The Worst of Me

by Lisa J. Hobman

  Chris scrunched his face, shook his head and held his hands up. “Whoa, hey, no, no, not at all, mate. Things have clearly been affecting you. You were really pale and shook up after that psycho knob attacked you. No one thinks you’re a wuss so get that out of your head, okay? But ... you were out for a while, though. You hit your head. It was quite nasty, mate. You’ve had stitches.”

  Den chuckled. “Yes, you’ll have a scar there now. The girls will love that. Tattoos and scars. It’ll make you seem all tough and rugged.”

  “Seriously, Den. Shut the fuck up, mate,” Chris insisted through gritted teeth.

  “I was just saying.” Den pouted and skulked out of the room.

  Taking as deep a breath as he could Nick turned his attention back to his best mate. “What happens now? A-about the tour, I mean?”

  Chris’s brow crumpled in concern. “I ... I think you need to take a couple of weeks off to recuperate, eh? Den’s spoken to Blue Demon and they’ve postponed the German leg of the tour. It’s going to be all over the press that you collapsed, dude. You need to just go to your flat in London and stay there for a while. Give your mum a call and get her to come down from Yorkshire and stay with you for a bit.” He smiled. “She’ll love that. Getting to look after her wonderful little Nicky while he gets well.” He ruffled Nick’s hair.

  Nick winced as Chris caught the place on his head where he’d collided with the floor. “I’m not ill, Chris. I had a funny turn, that’s all. I’ll be all right by tomorrow.”

  Chris rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Nick. Look, the doc has said that this episode was brought on by severe stress. The last thing you need is to be confronted with screaming fans and bitter boyfriends again. Maybe a little time off just to chill is what you need, eh? Couple weeks tops and you’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

  Nick contemplated his friend’s words. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe you’re right, Chris. Maybe you’re right.”

  ♫♫♫

  Nick sat on the black leather sofa in his penthouse apartment which overlooked the city of London. His mum was in the clinical open plan kitchen area making him tuna melts for lunch and singing to herself.

  He observed his mum with a smile. This was all a far cry from the semi-detached house in the Yorkshire village where he had grown up. Back then it was family photos and mass produced art work adorning the walls of the modest family home. These days he had original Julian Forster pieces on display. An expensive and exclusive interior designer had chosen the furniture and everything else when he had bought the place.

  Yep…a very far cry.

  Following numerous tests and feeling rather like a lab rat under experimentation, Nick had been released from hospital. This happened four days after ‘the incident’ and he’d been holed up here with his mum ever since.

  She said she didn’t mind. And that she was glad to get some quality time with her son just as Chris had predicted. Her younger daughter, Natalie, was at Leeds Uni. and so the house was rather empty, she’d said.

  Nick’s dad had left them for a younger woman and a new life when Nick was just a teenager. He had tried to keep contact with his dad for a while but it became very clear rather quickly that the man had moved on and no longer had interest in his children. And so it ended and Nick did his best to move on just like his dad had. His decision was made and he’d chosen his path. Nick wanted nothing more to do with him.

  Nick was at day three of his ‘imprisonment’. Everything was getting on his nerves now. From the way his mum mollycoddled him to the way the clock on the wall ticked too loudly. “Stir crazy” was the phrase that came to mind. Even though he had been given the all clear by the hospital, the band’s management—i.e., Den—had insisted he take some time off to concentrate on getting better, so the band’s vacation time had been brought forward.

  “There you go, sweetheart.” His mum handed him a plate piled high with food. Tuna melts had been his favourite since childhood and no one made them quite like his mum.

  He gazed up at her with a grin. “Mum, I really appreciate this but you don’t have to stay, you know? I’ll be fine. I’m back to normal now.”

  She shook her head. “Sweetheart, you’ve been through such a lot. You need to be looked after, darling. That’s what mums do.” She patted his arm and bent to kiss his head lovingly. “That scar’s not clearing either, is it?”

  Nick touched the area on his head where the stitches were still in place. “No. It’ll be a while after the stitches are removed before it can heal properly. But they’ve said I’ll have a permanent scar.” He munched on his sandwich as his mum sat beside him and switched on daytime TV.

  At three o’clock she went out to get more groceries and Nick tried to read a book that Chris had lent him. It was about a sexy blonde detective who was trying to solve a murder at a holiday resort but she ends up falling in love/lust with the killer. Lots of sex, blood and gore, not necessarily in that order. But it wasn’t Nick’s kind of thing. He couldn’t focus and began to pace up and down the apartment.

  He stood for a while looking at the pretty expanse of park across the road with its lush green trees and dog walkers with their furry friends. That was it. He needed to get outside. He slid open the door and stepped onto the balcony inhaling lungs-full of the not-so-fresh London air and stretching his arms above his head. Down to the left he could see a small group of paparazzi waiting by the gated entrance to the apartment block. Haha, you guys have got no chance. The security here is gooooood. He chuckled to himself thinking of the number of hours these people wasted following him around and waiting for him to do something remotely newsworthy. He laughed and shook his head as he remembered the most ridiculous headline that had been published about him.

  NICK DACRE USES SMALL LONDON SALON FOR HAIR CUT

  Where the hell else would he go for a trim? Vegas? Pulling in another breath of air he began to cough. Urgh ... Perhaps London air isn’t the best thing for me right now, he pondered as the phone began to ring.

  He stepped back inside and warily answered. “Hello?” He didn’t give his name. There had been several incidents where fans had managed to acquire his number and had hounded him so much the number had been changed around five times recently.

  Instead of some crazed fan a familiar voice greeted him down the line. “Nick, mate! How you doing? Is your mum looking after you well? I’m guessing you’ve seen the news? They’re saying it was all drugs related. I’m so sorry, dude. Den has released a statement to let everyone know that it was nothing to do with drugs but you know how rumours go.” Chris had called every other day without fail. Today was no different.

  “Hi, Chris. Yeah, I saw that. It pisses me off. I’ve never fucking touched drugs. Not interested in them in any way. Tell you what, Chris, I’m fed up. I want some air. Some real air. I’m sick of staring at the walls in this place. I feel claustrophobic in here.” He could hear the desperation in his own voice. He was totally strung out and ready for climbing the walls.

  “Hey, hey…look it won’t be for much longer. Another week or so and we can get back on the road. The Germany tour will be kick ass, mate. Think of the girls.” Chris whistled down the line. “As much pussy as you could wish for. Beer, booze and birds, mate. That’s what you need. And the fans ... ”

  Nick’s stomach somersaulted and his heart began to pound again. He sat down before he fell. “C-Chris…I can’t…I – I…don’t want—”

  Fortunately his mum walked in just as another panic attack washed over him.

  She dropped her shopping bags and rushed over to him, taking the phone from his hand. “Hello? Is this Chris? Hi, love, it’s Kay. Look, he’s having an attack. I’ll call you back.” She hung up and dropped the phone onto the sofa. She rushed to grab a paper bag from the drawer in the black contemporary dresser by the wall and handed it to Nick. “Breathe, Nick…like the doctor showed you. Steady your breathing…shhh…that’s it…nice and slow…calm…calm.” She crouched before him and stroked his h
air in a soothing gesture.

  With wide eyes Nick stared at her as he slowly calmed down and the tension began to leave his body. His mum rubbed his arms as her gaze remained fixed on him, the worry evident on her ageing face.

  Eventually he fell back against the sofa and closed his eyes tight. Tears of fear and frustration trickled down his unshaven face.

  His mum moved to sit beside him. “Right, Nicky, I need to know what triggered it this time.” He opened his eyes and was met by his mother’s stern expression. She must have figured out that something Chris had said had caused this but clearly needed to know the truth from Nick in order that he could acknowledge what was going on.

  Hesitantly he rifled his thoughts. “He…he…Chris…talked about going back on the road…and the fans ... the crowds. I…I can’t do it, Mum. I can’t. Not yet. I need to get away…I need to be normal ... even if it’s just for a little while. I need wide spaces, fresh air. To be able to breathe again.”

  Leaning toward him his mum wiped the tears from his cheeks and cupped his face. “No one…and, Nick, I mean no one…will be making you do anything you’re not ready to do. Do you understand me?” He nodded, feeling a little bit like a kid again but loving how his mum took care of him and defended him. It didn’t matter that she was a petite five feet five inches tall. She was feisty enough to make up for her lack of physical stature. “I’ll see to it. I’m not having you ending up dying of a heart attack through stress. Not now and not ever. Not while I have breath in my body, Nicholas Dacre.” She stared out of the window. “We just need a plan. We need to come up with some way of getting you away without anyone knowing. Just so you can get yourself together and make some decisions without all the pressure. Leave it with me.” She stood with determination and marched over to the fridge. She returned moments later with a bottle of water and handed it to Nick. The cogs and wheels turning in her mind were almost audible as she stood there, one hand on her chin and the other on her hip. Never in his twenty-eight years had Nick respected or loved his mum more than right then, in that moment.

  Chapter Three

  Nick

  “Nick. Nick, wake up, sweetheart. Nick!”

  He awoke with a start to find his mum standing by his bed. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes he glanced over at his clock. Three o’clock in the morning?!

  Panic gripped him and he sat bolt upright.. “What’s wrong? What’s happened, Mum?”

  “I know this is a tad unorthodox but I’ve come up with a plan. I don’t know if you’ll agree or if you’ll think I’ve gone a bit mental but just hear me out.” She sat on his oversized bed.

  He yawned. “Mum, it’s three o’clock. Can’t this wait ‘til morning?” He glanced at his clock again. “Well, later in the morning at least?” he moaned, rather like a sulky teenager.

  She shook her head with an air of dogged determination. “No. No, it can’t and won’t wait. We have to act now. You have to leave now if you’re going.”

  His sleep addled brain struggled to function at such an early hour. “Wait…what? What are you on about, Mum? Have you been at the sherry?”

  Tapping his arm lightly she laughed. “Oy! Cheeky. No, listen. If you tell the band you can’t do the whole rock star thing anymore they’ll go crazy. They won’t let you leave London. You have a contract, remember? I reckon what you need to do is, you just get in the Porsche and head north. Anywhere…but just go north.”

  Her insistence on his direction of travel—out of everything involved in her hair-brained plan—was what foxed him the most. “Why north? It’s bloody cold up there. I should know I lived there my whole childhood for goodness sake. Why not the Bahamas or…or Florida?”

  Sheer exasperation spread across her face. “Don’t be daft, Nick. You’d be spotted easily at an airport. There’d be fans taking photos and before you know it you’d be all over that Chirpy-Cheep-Cheep thing!”

  Nick stifled his laugh, badly. “It’s called Twitter, Mum.” He couldn’t help being amused by his mum’s sudden change from late middle aged house-wife to Secret Service agent. It was like she was helping him escape the mob. He rubbed his face to cover his amusement. “Mum…this is ridiculous.” Laying back down he covered his face with his tattooed arm.

  She tugged at his wrist. “Nick, seriously…you need to get away. You said so yourself. I mean, away far enough to think without any pressure. There’s too much of it here. If you really are thinking of getting out of show-business then you need to think it through with a clear head. I’m trying to help, Nicky.” She stood to leave. “But it’s your decision. And it’s one you’ll have to make right now. The paparazzi and fans have gone. The coast is clear but only for now. You could go unnoticed but only right now.”

  She was completely serious, he realised to his amazement. This was the plan she had concocted to stop her son from dying of a stress-induced heart attack? The more he thought about it, the more it made perfect sense.

  North.

  He could go North. But he was known too well in Yorkshire. He’d have to go even farther North. North to somewhere people might not recognise him. Somewhere people wouldn’t give a crap about him ...

  Butterflies began to dance in his stomach. “I…I’d have to pack a few things—”

  “Done.”

  “I’d need my car filling up with fuel—”

  “Done.”

  “Bloody hell, Mum. Have you thought of everything?”

  She grinned. “Yep. There’s a flask, and a lunch box with sandwiches in on the counter top in the kitchen too.” Nick couldn’t help smirking and shaking his head. His mum frowned. “What?” She stood there, hands on hips giving him that look he used to get when he’d been naughty as a little boy.

  “Nothing.” He sniggered “Where’s my pen that turns into a phone and my poison darts? Oh, and does my car now have the ability to fly…and…and should I start calling you ‘Q’?!” His shoulders shuddered and then he burst out laughing.

  She huffed. “Right, Nicholas Dacre, that’s enough of your cheek. I have, however, put your big woolly hat and sunglasses with your jacket so you can tuck your hair away and hide those eyes of yours. So even if you don’t have the James Bond gadgets you do have a bit of a disguise.” She winked at him.

  “Oh, Mum. Have I told you how much I love you?”

  A wide smile spread across the petite woman’s face again. “Not for a day or so, Son, no.”

  “Well…I love you to the moon and back, Mum.”

  She smiled. “You haven’t said that since you were about ten.” She leaned in and touched his cheek. Suddenly emotion tightened his throat and he tried to clear it. Taking the signal to vacate his room his mum left and closed the door behind her.

  Typical Mum.

  He felt like some kind of fugitive on the run from the law. How exciting. After his mum left the room he jumped out of bed, ran a brush through his bird’s nest hair, pulled on his jeans, cowboy boots—they were meant to be ironic—and a long sleeved T-shirt. It was February so it was damned cold.

  Grabbing his biker jacket and phone he went into the open plan living area taking his guitar with him. In the lounge Nick’s mum paced the floor.

  She thrust his lunch bag into his hand and wheeled his case over to him. “There you are, Son. You’re good to go. Let me know where you are whenever you find somewhere to stay. Get as far away from London by road as you can, okay?”

  Nick scratched at his chin as the reality of what he was about to do dawned on him. “Don’t you think this is all a bit melodramatic, Mum? What will you tell Chris? You know he won’t let it go. And more’s the point what will I tell Chris? He’s bound to call me and he’ll want to know where the hell I am! I could just ask for a bit longer. I’m sure—”

  “No, no…that won’t do. They’ll just bother you until you agree to go back and then you’ll be back to square one. Look, I’ll just say that you left in the middle of the night, leaving a note to say you needed time to think. If Chris calls you
say the same. Don’t tell him where you are. Because you know very well if you do he’ll just come after you.”

  Nick stifled a nervous giggle. “Anyone would think I’d committed murder or something.” The whole crazy situation his mother had created was like something out of a movie. His laughter increased as a kind of hysteria began to settle in.

  She stroked his arm lovingly. “Well, maybe it’s a bit OTT but I’m just trying to protect you.”

  His eyes softened and the laughing subsided. He hugged her tight. “Thanks, Mum. For everything. For staying here, cooking, cleaning, helping me through my panic. I ... I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He kissed the top of her head.

  “I don’t want to lose you, Nick. Any mother would do the same to protect her child. Because regardless of your age that’s what you’ll always be. This panic thing has really scared me. I never thought you were cut out to be a rock star. Not my little Nicky. But you’ve enjoyed it up to now and so I’ve supported you. But maybe it’s time for a change, eh?”

  The earnest expression in her eyes tugged at his heart. “This is only temporary, Mum. I’m sure I’ll get over it. I’ve got to. I can’t let the lads down. And the fans. I have obligations. A contract and all the legal shit that goes with it. Those things are watertight and I could end up in really deep water if I breach it.” His mum closed her eyes and she shook her head. He knew she didn’t agree. She could see a way out of most things if it meant her son would be healthy and happy but Nick knew different. “How long do you think I should stay away?” He suddenly felt a little out of control.

  She reached up and touched his cheek. “As long as you need to, darling.” Her lip began to quiver. “Now go on! Get on your way. The paps will be back soon and then it’ll be too late.” He hugged her again and headed for the door. He turned to give his mum one last squeeze before leaving his—to all intents and purposes—prison cell and stepped into the elevator that led to the car park. Looking back he waved once more at his mum who stood there red faced and obviously fighting back her emotions.