The Soundtrack of Our Lives
A Double Album in Prose
by Annie Christie
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: None.
Description: For anyone who has ever got lost in music!
Swearwords: None.
Description: For anyone who has ever got lost in music!
Disc Two
Side One
Things Can Only Get Better
There are many things
that I would like to say to you
But I don’t know how (Oasis)
Side One
Things Can Only Get Better
There are many things
that I would like to say to you
But I don’t know how (Oasis)
Track Seven
A million love songs later (Take That)
~ 1990-1997 ~
A million love songs later (Take That)
~ 1990-1997 ~
‘I don’t wanna get over you, it doesn’t matter what you do.’ Every so often I would play the old bands, like The Undertones, just to remind myself how gone it all was. But there were songs I never played.
It took me a while to get over the whole Billy, Rachel, Grant thing. Even more than Rachel and Grant marrying, I think the thing that really floored me was knowing that Billy had been at Live Aid. That had things been different, I’d never have got together with Mark and…
But there were far too many if’s and regrets to cope with. So I lost myself in work not, in music. I broke up with Mark. I gave myself up to the nineties. Dance music was the thing, but I couldn’t stand that. I left the eighties with Del Amitri ringing in my ears, convinced that nothing ever happens and resigned to the fact that we’ll all be lonely tonight and lonely tomorrow.
But somewhere between Phil Collins Another Day in Paradise and Sinead O’Connor Nothing compares to you, I had to remind myself that music wasn’t real. So I gave myself up to Take That. I made my escape to the biggest boy band since the Rollers and the Osmonds. They had a string of hits during what I can only describe as my lost decade. And when I couldn’t take that, I allowed myself some interest in the Britpop battle between Oasis and Blur.
But I didn’t really engage. And I certainly tried to avoid looking back. For example in 1991 I barely even allowed myself to notice that Freddie Mercury had died. One night I had a dream where I was back in school that day in 1975, but it was me holding Billy’s hand under the desk, not Rachel. I pushed it to the back of my mind. I tried to focus on my own London life. Told myself that reality was big enough. And that was my thirties. In the post-Billy, post-Mark era, Nothing ever happened.
~ 1998 ~
I was nearly forty. It was ten years after I’d last seen him that Grant walked into my office. At the time I thought it was quite by chance, now I’ve started really piecing things together, I’m more cynical.
I was by then doing pretty well. In a catatonic, meaningless kind of way. It’s like someone had set my life half way between cheesy pop and endless dance loop, and whoever I really was had got lost not in but outside the music. Modern life was, as Blur stated, rubbish. So while Robbie threw his strops and Take That stopped Partying and while Oasis and Blur fought each other to a standstill, and while Tony Blair replaced Thatcher – which should have been significant, but in reality was creating as much a New Tory as a New Labour – for me, still nothing really happened. Despite Blair’s promise that things could only get better I packed my emotions away with the records and CDs. I lost myself in spreadsheets and risk analysis and didn’t think about half a world away. I had no time for ditties about Jack and Diane, or Billy and Rachel. Or Grant and Rachel. Or any combination of the above.
Until, as I said, Grant walked in. At which point Rod Stewart burst through my protective layer. I didn’t know what day it was when you walked into the room. But not in a good way.
‘I thought it was you,’ he said.
He was in London ‘on business’, he said. He had gone from accountancy to actuarial work and was now some big head honcho in one of the big Edinburgh companies.
‘Fancy a drink after work?’ he said.
Of course I didn’t, but he caught me completely unawares, and I didn’t know what to say.
‘Call it a catch up,’ he continued, oblivious to my discomfort. As ever.
I told myself I could handle it. I was wrong, as usual.
It was a weird night.
We sat in the wine bar and he told me all about everything. He showed me pictures of their three children, a girl and two boys, all of whom looked more like Rachel than him. He told me that Billy had got married in 1989.
‘No way,’ I said.
‘Honestly,’ he said. ‘I know because I was his best man.’
I found that almost impossible to believe. I guess I went into a kind of shock. I’d had a few drinks by then, very expensive, just the right temperature red wine. I wasn’t driving. I lived minimum staggering distance from the office. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. So of course Grant took advantage.
‘Surprised not to see you there,’ he continued, skin as ever as thick as a rhinoceros, ‘Rachel and I had a great time.’
Now I really didn’t believe him.
In subsequent conversation I found out that ‘she’ was called Steph. That Billy was still in subs. That they had no children. That everyone was amicable about it all. I didn’t believe a word of it.
Somehow, when they kicked us out of the wine bar at the end of the evening, Grant invited himself back to mine. I was trying to shake him off, but he started on about Laura.
‘We’re planning another reunion,’ he said. ‘Twentieth. You’ve got to be there. Laura told me to tell you, you have to come.’
By which time we were in my house, having coffee. The night just got more and more surreal.
I was trying to sober up and tell myself Grant wasn’t making a pass at me, when it became more than obvious that he was. It was so weird. He was always so weird. It was like he always thought he owned me.
‘No man in your life?’ he said.
‘He works away,’ I lied.
And then he kissed me.
I was repulsed. Here he was, Grant – married to Rachel, father of her children – making a pass at me. I suppose I should have worked out that their marriage was on the rocks. But I just thought it was Grant being Grant. I was straight back at the movies… and I felt just as out of my depth.
‘Come on, Jane, how about one for the road?’ he said. I tried not to read into what he was obviously saying.
‘I think you’ve had enough. I think we’ve both had enough,’ I said.
‘Lighten up,’ he said. ‘Put some music on.’ He looked around. He noticed I didn’t have a CD player or a hi-fi or anything. He wasn’t too drunk to notice that.
‘I don’t listen to music any more,’ I said.
‘You can’t shake off the past that easily,’ he replied. ‘Have you never wondered?’
‘Wondered what?’ I asked, knowing fully well what he meant and stalling for time. I had no idea how I was going to get out of this if he decided to carry on.
‘What it would be like. You and me,’ he said.
‘You’re a married man,’ I reminded him.
‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘but what they don’t know won’t hurt them, will it? Call it unfinished business. You owe me, after all.’
‘What the hell do you mean?’ I asked.
‘Would you have preferred Rachel to marry Billy?’
That was truly below the belt.
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ I said. ‘I think you should go.’
‘You know,’ he said.
Then he reached into his bag – I noticed for the first time he was carrying what looked like an overnight bag – and pulled out a CD Walkman. With a CD.
‘Got you a present,’ he said and put on Aqua – Turn Back Time.
Oh, he was good. Very good. He’d obviously had it all planned. Smooth didn’t come into it. He put the headphones on me and I heard If only I could turn back time, If only I had said what I still hide If only I could turn back time, I would stay for the night, for the night
I took them off.
‘Doesn’t work any more, Grant,’ I said.
‘I bet you’re still getting over Take That,’ he said.
‘Shut up,’ I said, blushing.
‘Did you know Jim Steinmann produced Take That and Meatloaf?’ he said. ‘What’s that all about?’
‘It’s about the cynicism of the music industry,’ I said.
‘You took the words right out of my mouth,’ he replied. And I almost laughed. It was short lived.
‘On a hot summer night,’ Grant started.
‘You’re good but you’re not that good,’ I said. ‘You’re married, it’s late, we’re drunk and you should leave.’
‘I bet you say that to all the boys,’ he responded.
I let him sleep on the sofa. Against my better judgement. It was as far as I was prepared to go for old time’s sakes.
He left in the morning but not before extracting two promises from me. First, not to say anything about the night before.
‘I was just drunk, Jane,’ he excused himself. ‘I didn’t mean anything. It was just so weird seeing you again.’
And the second promise was to go up to the reunion that June.
I kept them both.
It took me a while to get over the whole Billy, Rachel, Grant thing. Even more than Rachel and Grant marrying, I think the thing that really floored me was knowing that Billy had been at Live Aid. That had things been different, I’d never have got together with Mark and…
But there were far too many if’s and regrets to cope with. So I lost myself in work not, in music. I broke up with Mark. I gave myself up to the nineties. Dance music was the thing, but I couldn’t stand that. I left the eighties with Del Amitri ringing in my ears, convinced that nothing ever happens and resigned to the fact that we’ll all be lonely tonight and lonely tomorrow.
But somewhere between Phil Collins Another Day in Paradise and Sinead O’Connor Nothing compares to you, I had to remind myself that music wasn’t real. So I gave myself up to Take That. I made my escape to the biggest boy band since the Rollers and the Osmonds. They had a string of hits during what I can only describe as my lost decade. And when I couldn’t take that, I allowed myself some interest in the Britpop battle between Oasis and Blur.
But I didn’t really engage. And I certainly tried to avoid looking back. For example in 1991 I barely even allowed myself to notice that Freddie Mercury had died. One night I had a dream where I was back in school that day in 1975, but it was me holding Billy’s hand under the desk, not Rachel. I pushed it to the back of my mind. I tried to focus on my own London life. Told myself that reality was big enough. And that was my thirties. In the post-Billy, post-Mark era, Nothing ever happened.
~ 1998 ~
I was nearly forty. It was ten years after I’d last seen him that Grant walked into my office. At the time I thought it was quite by chance, now I’ve started really piecing things together, I’m more cynical.
I was by then doing pretty well. In a catatonic, meaningless kind of way. It’s like someone had set my life half way between cheesy pop and endless dance loop, and whoever I really was had got lost not in but outside the music. Modern life was, as Blur stated, rubbish. So while Robbie threw his strops and Take That stopped Partying and while Oasis and Blur fought each other to a standstill, and while Tony Blair replaced Thatcher – which should have been significant, but in reality was creating as much a New Tory as a New Labour – for me, still nothing really happened. Despite Blair’s promise that things could only get better I packed my emotions away with the records and CDs. I lost myself in spreadsheets and risk analysis and didn’t think about half a world away. I had no time for ditties about Jack and Diane, or Billy and Rachel. Or Grant and Rachel. Or any combination of the above.
Until, as I said, Grant walked in. At which point Rod Stewart burst through my protective layer. I didn’t know what day it was when you walked into the room. But not in a good way.
‘I thought it was you,’ he said.
He was in London ‘on business’, he said. He had gone from accountancy to actuarial work and was now some big head honcho in one of the big Edinburgh companies.
‘Fancy a drink after work?’ he said.
Of course I didn’t, but he caught me completely unawares, and I didn’t know what to say.
‘Call it a catch up,’ he continued, oblivious to my discomfort. As ever.
I told myself I could handle it. I was wrong, as usual.
It was a weird night.
We sat in the wine bar and he told me all about everything. He showed me pictures of their three children, a girl and two boys, all of whom looked more like Rachel than him. He told me that Billy had got married in 1989.
‘No way,’ I said.
‘Honestly,’ he said. ‘I know because I was his best man.’
I found that almost impossible to believe. I guess I went into a kind of shock. I’d had a few drinks by then, very expensive, just the right temperature red wine. I wasn’t driving. I lived minimum staggering distance from the office. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. So of course Grant took advantage.
‘Surprised not to see you there,’ he continued, skin as ever as thick as a rhinoceros, ‘Rachel and I had a great time.’
Now I really didn’t believe him.
In subsequent conversation I found out that ‘she’ was called Steph. That Billy was still in subs. That they had no children. That everyone was amicable about it all. I didn’t believe a word of it.
Somehow, when they kicked us out of the wine bar at the end of the evening, Grant invited himself back to mine. I was trying to shake him off, but he started on about Laura.
‘We’re planning another reunion,’ he said. ‘Twentieth. You’ve got to be there. Laura told me to tell you, you have to come.’
By which time we were in my house, having coffee. The night just got more and more surreal.
I was trying to sober up and tell myself Grant wasn’t making a pass at me, when it became more than obvious that he was. It was so weird. He was always so weird. It was like he always thought he owned me.
‘No man in your life?’ he said.
‘He works away,’ I lied.
And then he kissed me.
I was repulsed. Here he was, Grant – married to Rachel, father of her children – making a pass at me. I suppose I should have worked out that their marriage was on the rocks. But I just thought it was Grant being Grant. I was straight back at the movies… and I felt just as out of my depth.
‘Come on, Jane, how about one for the road?’ he said. I tried not to read into what he was obviously saying.
‘I think you’ve had enough. I think we’ve both had enough,’ I said.
‘Lighten up,’ he said. ‘Put some music on.’ He looked around. He noticed I didn’t have a CD player or a hi-fi or anything. He wasn’t too drunk to notice that.
‘I don’t listen to music any more,’ I said.
‘You can’t shake off the past that easily,’ he replied. ‘Have you never wondered?’
‘Wondered what?’ I asked, knowing fully well what he meant and stalling for time. I had no idea how I was going to get out of this if he decided to carry on.
‘What it would be like. You and me,’ he said.
‘You’re a married man,’ I reminded him.
‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘but what they don’t know won’t hurt them, will it? Call it unfinished business. You owe me, after all.’
‘What the hell do you mean?’ I asked.
‘Would you have preferred Rachel to marry Billy?’
That was truly below the belt.
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ I said. ‘I think you should go.’
‘You know,’ he said.
Then he reached into his bag – I noticed for the first time he was carrying what looked like an overnight bag – and pulled out a CD Walkman. With a CD.
‘Got you a present,’ he said and put on Aqua – Turn Back Time.
Oh, he was good. Very good. He’d obviously had it all planned. Smooth didn’t come into it. He put the headphones on me and I heard If only I could turn back time, If only I had said what I still hide If only I could turn back time, I would stay for the night, for the night
I took them off.
‘Doesn’t work any more, Grant,’ I said.
‘I bet you’re still getting over Take That,’ he said.
‘Shut up,’ I said, blushing.
‘Did you know Jim Steinmann produced Take That and Meatloaf?’ he said. ‘What’s that all about?’
‘It’s about the cynicism of the music industry,’ I said.
‘You took the words right out of my mouth,’ he replied. And I almost laughed. It was short lived.
‘On a hot summer night,’ Grant started.
‘You’re good but you’re not that good,’ I said. ‘You’re married, it’s late, we’re drunk and you should leave.’
‘I bet you say that to all the boys,’ he responded.
I let him sleep on the sofa. Against my better judgement. It was as far as I was prepared to go for old time’s sakes.
He left in the morning but not before extracting two promises from me. First, not to say anything about the night before.
‘I was just drunk, Jane,’ he excused himself. ‘I didn’t mean anything. It was just so weird seeing you again.’
And the second promise was to go up to the reunion that June.
I kept them both.
About the Author
Annie Christie is a pretty ordinary person, except that she was born Annie Christie and then married a man called Christie and so is still called Christie despite having taken on her husband’s name. She sometimes wonders if she should have called herself Christie-Christie: but who would believe that?
Born near Drum of Wartle in Aberdeenshire, Annie moved as swiftly as possible to a place with a less bizarre name – Edinburgh – but the bizarreness chased her and she now lives with her husband Rab in rural Galloway, with a Kirkcudbrightshire postcode. (That's Cur coo bree shire to the uninitiated.) She is an active member of the Infinite Jigsaw Project.
The Soundtrack of Our Lives is Annie's fourth McSerial written for McStorytellers.
Born near Drum of Wartle in Aberdeenshire, Annie moved as swiftly as possible to a place with a less bizarre name – Edinburgh – but the bizarreness chased her and she now lives with her husband Rab in rural Galloway, with a Kirkcudbrightshire postcode. (That's Cur coo bree shire to the uninitiated.) She is an active member of the Infinite Jigsaw Project.
The Soundtrack of Our Lives is Annie's fourth McSerial written for McStorytellers.