by Kevin Brooks
‘Don’t worry if you mess it up or get lost or anything,’ Curtis told them. ‘We’ll just carry on playing, and you come back in when you’re ready. OK?’
By the time we’d gone through ‘Naked’ with each of them – twice with one and three times with the other – and then thanked them for coming and taken their details and told them we’d be in touch, it was getting on for nine o’clock and I was pretty tired. Curtis and Jake had been snorting speed for most of the day, so they were both full of energy, but me and Stan had kept our noses clean, and neither of us could stop yawning. Chief had barely moved all day. He was still sitting on the floor at the back of the room, still staring silently at his Batman comic.
‘So … what do you think?’ Curtis said.
The general opinion seemed to be that the two guys we’d picked out were definitely the only two worth considering, and that although they were both potentially good enough musically, the first one lived in Colchester, which was about seventy miles away, and he’d made it quite clear that he had no intention of moving to London.
‘So what would he do if we did ask him to join the band?’ I asked.
‘He said he’d commute,’ Jake sneered.
We all agreed that having a commuter in the band was simply out of the question. And we also all agreed that the other guitarist, while probably the better of the two, was just a really unpleasant person. Kind of snotty, far too full of himself, and no sense of humour whatsoever.
‘He’s also really ugly,’ Curtis said.
‘That’s not fair –’ I started to say.
‘It’s true, though, isn’t it?’ Curtis said, grinning. ‘I mean, the guy looks like a fucking gargoyle.’
‘Well, yeah,’ I agreed. ‘But –’
‘But nothing, Lili,’ he said quite seriously. ‘We’re going to be famous, don’t forget. We’re going to be photographed all over the world. Kids are going to put posters of us on their walls.’ He grinned again. ‘I don’t want Naked to be remembered as “that band with the gargoyle on guitar”.
‘It’d be good for you though, wouldn’t it?’ I said.
‘How’s that?’
I smiled at him. ‘Well, it’d make you seem better-looking …’
‘Better-looking than a gargoyle, you mean?’
‘Yeah.’
We sat around for a while longer, just talking and messing about, then Curtis and Jake decided they wanted a drink, so they went off to the pub, and Stan and Chief said that they were going home. I was too tired to go to the pub, and I didn’t want to go back to the squat on my own, so I asked Chief if he could give me a lift back to Hampstead.
And that was pretty much it for the day.
When I woke up the next morning, I had no idea that within a few hours I’d be meeting the person who’d change my life for ever. Of course, there was no reason that I should have had any idea. I mean, that’s not how it works, is it? Premonitions, déjà vu …? None of that kind of stuff is real. So, no, when I woke up that Saturday morning, there was nothing to suggest that today was the day – nothing in the air, nothing in my mind, nothing in my heart. It was just another cold February day. Dull and windy, not much to look forward to, just another long day of auditions.
My mother was still in bed when I left the house and headed off to the underground station. I’d made her a cup of coffee and asked her if she wanted anything to eat before I’d left, but she’d barely even opened her eyes.
‘I’ll probably be back on Sunday night,’ I’d told her.
‘Uh huh,’ she’d muttered.
The walk to the underground station was the same as ever, as was the tube journey to Seven Sisters, and when I got to the warehouse the only thing that seemed to have changed was that the waiting guitarists weren’t hanging around outside in the cold. They were hanging around inside in the cold. Apart from that, everything else was almost exactly the same as the day before. Curtis and Jake were setting up the amp and the mike, Stan was sitting at his drums … even Chief was in the same place as before, squatting on the floor at the back of the room. This time, though, instead of a Batman comic, he was reading a copy of Sounds.
Everyone seemed a bit jaded, as if there was no real hope of the day being a success. Jake was in a really bad mood, for some reason, constantly scratching at his hair and cursing under his breath all the time. And Curtis looked badly hungover. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin deathly pale, and when he came over and kissed me hello, his breath almost knocked me out.
‘Christ,’ I said, recoiling. ‘How much did you have to drink last night?’
‘It was Jake’s fault,’ he mumbled. ‘He took me to this party …’
‘Have you had any sleep?’
‘I’ll be all right,’ he said, glancing over his shoulder at Jake.
‘Listen, Curtis,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you –?’
‘Yeah, look … we’d better get started, all right? You ready?’
‘Yeah,’ I sighed. ‘I’m ready.’
The auditions proceeded in exactly the same way as the day before, and by the end of the first stage we’d once again whittled down the candidates to just two – a tall gangly guy with a spider’s web tattooed on his face, and a slightly unsettling young man with staring eyes and trembling hands. I didn’t think either of them were suitable for us. In fact, to be honest, I found them both a little bit scary. But Jake and Curtis thought it was worth seeing what they were like when they played with us, so Curtis went through the same process as before – showing them how to play ‘Naked’ – and then the first one, the gangly guy, joined us for a couple of runs through the song. He messed it up pretty badly the first time, completely forgetting where the chorus came in, and on the second run-through his nerves got the better of him and he did even worse.
Then it was the trembly-handed guy’s turn. He was pretty good on the first take, keeping it nice and simple, concentrating on getting the rhythm just right, and when we got to the end of the song, Curtis looked reasonably pleased. He went over and had a few words with Trembly, giving him some advice about how to play the chorus slightly differently, and then we started again.
And it was while we were playing the song through for the second time that something caught my eye on the other side of the warehouse – a movement, a change in the light – and when I looked over to see what it was … that’s when I saw William Bonney for the very first time.
He’d just come in through the door – which accounted for the brief change in the light – and now he was just standing there, with his hands in his pockets, watching us play. There was an air of cautious curiosity about him, like that of a wary animal investigating something new. He was obviously intrigued by us, but I also got the feeling that, while he wasn’t scared, he was perfectly prepared to run at the first sign of danger. He was fairly slight, and not that tall, and my first impression was that he was just a young boy, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old. But after watching him for a while, I realized that I was wrong. He was young … but he wasn’t that young. The odd thing was, the more I studied him, the less sure I became of his age. One second I’d think he was about sixteen or seventeen, the next second he’d turn his head slightly … and all of a sudden he’d somehow gain a couple of years. And then, just a moment later, I’d begin to think that I was right in the first place and that he really was only fourteen years old.
It was really weird.
The way he was dressed was kind of confusing too. His clothes were slightly tattered – but clean – and it looked to me as if he’d obviously had them for quite a while. They had a sort of dated – yet somehow timeless – feel to them. Narrow-legged trousers with an old leather belt, plain brown shoes, a well-worn black suit jacket, and a washed-out white cotton shirt with frayed cuffs. It was a look that reminded me vaguely of some vagabond street kids I’d seen in a 1950s black-and-white movie.
I must have been watching
him for about twenty seconds or so when I suddenly realized that he’d stopped watching us play and was instead looking directly at me. My instinctive reaction was to look away, but I just couldn’t seem to take my eyes off him. It wasn’t that he was stunningly good-looking or anything – at least, not in a conventional sense, like Curtis – but there was just something about him … something indefinable, something very special. He had dark brown hair that was neither long nor short, a pale complexion, a slightly crooked smile, and his eyes … God, his eyes. They were the most incredible pure, bright, hazel-brown … so clear and radiant, so full of life …
‘Lili!’
I looked over at Curtis and suddenly realized that he’d stopped playing … everyone had stopped playing. Except me. The song had finished, but I was still playing. And everyone was looking at me.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Curtis said.
I stopped playing. ‘Sorry,’ I said, feeling myself blush. ‘I was … uh …’
‘You were what?’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know … I just –’
‘Who’s that?’ Curtis said, noticing William for the first time. He turned towards him. ‘Who the fuck are you?’
‘Me?’ William said, looking back at him.
‘Yeah, are you here for the audition?’
‘The what?’
‘The audition.’
William smiled. ‘What audition is that?’
Curtis sighed. ‘What are you doing here, exactly?’
‘Nothing.’ William shrugged. ‘I was just passing by and heard the music, that’s all.’ He glanced at me and smiled again, then looked back at Curtis. ‘It’s a good song, I like it.’
His voice was soft, much deeper than I’d expected, and he spoke with a strong Northern Irish accent. ‘Do you want me to go?’ he asked Curtis.
Curtis frowned at him. ‘What? No … just … I don’t know. Just hold on a minute.’ He turned to Trembly. ‘Right, OK, thanks … yeah, that was good. We’ve got your phone number, we’ll get back to you in a couple of days, OK?’
As Trembly nodded and started putting his guitar away, I saw William ambling across the warehouse towards us. He nodded at Jake, who was standing off to one side, smoking a joint. Jake nodded back and offered him the joint.
William looked at it for a moment, then shook his head. ‘You wouldn’t have a normal cigarette on you, would you?’
Jake took a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and gave one to William.
‘Thanks,’ William said, lighting the cigarette from Jake’s joint. He took a puff on it and looked at me. ‘Hey,’ he said, smiling. ‘How are you doing?’
Annoyingly, I felt myself blush again. ‘Yeah …’ I muttered. ‘Yeah, I’m fine, thanks.’
‘Well, that’s good.’
I held his gaze for a moment, trying to think of something to say, but all I could do was stare like an idiot into those wondrously bright hazel eyes …
‘So you like the song?’ I heard Curtis say, and I saw William look over as Curtis walked up to him, smoking a cigarette.
‘I do, yeah.’
Curtis nodded, looking him up and down. ‘Well, that’s good.’
If William noticed the slight touch of sarcasm, he didn’t show it. He just smiled at Curtis and said, ‘This is your band then, is it?’
Curtis nodded. ‘We’re called Naked.’
The warehouse door creaked open then, and I looked over and saw Trembly walking out.
‘Thanks again!’ Curtis called out after him.
He turned in the doorway, nodded, then went out and closed the door.
Curtis turned back to William. ‘What do you think of him?’
‘What do I think?’
Curtis grinned. ‘Yeah, we’re looking for a new rhythm guitar player, and he was the last to audition. Do you think he was any good?’
I didn’t really know what Curtis was up to, but he was definitely playing some kind of game with William, and I didn’t like it at all. William, though … well, he either didn’t realize that Curtis was mocking him, or he simply didn’t care.
‘Do you really want to know what I think?’ he said to Curtis.
‘Yeah, of course.’
William took a drag on his cigarette. ‘He doesn’t pay enough attention to the drums.’
Curtis just looked at him, clearly a little bit shocked.
‘I mean,’ William went on, ‘you’ve got a really good drummer there, good drums, excellent bass …’ He smiled briefly at me when he said this, then turned back to Curtis. ‘… and you obviously know what you’re doing. So there’s the two of you working together with your drummer, but then the guy who just left, he’s not even listening to him, he’s just concentrating on the rhythm that he’s playing … do you know what I mean?’
‘Yeah …’ Curtis said, nodding in agreement. ‘Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.’ His tone of voice was quite genuine now, no hint of mockery at all. ‘So …’ he continued, ‘do you play anything yourself then?’
William shrugged. ‘This and that …’
‘Guitar?’
‘A bit.’
‘You any good?’
‘I can hold a tune.’
Curtis grinned. ‘Hold a tune?’
‘Just about, yeah …’
‘Are you good enough to play with us?’
William looked at him. ‘That’s not really for me to say, is it?’
‘Are you interested?’
‘I could be …’
‘All right then.’
Curtis went over and picked up his guitar. ‘What’s your name, anyway?’ he said, bringing it back.
‘William Bonney.’
Curtis stopped. ‘William Bonney?’
‘Yeah.’
Curtis stared at him. ‘That’s really your name?’
‘Yeah, why?’
‘Billy the Kid,’ Curtis said, laughing. ‘You know, the outlaw … Billy the Kid? That was his real name – William Bonney.’ He carried on walking over to William, still chuckling. ‘I can’t believe it, you’ve got the same name as Billy the fucking Kid.’
‘Really? I didn’t know that.’
‘Yeah … so where do you come from, Billy?’
William aimed a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Just up the road there.’
‘No, I mean where are you from originally. Which part of Ireland?’
‘Belfast.’
‘Belfast?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Right … well, OK …’ Curtis passed his guitar to William. ‘All right, Billy the Kid. Let’s see what you’ve got.’
13
Even before he’d played a single note, it was obvious that William knew what he was doing with a guitar. The way he took if from Curtis and casually slung the strap over his shoulder, the way he held it, even the way he adjusted the strap – shortening it slightly to bring the guitar higher up his body – it all looked perfectly natural to him. And he didn’t wait for Curtis to tell him what to play either, he didn’t wait for anything. He just started playing.
And when he did …
It was breathtaking.
For the first five seconds or so, as his fingers skipped over the fretboard and the most wondrous guitar music filled the air, all I could do was hold my breath and stare in amazement at him. He played without a plectrum, picking and strumming the strings with a combination of both thumb and fingers that I’d never seen before. And the sound it produced – a simultaneous mixture of bass notes, chords, and melodies – was unlike any other guitar sound I’d ever heard. It was almost as if there were two guitars playing at once.
He didn’t play anything obviously recognizable at first – in fact, I’m fairly sure that almost everything he played was improvised at the time – but the stuff he started off playing definitely had an Irish feel to it. At the same time though
, it was equally definitely not a traditional Irish sound. It’s really hard to describe, but he somehow managed to produce a sound that combined the melody and rhythm of traditional Irish music with a much harder, much spikier, blues style.
It really was amazing.
I glanced over at Curtis to see what he thought, and from the stunned look on his face, I guessed that he was, if anything, even more enthralled than I was.
For the next few minutes, William carried on improvising. The Irish feel to what he was playing gradually faded out, and the blues took over for a while. Then, quite seamlessly, the blues gave way to a series of really impressive little jazz riffs, which in turn he developed into an incredibly weird, and oddly syncopated – but surprisingly catchy – heavy-rock beat.
And then, if that wasn’t enough, he stopped playing for a fraction of a second, leaving a long wailing note hanging in the air while he quickly adjusted both the tone and the volume controls, and then he launched into the opening chords of ‘Naked’.
Not only did he play them perfectly – at the perfect tempo and with the perfect feel – he played them in exactly the same way as Curtis. Same guitar sound, same rhythm, same emphasis … he even had the volume just right. And I don’t know whether it was this uncanny replication of Curtis’s intro that caused Stan and me to start playing, or if it was simply our instinctive reaction to hearing those oh-so-familiar chords … but, whatever it was, we both came crashing in as usual, and it all felt so totally natural that I didn’t even think about Curtis until just before the vocals were about to come in. My immediate thought was that he wasn’t going to be liking this, that he’d think William was trying to take over from him or something, and that he’d either be angry about it, or resentful, or jealous, or maybe just sulky … but when I looked over to see what Curtis was doing, I was pleasantly surprised to see him standing at the microphone, getting ready to sing, and I was even more surprised to see that he was really getting into the music – his eyes closed, nodding his head to the beat, doing all his usual weird little movements. William was also moving to the music now, hopping and skipping in a strangely endearing little jig – his feet twitching and jerking, his head and shoulders bobbing up and down. It was a really enjoyable thing to see. And when Curtis started to sing, everything just felt – and sounded – fantastic. The song sounded great, William’s guitar sounded great, Curtis sounded great … we all just sounded really, really good.
