Mark Means Tested (Deff Book 3)

by Danni Fall

  "That is why you said you were doing it, to start with anyway."

  "To start with? What's that mean?"

  "Seemed like you were pretending for other reasons by the end."

  "Well that's where you're wrong," Mark says tersely. "Turns out it wasn't worth the aggro so I'm switching back. I'm not Mike, I'm not some mardy, mild mannered sod who's worried about a bit of press intrusion, I'm Mark fucking Means and all press is good press to me."

  "Even the press that says you're a petty thief with a coke habit and no mates?"

  Mark's cheek threatens to twitch. "If I've told you once, I've told you ten times, I'm a whizz man."

  "How're you gonna make that article seem like a good thing?"

  "I say the bloke who gave the interview is a senile, scrounging old bastard who's desperate to make a tenner since a lifetime of beating women and kids didn't pay off."

  "It was your dad who spoke to the papers, wasn't it?" Simon asks.

  "Well done Sherlock."

  "Did he really beat you?"

  "You're really getting hung up on this, aren't you? The point I'm making is what's done is done, might as well make the most of it."

  "So how do we do that?"

  "By changing the narrative and before you ask, the way we do that's twofold."

  "What is it with you and having elaborate plans?" Simon asks.

  "Can't resist, I love a good plan, me."

  The bingo caller begins and they play another losing game.

  "What's the first of your two folds?" Simon asks as he crumples his bingo card.

  "I'll rework our lyrics."

  "Who Are Ya's already out, it's too late for that."

  "Not Who Are Ya, I've been tweaking the other songs to match."

  "What, all of them? For the whole album?"

  "Yeah, I'm finessing it," he says.

  "Will will kill you if you do that."

  "It's not as bad as all that, the music'll still be the same. If anyone's gonna throttle me, it'll be you since you're gonna have to learn the lot again."

  Simon's smirk flips to a scowl. "Thanks, I'll really enjoy that, that's dead helpful."

  "Ah, but it is though. Everyone's always complaining and saying how my lyrics are clear as mud."

  "They're clearly soppy, that's what Zo says."

  "Not now they're not, now we're gonna have a theme, critics love those."

  "What's it gonna be about?"

  "It's gonna match Who Are Ya," Mark says. "We've kept saying how it didn't fit with the rest of our stuff, now it will."

  "So the album'll be about... who people are?"

  "You don't sound very confident what your own song's about."

  "I said, it's not about anything, it's just words."

  "Keep telling yourself that. I'm changing it all to accommodate you, feels like I do that a lot."

  Simon studies his remaining bingo cards. "What's the theme, then?"

  "Lies. Chinese whispers. Half heard, half seen things. Mistaken identity."

  "I don't get it."

  "When do you ever? Just smile, sing and look pretty. That's what we're paying you for."

  Simon leans close enough to block Mark's light. "I'm handsome. Not pretty."

  "Aren't you just? Are we done showering you with compliments?" Mark asks. Simon gives him a sneer. "The point is, we keep people guessing. My little foray into being a nice, well behaved guy called Mike was part of it. Performance art, practically. An extended ad campaign."

  "Is that really what it was?"

  Mark makes to answer when the bingo carries on. He dabs off numbers with gusto until another woman yells that she's won.

  "What's your second fold?" Simon asks.

  "Why were you in Barking, anyway? Paying your mum a visit? Or Ry? How's he nowadays?"

  "Fine."

  "Setting the world on fire, is he?" Mark asks.

  "He's doing well."

  "I'm really pleased to hear that."

  "He still thinks you're a cunt."

  The bingo caller begins the next game. Mark gives up checking off numbers in favour of watching Simon.

  He huffs a laugh when Simon starts gnawing at his bottom lip. "Getting close? To winning, I mean."

  Simon shushes him. "Just need two more."

  "Could cut the tension with a butter knife."

  Simon dabs another number. "One left."

  Mark drinks to tamp down his own anticipation. "You better treat me if you win."

  On the next number, a woman yells house and Simon shoves his bingo cards across the table.

  "Better luck next time."

  "Piss off." Simon finishes his beer with some pills. "What's your second fold? How many times do I have to ask?"

  "Patience is a virtue. My second plan's off to a good start, actually."

  "What, is it play bingo? Drink beer? Sounds like a shit plan."

  "No, it's that we stick together."

  Simon looks thoughtful. "How d'you mean?"

  "I mean we go out together, we drink together. Go clubbing together, drive together, whatever. You and me need to stay thick as thieves."

  "And how's that help anything?"

  "Because we've always got an alibi that way. There's always someone to corroborate our stories. Not to mention Welly'll approve, it's in the spirit of our marriage vows."

  "Don't call the contract that," Simon glowers.

  "You know what I mean. We can back one another up, be each other's witnesses."

  "You're not much of a witness," Simon says. "Convicted criminals don't make good witnesses."

  "Don't matter. What matters is we say the same stuff and entertain people doing it. We do the stuff they wish they were doing: drink, drugs, girls. We'll give them something worth talking about."

  Simon picks at the ink on his palm.

  "Why aren't you convinced?" Mark asks.

  "You've said this before." Mark has to crane to hear him. "And it wound up with us in a hotel room in Luton."

  "And you didn't enjoy it?" Simon's eyes widen in apparent horror. "You didn't enjoy fucking that girl? Because that's what I remember happening. We each fucked some girl and had a great time doing it."

  Simon sneaks looks around the lounge. "Those women over there are staring at me."

  "So what if they are? There's nowt to see, we're just talking. What d'you think?"

  "It's not a great sales pitch, saying we need to spend more time together."

  "Are you getting better offers?" Simon's expression turns momentarily sad. "I think you're getting hung up on the negatives. What about the fuck load of money? The massive venues? The screaming fans?"

  "The never having a moment to yourself."

  "You desperate for those? Need time alone to think deep thoughts?" Mark sighs when Simon looks surreptitiously at the women. "If they're looking at you it's cause you're staring at them like a weirdo. Got a thing for older women?"

  "I didn't start it! I'm looking cause they're looking at me like they know me and we're talking about-"

  "Fame? Fortune? Females?" Mark guesses.

  "We've been swearing tons."

  "Oh fuck off with your fake outrage, they don't give a shit. I bet they swear like sailors when they lose."

  "I don't want to get banned from bingo."

  "Don't I know you?" one woman pipes up.

  Mark watches Simon sit up straighter, expression smoothing into a charming smile.

  "That's right, I'm Simon Sh-"

  "Pratt! You're Mary's grandson!" Mark stifles laughter. "Mary said you're doing your music nowadays, how's that going?"

  "Pretty well, thanks."

  "You still working at P&Ts?" the woman asks.

  "No, not for a while now."

  "How's your mum and dad?"

  Mark takes the opportunity to slip into the foyer and buy another beer from the bar. He senses Simon watching him through the doorway and mouths get in there, prompting a horrified look from Simon.

  He take
s out his phone and goes through his messages while the bartender pulls his pint. When he reaches Chris's texts, he pauses, staring blankly at the name. He takes a long drink before smoothing out his rumpled bingo numbers on the counter. He deletes texts while waiting for the bingo caller to start another game, trying not to read Chris's messages as he goes.

  His inbox is almost empty when the bingo continues. He sets his phone down and diligently checks off numbers. By the time they're calling the full house, he only needs a couple more to win. His free hand settles around his beer in readiness for someone else yelling that they've won. No-one does. He checks off his last number and, after a moment's hesitation, yells bingo. One of the staff trots over to check his bingo card.

  "Well done," the barman says.

  Mark finishes his pint. "Cheers mate. Must've been a lucky beer."

  "Must be!"

  Simon pokes his head into the foyer and grins. "Was it you? Did you win?"

  The member of staff makes her way back over holding cash.

  "Looks like it."

  Simon laughs and disappears back into the lounge. Mark hears the women join in laughing.

  He takes all thirty pounds of his winnings and puts it on the bar top. "Bottle of white with four glasses and a vodka shot, ta. Keep the change."

  The barman smiles. "Thanks very much."

  Mark chugs the vodka then takes the tray of drinks to the lounge.

  "Well done Mark!" one woman cheers as he enters.

  He stops himself imagining who Simon said he was and passes around glasses instead.

  Simon pours the wine. "Is this all your winnings?"

  "Afraid so. Not enough to retire on, no wonder Mary only plays for the big bucks."

  When everyone has a drink, Mark raises his glass. "To our good health."

  They toast, then grimace at the sharp, sour taste.

  "What was the lucky number?" Simon asks.

  "How d'you mean?"

  "As in what number did you win on?"

  "Three. You're always saying stuff comes in threes, aren't you? Maybe it's an omen," Mark says with a waggle of his eyebrows.

  Predictably, Simon looks like he considers the question. "Maybe. We got to number three."

  "What d'you thing it means?"

  "I think it means we sign with Maiden: they're offering a three record deal. Plus they're offering the biggest advance."

  "Sounds like a plan." Mark nods at the wine bottle. "Simon, where are your manners? These lovely ladies' glasses are getting empty, do the honours."

  The women chuckle and Simon gets pouring as he chats and charms them. With a smile, Mark deletes Chris's number and grabs a fresh glass.

  Chapter 23

  Simon

  Deff get ushered into Simeon's office to sign the contract. Simon takes in the modern metal furniture and wonders if it reminds Zoe of The City. He doesn't get the chance to ask since executives with dazzling teeth surround him, talking and laughing, regardless of whether he says anything funny.

  The contract gets placed on a desk and turned to the final page. He makes towards it but awkwardly steps back when Simeon starts speaking. Simeon explains how Deff had bounced back from Maiden's initial rejection to skyrocket through the charts. After he says how thrilled Maiden is to be signing Deff, everyone claps and looks expectantly at Simon.

  "Thanks," he manages, chewing the inside of his cheek as he thinks up more to say.

  Mark catches his eye with a smirk. "I think what Mr Frontman means is cheers for all the money and feel free to add a zero to the cheque."

  More laughter and applause follows. Someone hands Simon a heavy fountain pen and Simeon indicates where he needs to sign while a photographer snaps photos. He reminds himself of the autograph he's been practising and blotchily signs next to the words Signed by Simon Thomas Pratt ("Simon Sharp"), Lead singer, songwriter and lyricist. He passes the pen to Mark and watches as he jots an incomprehensible signature beside the words Signed by Mark Means, Guitarist, songwriter and lyricist. Simon studies the neat crossing out beside Mark's name and makes out the words ("Mike Means").

  After the Oes have signed, everyone claps again and Simeon effortlessly pops the cork on a champagne bottle. Two girls in tight black dresses pass drinks to the band, press and Maiden. Simon drinks the icy sweet champagne and ambles around the office, half listening to conversations as he shoots people photogenic smiles. His gaze strays to Mark, who immediately returns it with a knowing look.

  Mark downs his champagne and smacks his lips together. "Hey, Gideon?"

  "Simeon," Simeon says with a bright, false smile. "What is it, Mark?"

  "That thimbleful of wine were lovely but I don't suppose you've got any proper booze, do you?"

  Everyone laughs like he's being clever or cool. Simon takes to looking at the hems of the waitresses' dresses.

  "What would you like, Mark?" Simeon asks.

  "Vodka, the cheaper, the better. Laddo wants a Stella too, but he won't admit it cause he's on his best behaviour."

  "Shut up, no I'm not," Simon insists. "And I don't want that, I'm happy with wine."

  "He's not, he's just saying that cause he wants to impress you. Got a right little crush on you."

  Simon glares at Mark as Simeon laughs.

  "I'm very flattered Simon," Simeon says. "Everyone has a crush on you, obviously. My sister definitely does."

  "It's cause you're posh. We call you Posh Simon behind your back," Mark grins. "Or perhaps he's Chav Simeon."

  "Maybe you should get me a can of Stella," Simon says. "Least then I won't have anything to glass this idiot with."

  Mark and Simeon laugh appreciatively. As Simeon signals a waitress, Mark leans towards Simon and mutters "that got you to relax, didn't it?"

  "What, d'you want me to thank you for that?"

  The waitress returns with his can of Stella and Simon stalks off to join the Oes.

  "Fame and fortune's not changed Mark," Zoe says. "Still a dickhead."

  Simon toasts the Oes after a waitress tops up their glasses.

  "Impressive service," Joe murmurs.

  "It ought to be, given everything we agreed to," Zoe says.

  "What's so bad about it?" Simon asks.

  "Didn't you read the contract? It's not that long."

  "Why did I need to? You and Will said it was fine."

  "Only thanks to all our negotiation," Zoe says. "We managed to get Maiden to recognise the contract between yourself and Mark, at least."

  "Why does it need to do that? That's just a personal thing."

  "It's a personal thing you wanted to be legally binding. A personal thing that talks about how you want the songs to be owned in the event of the band breaking up."

  "I guess," Simon says.

  "Even now, Maiden's contract is heavily weighted in their favour, but that's what you get in exchange for this," she says, gesturing to her wine.

  "They're giving us a three album deal, we can't look a gift horse in the mouth."

  "You realise we're not guaranteed three albums, don't you? It's three albums if they want three albums. If they decide we're not up to scratch, they can cut us loose whenever they want."

  He masks his surprise. "D'you ever take a night off?"

  "Charming, Simon, really."

  "I'm just saying this is good. This is an achievement. How many people can say they've signed with a major? Can't we just enjoy it for one night?"

  He has a moody drink while the Oes share a telepathic exchange.

  "It sounded like you and Mark enjoyed yourselves the other night, as well," Joe says.

  It takes Simon a moment to realise what Joe's alluding to. "You mean the bingo? Did Mark tell you about that?"

  "It made the front page of The Barking Recorder."

  "You read The Barking Recorder?"

  "It then got picked up by the national press," Zoe says. "If you don't read contracts or newspapers, what do you read? The Beano?"

  "He reads Nuts," Joe murmur
s.

  "And Zoo," Simon adds. Zoe wrinkles her nose. "What? The girls in there are gorgeous, you can borrow a copy."

  Joe gives him an admonishing look.

  "It can't have been bad press about the bingo," Simon says. "Will would have said something."

  "A lot of what you and Mark do makes the papers nowadays," Zoe says. "Provided no-one's suggesting you did something illegal, Will's willing to look the other way."

  "Free press, innit? What photos did they use?"

  Zoe is interrupted by cheering as a waitress returns with a big bottle of bargain basement vodka. Simon scowls as Mark uncaps it and takes a long, messy drink to more whoops.

  She follows Simon's gaze. "Don't let us keep you if you'd rather be over there, swigging paint stripper."

  "It's like he forgets who's lead singer. Everyone should be looking at me."

  "Mark was a frontman. He knows how to put on a show, but that's not an invitation to make a tit of yourself too."

  "You should go and join him," Joe says to Zoe's apparent surprise. "You'd do well to keep an eye on one another."

  "Eye on, not encourage one another," Zoe warns.

  "Got it. Am I free to go, Mum and Dad?"

  Zoe mimics tossing her wine at him as he strides away. He hovers near the gaggle circling Mark and Simeon and tries to figure out what they're talking about. Given the way Mark's expression bounces from exaggerated woe to outrage, then amusement, Simon assumes he's talking about the newspaper article.

  Mark's attention readily snaps to him. "You coming to say hello or d'you prefer lurking?"

  The group eagerly accommodates him.

  "What're you talking about?" Simon asks.

  "My tragic past, what else?" Mark says, miming wiping his eyes.

  Everyone laughs again as Simon's cheeks twitch with an awkward smile.

  "See, the press went after me cause there's no drama to squeeze outta Simon's formative years," Mark says. "Only child, loving parents, Mr Popularity in his blumming gold suit."

  "That suit really is one of a kind," Simeon grins.

  "Yeah, he's a literal golden boy, is our Si."

  "You make an unlikely duo."

  "He needs me to show him how the world works, show him all the grime and filth."

  "Not like I asked him to do that," Simon mutters and people laugh again.