by Wells, Nicky
Three hours?
‘The band is doing the encore. I’d say it’s about an hour until we leave. You sure you don’t want anything? Water? Cup of tea? Painkillers?’
‘Um.’ I cleared my throat and licked my lips. ‘Actually, water would be good. And I think I was supposed to take some more painkillers.’
‘Okay, good. I got them right here. And some water too.’ He proffered a cup with one hand, and two white pills with the other. I took the pills and popped them in my mouth, taking a careful sip of water.
‘Great. That’s good,’ he encouraged me.
I laughed weakly. ‘You’ve missed your vocation. You should be a nurse.’
‘Not really my calling, but I do have two little girls at home. I can be quite good at the whole nursing patients thing.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll tell Mike you had your medicine. You feeling any better?’
‘I…I don’t know. ‘Bout the same, I think.’
‘That’s good. At least you’re not feeling worse.’ A pager went off, and he shut it up impatiently. ‘I’ve got to go, okay?’
‘Okay.’
Next time I woke, it was because my bunk started vibrating. I lay quietly for a moment, wondering what was going on. After a moment, I realised that the driver had started the engine. The bus was still deserted, but I guessed departure was imminent. I should have been excited, but I was too sleepy to care. It was as though I was catching up on a lifetime of sleep. The steady humming faded in and out of my consciousness as I let myself drop off again.
‘Shhh. She’s asleep.’
‘Do you need to wake her?’
‘Dunno. Do you think I should?’
‘Marv said she was fine last time he checked on her.’
‘Maybe best let her sleep.’
Mike’s and Adam’s hushed voices seemed to come from a long way away. I debated saying something but on balance, it didn’t seem worth the effort. I was feeling nicely mellow and relaxed, the pain had receded, the nausea was gone, and I simply wanted to sleep some more.
After a moment’s silence, the two men walked away from my bunk right as the bus started moving.
A cool hand rested briefly against my forehead, stroked the side of my face, and lightly touched my nose.
‘Night, Emily.’
‘Night, Mike,’ I mumbled back softly. Too softly, probably, because he didn’t say anything further but clambered up the steps to his bunk instead. I could hear muffled talking and laughing at the back of the bus and wondered who was still up. The bunk above me creaked softly as Mike lay down and shifted his weight. I felt content in my dark and rocking bunk, knowing we were on the road and that Mike was safe above me. At last sleep wrapped me in his quiet arms once again.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
‘How are you feeling?’ Mike looked at me over his steaming mug of tea with big, anxious eyes, and I smiled.
‘Fine. I’m fine. Really.’
It was true. Whilst I had slept fitfully to begin with, once Mike had settled into his bunk, I had fallen into a deep and dreamless sleep without further interruptions, and I had woken that morning feeling absolutely fine. No headache, no nausea, and only a small bump to show for yesterday’s mishap.
Mike seemed to be reading my mind. He reached out a hand and touched my forehead lightly. ‘You have a big bruise,’ he declared.
‘Is that so?’ I shrugged. ‘Well, it doesn’t hurt anymore.’ I buttered another slice of toast and ate ravenously. We were having breakfast in a coffee shop round the corner from The Hall in Bristol. It was eleven a.m., and the bus had rolled into the venue car park only twenty minutes ago, having left Liverpool at two in the morning. Apparently, I had slept right through a layover stop at a service station somewhere near Worcester.
‘The rock star lifestyle is crazy,’ I mused out loud, changing the subject. ‘Wouldn’t it have been more restful for you all to stay overnight in Liverpool and drive down in the morning? It’s only a few hours after all, especially if you cut out the layover.’
‘That may be, but…’ Mike shrugged. ‘We have an appearance at the commercial radio station at noon, and another one at the Beeb at one-thirty, and after that, Adam has arranged for us to show up at a flourishing indie record shop for a signing event.’ He grinned. ‘We haven’t done many of those, what with record shops shutting down everywhere, so this should be fun. If anyone turns up, that is.’
I laughed out loud. ‘Of course they will. You’re seriously hot.’
‘Hmmm. Let’s hope so. Nothing more embarrassing than turning up somewhere to no audience. At least you’ll be there, right?’
‘Actually…’ I folded a napkin in half, unfolded it, and crumpled it up. I swallowed hard. ‘Actually, no. I’m going to be heading home.’
There. I had said it. Mike looked up as though I had slapped him.
‘But you were going to stick around until after Sheffield, at least.’
‘I was. I…um…’ I lifted my shoulders helplessly. ‘I shouldn’t be here. Things are difficult enough for you as it is.’
‘Emily.’ Mike reached out and took my hand. ‘Please don’t go. I’ll feel lost without you.’ He shifted awkwardly in his seat while he uttered those unexpected words. My heart constricted with sympathy. I really, really liked Mike. I was touched that he should like me back. I didn’t like the feeling of leaving a new friend in the lurch one tiny bit, yet I knew I had to go.
‘Mike.’ I squeezed his hand and summoned my cheeriest voice. ‘You don’t need me here. You need me about as much as a rash on the back of your hand or a bad bout of laryngitis. I’m in the way.’
‘You’re not.’
‘But I am. Can’t you see? Things are already tricky for you. The band is divided. And me being here, it makes the divide bigger, it—’
‘Does not!’ Mike objected vehemently. ‘You have nothing to do with any of our fights.’
‘Probably not,’ I concurred. ‘And yet you’re here with me, while the rest of the band is somewhere else. That’s not right. And it’s not helping. You need to go and mend some bridges.’
‘I don’t wanna. Why should it be me making amends?’ Mike grimaced and looked hurt.
‘I wasn’t implying that it was your fault.’ I squeezed his hands a little harder. ‘But if MonX is supposed to keep going, someone is going to have to take the first step at sorting out that mess you’re in. And whoever it is, whether you or someone else, they can’t do it if you’re not there. At the moment, you’re making yourself really vulnerable by being away from everyone. Can’t you see?’
I forced away some unexpected tears. ‘Being with me sets you apart. I’m being divisive whether I want it or not, whether you want it or not. You’ve got to go and fix what you have there. It would be a crime if you didn’t.’
Mike cocked his head and raised his eyebrows. ‘My, that’s quite a speech from someone who didn’t even really know us a few days ago.’
I grinned. ‘I know. You could say I’ve properly fallen for rock, and it’s all MonX’s fault. You’ve opened my ears and my eyes. Now don’t take all of that away from me again just when I’m getting in the groove.’
Mike’s mouth lifted into a lopsided smile. God, how I loved the cute little dimple on his right cheek. I resisted the urge to touch it.
‘So what are you saying?’
‘I’m saying nothing. I’m saying, I’m going to go home, and you’re going to keep making music.’
‘And?’
‘And what?’
‘I dunno. You tell me. There’s an “and” there, I can feel it.’
Damn him and his perceptive nature. It simply wasn’t natural for a man.
‘And maybe, one day, we can do this again. You know, the tour thing. The…um…’
‘Sex.’
‘Shh.’ I ducked instinctively as though trying to hide but actually, the coffee shop was deserted, and there was nobody there to hear us. I straightened up again.
‘Yes. That too.’
I rolled my eyes in a comical gesture. ‘You know it was.’
‘I know. But I wanted to hear you say it.’
‘Oh, go on then. Yes, the sex was good. Great. The best. There, is that better?’
‘Much.’ He grinned broadly for a short moment, but quickly his eyes dulled again. ‘So you’re really going?’
I chewed my lower lip. ‘Uh-huh. I think it’s better that way. But thank you. You know, for everything.’ I patted my hair and tugged at my lacy vest top. ‘I’m not quite the same Emily that came to the gig on Saturday night, and I think I like the new Emily a lot.’
‘A brand new rock chick.’ Mike sipped at his tea again, but I could see his smile anyway.
‘Well, maybe. Not quite. I’m not in the same league as Laura.’ Mike looked at me blankly, so I felt compelled to elaborate. ‘You remember, Jake’s lady. After London.’
‘Oh, right. Yes.’ His eyes sparked with recognition. ‘No, not quite in her league, I agree. But then you wouldn’t be you anymore.’
‘No, I suppose I wouldn’t. But anyway. There it is.’ My eyes caught on the large clock hanging above the coffee shop counter, and I gasped. ‘It’s twenty to twelve. You’ve got to be someplace, don’t you? I think you’d better get a move on.’
Mike half turned to confirm the time. His face fell as he stood up. ‘I guess this is it.’
‘Good luck, Mike.’ I stood, too, and Mike wrapped me in a brief hug. ‘Take care of you.’
‘And you too.’
‘I’ll be following you, you know. MonX, I mean. On Twitter. And Facebook.’
‘That’ll be nice,’ Mike replied. ‘You won’t miss out on any news.’
‘No, I won’t. Um. Okay. Bye, then.’ I grabbed my carrier bags from under the table and chuckled. ‘I’ve turned into a bag lady. Gosh, if my workmates could see me now, they’d fall over laughing.’
Mike regarded my luggage and burst out laughing too. ‘You’ll have to bring a little suitcase next time. Or a dinky lady’s rucksack, at least.’
‘I’ll do that.’
We faced each other awkwardly for a moment. It was strange, saying goodbye like this. Even though I didn’t really know this man, our time together had been eventful and intense, and I was as choked up as I would be saying farewell to my closest friend.
‘Bye, Emily.’
‘Bye, Mike.’
I lifted my carriers and squared my shoulders. With a fixed smile, I left the coffee shop and walked along the busy main road. After a few moments, I turned to walk backwards, not to catch a last glimpse of Mike, but to face the oncoming traffic in hopes of flagging down a taxi. However, I got a glimpse of him anyway. He was watching me walk away and turned right when I looked back. He hurried up Colston Street towards The Hall, and that was the last I saw of him.
At that moment, a taxi pulled up by my side in response to my raised arm, and I snapped to.
‘Temple Meads train station, please,’ I instructed the driver while I hurled myself into the back seat. Momentarily, my vision blurred, and I wondered whether I had concussed myself the previous day after all. I sat quietly, waiting for the sensation to pass, but it wasn’t until tears dripped from my face onto my hands that I noticed I was, in fact, crying.
Chapter Thirty
The office phone rang for the sixth time in a row. Caller display showed an unfamiliar London number. I gave an impatient sigh and resolved to put the damn thing on ‘do not disturb’ just as soon as it had finished shrilling. I was in the middle of a difficult report that was due at midday, and I didn’t need the constant interruptions.
It was a Monday morning, and I was once again ensconced at my desk at work. My little trip with MonX seemed to have happened in a different lifetime. Apart from my radically different haircut, which had caused quite a stir among my colleagues, nobody knew what had happened to me four weeks ago. Not even my family. I was keeping my adventure strictly secret, and my ‘touring clothes’, as I had come to think of them, had been hidden at the very back of my wardrobe.
The phone stopped ringing, and I was poised to auto-forward all calls to voicemail when another one came through. Same number.
I sighed once again and summoned a cheery voice. If it was a client, it wouldn’t do to bark an insult at them.
‘Emily Trenden, how may I help you?’
‘Miss Emily Trenden?’ An unfamiliar voice went with the unfamiliar number, and I had a sudden sinking feeling in my tummy. Something was wrong here. An acute sense of foreboding rose in my throat, and I rasped out my response.
‘This is she. May I ask who’s calling?’
‘Hugh Sharp here from the Daily Break. Would you care to comment on your role in the break-up of rock band MonX?’
I dropped the phone in horror. The receiver clattered onto my desk, slipped, and hit the floor. The reporter’s voice continued to issue forth, tinny and indistinct. I hit the disconnect button to stop the jabbering before retrieving the handset from the floor and dropping it into the cradle. My heart hammered in my chest. What on earth had happened? What MonX break-up? When?
Company policy forbade me from accessing Facebook, Twitter, and personal email, but Google was a vital research tool, and I needed to know. I inched the screen to face away from the glass wall dividing my office from the corridor and shifted surreptitiously in my seat. The phone rang again, but I ignored it.
No sooner had I typed ‘MonX’ into the search screen than Google pulled up pages and pages of results. Most of them read like tabloid headlines.
UK rock sensation MonX breaks up after vicious fight!
MonX No More!
R.I.P. MonX?
Blood and tears at final gig—MonX rockers in catastrophic finale.
My vision blurred and my breathing grew laboured. So it had finally happened. Mike hadn’t been able to fix the rift. In my heart of hearts, I had known this was bound to happen, but I had hoped that the band would sort itself out. Or, failing that, that Adam would sort them out.
I scrolled through the results, needing to know more but uncertain which sensation-lusty link to follow. Eventually, two screens on, I stumbled across an article published by a reputable rock magazine, and I reckoned they would offer some sort of approximation of the truth.
The link registered and the screen started loading. I tapped my finger impatiently while I waited. Would it have been Mike who called it a day? Or had he been thrown out? Was the whole band going to split, or would factions reform?
Thoughts skittered round my brain like so many marbles, my urgent deadline clean forgotten for a moment. And without further warning, my universe collapsed. I was in the shit. Deeply, irretrievably, undeniably in the shit.
For when it finished loading, the website displayed a picture of me in Mike’s arms, in my pyjamas, looking dazed and bleary-eyed and, frankly, stoned out of my mind. If I didn’t know about my fall, I would assume the girl Mike was carrying was as high as a kite.
‘Bugger.’
The implications of this image crashed in on me all at once. The break-up itself was tragic, if not wholly unexpected. My mind filled with questions regarding the ins and outs of the split, but I pushed them in one corner of my brain for later analysis and focused on a more pressing matter. Because I looked drugged in that awful photo, and that had immediate implications for me. My employer had a strict anti-drugs policy in and out of work. If it seemed like I had violated it, I was in trouble. Big trouble.
‘This is insane,’ I mumbled under my breath. ‘They know me. They’ll listen. They have to believe me. Besides, there was a medic there. He’ll testify…’
I snorted. Testify, indeed. It might yet come to that. And there was no way my boss would believe me. Heck, I wouldn’t believe me. And even if the medic could be found and spoke up in my defence, hours had elapsed between his visit and that photo, and I could easily have taken drugs. There was no escaping the simple fact that I was in as much troub
le as the band itself. It was only a matter of time until the shit and the fan would connect.
Random other thoughts jostled for attention. ‘This photo is weeks old. Why is it at the centre of this break-up scandal?’
I was still talking to myself, and the sound of my own voice was oddly soothing. I needed to stay calm. I clicked on the article and forced myself to read it. The information was scarce and unhelpful. Basically, or so I was invited to believe, the band ‘decided’ to split following a massive fight after a gig on the previous Saturday night. Allegations were levied backwards and forwards, but Mike’s overbearing nature and bad leadership were generally cited as the major reason for ‘irreconcilable differences.’
Shaking my head, I closed down the article and explored another link. Everything I read smacked of publicity stunt, but the odds were stacked against Mike, who was cast firmly in the role of the villain.
‘Poor Mike.’ My heart bled for him. He would be feeling awful. I wondered where he had gone, and what he would do next. And always, there was that photo of me in his arms.
Mike Loud’s love for women and insatiable appetite for sex and drugs played a critical role in the band’s decision to oust their lead singer…
‘Bugger,’ I repeated once more. Not normally given to swearing, it seemed the only appropriate response to the mess that had crash-landed on my desk. And the phone started ringing again.
‘Bugger off,’ I snapped at it. Unfortunately, my boss chose that moment to appear at my door. His hand was half raised to knock on the doorframe, and he wore a frozen rictus of a smile on his face.
‘Mark. Sorry.’ I stood up in a hurry and fluffed ineffectually at my hair. If he knew me at all, he would understand that I was seriously flustered. But he didn’t comment, merely stared. Unnerved by his silence, I prattled on.
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean you. I meant…’ I gestured helplessly at the phone, which was ringing again. Every sound pulled at my nerve strings, and I winced in pain.
