The Last Days of Disco by David F. Ross

loudly. They would need to leave soon and, although Lizzie had selfishly insisted that none of her brothers and sisters be allowed to attend – especially the hated Audrey – Anne was looking forward to a night out with Frank. It was important that Lizzie was in a good mood or they would be on edge all evening.
    â€˜Are ye still upset about Theresa?’ enquired Anne softly.
    Lizzie sighed. ‘Naw. It was aw her fault. She shouldnae have said that stuff about me. She said it was a joke, but it wisnae. It was vindictive.’ Lizzie had now regained her cocksure composure. ‘An’ anyway, the baw was on the slates when ah gave the DJ job tae that Cassidy boy. Efter whit she said but, there was nae way that fat man ae’ hers was gettin’ it. Ah’m fine. C’mon, let’s go. Is Dad ready?’
    â€˜Whit about yer lipstick?’
    â€˜Ah had it in ma handbag all along.’
    â€˜Awa’ an apologise tae yer sister, then.’ But both women knew there was more chance of Tony Hadley climbing down off the wall and coming to the party with them, than of
that
happening.
    â€˜Whit was it ye wanted to tell me?’ asked Lizzie.
    Anne breathed deeply. ‘Ach … it’ll keep.’
17 TH FEBRUARY 1982: 7:11PM
    About five miles across Kilmarnock – in a similarly sized bedroom – a young man nervously stared at his reflection in a full-length mirror.
    â€˜Are you lookin’ at me? Are
you
lookin’ at … cos ah’m the only wan here. Well, who are ye lookin’ at then … if no me?’ Bobby leaned over and kissed his reflection.
    â€˜It’s you … you … ah’ jist want you … ma coo-gah-choo … ma-coo-gah-CHOOOO.’
Bobby turned to the left. He was now side-on to the mirror. He adopted a cod-American accent, as he interviewed himself.
    â€˜Alvin, what’s been the secret of your incredible success?’ Bobby now turned to the right and looked straight into the mirror.
    â€˜Well, Kid, I’d have to put it down to the size of my enormous knob!’ Bobby looked down. He picked up a folded pair of socks and shoved them down the front of his pants.
    â€˜Ah … I can certainly see what you mean, Alvin.’ Bobby picked out a record and put it on the turntable. He began prancing around and singing to ‘Da Ya Think I’m Sexy’ by Rod Stewart.
    â€˜Hoi, Rodney.’ Bobby looked round, startled.
    It was Joey. ‘You’re a fanny.’
    â€˜For fuck’s sake, Joe. Ye nearly gied me a heart attack there.’
    â€˜Whit are you oan, Boab?’
    â€˜Well, obviously ah’ didnae ken ye were there. Jesus Christ, ah’ don’t make a habit ae jigglin’ aboot in ma pants in front ae folk.’
    â€˜Whit … even though you’ve got an enormous knob?’ asked Joey.
    â€˜Christ … how long had ye been stood there?’ Bobby sheepishly extracted the socks from inside his Y-fronts
    â€˜Well, ah watched
Taxi Driver
… then ah saw ye snoggin’ yersel’, ya bender … then ye were Alvin Stardust, and Kid Jensen, oan
Top ae the Pops
… an’ then finally …’
    â€˜Aye, aye … ah get it, ya prick,’ said Bobby, slightly annoyed.
    â€˜Whit’s the score, then?’ asked Joey, rubbing his cold hands together.
    â€˜Ah’m jist gauny get ready … splash a wee bit ae the auld Brut 55 oan, then we’re ready for the off, eh? Ah’m a bit nervous, but cannae fuckin’ wait, man.’ Bobby was extremely apprehensive, but he didn’t want it to show too much. This was a dream in the making and hewished he could enjoy it a bit more than the tension was allowing.
    â€˜Ye sure we’ve got enough records, Boab? An’ did ye get a mic? Cos’ ah don’t think ye’ll get much sound oota that hairbrush.’
    â€˜Ah got an auld yin earlier fae Dale, the singer oot the Vespas.