by Lily Morton
Mabe has been a revelation to me. When we first met I think she was understandably nervous about another woman working so closely with her husband, and I was afraid that she’d turn out to be a rock star wag like so many of the women that orbit the business. It’s nice to know that we were each wrong, and slowly we’ve been building the foundations of a good friendship. She’s funny and kind and Sid and Charlie are devoted to her. With Mabe comes Viv, and although she’s a lot more raucous she seems to accept me as an extension of Mabe’s life, and we’ve bonded over a love of Mojitos and dark chocolate.
The rehearsals run very differently from anything I’ve encountered before. For a start the boys really get on. They’re like one big family as clichéd as that might sound, and they’re a seamless outfit after so many years together. They’re also incredibly focused. Many a day has passed where Sid would play with just Bram or Bram with Seth if they’re waiting for everyone. According to Sid this is because in the early days they would often have problems with the sound so they like to be prepared and know it blindfold. Similarly Charlie will often sit with me while the rhythm section plays because Sid, or Adolf as Charlie keeps calling him, wants them to be tight in case there’s no lyric cues.
Thinking of Sid my attention shifts to him. He’s standing listening to Bill talk with his arms crossed over his chest and a closed expression on his face. His hair is shiny with health, hitting the base of his neck and he’s wearing a pair of low hanging dark jeans with a navy plaid shirt hanging loose. His shoes are a pair of blue suede Nike trainers and he’s rolled up the sleeves on his shirt showing off the sleeve of tattoos on his right arm. At first glance you would place Charlie as the leader simply because he’s the showman and Sid is quieter. However, appearances can be deceptive because Sid is just as funny with a wry deprecating wit, and he’s unmistakably in the driving seat at the moment. He leads the band rehearsals which is good because bands have a tendency to drift into arguments during rehearsals if no one is in charge. Sid seems ideal for this role as he’s much less impatient than Charlie and he has a quiet authority. He’s also one of the main songwriters so he knows the sound inside out.
As for me they seem happy with the way that things are going, in fact more than happy. I’ve slotted in fairly seamlessly and the new stuff is a dream to sing on. I was encouraged to find that I hadn’t lost my touch because all the areas that I identified as needing my voice are the ones they want filling. I love singing with Charlie as his voice meshes perfectly with mine, and it’s sad but I’m starting to live to see that smile of satisfaction that occasionally crosses Sid’s face when he’s listening to us. He’s a firm task master but he’s extremely generous with praise if he feels that it’s really earned. As if I’ve summoned him with my thoughts someone slides in next to me and I turn to see him watching me. Unlike the other boys who I’ve bonded with, he and I have maintained a cordial distance since I heard him denouncing me as the last woman on earth that he’d like to fuck. He’d tried to explain his comments afterwards but I’m afraid that I wasn’t terribly receptive, and after a couple of attempts he’d given up and we’d lapsed into cool neutrality. Now though he looks cross and slightly ruffled and looking across I see Charlie wind milling his arms about while looking agitatedly at Bill.
“Problems?” I ask nodding towards them.
He sighs. “Just the usual fuckwittery,” he mutters. “I’m not happy about us leaving the choices of venue up to Bill because he’s making some questionable choices.”
“He’s not happy that you’re touring smaller venues is he?” I venture.
“Nope and some of what he’s doing smacks of sabotage, and to top that he’s booked this cheapass bus for the roadies. It’s a total piece of shit and I’m not having it.” I look at him searchingly because the music industry is known for the star tossers that let their staff travel in squalor while they live it up on multi million pound tour buses. “That’s not us,” he says in answer to my look. “Those guys work harder than us so the least we can do is let them have a good night’s sleep.”
“So what have you done?”
“Told Bill to change it,” he says simply.
“Ooh, I bet that went down well.”
“It didn’t and it got worse because he persists in talking to me like I’m Rain Man.”
I laugh out loud and he smiles showing all his white, straight teeth. “I’ll have to start calling you Raymond,” I tease and he throws his head back laughing out loud and I swear I actually dribble. The man is gorgeous when he’s a hot, brooding mess but when he’s laughing he’s a knockout.
“The new stuff’s brilliant,” I volunteer somewhat hesitantly because I really, really don’t want him thinking that I’m trying to kiss his arse, but to my amazement he wrinkles his nose and seesaws his hand. “You don’t like it?”
He shifts slightly. “No, it’s fine. It’s just sometimes it gets a bit uncomfortable singing lyrics that seem to be an ode to my sister in law’s vagina!” We look at each other for a second and simultaneously burst into laughter. Finally he sobers and looks at me and I wait for him to get up and leave like he normally does when we connect, but instead he eases deeper into the settee as if settling down for a bit. He nods to my side where my violin is resting in its case.
“Thinking of doing a bit of busking while you wait?” he teases and I flush in embarrassment.
“I’m not angling to play with you all,” I say quickly and he immediately shakes his head.
“I know that,” he says calmly. “You just bring it in every day and leave with it at night without saying a word about it. Bram reckons you’re a member of the Mafia.”
I laugh. “Merry Christmas you filthy animal,” I say in an American accent.
“Did you just quote ‘Home Alone’? I’m so impressed.”
“You should be.”
“So why do you bring it?”
I’ve noticed before that he’s like a terrier when he’s after something so I shrug. “It’s precious to me and I can’t leave it at home so it travels with me.”
“Why?” He sits forward looking at me intently.
“It’s not that safe at home,” I say slowly, hoping that he won’t ask too many questions because how can I admit that if I leave it at home mum or Molly might sell it. “Like I say it’s very precious to me and I worry if it’s not with me.”
“Why is it so precious?” He asks almost tentatively like he’s getting ready for me to shut down but for some reason I want to tell him. Every day that goes by when I can’t talk about Sam is making me feel like he never existed at all.
“My brother bought it for me.”
“Ah, the guitarist. Wow he must love you,” he whistles. “That’s a vintage Hofner isn’t it?” I look at him in surprise and he shrugs. “I know my instruments and Paul McCartney played a Hofner guitar for years. He must be a good brother because they’re not cheap.”
“He was,” I say sadly. “But he did love me,” and even to my ears that sounds defensive.
He catches the use of the past tense and a look of distress passes over his face. “Is he …?”
I nod. “Yes, he died three years ago.”
“I’m so sorry,” he says simply and there’s a wealth of feeling in his voice and his eyes when he looks over at Charlie, obviously imagining a similar thing happening to him.
“Thank you.” I say this plainly but I mean it. His honest sympathy is a very clean emotion compared to the maelstrom of feelings that whirl around waiting for me when I get home. We’re silent for a minute but it’s a comfortable silence and it stretches until he stirs.
“Are you any good?” He looks at me and then laughs. “You’re good,” he says in an obvious reply to the pride on my face.
“I’m okay,” I say modestly. “I can play most things.”
“Would you play for me?” he asks hesitantly and I look around in consternation.
“Here?”
He nods. There’s no one around as ever
yone seems to have disappeared for the moment. “Come on play me something,” he pleads and I capitulate.
“What do you want to hear?” I open the case and take the violin from its bed of deep blue crushed velvet. I cradle it lovingly feeling the shiny patina of its well-worn wood. I lift up the Pernambuco bow and notch the violin under my chin. He strokes his stubble and I hear the rasp of the harsh hair. His eyes look bluer than ever today.
“Play me something from a film,” he says at last and then snaps his fingers. “How about the music from ‘The Last of the Mohicans’? I watched that last night and the music was heavily violin based. Can you play that?”
I laugh and for a second his eyes seem caught on my lips and I swallow hard. “I used to play that when I was busking. If I dressed really shittily I used to get loads of cash.” He laughs and then sits thinking.
“What about the bit where they kiss for the first time?” I look at him out of the corner of my eye. That obviously made an impact on him and I wonder if beneath that cynicism is a closet romantic.
“Okay, I think that bit is actually called ‘The Kiss’.” I lift the bow and slide it across the strings and the first notes of that beautiful score fill the room. It isn’t a long piece but I’m totally swept into the music, my only awareness the sharpness of his eyes as he leans forward in obvious delight, examining the placement of the bow and the movements of my fingers intently as only a true musician would. Finally I come to the end and as the notes die away we’re left in a heavy silence. He looks at me searchingly and opens his mouth but whatever he was going to say is lost when someone starts clapping behind me. Turning around I smile at Seth as he strides towards us bundled into a leather jacket and battered old jeans with windswept hair and ruddy cheeks.
“Fucking hell that was brilliant,” he laughs, sitting on the arm of the sofa and resting his feet on the cushions. “So much better than Bram’s theory about the Mafia.” I laugh and he smiles. “You’ve got to use that,” he says to Sid and I protest.
“Oh no I wasn’t playing for that reason.”
“I know,” he says simply and it’s obvious that he too knows the joy of playing just to play. “Even so that could shake the fuck up of quite a few songs. It’ll add a new twist to some of the old stuff as well Sid.”
He looks beyond me at Sid who when I turn back is examining me closely as if I’m under a microscope. “How would you feel about that Nell? Would you be comfortable playing in front of crowds?” he asks and for a second I mourn the fact that since he upset me he hasn’t once called me Nelly. It irritates me when other people do it but somehow I yearn for him to do it and give me that teasing connection again.
I smile - if only he knew. “It’s fine,” I say casually. “I enjoy playing for lots of people but only as long as everyone else wants me to do it.”
Sid smiles excitedly. “I can’t wait. Let’s go and find the others and start right away.” Seth laughs and claps him on the back and walks off. Sid goes to follow him but then something stops him and he turns back to me.
“Nell,” he says hesitantly, and I smile at him encouragingly.
“Yes?”
“You said that you taught violin. Do you think you could teach me?” I stare at him in amazement and misinterpreting it he rushes into speech. “I’d pay you of course.”
“You don’t need to pay me. Of course I’ll teach you. I’d love that.” He looks dubious but it’s the truth. After three years of teaching reluctant children, a proper musician will be a treat.
He smiles and his whole face lights up. “We could have an hour before everyone else gets here in the mornings if you like? How about starting tomorrow?” I nod and he goes to walk off and then twirls round to face me again looking nervous. “If you like you could always leave your violin with me.” I look at him surprised and unbelievably touched, but he obviously takes this to mean affront and he shakes his head and holds his hands up. “It was just a thought. I mean I wouldn’t ever leave it here. I’d take it home with me and keep it safe I promise you.”
I stop him. “That would be lovely,” I say simply. “If you don’t mind, it would give me great peace of mind if I knew you were looking after it.”
He smiles at me almost shyly. “Really? You’d trust me with something that precious?”
I smile softly. “Absolutely, I would trust you with anything.” I realise that this is the truth. There is something very steady about him despite his rackety past, and it inspires trust.
He stills for a second and then nods almost clumsily. “You don’t know what that means to me, someone trusting me without demanding proof all the time that I’m okay,” he mutters in a voice so low I’m not sure that I’ve heard correctly. I open my mouth to say God knows what but then he shakes off his mood and claps his hands. “Right I’ll get the others and then we can have a chat and see what we can do with you.” I nod and watch his world class arse disappear out of the room. Sometimes my job is too good to be true.
Later on that evening Sid calls the rehearsal to a close and I sigh in relief easing my way onto a stool in the kitchenette and accepting gratefully the bottle of water that Bram passes to me. I’m knackered and hot and sweaty but my body is zinging. Playing the violin with people that aren’t seven and crotchety is a wonder to me. Playing it with musicians who know what they’re doing elevates it to a miracle. Bram runs his hand through his hair carelessly and leans on the counter exchanging nods with Sid who grabs his own water and then leans against the fridge rotating his shoulders and looking weary. It’s been a tough session this afternoon and a lot of work and my voice is a bit hoarse from all the singing. As if he’s read my mind Sid points his bottle at me. “Make sure you have some hot lemon and honey tonight,” he orders and I grin.
“Whatever you say boss,” I say and he smiles tiredly.
“Boss – that’ll be the day,” he returns dryly and Bram laughs.
A comfortable silence falls broken only by the sound of Charlie laughing in the other room and then Bram stirs. I smile slightly because I’ve noticed that he’s congenitally incapable of sitting in silence. Looking up I catch Sid’s eye and we smirk. “I’ve said it before but you’ve got a fantastic voice Nell,” Bram says. “It sounds effortless and it’s so clear and warm.”
“Thank you,” I smile.
“Though I’ve got to say I can’t see why you’re stuck at the back of the stage when you should be front and centre. You’re too good for that love,” he muses, unaware of my sudden tension but Sid is I think because he breaks in.
“You don’t know much about backing singers do you?” Bram frowns in indignation. These boys would rather die than admit ignorance about anything. “Some of the top singers in the world started out as backing singers.” At Bram’s quizzical face he starts ticking them off on his fingers. “Luther Vandross, Sheryl Crow, Whitney Houston, Dido.” I stare at him amazed because he’s obviously done his homework but Bram smirks.
“You’ve just proved my point though mate. None of those people stayed at the back. They moved to the front if they were good.” He smirks at Sid and I hide a grin. Over the last few weeks I’ve noticed that he and Sid can argue about anything right down to what day it is. They never seem to tire of heated discussions but also never take umbrage with each other.
“Actually,” I break in and both men turn their heads to me. “All backing singers have to be talented. It’s quite an art form and harder work than you think. We have to know chords and put forward ideas. We have to listen for the melody and be able to sing it without being distracted. We enhance the lead singer by making ourselves under sing.” The men nod consideringly and I carry on. “Not all backing singers want front of stage. They’re happy singing at the back. They don’t want the attention, they just want to sing. I definitely don’t want to be a star,” I finish and it’s firm because it’s true. The weight of being a star was too heavy for me before. It nearly broke me and it cost me everything. I’m loving singing again and I love b
eing on the stage, but I don’t think I can go back to the way I was before because it’s just not right for me anymore.
Sid interrupts my musing. “Whatever makes you happy honey,” he says simply and misses Bram’s sharp look at him. “I’ve got your violin. Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
“Oh yes,” I say thankfully. “Thanks for taking it.”
“Why are you taking Nell’s violin?” Bram asks. “Are you considering a second career?”
“Yes, and then I’m going to become a proctologist just so I can examine you.”
“Ouch, burn. Nell get me an ice pack,” howls Bram, clutching his side and I laugh.
“Twat,” says Sid affectionately and then turns back to me. “I’ll bring it tomorrow with my stuff.”
“Okay.” I feel almost reluctant to let him go when we’ve had a real connection today. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“Oh,” he says in recollection. “I’ve just remembered that we won’t need you tomorrow.”
“Why?” I ask faintly.
“We’re doing an interview in the afternoon and Vanessa’s coming tomorrow. The wardrobe manager?” I nod although no one has said anything about it. “Anyway she’s in the middle of shopping for stuff for us for the tour and she wants you to go with her tomorrow to get your stage gear. She wants you with her so she can get a feel for what you like.”
“Really?” I ask in stupefaction. “I thought I’d just be wearing my own clothes.”
“No, not those.” He gives a dismissive laugh. “You really need some new clothes.”
Bram freezes with the look of a man who’d rather be anywhere than here as I visibly tense. Just when we’re getting on he has to open his mouth. I’d almost managed to push away his comment about not wanting to fuck me but maybe this is why. “Is what I wear not good enough for you all?” I ask flatly, feeling horrible. I know I’m poor but despite them being millionaires I’ve never felt it with these people up until now.
