“And worse. There was a medallion.”
She looked over at him on his stool up front and shook her head. “The poor lad. So how do you feel about it?”
I followed her gaze to Ross making love to his microphone, his eyes tight closed. It was a romantic song, low and sad, and his features were twitching with emotion. I felt a twinge of compassion for whatever he was feeling; a sudden desire to put my arms round him. His songs could get you like that.
“Well, it’s surreal,” I said at last. “But once I’d got over the shock I just felt relieved really. Considering what I was worried about, Elvis impersonating’s no big deal.” I glanced at Ross again, noting how tired he looked. Ok, that was partly because we’d stayed up late for some sexy fun, but I was still concerned about the long hours he’d been working. “I suppose my biggest worry is he’ll burn out, working at the club on top of the day job and the lighthouse.”
“He does look shattered. You’d better look after him, Bobs.”
“I will.” I blushed, fiddling with my wine glass. “Guess what he told me last night after we’d kissed and made up?”
“No!”
“Yep. Said he’d wanted to say it for ages, but he was worried about the Elvis thing.”
“Aww. Told you, didn’t I?” She stretched an arm round my shoulders. “Happy for you, sis.”
“Cheers, Jessie.” I smiled. “You know, I actually had a great night, weird as it was. Found out my boyfriend isn’t either a cheat or a serial killer, heard him say he loves me, watched my knobhead ex get a wine in the face and made my peace with the femme fatale I thought was after my bloke. And then there was candy floss, cuddles, sex and more cuddles with a fit man in uniform. Result.”
“All right, Priscilla, now you’re just making me feel like a low achiever.”
“Why, what delights did your stint on A&E hold?”
“Well I made up a new game. Want to play? I call it Sick or Thick.”
I sighed. “Go on then.”
“Ok, I’ll tell you the symptoms, you tell me if the person’s genuinely ill or just dim. Easy one to start you off. Stomach cramps and flatulence.”
“Sick?”
“Nope, thick,” Jess said. “Daft cow had been doing that cabbage soup diet. Sent her home with a prescription for a bag of pasta. Right, next: bleeding from the ear.”
“Thick. Cleaning their ear out with a safety pin or something.”
“Correct. Except it wasn’t a safety pin.”
“Well, what was it?”
She shook her head. “A bloody Black and Decker drill. Switched on. Pillock said it was itchy in there.”
“Ouch. And what did you prescribe for that one?”
“Well I wanted to prescribe withdrawal from the human race on the basis of Darwinism, but apparently I’m not allowed. So I just sent him home with some cream.”
Ten minutes later, Ross had done with his set and was helping the youth club band with their equipment. As much to escape Jess’s manky A&E stories as anything – they were definitely getting worse – I suggested we wander over and watch.
“Can you keep a secret?” I whispered as we grabbed our drinks and headed towards the stage area.
“You’re a closet Madonna impersonator?” Jess said. “That’s no secret, love. I found the pointy bra in your knicker drawer yonks ago.”
“Not that one.” I nodded to the band. “Something them lot don’t know. This isn’t really a gig, it’s an audition.”
“Audition? For what?”
“The lighthouse opening. We need a talented young band to open and Mum reckons they’ve got what it takes.”
“She’s always biased about her youth club kids though.”
“I know. That’s why Ross organised the gig, so we’d have a chance to judge them in the wild. Don’t say anything, will you? They’ll be bricking it as it is.”
Ross was helping the lead singer, suitably steampunked for the night, assemble the drum kit. The lad looked terrified, and as we crept into earshot it sounded like Ross was doing his best to pep him up.
“Don’t worry, son,” he was saying. “Everyone feels like that. Means you’re going to be good. It’s over-confidence that’ll kill your voice, not nerves.”
“Or it means I’m going to piss myself live on stage,” the boy said, looking seven shades of scared shitless. It was young Josh, the scruffy artist who’d been the talent behind our wall mural months ago. In his top hat and velvet blazer, he looked like a young, fair-haired Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen.
Ross finished tightening a screw and stood to slap Josh on the back. “No you’re not. Just do that thing if you’re nervous.”
“What thing?”
“That thing they always say to do. Imagine the crowd naked.”
“Are you kidding? I’m 16, I spend most of my time doing that.” Josh’s eyes widened in sudden horror. “Fuck! I just thought of the only thing more embarrassing than pissing myself.”
Ross laughed. “You’re not going to piss yourself and the last thing you’ll be thinking about when you get going is sex. Trust me, I’ve been playing 12 years. Had all the anxiety dreams – public nudity, losing my voice – but they’ve never come true. The worst thing that happened was when our drummer exploded.”
Josh blinked. “What, seriously?”
“No.” Ross narrowed one eye. “You’ve seen Spinal Tap, right?”
“Spinal what?”
Ross shook his head. “Kids,” he muttered. “No appreciation of the classics.”
“Good with them, isn’t he?” Jess whispered to me.
“Yeah,” I whispered back. “He’ll be great once we get the workshops up and running.”
“Do I really have to imagine everyone naked?” Josh asked Ross. He lifted his red top hat to wipe his brow. “My mum’s here.”
Ross grinned. “Best not then. Just get up there, shut your eyes and sing. Ask yourself, what would Kurt do?”
“Yeah…” Josh’s eyes clouded with Cobain worship. “He’d just get on with it, wouldn’t he? Let the music take over.”
“Yep, and so will you. Janine told me how good you guys are. Bound to be better than the band I was in at your age, and we managed a few years without being booed off stage.”
Josh looked at him in surprise. “You were in a band? What were they called?”
“Er… can’t remember.”
Ross looked over when he heard me snort and shot me a grin.
“That’s my girlfriend. Think you’ve got this if I leave you to it?” he said to Josh.
“Yeah, no worries.” Josh followed his gaze to us and frowned. “Sorry, which one’s your girlfriend?”
“Both of them, if I play my cards right.”
Josh’s eyes turned saucer-like, and for a moment it looked as though Ross might topple Kurt from his pedestal as hero of choice, until he grinned and explained he was joking.
“Oh. Right.” Josh looked disappointed that he wasn’t about to pick up any tips. “Hey, thanks for sorting this, man. No one ever let us play before.”
“No problem,” Ross said, slapping his arm. “Good luck, lad.”
“You should’ve told him,” I said when Ross joined us. “Stalin’s Budgie Smugglers is no worse than The Llama Drama.”
Ross shook his head. “Karma Llama. And Nietzsche’s Jockstrap, as you well know, funny girl. What is it with you and band names?”
“Maybe I just like my versions better,” I said with a shrug.
After we’d been to the bar for a top-up, we reclaimed our table and waited for Josh and the band to start.
“Think they know why they’re really here?” I muttered to Ross.
“Not a clue. Good thing too, they’re nervous enough as it is.”
“Reckon they’ll be ok?”
“Dunno,” he said, shooting a look at Josh’s perspiration-soaked brow. “But if they manage this, I think they’ll do a good job for us.”
“They better,” Jess said. “People
are going to have some pretty high expectations for the opening.”
I glared at her. “Thanks, sis. No pressure, eh?”
“Don’t start giving me evils. It’s Ross we’re not talking to, remember?”
Ross lifted his eyebrows. “Why, what’ve I done?”
“Why didn’t you tell us the place’d be full of Victorians in fetish gear?” Jess demanded. “We look well weird.”
“We look weird?” he said with a laugh. “There’s a bloke over there dressed as a steam-powered Ghostbuster.”
I squinted at the man Ross had pointed out. He had a home-made ghost-sucking thing on his back that’d make Jules Verne’s eyes water: all wood, cogs and wires. You couldn’t fault someone who’d gone to that level of effort, I decided. His commitment to battling the legions of Victorian ghosts was just too inspiring.
“Yeah, but in this lot he looks normal,” Jess said. “It’s us who stand out. Even the bloody band kids are dressed up.”
“What would you have done if I’d told you then? Gone the full steampunk?”
Jess shrugged. “Might’ve. Quite fancy myself in one of the basques.”
“You’d better watch yourself saying stuff like that around Trav, he’ll be dashing upstairs for his video camera,” Ross said with a grin. “So what’ve you two been talking about?”
“You.” I drew my finger across a dark circle under his eye. “We’re worried about you.”
“Me? Why?”
“Are you sure you can manage all this, Ross? Two jobs plus the lighthouse?”
“Oh, I’ll cope somehow. It won’t be for long, I hope. The flat’s bound to go sooner or later.”
“And if it’s later rather than sooner?” Jess said.
“I’ll find a solution. Move in with my parents maybe.”
I curled my lip. “Yeesh. Not sure I could stand going back to living with Mum now, she’d drive me insane.” Jess nodded her vigorous agreement.
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Ross said. “Me and Dad might well end up killing each other. Still, it’d only be temporary.”
“Just take care of yourself, ok, Mason?” Jess said. “No offence but you look shagged out.”
Ross cleared his throat, lifting innocent eyes to the ceiling.
Jess shook her head at him. “All right, sex maniac: I did actually mean in the metaphorical sense. Go careful, that’s all. I don’t want to end up seeing you in a professional capacity.”
“I will. Thanks, girls.” He smiled at us. “Nice to have you both looking after me.”
“Don’t go saying stuff like that around Josh,” I said with a laugh. “I thought his eyes were going to pop out when you did that threesome joke earlier, poor lad.”
“Shush now,” Jess said. “They’re starting.”
We all turned as The Karma Llama’s drummer finally mumbled his “one two three four” and the band launched into their first song.
Josh was sweating heavily under his topper. The poor lad looked like he was about to dive head-first into a horde of teenage girls baying for his flesh, and he didn’t know whether his dreams or his nightmares were coming true.
But there was something about these musicians, the ones who really believed in it. Josh touched his fingers to his Fender guitar – and he was gone. Within a minute he was leaping around the stage, eyes closed, belting out a cover of Smells Like Teen Spirit for all he was worth.
“Bloody hell,” Jess said, looking taken aback. “Mum was right, they are good. And bloody energetic.”
“So, Bobbie? What do you think?” Ross said.
“I think we’ve got ourselves a band.”
Chapter 32
September furnished an Indian summer, but the educational elite showed no mercy. Come the 19th I had to go back to work at Cragport Community College, and the long summer of the lighthouse came to an end.
I was back to squeezing everything lighthouse, and everything Ross too, into my suddenly very limited free time. With the November launch event creeping closer and Ross working every spare hour down at the club, it wasn’t long before things started to take their toll.
Things came to a head one Friday about three weeks into the new term, when I arrived at the lighthouse straight from work to find a throng of men in high-vis bustling around the place.
Fear gripped me instantly. We hadn’t booked in any workmen. My brain jumped from one terrifying possibility to the next. Had the council plotted something? Had Alex got his revenge by teaming up with Langford to scupper us right at the last?
“Oi! What’s going on?” I demanded of a burly bloke having a fag by the door. “Who authorised you to be here?”
“What’s it to you?”
I glared at him. “This is my property, mate. So you’d better tell me what you’re doing to it without my consent pretty sharp, before I call the police.”
He looked me suspiciously up and down. “You aren’t the owner. We’ve got paperwork signed by the owner.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a dirty receipt. “Mr Mason, says here.”
“Mason?” I blinked in shock.
I pushed past the man and shouldered open the door. The inside was a flurry of sawdust that got up my nose, making me sneeze. There was a loud buzz of machinery, and huge planks of wood stacked up against the wall.
“I’m the owner!” I shouted to a man operating a circular saw over a workbench. “What’re you doing?”
“What?”
“WHAT WORK ARE YOU DOING?”
The man gestured to the wood. “Balconies, love.”
“What? I never authorised that!”
He shrugged. “I just do as I’m told. Better take it up with the gaffer outside if you’ve got a problem.”
“Right. I’ll do that.” And I stumbled blindly back out of the door.
The balconies were the biggest, most important, most expensive part of the whole renovation. They needed careful thought and planning. And now it looked like Ross had booked some cowboy company to fit them without saying a word. Without even consulting me! What could he have been thinking?
“Hey, you really the owner, love?” the burly foreman said as I stood by the door, my eyes caked with sawdust and angry tears.
“Joint owner.”
“So are we to carry on then?” He looked a little nervous now he’d had the chance to think about it.
I hesitated. “Yes,” I said at last. “You might as well now you’ve started. I need to have a word with my business partner though. Expect a phone call.”
Seething, I jumped into my car and drove straight round to Ross’s flat.
“What the hell did you go and do?” I demanded when he answered my knock.
“Oh. Hi, Bobbie. Er, what?”
I pushed past him into the living room. He closed the door and turned to face me, looking bemused.
“Have I done something wrong?”
“I’ll bloody say you have, mate. I’ve just been up to the lighthouse.”
“Ah, right, good. Have they started the balconies?”
“Yes, they’ve started the balconies. I got the shock of my life when I found the place overrun with workmen. What the fuck did you think you were playing at?”
He looked puzzled. “I thought you’d be pleased. I know you think I haven’t been pulling my weight recently, and you were tired after going back to work… I wanted to make it up to you.”
“Make it up to me?” I exploded. “By booking in some dodgy company without telling me? Jesus Christ, Ross!”
“They’re not dodgy, honestly. Travis recommended them.”
“How much?”
Ross looked guilty. He shuffled his feet with a schoolboyish air.
I frowned. “How much, Ross?”
“Twenty-five grand.”
“What? But that’s the entire emergency fund! All the remaining fundraising money too!”
“I did manage to negotiate it down from 30. Trav said that was the best price we were likely to get so I just went with it
.”
“What, you didn’t even get any other quotes?”
“No. I didn’t think there was any point. Travis knows what he’s talking about.” He rubbed at one eye with his knuckles. “God, I’m tired.”
“I can’t… Christ! I just can’t believe you’d do something so reckless. Make a massive, expensive decision like that without even telling me.” Angry tears prickled my eyes. “I thought we were partners.”
“We are partners.” He reached out to embrace me but I held him back, staring in stunned disbelief.
He sighed. “I’m sorry, Bobbie. I wasn’t thinking. It won’t happen again.”
“Well it can’t now, can it? We’re skint.” I shook my head. “This has got to stop, Ross. You can’t go on like this.”
“Like what?”
“You know. The long hours, leaving me to pick up the pieces on the lighthouse. This isn’t the first poor judgement call you’ve made recently, is it?”
First there’d been the LCD screens. I’d let Ross source them from some seller on eBay, and when they’d turned up we discovered they were wired for a US power output and wouldn’t work in the UK. We’d had to return the lot, at our own expense.
And then there’d been the safety documentation for the launch event. We’d almost missed the deadline to get it in to the council when Ross remembered at the last minute he’d forgotten to post it. But this… nothing had shaken my confidence in him as much as this.
“I’m sorry, Bobbie, I really am. I guess I just wasn’t seeing it from the right angle. I don’t function well when I’m not getting enough sleep.” He took a deep breath. “Look, I’m glad you came over. Me and you need to talk.”
Oh God. Those words. They never heralded anything good.
“Here, come sit down.” He guided me to the sofa and took a seat next to me. He looked nervous, his eyes glittering as if he was coming down with a fever.
“What is it, Ross?” I asked in a low voice.
“You’re right, I can’t go on like this. I’m exhausted.” He rubbed at his eye again. “And the summer season’s nearly up, then they’ll cut my hours at the club to weekends. There’s a difficult decision I’ve had to make.”
Meet Me at the Lighthouse Page 24