The Time Bubble Box Set 2, стр. 300

I grinned as the dulcet tones of Eminem rudely drowned outthe conversation. Kirsty’s boyfriend, Mark, who claimed to be a part-time DJ,had unwisely been allowed to bring his decks along for the evening. That is ifyou could call them that.

His equipment consisted of a cheap twin-CD bedroom starterkit from Argos, which he had plugged into my grandfather’s old-fashionedPioneer stereo system. Apparently Mark had planned to bring his speakers, buthad discovered at the last minute that there wasn’t enough room for them in theboot of Uncle Derek’s fifteen-year-old Mini Metro.

Despite the basic nature of the set-up, it was surprisinglyloud in the relatively small living room. This hadn’t been a problem to beginwith, but as the evening wore on, I had watched with amusement as the musicdeviated more and more away from the brief. Mark had been under strictinstructions to play 20th-century music from across the eras suitable for allage groups.

He had interpreted this as by playing a few tunes from the60s and 70s at the start of the night to keep the old folk happy, followed moreor less exclusively by music he liked. As a young man in his early twenties,this pretty much meant tunes from the 1990s. While Rachel, Kirsty, Karen and Iloved this, needless to say the older generation did not.

I remembered all this with glee from the first time aroundand now chuckled as my uncle’s face went red as a beetroot in outrage at thelyrics to Eminem’s “My Name Is”, and this wasn’t the radio-edit version.

I followed as he marched over to Mark, keen not to miss outon the inevitable confrontation. Unsurprisingly, Derek didn’t like hisdaughter’s boyfriend. He was twenty-one and his precious Kirsty was eighteen,which meant that there was a high probability that he was screwing her.

My uncle, who was of the old school ‘no sex before marriage’type definitely would not be happy about that.

“What the bloody hell is this?!” spluttered Derek into hisbeer, a bottle of something called mild, whatever that was. “This is supposedto be a family party. It’s half past eleven on New Year’s Eve and you’replaying this disgusting, filthy stuff. We want some proper good, old-fashionedparty tunes.”

“Well, I was sort of saving those until after midnight,”replied Mark.

“That’s no bloody good, is it?” shouted Derek, struggling tocompete with Eminem’s swearing. “You know all the power’s going to go off atmidnight when this Millennium bug hits, don’t you? Now get this vile rubbishoff and play some proper tunes.”

I was standing right behind, and saw an opportunity tointervene.

“Maybe I can help out,” I said. “I know my music.”

“You,” said Mark, scornfully. “How old are you, about ten?”

I bristled at this put-down and replied. “Nearly fourteen,as it happens, and believe me, I can guarantee I’ve been to a lot more New Yearparties than you.”

“Yes, let her help,” said Rachel who had come up behind me.“If anyone knows about New Year’s Eve here, she does.”

Earlier that day, I had given Rachel my now standard tsunamiwarning chat so she knew all about my time travels.

“Come on, lad,” said Derek. “You’ve had your change and madea pig’s ear of it. Move over and let these girls sort it out.”

Quickly I flicked through the big box of CDs Mark hadbrought with him, pulling out a compilation album of party hits.

“Here, try this,” I said. “Track Five.”

Muttering, Mark took the CD and put it in the spare deck. Afew seconds later Eminem’s lyrics were cut short as the opening chords to DexysMidnight Runners’ “Come On Eileen” rang out.

“Hmm, that’s a bit better,” said Derek, begrudgingly, “butstill a little modern for my tastes.”

“Well, they all seem to like it,” said Rachel, gesturingtowards the room where a large proportion of the guests, even the grandparents,had spontaneously begun to dance for the first time that evening.

I wasn’t a massive fan of this song personally, having heardit done to death over so many New Year parties, but I knew how effective italways was on this particular night.

Over the next half-hour, I produced a set that included,amongst others, “Rock Around The Clock”, “Dancing Queen”, “Don’t You Want Me?”and “The Final Countdown”. At five minutes to midnight I topped the whole thingoff with Prince’s 1999. It was cheesy and obvious but nobody cared. Iwas giving them exactly what they wanted.

The TV was switched on to hear Big Ben’s bongs just beforemidnight arrived. Much to Uncle Derek’s disappointment, the lights didn’t gooff and no planes crashed on the house. That was when I had that official firstglass of champagne. Of course, being a teenager it wasn’t my first drink of theevening. No one knew about the cider that Kirsty had smuggled upstairs for uskids to share earlier in the evening.

It was a time when alcohol, like so many things was new,forbidden and therefore exciting. Even though I had loved through anothertwenty-five years since this evening, I didn’t feel jaded in any way. Therewere even moments during the night when I forgot about my situation for amoment and really did revert to that teenage mindset when the endlesspossibilities of life were still stretching out before me.

But they weren’t in front of me anymore. I was heading inthe opposite direction and I now had less than four weeks left.