In a Dry Season Read Free Page B

as getting the truth out of a politician.
    â€œBrian?”
    â€œYeah, well, that’s why I was calling you. You know . . .
    I thought I’d just leave a message.”
    â€œI see.” Banks knew what was going on now. He looked around in vain for an ashtray and ended up using the hearth. “Go on,” he prompted.
    â€œAbout the exams, like . . .”
    â€œHow bad is it? What did you get?”
    â€œWell, that’s it . . . I mean . . . you won’t like it.”
    â€œYou did pass, didn’t you?”
    â€œCourse I did.”
    â€œWell?”
    â€œIt’s just that I didn’t do as well as I expected. It was really hard, Dad. Everyone says so.”
    â€œWhat did you get?”
    Brian almost whispered. “A third.”
    â€œA third ? That’s a bit of a disappointment, isn’t it? I’d have thought you could have done better than that.”
    â€œYeah, well, it’s more than you ever got.”
    Banks took a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter a damn what I did or didn’t get. It’s you we’re talking about. Yourfuture. You’ll never get a decent job with a third-class degree.”
    â€œWhat if I don’t want a decent job ?”
    â€œWhat do you want to be then? Another statistic?
    Another cliché? Another unemployed yobbo?”
    â€œThanks a lot, Dad. Nice to know you believe in me. Anyway, as a matter of fact, I’m not on the dole. We’re going to try and make a go of it. Me and the band.”
    â€œYou’re what ?”
    â€œWe’re going to make a go of it. Andrew knows this bloke who runs an indie label, and he’s got a studio, like, and he’s said we can go down and make a demo of some of my songs. You might not believe it, but people actually like us. We’ve got gigs coming out of our ears.”
    â€œHave you any idea how tough it is to succeed in the music business?”
    â€œThe Spice Girls did it, and look how much talent they’ve got.”
    â€œSo did Tiny Tim, but that’s not the point. Talent’s got nothing to do with it. For every one that makes it, there’s thousands who get trampled on the way.”
    â€œWe’re making plenty of money.”
    â€œMoney’s not everything. What about the future?
    What are you going to do when you’ve peaked at twenty-five and you don’t have a penny in the bank?”
    â€œWhat makes you an expert on the music business all of a sudden?”
    â€œIs that why you got such a poor degree? Because you were too busy wasting your time rehearsing and going out on the road?”
    â€œI was getting pretty bored with architecture anyway.” Banks flicked his tab-end in the hearth. It scatteredsparks against the dark stone. “Have you talked to your mother about this?”
    â€œWell, I sort of thought, maybe . . . you know . . . you could do that.”
    That’s a laugh, Banks thought. Him talk to Sandra? They couldn’t even discuss the weather these days without it turning into an argument.
    â€œI think you’d better ring her yourself,” he said. “Better still, why don’t you pay her a visit? She’s only in Camden Town.”
    â€œBut she’ll go spare!”
    â€œServes you right. You should have thought of that before.”
    The kettle started whistling.
    â€œThanks a lot, Dad,” Brian said, his voice hard-edged with bitterness. “I thought you’d understand. I thought I could depend on you. I thought you liked music. But you’re just like the rest. Go see to your fucking kettle!”
    â€œBrian—”
    But Brian hung up. Hard.
    The blue of the living-room did nothing to soothe Banks’s mood. Pretty sad, he thought, when you turn to DIY as therapy, house-decoration to keep the darkness at bay. He sat for a moment staring at a brush-hair stuck to the paint above the mantelpiece, then he stormed into the kitchen and turned off