It’s still only 9.15 pm. While Katie cues up the next song, I take another swig of Ribena. I have a strict ‘no alcohol’ rule to follow. It sucks tonight of all nights but it’s for the best, I can’t afford to slip up on my road to recovery.
It has been a dark, dark time. After my ‘suspected overdose’ – which only I still know was not a suicide attempt in the conventional sense, I was discharged to mum and dad’s care. I was kept on as an outpatient for counselling due to what the consultant felt sure was previously undiagnosed depression. When I met with the counsellor I told her a lot of what had actually happened. It was good to have someone to talk to and I suppose I felt I had nothing more to lose. My P45 had arrived the day before and Richard had put our house up for sale.
Everything I worked for had gone, apart from my family. I have put them through hell.
I was still feeling pretty awful, so my GP did some routine blood tests. It was then that I discovered I had a serious deficiency in my levels of some vitamins, namely B12 and iron. I would need injections of B12 for the foreseeable future. I looked up the condition when I got home and found this:
*****
Vitamin B12 deficiency
This vitamin deficiency can cause severe symptoms of mental illness including:
Mania
Hallucinations
Psychosis
Contact your GP if you believe that a vitamin B12 deficiency could be the cause of symptoms of mental or physical illness.
*****
This was in some ways the hardest part. Mania. Hallucinations. Psychosis.
Joel?
For months my conclusions on what had, or hadn’t happened with Joel, would seesaw wildly between knowing with a certainty that I would stake my life on that it was all real, and feeling like a prize idiot for ever believing for a second that I met and had a relationship with Joel Vine.
The thing was, I had no proof. The t-shirt he’d given me was gone. I’d worn it to the hospital the day I overdosed. Maybe it got cut off me and binned; I never got it back.
And I never found the letter he gave me in Vegas. Richard had thrown out quite a bit of my stuff; mum had gone through some of it too for me. When I went back to the house some weeks later, my search proved fruitless. I didn’t want to ask Richard about it, he’d been so bitter.
So I couldn’t help but look for signs everywhere and anywhere to try to understand. When the band’s Abbey Road music sessions were finally televised I pored over them, pausing the playback to see if there was a glimpse of me, even a reflection of my shadow in a mirror would have been something. But of course, I had been sat out of the way at the back of the room. I couldn’t even see Precious, or Troy, or Marti.
Had any of them been there, or was it all a hallucination? I needed to know.
I swallowed my pride to ask Marcus if he still had the emailed article I’d sent from the hotel. I’d sent it from my Hotmail account, so I knew it wouldn’t prove that I’d been at the hotel but I wanted to read it back and see how it sounded. He’d replied, saying that he never received my article and that he hoped I was better now but I wasn’t to call him or anyone at newspaper, again. There was nothing in my Hotmail’s ‘Sent’ items.
So, on a cold, wet October day, I took what might be my one and only opportunity to find out, for once and for all.
*****
Town Full of Heroes was due back in London for an exclusive gig for Radio Power. I staked my bet on the only hotel I could guess they might be staying at. After all, if I was crazy and it had all been a hallucination, the hotel might not even exist where I remembered it.
Considerate of my promise not to contact Joel again, I had my hair dyed and cut and then I got some glasses. It wouldn’t fool anyone up close as a disguise but it might prevent someone from recognising me at a distance. I told Katie and mum that this was part of my new look for a fresh start and they took it as a positive sign that I was moving on from whatever had happened before.
I told mum I had a counselling appointment. I felt really bad about lying but I saw this opportunity as essential for my rehabilitation. I had to confront the hallucinations, to make myself realise that they were never real.
I got the train into London and a cab to the hotel. The same hotel I’d stayed in with Joel.
It was there, just like before. Jesus. I was still feeling weak and ill, a side effect from the anaemia. I sat on a low wall next to the hotel’s main entrance, under the shelter of a concrete canopy over the frontage.
It began to rain. I tried to come to terms with what it all meant; that the hotel was there as it should be. I pinched myself. Yes, I was definitely awake. This was happening.
I waited, busying my mind with memories from the past year. I remembered how it had all begun. From the moment Joel first kissed me while I was driving home, to the craziness of Vegas and how we finally met in the hospital after my car crash. The first ‘real’ kiss in the taxi, the adjoining rooms, our first night together. Abbey Road. The band.
How could I have imagined something so rich, so detailed? How could I have memories that stirred such a depth of feeling, even now?
Hours passed.
Slowly, oh so slowly, the sun got lower and lower in the sky. People walked by the hotel more quickly as the rain got heavier. The temperature dropped. A stronger wind began to whip up the leaves, the dust and the rain. I pulled my coat more tightly around me.
I checked my watch. Six pm. I was cold and shivering, needing the loo and thinking I must have been mad to have sat there this long. And then something, something perhaps akin to a very small ‘flash’ in my mind, made me look up. Through the glass hotel lobby doors I caught a glimpse. A figure crossed from one side of the lobby to the other in no more than one or two seconds. And I knew. I just knew it was Joel.
My heart dropped like a stone in my chest. My eyes stayed locked on the lobby doors, as adrenaline flooded my body preparing my legs to flee.
I jumped out of my skin when a hand lightly touched my shoulder. “Have you got a light?”
“Jesus! You made me jump!” I turned to see a tall, bearded bloke, holding up a cigarette and a shaking his lighter at me.
“Mine’s run out of gas.” He drawled.
“Oh. Err. No, sorry, I don’t smoke.”
“You waiting for the Heroes?”
I didn’t know what to say. I looked down at my hands. He’s American.
“You might get lucky, sometimes they sign for fans if there aren’t too many hanging about. And right now there’s only you.”
I needed to understand who he was. “Are you with them?”
“Well yeah,” he seemed embarrassed to admit it. “I’m just a hanger-on, a friend of a friend. I’m along for the ride. Never been to England before. There’s nowhere to smoke in this hotel, so I’m taking the air outside before I grab a lift to the gig.”
“I’m just waiting for someone. Not the band. I mean, I’ve heard of them of course.”
“You’ve been out here a while.”
“Yes.”
“It’s OK to be a fan you know; I meet them all the time. You don’t have to be embarrassed. I’m Jack,” he added, holding out his hand.
“Katie, I’m Katie,” I lied and shook his.
“Pleased to meet you, Katie.” He shook my hand. “I’m gonna go get another lighter from the bar.
They will be out in a minute, I can’t promise you’ll get an autograph now, ‘cos the cars are about to arrive, any second. But they’ll probably be back at about 11 o’ clock. If you’re staying around here you could come back then?”
“I think I’ll be gone by then but thank you,” I added. I was getting nervous that Joel would come out of the lobby and see me talking to Jack.
“See you in a minute,” he said with a smile and sauntered back inside.
I sat on the low wall, in a position that was out of the line of sight from the lobby doors, though I could still see them.
Just a minute passed
before three silver people-carriers swept down the road, kicking up spray onto the pavement. They pulled up in front of the entrance. Two of the drivers got out. Immediately, six uniformed doormen emerged from the hotel. They lined the walkway from the lobby to the cars, masking any view that anyone passing might have.
It happened quicker than I could have believed. A well-practiced routine was played out in front of my eyes. The rear passenger side doors of two of the three cars were opened as the members of the band appeared at the lobby doors.
Out they came, Joel third in line in his white shirt and blue jeans. I claimed a brief glimpse of his face as he passed, before he disappeared from my view into one of the waiting vehicles. With the occupants safely inside, the doors were closed and the blacked out windows shielded my view. There was nothing more to see, it was over in seconds.
I looked away so Joel wouldn’t be able to see my face directly if he looked. A tear rolled down my cheek as the wind whipped up the leaves once more and the rain hammered sideways under the hotel canopy.
I felt angry, frustrated. What had I come here for, anyway? How stupid was I to stir all this up again? What exactly had I gained by seeing him, fleetingly? Nothing. I didn’t even think that the band being at this hotel, or this hotel even existing, vindicated me. It wasn’t proof. I could still be crazy. Some crazy stalker – that’s certainly what I looked like right now.
The cars drove away. The doormen slipped back into the hotel once more. I took a deep breath to calm myself.
Out came Jack with his cigarette and a new lighter. He sparked up quickly, noticing the car was already there. I wondered if that was the one he would take.
“They were a bit hurried,” he explained. “But they said they might sign later. As there’s only one of you out here there’s a very good chance.”
“That’s very kind,” I answered, I couldn’t be bothered to argue about why I was there any more.
I quickly wiped my tears away before he could realise I’d been crying. He was busy taking a series of deep drags on his cigarette. I watched the smoke drift away in the rain. The third cab was still waiting. Behind Jack, I saw the driver get out and open the rear passenger door. That was when I saw Marti and Nina, walking out of the lobby directly to the car, deep in conversation.
And even though I had cut and dyed my hair and had my new glasses on, Marti looked back as he opened the door for Nina to get into the cab and his eyes bored straight into mine. I felt sure I saw recognition in his sneer.
“This is no time for chatting up groupies,” he yelled at Jack, who dropped his cigarette, grinded it into the wet pavement and got into the car. The door was slammed shut, the car drove away.
The discarded cigarette butt was still glowing a little, despite the rain. And then it went out.
*****
I did not intend to stay. Staying would be stupid. Well just being there was already stupid. All I can say by way of explanation was that I was frozen to the spot where I’d seen him last, in two minds about what to do.
If I waited until 11 pm when he got back, I could see him one more time. However, if Jack was there and called the band over for an autograph, someone – worst of all Joel - would recognise me and I would have broken my promise to him from all those months before.
But what was I here for, if not for proof? I realised that Marti recognising me was the best option. If Marti recognised me, it was likely that he would encourage me to leave so as not to cause him further irritation. After all, my time with Joel had caused him to act unprofessionally, to put Marti in an awkward position, to be late to the recording studio, to go AWOL the night of the car crash. Yes, the more I considered my options, the more that annoying Marti seemed to be the way to resolution.
So there it was. I would stay and wait for the band to return.
I had at least three hours to kill and I desperately needed some to eat and drink.
I walked away from the hotel, down three or four streets until I came across a coffee shop. I took a seat by the window. It was wonderful to be in the warm, with a hot cup of tea and biscotti. I used the toilet and it felt good to wash my hands and brush my hair. I reapplied my lipstick and washed the raindrop stains from my new glasses, drying them under the hand-dryer.
Seated back by the window I noticed the sign on the door which said the coffee shop would close at 9pm. So I knew I would have two more hours after that in the cold. I grabbed a newspaper from the abandoned table next to mine and settled in.
At 9 o’ clock, warmed by two teas and a hot chocolate, with my rumbling stomach abated by biscotti and a blueberry muffin, I left the warmth and light of the coffee shop and walked back through the dark to the hotel. The rain-lashed pavements reflected coloured lights; white, red and yellow from the street lamps and passing cars. I reached the hotel.
I knew I could have just walked inside. I knew I should. But something stopped me. I didn’t belong inside. I was not a guest, nor was I part of their five-star world. I felt that the staff would know I didn’t belong and that – if Joel arrived back and saw me seated in the lobby or drinking cocktails in the bar – it would place me back in his world. I suppose I was worried he might think I was there to rekindle our affair. That was something I had promised not to do.
Through the glass lobby doors, I could see light and warmth, which suggested to me the sounds of guests drinking, talking and laughing, though no noise escaped. Our here in the street, the rain still fell and the lights of passing taxis reflected in the puddles on the street. I sat back on the low wall, the texture of the bricks familiar to me now but colder beneath my bottom than earlier.
I was so very tired. My legs and arms ached. My hands hurt. I felt quite nauseous. My mobile started to vibrate in my pocket. I answered it – mum.
“Where are you love? I was worried!”
“Sorry mum, I met up with a friend and we are just having a drink.” I lied easily, having prepared for this eventuality.
“Well when will you be home?” She sounded unsure; I could hear it in her voice, a little bit of doubt. I should have called her, that way she wouldn’t have had time to worry.
“I’ll be quite late mum; we’re having a good old catch up. I’m so sorry I didn’t ring you sooner but we were having such a nice time. You remember Elaine from college?”
“Oh, yes, she’s a lovely girl!” I could hear mum relax. “Say hello to her from me! What’s she doing now? Hairdressing, wasn’t it?”
A car horn blared at the top of the street.
“Got to go mum, we’re just going for a drink, be home later, don’t wait up!” I hung up before she could reply.
I put my phone away, tucked my hands into my pockets and tried to hug myself warm. At ten past ten a cab pulled up. The expectation was great, would this be the moment?
Jack got out with a girl, I think she’s a backing singer, I recognised her. Jack didn’t look over towards me until the girl had stopped talking. He was very attentive to her. I took a guess that he fancied her. She was twirling her hair around her finger, like she was reeling him in. He pulled her towards him and they kissed.
Lucky boy, I think. Boy meets girl, boy likes girl, boy gets the girl. That’s the way it should be. Simple.
She pulled away from him; I pretended I hadn’t been looking. A doorman with an umbrella strode out to meet them. She stepped under the umbrella but Jack did not. The girl and the doorman walked quickly towards the doors and disappeared inside.
“Hey you,” says Jack, “Cigarette?”
“I don’t smoke, remember?” I mumbled.
He wandered over.
“So you stayed?”
“I stayed.”
“Still want an autograph?”
“No I’m OK thanks. Just waiting.”
“You’ve been out here for, what? Four hours?”
“Something like that,” I say, thinking it’s more like nine hours but I am too ashamed to admit it.
“So are you sure he’s coming?
”
“Pretty sure.”
Jack is quiet for a while as he takes a few deep inhales and exhales. “You’re pretty weird.” he states, matter of fact.
“You don’t know the half of it,” I added wryly.
He stayed there while he smoked, right next to me and he said nothing. I think he was wondering if I was a nutter. I can understand that.
“Well Katie, you make sure you go home some time tonight.”
“My last train is in 30 minutes,” I said, looking at my watch. “I can only stay a few more minutes.”
“What will you do if you miss it?”
Missing it, hmm. This was all stupid enough without missing my train. As I considered the prospect of walking on my tired feet to the station, which might be deserted apart from the odd hooker, tramp or junkie and sitting on a cold train where I would be at the mercy of any passing gang of drugged up crazies… well another idea came to mind.
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