Authors: Calvin Wade
Lancaster University was ideal for Helen, as it appeared to me to be
pretty much Ormskirk on campus. A close knit community of people
(in this case, students) without the bright lights of a major city.
In October 1986, as my mother sobbed heartily, we all squashed into
the Sierra Estate, with Jim in the boot and took Helen up to Lancaster.
On the way home, Caroline was brimming over with excitement, she
had lost a sister, but for the first time in her life now had a bedroom
that she could call her own.
Caroline and I were the closest siblings. Growing up, we hadn
’
t
been particularly close, but once she hit fifteen, Caroline developed a
wild, independent, rebellious streak and I just thought she was fantastic!
Much to Mum
’
s dismay, she had each ear pierced several times, wore
more make-up than Boy George, had a steady flow of weird looking
boyfriends and a record player that Spinal Tap would have been proud
of as she played everything at volume eleven.
When Helen shared her room, Caroline would spend a lot of time
out of the house, at friends or boyfriends, but once Helen went, the
friends and boyfriends came to us. Dad was a little bit intimidated by
Caroline, so he used to send Mum in to battle.
“
Go and tell her to switch that bloody rubbish down, Dot!
”
“
Dot, that new boyfriend
’
s been up in Cal
’
s room for ages, go up
will you and check he isn
’
t giving us a grandchild!
”
One of the things Caroline and I had in common, was an interest
in music, or even a passion for music. Caroline had an eclectic taste,
which meant some of the stuff she was into, was brilliant, but some of
it was bloody awful! Amongst her particular favourites were Scorpions,
Depeche Mode, The Smiths, INXS, Throwing Muses, Pink Floyd, Marillion, 10,000 Maniacs and Al Stewart (
“
only the early stuff
”
). I
thought they were all great, but she also liked T
’
Pau, It Bites, Terence
Trent D
’
Arby, Leonard Cohen and Tom Waits, all of whom I thought
were absolutely terrible! To be fair, with Leonard Cohen and Tom
Waits, I just didn
’
t get them when I was fif
teen and reluctantly had to
admit to Caroline, later in life, that I had become a huge fan of both.
With Jim being a super nerd, I used to wander into Helen and
Caroline
’
s room pretty frequently just to get away from him and my bond
with Caroline just strengthened from when I was fourteen onwards.
Caroline was a mousey blonde like me, but had gone a lot fairer, which
she initially explained was down to the summer weather (Dad had
barred her from having her hair highlighted, saying it was a complete
waste of money
–
the words pot, kettle, betting slips and black, spring
to mind!). One day though, I was in her room with her, listening to
Al Stewart
’
s
“
Love Chronicles
”
(which Caroline told me was the first
ever song to mention the
“
f
”
word), when the true source of the colour
change was revealed.
“
How come your hair used to be the same colour as mine and now
its really blonde?
”
“
The sun
’
s been on it.
”
“
Get lost! Do you not think the sun would have reached mine too?
I haven
’
t been wearing a bandana!
”
“
Yeh, but I
’
ve been squeezing lemon juice into mine!
”
“
No, you haven
’
t!
”
“
I have. Look next time I
’
m sunbathing, you
’
ll see a raw lemon next
to the sunbed!
”
I started sniffing.
“
What
’
s that smell?
”
I asked.
“
What smell?
”
“
Oh, I know! Bullshit! Heaps of it!
”
I smiled at her.
“
Come on, Cal, what
’
s made it so blonde? Billy Idol
’
s hair
’
s darker!
”
Caroline smiled back at me.
“
Promise you won
’
t tell?
”
“
Promise!
”
“
Cross your heart and hope to die?
”
“
Cross my heart and hope to die.
”
“
Do it!
”
I crossed my heart.
“
THIS!
”
Caroline went to her wardrobe that was decorated in posters from
Smash Hits and all the rest of her magazines and under a mountain of
scrunched up clothes, she scooped out a red and white plastic bottle,
which said
“
Sun In
”
on it.
“
Every couple of weeks, when I wash my hair, I put this in it.
”
I looked at her puzzled. I washed my hair every day.
“
Do you only wash your hair every two weeks? Do you donate
grease to the Acropolis?
”
(the Acropolis was Ormskirk
’
s finest fish and
chip shop).
“
No, dimwit, I wash my hair three times a week, but I only put
“
Sun
In
”
in it every two weeks
”
.
Now I understood.
“
Right!
”
“
And that stuff makes you go that colour?
”
“
It
’
s just gone a bit lighter every time I
’
ve used it. You should try it!
”
“
Me?
”
“
Why not? You
’
re the same colouring as me, you just said so. Next
time you have a shower, come in here before you dry your hair and I
’
ll
put it in for you! You
’
ll be a blondie like me, Richie! The girls will be
chasing after you!
”
“
Why do they chase after you?
”
“
You know what I mean.
”
“
Will Mum and Dad not wonder what
’
s going on, if we both end
up blonder than Debbie Harry?
”
“
Who cares?
”
I thought about it. I didn
’
t care. Mum wouldn
’
t say anything
anyway, she
’
d probably tell us we looked great. Dad would moan at us,
but that
’
s what Dad did. If we were blond haired, he would moan, if
we were brown haired, he would moan, if our hair was black and had
white horses painted into it, he would probably back us to win the 4.30
at Goodwood. Then, when we lost, he would moan at us!
I had an adrenalin surge, I was ready to explore my wild side!
“
OK, I
’
ll do it! Shall I have a shower now?
”
“
You might as well. You smell ready for one, B.O boy!
”
“
Sod off!
”
I trotted off for a shower. After a quick soaking, I put on my dressing
gown and headed to Helen and Caroline
’
s room with wet hair and an
appetite for my first taste of
“
Sun In
”
. Blond hair could definitely make
a difference with the girls.
Caroline went through the safety procedures like a Sun-In hair
hostess.
“
If you start putting this on yourself, don
’
t put it on your pubes
”
.
She wrapped a towel over my dressing gown.
“
Why would I put it on my pubes? No-one will see them but me!
”
“
I tried it.
”
“
You
’
re mad!
”
“
I know. It turned them bright red!
”
“
You
’
re a loony!
”
“
You haven
’
t heard the best bit yet! Don
’
t you dare tell anyone this,
but after I did it, I shaved my bikini line into a heart shape, so I
’
ve got
a big red heart down there now!
”
I don
’
t know why Caroline told me that. I wish she hadn
’
t. I wasn
’
t
100% sure what a female looked like naked. I had never seen a porn
film and had only really seen pre-teenage girls with nothing on. When
I was conjuring up an image of a naked woman, I didn
’
t suddenly want
to get a mental picture of my sister
’
s red heart. At the time, it made me
feel a bit nauseous, but I have to admit,
a few years later when Nirvana
released a song called
“
Heart Shaped Box
”
, it made me erupt in a fit of
giggles.
“
Kurt Cobain
’
s written a song for you, Cal!
”
I joked.
I
’
m sure that song must have been about something dark and serious
and intense, but even now when I hear it, despite everything, it brings
a cheeky smile to my face!
Still, back in the moment, the Sun-In went in,
the hairdryer went
on, the brown hair went a shade lighter and a few months down the
line I was as blond as Caroline, but never as red. Red was Liverpool, I
couldn
’
t have done that!
As the 1980
’
s prepared itself for the 1990
’
s, Caroline and I confided
in each other about every romantic development in our life. This pretty
much meant that Caroline confided in me about everyone she did
anything with and I confided in her about everyone I would have liked to do something with.
When Caroline lost her virginity to Andrew Cullen, one summer
evening in Coronation Park, (
“
to the tune of rats scurrying
”
),
I was the
first person she told. I guess Andrew Cullen knew before me, but I was
the first third party.
“
How did it feel?
”
I asked intrigued.
“
You know sometimes when you have a poo and it
’
s a really big one
and you wonder how you
’
ll ever get it out? Well it was like that but the
other way round.
”
Not exactly the description I was hoping for! If the porn industry
ever wanted to sell the sexual concept to teenage boys, they would be
well advised to steer clear of employing my sister.