Making Music

His new shirt had arrived and he couldn't wait to put it on. He'd seen Simon Dee wearing one on the TV, one of those new ones with a rounded collar with a pin through it. They looked really cool. He'd saved his earnings from delivering meat for Billy Reed, the butcher on Beckett Road, and got his mum to order one from her catalogue. Tonight he would hopefully be the only person wearing one at the Elmfield House disco and he was sure that Ruth would be impressed. If she was there that is; if she could persuade her mum and dad to let her go.

Ruth lived in one of those really big posh houses on Town Moor and her dad owned some chemist shops and was some kind of big knob on the council. He'd delivered meat to their house on his butcher's delivery bike, the one with the big basket on the front, and had always prayed that she would answer the door. Most times though, it was her mum that answered and she just said thanks and shut the door as quickly as possible; as if she might catch something nasty from him. It always made him feel embarrassed and intimidated; as if he didn't belong there. This huge house having fillet steak delivered for tea had unsettled him, but at the same time made him ever more determined.

Every Wednesday evening he sat behind Ruth, staring at the graceful curve of her neck and the flame red hair that caressed it. Pip Appleby's instructive words seemed to float past him during the rehearsal as Beethoven's Fifth or Elgar's Enigma Variations took second place to teenage infatuation. Here, at the Schools' Orchestra practices everyone was equal, regardless of address, school or accent. Ruth's clarinet and his trumpet offered equal opportunity to all. A way of transcending class distinction and inspiring ambition. Here Town Moor and Beckett Road met. Here he could ask Ruth if she was going to the disco and she could say that she might. That was enough.

'Don't be late tonight. I want you back in by eleven.'

'That's too early mum, the disco doesn't finish 'till eleven and then we've got to walk home. It'll be nearer midnight.'

'Who's we?'

'Pete and John and me. You know, the usual crowd.'

'Are you meeting some girl there tonight; is that why you wanted that silly new shirt, to impress some young girl?'

'Don't be daft. It's just the three of us as usual out to enjoy the disco.'

'You are, aren't you? You're meeting a girl there...who is she?'

Ruth stood in the upstairs front bedroom window looking out on to the Town Fields. She knew that her mum would be having the usual delivery of fillet steak today and she wanted to be the one answering the front door when he arrived. She had been rehearsing the door opening in her mind. What she would say and how casual she would look when he handed over the package. She was terrified that she might blush and make her feelings so obvious. At the last orchestra rehearsal, he had finally spoken to her. She had waited so long for him to acknowledge her and she had tried so hard to look only vaguely interested when she responded. Neither wild horses nor her mum and dad would keep her from being at the Elmfield House disco on Saturday night.

To pass the time constructively, she decided to do some clarinet practice, but did it in the front window whilst keeping an eye out for the unmistakable delivery bike. During the navigation of a particularly difficult F minor arpeggio the front doorbell announced the unobserved arrival of the fillet steak and cursing her lack of attention she shouted loudly that she would get it and began descending the huge Edwardian staircase at breakneck speed. To her dismay, as she tumbled down the final few steps, her mother flung open the front door with a triumphant look on her face, snatched the steak from the hapless youth and slammed the impressive mahogany portal back into its frame. Ruth was too distraught to disguise her feelings and stood gripping the newel post with a look of total devastation.

'Do you know that boy Ruth?'

'Yes, I do. He plays trumpet in the orchestra.'

'Well, I hope you don't have any special feelings for him. If playing the trumpet weren't bad enough, he actually delivers our meat.'

'I can't believe you said that mother. You should listen to yourself. He plays the trumpet in our orchestra, I know him, I talk to him and he's very nice.'

'Very nice he may be Ruth, but he's a delivery boy and not for the likes of us.'

'Well he may not be for the likes of you mother, but he's perfectly OK with me.'

The three boys could hear the noise from the disco as they walked past the Registry Office on Bennetthorpe and entered Elmfield Park. The Rolling Stones latest, screaming something about not getting satisfaction. They paid the entrance fee and entered the darkened interior, adjusting their eyes to what lay before them. As Pete and John made a beeline for the bar he immediately began his search for Ruth, strolling nonchalantly from one alcove to another in the desperate hope of spotting her. The place was packed with young gyrators, their every move flecked in rotating coloured light, their ears under blistering attack. Ruth was nowhere to be seen.

'I won't be late mummy. We're just going over to the disco in Elmfield Park for an hour. I'll be in by ten.'

'Who's we Ruth?'

'Carol and Angela and me. You know, the usual crowd.'

'You're not meeting some boy there are you. Is that why you've spent so long getting ready? You've been up there for ages.'

'Don't be silly mummy. It's just the three of us as usual enjoying the disco.'

'You are, aren't you. You're going to meet that common delivery boy there.'

In a secluded corner of the cacophony, the trumpet player and the clarinet player finally found each other and decided to sneak out together unseen. Their first duet together would be tentative and self-conscious. Much practice was required before any appearance before an audience.