by Lesley Jones
“You’d already written it, hadn’t you? All this time and you’d already done it.”
It’s not a question, her voice is accusatory. Her eyes fill with tears, and now I hate that I went behind her back.
“C’mere. Please, Ash. Just come over here, sit on my lap and let me tell you about it.”
I need to hold her, feel her warmth and breathe her in. She shakes her head, and a tear hangs from her bottom lashes.
“What’s in it Marls? What’ve you kept hidden from me?”
Nothing.
Everything.
I close the laptop and swing my legs around, planting my feet on the hardwood floor. Ash takes a step away from me, and I don’t like it, not one bit.
“Don’t fucking step away from me,” I tell her. She raises her eyebrows and gives me the look.
I’ve pissed her off, big time.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now Marls? You’ve secretly written a book about your life behind my back, and you want me to come and sit on your lap?”
I shrug my shoulders and smile my best smile. “Well, I’d rather you sat on my face, but you might not be able to understand what I’m saying through a mouthful of fanny, so lap will do… or dick. Dick would work.” I wiggle my eyebrows.
She ain’t having it … Not. At. All.
“What did you do? What happened that’s so terrible you’ve never told me?” her jaw trembles as she asks.
“No, no, baby. Nothing, I just …” I lean down, pick my glass up from the floor and start to drain the contents. Before I finish, Ash knocks it from my hand and it spins through the air before hitting the hardwood floor, bouncing once and cracking into pieces as it lands.
“Don’t fuck with me Marley. If you’ve done something …” She pauses and swallows. I regard her in somewhat stunned amazement.
She’s so fucking beautiful when she’s angry. She’s stunning, and she’s mine.
“If you’ve fucked about and then written about it in this book before telling me, I’ll walk. I’m telling you now, straight up. I’ll fucking walk.”
“No, Ash, it’s nothing like that. I swear on my life that’s not it.” I rub my hand over my stubbled chin, keeping my eyes on hers as she moves and flops down on the sofa next to me.
“Then tell me what the fuck is going on, coz right now you’re scaring the crap out of me.”
I let out a long breath. “I’ve included lots of stuff, lots of things that no one but me and Maca knew about; private conversations with my family, with you. I just found it easier to write it how it actually happened, and now I have to read it all back and decide what parts to take out.”
I turn and look at where she’s sitting beside me, her long legs curled underneath her. She tilts her head back and stares up at the ceiling for a few seconds, then turns to look at me.
“Well, why don’t you read through it, let me read through it, then take out the parts that you think should never be seen by anyone but your wife, from whom you keep no secrets if you like your balls being attached to your body.” She raises her eyebrows and leans slightly towards me for emphasis as she says this and I fight not to smile.
“Then, let everyone who this may affect read it and let them have the final say in what should or shouldn’t be made public.”
Ash looks at the world from such a simplistic viewpoint. She’s always so good at coming up with a practical answer to things. I’m an over-thinker where Ash is a rational thinker. Did I mention that I love this woman?
I lift her onto my lap so that she’s straddling me. Sliding my hands under the T-shirt she’s wearing, I hold her naked bum cheeks in each of my palms. “What would I ever do without you?” I ask, rubbing my nose against hers as I talk.
“Don’t let me read that book, Rock Star, and you’ll soon find the fuck out.”
I raise my hand, and my fingertips skim over her skin. My thumbs start to stroke across her nipples. She leans into me, arching her back so that her tits push forward. I kiss her throat, grinding my hips into her as she gives out a small moan.
“Baby, I need you to be perfectly clear about something,” I tell her.
She gyrates against my cock, and it takes all of my willpower not to pull it out of my boxers and bury myself balls deep inside her, but I need to tell her the truth first. I can’t have her hurt and upset, worrying that I’m hiding something from her.
“Eyes, Ash, look at me.”
She instantly meets my gaze. We look at each other in silence. “There are things that I’ve said and done in my life that I’m not proud of. I’ve been in denial about some of them since the moment they happened, while others I’ve tried to justify by convincing myself that I was young, stupid, and didn’t know better.”
I tilt my head slightly and break our connection for a few seconds. “Writing this book, reliving these situations, has helped me come to terms with…” I take a deep breath. “To take ownership of some of the shitty things I’ve done in the past. I just need to make sure that I’m ready for the rest of the world to see me for what I am … who I was.” I shrug and let out a long sigh.
“There’s a lot of sex, drugs, and rock and roll in there, babe. There’s some explicit shit, but you know all that, about all of that.”
“Is there stuff about us?” she asks. “I don’t think, I mean, the kids, Marls. I don’t want them reading shit about me.” She leans her forehead against mine.
“No, I wouldn’t share stuff like that. Our life is our life, and it’s got fuck all to do with anyone else.” I look up at her and smile. “There is a bit about when we first met though; about what I thought, what I was feeling, and even about the shitty way I behaved in the beginning.”
“You were a prick—a flash fucker.”
“Yeah, I was, and then you happened, baby,” I tell her, unable to contain the smile that memories of our first encounter evoke.
“Pffftt, you were a prick for a long time after that too.”
“Cheers, babe.” I feign offence but know that what she’s saying is probably true.
I tuck her hair behind her ear on one side. “It’s not a pretty story, Ash. My life before you was exactly what you might expect from a single bloke in a successful band, but it’s not just that.” I stroke her cheek with the back of my hand. “There’s other people’s secrets in there and they’re the things that I need to decide what to do with, but you have nothing to worry about. There may be a few things I’ve written about that may come as a surprise to you,” I shrug my shoulders, “and some you may have already guessed at, or even known before me. Just give me this weekend to get it read and then I promise I’ll let you take a look.” She nods her head.
“So, we gonna fuck, Rock Star, or go back to bed for a bit?” she asks.
Did I mention that Marley loves Ash?
Chapter Six
After the exertion of giving my wife a couple of orgasms and her returning the favour by sucking me dry in the shower, I go back to bed while she heads out for a day of shopping with Jimmie and George.
I eventually wake up just after noon. After a quick coffee and the bowl of porridge Ash insists I have to eat every day, I go back to the study and start reading…
1985
The next few weeks were the stuff of dreams. Our album broke into the top ten on the Tuesday charts, just a day after its release. It was number one by the following week.
The entire UK tour was a sell-out, and extra dates were added where possible.
Maca’s birthday arrived, but there was no sign of Georgia.
Until that point, we had been on our best behaviour―back to our hotel rooms, or just to the bar for a few quiet drinks, but not Maca. He just went back to our room alone as soon as each show ended.
Kombat Rock were still the headline act, but everyone knew it was us that people were turning out for, and that pissed Rocco off on a nightly basis.
He had kept his distance since Whorely-Gate but was still partying up in his room or backsta
ge after each show.
On the night of Maca’s birthday, the entire crowd sang an impromptu rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ as we returned to the stage for our encore. After Maca said a few words, thanking the crowd for turning out, buying the new album and their support in general, it meant that KR started their set about fifteen minutes late.
As we left the stage and they headed on, Rocco called over to Maca.
“Hey, birthday boy.” We all turned to look at him.
“You want me to call up Haley so you can celebrate with some coke and a side of rape later?”
Maca never got a chance to reply. Tommy stuck the nut on him and put him straight on his arse. For anyone Non-English reading this, Tommy head-butted Rocco, knocking him onto his backside.
The fight that ensued after was just what we needed as a band. We once again became one, a unit, all looking out for each other. It was over as quickly as it began, but I landed one punch right to Wayne Allen, KR’s drummer's jaw, and dodged all that was thrown my way. Maca was dragged away by Len before he had a chance to do anything. Rocco tried to stand, but Tom caught him in the gut and sent him to the floor again. Billy ended up the worst, with their guitarists both landing punches to his pretty face before one of our roadies stepped in and broke things up.
We were all eventually hauled back to our changing room where Maca was pacing and shouting at Len that he’d had enough and wanted to quit.
Tom pulled a bottle of bourbon from somewhere and we passed it between us, each taking a swig.
We were silent for a few minutes. My hand hurt, but I wasn’t about to admit that in front of Len. Billy’s nose was bleeding and Tommy had a wet towel wrapped around his knuckles. The door flew open and Jim walked in. She’d sort of fallen into the job of Len’s assistant since she’d joined us and the label had put her on a wage. She mainly dealt with the press and booked our hotel rooms so everything was ready when we arrived at the next town.
“What the fuck just happened?” Her eyes met Lens, “You okay?”
“I’m fine. It’s this lot that think they’re Rocky.”
She lifted my hand and looked at the split skin on my knuckle. “Go run that under the tap and I’ll get some ice. Otherwise, you won’t be able to play tomorrow night.”
She followed me into the bathroom and placed a small hand towel under the running cold tap, then shoved my hand under the flow.
Jim and I didn’t talk much anymore. Things hadn’t been great for years, but they’d been even worse since Paris. We both stared down at my hand as I held it under the running water.
“Have you spoken to George at all?” I eventually ask. She shrugged her shoulders before answering.
“A few times, but it’s hard, ya know?” She gestured with her chin out to where the boys were.
“She doesn’t want to hear anything about him, the band, or—”
“Me,” I finished for her.
“Look, Marls. She’s hurt, and she’s angry. She’ll come around eventually. She’s just really struggling right now and dealing with all this shit in her own way.”
I nodded my head as my belly did continuous forward rolls.
“I don’t think she’s ignoring you as such,” she continued, “it’s just that talking to you, it’s like talking to him and she’s not ready for that.” I licked my bottom lip a couple of times to try and hide the fact that it had developed a wobble.
‘Don’t cry. Don’t you dare fucking cry.’ I repeated over and over in my head.
“This is George we’re talking about, Marls. She’s never experienced things not going her way in life.” She swallowed and I knew she was struggling not to cry too. “Just give her time, yeah?” I wasn’t entirely sure who she was trying to convince at that moment.
“I’m gonna go and clean Billy’s face up before Linda gets here and freaks the fuck out. I’ll get you some ice once I’ve done that.” She leant up on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek.
“You know you can ask me about George anytime, Marls. If you want me to pass on a message or anything, just let me know, yeah?” Her brown eyes looked over my face while her hand rubbed up and down my arm in what I assumed was a gesture of reassurance, understanding, and friendship? Who knew, but at that moment, I felt that it was more than I deserved.
We all ended up back in our room, blind drunk that night. Even Jimmie and Len joined us, as well as some of the crew. Maca spent a lot of the night drinking whiskey and crying on Jim’s shoulder, while I joined one of the lighting engineers in the bedroom with a girl he had picked up. He willingly shared her and his illegal substances with me.
Things changed after that night. We were tighter than ever musically, despite the celebrating we did after each show. Our days were filled with television, radio, magazines, or newspaper interviews. On our nights off, we tended to go off and do our own thing, but it was getting harder and harder to do anything or go anywhere without being recognised.
I loved the attention, the women that threw themselves at us, but the rest of the band, not so much. Tom and Billy were still with Cheryl and Linda, the girls they’d been with since school. They were with us most of the time, both of them forgoing careers to travel with the band. The label insisted they keep a low profile around the fans and the press, but when we were back at our hotels, they were there, waiting for their boys. They partied with us sometimes, but usually they’d just disappear off to their rooms.
Since the success of the album and the fact that the tour was a sell-out, Len had negotiated for us to each have our own rooms and after a few drinks, Maca usually disappeared off to his alone, every night.
We spent some of our days writing, but because the UK was so small, we didn’t use the tour bus like we had in Europe, so the opportunities to collaborate didn’t present themselves as often.
Spending so much time alone, Maca was writing a lot, and although a lot of it was a bit mushy for me and obviously about George, by the time we had worked on it together and tweaked a few things, we were coming up with some fantastic stuff. We knew that it wouldn’t be long before we had enough new material to write another album.
Our UK tour was due to end in late July. A couple of festival dates were added to our schedule in August, and studio time was booked for the beginning of September.
Maca finally cracked and ended his self-imposed exile and celibacy on Georgia’s birthday.
I had been home a few times during the tour, but she still refused to speak to me, closing the door in my face every time I went to her room. I don’t know if Maca was still trying to contact her, he never said, and my dad never mentioned he was still being a pest when I spoke to him.
The label rented us a flat to live in close to the studios when the tour ended, so we spent the end of that summer making music, eating, drinking, and partying together.
We had found a quiet little pub around the corner from our flat in West London and had turned it into our local. It was the last place that anyone would think of looking for England’s biggest band, so we could spend our evenings having a few drinks, a game of pool, and even grab some lunch or dinner if we hadn’t previously eaten.
I’m not sure how word got out, but when Maca and I arrived at the pub one night, there were four girls standing at the bar and we knew that it was us they were waiting for.
Tom and Billy had headed straight off as soon as we had finished recording. We had a day off the following day, so they had driven back to Essex to see their girls.
I stood at the bar, waiting for our drinks while Maca racked up the pool balls. I watched as one of the girls approached him. She was tall. Even without the shiny patent leather heels she was wearing, she had a cracking pair of legs. Her dress was a royal blue colour, skin tight, and made from this stretchy waffle patterned material. Funny how after all these years I should remember all that. I think it’s because Jim had a similar type of dress and we had all commented on how good her arse looked in it, earning me a smack upside the head from my brother.
“They’ve been asking what time you usually get here.” Jock, the landlord told me, placing two beers on the bar. “I told them I didn’t know what they were talking about,” he said with a nod as I handed him a tenner.
Jock knew who we were. His daughter had recognised us when she was working behind the bar one night and sent him over for autographs. We’d asked them to keep it quiet, donated to buy the pubs football team a new kit and given Jeannie, his daughter, a pile of signed merchandise and an album.
“Cheers, Jock. How long they been here?” I asked.
He looked at his watch and gave a small shrug. “Since about six. There were two more, but I had to throw them out for being underage,” he said quietly in his soft, Scottish accent.
“Those four have got ID’s, but they’ve all only just turned eighteen, except for the brunette talking to Maca, she’s older. You boys watch yourselves.”
“We will. Cheers again, Jock.”
I headed towards the pool table, smiling at the three girls trying to artfully prop themselves at the bar and note that they all looked a bit … soapy, as my dad would say. That didn’t mean they were covered in bubbles if that’s what you’re thinking. It meant that they looked like they could do with a good wash, and I don’t care what ID they’d flashed at Jock. Not one of them seemed to be more than fifteen or sixteen.
Now I know I was only just nineteen myself at that stage, and a bit of an animal, but jailbait was not my thing, and something I was extra careful about after Whorely Gate. Not that she’d been underage or anything. She was actually a few years older than us, but after that incident, the label had sent one of their female execs to give us ‘The Talk.’ Basically she told us to always practise safe sex, always make sure we were aware of the age of consent, depending on which country we were in, (especially places like the US, where it can vary from state to state), and never, ever let anyone film or take pictures of you in the act.
