Just Keep Singing (Part 1: Come On Eileen)

At just 28 years-old, playwright and author Tom Wells has received universal acclaim for plays like The Kitchen Sink and Jumpers for Goalposts, which feature touchingly naturalistic portrayals of gay relationships and wickedly funny human observation. Tom’s currently writing ongoing fictional story Just Keep Singing for Attitude, which revolves around young Jonny and a fictional gay men’s choir in Hull. You can catch Part 2: ‘Roar’ in our current issue – out now – but don’t worry if you missed the first part. Attitude.co.uk will be keeping you up to date each month with previous instalments of the story. Read on to see how it all began in Part 1: ‘Come on Eileen’…

My Mum said she’d give me a lift cos she was off into Hull anyway, to Asda. She was doing her big shop. I reckon she could’ve done without dropping me off to be honest, but we haven’t had that much time together lately cos of the others. Adam, he’s nineteen, he’s training to be a carpenter, keeps getting pissed then using power tools. He says that’s how everyone trains to be a carpenter. My Mum’s spent quite a lot of time taking him to A&E though, dripping blood all over her Corsa. And then Lucy, she’s fifteen, we’ve just found out she’s having a baby. So my Mum’s got quite a lot on really, without me joining in. That’s why I was bricking it.

Mum must’ve sensed I was nervous cos she started indicating. She doesn’t normally bother with traffic signals. That wasn’t why I was nervous though. I was nervous cos I was about to drop the bombshell, the big gay bombshell. I’d had a speech planned out for ages, practised it quite a few times in my room, just whispering so no one could hear. It sounded alright. I’d gone for a few gags, then a heartfelt bit at the end, about acceptance. But there just hadn’t been a good moment really, to tell her. Every time I tried the same thing happened: I took a deep breath, cleared my throat, paused, and chickened out. I know it’s daft – I’m 18 next week, a proper grown-up – but I just couldn’t say it. So I thought of a plan B instead, which was tonight.

There’s this choir in Hull, for gay men. It’s called the Hull Gay Men’s Choir. I’d read about it in the paper, cut the article out with the time and where they practiced and a photo of them all singing, and I’d kept it. The plan was once we got to the car park I’d say to my mum “This is about the choir” or something, then give her the article to read and just leg it. She’d be like “Why’s Jonny off to a gay men’s choir?” but then, hopefully, she’d just work it out. She might go apeshit or she might cry or she might just go to Asda, but I wouldn’t know cos I’d be inside singing my heart out for two hours with some gay people I’d just met. 

We turned into the car park.

“Are you sure about this Jonny?” My Mum was looking at the community centre. It didn’t look promising. “There’s probably a choir nearer home if you’d rather. Try the Methodists.”

I smiled, shook my head, opened the car door.

“See you at half nine then” she said.

I tried to say the thing but it wouldn’t come out. I just kissed her instead, gave her the article from in my pocket.

“What’s this love?” She looked a bit confused but I couldn’t talk still so I just left her to read it. It was a bit drizzly. I hurried inside. 

Neil who runs the choir knew who I was straight away, cos I’d emailed him before to ask about coming. He reminded me a bit of BBC 2’s Gareth Malone, except younger and from Hull. He was wearing a cardie and basically he was just really enthusiastic about singing. His best mate was there too, Biscuits – that’s who I sat next to. Biscuits told me he can’t really sing, but he always brings the biscuits, which counts for a lot. And sometimes he bangs a drum.

Neil stood at the front. “Shall we get cracking?”

Biscuits stuck his hand up. “Um, Dev’s not here yet.”

“If he’s late he’s late,” Neil said. “He knows the rules.”

Everyone in the room went “ooh”, apart from me, cos I didn’t know the rules, and quite an old man called Mr Cartwright, who’d nodded off. Neil explained: “There’s two rules. One: it doesn’t matter if you get it wrong, just keep singing, keep going, to the end,” which I thought was quite good advice really, not just for singing, for life as well; and then “Two: if you’re late, you do the rest of practise with your shirt off.”

That sounded a bit dodgy to me, but Biscuits said “He’s kidding. It’s cos Dev’s always late and Neil fancies him.”

Neil gave Biscuits a look.

Biscuits said “What? You do,” then whispered to me, really loud, “he does.”

“Let’s do some scales to warm up,” Neil said. He was laughing. “Here’s a C.”

The Hull Gay Men’s Choir was quite a mixed bag, musically. Biscuits was terrible, obvs, and Mr Cartwright was still asleep. The others were sort of hit-and-miss. There were three students near us called Ben and Sam and Will and they were quite flat, and then a couple at the back who were good and loud, called Mark and Andy. Everyone kept calling them Ark and Mandy though, it was a bit confusing. Like Jedward, except different. And then Jizzy J, she was the only drag queen in the choir, she’d got a lovely voice but she was so used to lip-syncing that sometimes she just forgot to sing. There were a few more people but I didn’t get their names. And then Neil, at the front, being really enthusiastic.

“Brilliant,” he said. “Shall we do the new song?”

Everyone looked keen. Keen-ish.

“Exciting news,” Neil said. “Ark and Mandy have asked the Hull Gay Men’s Choir to sing at their wedding next month, and I’ve said yes cos it’s a real honour, and they’ll pay us in cake. The song they’ve chosen is (drumroll please)… Come On Eileen.”

Jizzy J looked confused. “That’s the last thing we’d do to Eileen.”

“Just thought it’d get everyone dancing,” Ark said. “Didn’t want anything too soppy.”

“It’s perfect,” Neil said, handing out photocopies. “Let’s go for it. On your feet now.”

I’d been trying not to think about my Mum too much, but I couldn’t help it now. She’s called Eileen. Come On Eileen is basically her theme tune. I hoped Asda was going alright. I hoped she wasn’t too mad with me, or upset. I hoped she hadn’t had to abandon her trolley near the shower gels, leg it to the loos and have a good sob. That’s what she did when we found out Lucy was pregnant. Lucy just announced it, by the Radox. I suddenly felt quite wobbly, but then I remembered Neil’s first rule – just keep singing. He was already bashing through the intro on the piano so I took a deep breath, stood up, and got ready to belt it out. At which point, the door crashed open and a man, I presumed it was Dev, stumbled in. He was quite pissed and he wasn’t on his own.

“Soz I’m late,” he said.

He didn’t look that sorry. He was grinning.

“This is Steve,” he said. “From Goole.”

Neil looked a bit thrown.

“Nice to meet you Steve,” he said . “We’re just about to start so…”

Dev held up a finger.

“Rules are rules.”

“What d’you mean?”

Dev whipped his jumper off and started to unbutton Steve from Goole’s shirt.

“Top off, Steve from Goole,” he said, “for being late.”

Neil said it was just a joke, but they didn’t listen. They were pissed enough to find it all very funny. Neil just looked sad. We carried on with the song, but they kept giggling and that, whispering to each other, getting off in a bit of a gross way. We did our best to cover it up with singing and Biscuits got the drum out. It didn’t work. In the end Jizzy J just went, dead loud, “Get a room.”

“Shall we have a break?” Neil said. “Cup of tea?”

Everything fell apart a bit after that. Biscuits appeared with some custard creams, which basically caused mayhem, Jizzy J had to go to her shift at the pub and Mr Cartwright woke up, thought it was all over and left as well. Dev grabbed Steve from Goole, nipped out for a smoke, flagged down a taxi and vanished. The rest of us sang it through a few more times then Neil gathered in the photocopies, called it a night. It was sounding alright actually – a bit, sort of, boyband. Will or Ben or Sam, I don’t know which one, said they were all off for a drink after if I wanted to tag along. I said I’d got to meet my Mum, but I’d see them next week. Then I stood there by the door, shitting myself. I hoped she was outside, still talking to me. It sounds daft but I just kept thinking, over and over: Come on Eileen.

She was just in the car park. The Corsa was rammed with Asda bags but I could see her waving. I got in the car a bit wary.

“Come here,” she said “you daft sod.”

She gave me a massive hug. I couldn’t breathe for a bit and the gearstick went in my ribs but I didn’t mind to be honest. She’d bought me three packets of condoms – ribbed, extra safe and flavours – made me promise I’d be using them, no exceptions, when the time came. I said I would. We both looked at the condoms for a bit, which was weird. Then she gave me a yum yum, for the journey, and a blue glittery notebook.

“Cos this is the start of something Jonny,” she said. “It’ll be all singing now, new mates, maybe a snog if you’re lucky. Eh, it’s about time.”

My Mum started laughing. I blushed. “Thought you’d need somewhere to write it all down,” she said.

So that’s what I’ve done tonight, in my glittery book. Fingers crossed she’s right. I’d love a snog.