Swan Song

by Tom Butler

  ‘Please,’ he told her. ‘Cover yourself up, you must leave. I’ll order you a taxi, where are you staying?’

  She giggled.

  ‘Here, silly, I’m staying here.’

  The girl who was topless told James to chill, and she put a hand inside Noah’s boxers.

  James persisted. ‘Get them to leave Noah, I’m deadly serious. Either that or I’ll smash the glass box outside and set off the fire alarm. You can have your party some other time.’

  ‘Your brother’s such a spoilsport,’ said the topless girl.

  ‘He doesn’t know how to enjoy himself,’ Noah replied.

  There was a standoff that lasted all of five seconds.

  James said, ‘Shall I fetch the hotel manager and let him see what’s going on?’

  His brother laughed and then shrugged.

  ‘You have such a lot to learn Bro. The manager won’t give a fuck what goes on behind closed doors. Perhaps when you reach celebrity status, you’ll understand.’

  The word “celebrity” grated. James saw red.

  ‘Get rid of them, and we’ll have this out once and for all. I’ve had enough of you claiming credit for something you stole from me. I want what’s rightfully mine.’

  Almost casually Noah dismissed it out of hand.

  ‘Not that again. I’ve told you so many times, I did nothing wrong.’

  The girls were not budging. In fact, the one with her hand inside Noah’s boxers kept it there as an act of defiance.

  Hannah was still trying to kiss James as well as unfasten his jeans. He was beginning to shake in anger.

  ‘Don’t make me do something you’ll regret.’

  ‘You ain’t got the balls, little brother. Why don’t you piss off and leave us alone? Come on girls, let’s party.’

  Without trying to hurt her James pushed Hannah aside, and she fell on to the floor giggling as if it was some sort of game. She still managed to keep one hand on his left leg.

  ‘Hey, don’t damage the goods,’ Noah complained. ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’

  Hannah was having immense trouble trying to get back to her feet and giggled uncontrollably. James had liked the girl so much when he had first met her, but now she looked all messed up, and for that he blamed Noah. Sure that she was still not yet sixteen, James tried talking some sense into her, but that was the last thing she wanted. Looking across at the topless girl who still had her hand on Noah’s groin, she decided to take off her blouse and flaunt herself.

  ‘Kiss me James, go on, loosen up.’

  He didn’t quite know what to do. He was under age himself and wrestling with his conscience.

  Noah kept egging Hannah on. He seemed unaware of just how angry and uncomfortable James felt.

  Taking a few seconds to clear his head, James repeated what he had said to Hannah about getting her a taxi. She just shook her head at him. He fought her off and told the other girls to get dressed, making it sound more forceful this time. But the girl with her hand inside Noah’s shorts didn’t flinch at all, and the other girl gave James a defiant one-finger salute.

  Prompted by that, Noah addressed his brother.

  ‘If you ain’t gonna join in, you can do either of two things. Stay and watch, or piss off back to your foster mother with tales of drunken debauchery, leaving it to those who know how to party. OK girls?’

  They all cheered as one, but James was unmoved.

  ‘Look, I came here to have my say. Ask them politely to go, and put the party on hold. We must talk.’

  Noah straightened his back, and the girl let go of him.

  ‘Piss off, bro. I ain’t in any mood to talk. Maybe when I’m sober.’

  The girl who had just been sitting and posing in her underwear suddenly made a grab for James as if to reason with him. He pushed her arm away roughly, and she yelled out in pain.

  ‘Hey you, arsehole,’ Noah reacted, springing to his feet. The brothers faced each other, and all three girls looked momentarily alarmed.

  Hannah, back on her feet but barely steady put a hand lightly on James’s shoulder. He pulled far enough away to disengage it, but that meant he came within a foot of his brother who instinctively lashed out.

  The blow caught James on the side of his face, but he didn’t retaliate.

  ‘You didn’t have to do that,’ he said, mildly dazed.

  ‘And you didn’t have to come here spoiling things for me. Your insane jealousy has pushed me too fucking far. Just shift your arse, and get out of the room alive while you still can.’

  His fists were tightly clenched, his face contorted, and though worse for drink, his threat seemed genuine enough to be taken seriously.

  James remembered how many of the rough and tumble sessions played out when they were boys had ended. Usually with him crying after Noah had gotten too rough and hurt him.

  The side of his face was throbbing, and he had three partially drunk females glaring at him unsure of his next move. Hannah had now moved around so that she was kneeling on the bed behind Noah. Suddenly, she looked very unfriendly and was whispering something in Noah’s ear.

  ‘Just go screw yourself brother and leave us alone. Go back to playing with your Lego,’ he told James, smirking as he said it.

  Simultaneously, the girls began laughing at James’s expense, and he could feel his whole body tighten.

  He thought it essential that he keep his composure. He was going to say what he had come to say whether Noah had heard it a dozen times or not.

  ‘I’m going to tell the world that Noah Swan is a fake. That the song he claims he wrote was written by somebody else. And that somebody else was me. That should wipe the smug grin off your face.’

  Noah lurched forward and grabbed a bottle one of the girls had just discarded. James could never recall seeing him so agitated before. His eyes bore real hatred, and this had nothing to do with the drink he’d consumed. It looked like he really wanted to harm his brother. Perhaps even kill him.

  Noah was wielding the bottle around like it was a Samurai sword, and he looked totally out of control. Then he callously took aim. James, in despair, reeled backwards. There was a scream as James hit the floor. He had seen the bottle coming but hadn’t ducked out of its flight path quick enough. He had been only a few feet away when it left Noah’s hand. It had thudded hard against his temple and stayed intact.

  The ache from the earlier blow to the side of the face was nothing compared to this. All three girls were screaming loudly. It was the last thing James remembered hearing for some considerable time.

  ******

  Excessive drinking was no excuse for thuggery. Noah had told Jed and the band it had been a terrible accident. That he had been playing a silly throwing game with his brother and it had gone wrong, putting James in an A & E ward at the Queen Elizabeth hospital. He had sworn Hannah and the other girls to secrecy saying he really hadn’t meant to let go of the bottle, and it was all the fault of the demon drink. That deep down he loved his little brother to bits and would never deliberately hurt him. Not in a million years. Lies, and he knew it.

  Luckily for Noah, when the police interviewed Hannah and the others, they all backed his story and claimed the accident was down to too much booze and just plain high jinks. And when James was well enough to be questioned he just said he couldn’t remember much about what had occurred. Case closed, nothing other than a careless accident. The typical Friday night scenario.

  But James couldn’t get the look of hatred on Noah’s face out of his mind. A heavy blow to the head, concussion and twenty painful stitches later hadn’t rendered him any sort of amnesia. He could remember everything right up to the point that he saw deep into Noah’s eyes as the bottle was hurled towards him. It hadn’t been aimed to miss its target. If it had been a knife or gun James might now be dead. The thought made him feel sick inside. He couldn’t help but think of his father. Was the first-born child of a murderer capable of the same. He thought about his mother, and the whole
saga filled him with dread.

  For days, he barely spoke. Even when Mary visited him in hospital, he said few words and acted as though the injury had subdued him alongside the strong painkillers and sedatives he needed to help him sleep.

  Sylvia gave him a lot of attention when he returned home and even forbid Wes from seeing him until nearly a week after the terrible event.

  ‘We’ll give it few more days before we crack on,’ Wes said, not wanting to inflict on James any further strain. ‘Let’s hope it hasn’t affected the genius within that head of yours, lad.’

  ‘There’s only one thing filling my mind at the moment,’ James told him and Wes guessed.

  ‘That’s to be expected,’ he sighed. ‘It’s a highly infectious song, and these things happen. Keep believing that one day the truth will come out, and you’ll get your just desserts. Your brother won’t be able to keep up the pretence forever. It’ll come back to bite him on the bum, and he’ll have to eat humble pie.’

  James so much wanted to tell Wes the truth about what went on in the hotel room. It would be so easy to wreck things for Noah by having him arrested for GBH or even attempted murder. But perhaps by being devious, he could turn what had happened to his advantage. Even fifteen-year-olds weren’t shy of toying with the idea of blackmail to get what they wanted out of life. It might, after all be worth all the pain he had been put through.

  Deciding to stay well away from Noah, he launched himself into creative mode and penned some more lyrics to yet to be constructed songs. Wes fussed about a bit with them and even ditched some of them that just didn’t fit.

  They laughed about them rather than fall out. Several strong candidates were immerging, and one particularly had them both excited. ‘Let’s Get Close’ had begun as a silly idea in James’s head inspired by Sylvia Proudlock who was forever singing the words or humming the tune of “Close to You” by the Carpenters. Karen Carpenter had the voice of an angel, she insisted and, Melissa Murray could learn a thing or two about expressing herself in a song by listening to her.

  So James played around with it and wrote his own version and then asked Wes to give it a completely different melody. In the end, it sounded nothing like the original, and no one would suspect which song had been the catalyst for it.

  ‘People will be playing this at weddings for years to come,’ Wes had said, and wife Liz joined in the debate when she first heard it.

  ‘Very sweet,’ she commented. Followed by ‘How does someone so young as you come up with love songs like that,’ knowing full well the words weren’t a figment of Wes’s imagination.

  ‘It’s a gift of life,’ her husband noted. ‘And long may it continue.’

  James let them ponder. Like Wes, he hoped the ideas would keep coming. He couldn’t imagine life within the creativity of words.

  Three weeks had passed since he had been knocked unconscious by a flying bottle, and he had not seen or spoken to Noah since. Peaceful Man was still riding high in the American charts and Hooded Eye was due to cut a new single for release on both sides of the Atlantic in two months’ time. Melissa and Joe had penned a song called ‘Made in Heaven’ some time ago, but it had somehow become forgotten until Jed decided to re-jig it and turn it into a kind of rock opera ballad. Although still wary of Joe for past misdemeanours, Jed also decided he should share the vocals with Mel, and remarkably, the move worked, and everyone was excited at the prospect of the song being a global hit. It was perhaps getting too far away from the raunchier side of rock that the band was becoming famed for, but the pull of commercialism and persuasive dollar signs swayed Jed’s thinking, and he was now more than ever the powerful mentor dictating their destiny.

  At a family get together the following weekend, James took the news that Noah was too busy to attend in his stride and didn’t let on the real reason for his brother’s no show.

  ‘Such a pity he can’t make it,’ Sylvia bemoaned, fussing like a mother hen around her guests.

  ‘That’s the price of fame for you,’ Philip shrugged as he handed out drinks.

  ‘It’s not his fault. I think having such a famous brother is wonderful. Everyone at school envies me,’ Mary joined in.

  James just smiled and kept up the pretence that everything between him and Noah was cool. It was Noah’s eighteenth birthday soon, and there was lots of talk about that. What could be done to make it extra special? What did you buy for someone already rich and famous?’ And could Noah fit birthday celebrations into his busy schedule and spend time with those who considered themselves still to be closest to him.

  It was painful for James to take. Almost as painful as the impact on his skull of a deliberately aimed wine bottle at a range of three to four feet. He went into the garden and ate quiche and potato wedges with no great enthusiasm, barely aware of the unrelenting drizzle that had forced everyone inside. He was very much down on the party scene. Noah had made sure of that.

  In the name of publicity, Jed persuaded Noah to throw a huge birthday party at a posh Leicestershire retreat, and James felt no compulsion to go. But Wes had struck a deal with Jed in collusion with the Proudlock’s for James to perform “Let’s get Close” as a birthday surprise, believing it would be a short cut to notoriety and might turn heads with record company directors in attendance.

  ‘I won’t do it,’ he refused, initially. ‘I think it’s a bad idea.’

  He, of course, didn’t go into the real reason why he was so against it.

  Wes put his reluctance down to natural shyness and knew he could be persuaded.

  ‘I’ll be there with you. You won’t be on your own.’

  ‘But it’s Noah’s day. He won’t want me spoiling it.’ He thought again about what went on in the Birmingham hotel room.

  Wes pressed ahead never the less.

  ‘Rubbish. It’s to showcase your talent. He’ll back you all the way, and he’ll love it. The Swan boys are prolific. Hopefully, it will help end any bad feeling between you.’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘Trust me. If this thing goes to plan, it could herald a great breakthrough for you. Natural talent should be championed, not suppressed.’

  James felt Wes was getting ahead of himself. The vision of a very small fish in an enormous ocean unnerved him. Getting exposure was all well and good if he pulled it off, but what if he didn’t and it all went pear shaped? It might make him a laughing stock with people thinking he was just trying to get aboard his brother’s gravy train and cash in.

  ‘I’d rather not do it,’ James said forcefully. ‘My brother won’t appreciate it.’

  Wes disagreed.

  ‘He’ll love it. You must do it, James. It’s a brilliant opportunity. Everybody who’s anybody will be there. It’s too good a chance to pass up.’

  ‘I’m not ready. It’s a bad idea.’

  ‘I’ll make sure you’re ready, it’ll be the highlight of the night. You’ll have music moguls queuing up to hear some more. We’ll be ready for them.’

  Wes seemed to have lost his head. This was a birthday party not a full on audition.

  James repeated himself. ‘It’s a really bad idea.’

  ‘It’ll be a great occasion. Folks will love it. The ultimate birthday present.’

  ‘Noah will hate it,’ James said abruptly.

  Wes disagreed. ‘I hardly think so.’

  ‘You don’t know my brother,’ James snapped, sounding rude.

  ‘It’s his eighteenth birthday, and he’ll relish all the attention,’ Wes ignored him.

  ‘You’ll have to think of something else. I’m the last person Noah will want singing at his party. There’s too much stuff happened between us.’

  ‘Nothing that can’t be sorted with a handshake and a hug.’

  James stared up at the ceiling. One of the enduring things he liked about Wes was his ability to listen. But suddenly he had lost the power of hearing.

  ‘It’ll have to be something else,’ James repeated.

  ‘Loo
k, there’s plenty of time to rehearse. No need to panic. We can’t waste such an opportunity,’ Wes persisted.

  ‘Why won’t you listen. It’s not going to happen.’

  A silence took over. Neither had known that to happen before even when they were trying to write songs together. Wes stepped back metaphorically.

  ‘OK, well, we’ll just have to think of something, won’t we? Can’t let the moment go entirely. Not with so many important people presenting us with such a captive audience.’

  James looked upwards again in despair, but let it go. He couldn’t continue to scold Wes for his enthusiasm. He was bound to try again. Wes Crowley was no quitter.

  James sensed the powers of persuasion were ganging up on him. During the next week, Sylvia and Phillip echoed Wes’s sentiments on the birthday treat for Noah and said it might help heal the rift between them. They prayed for the day the brothers would end their acrimony towards each other, show some maturity and move on. Sylvia had regularly phoned Noah, and though she sometimes just got no more than sterile teenage grunts from him, it still felt like a conversation. Each time she would tell him how much he meant to her and Phillip and how proud he made them feel whether she approved of his new life style or not. And naturally, she mentioned James and Mary too, hopefully to prick Noah’s conscience if, indeed, he had one.

  The birthday idea was still the worse piece of patronising James could imagine, and the supposed exposure for him just a cheap stunt, no matter how well intentioned. It made him feel cold inside thinking about it when in reality it should have registered a warm glow. But the Proudlock’s did soften his resistance so that when Mary piped up in the most direct of ways and said it was the ‘coolest idea on earth’, he began to waver.

  ‘Maybe on your eighteenth, I’ll sing for you,’ she said, only too aware, in the words of her music teacher, she was ‘vocally talented’.

  ‘I may hold you to that,’ he humoured her.

  ‘I bet you’ll be so nervous, you might forget the words,’ she said with a smile of innocence.

  He thought about it and announced, ‘It ain’t happening. Some other mug can serenade him.’