Mark Means Tested (Deff Book 3)

by Danni Fall

  "We don't have to divide up the week. I don't mind if you're here at the same time as I am, not unless you do."

  "I don't know which option's worse, knowing where you are and what you're doing or not having a clue and wondering."

  "Wonder about me a lot, do you?"

  Simon fidgets with the paper. "Fine, we don't need to pick days, just don't go inviting the Oes as well."

  "Oh, I bet they're gagging to get in on this action."

  "Joe'd try and tidy up."

  "You really planning to try your hand at song writing while you're here? Sure you can tear yourself away from all the shagging?"

  "That joke doesn't work now I've written a hit song and you've written a B side."

  Mark keeps smirking. "Then maybe, if you think you can keep your cock in your pants for five minutes, we could try writing more stuff together. You know, like we used to, 'cept now you actually know what you're doing. There'll be no stopping us."

  "Fine, I'll show you how it's done, if you ask me nicely," Simon says.

  "You're a cocky cunt today, aren't you?"

  Simon holds the article up by his face and pulls a similarly sultry look. "Can you blame me?"

  "Don't make me regret my decision, Sharp. C'mon, we should go back to HQ before we get a telling off from Will and co."

  "What about Bermondsey?"

  "What about it?"

  "Don't you want to call round Chris's place while we're in town?" Simon asks. "When did you last see him?"

  "I'm touched you're so worried about my social life."

  "You gonna answer?"

  "It's fine," Mark says. "I can visit him another time, he's not going anywhere. Come on, you might not have convinced that girl to go for a spin in your sex machine but I'm willing and raring to go."

  "Stop talking."

  "I'll even drive you. You can put your feet up and relax. Or you can try anyway, there's fat chance of you stretching out with legs that long."

  "If I agree will you shut up?"

  "Might do. Give it a go and find out."

  Simon tosses him the keys.

  "Did you notice the Audi's got a CD player?" Simon asks while Mark locks up.

  Mark whistles. "You'll be bragging about the hubcaps next."

  "I'm not bragging," Simon says as they get in. "I'm saying we're listening to the CD I burned on the way home."

  "Is that intended as a threat?"

  "You decide, the CD's in the door."

  Mark fishes it out and reads Simon's handwritten track list, predictably full of synth pop. He gives Simon a despairing look. "Do you enjoy punishing me?"

  "Well we're listening to something. You got a CD on you?"

  "I've not got my emergency Motown, no. I could sing some Diana, if you'd like."

  "No thanks," Simon says. "I could, though."

  Mark starts the car. "Gonna give us a bit of I Second That Emotion?"

  "That's a duet."

  "Since when's that stopped the great Simon Sharp?"

  Mark starts humming the intro croakily and off key. When Simon joins in, Mark's chest tightens.

  "Keep your eyes on the road," Simon interrupts himself to say.

  Mark smiles. "Yes boss."

  ***

  Zoe jabs a finger at Mark when he opens the door to HQ. "Mark, Chris is-"

  He points back at her. "Me first. You'll be pleased to hear that my plan has come off."

  "And what is your plan?" Joe asks.

  "Playing Westminster Union on Friday for old time's sake." Zoe makes to cut across him so he wags his raised finger. "Don't pooh-pooh it just cause it's my idea, Laddo's on board too."

  "I never said that," Simon protests. "You're putting words in my mouth."

  "But you didn't say no neither. Stop making me look bad."

  "Why do you want to play the Union?" Zoe asks.

  "Why not? Don't you want to?"

  "I'm agnostic about it. I don't get why this idea made you zone out during an interview and run off at the first opportunity."

  "Spare yourself the trouble of psychoanalysing me."

  "Did the Union offer to pay?" Joe asks.

  "Enough money to fill the tank on Simon's Audi, yeah. More than they ever paid the Bastards."

  "Not that that's hard," Zoe says. "Plan on shagging anyone in the toilets?"

  "I never plan on it, it just sort of happens." He glances at Joe. "You on board? It'll be fun, nice and nostalgic."

  "How much are they charging for entry?"

  "Nothing, they're trusting that people will be thirsty."

  The Oes have another silent exchange before Zoe sighs. "Fine. It's been ages since we played a gig, it'll make a change from interviews and meetings."

  "Thought you liked meetings, Welly? Must remind you of The City."

  "Very funny. If that's agreed, can you stop interrupting and let me talk?"

  "Go on then, what's got you and Joe looking so ruffled?"

  "Go upstairs," she instructs.

  "Because you've bought me a lovely pressie and left it up there?"

  "Something like that," Zoe says wryly.

  "You know what this is about, Sharp?"

  "No clue. Is whatever's upstairs for Mark or both of us?" Simon asks.

  "Definitely just for Mark," Zoe says and Mark's heart sinks.

  He takes the stairs slowly, ears pricked. Chris is sat on his bed, watching him expectantly.

  Mark rapidly closes the door behind him. "Did I take a wrong turn on the way up here?" he asks. "Am I in Bermondsey?"

  "It's been a while since I've heard from you."

  "Wasn't aware you had my address."

  "I didn't, I asked Zoe for it."

  "Right," Mark says.

  "I haven't heard from you in days."

  "You said you didn't want to talk to me, I took that to mean you didn't want to talk to me."

  "I'm sorry," Chris says calmly.

  "You're sorry?"

  "I shouldn't have surprised you like that, I should have asked if you wanted to go."

  "Right."

  "Maybe one day you'll be ready for something like that."

  Chris's tone invites Mark to agree. He sits on Simon's bed and toys with his sovereign ring instead. He twists it on his finger while pointedly ignoring Chris's attention trained on him.

  "How have you been?" Chris asks.

  "Fine."

  "Are you going to say more than one word at a time?"

  "Maybe."

  They share a warped smile.

  "Let's pretend it never happened," Mark says.

  "The visit to the sauna, you mean?"

  "Sauna? What sauna? Can't say I've ever been to a sauna."

  Chris grimaces. "I'm not going to rewind and ignore swathes of our relationship, Mark."

  The name somehow jars more than hearing himself called Mike.

  "Okay."

  "I thought you said you'd say more than one word at a time?"

  "I said maybe I would."

  "I heard your interview on the radio," Chris says. "You didn't say much there either."

  "I'm a man of few words."

  "Hardly. I keep hearing your song."

  "Sick of it yet?" Mark asks, trying to sound blasé.

  "Not yet. How's it selling?"

  "Very well. We've got interviews and photoshoots and negotiations with record labels lined up. It's all kicking off, that's why I've not been round."

  "Don't lie, I'm not stupid," Chris says. Mark goes back to fiddling with the ring. "I'm glad things are going well for you."

  "Thanks." Mark considers his options before forcing himself on. "We've got a gig in a couple of days, to celebrate how well the single's doing."

  "Where are you playing?"

  "Westminster Union."

  "As in the student union?" Chris asks.

  "Yeah, we used to play there a lot. It's a final hurrah before the big time beckons us."

  "Sounds like fun."

  Chris's silent
expectation weighs down on Mark. He curls his fingers, nails digging into his palm. "You could come see us, if you like."

  "Do you want me to?"

  "Do you want to?" Mark counters.

  "There's no point in me going if you're going to ask me to forget about it later."

  "This is different to your surprise. This is me, doing what I do for a living."

  "I guess so. I've only seen you play once before now."

  "Then you're overdue seeing us again."

  Chris looks at Mark's fingers as they fiddle with Simon's ring. "Where is Simon? Only Zoe and Joe were here when I arrived."

  "Dunno," Mark lies. "I'm not his keeper. Why, you hoping to knock about together?"

  Chris's expression is unreadable. "I want to see you again. I'll come to the gig."

  Mark wills himself to sit next to him but feels leaden. He settles for smiling. "Then here's to a night you'll never forget."

  "I'll be allowed to remember it?"

  "I insist that you do."

  "Can I bring some friends with me?" Chris asks. Something about his tone says he already knows Mark's answer.

  "Not sure we're gonna have room, tickets are selling like hotcakes."

  "Then I want to have a drink with you, afterwards. Not in Bermondsey."

  "But not at Comptons either."

  "Fine, wherever you want. We could go to that pub if you like, the one your old guitarist works at," Chris jokes.

  "If you want a threesome, just say so. Alex ain't the man for it, mind, not if you don't fancy a fist fight first."

  Chris sits down beside him, thigh against thigh. "Another bar then, we won't struggle to find one in Soho."

  Mark stops fidgeting with the ring and gives Chris's leg a pat. "You're on."

  Chapter 17

  Mark

  "Just let me check it was Simeon," Simon wheedles as Zoe bars the door to the Union.

  "You don't need to check, it's obviously Simeon. I'd recognise those blindingly white teeth anywhere."

  Simon clutches his waist like he's ready to vomit. "Should we go and say hello?"

  "How're you gonna get to him?" Mark asks. "Crowd surf?"

  "Victrola also sent someone," Will chimes in, "and DMA, and the papers."

  "Will, we're trying to keep Laddo's dinner down, you reeling that lot off isn't helping."

  "I only bring it up because it's not a coincidence they're here. I've been talking to reporters, reviewers, photographers and scouts all week about this gig."

  "Angling for a pay rise?"

  "More for recognition of mine and Zoe's hard work while the pair of you have been having your Tour de England in the Audi."

  "You'd rather put yours truly in front of an exec? I can see that going well."

  While the others are distracted, Simon cracks open the door. People clearly spot him and the excited chatter and chanting ramps up. He shuts it hastily.

  "Well?" Zoe asks. "Was it Simeon out there or some other smarmy sod?"

  "Definitely Simeon."

  "Looking a bit green about the gills there, Si," Mark says. "Didn't he give you a wave? He's probably playing hard to get."

  "I saw Chris sat at the bar too, you gonna give him a shout out?"

  "I will if you will. Quit idling, I thought you were born ready?"

  Simon takes a steeling breath and leads the way onstage. The noise hits fever pitch as they walk over to their instruments. Mark looks out at the sea of heads and flashing cameras. Heat radiates off the sweaty, giddy crowd.

  "I take it you heard we were playing?" he says into one mic.

  There's a roar of laughter and cheering. He glances at the bar, sees Chris sat on one bar stool but looks away before their eyes meet.

  "Let's not keep you waiting any longer, eh? Sharp, when you're ready."

  Simon stops fussing with his fringe and unclips his mic.

  "I'm Simon," he says with affected boredom.

  The screaming turns noticeably feminine. Mark can't help his laughter.

  "We're Deff," Simon continues. "You heard our song, Who Are Ya?"

  Pockets of the crowd belt out the chorus.

  "You bought it?"

  The cheering gets louder. Mark looks at Simon and sees how towering and confident he looks, cheekbones, nose and jaw severe in the stark club lighting.

  "You wanna hear it?"

  The bellowed answer is unmistakable. Simon nods at Joe to start.

  Mark tries to focus on playing rather than the flash of camera bulbs and the scouts grading their every move. He watches Simon strut around, pausing occasionally to take stock of some girl. When he's gotten her flustered and flushed, he moves on to the next one.

  Mark makes himself look over at the bar and catch Chris's eye before focusing on those gathered closest to the stage. There's a few gothic looking women who seem to be old AB fans given how eagerly they watch him. He grins and makes to step closer, only for Simon to stand in front of him.

  It feels like every square inch of the Union is crammed with bodies and countless staring eyes. He sheds his leather jacket between songs to a cheer from a handful of women and laughter from the men. One song later, Simon whips his polo shirt off to decidedly more screeching. Mark flicks another look at Chris and shares an embarrassed smirk with him.

  Mark takes to studying Simon's scrawny, sweaty chest instead of the huddled figures at the back he senses are record execs. He watches the sweat drip down Simon's nose and chin and reminds himself to keep playing.

  They finish with Who Are Ya again. It takes Simon three attempts to shout "we're Deff, thanks for coming" over the crowd. When the applause and hollering show no sign of stopping, Mark grabs Simon by the arm.

  "Come on," Mark yells in his ear, "I know what they'll like."

  He marches Simon down into the crowd to even louder cheers. Hands immediately start grabbing at them like they're wading through the rollers of a living car wash.

  "Stick the single on the sound system!" Mark roars.

  The crowd take up the chant until Who Are Ya starts playing full blast. He throws himself around to the music and a mosh pit forms around him, as some people run for cover and others eagerly rush forward to join in. He spots Simon slink off towards a gaggle of women. Once Simon is lost to view, Mark surges back into the scrum.

  By the time he's feeling tenderised, bouncers are wading in to break up the crowd and ordering people to leave. Fans respond by booing but mostly obey. A couple of women cosy up to Mark's side as he makes to leave.

  "Hello ladies, you lost?" he asks.

  "We're looking for the toilets," one girl says to a peal of laughter from her friend.

  Mark checks the crowd for signs of Deff, Chris or the labels but doesn't spot them among the crush of bodies. "Why, you busting?"

  "No, we've just heard you like to pay them a visit," the other girl says with a knowing grin.

  "You interested, Mike?"

  He resists asking where they've got their intel in favour of slapping on a leering smile. "I'd love to, really I would, but I've gotta make sure Mr Sharp doesn't do anything regrettable. Have a good evening ladies, don't do anything I'd do."

  He weaves through the crowd, flashing grins and shooting comebacks at people who notice him. When he's outside, the fresh air is a shock to the system. He takes gulping breaths like he's surfaced from diving then makes a break for it, ignoring the whoops and yells that echo down the street.

  The blood pounding in his ears makes it impossible to tell if there's footsteps following but he keeps running. As he nears the Sex Den, his chest gets tighter at the prospect of finding the lock off the door and fans crowding the place. He darts a look over his shoulder, sees no-one but diverts to Brewer Street anyway. The alleyway leading to The Sun is blessedly empty.

  ***

  Alex immediately glowers when Mark enters. He makes no effort to skulk and leans on the bar as he catches his breath. "Alright Alex, long time no see. Beard's looking lovely."

  "I to
ld you I'd skin you if I ever saw you again."

  "So you did. Sorry, I'll remember next time. Don't suppose I could get a vodka, could I? A little triple vodka?"

  The other patrons are already chattering, while a few younger drinkers edge closer.

  Alex notices, lifts the bar hatch and jerks his head at the staff door. "Come in the back before you make a scene."

  "I'm only asking for a drink, that's the point of a pub, isn't it?"

  Mark lets Alex manhandle him behind the bar and into the back. After the door closes, he turns to give Alex a sunny smile. "How've you been, anyway?"

  Alex goes red in the face. "I said I'd skin you if I saw you again."

  "You got your potato peeler with you? How's my band doing?"

  Alex turns redder. "You're not fucking calling AB your band, are you?"

  "Why wouldn't I? I created it, I just gave it to you cause I was feeling generous. Like a hand-me-down, AB's a cast off."

  "AB is fine. I found a new drummer, he knocks the fucking spots off Joe." Mark scoffs. "You don't believe me? Soon as you fucking hear the new stuff I've been writing, you'll wish you'd fucking stuck with it instead of flouncing off to play some pop shite."

  Mark grins so hard he bares his teeth. "Has it escaped your notice that my new band is about to top the charts?"

  "If I hear that fucking football chant one more time, I'm gonna throw my fucking radio out the window."

  "You're not a fan?"

  "Of you selling out? No."

  "Least I'm selling," Mark sneers.

  "That's not the only thing you're selling," Alex mutters.

  "What was that?"

  "Nothing."

  "No it weren't, say your piece," Mark insists.

  "I hear what you get up to in Soho."

  "Eating Italian food? Nicking vodka?"

  They share a look before Mark casually walks towards the store cupboard. Alex bundles them inside and yanks on the light cord.

  "If you ask nicely, I'll do it," Mark says softly.

  Alex grimaces at his breath. "What the fuck are you on about?"

  "If you ask nicely, I'll let you be my roadie. What did you think I meant?"

  He lets Alex walk him back against one wall.

  "Take a wild fucking guess," Alex growls.

  Mark kneels. Alex makes to unzip his jeans but Mark bats his hands away and pulls him out himself. He dares a look up and sees Alex, flushed and furious as he returns his look expectantly.