Disconsolately they humped their heavy gear in through the tiny door and set it up on the stage, fitting it into whatever space they could find. The sound engineer, a standard-issue balding guy in a black band T-shirt, ran around plugging cables into sockets and fiddling with the knobs and sliders on an enormous mixing desk at the back of the room.
‘All right lads,’ he said finally. ‘Can you play us something to get the levels?’
‘Shall we do “Evermore”?’ said Jez. ‘I think we should close the set with that tonight.’
Alex frowned. ‘What about “Wonderland”?’ It was his strongest song and the one they usually ended with.
Jez looked at him dismissively. ‘I thought we should mix it up a bit tonight.’
Alex felt unsettled. What Year Zero were desperate for was to get noticed. And as no one really came to see the support band, the best way to do that was to put your good material near the end, where people turning up for the main act would hear it.
‘We’re ending with “Evermore”,’ said Jez with finality.
Alex sighed. It was hard to railroad Jez into anything once he had made his mind up. The band was his baby and he was the undisputed leader. He was the one who rang all the venues and charmed the promoters and designed the posters. Alex accepted that and had no intention of usurping him; he himself just wanted to play music. But Jez had obviously become threatened by Alex ever since he had begun to take over musically. It was the elephant in the room for the band: everyone knew Alex was the better songwriter, and even with their meagre audiences, his songs got by far the loudest cheers. Jez – or Jez’s ego – was predictably in denial about it, so Alex always had to tread carefully and had become a master of psychological manipulation.
‘How about we open with “Evermore”,’ said Alex in placating tones. ‘Everyone knows you start with your best song and end with the next best. You’re right that “Evermore” is the best thing we’ve got.’ He smiled to himself. It was textbook reverse psychology: let the alpha male think it was all his idea.
‘All right then,’ said Jez, waving a regal arm. ‘It’s only a support gig anyway, isn’t it?’
‘Oi!’
They all turned to see the sound engineer standing in the middle of the tiny dance floor, tapping his watch.
‘If you ladies are quite finished, I’d like to get this sound check done before the punters get here.’
‘Hey, aren’t you that big rock star?’
After they had finished the sound check, Alex had headed straight out of the venue, wanting to get as far away from Jez as possible. Jez had agreed to the change in the set list, but as punishment, kept stopping the songs to complain about Alex’s playing or to ask him to tune his guitar properly. Head down, mind full of fantasies of strangling the singer, Alex had walked straight past the girl leaning against the railings smoking a cigarette. He looked up in surprise, then beamed. It was Emma.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘Aw shucks, if I’d known you were going to come over all romantic with me, I’d have been here sooner.’
They both laughed and Alex slipped his arm around her waist to pull her in for a kiss.
‘I hadn’t expected to see a friendly face in this whole city, let alone you.’
She wrapped herself around him. ‘Hitler giving you a hard time again?’
‘No more than usual.’
‘Well, we thought you might need some support, so we drove down from Manchester this morning.’
‘Who’s we?’
‘Jemma from my course. Her parents live just outside Bath. She says you can all stay tonight.’ She sniffed at his shirt. ‘If you spend one more night in that van, I think the health and safety people are going to be after you.’
‘You mean I smell?’
‘Horribly.’ She grinned.
‘Well I’m glad you’ve got me a bed for the night, then.’
‘If you play your cards right,’ said Emma, patting him on the bum playfully. ‘And you can start by buying me a drink.’
Alex smiled as they walked hand in hand towards the nearest pub. He was glad she was here. In fact, it wasn’t until he’d seen her standing there that he’d realised how much he’d missed her. From that first night in the Snoopy nightie, it had been quite obvious she liked him, so the next day he had gone up and knocked on her door, boldly asking her out for a drink. Six months later, they were still together. Stronger than ever.
They settled into a booth in the corner of a quiet old man’s pub.
‘Here,’ said Emma, licking her thumb and gently wiping it across his cheek. ‘Spot of dirt or something,’ she said. ‘You never know who’s going to be watching tonight.’
‘There ain’t going to be any record company scouts in Bath,’ said Alex wearily.
‘Well, journalists then. Even if you only get something in the local paper, it all counts, doesn’t it?’
Alex looked at her. ‘Thanks,’ he said.
‘What for?’
‘For, you know,’ he said clumsily. ‘For being here.’
‘Who would want to miss another performance by the great Alex Doyle?’ she teased. ‘Anyway, I think Jemma has ulterior motives letting you lot stay tonight.’
Alex raised his eyebrows. ‘Not Jez?’
Emma gave a wry smile. ‘Who else?’
‘Well tell her not to get too attached,’ said Alex, taking a sip of his pint.
‘Is he that bad?’
‘He’s not good, put it that way.’
‘How many women has he slept with?’ said Emma, running a finger around the rim of her glass.
‘Dunno. A lot.’
‘And how many women have you slept with?’
‘This year? One,’ said Alex. ‘But she wasn’t much cop.’
‘Hey!’ cried Emma, swatting him on the arm.
A sweep of affection for her caught him by surprise. She was easy to talk to and she made him laugh, but she was clever, too. She’d just missed out on getting a first and had ambitions to work in television. Life with Emma had settled into a comfortable routine. She had moved out of the big house in Fallowfield, and when Alex wasn’t on the road, they stayed in her bedsit in Withington, venturing out to a gig or to see a foreign film at the Cornerhouse, which – with her fluent French and working Italian – she seemed to enjoy more than he did. And she was always interested in his music, coming to every gig and listening to his demos.
‘Come on, let’s go and be tourists,’ he said, taking her hand and leading her out of the pub and down towards the river they’d seen on the way in. Hand in hand they strolled along the banks of the River Avon, the weak sun warming the backs of their necks.
‘If you get a record deal, are you going to move to London?’ she asked suddenly.
‘Maybe. But only if you agreed to come down to the big, bad smoke with me.’
‘Really?’ she said, unable to hide her delight. ‘I didn’t think you were the settling-down type.’
‘Don’t take the piss, this isn’t easy for me.’
‘I’d jump at the chance,’ she said, her mouth closing in a determined line. ‘When I said I wanted to work in TV, I didn’t think I’d end up as a guide at Granada Studios Tours.’
‘Come on. You get to walk up and down Coronation Street every day.’
‘We’re bigger than all this, Alex. You and me. Why shouldn’t we be telly producers or rock stars just ’cos we’re not rich or privileged?’
He grabbed her hand in solidarity.
For all his bitching about Jez, Alex was about ten times as happy as he had been before he had joined the band; in fact that black cloud which had been following around in the dark months earlier on in the year seemed to have completely gone. Now happy was a constant state: he was happy writing music, happy going to gigs, happy on stage, although sharing anything with Jez was increasingly hard work. But for the first time in a long time, perhaps ever, Alex realised he was happy just being with another person
. He kissed her, hard, sliding his hands inside her T-shirt, stroking her back, slipping his fingers into the waistband of her jeans.
‘Steady there, sailor,’ she grinned, breaking off. ‘Not before the big match.’
‘I think you’re thinking of boxers there.’ Alex smiled.
‘Same deal,’ said Emma, jumping up and pulling his hand. ‘Now come on, stud, let’s show all those screaming fans what you can do.’
Three hours later, Alex was ready to kill someone. Red-faced and sweaty, the band clattered off stage, cramming into the tiny backstage changing room. Outside, they could still hear the cheering demands for an encore, but Alex could not enjoy the ecstatic reception they had received.
‘You fucking wanker!’ he yelled, kicking out at a wooden bench. ‘What the hell was that about?’
Jez sauntered down the steps. ‘What?’ He smiled. ‘Can’t take the fact that the girls are more interested in me?’
Alex lunged at him, but Gav and Pete caught him first.
‘Al, it’s not worth it.’
But they looked as angry as Alex felt.
‘You really are a prick sometimes, Jez,’ said Pete, glaring at him. ‘This is a band, you know; we’re not your fucking backing group.’
But Jez just laughed at him. ‘Well that crowd out there seemed to enjoy themselves. Doesn’t matter who they’re looking at if they’re enjoying the music, does it?’
‘But you screwed with the music too, you dick!’ yelled Alex. ‘You could barely hear the melody over your bellowing!’
‘Ah, you’re just jealous,’ hissed Jez.
‘No, Jez, I am not jealous,’ snapped Alex. ‘I don’t want the spotlight. You can preen and pose all you like for all I care. What I do care about is when your pathetic ego gets between us and the songs. We all make the music, or hadn’t you noticed?’
Jez tossed his blond bob back off his face and walked back out of the changing room.
‘Wanker,’ said the normally mild-mannered Gav.
Alex wasn’t sure how long Jez had stayed behind at the club after he’d left to go for his walk with Emma, but it had been long enough. Clearly he had charmed the engineer into rejigging the sound in his favour. From the start, Jez’s vocals had dominated the songs, with Alex and Pete’s guitars being turned down at key moments so Jez wouldn’t be overshadowed. He had even fixed it so that the lights were on him for the whole set while everyone else was practically in the dark. Luckily they knew the songs well enough to play without looking at their instruments but it had still affected their performance.
Alex locked himself into the small toilet cubicle and splashed water on to his face.
‘Al? Are you in there?’ yelled Pete. ‘We’re going for a drink out front. Wanna come?’
‘Be there in a minute, yeah?’
He changed into his least-dirty T-shirt and packed his guitar away. That’s it, he thought as he fastened the latches on the case. I’ve had enough. Whichever way you looked at it, Jez Harrison was bad news and Alex could feel in his heart that Year Zero’s singer was going to get worse not better the more successful they became. He felt relief and anger, but most of all he felt sadness. He had ploughed himself into this band and it was depressing that he would have to start again. But I will, he thought defiantly. My songs are good. I’ll form a new band where I don’t have to listen to the singer’s delusions of grandeur. It was best to get out now while it still didn’t matter.
He pushed through the dressing-room door and out into the busy club. Steeling himself to quit, he stopped when he saw Jez leaning on the bar looking pleased with himself, while Emma was deep in conversation with some old bloke in glasses.
‘Hey, Alex, come and meet someone,’ said Jez, putting his arm around Alex as if nothing had happened. ‘This is Rob Hatton,’ he added, catching Alex’s eye and giving him a meaningful look. ‘Rob’s from Argent Records.’
The man put out a hand.‘Good to meet you, Alex,’ he said.‘Emma here tells me you wrote a couple of the songs. I was impressed.’
‘Really?’ stuttered Alex. ‘I . . . well, I’m, uh, glad.’
Jez laughed. ‘Alex is more of a musical genius,’ he said in a stage whisper. ‘Brilliant in the studio, but I think I’ll handle the interviews, eh?’
Cocky bastard, thought Alex.
‘I drove over from our London office to see the main act tonight,’ said Rob.‘ Good thing I got here a bit early.’
‘So did you like it?’ asked Alex eagerly.
Rob shrugged. ‘Half of what I heard was absolute shit, but there are a couple of pearls in there too. Particularly liked the last song.’
‘“Wonderland”? Yeah, that’s one I wrote . . .’
‘We all wrote,’ corrected Jez.
‘So are you interested, Mr Hatton?’ asked Emma sweetly.
‘I’m definitely interested, love,’ he said, looking her up and down hungrily. ‘But I want to hear more.’
‘Are you saying you’ll sign us?’ asked Pete hopefully.
Rob started laughing. ‘Slow down, kids. I’m saying I want the boss to come and listen to you northern monkeys, see if he hears what I hear.’
‘And what do you hear?’ asked Alex.
‘Cash registers ringing, son: the beautiful sound of money.’
‘Come on, Rob,’ said Jez, putting a pally hand on the man’s shoulder and leading him towards a group of excited-looking girls. ‘Let me introduce you to a couple of our biggest fans . . .’
‘Hey!’
Suddenly Alex was knocked sideways as Emma jumped on him, giving him a crushing hug.
‘Isn’t it brilliant?’ She grinned. ‘I told you!’
Alex hugged her back and laughed. ‘Yes, you did,’ he said. Her face was lit up with genuine pleasure at their good fortune, glowing with adoration and expectation for the future. And to think that only five minutes ago, he had decided to leave the band.
Life could change in an instant. He’d learnt that before. Although this time it looked as if things were going to take a turn for the better.
17
‘Just five more minutes,’ said Grace, pulling the cool white sheet further over her head. It had been a particularly hard shift on the Highlander that afternoon. August was the perfect time to visit Port Douglas, so the town was full of honeymooners who all seemed to want to take boat trips to the Low Isles and she had been rushed off her feet.
‘No, no more minutes,’ said Caro, standing at her bedroom door, munching a huge red apple. ‘You have to get ready.’
Grace grunted and waved an arm. ‘The taxi’s not coming for twenty minutes.’
Caro laughed.‘I can’t believe you’re going to the biggest, glammest showbiz party this part of Australia has ever seen, and you’re still in bed!’
Grace sat up reluctantly. She had been glad that Caro had decided to postpone her trip to India for a few weeks – ‘Can’t leave you alone with that strange man’ had been her exact words – but she could have done without her friend standing over her this evening.
‘All right, all right, I’m getting up . . .’ she said, swinging her legs on to the floor. She stood up – then immediately sat down again, clutching her head. ‘Whoa.’
‘You OK, honey?’ asked Caro.
Grace forced a smile. ‘Yes, I’m fine, just got up too quick. Been feeling a bit off-colour today, that’s all.’
‘You’re not pregnant, are you?’ Caro’s tone was serious.
The word seemed to drop to the floor and splinter into tiny pieces.
‘Pregnant?’ laughed Grace nervously. ‘Don’t be daft.’
‘I’m not joking,’ said Caro. ‘You were sick on the Highlander again today, weren’t you? I heard you in the bathroom.’
Grace waved away the suggestion and stood up, trying to look more vigorous than she felt. ‘It was a bad prawn or something.’
‘Hey, don’t go blaming my seafood buffet.’ She kept hold of Grace’s hand and pulled her back on to the bed.‘Serio
usly, Grace. My mum’s a midwife and I know the signs: sickness, tiredness – and you never get tired. I’ve always thought you were battery-powered.’
Grace laughed, but inside she could feel a slow flutter of panic. Am I pregnant? she thought. Would I know if I was? Even as a teenager, she was never exactly sure when her period would come. She had a long, irregular menstrual cycle which meant she could never pinpoint when it would arrive. Even so, thinking back over the past few weeks, she had definitely missed one, if not two. And Caro was right: for the last couple of days it had been hell on the boat. Grace had tried to put it down to choppy waters, but the truth was it had been calm all week.
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