Almost Perfect

CAPTAIN JACK HAS KILLED THE WABBIT, KILLED THE WABBIT

Jack made his way slowly across the dance floor. Partly because it was packed. Partly because it was packed with strikingly attractive, topless men. On the one hand, he wore a look of grim determination. On the other, it seemed like a good party.

A particularly muscled guy with a big grin wrapped himself around Jack and started to dance against him slowly. He drew himself close to Jack, and Jack leaned slowly in and whispered quietly in his ear. ‘Not right now,’ he said, and moved on.

All around him was disco. Surprisingly good disco. When you’ve lived through the twentieth century a few times over, you’ll go to a lot of parties. Most of them a bit rubbish, really. When you come down to it, it’s all a mixture of sex, chemicals, fancy hair, loud music, dry ice and, in the 1970s, roller skates.

For a large chunk of the twentieth century, Jack hadn’t been drinking, and he’d never got the hang of roller skates. But he still fancied he knew how to twist up a rug, and this seemed pretty, well… A few parties stood out. He’d gone to the Cavern Club in Liverpool in the early 1960s to hear The Beatles’ first-ever concert. Not so much cos he liked the music, but just in case He turned up. He never could resist a spot of showy nostalgia. Actually, He hadn’t, but Jack had still had a surprisingly good time with a party of student nurses in Biba skirts.

Then there was that lost weekend in the Weimar Republic in the 1930s. Berlin loved to party, and those Germans – they really loved a man in uniform. He’d been supposed to be investigating rumours of trafficking in Alien Artefacts by some leading National Socialists, but had got distracted by… well, everything really. About the only thing he remembered was the look when he’d handed in his expenses claim.

Oh, and that party in an enormous warehouse in Docklands, way before it got redeveloped. Back then it was just an enormous shed of noise, with people draped across the stairs. The host lived in a greenhouse in the middle of the second floor and made weird films. The warehouse was breathtakingly cold and filthy, but everyone looked amazing. The music was bizarre, and every single mattress was crowded with beautiful people. Oh, and there had been cheese-on-sticks and fireworks along the Thames.

And then there was this. Someone had repainted the entire club a burning white, the walls glowing with the heat from the lights. The floor itself blazed with light, the entire club both full of shadows and yet having no shadow. The bar was a long plate of shining glass, with mirrors behind it, floating somehow above the dance floor. Tables of polished steel leaned against mirrored columns of solid light. Everything was bright and burned and the noise flowed up and around. Even the dry ice appeared to be glitter, floating around everyone like dusk in summer.

Jack made his way to the bar, and enjoyed the spectacle. Everyone was young, they were thin, they were pretty and happy. No one seemed drunk, just blissful. And nearly everyone was dancing.

He saw Brendan over in the DJ booth. He was standing there, just wearing a pair of combats and some headphones. His blond hair was flowing effortlessly free. He waved towards Jack, and Jack walked over.

‘It’s been a while!’ Brendan said, his normal voice somehow making itself heard over the crowd.

‘There’s been no need,’ replied Jack.

‘Forgive the appearance. I’m just dressed down tonight. You know how it is. Fancied a spot of DJ-ing. After all, everyone loves a DJ.’ He winked. ‘Let’s go upstairs and get a drink with Jon.’ He reached out of the booth and tapped a student wearing speedos and a snake tattoo. The boy turned and looked at Brendan and smiled. Brendan leaned down and stroked his arm. The boy stepped forward and they kissed in the booth. Brendan leaned away. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Eric.’

‘Good boy, Eric. You get to DJ. You’ll do brilliantly.’ Brendan kissed him again and walked away.

Jack shook his head. ‘You two are worse than me.’

Brendan shrugged. ‘You don’t know the half of it.’ He strode off.

Behind him, Jack’s smile died.

Upstairs had never been much of a bar. Just kind of an overfill that occasionally did for functions or strip shows and Karaoke. But now it was all wood panelling and leather chairs and under-floor lighting.

As Jack walked in, Jon was walking over from the bar with three drinks. He smiled, happy to see the Captain.

‘Do you like what we’ve done?’ he asked.

Jack nodded. People sat on the couches, chatting and smiling. The bar appeared to sell vodka and toast. Somewhere, three bottle-blond kids from Swansea were poking uncertainly at some dim-sum.

Jack sat down at a little table. He could still hear the amazing noise from the club below. But also…

Over the PA, the barman announced, ‘And next on Karaoke is Barry from Barry. And he’ll be doing the Queen of the Night’s song from Die Zauberflöte.’

Brendan giggled. ‘Such a lovely boy. Great voice, but he’ll never make that high G.’

As the Mozart thundered around them Jack blinked. Brendan laughed. ‘Oh, the Opera Karaoke? All Jon’s idea.’

‘Well, life’s not all party favours and Kylie,’ said Jon. ‘And it’s a touch of class. It’s not show tunes.’

‘I’ve never been a fan of musical theatre,’ said Jack.

Over on the Karaoke screen, the ball hopped its way across the words:

‘Der Holle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen; Hell’s vengeance seethes in my heart;

Tod und Verzweiflung flammet unm ich her! The flames of death and despair engulf me…’

Jack tried not to marvel as people put down their drinks and toast and started to join in in a boozy, heartening way.

Jon smiled. ‘I know it’s a bit campy, but we’re very old gods. Anything goes. Well, apart from Harrison Birtwhistle. Would you begrudge us this?’

‘Don’t hurry him.’ Brendan grinned. ‘There’s always a but with Jack. Hold that thought.’

‘What?’ asked Jon.

Brendan pointed. A kid wearing normal clothes and too much wet-look hair gel had wandered in. ‘Underneath those baggy clothes and that home dye job, he’s gorgeous. You can tell it’s his first time out. In two minutes’ time he’s going to be smoking a granny fag outside and wishing he fitted in.’

Jon patted his partner on the arm. ‘Go get him, tiger.’

Brendan gave a mock sigh of exhaustion. ‘No rest for the wicked, you know how it is.’ He winked, grabbed his drink and his cigarettes and, steering the kid by the shoulder, swept him outside.

Jon turned back to Jack. ‘See? Another soul rescued. People will see him with us. We’re so beautiful, some of that rubs off on him. He’ll make friends. He’ll dress like them, someone will cut his hair. He’ll sleep with a few of them, get his heart broken, get tougher, go down the gym, break a few hearts of his own… It’s all good. Community service.’

Jack said nothing.

‘Yeah. We’ve led by example. Oh, it’s been a great few months.’ Brendan laughed and ruffled Jack’s hair. ‘Seriously. We’ve made so many friends, we’ve improved the boys and the music. We’ve even raised house prices by a few per cent. Plus we’ve got laid loads. What’s not to love?’

Jack sipped his drink, thoughtfully.

Jon shrugged. ‘I know what you’re going to say, but really, don’t be a stranger. There’s always a place in our hearts and our bed for you, Jack. You get me – I know what it’s like. You’re fighting Weevils, we’re fighting off bears. But, look around you, sweetheart. Isn’t this better than what there was? Look at how happy we’ve made everybody. Even the kids from Newport.’

Jack looked at him and smiled.

‘Oh, I keep cutting you off, which is so annoying!’ laughed Jon. ‘What is the thing? Have you come for a bit of advice? Cos, if you don’t mind me saying, the military retro thing has kind of gone. We need to get you in something tight and fitting. Some fabrics that’ll breathe, if you know what I mean.’

Brendan came back to the table, smirking.

Jon glanced at him. ‘You dirty slut,’ he sighed.

Brendan puckered his mouth. ‘Yeah, well, I made him happy – he’ll have a great evening.’

Jon tutted. ‘And you come back smelling of cheap fags. Can you not try out menthol?’

Brendan shuddered. ‘It’s like licking a minty road. No thanks. Now, Captain Jackoff – what can we do you with?’ And he raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Jon shrugged. ‘He’s not said. Not really got a word in edgewise, have you? Silly me, I’m turning into such a gassy old Mary. It’s the bloody Welsh. So gregarious. I swear they’re rubbing off on me.’

He laughed in a nasal way, and Brendan growled at him.

‘So, Jack, what have you come here to say? Are you going to congratulate us for everything we’ve done?’

Jack’s smile faded. ‘Nope. I’m here to take you in.’

‘What?’ Jon’s cocktail paused mid-sip. Brendan reached nervously for his lighter.

‘You heard. The show’s over. You’ve broken our agreement. I was a fool to trust you. So now it ends.’

‘Oh,’ said Jon, a little sadly. ‘You knew?’

‘I’m only sorry it took me so long to notice!’ exclaimed Jack, furiously angry. ‘Why couldn’t you have come to me earlier? We might have helped you. Instead people have died. And…’ he looked truly regretful. ‘I thought there were two people in Cardiff who really understood me, who I could trust… and now this. Sorry. Party’s so over.’

Brendan let out a long-held breath. ‘Fooo. OK. Wow. Bit sudden, but OK,’ he said. ‘We’ll play by the rules, won’t we, Jonno?’

‘Yup,’ said Jon, moving closer to Jack. ‘Last dance, Captain?’

‘Sure,’ said Jack. ‘Why not?’

And they led him to the dance floor. And a day passed.