by Tom Butler
Out of earshot of Hannah, Noah whispered to his brother.
‘What the fuck were you doing? In the eyes of the law, you’re still a child. For Christ’s sake. She even knew, but you went and got it on. How sick is that?’
Calmly James tucked into a rasher of bacon and shrugged.
‘Believe what you like. She needed somewhere to crash. Nothing happened.’
‘Don’t bullshit bro, I saw the way you looked at each other at the party. Don’t take me for a twat.’
‘You were too pissed to notice. We were just talking.’
‘Talking, that’s shit man, and you know it.’
Noah was almost foaming at the mouth with jealousy.
James didn’t really want to talk about Hannah; he wanted to talk about something far more significant.
But Noah wouldn’t let it go. He had put an end to the whispering and didn’t seem bothered who might overhear him.
‘When Phillip and Sylvia find out you got laid, there’ll be no more fucking train rides and no more fucking concerts. You’ll be grounded forever.’
This caught Hannah’s attention and she swept her untidy hair away from her face and sat up straight.
‘Tell them if you must,’ James snarled back at him. ‘See if I care.’
Nothing had changed. Noah was still acting the role of spoilt brat and winning Oscars for it. And he had a very short memory.
‘Go ahead,’ James went on as he chewed. ‘Spill the beans, and I’ll just happen to mention the baby sitter to them. What was her name now? Oh yes. Siobhan. Little innocent Siobhan. The one who carried around her own condoms.’
Again Hannah was all ears as James made sure she heard.
Noah’s face changed colour, and had there not been a room full of people, he might have struck out.
He struck out verbally instead. ‘You bastard. I was only looking out for you yesterday; there’s no need to rake that up again.’
James tried smiling. ‘Hurt, does it? You can dish it out but don’t like it back.’
Noah turned his back on him at the precise moment a yawning Melissa Murray slouched into the room, pulling a face at the thought of a cooked breakfast. She was a vegetarian when it suited her, and today was one of those days.
‘Hi gang,’ she said amid another yawn.
‘Hello, Mel,’ James retorted as though he knew her well.
She picked up a glass of fresh orange and sat by him, reaching across to high five Hannah.
‘Hello cousin, didn’t know you were staying over,’ she said.
Noah smirked at James who was digesting what Melissa had said.
He stared across at Hannah and struggled to see any family likeness. No one had told him they were related. Perhaps it just wasn’t important enough or maybe it was Melissa just messing about.
‘So, James, or can I call you Jimmy,’ Melissa said. ‘You sing too, so I hear.’
He blushed a little, and Noah was beginning to wish he’d kept his big mouth shut.
James stuttered. ‘I…well…not really.’
‘Such modesty,’ she said, the broad Scottish accent sounding almost lyrical.
‘Actually,’ James started, keeping one eye on his brother. ‘I like writing songs. I prefer that to singing. Maybe I’ll write one especially for you.’
‘Hear this everybody. We have another songwriter amongst us. Maybe the three of us should get together and see what evolves,’ she said, looking over at Noah.
He detested the thought and the game he knew James was playing.
‘Maybe, one day,’ he conceded through gritted teeth, his eyes casting daggers at his brother.
Others in the band, looking worse for wear after a long night just ignored them and carried on eating with no great enthusiasm or urgency.
‘Written anything today, wee Jimmy?’ Melissa asked with friendly sarcasm.
He gloated a little at her attention and Hannah giggled.
‘It’s a bit early. Maybe later.’
Melissa laughed. ‘Smug as well as being better looking than your brother and cute. How can you go wrong?’
Noah shrank back and almost wished his brother dead. Immediately, he felt bad about such thoughts, and he couldn’t help but think of what James had told him last night. Whether he liked it or not, there had been a death in the family. Long overdue but sad. He couldn’t just think it hadn’t happened or wouldn’t affect him. There had to be some grief, no matter how hard it was to find from within. And he knew at some point, he would have to share his true feelings with James. It was what bound them together even if they now felt drawn apart.
He also had to think about Mary. As did James. The cocoon that others had built around her wasn’t impregnable. Though now thirteen and seemingly on another planet, she would be devastated by the news. She had been in denial for seven years and well protected. Whatever had occurred on that fateful Wednesday afternoon wasn’t meant. It was accidental. Two people who loved each other and their children had had one of those inexplicable disagreements that all parents had. No other versions were ever allowed to enter her head, and no one dared to admit to taking a different stance when she was around. Not even her brothers, who had tried but gotten nowhere.
Noah wondered if she had been told. He himself had long since lost contact with the Social Services Liaison Officer assigned to the family even though he was still not yet eighteen, and he had forbidden his foster parents from ever talking to him about his father. He had assumed that James had found out via social services or possibly the hospital wing of the prison itself. Whichever way, it was done. It was over. It meant three orphans could get on which their lives and stop looking back.
Noah wasn’t as hard or harsh as he came over, but he did carry a heavy chip on his shoulder. Seeing Melissa getting on so well with James was a blow to his pride. He’d harboured feelings for her soon after being recruited by her father who had somewhat reluctantly installed himself as the band’s unofficial manager and mentor. Melissa liked Noah but not quite enough. An old boyfriend was still on the scene, hovering so to speak. Jed liked Todd a lot and thought he was right for his daughter which was testimony indeed. But many thought him to be too much of a geek to be a serious contender as there were many would-be suitors looking to share the glamour of a born to succeed performer.
After breakfast and with a glut of unanswered calls on his phone, James made a concerted effort to get Noah on his own before the journey back to the Midlands. They went for a walk, and James made his point.
‘I’ve spoken to somebody about the song,’ he said, making it sound official. ‘You must stop claiming it’s yours and give it back. You have other stuff of your own. Use that. I just want what’s rightfully mine.’
Noah kicked off immediately. ‘Fuck you bro. This somebody was there when we wrote it, was he, and I suppose he wants a piece of it for himself?’ he growled.
‘That’s such nonsense. I came up with the lyrics all by myself and had the basic tune in my head. All you and Ashley did at the time was tease me about it, remember?’
Noah had his fangs well and truly out on show.
‘Bullshit, I helped you finish it and then changed it around. You hadn’t a fucking clue Bro. It might have seemed like your idea at the time, but in truth, I knocked it into shape. So I’m right to claim it as my own. If you are so bloody clever write something else and don’t share it with me. You won’t win this argument because I’ve got the rights to it. There’s nothing you can do.’
James puffed out his cheeks in exasperation.
‘Legally, it’s mine, and with somebody’s help, I aim to prove it.’
‘There you go again. Who is this somebody? A real smart arse no doubt. What’s he expecting from it? A percentage, I suppose? He’s as twisted as you.’
‘It’s a she and not a he, and she’s not after a penny,’ James corrected him.
‘A she,’ Noah scoffed. ‘Somebody else who thinks you’re cute, I suppose. Pardon me if I’m sick a
nd throw up over your trainers.’
‘Her name’s Liz. She’s married to Wes Crowley, my guitar tutor. She works for a solicitor. She reckons I have a right to it.’
Noah threw up his arms.
‘Well, that’s it then I’m doomed. My little brother knows somebody who works for a solicitor. This is going to cost me millions,’ he mocked. ‘Tell her she knows shit.’
Ignoring him James carried on. ‘I just think it’s right Noah. You know what you did. And Ashley knows it too.’
That was below the belt, Noah thought. But although James had struck a pretty good blow the brother on the receiving end, neither looked nor sounded remotely worried.
‘Ashley will say what I tell him to say. He’s a mate. That’s what mates do. They stick by you no matter what.’
‘He won’t lie for you; I think you overestimate him.’
‘Bollocks to what you think. I’m telling you not to go there. Good friends stick together.’
‘And brothers are supposed to stick together too. What’s happening to you? Why are you doing this?’
‘It’s nothing personal. The song’s mine. Nobody will believe your story.’
James listened and then meandered up another route.
‘I bet Mary has a really good memory. She may be young, but I’d bet anything she remembers the truth.’
‘Don’t bring her into this Bro, you’re even sicker than I thought.’
‘Listen to you. If anyone’s sick, it’s you. You’re mad if you think you can get away with this. All I’m asking for is an equal share, not the whole thing.’
Noah was beginning to lose his patience. He’d had enough.
‘It’s my song. It’s got my name on it. There’s nothing you can do about it.’
He was turning to walk back to the band’s minibus parked at the rear of the hotel.
‘What about the funeral?’ James asked him suddenly. ‘Will you go? I think we should.’
It knocked Noah back, and his stride faltered. But it didn’t take much thinking about.
‘You must be joking. Dad murdered our mum for Christ’s sake. He ought to be burnt to cinders, and his ashes scattered in hell. I won’t go, and you shouldn’t either. He doesn’t deserve that. Stay away. He’s dead, and that’s an end to it. And don’t go talking to Mary about it either. None of us need to be there. It’s over.’
It was quite an impassioned speech for someone who often used to get tongue-tied just thinking about it and who initially defended his father.
James said nothing and let him go. Noah had made his point, and it was difficult to argue against. But it still left James with a major dilemma. A decision he might have to make on his own.
******
Chapter Ten
Phillip and Sylvia Proudlock had bought their home from a local housing association ten years ago and were now embarking on their third major project to extend it. Positioned high up on a prominent corner of the main Groby to Leicester road, it had much scope, and as Phillip was a dab hand at DIY and was also a carpenter by trade, the work was no great challenge to him. It helped also that Sylvia was a part time interior designer, and her elderly father was a retired architect.
Between them and at only a modest cost, they had already transformed the house, and the addition of a separate garage with playroom above and large conservatory would finish what they had started and give the children even more room to grow into.
Their son, Luke, was now eighteen and getting ready to go to Cardiff University to study Physical Education and daughter Clare was fifteen and studying for her GCSE’s. Tragedy had struck down a third child Chloe who had been born with a heart defect and died suddenly in 2005 aged just seven. That had been the catalyst for the Proudlock’s application to become foster parents, and less than eighteen months later, they were chosen to look after the Swan children in tragic circumstances, and for all concerned, it had been life changing.
It was never meant to be anything but a temporary arrangement of course, but with planned adoptions never materialising, it became permanent, and for Sylvia, it was like having five children of her own, the number she had always craved, though Chloe was never far from her thoughts.
Her only regret was not being able to persuade Noah Swan to remain with them in the family unit for longer and then the heated exchanges that ensued before he finally broke away. Phillip and Noah often clashed, and Luke likened him to a moody little kid with a bad attitude who just didn’t recognise when he was well off.
In the beginning, he had been a rebellious eleven-year-old who insisted he lodge with his best friend rather than his siblings. He had refused to talk about his mother’s death and had told everybody he met for the first time his dad was dead. This was out of character for someone who, at first, strongly believed it had all been a tragic accident, but at least, it guaranteed an end to any awkward conversations before they began. Once the truth had dawned, he really did wish his father dead, and so it proved a worthwhile stand to have made and one he was to maintain thereafter, training his mind to block out any other scenario.
Only after a while did Noah settle in Groby on the understanding he could see Ashley, his best pal regularly which took some organising and hiked up fuel bills.
From thereon, Phillip and Noah had in the main tolerated each other, and Sylvia had enjoyed some intimate moments with him like real parents and children do. But the last two years had been hard, a constant uphill struggle and efforts by both James and Mary had not made one iota of difference.
The call of the wild in the form of heavy rock music was guiding him away from them; he had gotten much praise at school for his guitar playing, and though clever enough to have pursued a musical scholarship, he wanted to be a performer not a tutor. To entertain students not to mentor them. It was a fixation, a burning ambition. At least, he was somewhere near to realising his dream. James could confirm that. But before then, he had some explaining to do when he got back. And he needed to talk to his sister too. It had to come from him, nobody else.
Every day, there was more to contend with. Though it was a Saturday lunchtime, there was a large cement lorry outside the house and at least five people standing around eating Sylvia’s bacon and sausage sandwiches. Phillip had to be there of course, and so was Luke showing, willing though looking out of place. The others were friends Phillip could always rely on and the lorry driver who it seemed from the size of his belly lived solely on bacon butties.
‘Hello, stranger,’ Phillip called across to James as he suddenly surfaced, informing him with his eyes that the lady of the house was much displeased.
‘Get lost, did we?’ Luke asked sarcastically.
Though they got on, Luke could be a pompous prick at times, and James understood why Noah had no patience with him.
‘You missed a great gig,’ he shrugged back. ‘I told you to come.’
Initially, the Proudlock’s had been cold to the idea of James travelling all that way on his own and had been prepared to stump up the extra to send Luke to chaperone him. Then Luke pulled out claiming the music to be dire which was a smokescreen because he wanted to spend time with a new girlfriend who obviously had more to offer.
One of the conditions James was then to adhere to was to leave the concert in time to get the last train home. But how could he, given the news he had received during the gig? Sylvia was fair minded, he thought. He had informed her in a text that he was staying over and being well looked after by Jed Murray, Hooded Eye’s Manager. He was safe and nothing bad would happen. But there was no mention of Hannah, of course and not much danger of Noah spilling the beans either though he would keep his fingers crossed on that one. Surely, Sylvia wouldn’t punish him unduly.
She was coming out of the kitchen with a tray of mugs when she saw him and smiled in a way that generated a lot of relief.
‘Are you hungry?’ she asked with her chef’s hat on.
‘Starving,’ he replied.
Sylvia was a big-hearte
d woman with a frame to match. Not what you would describe as fat but broad just the same. Her reddish hair was piled high on her head and loosely pinned, and she wore a bright orange apron. This was her fiftieth year, and it was beginning to show.
James had the ultimate respect for her. Over the years, she had been a brilliant substitute mum, and Mary adored her. Noah was Noah, but even he, James thought, appreciated her in his own way. She had had a monumental job to do but had never wavered from the path she believed was right. Luke and Clare had never once felt neglected or excluded, or at least, they never let it show. Mistakes had been made but not so easily that anyone would know. And if Sylvia was sometimes over strict, it was with the very best of intentions, and it never stretched beyond the parameters laid down on the first day of this unique coming together of mind and bodies. Losing Chloe had made her love life even more than she imagined and value highly what she had.
Her mood was strange today. James had feared some backlash from her especially as he had bunked off school again, but she barely spoke as she watched him polish off the food on his plate.
They were in the newly fitted kitchen her father had designed, and her husband had installed. It was twice the size it used to be, and there was room for a big farmhouse table and eight chairs. It was Sylvia’s favourite place of all, where all the major decisions were taken. And where most meals were consumed.
Upstairs, Clare and Mary were watching a DVD starring Johnny Depp, and judging from the giggles, they were intensely happy. It wasn’t like Sylvia to watch James so keenly. Normally, she would be getting on with something and making sure the house was as spotless as it could be given there were three men in the house. And not such a tidy daughter too.
Something was troubling his foster mother, and it was nothing to do with him not getting home last night. There was something on her mind. Astutely, he guessed what it was. He knew she knew. How, he wasn’t quite sure, but she knew alright.
She sighed and began to tell him.
‘I had a phone call yesterday,’ she paused, ‘from the Prison Services people.’