The Dawn of Aquarius

1

Anywhere But Home

* * *

10th January 1969

Georgie leaned his forehead against the cold glass, eyes glued to the group of college students on the corner. A spray of rain covered the window of the telephone box, distorting his view.

“Hello?”

His father had picked up. Just his luck.

“It’s me, Pa.”

“Кто это?” His mother’s voice in the background. Who is it?

“Gosha,” said his father, away from the receiver. Georgie rolled his eyes. Getting his parents to stop using his Russian diminutive was a lost battle.

“Pa, listen. I won’t be home for dinner. I’m going out.”

“You’re going out?”

“With friends,” replied Georgie, irked by his father’s sceptical tone. Through the raindrops on the window pane, he could see Trev, Paul, Cathy and Sue. And Jack, of course, with his signature black beret.

A dry chuckle sounded at the other end of the telephone line.

“Friends. Good. I shall tell your mother to stop feeling sorry for you.”

The snide response Georgie wanted to give never left his lips as the students set off down the road.

“Pa, they’re waiting for me, I’ve got to go. Bye!”

His father’s goodbye a tinny echo, Georgie hung up the receiver and slammed his finger on the ‘B’ button. As soon as the telephone spat out his threepenny bit, he pushed the door open and hurried after the others. Taking the last steps at a run, Georgie misjudged the distance and bumped into Trev, who whipped around in surprise.

“Russki! Where did you spring from? Sneaking up on me like the KGB!”

Laughing at his own joke, he gave Georgie a push that almost sent him stumbling into the road. The others laughed too and Georgie joined in, smoothing a hand over his overgrown moptop. The humidity was doing his thick, dark hair no favours. Perhaps he ought to get a beret like Jack’s.

“Thought you’d left,” said Paul as Georgie squeezed past him.

“You thought wrong, my dear.” Catching up with Cathy and Sue, who were sharing an umbrella, Georgie looked to Jack, leader of the pack as usual. “Where are we off to?”

“Home,” sighed Cathy.

“Home?” Georgie turned to her in disbelief. “You are not! Oh, go on. A little tipple to warm us up?”

No one said a word. A little tipple, his own words echoed in his head. What a naff thing to say. All week Georgie had hinted at drinks on Friday, since his birthday had fallen on the first day of term this year, but no one seemed to remember that now. He didn’t want to remind them.

Cathy’s scarf hit him in the face when she tossed the end of it over her shoulder.

“Jack!” she called. “Sue and I are going to get started on our group project without you tonight, seeing as you’re such a busy rock star.”

Jack gave the girls a smile that was too self-satisfied to be apologetic, but who could begrudge Jack Henley-Rees? A promising fine arts student, he was a self-proclaimed poet and now a rock star to boot. The Central School of Art and Design was abuzz with talk of his new rock group. As with Jack’s poetry readings at The Troubadour, a pub in West London that held open mic nights, the buzz around Jack’s group felt a little ridiculous, though Georgie would never have said so. Envy suited no one.

The rain was turning to sleet. The students made a run for Holborn station, splashing through puddles and ducking past umbrellas. Trev waved goodbye, heading for the platform that should have been Georgie’s, too. Georgie hesitated. He didn’t much care for Trev, who thought that cracking Soviet jokes was the height of comedic genius. Instead, he turned and hurried after Jack, Paul and the girls through the throng of commuters.

The Central Line train was crammed when it arrived, and still more crowded when it departed. Georgie found himself wedged between the doors and a portly man with a newspaper, who gave the girls a disapproving look when they began to talk about a march in protest of Rhodesia’s white minority government. Before Georgie could try to join the conversation, Cathy and Sue got off, and when the train stopped at Oxford Circus a few minutes later, Paul departed as well. The carriage emptied and filled up again, allowing Georgie to secure a seat beside Jack. Even as he did so, his heart leapt into his throat. He had not expected to be left alone with Jack, who was never alone at college. This was a golden opportunity to have a real conversation, to say something interesting. His mind was a wasteland all of a sudden. Every second of silence felt like failure.

“Any plans for the weekend?” asked Jack, who wasn’t a tongue-tied twit.

Georgie shook his head.

“Just work.”

“You work weekends?”

“Only Saturdays.”

“What a drag.”

“The new Beatles album,” Georgie blurted out, afraid that he was one question away from regaling Jack with tales of his mundane warehouse job. “Have you got it?”

Jack was too busy adjusting his beret to mind the clumsy change of topic.

“I got it when it first came out.”

The double album had hit the shelves a little over a month ago and cost more than three pounds, but it figured that Jack wouldn’t have to think twice about affording it.

“What do you make of it?” Georgie prompted.

Jack’s brow furrowed and Georgie feared that he would echo the critics who had called the album self-indulgent and disjointed.

“It’s a work of art,” said Jack.

“Isn’t it just!” Relieved that they were in agreement, Georgie broke into a smile and quickly pressed his lips together to hide the unsightly gap between his front teeth. A habit so ingrained in him that it was second nature. “It’s a trip from start to finish, don’t you think?”

As Jack began to elucidate what he thought of the album, Georgie’s hands unclenched and his shoulders relaxed a little. This wasn’t going so terribly. All he had to do was let Jack talk, and Jack liked to talk. He was explaining the only proper way to listen to Revolution 9 (“It’s like modern art, you’ve got to take it in without trying to get it”) when Notting Hill Gate station was announced. Jack rose to his feet and turned to Georgie, who had stood up, too.

“Are you getting off here as well?”

“Yes,” said Georgie, who had no idea where he was going. He glanced at a map of the underground above the windows. “I’m going to Kensington,” he decided. Perfect. High Street Kensington was only one stop away if he changed trains here, and it was home to one of Georgie’s favourite spots. Kensington Market. A large indoor market that stretched three floors, offering a blend of old gems and new trends. Whenever he wandered between the shops and stalls, Georgie fancied himself part of the hip crowd that frequented the place, even as he walked away from the extravagant outfits he wasn’t brave enough to buy.

The train doors opened.

“Right on,” said Jack. “Looks like we’re going the same way then. I’m meeting the guys from my group in Kensington.”

A fresh spark of hope flickered to life in Georgie’s chest.

“Really? Are you playing somewhere tonight?”

“No, we’re just going for a drink.”

“Whereabouts?”

Georgie hoped that Jack wouldn’t think he was prying, even though he was.

“The Star and Dove,” said Jack, as they climbed the stairs together to change platforms. “It’s a groovy little place. Do you know it?”

Georgie didn’t, and so Jack proceeded to tell him how he and his group had discovered this gem of a pub, and how they had contributed to its popularity by playing there every other weekend. By the time they had boarded the next train, Georgie had learned that Jack’s group, The Ascension, were a trio. As their lead singer, songwriter and guitarist, Jack was naturally the leader of the group. He had just finished telling Georgie all about the songs he had written (all two of them) when they exited the station and slowed to a halt. Georgie gave Jack a wistful smile.

“Have a drink for me.” Then he shrugged his shoulders and added, with all the nonchalance he could muster: “I was looking forward to one myself, but no such luck.”

God, but he hoped that he wasn’t laying it on too thick. Jack seemed to be sizing him up.

“Well…” he elongated the word, a contemplative fermata. “You could join us for one, if you like.”

With some effort, Georgie arranged his features into a semblance of surprise rather than the burst of triumph he felt.

“I would like that,” he said, but as the words left his mouth he realised that he hadn’t thought it through. Oh no. What if he made a bad impression on Jack’s bandmates, who probably didn’t want him there in the first place? Too late. Jack was already leading the way and, too embarrassed to change his mind, Georgie followed.

2

Daydream Believer

* * *

Professor Vogel held up the multicoloured canine skull in his liver-spotted hand.

“As you can see, this is a very nice painted skull. A visual aid, if you will. Now, I hope you can all recall the external bones, starting at the most rostral aspect, here in turquoise. Who can tell me? Yes, Miss Friel?”

Felix did not hear Linda’s answer, nor did Vogel’s voice register in his mind. He was tracing over the wonky rectangle he had drawn on his pad of paper, as if by doing so his brain might be forced to fill it with words. He could envision the song he wanted, lazy like a warm summer day. He could practically feel the drumsticks in his hands, laying down the beat. A chilled out groove full of ghost notes and creative fills. Only he couldn’t pin down the tune, and no words materialised on the page.

Maybe it was a love song he was after? Felix pictured his girlfriend in front of his inner eye, imagined her hips, moving to the beat. Hmm. What would the others say, he wondered, if he turned up to rehearsals with an ode to his girlfriend’s arse?

“Mr Fisher. You seem to be finding the lacrimal bone very amusing.”

Wiping the grin off his face, Felix straightened in his chair. Professor Vogel was looking at him over the rim of his glasses. Barry, who sat beside Felix, glanced over at his pad of paper, which was entirely devoid of notes (or song lyrics, for that matter).

“Would you mind telling us what this is?” said Vogel, tapping a blue part of the skull.

“That one?” Felix stalled while he tried to remember the name of the bone, aware of everyone’s eyes on him. Sphenoid? No, that was the one next to it. Ocular? No, that wasn’t it either. Bugger.

“The blue.” Vogel tapped it again. “Please name the blue, Mr Fisher.”

A few hands went up.

“Er…” Felix ruffled his blond curls, feigning innocence. “I’d say that’s electric blue? Sorry, I thought this was skeletal anatomy, not colour theory.”

A few snickers echoed around the lecture theatre.

“Very funny,” said Vogel, looking as far from amused as Felix currently was from a passing grade. “Very funny, indeed. Miss Andrews?”

“It’s the zygomatic bone.”

Carol, who had answered correctly, caught Felix’s eye.

“I knew that,” he mouthed, giving her a tiny wink. She turned away with a shake of her head, but not without a smile.

“Leave some for the rest of us,” muttered Barry.

Felix gave him a quizzical look while Vogel droned on about the usefulness of the zygomatic bone. Barry mimed an exaggerated wink.

“Piss off,” whispered Felix. Carol was a fox. Just because he was going steady with Louise didn’t mean he couldn’t flirt a little. Turning a fresh page, he looked up at the blackboard, determined to pay attention. There would be hell to pay if he didn’t pass his exams, and songwriting during skeletal anatomy was a lost cause.

As the first year vet students filed out of the lecture hall, Mike slung his arms around Barry and Felix.

“Pub?”

“Pub.” Barry agreed. He sounded relieved to have made it to the end of the week. Felix shared the sentiment. No part of him had wanted to return to college after the Christmas break, but what choice did he have? His parents had held his drums hostage last year until he had promised, on his life and under threat of punishment, that joining a rock group was not going to interfere with his education.

“I can’t,” Felix sighed, glancing at his watch.

“Go on!” Mike released Barry, one arm still around Felix’s shoulders. “It’s Friday!”

“I know.” Felix freed himself. “I’m meeting the guys from my group though.”

“Ooh,” cooed Mike. “He’s always got better things to do, this one.”

“Better people to see,” said Barry. “It’s alright for some.”

“Prick,” Mike coughed into his hand, smirking at Felix, who joined in with the banter.

“Yeah, who’d want to hang around you two all night?”

“Bet these birds do.” Mike slowed down beside a group of girls who were standing next to the women’s lavatories. “Ladies, we’re off to the pub. Care to join?”

His invitation found approval.

“I’ll come.” Carol smiled, tugging at a strand of her fashionably short hair. She quickly looked away when Felix caught her eye, but he kept looking, intrigued. Now that he thought about it, Carol wasn’t just a pretty face. She was also a pretty decent student. Perhaps he could make the most of a quick round of drinks.

“Guess I’ll come for a cheeky one,” he informed his friends, much to their delight.

Splitting his time between college obligations (academic and social), his rock n’ roll group and his girlfriend was a struggle, but Felix was not about to complain. His wardrobe was full of threads he would have never worn in his hometown. He was meeting groovy people everywhere, growing out his hair, growing into a whole new man. Not a day passed when Felix didn’t thank his lucky stars that he had run into his bandmates, David and Jack, in the right place (Trafalgar Square) at the right time (one o’clock in the morning) back in September. Getting to play in a group again had reawakened ambitions Felix had come close to giving up during the depressing year he had spent resitting the upper sixth. Be realistic, everyone had told him.

“Everything’s realistic if it’s possible,” David had said on that very first night. Seated atop one of the lion statues that overlooked Trafalgar Square, he had seemed worldly and wise. Felix had repeated David’s words to his parents, but they hadn’t been impressed. Still, he was nineteen. His father could rage all he liked, but he could no longer tell him what to do.

Felix bade his college friends goodbye sooner than he would have liked and left the pub with Carol’s notes tucked safely away in his bag. She had offered to meet up and study together, and while Felix had no immediate plans to find out how mutually beneficial a thorough review of animal anatomy with Carol might be, it was nice to have options.