Wednesday 29 March 1978: Day Two The Rugby Club Disco
Robbie (2028): “A ‘kiss’ was like picking up a piece and placing it on a board game; it meant you had joined the game. You had both made a start. There you are. Side by side at the edge of this labyrinth of ifs, buts and maybes.”
Rugby Club Disco, 1978
“Girls in formation. A hormonal frontline. Somewhere just off-frame, Robbie hovers near the coat pile, wondering when to make his move.”
The rugby club disco pulsed with heat and uncertainty. Girls danced in formation to YMCA—Celia, Diana, Alice. Was it choreographed flirtation or girl power protection? Robbie tried for a kiss, but Celia dodged. Diana smiled; he had worked so hard for it, all that dancing and gyrating until she mentioned her boyfriend. This did not phase Robbie one bit. He had long ago concluded that all the best girls were taken and that his job was to win them over. But with Diana off to get a drink and choosing not to return, Robbie turned back to Cece—Cecilia Noble—who once again vanished after three more dances and the required ‘slow one,’ when he politely wondered if they might share a “kiss.”
Cece was willow-thin and untouchable, like a conductor’s baton, which was fitting since she was also a classically trained ballet dancer. She had an Audrey Hepburn kookiness, the sixteen-year-old Robbie thought, while the older Robbie, fifty years later, believed Alicia Vikander would play her in a biopic.
The dodged kiss was something Robbie had experienced before, with Julie-Anne Redfern, two years earlier. A mouthful of metal had resulted in his nickname ‘Jaws. ‘ Surely, with the brace gone, he looked less scary as he leaned in, his mouth all a-quiver and expectant.
He had considered pursuing girls with braces on their teeth, but they were a rare breed. Given his schooling situation, the ‘season’ was limited to the few weeks of release from his all-male ‘posh prison’ each holiday back at home. This was further complicated by splitting every holiday between his mum’s place and his father’s.
Was it down to timing then? A kiss was something to discover far deeper into this labyrinth called relationships.
By the end of the night, Robbie was in a sulk. Kizzy—twin, fixer, emotional translator—barged into the bathroom while he was soaking under a quilt of Fairy Liquid-induced bubbles with her recent Form Photo and a plan.
This is how it would go: seventeen girls, one form photo, a handful of darts, a game of fate.
Later, dry and clothed, Robbie stood in Kizzy’s room with a dart in one hand and his heart in the other.
“Pick one,” she said.
“For what?”
“Just pick one.”
Cue Roxy Music: “Love is the Drug.”
The dart flew. Hit the Form photo. And Robbie was gobsmacked. Fate could have a part to play.
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