“See” Danny said to me, “he called me his friend. What’s your name my friend?”
“My name is Stevie.”
“And can we really watch from through there?” Danny indicated to where Siobhan and the band had gone on stage.
“My friend –”
“Danny, please,” Danny said.
“Well, Danny, I don’t know how you got hold of that badge around your neck, but it allows you to go just about every place you can imagine – except on stage with the band.”
I don’t know what I’d expected or hoped for, and I enjoyed the concert, and I could see why the world was going Siobhan McGovern mad, but I didn’t really know what I was doing there. I’d had a few days to anticipate what might, just possibly, happen between us, but I could see now there was absolutely no way that I was ever going to get close to Siobhan McGovern. I felt a little stupid actually, and I think that’s why Danny was playing the fool – to say that if all we got out of the trip was a bit of fun, well, fun was still fun.
It was hard to equate the Siobhan on that stage with the Siobhan I’d met in Dublin. She was a performer – a singer, yes, but so much more as well. The way she wrung every last bit of feeling out those songs was frankly an astonishing thing to witness, especially from only a few feet away at the side of the stage. And to project that emotion on to such a large scale so that each member of her audience felt every bit as Siobhan felt – I knew I was watching an artist at her work. I remembered her saying that we artists should support one another, but I just wasn’t in this league. I was happy to reach a single reader who may have been moved by my work; Siobhan was reaching thousands of people every time she took to the stage.
When the concert was over it was a little more controlled, as Stevie had said it would be, but not that much more controlled. And Siobhan still had that distant look on her face – untouchable, on another plane, call it what you will. The band went back on for an encore and then the house lights came up.
Danny and I stood looking out at the vast auditorium from the side of the stage.
“Look at the size of this place,” I said.
“That was quite something all right.”
Stevie the bouncer came up behind us.
“Did you enjoy the show, gentlemen?”
“Oh man,” Danny said, “that was just so good.”
“It certainly sounded good from back there,” Stevie said. “She knows how to sing a tune, that’s for sure.”
“Can I fetch you something – a drink, I mean?” asked Danny.
“No, I don’t drink,” Stevie said, “but thank you for asking.”
“Don’t drink, or don’t drink while you’re working?”
“Don’t drink.”
“Oh man, that sucks,” Danny said. “A coke, then, or a juice – I bet you drink juice.”
“I’m fine, really, but you go in and enjoy yourselves.”
“And what time will you be working until?”
“I’ll be here until you folks decide to go home – or at least until the band decides to go home and then you’ll be going home too.”
“Do you work for the band or for the concert hall?”
“I work for the band. I’m responsible for their safety.”
“Man, what a great job,” Danny said, “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Stevie, but now I have to go and check out the VIP bar.”
“You do that, my friend, you do that.”
It was great to see Stevie’s amusement at having met Danny, and Danny really was the ideal person to have brought along to the gig. I don’t know how he did it – that easy-going, get along with everybody thing. If I’d been there on my own, there’s no way I would have met Stevie, no way I’d even have dared watch the gig from the side of the stage.
We hung around eating and drinking for a while, trying to act like we were somebody and letting people guess just who we might be. The lads from the band came out after an hour or so and that created something of a stir, but there was no sign of Siobhan. It was hard work trying to look so cool for so long, especially when we’d obviously been rumbled as a pair of nobodies. We were just about to leave when Stevie came to find us again.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “would you come along with me, please?”
“Are you throwing us out?” asked Danny.
“No, my friend, I’m not throwing you out.”
“Should we bring our drinks?”
Stevie smiled. “Yes, you can bring your drinks along with you.”
He took us through to a back room and transformed us from nobodies into somebodies. Siobhan was waiting in her dressing room, alone.
“I was worried you might have left,” she said.
“Not while there’s still free beer to be had,” Danny said.
“I’m sorry you had to wait such a long time, anyway,” she said and smiled. “It takes a while sometimes to come down after a show, and I didn’t want you to see me in that state.”
“We’ve had a great time,” I said, “really.”
“Great show,” Danny said. “Thanks.”
“No, thank you for coming.”
“Look,” Danny said, “I’m going to wait outside. I’ve made friends with your bodyguard it seems. Thanks again.”
“I’m glad you came,” Siobhan said once Danny had left.
“I kind of had to once you’d sent the tickets. Not that I didn’t want to – I did. You just made it a whole lot easier.”
Siobhan shrugged.
“It’s easy to be generous with the things you have to give.”
We looked at each other across the room.
“I don’t –”
“I just feel –”
We laughed.
“You go first,” I said.
“I was going to say, I just feel as though I’d really like to get to know you. What were you about to say?”
“That I don’t see how we can.”
“Do you want to?”
“Yes, but I’m already way out of my depth.”
“With all this, you mean?” She nodded at the door.
“Yes, and . . . .”
“And what?”
“And you. I don’t know what you would want with me.”
“Isn’t that my decision?”
“I’ve just watched you perform.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I had no idea you would be so good.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“You live in a different world to me.”
“There are ways around that, if you’re interested in trying.” She didn’t wait for a reply. “I have to find a way to live a normal life in a mad world and part of that is the freedom to get to know whom I choose.”
“And are you free to choose?”
“I’d like to find out. What about you?”
“I’d be crazy not to try.”
Siobhan laughed.
“Or crazy to even think of trying maybe? Can I suggest something? I have to go out there now and you know what it’s going to be like. You and Danny should go back to your hotel, and I’ll call for you there in the morning – not too early though.”
“My flight’s at one.”
“Then it’s decision time,” Siobhan said, “because there’s absolutely no way I’ll be up before midday tomorrow. If you’re still at the hotel by the time I drag myself out of my pit, I’ll see you there and we can talk. If not – no hard feelings?”
I think I already knew I’d be changing my flight back to Dublin.
I take a cab from the station in Brighton and tell the driver the Grand Hotel. It’s too late now to start looking for suitable digs and I’m too tired. The Grand is the only place I’ve heard of, or the Cosmopolitan I think I read about in Brighton Rock, but there’s no saying it still exists. So I say the Grand in honour of the attempt on Thatcher’s life, though there’s no guarantee there’ll be a room. I guess the middle of August is peak season for Brighton.
“Is that rain,” I ask the driver, “or spray from the sea?”
“Rain unfortunately, mate. We’re forecast for a big storm here tonight.”
“I thought Brighton was the sunniest place in England?” I’d read somewhere, no doubt while gloating over the weather back home while I was in Greece or someplace, how Brighton had more sunlight hours than any other town in England.
“You’re thinking of Bournemouth, mate.”
“Oh,” I say. I’m not interested in tramping the streets of Brighton, looking for a room in the rain.
“But don’t worry,” the driver says looking in his rear-view mirror, “Brighton’s a close second. This’ll blow over and it’ll be beautiful again tomorrow.”
I appreciate his optimism, but I have my doubts. I tip him more than I would normally because the fare is lower than I expected, but he probably thinks if I’m staying at the Grand I can well afford it. I run up the steps to get out of the rain. I still just have my little rucksack, but one of things I love about good hotels is that they don’t make a presumption on the way you look. If you can afford to stay there, you can dress as you please.
“I’m looking for a room,” I say at the desk. The lobby seems quiet, Sunday evening kind of quiet. I get the feeling the guy on reception is just covering for someone, like he’s really the concierge or something.
“Have you a reservation, sir?”
“I haven’t – is that a problem?”
“Not necessarily. Is it just for tonight?”
“I’m not too sure.” He cocks his head – if I don’t know then who does? “Tonight certainly,” I say, “and then I intend trying to find somewhere longer term.” And cheaper, I think to myself.
“Shall we say for two nights, and see how you get along?”
I ask for a room at the front of the hotel, if possible, looking out over the sea. The concierge looks at me like now I’m really taking the piss.
“I don’t mind paying extra,” I say.
“It’s not a question of money, sir; it’s a question of availability.”
This puts me in my place and I’m grateful just to be getting a room. No, I don’t have a car and yes, this rucksack is my only luggage. I use an address in Manchester – a false one because what do they need to know? And I tell him I’d like to pay by cash. I know I can be traced through my Visa cash withdrawals, but I don’t like specific purchases to be printed out on my bill, mainly because I’m no longer sure where that bill might now be posted.
“In that case, sir, can I take payment for the first night in advance?”
I hand over enough money to keep him happy.
“Enjoy your stay, sir. Can you manage your own bag?”
I look up and it’s good to see him smile. I smile too when I see the room he’s given me, two floors up, overlooking the sea. I’m tired, too tired even to eat before sleeping. I love what money can do for you when all you want is a nice place to be for the night.
I forget the name of the hotel that Danny and I stayed in for the night of Siobhan’s concert, but it was within walking distance of Earl’s Court. It was expensive in an understated way, very modern, and not at all like the Grand in Brighton. We had one last drink in the residents’ bar; Danny was all for having another but I didn’t want to abuse Siobhan’s hospitality. It was easy to see that most of the people still drinking in the bar were in some way associated with the band, and I wondered at the numbers of hangers-on an event like this must attract. If they ran the credits after a gig as they do after a film, how long would it go on for?
“Do you think the band are staying here?” Danny asked.
“I don’t know. Siobhan didn’t say.”
“And you didn’t ask?”
I told Danny what Siobhan had said about meeting up the next day, and he asked me again what I thought was going on.
“Why didn’t you wait for her?”
“She didn’t want me to. And I didn’t want to.”
Danny was still in the mindset of my seizing this one golden opportunity to have sex with Siobhan McGovern, and his implication was that I’d probably blown it.
“So you’re just going to see what tomorrow brings?”
“Are you staying on with me?”
“I am not. Some of us have proper jobs to go back to.”
And the next morning, Danny went all serious on me as he was leaving.
“What about your writing?”
“I’ve just had a book published. I deserve a few days off.”
“Just don’t forget who you are and what you do.”
“Jesus, Danny! I’m meeting a girl for a chat is all.”
“Not just any girl. And not just any old chat.”
Once Danny had left, it was coming up to midday so I checked out from the hotel. I called the airline about changing my flight and they said it was such a good ticket I could just turn up at the airport and get on the next available flight. I had that same small rucksack with me and I sat down to wait in the entrance foyer. I thought about buying a paper, or taking a quick walk for some fresh air, but I was content to just sit and let my mind wander. Danny was right: I really did need to find out what was going on here. I sat there for over two hours and didn’t mind. There was a lot of people-watching to be done, a lot of sore heads as guests checked out, but also a general impression that the gig the night before had been something rather special.
I was facing the entrance to the hotel, watching for Siobhan, but when she finally came she stepped out from a lift across the lobby. She was wearing jeans, a black top and open-toed sandals. The hotel was quieter now that most people had checked out and left. I watched her walk across to me; she had the same look of concentration I’d seen as she walked on to stage the night before, only now it was focussed on me. She smiled and it seemed natural when she leant down to take my hand. She sat on the arm of my chair.
“You stayed then?” she asked.
“I stayed.”
“And Danny?”
“Gone back to the real world.”
“Dublin?”
“Manchester.”
“I’m going to see about getting something to eat; do you want anything?”
“I might have a sandwich, or something.”
“A drink? I’m having a pot of tea.”
“I’ll share a pot of tea with you.”
“Nothing stronger?”
“Never again.”
“Should I ask them to bring it over here? Is this okay for you here?”
I assured her it was. Across the lobby I noticed Stevie from the night before. He was sat reading a newspaper; he hadn’t been there before Siobhan came downstairs.
“You stayed the night here?” I asked Siobhan as she sat back down. She sat across from me now, in the opposite armchair.
“I did. You must have been tucked up in bed by the time I came in.”
“We might have waited up if we’d known.”
“You wouldn’t have enjoyed it if you had. It gets a little mad sometimes.”
“Is it always like that after a gig?”
“More or less. That’s why I suggested you leave when you did. It’s not unpleasant at all; I just didn’t want that to be the first impression you had of me.”
“So is this here the real you, or simply a different you?”
“I hope this is closer to the real me.”
A member of staff brought a tray of tea to the table. It was a young girl and her hands were shaking; I was reminded of Siobhan’s nervousness at my book launch a few nights before.
“That’s okay,” Siobhan said to the girl, “we’ll pour out the tea.”
The girl thanked us and came back a couple of minutes later with a plate of sandwiches.
“Thank you,” I said, and she sneaked a quick glance to see if she should recognise this person who was sat drinking tea with Siobhan McGovern.
“How old are you?” I
asked Siobhan.
“I’m twenty-four – why?”
“You seem to handle it all very well.”
“Years of practice. What age are you?”
“I’m over ten years older than you. I’ll be thirty-seven in a couple of months.”
“That’s old,” Siobhan said and laughed. “You can be my older man.”
“And you’re about ready for your older man phase? Is that what this is?”
“I’m ready for something, but I don’t know what. And, like you, I’m not really sure if I know what this is yet.” Siobhan took a sip of tea and put the cup back down on the saucer. “Danny wasn’t too pleased that I took a whole day off from rehearsing just to go to a book launch.”
“Your Danny. My Danny was delighted.”
“Do I come across like a stalker?”
“No, I was just flattered.”
“You needn’t be. I meant it when I said I loved your books. I wanted to get to meet you, to see what you were like – that was all.”
“Oh dear – and?”
“And here we are, playing footsie with each other while we try to figure out what this might amount to – if anything.”
“I’m worried that you might think I’m the same person as I appear to be from my books.”
“And aren’t you?”
“No.”
“They came out of your head, didn’t they?”
“Yes, but they’re not me.”
“It’s the women in your books who interest me,” Siobhan said. “I want to know what kind of a man can reach me in that way.”
“They’re just stories.”
“They’re not just stories, and you know it. They’re a part of you, so don’t do yourself down like that.”
I had nothing to say to this.
“I understand the danger of projecting what I think on to someone I don’t know,” Siobhan said. “I’ve had it done to myself often enough. So I was prepared to just turn up the other night and get my book signed and that would be it; but I felt strongly enough about being there to piss the band off for the day. And then you asked me if I’d join you for a drink, and I did, and I thought you were just so damned handsome that I knew I was in trouble and that I definitely wanted to see you again.”
Dancing to the End of Love Page 4
