Kiss Heaven Goodbye

by Perry, Tasmina

  It was Miles’ turn to laugh. He put out a hand and they shook. ‘Maybe I was wrong about you having no head for business,’ he said.

  ‘A head for business, a body for sin, isn’t that the phrase?’ said Sasha, her heart speeding up as she felt Miles run his eyes over her body. Then, abruptly, his face changed, softened.

  ‘I didn’t kill him, Sasha,’ he said, looking into her eyes.

  ‘It’s all in the past.’ She shrugged. ‘Like you said, there was no body.’

  For a long moment it was like the years had fallen away: they were both eighteen, walking hand in hand on the beach, a life of possibility ahead of them. Then that moment was gone and he dropped her hand.

  ‘Now,’ said Sasha, smoothing down her dress, ‘when can I expect the cheque?’

  She walked out of Miles’ office and down the walnut-panelled stairs, into the ladies’ cloakroom. Sunlight flooded in through a window, dappling the floor with colour. She went over to the sink and looked into the mirror, taking deep breaths. Then she turned away, stumbled into a toilet cubicle and vomited.

  35

  April 1995

  Alex took another belt from his bottle of Fukucho sake and lurched out into the late-night Tokyo traffic. The Hondas and Nissans swerved, tyres screeching, horns blaring, but Alex just roared back at them, holding up his clawed hands like bear paws.‘Hello, Tokyo!’ he bellowed, their headlights blurring into the endless neon. Reaching the far pavement, he tipped his head back and spun around, gazing up at the towering skyscrapers above him and reflecting that he couldn’t remember having more fun. It was as if someone had created Tokyo as a personal neon-lit playground just for Alex Doyle. Everything about the place was quirky, unreal or upside down. Stumbling over a sign advertising ‘Octopus Balls’, he bumped into a suited businessman who bowed rapidly and scurried away. He had been warned that the Japanese thought all Westerners were insane, so he guessed a six-foot-two long-haired Westerner in biker boots was going to be terrifying.

  ‘Gomennasai!’ he shouted after the retreating figure. ‘Gomennasfucking- ai!’

  Alex had certainly had plenty of need for both of the two Japanese phrases he’d learnt on Year Zero’s short tour of the country: ‘Gomennasai’ for ‘sorry’ and ‘arigatou’ for ‘thank you’. The thank yous had begun the moment Year Zero had stepped off the plane and been mobbed by obsessive – but polite – fans, many of whom had brought gifts: teddy bears embroidered with the band’s logo, sweets in hand-made boxes, even T-shirts and shoes. Gift-bearing, camera-waving fans seemed to be everywhere: at the hotel, at the club, in the restaurants, often waiting for them in lifts or toilets. Luckily Jez was only too pleased to bathe in adulation wherever he found it, often inviting five or six girls back to his room for what he called a ‘tea party’. They often saw tearful girls fleeing down the corridors; presumably he wasn’t serving cup cakes.

  Alex was much more interested in visiting temples and markets, soaking up the weird atmosphere of the Far East he’d read about as a teenager, but it quickly became apparent that playing the tourist just wasn’t possible. Six months ago, the band had shot a TV commercial for Fiju beer which had meant he was recognised everywhere he went. Besides which, the band had a punishing schedule: six shows in six different cities over six nights, squeezing in appearances on TV, radio interviews and in-store acoustic gigs. Year Zero were genuinely Big in Japan: a number-one album and single plus sold-out arena shows. It was the same in Sweden, France and Germany, but in the UK, the band had, in record industry parlance, ‘failed to break out’. Yes, the Long March album had been a hit, but then Blur and Oasis had come along with Park Life and Definitely Maybe and completely stolen their thunder. In fact, Pulp, Supergrass, Elastica, even the Boo Radleys were on Top of the Pops more than Year Zero. It was the most exciting period for British music in decades – Britpop, they were calling it – and Year Zero were sitting in the second divison, facing relegation.

  Alex finished the last of the sake and dropped the empty bottle into a rubbish bin with a clang. Nothing was going to dampen his mood tonight. Ducking into a doorway, he pulled out his bag of coke and, using the corner of his hotel room key, scooped up a generous pile and snorted it.

  As he left his hidey-hole, he spotted a flashing sign reading ‘Rock Club’ just down the street. Outside, there was a queue of teenagers wearing black leather and studded belts. Pushing his way to the front of the queue, he slapped a five-thousand-yen note on the counter. A huge bouncer in a black vest stepped out in front of him, but a girl jumped up and began jabbering in Japanese. The only words Alex could make out were ‘Alex san’, and ‘Fiju beer’. The man reluctantly moved aside and Alex plunged inside.

  ‘Gomennasai,’ he said, elbowing his way to the bar. He pulled out another note and waved it in the air like a distress flare. ‘Oi, mate!’ he called to the barman. ‘Sake over here, mate.’

  ‘’Scuse, Alex san.’

  Alex turned to see the girl from the front of the club standing next to him. She was pretty, with big almond-shaped eyes thickly lined in black and a Cleopatra-style bob. She also had a studded dog collar around her neck. ‘May I help?’

  ‘Just trying to get served, darling.’ Alex smiled, continuing to wave his money.

  ‘With respect, Alex san, he will not serve you,’ said the girl.

  ‘Oh really?’ he said, looking at her with interest. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because in Japan, waving money is very rude. Also, the word “mate” in Japanese means “wait!” or “stop!”. It is very confusing for him.’

  ‘Oh, bugger. Can you do it for me? Get yourself a drink too. And say sorry to him for me, will you?’

  She bowed and went to speak to the barman, returning with a bottle of sake and two beers.

  ‘I am Maiko,’ she said, bowing. ‘I study English at college and I love Year Zero very much.’

  ‘Well, you’re a lifesaver, Maiko,’ he said, slumping into a booth and sinking half the beer in one.

  ‘Why you drink so much, Alex san?’

  ‘Because I should be in Osaka.’

  He thought back to that morning when he’d woken up feeling unwell after a bender the night before. He’d started the day with a line of cocaine anyway, which had made his nose start to bleed. Worse than his poor health was the realisation that he had long passed the point where he could survive without either a wrap or a bottle. Three hours later, he’d had to leave Tokyo for Osaka with the rest of the band. On the train he’d found himself paranoid, shaking and insular. He just didn’t want to be around his band mates any longer, so when they had arrived at Osaka Arena, he had hung back, then got a taxi to the station and the bullet train back to Tokyo.

  ‘I should be on stage right now,’ he said sadly, the bravado replaced by guilt. ‘I’ve fucked up, Maiko. I’ve let them all down.’

  ‘It is sad if you fail others, Alex san,’ said Maiko seriously. ‘But it is tragedy if you fail yourself.’

  He blinked at her. She had hit the nail on the head. The drink and drugs were just masking his unhappiness. Deep down he hated what he was doing. He had set out wanting to make music, not just to be a rock star. He wanted to write songs as singular and affecting as all those bands he had listened to in his room at Danehurst, but instead he had cobbled together something he thought would appeal to everyone when it hadn’t even appealed to him.

  ‘I think that calls for a drink,’ he said, splashing sake into two cups, then knocking both of them back.

  ‘Hey, Alex san!’ said Maiko, cocking her head. ‘It is your song!’

  Alex grabbed her hand.‘Come on,’ he replied.‘Let’s have a dance.’

  He woke up to the smell of noodles. Turning his head painfully, he saw a black plastic bowl sitting on a low table beside the bed. He didn’t recognise the bowl, or the bed for that matter. In fact, he didn’t recognise any of it. For a moment he felt scared, flustered, searching the room and his memories for a clue. Except he couldn’t remember anything about t
he night before.

  ‘Hello, Alex san.’

  The door opened and a pretty girl came into the room. He immediately wondered if he had slept with her and felt both aroused and ashamed.

  ‘You feel better?’ she said, pouring Alex some tea.

  ‘Er. Where am I?’ He tried to sit up, but his head hurt and he lay back down. ‘How do we know each other again?’

  ‘I am Maiko. We meet in club, Alex san.’

  ‘Last night?’

  Maiko giggled. ‘The night before. You drink very much. You sleep on the street.’ She smiled, which made him feel a little more reassured.

  ‘But why am I here?’

  ‘I did not know where you stay,’ said the girl. ‘So you stay here. Yesterday, you sleep.’

  Now Alex did sit up, clutching his head. ‘You mean I’ve been here two days?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Oh Jesus,’ he breathed. That meant he had not only missed the Osaka show – he remembered that much – but a shitload of promotion.

  He tried to work out the time, but evidently somewhere in the last thirty-six hours he’d lost his watch. He was just about to ask Maiko if she knew where it had gone when he heard a knock on the door and a loud English voice in the hallway. The bedroom door swung open and Alex was startled to see Jez standing there.

  ‘Do you know how long it’s taken me to find you?’ he yelled. ‘You selfish wanker!’

  Jez launched into a tirade. Alan their tour manager was currently at the police station. An acoustic gig at one of Tokyo’s biggest record stores, scheduled for the night before, had had to be cancelled. Writs were being issued and their visas were in jeopardy.

  ‘The record company is going apeshit,’ said Jez, taking a sip of the green tea and then spitting it back into the cup. ‘Who knows how much fucking money the insurance is going to have to pay up because we were a no-show in Osaka.’

  ‘Well that’s what insurance is for,’ said Alex, annoyed by Jez’s self-righteousness.‘It’s not the end of the bloody world, is it? Anyway, I don’t know why you didn’t do it without me. You know all the guitar parts.’

  ‘Of course I could do it without you,’ said Jez haughtily. ‘But that’s not the point, is it? Those punters paid to see fucking Alex san from the beer ad, didn’t they?’

  ‘There are four of us in the band, Jez.’

  ‘Yeah, right, like anyone turns up to see Pete.’

  Alex shook his head. Jez was such an egotistical prick.

  ‘So how did you find me?’ said Alex, standing up to pull on his jeans.

  ‘God, you are fucked up, aren’t you, Doyle?’ snorted Jez.‘I suppose you don’t remember phoning me at about four in the morning, crying your eyes out, telling me you loved me,’ he mocked. ‘Then you told me you were going to marry this Maiko chick and that I was invited to the wedding.’

  ‘So why did it take you so long?’

  ‘So long?’ shouted Jez. ‘Do you realise how many Maiko Takahashis there are in the Tokyo phone book? You’re lucky we managed to track the little slut down at all, otherwise you’d have been stuck here in Nipland for ever.’

  ‘Don’t talk about her like that,’ spat Alex angrily.‘She’s my friend.’

  Jez bent down over him so close Alex could see the red veins on his eyeballs, and his lip curled upwards in a sneer.‘She’s your friend? You’re a fucking loser, Doyle,’ he said, jabbing a finger.‘I hope you’re happy that you’ve screwed up my whole tour.’

  ‘Your tour?’

  ‘Yes, my tour!’ shouted Jez, spittle flying in Alex’s face. ‘Who else do they put on the front pages? It ain’t Gav and it’s not you since you went all moody and fat. You’re a fucking waste of space, Doyle.’

  With a contemptuous look, he stood up and stalked into the next room. Alex followed, turning to Maiko.

  ‘Listen, Maiko,’ he said, ‘thanks for all you did for me—’

  ‘Oh shut up, Doyle,’ said Jez, throwing a five-thousand-yen note on to the table and pulling Alex towards the door.

  ‘Gomennasai,’ said Alex over his shoulder. ‘I really am.’

  Outside in the corridor, Alex contemptuously shook Jez’s hand off. ‘You’ve just offended that girl,’ he said.

  ‘Oh boo-hoo,’ sneered Jez. ‘I bet she’s on the phone to the newspapers right now.’ He pointed at Alex again. ‘If this gets in the Japanese press I will personally kill you. You know the Nip market is important to us.’

  ‘Nip market?’ said Alex, incredulous at Jez’s racism.

  ‘Don’t pretend you care about your slanty-eyed friends,’ spat Jez. ‘You’re over here for the same thing as the rest of us – some quick bucks and a shitload of yellow pussy.’

  Alex flung out his fist, catching Jez in the mouth, splitting his lip and knocking him on his backside.

  ‘You’re out of the band, Doyle!’ shrieked Jez, spitting blood on to the floor. ‘Out, do you hear me? I hope it was worth it, your little fucking Oriental bunk-up.’

  ‘I didn’t have sex with her,’ said Alex to himself as he walked away. ‘She’s my friend.’

  Year Zero flew home from Tokyo that night. At check-in, Alex arranged to exchange his business-class seat for an economy one. The student who moved up front in his place was ecstatic. Alex knew the drinks trolley wouldn’t be quite so free-flowing back in cattle class, but it was worth it not to sit with the rest of the band.

  He wasn’t sure if Jez was serious about kicking him out, but neither was he sure if he wanted to fight too hard to stay. If he left Year Zero, what the hell was he going to do? It was a little late to take up his place at the Royal Academy and he wasn’t really qualified for working in a bank. He resolved to spend the whole flight thrashing it out, drawing up ‘pros’ and ‘cons’ lists, but instead he drank three Bloody Marys and woke up as they were descending into Heathrow. Emma would know what to do, he thought as the taxi pulled up in front of their Notting Hill apartment. They had moved here six months ago and he was still excited to think that the proud white stucco townhouse was theirs. Home, sweet home, he thought with a smile. Although how he was going to pay the mortgage if he got booted out of the band was another thing.

  Alex knew something was wrong the moment his key turned in the lock. His footsteps sounded hollow on the floor and there were boxes in the hall. Emma was sitting on the bedroom floor sorting through a pile of CDs, an overflowing ashtray in front of her. Two large suitcases were open on the bed and the wardrobe was empty on one side.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he said.

  Emma continued to flip through the CDs without looking up. ‘What does it look like, Alex?’

  ‘You’re leaving? But why? I don’t get it.’

  Finally she looked up, her face cold. ‘I know all about it, Alex,’ she said. ‘I know you went missing for three days high on who knows what. I know you were found in some Japanese model’s bed. I know everything.’

  ‘It was two days, and she wasn’t a model. A nice student took me to her flat because I collapsed in a nightclub.’

  She snorted. ‘Do you think I was born yesterday?’

  Alex’s confusion gave way to anger. ‘Who told you all this? Jez?’

  ‘Yes, if you must know. He was worried about you.’

  ‘Worried?’ Alex laughed. ‘That lying bastard never worried about anyone but himself. It’s lies, Emma! Bullshit!’

  ‘Well, the tabloids don’t seem to think so,’ said Emma, flinging a paper at him.

  He picked it up: the headline read ‘Big Trouble In Little Tokyo’ and featured a shot of Alex dancing cheek to cheek with an ‘unidentified’ Japanese girl he immediately recognised as Maiko. According to the story, he had been ejected from the club after trying to snort cocaine from another girl’s breasts.

  ‘Oh shit,’ said Alex. ‘The PR guy said it wasn’t a big story.’

  ‘Well your mother read it,’ said Emma. ‘I’ve had her on the phone in tears.’

  ‘I didn’t sleep with her, Em,
’ he pleaded. ‘She looked after me.’

  She gave a caustic laugh. ‘Is that what they call it now?’

  He tried to touch her, but she lashed out at him. ‘Don’t come near me!’ she screamed, backing up against the bed. ‘I can’t do this any more, Alex,’ she said, and the misery in her voice made his heart crack.

  ‘Listen, Em, I got drunk and I missed a gig, that’s all it is.’

  She looked at him, her eyes puffy red crescents. ‘No, that’s not all it is,’ she said sadly. ‘You’re on self-destruct, Alex; something’s eating away at you like maggots and I can’t stand by and watch you destroy yourself any more.’

  Hazy morning light was pouring through the windows. Six months in the flat and they had never got round to putting curtains up; they hadn’t been there enough for it to matter. Sunlight sparkled off her deep red hair and he could see her eyes were glistening. In a strange way she had never looked more beautiful.