by Tom Butler
‘Can’t have too many famous people living under one roof. My sister’s convinced she’s going to be the next top model.’
‘Why shouldn’t she be. Look at Noah. Who’d have thought he would…’ James couldn’t finish his sentence. It was hurting him to talk about his big brother, but he knew he should.
‘But he looks the part. The hair, the clothes, the tattoos,’ Luke contributed.
James didn’t have to paint a picture; he knew Luke was right.
‘He hadn’t used to look like that. He was more of a geek. Moody, quiet. You never quite knew what he was thinking.’
‘I remember,’ Luke thought back. ‘He was a right miserable sod, and that mate of his, Ashley, the one with the plum in his mouth. He was a bloody weirdo, if ever I saw one.’
James smiled. This was like some strange therapy session. They had never spoken like this before. It was wholly refreshing.
James wondered what Luke made of his choice of friends, especially the oafish Darren Bird. There was somebody who raised more than the average set of eyebrows as he blundered through life and pretended to be what he wasn’t.
At least James had now come to his senses where Budgie was concerned, and their relative short friendship had run its course in his eyes. Hangers on and manipulators he didn’t need, but he knew he might have trouble in conveying that to somebody so thick skinned as Darren. Though he knew he must.
It had always amazed him that Noah had not ditched Ashley in the same way though in fairness it had been a genuine friendship, and Ashley’s parents had been incredibly supportive when personal tragedy had brought immeasurable turmoil and changed lives in such a cold, inhuman manner.
James thought some more about Ashley and what Luke had said. Weird he could be, but he was also solid as friends went. Never disloyal. And not-so posh as people assumed.
‘We went paint balling once,’ James recalled fondly. ‘Ashley’s dad knew this strange looking farmer who owned lots of fields and a wood. This totally bonkers guy took us in an off road, stripped down Land Rover and found every muddy hole he could. It was manic. Just crazy. And when we got to play in the woods, Ashley was ace with a paint gun and barely got hit once. But me and Noah got him in the end. We found the muddiest puddle we could find and rolled him in the stuff until he looked like some kind of brown creature from Doctor Who. That was so much fun.’
Luke pulled a face. All that mud didn’t appeal to him.
‘Another time,’ James went on. ‘When Ashley’s parents were out, we were round at his place fooling about in the hot tub they had fitted in their huge garden. I couldn’t have been more than ten at the time, and we ran amok not realising we were being filmed on CCT monitors. We were all bared arsed so you can imagine the trouble Ashley got into when they discovered us exposing ourselves. Secretly, I think his mum probably watched it over and over again because I reckoned she’d got a soft spot for Noah. She had that look in her eye, know what I mean?’
There was a hint of recognition from Luke. He had maybe thought the same of his mother when she appeared to spend a bit too much time with James though he wouldn’t make a big issue of it.
‘He sounds like a good mate to have,’ Luke said.
James nodded. ‘He is, but only up to a point. I’m still not so sure he’d be hanging around if Noah wasn’t about to become famous.’
Luke shrugged his skinny shoulders and bit on his lower lip.
‘And how do you feel about that? Last night wasn’t pleasant to watch.’
For someone who had clashed with Noah in the past, it sounded rich. But James didn’t mind. Somebody needed to say it.
‘It’s sinking in. I’m trying to get my head around it. I feel such a wanker now. I’m surprised that you’re even talking to me.’
‘You can put it right. Clare and I fight over things all of the time, but we rarely do it in public. What happened did look bad, but face it, one of you had been drinking, and we all know where that leads.’
James looked guilty as sin. There was nothing he could say in his defence.
‘I will sort it. And I won’t be drinking again in a hurry.’
‘Famous last words,’ Luke contradicted. ‘Soft drinks are just not cool, but don’t tell my mother I said that.’
James thought about all the white cider he had drunk recently, and it made no sense to him at all. He never ate apples. He loathed them. But then he hated tomatoes but still smothered chips in ketchup. How bizarre can people be. It perhaps summed him up. He knew he had to change. To adapt and learn to listen. And above all else to compromise.
He was up early on Sunday, eagerly fine-tuning the song he had invented yesterday and praying for Wes Crowley to call. Prayers that went unanswered. By mid-morning, and prompted by Luke, he was mouthing the words of Friends and Enemies to Sylvia whilst Clare and Mary made chocolate cookies in the kitchen.
She liked the lyrics a lot even though they were sad and made her want to cry.
Such maturity and raw talent should not go unrewarded, she thought. So she decided to phone Liz Crowley and talk to her woman to woman. It was well intentioned and most certainly well timed.
An understanding Liz said Wes had gone to the pub for a lunchtime drink. He was apparently in an awful state of mind, blaming nobody but himself for the shambles that was Friday night. He had pushed a mere fifteen-year-old boy into something way beyond his comfort zone. He had built him up in the minds of others, and it had been a bad judgement call. She said he felt drained and didn’t really know what to do next.
Like two conspirators they decided on a plan of action which basically consisted of Sylvia inviting Liz and Wes over and Liz accepting on Wes’s behalf. That meant a request for Mary to make an array of cakes that her mother would have been proud of and started the nerves jangling in James’s stomach.
It was irrelevant to him that Wes felt the fault lay solidly with himself for expecting too much of his pupil. Casting his mind back even as far as his primary school days, he had coped admirably with numerous school concerts, not once succumbing to stage fright, and he should have been easily capable of pulling it off.
But he hadn’t, and he had let personal feelings and too much mind numbing cider get the better of him. Jointly, they had turned him into a rampaging grizzly bear, hell bent on retribution and so called justice. Without anyone else’s help, he had literally poured all hope down the toilet. Or so he believed.
If nothing else Wes was a very proud man. Not making it big in the huge world of popular music hadn’t made him bitter or full of sarcasm. Reaching a mediocre level wasn’t so bad, and he was a graduate in the subject with a distinction to boot. That had helped guide him through life, and he had taught many the rudiments and watched them grow.
But James Swan was a very special boy with a gift for one so young. You could throw any popular topic at him, and nine times out of ten he would have a set of lyrics floating around in his head in next to no time. At twelve years old, he had scribbled down the words to Peaceful Man. The irony, of course, was four years earlier, his father had killed his mother. Was that in some way interlinked? Was the man in the song the man James and his siblings wanted their father to be? Neither Noah nor he had ever said. And no one had ever had the courage to ask. It would have been considered to be in bad taste.
It had, however, been on the tip of Wes Crowley’s lips. Several times. But he had stopped himself from prying, thinking it might be too painful a question to ask. What might he now think of a new composition which was about good and bad relationships and broken love. James didn’t have very long to wait. And the nerves made it feel like they were about to meet for the first time which was a ludicrous notion.
‘It’s a good job Sylvia and Liz still have faith in you,’ Wes told him, tucking into Mary’s homemade scones. He didn’t want to seem too eager to forgive James. That would never do.
‘I gather, in spite of everything that’s happened, you’ve been quite creative,’ he went on. ‘
Strange how things come into your head when there’s stuff going on. Sometimes when it’s quiet you can’t get a thought to engage the brain. But when there’s a bit of turmoil, well…anything can happen.’
He was trying to get James to really explain the workings of his mind, but it was as if the cakes were getting in the way. Mary had excelled herself. It was only an evening snack, but for both James and Wes, it was a motivational thing, a coming together so to speak.
‘I’m sorry I let everyone down,’ James sighed suddenly. ‘It won’t happen again.’
‘I really believed in you, James. You’re different from the rest of the kids. But Friday’s over. It did us no favours at all if I’m honest, but we’ll move on and see where we end up if that’s what you genuinely want.’
James nodded enthusiastically. He knew how lucky he’d been. Fouling up again wasn’t an option.
‘Well then, let’s hear it. I wasn’t invited over just to sample your sister’s baking or to discuss the weather with Sylvia. Test out my ears, and I’ll be prepared to be amazed.’
For James, this was as important as any audition could be. Wes didn’t have to like the song but his opinion was vital.
For both of them, it was strange not to be in Wes’s attic room among the instruments, music stands and CD library. And it was off putting for James not having Wes accompanying him on keyboard like he nearly always did.
‘Go on, don’t be shy,’ Wes said, after one sticky false start.
The chords may not have been perfect, but the words resonated on the person James respected the most where creativity was concerned. There seemed no rhyme or reason for lyrics penned by a schoolboy to say so much in the context they were written. Nor to bring a grown man to the edge of tears in just the same way they had with Sylvia.
Knowing what James had been through made it all that more astonishing. Wes Crowley had been amazed. Despite noting some rough edges, Friends and Enemies was truly an amazing piece of originality. All it needed was a worthy melody. That’s where Wes came in, and he was gripped with the challenge. But he had a problem. The same one he had when James plucked other songs from thin air like they were floating on some invisible cloud. He needed to keep James’s feet firmly on the ground. Easier said than done.
‘Something to work on and a catchy verse,’ was all Wes would say to begin with. ‘Perhaps during next week, I’ll give it some attention. Knock it into shape.’
James took that as a positive and couldn’t wait to record a demo tape to go with the others. All of a sudden, Friday night was a distant memory. All he had to do was rectify things with his siblings, and he was home and dry.
Getting Mary back on side, he guessed wasn’t going to be so easy. Noah nigh impossible. But he had to try.
His sister was used to dealing with awkward boys at school, some older than her whose maturity was in doubt. Those silly little individuals who wound up the fairer sex like it was a party game. She had watched Noah and James squabble over the years, sometimes turning a blind eye, and on occasions, assuming the role of a referee. Their ongoing quibble over “that” song had become boring to her, and for it to be the catalyst for further misbehaviour on Friday was insane. It undermined all the good work Sylvia had done to get them to see sense and the effort others were making to scale down the disagreements.
Noah had entered the world of the adult in her eyes, but James was some way from the step that took you there. For as long as she could remember, he had been around for her. It was all well and good having Clare and others to share the act of growing up with, but it was James who understood her. They had fashioned life together after tragic events had shaken them to the core. Undeniably they were close to being inseparable, and he should never have allowed himself to forget that.
Inexplicably, he bombarded her mobile with texts. Like many young teenagers, she considered it a must for communication, even if the person you were conversing with was living in the same house. The messages got shorter as the evening wore on, and the last reply he received before Sylvia settled his sister down with reminders of school tomorrow said, ‘I cud never hate u cos u r my bro.’
Abbreviations ruled the world. They were like music to his ears.
For three evenings the following week, he hung on every word Wes Crowley said. Friends and Enemies was given a stronger, much more definable tune. They even turned it into a duet with Wes imagining Rod Stewart and Bonnie Tyler collaborating on it whilst James suggested Will I Am and Jesse J. Two totally different concepts but in essence the same. At least, it meant they were having fun again and breaking new ground.
Mary was talking to him again without the aid of a phone, and he had taken to writing a letter that he hoped Noah would read prior to a clear the air meeting. Only fly in the ointment was Budgie Bird and his persistent calls and texts. Telling him to get lost wasn’t going to be any easier than making his peace with Noah.
Darren Bird AKA Budgie had been described as a parasite, feeding off others and persuading them that if he was allowed to stick around, he could enhance their lives. His texts had become more and more desperate, and James feared he might turn up at the Proudlocks’ with more than enough bullshit to get him through the door.
So on Friday, after school, James went looking in all the usual holes, a script written in his head and no shortage of bravado to face up to him. And when he tracked the man down drinking in an alleyway, he got the warm reception he had dreaded for nearly a week, and although no fan of physical contact in the form of a hug or embrace, Budgie summed it up in one elongated sentence.
‘Man, you are one sight for sore eyes, but you’re smart, and I knew you’d come round calling to make plans,’ he said with a smug grin.
James then reeled off some of the script and saw the ugly side of Budgie’s face.
‘Think about what you are saying. You need me. There are sharks out there that will eat you alive. Don’t fuck with me boy.’
He was ever so slightly drunk and smelt of stale tobacco, but not the type that shops sell.
‘I was hoping we could stay friends,’ James muttered naïvely. ‘What do you think?’
Even in the condition he was in, Budgie recognised a kiss off. The warmth was rapidly cooling down, turning him into a stone-faced, swaggering threat.
Pointing a finger in James’s general direction, he began a vile, vocal attack that echoed all the way down the alleyway and turned heads towards them.
‘The trouble with you is you’re stuck up your own fucking arse. These people that you say will help you are making you believe in something that doesn’t exist. I could have protected you from them. The bastards will screw you over, man. How can you be so fucking stupid? Why are you pissing on me, man? What did I do but look after you?’
He was now sitting on a low wall to steady himself, the bottle he’d been carrying in one hand now cradled in both. James was already on his heels although Budgie was in no fit state to run after him. Perversely, the man seemed to offer the bottle to James as if to try to draw him in. Maybe it was his way of backing down so that he could attempt a reconciliation.
Then two of Budgie’s so called gang members arrived to check out what all the shouting was about, and James ran back the way he had come not even stopping to see if they had given chase. He only stopped running when he was sure they hadn’t. Nearer home, he took out his phone and pressed delete to remove Budgie’s number from his listings. It was his way of saying he wanted to obliterate the man from his life. The wrong kind of friendships led to untold menace if you were not careful. His heart was beating fast. What was it about Fridays that made that happen? Was it all down to fate.
******
Chapter Seventeen
With GCSE exams on the horizon and James struggling to maintain his targeted grades, there were compromises to be made relating to his music and the time spent with Wes. Sylvia was keen to point out to him that Noah had freewheeled during his last year at school, and that despite her and Phillip’s
belligerence, he had achieved only low grades. She was worried that James would think the creativity he showed in coming up with viable song ideas might make him believe qualifications in subjects like English, maths and science were irrelevant. She talked to him about career paths and got Wes to preach the same. There were plenty of out of work musicians, and they both considered him too young for the uncertainties of busking though Wes had done it in his student days.
Lack of diplomas however hadn’t stopped Noah but then he had been dead lucky to have landed in a world inhabited by Melissa Murray and chosen to back her. Lightening wasn’t likely to strike twice and gift James the chance to emulate his brother. His talent for waxing lyrically wasn’t a green light for success. It would take hard graft and a decent amount of time. And his schooling was an important component of that even if keeping him focussed was going to be difficult.
There had been no reconciliation with his brother as yet though work was being done in that area by those acting as peacemakers. A pretty heart felt letter had indeed been composed as if it was a song, and it was understood that Noah had received it and read it. Sylvia knew how hard it had been for James to write it and had been assured by Noah that he hadn’t binned it in a fit of rage as seemed the likeliest scenario. Hooded Eye was getting accolades from all directions and nothing that James had done at Monkspath Grange had caused damage. Quite the opposite, in fact.
Any bad publicity that may have been reported following James’s on stage spat with Noah had been turned around by Jed Murray who was becoming the master manipulator. Publicity of any sort was preferable to none at all and certainly the fans of Hooded Eye gobbled it up. Sales and downloads of the album were better than anticipated and a major promotion company were in discussion with Jed over a proposed UK tour of a legendary American band who had recently reformed and would need a young vibrant support act.
Jed had made a convincing case for Hooded Eye to be that act, and all that was needed was a rubber stamp from the promoter to make it happen. That would give the band nationwide exposure and elevate their status from college to mainstream. And no one was more excited for Noah than Sylvia who was now in almost daily contact with him without, of course, admitting as much to James. Cautiously she kept Mary updated with any news, asking her not to mention a word to James. It all seemed a bit deceitful, but what he didn’t know about couldn’t harm him especially as Sylvia felt sure Noah could now be coaxed into agreeing to a ground-breaking meeting with James whose sixteenth birthday was just over a month away.
