisation, which involved funny handshakes and rolled-up trouser legs. “It might straighten him out a bit,” she’d said at the time, desperate to do anything to improve my lacklustre performance as a husband and son-in-law. Lisa’s father had nearly choked at the idea, stating the club was only for like-minded businessmen. He feared he would be blackballed if he attempted to introduce a new member who was an incompetent idiot like myself.

All of this conversation took place as I sat in their lounge as if I didn’t exist. Lisa didn’t defend me from her father’s rather unpleasant description of my personality. At that point in my relationship with my in-laws, I’d lost interest and didn’t care one jot what they thought of me. I recall helping myself to another glass of wine, whilst Lisa’s mum questioned Lisa if I had an alcohol dependency problem.

It had become common to sit and listen to a conversation between the three of them about my apparent incompetence as a husband and son-in-law. The last such discussion which I’d suffered was her mother questioning whether I was a ‘Jaffa’, as she put it. Her reference to the seedless orange was questioning if I possessed a low seed count as we hadn’t managed to procreate any children.

Her father had said to thank our lucky stars we hadn’t, as the idea of more idiots like me being born was not a pleasant thought. At that point, I did man-up and tell her parents to piss off and advised Lisa if she wanted to agree with her bigoted, fuck-stupid, self-centred, offensive wanker parents, then she could piss off as well. I left the house, leaving them all shocked at my outburst. I had berated myself for not being a man and saying those exact words years before as I should’ve done. I never revisited their house – a real blessing.

As I stubbed out my cigar, Frances popped her head in the room whilst bouncing Beth in her arms. “Jason, your lovely friend, Don, is on the phone. He’s been trying to ring you