The Rock 'N' the Roll. 'N That

by Steven J. Gill

  “And why the fuck are you telling me this? You could have kept it as your sordid little secret.”

  “It’s on the internet.”

  “What?” Jamie replied incredulously.

  “She filmed it.”

  Letting out a sarcastic laugh, he said, “So you’re on the internet. Going down on Lara.”

  “She reckons she had her phone hacked,” Johnny said.

  “Is this some big fuckin’ joke? Are the rest of the band in on this?” Jamie asked, looking around the room, half-expecting his bandmates to jump out from behind the curtains.

  “It isn’t. And I’m sorry. Really sorry. Ask Mikee.”

  “What the fuck has Mikee got to do with it?” Jamie asked, getting more bewildered by the second.

  “He found it. Showed me. I told him the truth,” Johnny said, desperately trying to convince Jamie of his remorse. “Lara said she would tell you if I didn’t. I didn’t want that. I wanted to tell you how much I regretted it.”

  “I can’t cope with this. You. You of all people. Just go. NOW!”

  “But Jamie…”

  “Go,” Jamie said. “Go. And don’t bother coming to the gig on Saturday.”

  With tears in his eyes and his world spiralling out of control, Johnny left and drove through the press pack willing every one of them dead….

  Chapter 67

  A field day. The newspapers. Scratch that. The tabloids had absolutely gone to town with the ‘story’.

  ‘Heroin pushing singer causes Model to OD’

  ‘It’s only Smack ’n’ Roll, but you’ll like it’

  ‘Rock Star & Drug pusher’

  ‘I nearly died thanks to Jamie Thorne…’

  The luridly fabricated headlines were all published on the day of the band’s hometown benefit gig.

  Backstage the tension was palpable. Jamie had retreated to his own dressing room and wasn’t speaking. To anyone.

  He hadn’t soundchecked – having arrived some three hours late. Anxious mutterings were afoot, as to whether he’d play the gig.

  Johnny – against Jamie’s wishes – had briefed the band on the full story, although he got the distinct impression that they had all seen said homemade porn clip.

  Understandably, the band had never been so solemn. Clearly, being aware of the anguish that Jamie was suffering had affected them all.

  They had all read the papers. Every twisted, manipulated deceiving hateful adjective.

  No-one more than Jamie himself who had spent all day pouring over every word that had been written.

  He had made a two-word response via Twitter.

  ‘UTTER NONSENSE’

  Danny was full of righteous indignation, telling anyone that would listen that Jamie was ‘innocent’. Having all refused a pre-gig press conference, Mikee made the none too thinly veiled threat that he would ‘do time’ if he saw a reporter anywhere near him.

  And Dominic. He felt Jamie’s pain worse than anyone. He had barely said a word, having spent most of the evening knocking on Jamie’s dressing room door to no avail.

  Nine thirty.

  Showtime.

  And still no indication as to whether there would be a show.

  Knocking on the white wooden door, Dom said, “J. We’re going on bro. We need you.”

  Taking to the stage, they were met with a hushed silence.

  Twenty thousand open mouths. Silence as they waited for Jamie.

  Will he, won’t he?

  It was what must have been the longest sixty seconds in the band’s lives – exchanging nervous glances, willing Jamie to step forward.

  And then he did.

  Striding purposefully to the mic carrying an acoustic guitar. Dressed head to toe in black denim, collar popped up. Black beanie hat covering his head and shades covering his petrol blue eyes.

  And no red scarf.

  For the first time ever, he had taken to the stage without his habitual slash of colour.

  Without looking at his bandmates, Jamie adjusted the mic stand.

  You could hear the crowd audibly hold their collective breaths.

  “This one seems sort of appropriate,” Jamie muttered.

  Ignoring the setlist, he then launched into a solo rendition of ‘Lies’.

  Exchanging symbiotic nods, the rest of the band followed Jamie’s lead. Dominic stepping over to share the acid drenched chorus before kissing his brother on the cheek and then stepping away to launch into the most stunning of solos.

  As the song finished, the crowd seemed to pause for a second before going absolutely batshit crazy. A handful of red scarves were hurled in the direction of the stage. Mobile phone cameras captured every moment.

  “Thank you,” Jamie said humbly.

  “DON’T BELIEVE THE BULLSHIT,” Danny shouted down his mic before angrily flouting all on stage regulations and lighting up.

  Having dispensed with his own guitar, Jamie paced the lip of the stage for the next three songs, his vocals straining into a ragged yowl on more than one occasion.

  Ignoring the setlist once again, Jamie picked up his Fender, plugged in and struck up the opening bars of ‘Salvation’.

  Mid-song, he jumped up on to the top of his guitar amp – balancing precariously as he watched Dominic deliver the song’s familiar coda.

  Leaping off just as the amp started to topple, he then drove his precious guitar neck first into the prone amplifier, which formed a macabre looking musical gravestone.

  Which was feeding back wildly.

  The band stuttered to a halt as Jamie, grabbing the mic in one hand, walked to the front of the stage.

  Taking his shades off, he surveyed the vast arena. The towering banks of seats. The now still moshpit directly in front of him.

  A hush descended over the crowd as Jamie addressed them

  “I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore. I love my band.” Pausing, as he looked at them all in turn, he said, “I really do. But I can’t do this anymore…”

  And with that he left the stage.

  Walked out of the rear of the venue and jumped into a passing black cab.

  As the cab pulled away and drove over the River Irwell, a mobile phone was thrown over the side of the bridge. Spinning end over end before splashing into the murky brown waters…

  ***

  A number one album inevitably followed. The record label decided to proceed with the release despite Jamie’s absence.

  The hype surrounding the album was incredible. Despite no lead singer to promote the album, the sheer class of the songs and the furore and mystery engulfing the band created its own unstoppable momentum.

  The Twittersphere was full of supposed sightings. None of which were corroborated.

  As the months passed, Dominic retreated to his house on the hill with Eleanor and maintained a stoic silence.

  Danny resumed playing the happy family man but was a seething mass of resentment as he fretted over the future of the band.

  The only Lonely Soul to maintain a public persona was Mikee – who started running drum clinics for disenfranchised teenagers.

  And Johnny and Cally – he spared her the ignominy of the ‘sex tape’ secret – made their announcement amidst muted well wishes given Jamie’s disappearance.

  ***

  Seven months after the fateful show, Cally gave birth to the most beautiful baby girl – Poppy Anne Thorne.

  Life went on. As it had to.

  And everybody who cared waited and waited for word on the whereabouts of Jamie Thorne….

  Chapter 68

  There was not a day went by that they didn’t think about Jamie.

  Parenthood had come naturally to Johnny – he had settled into middle-aged parenting with a vigour that had surprised him. Cally was the most doting mother a child could wish for, although Johnny knew that every time she looked at their child, she saw Jamie – the intensity of the blue eyes was unmistakable.

  Dominic had been a regular visitor – which was of h
uge comfort to his mother. He had taken to his new sister, but the hurt of his missing twin was never far away.

  Late one lazy autumnal afternoon, Johnny was sat in the conservatory of their new family home, inducting his daughter to the delights of The Good, The Bad and The Ugly whilst the incessant Mancunian rain hammered therapeutically on the glass ceiling.

  Hearing the now not so regular ping of his mobile phone, he tabbed through the security lock to see that he had a Twitter Direct Message.

  From Jamie.

  ‘I’m home. We need to talk…’

  Wide-eyed, Johnny read and re-read the six words thirty characters message before sending his reply.

  ‘When?’

  An instant reply.

  ‘Tonight’

  ***

  With a hastily made excuse run by Cally, he headed off to Jamie’s house – which upon arriving was totally shrouded in darkness. Seemingly still uninhabited.

  Buzzing the security intercom, he whispered, “It’s me.”

  A metallic bzzzz and the gates slowly opened.

  Johnny drove through, the crunch of the gravel the only sound. He parked up and taking a deep breath, knocked on the sturdy front door.

  The door had been left ajar and he stepped inside.

  Acclimatising to the dark, he saw the figure of Jamie before him. The dimly lit kitchen illuminated by a handful of candles. Shadows flickered against the exposed brick walls as drafts whistled between the old window frames.

  Gone was the thick brown Strummer-esque quiff, replaced by a seriously shaved crop.

  He had lost weight and his once perfect cheekbones now protruded gauntly – like pieces of flint had been transplanted under the skin.

  Sat at the farmhouse table, his eyes blazed like pilot lights against the charcoal semi-darkness.

  Jamie broke the silence. “Been a long time.”

  “Hasn’t it. Everybody has missed you. Every day,” Johnny said quietly.

  “Come and sit down. Break bread with me. We’ve got some catching up to do,” Jamie said quietly, gesturing Johnny over. The table was empty, save a bottle of beer.

  Picking up the empty bottle, he said, “Want one?”

  Pulling a chair back with a piercing scrape, Johnny nodded and sat down. Grateful that the beer would assuage the excessive dry mouth he was suffering from. Hanging his parka over the back of the chair and placing his car keys, wallet and mobile phone on the table, Johnny waited for Jamie to speak first.

  Offering his bottle up, Johnny reciprocated the gesture and the two bottles clinked together tunefully.

  “What do you know then, Johnny?” Jamie asked.

  Taking a long draw on the chilled bottle, he said, “What do I know? That you’ve been missed. And I’m still sorry for the part I played in that.” Drinking deeply again. “You’ll never know how sorry.”

  Shrouded in the half-light, the solitary candle behind him cast a halo like silhouette.

  A real live resurrection, Johnny thought as he looked across the table at Jamie.

  “The label released the album. Number one here and America. Sold by the boatload. And you didn’t even have to tour it,” Johnny said before letting out a wry laugh.

  Ignoring Johnny’s opening gambit.

  “You know how much you hurt me, don’t you?” Jamie said as he then produced a small white wrap and placed it on the table in front of him.

  “Of course I do. I love you man and I never wanted to do anything that would hurt you. I’ll never be able to apologise enough,” Johnny said as he wrung his hands in contrition.

  “I do believe you,” Jamie said. “But you and Lara.” Pausing and holding Johnny’s gaze, he added, “And what about you and Mum? You’ve been fucking her as well.”

  “It’s not like that,” Johnny replied hastily. “Not like that at all.”

  “I’d known for ages. Right back to the Roses gig. Sneaking in and out of hotel rooms.”

  “That’s not true,” Johnny said, shaking the now empty bottle.

  “Want another?” Jamie asked, matter of fact. Returning from the fridge, he placed them on the table together with a white dinner plate. “What’s not true?”

  “Me and Cally. Your mum. We haven’t been sneaking around. Look, there’s something I need to tell you,” Johnny said.

  “Let me finish first,” Jamie said, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “Two of the people I care most about in the world. My mum and Lara. And you couldn’t help yourself.”

  “I told you. It’s not like that,” Johnny protested.

  “I figured you were both adults. Knew what you were getting into. But why didn’t you tell me?” Jamie asked.

  “There was nothing to tell at that stage. Honestly,” Johnny said

  “You want to know where I’ve been for the past year?” Jamie asked.

  Nodding slightly, Johnny sat impassively, giving Jamie the floor.

  “In Thailand. Living in a grass hut. Trying to figure this mess out.”

  Johnny shook his head slowly. “I don’t know what to say,” he said softly.

  “Those headlines. WHAT PEOPLE WERE THINKING ABOUT ME! AND SAYING ABOUT ME!” Jamie’s raised voice startled Johnny.

  “The people that really mattered. The ones that loved you knew the truth, though,” Johnny said, an urgent tone to his voice.

  “Nice to know,” Jamie said as he emptied the contents of the wrap onto the plate.

  A small pile of off-white crystal powder sat in a neat mound. Jamie carved the powder into two thick parallel lines.

  “You’re here to break bread with me. Make the peace. Seek forgiveness,” Jamie asked. “You got a note? Not had chance to get to the bank since I got home.”

  “I don’t do that anymore,” Johnny said, pushing the plate away. “I’ve not touched it in ages. Don’t need it.”

  “C’mon Johnny. Just one. You used to love it. Digging in after gigs and that.” Jamie pushed the plate back towards Johnny. “Roll a note. Just like old times.”

  Looking down at the rail of powder, Johnny reached for his wallet and slowly rolled a twenty-pound note into a tight straw. Offering it to Jamie. “All yours.”

  “You first. You’re my guest remember,” Jamie said. “Actually, best not. You might accidentally suck my cock…”

  “No,” Johnny said, pushing the plate back towards Jamie and proffering the rolled-up note.

  “I’ve not touched anything for months. I wanted to be totally clean before I came home,” Jamie said, as he too pushed the plate aside.

  “Things have changed whilst you’ve been away. I’m pretty much clean. Don’t drink much. No drugs at all. Things have changed a lot for me. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I’m a da—”

  “NO. LET ME FINISH WHAT I’M TRYING TO TELL YOU,” Jamie shouted as he stood up abruptly, causing his chair to topple backwards and clatter onto the slate-tiled floor.

  Shoving Johnny by the shoulder. “LOOK AT ME, MAN!”

  Looking up at Jamie, seeing his hurt and anger pouring out, Johnny stood up out of his chair. “Jamie, c’mon. I’ve come here to listen. To apologise. Again,” Johnny said, as he held his hands up as if in surrender.

  “DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I’VE BEEN HURT. BY EVERYTHING. BUT I NEVER THOUGHT YOU’D HURT ME!” Jamie said as he planted both his hands on Johnny’s chest. Shoving him backwards.

  Catching him off balance, Johnny caught his foot in the sleeve of his parka which had bunched up between the chair leg and the floor. Falling, he caught the back of his head against the butcher’s block work surface with a sickening thud.

  Dropping to the floor, unconscious, he lay perfectly still as a pool of blood haloed around his head.

  Slumping to his knees, Jamie looked down, horrified at the reaction to his action.

  His manager and friend lay totally motionless, save the thick flow of blood oozing from the back of his head.

  “JOHNNY! FOR FUCK’S SAKE DON’T DO THIS TO ME MAN!”

&nb
sp; Cradling Johnny’s head in his arms, Jamie pushed hair back off his face. “Johnny. Johnny. Don’t do this. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Come on we’re friends again now. All’s forgiven.”

  Still nothing.

  Holding his bloodied hands out in front of him, Jamie began to sob. Long, slow heartfelt sobs.

  “C’mon Johnny. I love you man. What the fuck have I done…”

  And then a mobile phone rang, snapping Jamie from his panic.

  Standing and looking at the vibrating phone, the image on the caller ID screen filled him with pure horror.

  Picking the phone up, he saw his mum cradling a baby with Johnny’s arm around her, beaming into the camera. The name that flashed up at him was HOME. Illuminating his face in a ghostly blue. He was transfixed in shock.

  The voice in his head screaming what the fuck have I done…

  Chapter 69

  For the past three weeks, the metronomic ‘beep beep beep’ of the ventilator had been a constant for all visitors to the hospital room.

  Jamie reunited with his mother, twin brother and two bandmates.

  And meeting his half-sister for the first time.

  All tempered by the medical machinations and tubes that were sustaining Johnny.

  Both Jamie and Cally – as much as the demands of second-time round motherhood would allow – had kept a round the clock bedside vigil. Waiting on any slight change. Any blink or twitch that would provide some sort of hope.

  “He’ll be okay. I know he will,” Jamie said as he held his mother’s hand. “He’s got to look after you and my little sister.”

  Brushing a finger gently against the baby’s cheek, as Cally gently bounced her rhythmically on her knee. Gurgling in pleasure, flapping her tiny arms in Jamie’s direction. Her petrol blue eyes wide. Blissfully unaware of the anxiety that was suffocating her mother and half-brother.

  Closing her eyes, always seconds away from tears, Cally looked at Jamie, her voice a soft murmur. “You have to be right, Jamie. I can’t bring Poppy up on my own. Looking at her every day as a reminder.” Her voice trailed off as the stark reality again flooded her. Unable to suppress her emotions any longer, a flow of tears ran down her make-up free face.