Dance On My Grave Read Online Free PDF Page B

about?
    I knew nothing about him. Except:
    ‘Isn’t your shop Gorman Records on London Road?’
    He nodded. ‘My father started it twenty years ago.’
    ‘And didn’t you go to Chalkwell High?’
    ‘Till last summer.’
    ‘Good soup.’
    ‘She’s not a bad cook.’
    We slurped together.
    I said, ‘You left to work in the shop then?’
    He looked across the table at me deciding whether I was fit to be told. He used to do that: gab away to people till they started getting too close to him, too
inside.
Then he’d stop and stare at them, and think, and if he decided they were okay, he’d answer; if he decided they weren’t okay he jossed the question aside.
    I passed the test. He said, ‘My father died suddenly last year.’
    ‘Sorry,’ I said, wishing I hadn’t asked.
    ‘It’s over.’
    I could see from his change of mood that it wasn’t.
    He took in a deep breath. ‘Mother and he ran the shop. Mother looked after the accounts, Father was the music expert and the one that was good with customers. People liked him. He could sell anything if he wanted to. When he died, Mother hired a man to take over Father’s work. But they kept having rows. Nobody can replace Dad as far as Mother is concerned.’ He smiled to himself. ‘And she isn’t exactly the easiest person to work for! . . . So Istarted helping out on Saturdays and after school. But it wasn’t enough. Things went from bad to worse. In the end, the problem solved itself. The man left after a row one day, and I knew there was nothing else for it. I left school and went into the shop full-time.’
    ‘But you hadn’t meant to?’
    ‘Not till I was eighteen anyway. Maybe not till after university or something. Dad was keen on me going to university. He hadn’t had the chance, you see. Thought it was the thing to do. Wanted me to have all the benefits he never had, etcetera etcetera. Have some more salad.’
    ‘Thanks . . . Wasn’t there anyone else—anyone in the family I mean—who could have gone into the shop?’
    ‘I’ve an older sister, but she’s married, lives in London, got a kid. And her knowledge of music gets about as far as “White Christmas”.’
    ‘Yuk!’
    ‘Granted.’
    ‘Bit hard on you though, leaving school when you didn’t want to, just to serve in the shop.’
    He smiled. ‘I don’t just serve in the shop. I run it.’
    ‘But if you wanted to stay on.’
    ‘The shop comes first.’
    ‘Why should it? What you want to do with your life should come first, I think.’
    ‘The shop happens to earn our living.’
    ‘That’s important, yes, but your mother could have managed somehow. From my brief experience I’d say she’s pretty good at getting her way.’
    ‘It’s difficult to explain to people who haven’t owned their own business. I had the same trouble when I was trying to explain to the Head why I was leaving.’
    ‘Try me.’
    ‘Coffee or beer?’
    ‘Some more beer, please.’
    ‘My father and mother started the shop from nothing, right? They wanted to do something where they could be together all the time. Dad liked music. The shop seemed the answer. They built up a good business. Regular customers. Big stock. They put a lot of work into it. Now the place is a kind of centre for people interested in music. It was Dad’s life really.’
    ‘That doesn’t mean it has to be yours, does it?’
    ‘No. But I do feel some kind of loyalty. Music means a lot to me. The business means a lot to the family, and to the town as well. It would be a waste to let it fall to pieces or to sell it off. I just felt I had to carry on what Dad had started.’
    ‘You were right. I still don’t understand.’
    ‘Haven’t you ever thought about following in the paternal footsteps?’
    ‘My father’s a baggage handler at the airport.’
    ‘So you don’t want to be a baggage handler at the airport. What do you want to do?’
    I shrugged. ‘Haven’t a clue, to be honest. That’s the current problem. Get a job or