The Rock 'N' the Roll. 'N That

by Steven J. Gill

  “I’ve already told you” said Johnny, with a shake of his head. “Look. She’ll never trust you again if you admit you’ve played about on tour. Think about it from her point of view. If it ever gets into the papers, then unless there are pictures, deny, deny and deny again!”

  “I know. But now this. She wouldn’t dump me now if I told her? Would she?”

  “Don’t fucking kid yourself! You’ll be worth a few quid if the album keeps selling. You’d get proper screwed over. And you don’t want that sort of a relationship with your kid, do you?”

  “Course not! I’d have taken my chances before. But now! Fuck sake…”

  “Danny. Just don’t do it again and deal with it. That’s the best advice I can give you. Honestly,” said Johnny leaning back in his chair and rubbing a hand through his hair, showing a flash of grey in his temples before it fell back into place.

  “Okay. I’ll keep it in my pants in future. Thanks for your time Johnny. I knew I could talk to you.” Grabbing his parka, Danny knocked back the rest of his pint.

  “I’ll see you soon. And if you need me, just call,” said Johnny, zipping up his coat and pocketing his phone and wallet.

  ***

  Relieved to be free of the ‘scrape’ of photographers, Jamie entered his apartment block with ambitions no loftier than having a few hours’ decent sleep. The early start for the video shoot on the back of the tour, and all the insidious pressure with the scurrilous newspaper stories had left him more than a little jaded.

  Stripping down to his boxer shorts, he shut the bedroom blinds, pulled back the duvet and went to turn his phone off when he saw that there was new message.

  Clicking open the envelope icon, his eyes widened slightly. Lara.

  ‘Hello Jamie Thorne. Think I owe you a bit of an apology. Gone back to New York. Please don’t be a stranger… Lx’

  Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Jamie looked at his watch. Just gone midday, so early morning over there he thought. He fired off a text.

  ‘Hey Lara. Thank you. Good to hear from you. x’

  Thirty seconds later. Ping.

  ‘Yeah. I’m sorry for all the newspaper bullshit. I flipped out a bit. I was jetlagged and overdid it a bit. Bad combo. I just thought I’d surprise you! Lx’

  Yawning to himself, Jamie felt his head was a little too fuzzy to get involved in a set of transatlantic textual tennis, so decided he’d make his excuses and grab some sleep and pick this up later. ‘I’ll catch ya later. Just filming a video x’

  ***

  “You got anything in the fridge you could knock up into a sandwich for me?” said Dominic, reclining on the sofa in his ‘usual spot’.

  “I thought you said you’d just had something to eat when Danny told you his news?” said Cally, sorting through the pile of dirty tour laundry that Dominic had kindly brought round for her. Delicately pulling out a skimpy pair of white knickers between her thumb and index finger, she said, “I assume these aren’t yours? Unless there is something that you’re not telling me!” She laughed, in her tinkling little melodious way.

  “Yeah, they are comfier when we’re on stage Mum. I thought everybody knew that.” Looking across at his mum as she sifted through the sports bag, he winced slightly with embarrassment. “Just chuck ’em away.”

  “Plenty more where they came from these days, isn’t it…” Cally said, in between holding her breath as the soiled tour wear had been fermenting nicely for best part of a fortnight.

  “Not me you need worry about? At least mine is all done in private. Look at Jamie plastered across the papers.”

  “I’m sure he’s not chosen to be in the paper though,” she said, having now finished separating the laundry into two piles.

  “Rather him than me,” said Dominic, stretching his arms out wide and yawning loudly.

  “Keeping you up are we?”

  “These tours take it out of you. And we were up well early this morning. Video should look sick. Although the police turned up at the end!”

  “I didn’t know Sting was a fan already?” said Cally, struggling to keep a straight face.

  “NO! The police, no— Oh, very funny Mum. Very funny!”

  Cally smiled back at Dominic, pleased with her little joke.

  “No steady girlfriend for you then?”

  “I wouldn’t really describe Jamie as being settled. Would you?” said Dominic, a little too defensively.

  “Well, she does live in America most of the time.”

  “You always make excuses for him.”

  “Not at all! I’ve always treated you both equally.”

  “I know. But you gave me a hard time last time we got back from tour. I’m just enjoying myself! Who wouldn’t?”

  “I realise that. I saw the evidence before. What there was of it!” Cally’s eyes twinkled as she saw her son cringe slightly again. “I don’t mind what you get up to, as I’ve said before, boys will be boys. I just hope you treat all these girls nicely.”

  Dominic swallowed at this comment. The hotel room incident with Grace had lingered in his mind. The worry that she might sell her story to the papers, or worse, had not escaped him.

  “Course I do! Takes two to tango Mum…”

  “Hmmm. Quite. Anyhow. Will a bowl of soup do you?”

  “What have you got? I’d love some mushroom soup.”

  “Hang on. I’ll just ask the chef.”

  “Very funny. Again.”

  “Well. You come around with your dirty washing and demanding to be feed. Shall I tell the papers how her Rockstar son comes around to have his errands done?”

  “Oh haha! You’re on form today.”

  “Why thank you. I’ve missed you both,” she said, strangely grateful for the opportunity to still be doing her boy’s dirty laundry….

  Chapter 41

  “Are you sure it’s a good idea?” said Johnny, as he washed his hands in the kitchen sink.

  “I honestly don’t know,” said Jamie, pulling his woollen beanie hat further up his head and then scratching his forehead.

  “I know you like her. But this is never going to be an easy relationship. And all the shit that keeps getting trotted out in the papers. That can’t be easy…” said Johnny, flipping the kettle on.

  “The only reason that bothers me is that most of it is bollocks and it detracts from the music. Look what happened to Pete Doherty. Class songwriter but he became tabloid fodder. I don’t want that.”

  “No, I know. But there’s only Dom not hit the headlines yet. After Mikee and D-Mo’s little escapade.” Johnny laughed to himself at the thought of them rolling round in their sodden sumo suits.

  “It bothered me at first, y’know, but the album’s doing so well, bit of publicity and all that…” said Jamie, as he again checked his mobile for any transatlantic missives.

  “What the fuck! Life’s for living. You don’t go, then you’d never know. Fortune favours the brave and all them clichés,” laughed Johnny. “Fish finger butty before you go? Better than any of the shit they serve in-flight.”

  “You do know how to spoil me! Yeah, definitely. Thanks man.”

  “Coming right up. Want a lift to the airport after?”

  “Yeah. Cheers. But if you could stop off at my mums on the way. Want to see her before I go.”

  “Not a problem. How is she? Coping with all the shenanigans okay?” said Johnny, putting the fish fingers out in two neat rows before popping them in the oven.

  “She’s okay. All a bit weird for her now and then but…” Jamie paused for a few seconds. “Did you and h—” Cutting himself off, Jamie again looked at his phone.

  “Sorry J, what were you gonna ask?”

  “Nah, nothing. I’ll tell her you asked after her.”

  “Thanks. She’s a good ’un. She makes me laugh,” said Johnny, slicing four rounds of brown bread.

  “Yeah she is. Apparently, she was winding Dom up the other day after she found a pair of knickers in his dirty laundry bag. Che
eky twat takes it round whenever we come back off tour!”

  “If you don’t ask you don’t get!”

  “Anyhow. I’ve got five days in America. I’ve never been before, so worst case is I get to eat a McDonald’s in New York,” said Jamie with a smile.

  “Well, that’s your bucket list sorted then! A Happy Meal with a supermodel in Times Square!” laughed Johnny, pleased that Jamie could see the funny side too.

  “I’ll bring you back the toy,” Jamie grinned.

  “Oh cheers J. I can’t wait,” said Johnny, passing Jamie a hot mug of tea. “Just enjoy it. You’ll be on her home-turf, so I guess that’ll be a bit of a strange one. Are you staying with her or booked a hotel?”

  “I’ve only booked a flight. If I need a room I suppose I’ll just sort one. Play it by ear.”

  “At least no one will know you over there. No offence.”

  “None taken! That’s a good thing. But anybody that’s with Lara is fair game. She’s never out of the papers over there,” said Jamie, screwing up his nose.

  “Anyhow. Eat up, you won’t get food like this over there.”

  “Thanks man. You’re a star!”

  “All part of the service J.”

  ***

  ‘OMG. Just seen Jamie Thorne at Manchester Airport. FIT FIT FIT #lonelysouls’

  ‘Sure I’ve just been stood near Jamie Lonely Souls at Terminal 1. Wish my seat was next to his for next seven hours #drool’

  ‘Listening to ‘Salvation’ on iPod and I only spotted Jamie Thorne. Cool bastard #manlove #lonelysouls’

  And with those three tweets, the feline was well and truly out of the carrying receptacle. Jamie was oblivious to all this as he dozed through the flight. Occupying himself with his iPad, he watched Drive for the umpteenth time, his thoughts intermittently flitting between the new songs he had been working on with Dominic on a portable eight-track studio. And Lara.

  Their last meeting had been well-documented and he hoped that things were going to go a lot better than their free to view pavement bust-up. Travelling some 3,500 miles was a show of commitment, he felt. “What will be will be,” Johnny had whistled to him as he dropped him off at the airport.

  Having stopped off on the way to see his mum, her concern was apparent, and reading about her boys in tawdry newspaper columns was something she would never get attuned to. He’d nearly filled up when she gave him a plastic supermarket bag with a foil wrapped round of sandwiches for him. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that they wouldn’t allow him to take them on to the plane.

  He’d been particularly attentive to how his mum and Johnny were with each other – his curiosity had been piqued. They just seemed like old friends whenever they met, although he was sure they both stole surreptitious glances at each other. He loved them both dearly, but could never quite put his finger on to why a ‘relationship’ between them just wouldn’t sit right….

  ***

  A yellow cab. Just like the ones you see in all the films. He was here. New York City. Manhattan. The Big fuckin’ Apple….

  “Times Square please man,” said Jamie, gesturing to the Asian cab driver that he was fine with his hand luggage to be kept with him.

  Sitting back in the cracked vinyl seat, he absorbed every detail of the cab, the driver, the neighbourhoods they passed through. And that unmistakeable Manhattan skyline.

  Winding the window of the cab down, Jamie pushed his sunglasses up on to the top of his head and drank it in. The familiar vista in front of him, distorted forever after Sept ’11. Featured in every New York film or music video ever made. A bit more impressive than Manchester’s Beetham Tower, Jamie laughed to himself.

  The traffic slowed as they hit the city, Jamie marvelling at sights that were already so familiar to him. The steam rising from the drains. The panoply of smells. The omnipresent NYPD. And the neon-information overload of Times Square.

  “Here’s fine thanks,” said Jamie, peeling off forty dollars and pushing it through the plexiglass divide to the driver.

  “Thanking you. Have a fine stay in our country,” said the cab driver as he bid Jamie goodbye, already alert for his next fair.

  Stepping out onto the sidewalk, he stood and like every virginal tourist, just stood open-mouthed and turned around 360 degrees. Twice.

  Although he was due to meet Lara in less than an hour at her East Side apartment, Jamie wanted some time to himself.

  Passing by the front of the Golden Arches of McDonald’s, he ignored Danny’s well-intentioned request of, “Try a Big Mac to see if it taste’s the same.” Tickets and fliers for a multitude of events, offers and stores were shoved in his direction at every step.

  And it was the anonymity that he cherished above all else. No heads turned in his direction. No stage whispers by people asking each other if that was ‘Jamie from that band’.

  His home city had taken the band to their heart, but it meant that whenever he went out he was now public property. Something his twin brother was thriving upon, but left him feeling disassociated with where they were at. He loved meeting people. But this being everybody’s mate before he’d even met them was a strange experience to him, and his sometimes-awkward off-stage shyness could be misconstrued as arrogance.

  Having drifted in the general direction of the Hudson River, past brownstone apartments, shop fronts owned by a United Nations of proprietors, Jamie realised that he was walking in the complete opposite direction to Lara’s address. Flagging down his second cab off the afternoon with a practiced nonchalance, he read the address to the driver – “Cooper Square off Second Avenue please man.”

  “Sure thing. You English or Australian?”

  “I’m from Manchester,” replied Jamie.

  ***

  “What if it’s a girl though?” said Dee, holding up a pastel shaded paint chart.

  “She can still learn bass. There’s a few wicked women bass players!” said Danny, trying to conceal his burning desire for Dee’s bump to be a little D-Mo rather than a D-Moette.

  “And what about if you’re on tour or something when I’m ready to give birth?”

  “I dunno. I’ll be there. I promise. Whatever it takes! You know how much this all means to me. I can’t wait!” said Danny, putting his arm around Dee and placing a hand lovingly on her rapidly swelling bump.

  “But what if you—”

  “What if nothing! I’ll be there. For both of you! All I want is the album to do well, record the next one, which will be even better! You should hear some of the demos that Jamie and Dom have recorded. They are fuckin’ wicked and—”

  She pushed Danny’s hand away from her distended tummy. “Not in front of the baby! I don’t want any bad language in front of it. They can hear you already. I read it in a book!” said Dee, a hurt look on her face.

  “No, they fuc—”

  “DANNY!”

  “No, they can’t. And even if they could, they wouldn’t know what I meant.”

  “Then do it for me please. I’ve stopped swearing. And smoking and drinking,” said Dee, folding her arms just above her bump.

  “They’re in for a bigger shock than me swearing. Wait till it pops out of your fanny and gets its arse slapped!” cackled Danny with a snap of his bony fingers.

  “DANNY!” shouted Dee, as she smacked him across the arse. “Don’t be so disgusting! You’re not on tour now,” she said with a seriously cross frown.

  “Sorry babe but I can’t imagine how mad it’ll be watching a little person pop out of you.”

  “Well, you can learn all about that when you come to antenatal class with me on Thursday,” said Dee, with a solemn nod of her head.

  “What time? ’Cos we always rehearse on Thursdays.”

  “DANNY! You said you’d come with me!” snapped Dee.

  “Oh, it’s okay. Jamie’s away this week. He’s gone to America to see—” Danny stopped himself as he had wanted to keep this a secret. Jamie had asked that they don’t tell anybody.

&
nbsp; “Really?” said Dee, an intrigued look on her face. As a devoted ‘browser’ of Heat magazine and their ilk, she had devoured the tabloid tittle-tattle side of the band. And this little morsel piqued her desire for fresh first-hand gossip.

  “Yeah. But don’t say anything. He wants to keep it quiet after all the shit that’s been in the papers and that,” said Danny, a serious look on his face, knowing that he had broken the promise he had made to Jamie.

  “Anyhow, you shouldn’t even have to ask that. And you can come to antenatal now. And every week after that…” said Dee, again folding her arms, meaning that the last sentence was a statement not a request.

  “I will. But all that stuff freaks me out. An—”

  “And nothing! We’ll be there, Daniel Martin. For our baby.”

  “We’ll be there,” agreed Danny. He was already missing the camaraderie of the band. He loved Dee more than he thought he could ever love anybody, but he missed being with them. He missed it when he wasn’t a Lonely Soul…

  Chapter 42

  “Mikee. Dude. It’s one in the morning. This better be good. I need my sleep after the tour,” yawned Johnny, as he sat up in bed, regretting not having turned his phone off.

  “Sorry man. I’ve been out for getting big with Dom. Y’know. The usual,” said Mikee, the phone tucked under his chin as he prepared a late-night Scooby-snack for himself.

  “The usual. Yeah. I can imagine. Anyhow. How can I help you, Kong?” said Johnny, as he got up to get himself a glass of water.

  “We were in some bar in town. I forget which one. Anyhow, we were chatting to some birds.”

  “Obviously,” Johnny interjected, with a roll of his eyes.

  “And there were some TV screens in the bar. Not the usual sort of gaff we’d go in, but these girls wanted to go in. Bit shit if you ask me,” said Mikee as he pressed down on the roughly hacked slabs of bread, licking mayonnaise off his chunky thumb.

  “Cut to the chase. What have you done?” said Johnny, again stifling a yawn.

  “Nah, nah. We’ve not done anything. For a change,” he laughed. “There was a clip of last week’s X Factor. Load of fuckin’ shite as ever. But some young girl. Proper cutie. Anyhow, she sang ‘Salvation’ on an acoustic. Slowed it right down. She can sing and that. Crowd loved it. And so did that shower of cunts on the judging panel.”