The Ned Wood Archive

Sam

Sam invites Lyn and Lex for a cuppa.  He says he’s in a mood to celebrate after having done a good deed.  At least he’s moved that wallet and that cash a little closer to its rightful owner.  He takes them to the tea bus and buys tea and cake.  Carrot cake.  It’s good.  

This is what happens at Glastonbury.  Sam spends the Friday bouncing from stage to stage like the ball in a pinball machine, hitting the bumpers and the targets and scoring music left right and centre.  By Sunday, he’s slowed right down and spends his time sitting and relaxing with just the occasional, high quality gig.  It gives him time to connect with folk.  People on the recycling crew.  People out and about around the festival.

They sit around the tea bus watching the crowds flow past.  They talk about plans for the day.  Lex tells him that he has to go up to the Park at six to see this bloke called Hamish Hawk.   Both of them – Lyn and Lex – say that he’s very good and that Sam needs to check him out.  He’s got a lovely voice, they say.  Plus he’s a beautiful lyricist.  Like Scott Walker, they say.  A bit.  Sam’s always up for a good recommendation, plus he’s not got any must sees today.  

Lex does a bit of surfing to see what’s happening.  Sam wonders whether to suggest that she might want to switch the phone off but she’s got some news he’s interested in, so he bites his tongue.  She tells them that they’ve just missed Brian Eno over at Left Field.  He was taking part in the discussion on Gaza, apparently.  Well, Sam was supposed to be avoiding politics too, but that didn’t exactly work out.  They wonder whether Brian Eno will end up on stage with Bryan Ferry.  Sam explains that, and it was before their time, but they fell out.  Eno and Ferry.  So he thinks it’s unlikely.  Even though it was 50 years ago. However, at that moment he decides he’s going to go over and watch.  Just in case.  He’ll be able to see Ferry then go up to the Park for this Hawk guy.  Mind. It would be priceless if Eno did turn up.

Lex goes back to her phone. Sam watches the crowds. Lyn is silent for a minute or two, then turns to Sam.  

“Do you mind if I ask you something?” she says. “You don’t have to answer.”

She wants Sam to show her the photo of Jackie again.  Sam’s happy to talk about his daughter again, so he gets his phone out and turns it back on.  

“You’re just trying to get me to use this again, aren’t you?” he asks.

He opens up his photos and hands her the phone. She looks at it, just to confirm what she already knew.

“I’m not being funny, but do you mind if I ask you a crazy question?” she says, looking straight at Sam and seeing what’s inside as he’s learnt she can do.  “Is that an Adam’s Apple?”

Sam looks back at her then gazes off into the distance, past the Sunday crowds, past the stalls and tents and venues. He hesitates before answering. It’s not a secret, but he asks himself whether it’s his story to tell. Then again, he’s proud of her and wants to share that pride.

He looks at Lyn. When he does, he gets a glimpse of her empathy. Her understanding. In that moment, Sam is aware that maybe Lyn knows some of what Jackie has been through. Not exactly the same. Similar. The questioning as a kid. The not knowing who you are. The bullying at school. The pressure to conform. The vain attempts to conform. The slow painful realisation that you’re different. You can’t conform. Maybe also the slow thrilling realisation that you’re special. Not just the same as everybody else.

Sam doesn’t know what Jackie went through. Is going through. Perhaps Lyn can help him understand.

“There’s no getting past you, is there?” says Sam.  “I didn’t find out at first, but she told me, on about the third or fourth time we met.  She’d transitioned at Uni.  God that must have been hard.  I really wish I’d been around for her.  I haven’t heard that much from her since then.  It was kind of like, now she’s told me, she doesn’t need to see me again.  Or maybe I said all of the wrong things when she did tell me and she decided that she didn’t ever want me in her life again.  And I never found out anything about her Mom.”

“But you would welcome her into your life again, if you could.”  

“Oh, God, yes.”

“Well you should try and get in touch.  Do you have a number? An email?”  

“I’ve just got an email address.  That’s all.  That’s what she’d use to say ‘let’s meet up’.”

“OK, so email her.”