by Tim Roux
“Why?”
“There’s something one of those girls up at the front told them that upset them. They were chatting to them.”
“Oh.”
“Oh indeed, Jake. So we said we would hang around and tell you that they had gone. We can give you a lift home whenever you like. Jade’s taken your car. You can always stay with us if nobody else will have you.”
“Thanks, Dad. I’ve got a set to do first.”
“Oh. Your mum and I were thinking of leaving sooner rather than later. It’s not really our scene. We came to be with everyone else but we are a bit left on our own now.”
“No problems, Dad. I am sure that I can find somebody to give me a lift.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
* * *
Well, when you can’t go back, you have to go on, and I’m on at five-thirty.
“Hello again, everybody. Good to see you all again, well most of you anyway.” I hope Bel and Nancy got that. I haven’t been able to find them either. Weird afternoon.
[chord]
I’ve rejigged the set to say it how I feel it.
“You’ll know this one - some of you.”
[chord]
I’m veering outta here and taking the track
I’m leaving this road and I ain’t coming back
I’m heading out
I’m heading out
Been so long locked in this life
That I’ve forgotten what it’s about.
They took and took I’ve nothing left to give
It’s money in your pocket but it ain’t no way to live
I’m heading out
I’m heading out
Been so long locked in this life
That I’ve forgotten what it’s about.
I’ve seen ‘em laughing at the top of the tree
But they’ve got all they’re gonna get from me
I’m heading out
I’m heading out
Been so long locked in this life
That I’ve forgotten what it’s about.
I play a good set, though I say so myself, especially given the adverse weather conditions of a personal kind.
“Great set, Jake. Good on yer,” greets me from a line of people as I come down off the stage.
I should stay on to watch Jerry, David and Holly but I need to get home and see what I can rescue. It strikes me that I may not have a home, except with Mum and Dad. Back to square one.
I search the crowd for a possible lift and happen to overhear Cilla Wykes from ThisisUll say that she needs to get off.
“Hey, Cilla.”
“Hi Jake. Good job. I enjoyed that.”
“Thanks, Cilla. There isn’t a chance of a lift back to Hull is there?”
“Sure, Jake. Mo and I are just about to leave. We’ve got a couple of the kids with us but if you don’t mind squeezing into the back, I’m sure we can make it somehow.”
In the car, Mo comes out with it. “What was going on during Lesley’s set?”
“Oh, just the usual hacking to pieces by a couple of disappointed groupies.”
“They didn’t sound that disappointed,” chips in Cilla.
“No, I suppose not.”
“Is that why you need a lift home?” Mo continues. Ah, the journalistic eye.
“Something like that.”
Cilla nudges Mo. “Leave him alone, Mo. We could never publish it anyway unless Jake happens to have pictures.”
* * *
They drop me off outside the Victoria Ave flat. “Best of luck,” they all say quite cheerily.
I get inside the hall and there are my suitcases, not as neatly stacked as the last time. I think about going into the flat to see if I can reason with Jade but it’s only going to make matters worse. At least I have a car this time to put the suitcases in. I saw it parked down the road so presumably Jade is here unless she has gone out. I think again about going into the flat and decide against it again. I pick up the first suitcase and lug it down the road to the car.
I am just lifting it into the boot when Stoker comes up to me. “Hi, Stoker, what are you doing here?”
“I came to try to help you out.”
“How?”
“There are a couple of guys looking for you. They caught me on the street up there asking if I had seen you. I don’t know if they knew I knew you. They seemed to be asking everyone.”
“Who are they?”
“Dunno, but they are quite tough looking so I thought you might need help.”
“I’ve been kicked out again.”
“By Jade?”
He doesn’t have to ask why but I tell him anyway. “Same as last time.”
Stoker chuckles. “You don’t seem to be learning, mate. Are you looking for somewhere to stay a few nights?”
“Looks like it.”
“Well, you can stay with me if you like.”
“OK. Thanks.”
* * *
Stoker is from Stoke, thus the nickname. When I first knew him he had red and white stripes on his wall then, for a while, he adopted some neutral colours until Hull City looked like they had a chance of making it into the Premier League whereupon he coated his sitting room in black and amber stripes with replica shirts hanging on the wall. It is a disorientating effect, probably a bit like being in a real jungle.
Stoker lives by himself in a flat down Chanterlands Avenue which isn’t that tidy. He was never much with the ladies which makes him a good antidote to my current situation of having been too much with the ladies. My crash and burn seems to have cheered him up enormously. It suddenly justifies him not having tried too hard to get a girlfriend. Let’s face it, everybody can find a girl if they try hard enough and set their sights low enough. You see what should be hopeless cases everywhere you look if you are judging everything on body sculpture alone and some of them have gorgeous birds. We thought that maybe Stoker was gay, what the closets call “chaste”, but I think he may be merely pure in spirit instead. He has never tried on anything with me but there again I am sort of aggressively hetero.
The phone goes. It’s a ‘Tiger phone’ so it roars rather than rings. Maybe it also tells the metre reader that he’s a blind old git and sings “you’re a load of rubbish” when the guy from the credit card company calls.
“Hullo. Hi, Nick. He’s here. Do you want to talk to him? Jake, it’s Nick for you.”
“Hi, Nick.”
“Hi, Jake.”
“How’s it going?”
“Great. I’ve just heard today that I am going to be a published author.”
“You are?”
“Yeah, for the new one - ‘Broken Dreams’.”
“That’s brilliant.”
“Innit? And how about you?”
“Not so good.”
“So I hear.”
“What do you hear?”
“Well, Cathy phoned Cathy.” Yup, Nick married a Cathy too.
“What did she say?”
“She was not pleased. Said that you had been playing around again.”
“Not strictly true.”
“What’s not strictly true?”
“The ‘again’ bit. It was the first time.”
“Oh, I see. Yeah, I know.”
“And?”
“She never, never, never wants to see or hear from you again.”
“Oh.”
“Which of course means that she does.”
“Nick, you live too much in the world of fiction.”
“Believe me.”
“Any other good news?”
“Yeah, Jade’s brothers are looking for you.”
“What Jade’s brothers? Jade hasn’t got any brothers.”
“That is who they said they were.”
“She’s never mentioned them. Jackie’s never mentioned them.”
“Well, whoever they are, even down the phone it sounded like they wanted to reach out and grab me by the throat. A bit s
pooky.”
“Anything else?”
“Neah, that’s it.”
“Thanks, Nick.”
“No worries, mate. Glad to scare you witless.”
I turn to Stoker. “I didn’t know that Jade had brothers.”
“They must have been the guys I met.”
“What did they look like?”
“Short, wiry, one was a bit darker than Jade, the other was milky white, both of them had tattoos. Looked like they could handle themselves and probably carry knives.”
“Oh.”
“If I was you, mate, I’d chuck out your guitar and put a sub-machine gun in your guitar case and carry it around with you at all times. Luckily, Jade doesn’t know much about me. They are probably dangling old Kevin over the hob threatening to burn his bollocks off if he doesn’t disclose your whereabouts.”
“At least he will get a different plot out of it.”
“Yeah, there is that. Not easy to write a romantic novel without bollocks, though.”
“Dunno. He’s been doing it for years. Oh, by the way, Nick’s new book is going to be published.”
“Blimey, I’m soon going to be the poorest person I know, apart from you.”
“Maybe these ‘brothers’ of Jade are A&R men tracking me down to offer me stretched limousines and all the coke I can sniff.”
“Yeah, right, Jake. I think that the key word here is ‘stretched’, in all its senses.”
And would you know it, my friend Nick Quantrill is the ‘award winning’ Nick Quantrill too. He won the 2006 HarperCollins Crime Tour award for his short story ‘Punishment’.
Chapter 15
Stoker woke me up getting up for work as I lay on his sofa in his sitting room but somehow I fell asleep again until Roger called me at 10:05.
“OK, Jake, where are you?”
I wasn’t that coherent.
“Don’t know that place. Is it anyway near Hull? And where should you be?”
Shit, oh shit.
“Mr. Samuleson is waiting for you in Leonard Street. He’s been waiting quite a while.”
“Could you tell him I’ve been caught up in traffic from seeing another client who overran? I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”
“Lot of traffic in your bed is there? Yeah, I heard about that. Hope she was worth it.”
“Who?”
“Your little road racer.”
“You’ve lost me.”
“More than likely,” he replied with a slight sneer.
I didn’t like the sound of that.
Just up Spring Bank I saw Carly, Jade’s friend. Desperate for news of Jade I pulled in.
“Hiya, Carly.”
“Hullo, shitface.”
“Have you talked to Jade?”
“Sure. Who hasn’t? You did the dirty on her, didn’t you. Right cunt.”
No answer to that.
“Wait till her mum gets you.”
“Yeah, I’m not looking forward to that.”
“And her brothers.”
“Who are these brothers exactly? Never heard of them.”
“Just out, aren’t they?”
“Just out of where?”
“Prison. What do you think?”
“Prison?”
“Yeah, Wakefield maximum security. Armed robbery.”
“Is that why she never mentioned them?”
“She’s mentioning them enough now.”
“I look forward to meeting them.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Well, thanks for that. Must go and see a client.”
“Ta, then.”
By the time I reached Leonard Street, Mr. Samuelson had gone. Mind you, the place was crappy. He did himself quite a favour.
* * *
I am having a quick pint in the Mainbrace at lunchtime and Brian comes up.
“Hullo, Jake. There are a couple of men looking for you.”
“So I’ve heard. Jade’s brothers fresh from GBH. Tough-looking, tattoos ……”
“Not that I noticed. More hip briefcase types without briefcases.”
“Oh.”
“They were here about ten minutes ago. I pointed them towards your work.”
“Oh, great. Thanks, Brian.”
“I hope I did the right thing.”
“Yeah, so do I.”
“Been keeping up payments on your credit cards?”
“Think so.”
“In that case it can only be good news, eh?”
Today. I doubt it.
* * *
George phoned to say that Roger has called me into his office for four o’clock. As I walk in through the glass ‘business transparency - no barriers to entry’ door, the air gets colder by about fifteen degrees. Maureen glances up at me. “Hi, Jake.”
“Hi, Maureen.”
“Roger’s looking for you.”
“He said four.”
“He’s obviously keen to see you. Maybe you’re in for a promotion.”
Not good. Maureen, dear duck, always gets everything arse about tit.
Roger steps out of his office. “Jake. I’m ready now.” Carnivorous.
I sit down.
“So what was this morning all about, Jake?”
“I overslept. Sorry.”
“For any particular reason?”
“Got kicked out by the girlfriend.”
“Jade? She’s pregnant, isn’t she?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s probably the hormones. Pregnant women are a bit funny.”
“Yeah, but more mine than hers. Pregnant men get a bit funny too.”
Roger cracks me a smile of overstated appreciation. “So you’ve cracked that one then, have you, Jake. Nice one. You’ll be rich.”
No comment.
“Well, Jake, whatever your personal situation, we really cannot have it interfering with your work, can we? There are tough times ahead, if the Sun’s staff economist has got it right, and he’s usually more accurate than the rest of those daft buggers. You’ve been doing really well recently. Don’t mess it up. I know you’re a singer and artistic and all that, but leave all the mess at home or wherever, OK?”
“OK.”
“Do you have anywhere to live?”
“Yeah. I’m dossing down with a friend.”
“Get him to buy you a decent alarm clock and to make you tea in the morning.”
“OK.”
Roger winks at me. “No more mistakes, eh?”
I wink back which throws him a bit. Totally, actually. “OK.”
“And don’t call in with morning sickness. Your apology will not be accepted.”
No promotion then.
* * *
I get back to Stoker’s. “I’ve just got to play,” I say.
“Well, go on then.”
“See you later.”
I cut through up Victoria Ave, past my last place of residence, via Princes Avenue and on to Newland Avenue until I reach Zest.
Zest, if you don’t know it, is a very trendy bar which is also a patron of Hull arts. They host many events there, including a weekly poetry evening on behalf of the Hull University Philip Larkin Centre, or something.
I know the people there. I’m a residual customer.
“I’ve just got to play,” I announce. “Is anybody else on tonight?”
“No, Jake. You just go ahead.”
“Do you mind?”
“Not in the least. You just go ahead. I saw you at the Galtres. I’ve never seen you better.”
That’s weird. There I was in total confusion and I was blowing people away. That’s art for you. The more fucked-up you are, the better you get.
I grab a chair and start strangling my six-string with my angst. I’m not pandering to commercialism. Great lyrics, though:
When I first met that old man I was broke and I was beat.
But he picked me up and brushed me down and set me on my feet.
He said: “It’s all there in yo
ur eyes, Jake. And I can read you at a glance,
It’s you and me against the world kid, and they don’t stand a chance.”
When I got my first six-string he’d but these few words to say.
“Always play it from the heart Jake, don’t let doubt get in your way.
And never play for fame or fortune, they’re just luck and circumstance.
It’s you and me against the world, kid. And they don’t stand a chance.”
He said: “It seems to me the enemy’s in every human heart.
Yeah, and what glues us together can be what tears us apart.
If opportunity comes knocking, it won’t call you in advance.
It’s you and me against the world, kid. And they don’t stand a chance.”
Years went by I guess I must have stayed away too long.
Cos when I flew into The Lion Bri the barman said he’d gone.
“But he sent some postcard for you Jake, now was it Prague or Budapest…
Said you and me against the world kid….” I said: “Bri, I know the rest.”
Y’see I knew him off by heart by then
I’d learned my lessons well.
A good friend’s a friend forever,
And the rest can go to hell.
You never lean on anybody
Cos they’ll only let you down
So I raised one last glass to my friend
Then got out of that town.
That old man died and left behind a shotgun and a note.
And when I tried to read his words out loud they got stuck in my throat.
“I’m afraid” it said “I’ve filled your head with rubbish and romance.
Cos alone against the world, kid. I didn’t stand a chance.”
Y’see he proved to me the enemy’s in every human heart.
And no matter how bright your light shines out
Some days will be dark.
I’ve got my back to the horizon now
And I’ll warn you in advance,
It’s just me against the world now
And you don’t stand a chance.
“Blimey, Jake. You are really humming this evening.”
