Chapter 15: Day Six (Friday, 16th September)
Homecoming Queen

Gerard's daughter did not turn up until the last day. The reason for this was that she had exams at boarding school and they would not release her earlier. She was not happy, but she was even less happy with the reports she had heard about what had happened to her father's estate because she had been contacted by him, and by others. She demanded to know who these monsters were who were humiliating her father's friends round the clock and getting away with it.

She was sixteen, or possibly fifteen and she was described to us by Jake and Gladys.

'Dangerous,' they said. 'Very dangerous. Avoid if possible. She has got it in for you and she's coming back to sort it out in her father's absence.'

Here we go again. I have to deal with this. An arrogant, ignorant royalist who thinks she is going to marry a member of the Royal Family {there were photographs in the kitchen of her & Prince William together}, trying to sort out a forty-two year old anarchist? Bring it on! A little girl? Bring it on! I think I'll let my wife deal with this one. Not my job at all. Fantastic. I was up in the grand bedroom, probably having another argument with Kiran about whether or not we should stay, because on a number of occasions she desperately wanted to go. Then, suddenly, here comes the helicopter. She is arriving. The future Queen of Somewhere and I do not say that lightly, because it is very possible. Down comes the helicopter and out comes the most quintessential Barbie-doll-blonde-hate-machine you could expect to see. She was climbing out of the helicopter looking like she wanted someone's head on a pole. 'Oh Christ,' I thought.

'I'm not taking any shit off her,' said Kiran. 'If I can provoke her into putting her hands on me, I am going to thump her so hard.'

Everything about her, Aryan, blue-eyed, she had to be stick-thin and she had to be everything the media loves about Nazi women. Here we go, and here I was. Rock and roll - Game on!

'Well,' I said, 'I've got to go downstairs. I've got to make Lily some lunch and what are you going to do?'

'I'm going to wait,' she said.

'Well, she's going to be in the kitchen,' I said, 'I am going to have to talk to her before you do.'

'Do what you like.'

'Let's just wait, eh?' I said. 'It might not be what it seems.'

'We'll see.'

Instead of finding the arrogant, little missy that I expected, I found a very frightened little girl, who was in shock and could hardly speak as a result. I went down there, and, of course, Skip was sitting in there, having his extended roll-up fag, which he was having in the doorway, because we did not smoke in the house, except after dark, when we smoked and drank and ran around screaming in your house, Gerard!

Of course, by the time I got down there, Skip had already made best friends with her escort, who was like a fifteen-year-old version of Christian Slater. He was absolutely in awe of Skip. He had just come from the same boarding school as her. They desperately wanted to be cool and suddenly here was cool. Here was Skip in a demob suit, and they were talking about art, because Skip is an artist in a black beret with a goatee beard, a long, smokable device, a bottle of beer on the go, a gap in his teeth and he had painted this incredible picture, or at least he was in the process of painting it. I took them to see what he was doing, where he was doing it. They could not believe it.

'We are the real thing, we are the beatniks, the Bohemians, we are here,' he said. 'It's only for a short time, so get a good look. It's part of your education.'

'Oh my God', they must have thought, 'we have been visited by minor deities from Asgard!'

The escort was open, but he had been heavily indoctrinated. The daughter was in shock. She was in the middle of her exams, and she was not happy about not being involved in the television thing either. She had actually wanted to do it. I can imagine anybody her age wanting to, but she could not say 'boo' to a goose. She kept looking at me, strangely as though she expected me to try and kill her, or destroy the house and she was looking around to see if anything had been damaged. She looked at me and Skippy quizzically and, of course, I had a little kid with me. If you are going to judge a human being, then the best way to do it is to see what they are like with a child. Our kid was being really lovely and going up to her and going, 'hello!' Lily likes doing high-fives, which amused them no end.

'You've got to put your hand up, she wants a high-five, hup!'

'She does a high-five and she's only two?'

'Yes, she'll do another if you like. Put your hand up. Hey! You're friends now.'

I could sense the undertone here. "Huh? I don't have this relationship with my father."

Kiran is going to come down and verbally assault you, I thought, and I don't think that's right. So, I thought, quick damage limitation. I went running back upstairs.

'She's all right, Kiran.'

'You what?

'I said, she's all right. Trust me on this, even if it's for a short time and she's only being all right with us, she's all right and she is scared shitless. And I think I would be at fifteen.'

She was looking really uncertain.

'I'd shag her,' Skippy said, out of earshot.

'Stop it, Skip,' I said,

'I can't take my eyes off her.'

'It's just because she's an archetype, Skip... Purge yourself now of these thoughts.'

'Well, what am I supposed to think?'

Then she made a big display of getting her horse out and riding him around in full view in what I would say was an almost erotic manner, but very much "this is all mine and I have to show some display that this is all mine because you are all acting as if this is all yours."

But it still was not threatening. In fact, it was alluring. Very classically alluring, in fact, but I did not see her in any kind of sexual way at all. Because of her mental apparatus and the mental wavelength she was on she was nowhere near as mentally developed as fifteen/sixteen year old street girls whom I have known. You could have broken her psychically like bursting a bubble. You could have snapped her mind in two with just a few hours of chat about the way the world works. She needed to be dealt with very carefully and gently as a human being and I think Kiran picked up on this because she did come down. Just the sight of Kiran and how she dresses was the final and biggest shock. I do not think that anyone had informed this girl that Kiran was black, because that sort of thing is not discussed. Weirdly. I do not think they can afford to discuss it any more in case they are overheard even in their own living rooms. Strange, racists find discussing racism taboo. Enoch Powell did not have that problem, but they do have that problem now and that has got to be a positive thing, I think.

I could see her thinking, "She is Asian, she is not religious, she is dressed like that, she has a predatory sexual attitude..." Well, I thought, if you want to learn anything about being a woman, here is your tutor, although there is a catch. Politically she is diametrically opposed to your dad and she is not of the same race, class or culture, but she could tell you everything you need to know in order to survive in this world of men in which you live. It is up to you dear.

From that moment on she was shtumm. Her escort was not going to stay for the polo club ball originally, but after meeting us, he got someone to go out and hire him a suit. It was too big for him. I still have the jacket at home because he got drunk, threw it off and left it. Some of their guests even offered to get puff for Skip. Kiran & I weren't offered any. We were too busy fighting a class war that night.

Earlier on while Skip was painting the Pegasus Jonty, Lionel, Kiran, Lily & I went to the clothes shop where Gerard's partner hires her dresses. The idea was that Kiran should hire a dress in accordance with the routine that Mrs Braughn would have on the day of the ball. Firstly we were angry at being impelled to spend a heap of money on something that was surplus to requirements but, more importantly we didn't expect much from the shop. Jonty & Lionel drove us to the town of Beverley. Evidently they had been playing a compilation cd of some of the different bands I've been in for the last twenty years every time they drove during this week. I was not only flattered but I also saw this as an example of thorough research & an immersing of themselves in the project at hand.

On this note a lot of music was filmed this week. They filmed me playing our acoustic guitar. At one point Luke said, 'play something else Craig. Play one of your own tunes. We can't film any covers.' 'This is one of my tunes.' I informed him. He looked really impressed then. They filmed me playing Gerard's piano. They filmed me playing my clarinet in front of a mad film Kiran & I had shot which we were playing on Gerard's DVD player. The film was a split-screen, multi-effects, speeded up view of a run in our car along the south circular in London {a road that I know like the back of my hand}. As I was accompanying the film's Drum & Bass/Metal soundtrack the whole scene was bonkers. We certainly gave the crew more than they expected.

Anyway Jonty takes us into this shop where the over-priced gowns were repulsive to say the least. I was expecting one or two to be ok but no, everything looked more like one of the deserts in the Gestapo Chateau than groovy duds. Maybe that's it! Upper class men want that connection between those kind of deserts & sex. Eeeeeaugh! 'Do you sell fur?' Kiran was straight in with the poignant question.

'No.'

'It looks like you do.'

'We do a range of fake furs.'

'It looks like real fur. Are you sure it is all fake?'

'As I said we do a range of fake furs.'

'Do you have any real fur on the premises?'

The woman looked sheepish & said, 'Well actually we do have some out the back.'

We were out of there. Jonty chased us out. 'Don't you want to go back & discuss it?'

'NO I DO NOT!' Kiran was emphatic. I think the lying had got to her as much as the fur issue. Interesting that the fur trade is also on the back heel. Having to 'hide' it out the back like some black market illegality. Maybe this so called fur revival we were reading about in the press was merely the last squeals of an industry in decline. Let's hope so.