by Tom Butler
An over boisterous Budgie hooted and shouted, ‘You lucky bastard’ which drew a few extra ripples of applause despite nobody really knowing who he was.
Wes looked at James a little horrified, but James just thought it was hilariously funny. He thought a lot of stuff Budgie did was. There were too few people in the world like him in his opinion. It was only now that James had begun to focus properly, his weary eyes spanning the room for familiar faces. There weren’t that many, so far as he could see, though he did spy several of what he referred to as “the hanger on brigade” including a smug faced Ashley and the remarkably thin Hannah who wore a strapless red dress and had one of the two girls from the Birmingham hotel room standing chatting next to her. Neither saw James, and he had no wish to speak to either of them.
Jed Murray was next on stage, and he must have spent a good ten minutes just talking to the attentive gathering. Not much more than a minute of it about Noah and the rest about the band, especially his daughter. But no one seemed to mind his self-indulgence one bit. There were affluent people attending, and he desperately needed to get his message across. Judging by the smiling faces, it was working; the huge outlay had been worthwhile as a publicity ploy. The evening was going to plan.
Next on the agenda came the rest of the band, led by Joe but minus Noah who had donned silly wigs to perform an unaccompanied version of Cliff Richard’s old hit Congratulations that had everyone in stitches except Budgie who seemed puzzled by it. An encore was demanded, so they took one the album tracks and did a slowed up, harmonic version of it again to much applause.
Straight after, Wes took James off into another room to check he was feeling okay whilst the man in the tuxedo mixed in some pretty awful gags with a tribute to Noah and finished off with a blatant plug for both album and single.
James had at least run a comb through his hair and borrowed a black cowboy style shirt from Joe who had brought a spare along, and he convinced Wes he was ready and wouldn’t forget the words. Their contribution to the evenings’ event was proudly announced, and Budgie gave his pal some spontaneous wolf whistles when he took to the stage and duly fumbled for a microphone. Wes broke into the intro on the piano but James missed his cue and waited for Wes to count him in again. He looked up at the ceiling and then down at the expectant faces and his mind went blank.
Carrying on, Wes hoped James could compose himself, but he was now beginning to pace the edge of the stage as Budgie shouted, ‘Come on Jimmy boy, you can do it’. There were a few titters from those nearest the stage, and James’s face turned rapidly from white to red.
Spotting Noah now looking less than impressed, James suddenly announced, ‘This is for my big brother, the man everybody loves. I hope you’re ready for this, Bro.’
Wes stopped playing and hastily went into the intro again but James now had no intention of singing. There was something he wanted to say.
Phillip loosened the arm he had around Sylvia’s shoulders and said, ‘Oh god, no. We need to stop him.’
But it was too late. A gesture from Wes went unheeded and like Phillip, he feared the worse. He stood up from the piano and made another gesture, this time to Jed Murray. But neither man could stop James. He had the stage to himself, and he had the microphone.
‘My shit of a brother, the birthday boy who everyone thinks is destined to become a high and mighty rock star,’ he began, hushing the whole of the room at a stroke before taking a breath. ‘Well, now you gullible people, why don’t I tell you what he’s really like. And to what lengths he’d go.’
Noah knew exactly where James was going, and he needed to do something. But not wanting it to turn nasty he leapt on to the stage and tried making a joke of it as if they were just brothers messing about like teenage brothers do.
A friendly attempt to wrestle the microphone from him was misinterpreted by James, and suddenly on his eighteenth birthday, Noah had a fight on his hands.
James shouted aloud, ‘Why don’t you try killing me with another empty bottle, you cheating bastard. Maybe you’ll succeed this time.’
Jed and Wes and two security guards descended upon them, but before they could restrain James, a flying elbow had presented Wes with a bloody nose. And a kick had landed straight between Noah’s legs which had buckled beneath him so that he was on his knees in front of all of his guests. And with his younger brother in no mood to stop, chaos reigned.
‘Tell them what you did,’ James mouthed loudly as he too landed on the floor with the weight of numbers against him. He didn’t need a microphone any more to make people hear. His voice had become a vicious scream.
Sylvia had reached the front of the stage, and she was in tears. Mary was standing distraught being consoled by Melissa.
‘He doesn’t mean it, sweetheart. Don’t get too upset,’ the singer said, holding on to her.
For once, Budgie Bird was lost for words. He too had made his way to the front of the stage, and when he saw the blood on Wes’s face and the concern in Liz’s eyes as she ran to attend to her husband, he merged back into the crowd who were watching events with open mouths.
He then went back to the bar and ordered three drinks for himself and scoured the room for any sweet canapés that had been left. And he sat down to drink and work out a strategy that would get him home as he had precious little money on him. A crumpled fiver and some loose change was all he could muster.
James had virtually forgotten all about his friend. He had been taken kicking and screaming outside and was held up against a tree by two strong men whilst Sylvia and Phillip tried talking sense into him. Jed Murray had wanted him arrested for assault, and it was only his daughter’s intervention that had dissuaded him from making a call to the law. Wes had drawn the line at having anyone but his wife looking after him and though it was painful, he didn’t think his nose was broken.
The VIPs who had been kind of wined and dined were being pacified by Joe Slater and the two other band members while the man in the tuxedo mingled and played down the whole unfortunate business. It had been put down to a misunderstanding and just plain old jealousy on James’s behalf. He was a talented fifteen-year-old with a lot to learn about life, and in years to come, he would put his misdemeanours right.
But one person might never forgive him for spoiling the party, and that wasn’t Noah who would think that perhaps it could have ended up so much worse.
Mary Swan might not ever come to say that she had forgiven him for his outrageous behaviour. It might stay with her forever. And he might not ever regret something so much for the rest of his days.
Nobody took pity on James, labelling him childish, spiteful and disruptive. If he had let them down because of nerves or stage fright, they would surely have forgiven him. Certainly, Mary would have, but not so when she realised he was practically out of his skull with drink and hell bent on ridiculing his brother. That was unthinkable. Totally unacceptable.
Somebody who did have pity thrown his way was Budgie, courtesy of a guest who worked for a music magazine offering him a lift back into the city centre which was close enough for him to walk home. The man concerned told his temporary travelling companion that the evening had been quite an eye opener but stopped short of calling it shambolic. Budgie agreed but still gave James a glowing endorsement.
‘Mark my words man, he’s going to be the next big thing, and I’ll be with him every fucking step of the way,’ he boasted, which had the man looking quite mystified. ‘You heard it from me first,’ he went on, virtually beating his chest like a rampant gorilla. ‘Remember the name Darren Bird but feel free to call me Budgie. I’ll be looking after James Swan’s interests when he’s famous. So tell your magazine people when the time comes to route all exclusive interviews through me. There will be no other means of contact. Everything via me. Understand man?’
The man thought his passenger was becoming delusional and just pretended to show an interest. Budgie had plenty more to preach to him about.
‘Tonight was jus
t one of those fucking things, man. Brotherly love isn’t what it used to be, but who cares. It won’t harm my boy one bit. There’s no such thing as bad publicity in my book. A bit of notoriety is what everybody craves. What do you say man?’
The man just nodded and was glad this wasn’t a longer journey. He was now regretting acting as the Good Samaritan. But the man he had assisted was thinking ahead. If he could convince James he was the person most likely to take him to the top, he could stop others from muscling in. He began firing questions at his travelling companion. Seeking knowledge.
‘Who did you say you worked for again? What’s the chance of you mentioning James in your next edition? Surname Swan. And I’m Darren, Darren Bird. I’ll put my number in your phone if you like so as you don’t forget,’ Budgie prattled on. ‘You do have a phone on you, don’t you?’
‘I left it at home charging,’ the man lied.
‘Pity. I’ll scribble it down, and you can give me your number.’
‘Kind of you.’
The man was rather glad when it was time to drop Budgie off, and he even went to the length of wishing him and James luck for the future. They had indeed exchanged numbers, but the man had simply made a number up in his mind and jotted it down. It seemed the logical thing to do.
In terms of bullshit, he thought Budgie Bird had been in a league of his own. Even if James did become famous, he somehow doubted Budgie would be around to enjoy it. No one in their right mind would want a person like that in their lives. It would be complete madness.
Wes was thinking likewise as he allowed Liz to drive him home. His face was sore from being caught up in the feud that might never end, and his pride had been severely dented. But he knew James had a genius within. It was akin to a great composer showing their temperamental side before actually being proclaimed by the music world. And it was poignant to remember the boy was only fifteen years old.
‘What will you do about James?’ Liz asked him, keeping her eyes glued to an unlit road.
He didn’t rush in with an answer. He still faced a quandary.
‘Give him plenty of space. Let him rebuild a few bridges, first. It wasn’t just his brother he seriously pissed off tonight. I felt sorry for Mary and his adopted family too. They shouldn’t have to have witnessed that. It was a debacle.’
‘I never seen him like that before. The lad needs professional help.’
‘Maybe he does. But it doesn’t disguise the fact that in his eyes, he’s got just cause to feel aggrieved. Though in no way could anyone defend him for what he did.’
‘He’s very lucky not to have landed himself in worse trouble,’ Liz sighed.
‘Dead right. Jed was baying for his blood and nearly had his balls on a stick. I think tomorrow the lad will wake up and feel very ashamed. If he doesn’t, I for one shall be bitterly disappointed.’
‘He’s got a lot of apologising to do. Beginning with you. I hope to god he’s learned a very important lesson.’
‘I’ll second that. James is not a bad person. What happened was avoidable but not necessarily a deliberate act.’
‘You’re too soft Wes Crowley. Look at the state of you.’
Liz drove over a few potholes, and her husband immediately grimaced in pain. His nose felt as if it was on fire. He knew one day he would smile about it. It was called human nature.
A still simmering James had travelled back with Sylvia in the front passenger seat of her white mini, but there had been no conversation apart from when he needed to urinate in some bushes at the side of the road. Most of the journey took place in preferred silence. She felt responsible for him but not sorry for him. Letting him go home in a cab was an attractive option, but he might then decide to kip down elsewhere instead which she imagined would only serve to compound matters. It was certainly imperative to keep him miles from Darren Bird and his bad influences. She partially blamed herself for giving him too much rope. He had put several nooses around his neck in one fell swoop. All she felt like doing when she got home was crying, but of course it would never do to be seen doing that in front of Clare and Mary. She couldn’t show weakness at a time like this. That couldn’t be allowed to happen.
******
Chapter Sixteen
Saturday morning came and went without James knowing. Sylvia let him sleep in, and no one felt much like offering him breakfast or advice. And he would have accepted neither any way. From midday onwards, his phone was flooded with texts from Budgie. He ignored them. Later, he would concoct a reply, but for now there was no rush.
He listened to the digital radio in his room, gradually increasing its volume as his head cleared, and then he went looking for food. Everyone was out on a weekend shopping expedition, so the sudden urge to talk to somebody and try to explain his frustrations was suppressed for now. Not even Wes would answer his repeated calls or respond to a one-line text asking him to make contact. He suddenly felt incredibly stupid and very alone. It made him shudder, and the cheese on toast he had all too rapidly consumed made him feel sick.
He was not one to lie on his bed in daylight hours, and he condemned others that did it when there was so much more to life. But it seemed the only thing to do as the ceiling above him refused to stop revolving around. When it did eventually stop he tried picking at his guitar and got all of his chords muddled. Wes would chastise him for that but also have a little laugh at his expense too.
Close to teatime the house was full again, and Clare and Mary were trying on tops Sylvia had bought them from the sales in Primark. He heard them giggle excitedly next door and run up and down the stairs to show anyone interested what they were wearing.
James wanted to see. To be asked his opinion. He wanted to be part of family life. Not to be excluded. Or ostracized. He listened at the door, and he could hear the thump, thump of his heart. Was he really turning into some sort of teenage ogre that people crossed the street to avoid? Could he win back the trust of those who meant most to him?
He thought his heart would explode right there and then, and he would be found in fragments on the floor. And that no one would attend his funeral. An obituary in the local newspaper would say something along the lines of, ‘James died alone in his room. He had no friends. Those that he once loved and who loved him had given up on him. He was a hopeless case. God rest his poor, twisted soul.’
Then he thought that Budgie would still talk to him. But did he really need a friend like that. Someone looking to exploit him? He picked up his phone and scrolled through some names. Then he put it back down again, laid on the bed and tried to shut his eyes. Normally, Sylvia would call him down for tea and hug him on the way to the table but normality had vanished. Somebody was teaching him a lesson, and this was one he would never forget. His outlandish behaviour had alienated everybody against him. Only one person could put it right. Himself.
James decided not to phone Budgie or answer his calls. If he came calling in person, he would be told to go away, and if he bumped into him in the street, he would be asked to stay out of his life and interact with the usual low life he called acquaintances instead. Feeling sure Wes would mellow and speak to him in a few days’ time, he began strumming on his guitar again, and this time the chords came easy. He conjured up fresh lyrics from somewhere, and a new song was born. It was called Friends and Enemies, and it was a love song. A sad one, but it summed up how he felt right now. Positives come from negatives. He was learning that life took you in all sorts of directions and often brought you back to your roots.
His stomach felt empty inside, but at least he could no longer hear his heart pounding. The strings of his guitar had never sounded so good. They were almost singing to him, telling him to mend his ways and live the life he craved. It would be harder than ever to convince people now. But he would try. Through his music, he would communicate and preach. He didn’t want people to love him because he didn’t deserve that, but why shouldn’t they love his music. It was everlasting. It spoke volumes.
Luke
was used to hearing James singing in his room, and he was the first Proudlock to make contact, knocking lightly on his door to check if he was OK. He said he was, and almost immediately, Sylvia arrived with a tray of food and some blackcurrant squash. The three of them made no reference to last night, and James felt less lonely though he knew he had some explaining to do mixed in with real apologises. Mary had opted to keep her distance. It was akin to putting James on the naughty step until such time she could no longer keep the chastisement up.
She and Clare could still be heard chatting excitedly in their room, the subject matter ranging from clothes and holidays to boys they liked at school. Stuff that James classified as boring though it was music to his ears to hear Mary’s voice and a great relief to hear her laughter. He had so much wanted to serenade her after Wes had suggested the idea. It would have told her how much she meant to him and reinforce that special bond they had even if it they now appeared to operate in different circles.
For the first time in ages, Luke spent some time with James. They played some of Luke’s games on an X box, watched a DVD about vampires, and James sang his latest composition to gauge a reaction even if it was in need of a proper melody. Luke liked it and had a go on a spare Acoustic guitar. It sounded pretty awful, but at least he was making James laugh.
‘You should take lessons. It’s not so hard. I picked it up quite quickly. Woodwind instruments are so boring compared to the electric guitar. Maybe I could have a word with Wes. Assuming of course, he still wants to know me after last night.’
Luke shrugged. He didn’t really want to become a pop star. Everything pointed to him following his dad into the building trade though he wanted to take the civil engineering route.
‘I don’t think so,’ he considered. ‘Music is for listening to. I’ll leave the playing to others.’
‘Well, if you ever change your mind, just say.’
Luke didn’t think he would. Most likely, he was tone deaf anyway.