The Song Never Dies

by Neil Richards

  “You’re the famous one,” said Lauren. “I watch all your shows.”

  “Do you? That’s so lovely of you to say that.”

  “I like that one where you try and get people to move to a house in the country.”

  “Oh God, that one. Well I can tell you — it’s a right pain to shoot,” said Gail. Then she leaned in conspiratorially. “Half of the buggers don’t really want to move anyway — whole show’s just a con.”

  Gail laughed — and Lauren laughed too.

  She had dreaded meeting Gail but maybe it was going to be all right.

  “You need a drink darling,” Gail said. “Spot of champagne?”

  “That’d be lovely.”

  “Come on then. We are well stocked with bubbly. But …”

  Gail led her across the terrace past a canopied bar, staffed by more good-looking young guys in dark suits.

  “… I’ve got my own secret stash of the special stuff down by the pool house.”

  They headed down a wide set of marble steps that led into a formal garden with a fountain — Venus — or someone rising in the middle. At the base, water cascaded from the mouths of four cherubs into a brimming pool.

  Beyond it, Lauren could see a series of low barns, all renovated with sliding glass doors and their own terraces.

  A handful of people sat on the grass in groups, drinking.

  Loud music boomed from one of the barns.

  She saw Gail nod towards it.

  “Alex’s studio,” she said. “Filled to the rafters with all kinds of retro stuff. Amps, Fender guitars from the 80s you know? Wants to bring back the old Lizard ‘monster sound’ just as it was.”

  “So he’s serious?” said Lauren. “About a new tour?”

  “Deadly.”

  “Nick too?”

  “Well, Alex hopes so. They’re both twenty years older now,” said Gail, stopping at the fountain. “Swallowed their pride — that’s what Alex told me.”

  “There’s a lot to swallow,” said Lauren, then suddenly realising what she’d said, she looked to Gail guiltily.

  “Ha! What am I saying? He’ll love it,” said Gail, grinning at her.

  Lauren watched her reach into the bubbling waters of the fountain and, like a magic trick, pull a bottle of champagne from the foaming water.

  “Ta-da!”

  Then she plucked two glasses from under the stone bench that circled the fountain.

  “Just time to grab a bit of peace and quiet before this party really takes off. And for you to tell me all about the old days!”

  “The old days,” said Lauren. “God. Where shall I start?”

  “Start with LiveAid at Wembley — and work your way back darling! I want all the gossip — every last delicious drop.”

  3. Party On

  Lauren leaned in as close as she could to the young guy she was dancing with and shouted:

  “Got — to — get — some — water!”

  But the music was so loud — all he did was grin and shrug at her.

  So she grinned and shrugged back, then fought her way through the darkness, the strobe lights picking out the mostly stoned faces in the mill of gyrating people, and she moved towards the brighter lights of the ballroom doors.

  Wow, she thought. I haven’t danced like that in years. And I haven’t danced with anyone as sexy as that in years either …

  In the banquet room, she found a pillar to lean against and checked her watch.

  It was nearly one in the morning.

  That too was rare!

  And this party was still going strong. But where was Will?

  She found her shoes where she’d hidden them in a corner and just about managed to get the straps on.

  I’m a bit pissed, she thought, swaying.

  No. Scratch that.

  More than a bit …

  She took a deep breath and headed for the French windows that led out onto the terrace.

  It would be quieter there …

  But a big crowd stood outside too. As she stepped out onto the terrace, she could see clusters of people chatting, smoking, chilling.

  Lanterns and flares made pools of orange light in the darkness. She could see the fountain now rippled with blue, red, and green lights. A laser arced up into the sky from the roof of one of the outbuildings.

  Some small party.

  Silent movie scenes were being projected onto the back of the house.

  She wandered round the garden, looking for Will among the chattering, laughing groups.

  “Will? Will?”

  “Lauren–” came a voice just by her side.

  But it wasn’t Will’s voice.

  She turned to see Chris Wickes emerge from the shadows and approach her.

  He put an arm around her and kissed her softly on the cheek.

  She shivered, but she wasn’t cold.

  “Still smoking then?’ she said. She could smell the tobacco on his breath.

  “Why not?” he said with his killer smile. “The drugs will probably kill me first.”

  “We used to say you’d die in a bar fight before anything else would take you!”

  “Nice joke.”

  “We weren’t joking.”

  She watched him sit on the balustrade. Light from the house caught his face. He’d aged well. A few lines, the usual stubble on his chin now grey. His long hair still dark though also streaked with grey.

  But his eyes were the same. Lauren loved his eyes. Dark and cold — as if he was constantly angry. And so deep.

  “Will tells me you got kids,” Chris said.

  “Two boys,” said Lauren. “Teenagers.”

  “Handful, I bet …”

  “Tell me about it! How about you?”

  “Oh, single and fancy free.”

  Lauren looked around, suddenly aware it was just the two of them catching up, talking …

  “Where is Will by the way?”

  “He’s in the studio. Planning the tour. With Alex. And Carlton.”

  “Carlton Flame? That shark,” said Lauren. “I should have guessed he’d be here.”

  “Legally — we’re all still signed to Carlton. And trust me — they’re all sharks.”

  “And he wants to keep an eye on his ten percent huh?”

  “Twenty.”

  “Ouch. No wonder me and Will never see a penny. So who else is digging around in the entrails?”

  “Just Nick.”

  “Ah. So he did come.”

  “You thought he wouldn’t?”

  Another look around.

  Then Lauren went and sat next to him.

  Suddenly it was as if they were back in the past, in their own history.

  They’d sat just like this once, a long time ago, before everything happened for Lizard and the world turned upside down.

  Sat on the kids’ swings in Chris’s mum’s garden in Cherringham, one early summer night just like this.

  It had been in their final year for the two of them, school exams just on the horizon, everyone’s futures unwritten, any future possible, everything up for grabs.

  Like now. Just the two of them.

  “I thought he’d have more sense,” said Lauren.

  “Hell. He needs the money,” said Chris. “Like we all do. No money in sales. Or bloody downloads. You want to make cash — got to go back on the road.”

  “So, you’re going to do it?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why aren’t you in the meeting?”

  “Time out. Got a bit heavy in there.” He grinned. “Lot of unresolved issues … know what I mean?”

  Lauren smiled back. “And here I thought you liked fights.”

  “Not my argument. What’s the expression? Don’t have a dog in that fight.”

  “Whose argument is it?”

  “Guess …”

  “Alex and Nick?”

  “You got it. At each other’s throats like it was 1994.”

  “And what are they fighting about?�
��

  “Me,” came a woman’s voice from the side.

  Lauren looked up to see a girl standing silhouetted against one of the flares.

  “I’m Sarinda,” she said, stepping closer.

  Lauren looked at the girl.

  At this Sarinda …

  She wore the tiniest of skirts, and clumpy platform shoes that added a good five inches to her height.

  Tiny diamonds sparkled on her exposed tummy, nose, and ears. On her face she had a party tattoo … a bright red rose, with a single drop of blood dripping from it.

  Whatever that’s supposed to mean!

  She couldn’t be more than seventeen. If that! What was she doing here?

  We’re all old enough to be your parents, love, thought Lauren.

  “Showing your age,” said Chris. “You’ve not heard of Sarinda?”

  Lauren shrugged. “Sorry, love, I don’t …”

  “I’m a singer,” said Sarinda.

  “Not just any singer,” said Chris. “Sarinda’s got her own YouTube channel. Queen of the Streams — no?”

  “I’m just lucky to have such wonderful fans,” said Sarinda. “I’m nothing without them.”

  Sounding like she memorised that line.

  “Good for you,” said Lauren. “But — what’s the Alex connection?”

  “There isn’t one,” said Sarinda. “I’m here with Nick.”

  “Ah,” said Lauren.

  “Are you and Chris together?” asked Sarinda.

  “God no!” said Lauren, laughing and looking at Chris.

  But he wasn’t laughing.

  “I’m Lauren Dumford. Will’s wife.”

  “Oh,” said the girl. “Will … he’s the—”

  “Our drummer,” Chris added. “Damn good back in the day.”

  Even in the darkness, Lauren could see that the girl’s expression was one of … what? Sympathy?

  Lauren stared at her, not sure what all this meant.

  Was this young thing Nick’s girlfriend too? But more important — was she a threat to the band getting back together?

  An awkward silence. Lauren saw the girl look away, as if seeking something more interesting than these two old folk she had wandered into.

  “Well, um, nice to meet you,” she said, with a quick half-smile, then she turned, and Lauren watched her slip away, heading back to the crowd.

  “Confused?” said Chris.

  “Totally. Seems like she should be studying for her A-levels not partying with a bunch of ageing rockers.”

  Chris nodded, smiling. “Let’s go and get a drink,” he said. “And I’ll explain it all, love.”

  And he put his arm around her shoulder and led her away.

  *

  Alex King slid open the door to the pool house and looked around.

  It took a minute for his eyes to adjust from the bright lights of the terrace outside. A handful of candles girded the pool, their flames flickering, reflections sparking on the water, which steamed gently in the darkness.

  Some chilled Ibiza sounds played on the pool speakers.

  Vintage Café del Mar?

  Sexy stuff.

  The place seemed empty.

  Bliss.

  Right now, everyone’s more interested in getting stoned than having a swim, he thought.

  Normally he’d have been with them. But he’d smoked and snorted enough for tonight.

  He had wanted to keep his wits about him talking about a new tour.

  The goal — getting the band back together.

  Now a quick swim would help clear his head.

  He could just hear the distant beat of the dance music still pounding away back at the house. But this place was so calming.

  Just the thing after going head-to-head with Nick!

  Talk about reliving the old days.

  He looked across at the sauna and steam room — but they were dark.

  He had the pool to himself.

  For now anyway.

  But not for long — he hoped. He dug out his phone and looked at the text he got back at the bar.

  About meeting down here.

  No ID for the number.

  But it was an offer he couldn’t refuse …

  He didn’t know who sent it.

  But he could guess.

  He felt angry. The meeting couldn’t have gone worse. Nick, Will, Carlton — even Chris — it was as if they all hated him?

  Why?

  He’d taken them to the top.

  What did Lennon call it?

  Right to the ‘toppermost of the poppermost’.

  All of them. And now he was ready to take them there again.

  They had no idea. Totally clueless about how hard it had been for him in the old days to keep the band going. To keep turning out the hits.

  How hard it would be now to get the show on the road again.

  And yet, it seemed like they just wanted to undermine him.

  That bastard Nick. He was going to ruin everything. So selfish.

  Letting one bloody song screw up the tour plans …

  Alex took a deep breath and told himself to chill. He’d get it sorted.

  Had to expect a few bumps in the road to revival.

  He swayed slightly.

  Then he went over to one of the loungers and slipped out of his clothes.

  Naked, he turned and walked over to the steps into the shallow end of the pool and walked into the warm water. Then took a deep breath and eased himself under.

  He felt the water wrap around him, womb-like.

  Without the pool lights on, it was like swimming in space, in infinity.

  Almost touching the bottom of the pool, he kicked out for the deep end.

  He’d do a length underwater.

  Just one.

  He’d never gone swimming this stoned before.

  Felt like magic.

  He pulled himself through the water, arms gliding, feet kicking.

  I’m a dolphin, he thought. A porpoise.

  A shark.

  His fingers touched the side of the pool and he started to come up.

  Need air.

  But instead of breaking out of the water — he felt a force on his head pushing him down.

  Not a force — a hand!

  Someone was pushing him back under the water. He kicked and scrabbled with his hands — this was crazy!

  His head came up out of the water — he sucked in air — but then something forced him under again and now he was breathing in water instead of air.

  This was all wrong …

  He was coughing, but as he coughed, more water filled his lungs, he felt panic, trying to figure out what to do.

  How to escape …

  But the grass slowed him down; his arms and legs were moving at half-speed. He had no strength, he breathed again, his lungs now full of water.

  He saw fireworks flashing before his eyes.

  Needing air to breathe so badly.

  Then a moment of peace … quiet.

  This was okay.

  This was how it was supposed to be.

  No more struggle. Just this … drifting.

  He felt the hand leave his head as he drifted down, not up, down, down towards the bottom of the pool into the black, black water.

  4. A Candle in the Wind

  Jack carefully attached a new fly to his fishing line.

  He was far more used to slapping a bloody chunk of chum on the end of big, nasty hook and heading out into the Atlantic when the blues were running.

  This — on the other hand — was quite the delicate operation.

  But, amazingly, he’d gotten quite adept.

  “You see, Riley, the trick is to make sure that the fly, all its bits and pieces, keep the actual hook hidden from the fish.”

  Riley sat at his feet, eyes on Jack’s hands as he wrapped thread around the fly, making sure it held tight.

  Until it finally resembled some kind of flying, insect thing that might make a nice lu
nch for a hungry trout.

  Riley tilted his head.

  Of course, he watched everything that Jack did.

  The very definition of a good dog. Or even more, man’s best friend.

  But then — Jack really knew who was his best friend.

  Funny, how your life can change. Even after you’ve been on the planet for quite a while.

  “There we go, Riley. What do you think?”

  He held the full-fastened fly out for Riley’s inspection.

  And Jack would have sworn that his Springer performed the slightest nod of approval.

  “Good. Glad you like it. Now to the actual casting.”

  For this, Jack got out of his chair, with both the wooden chair and the duckboards of the Grey Goose creaking.

  All a bit creaky.

  Bit like me, he thought.

  Casting was another skill that had taken some time to acquire.

  He had been asked, back on his days on the force, to go on a camping and trout fishing trip in the western mountains.

  But somehow the right time never appeared.

  And besides, why travel so far when the Atlantic — teeming with flounder, porgies and bluefish — was right at your doorstep?

  But here, in Cherringham, with a little help from Sarah’s dad, Michael, he had learned how to give his casting line some slack, bring the rod back and with a sharp flick of the wrist, send the ‘fly’ darting to the surface of the water, just in time — with luck — to catch the eyes of a hungry fish.

  Now, he let it go and watched the fly plop a satisfactory distance away, with — Jack thought — enough of a tiny splash so that it did look like an insect landing.

  But even after a few jigs — jerking the line and the fly back towards the Goose — no response.

  And Jack repeated the mantra that he guessed had probably comforted people who fished for as long as there were water, poles, and sunny mornings.

  “Hmm, maybe they’re not biting today.”

  Riley too had turned to train his eyes on the river. A slight breeze pinned back his ears.

  Time to take him for a good long walk when this attempt at fishing was over.

  Riley loved his romps off the Goose, racing around the surrounding meadow.

  Jack reeled his line in again. And before another cast, reached down and took a sip of his now lukewarm coffee.

  Mornings these days were still chilly so Jack wore a worn, plaid coat with a leather collar. Kept him warm enough.

  “Okay,” he said to his dog. “Let’s give another try. Different spot, eh boy? Like right over …”