Naked

by Kevin Brooks

  Of course, I was the only one who knew that William’s desire to keep a low profile wasn’t just a matter of personal choice, it was potentially a matter of life and death. In fact, it was around this time that he confided in me that he’d been seriously considering quitting the band because of the possible risk that any media exposure might pose to Nancy and Little Joe.

  ‘I know it’s not really much of a risk,’ he told me. ‘I mean, it’s pretty unlikely that the IRA are going to find out about me by reading the NME, you know? And even if one of them did happen to come across a photo of the band, they wouldn’t recognize me.’

  ‘Yeah, well,’ I said, ‘you are very good at making sure you’re looking the other way whenever anyone takes a picture of us.’

  He grinned. ‘You’ve noticed, have you?’

  I nodded. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen a photograph of the band that clearly shows your face.’

  ‘Well, that’s good … I mean, I look a lot different now to how I looked when I was in Belfast. I’m taller, my hair’s longer, I’m two years older … so I doubt if anyone would recognize me anyway, but still …’

  ‘You can’t be too careful.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘But the IRA aren’t even after you, are they? They’re looking for Nancy –’

  ‘Yeah, but they know that I’m with her. So if they find me, they find her.’

  ‘And you’re still convinced that they really are looking for her?’

  ‘Well …’ he said cautiously, ‘that’s the thing. I know that they’d like to find her, that they’d like to take her out of the picture, but – from what I’ve heard – it’s not particularly high on their list of priorities right now. I mean, if they happen to find out where she is, if someone brings her to their attention, then fine – they’ll deal with her. But, according to my contacts, they’re not actively looking for her any more.’

  ‘Well, that’s good, isn’t it?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say it’s good –’

  ‘Yeah, but if they’re not going out of their way to look for her, you don’t have to leave the band, do you?’

  ‘That’s exactly what Nancy said.’

  I looked at him. ‘You’ve talked to her about it?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So what does she think?’

  ‘She thinks I should stick with it. The way she sees it, the risk of exposure is so slight that it’s hardly worth bothering about, and as long as I don’t get my picture on the front page of the Sun, there’s no need to worry.’ He lit a cigarette. ‘She thinks it’s good for me anyway … you know, being in the band. It keeps me occupied, keeps my mind off other things … and it brings in a bit of money too, which always helps.’ He gave me a slightly embarrassed look. ‘And it’s kind of a family thing, as well … the music. My grandparents always played, my dad was a pretty mean fiddler … so, you know, in a way, I’m just kind of following the family tradition.’ He smiled. ‘That’s what Nancy thinks, anyway. She says my mum and dad would have been proud of me.’

  I smiled warmly at him.

  He said, ‘So, yeah, I’ll just have to see how it goes, I suppose. I mean, if things start getting any bigger for us … well, I might have to reconsider. But, for now, I think I’ll probably carry on with the band.’

  ‘Good,’ I said, nodding my head a little too vigorously in a dismal attempt to hide the true depth of my relief. ‘That’s … well, it’s really good …’ I smiled at him again. ‘And, besides, it’s not as if anyone’s going to come across your real name in the papers, is it?’

  He looked at me. ‘You mean the whole “Billy the Kid” thing?’

  ‘No,’ I said, holding his gaze. ‘You know very well that’s not what I mean.’

  ‘Do I?’

  I shook my head. ‘You’re doing it again.’

  ‘Doing what again?’

  ‘Answering questions with another question.’

  He smiled. ‘Well, you know me … Mr Mysterious.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Mr Mysterious – is that your real name?’

  ‘Damn,’ he said, laughing. ‘Found out at last.’

  The attention that William was starting to attract wasn’t easy for Curtis to deal with. He still admired and respected William, and – although he’d never admit it – he still looked upon him with something approaching reverence, but when it became clear that other people were beginning to admire and revere him too … well, for Curtis, that was different. That wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. He was the star, the leader, the genius, and while it was fine for him to rave about William, he resented the admiration of others towards him.

  He was jealous, basically.

  He didn’t like it.

  Again, he’d never actually admit it, and he always tried to keep his true feelings to himself, but it was obvious – at least, to me – that William’s growing popularity was really tearing him up. What made it even worse for him, I think, was that he was perfectly aware of how essential William was to the band, and that without him – without everything he gave us – we probably wouldn’t be attracting half as much attention from the press and the record companies.

  So, in one sense, William was helping Curtis to achieve his dream … but at the same time he was stealing his thunder. Which, naturally, Curtis found pretty confusing. But although I understood and accepted his confusion, that didn’t make it any easier to cope with. I mean, Curtis was difficult enough at the best of times – but a permanently confused and conflicted Curtis …?

  No, it wasn’t easy.

  He was very good at keeping his feelings to himself when he needed to, and the only times he publicly showed any animosity towards William were on a couple of occasions when William was late for rehearsal, and when he did finally turn up he gave no explanation. He just said, ‘Sorry, I got held up.’ And even then, Curtis didn’t let rip at him or anything, he just kind of scowled at him all night. Another time though, when William missed a rehearsal altogether, Curtis really did go mad at him.

  It was towards the end of July, as far as I can remember. It had been another stiflingly hot day, the temperature way up in the 80s, and even at seven o’clock in the evening the warehouse felt like an oven. Because we were gigging a couple of times a week now, we didn’t really need to practise quite so regularly any more, but Curtis had recently written some new songs that he was keen to get into the set, so we’d booked the warehouse for two consecutive nights to give ourselves time to learn them.

  By seven thirty, there was still no sign of William.

  We sat there, waiting … sweating …

  Eight o’clock came and went.

  Eight thirty …

  ‘We’ll give him until nine,’ Curtis said. ‘And if he’s not here by then …’

  He wasn’t.

  ‘Fuck it,’ Curtis spat. ‘Who the fuck does he think he is?’

  The next night, William turned up at the warehouse at seven o’clock on the dot. He didn’t say anything when he came through the door, he just walked in, crossed over to where all the equipment was set up, and put down his guitar case. He seemed a bit distracted, as if he was pre-occupied with something, and I don’t think he was even aware of Curtis, let alone that he was standing there glaring angrily at him. Which, of course, made Curtis even angrier.

  ‘Fucking typical,’ he sneered.

  William looked at him. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You just stroll in without a fucking word –’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Where were you?’

  ‘When?’

  ‘When do you fucking think?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, last night,’ William said casually. ‘Yeah, sorry about that. Something came up –’

  ‘Yeah, I bet it fucking did,’ Curtis said, shaking his head. ‘It’s always the same with you, isn’t it? “Some
thing came up … I got held up …”’ He was mocking William’s accent now. ‘“… oh, yeah, sorry about that …”’ He stared at William. ‘I mean, what is it with you, eh? You think you’re better than the rest of us, is that it? We have to be here on time, but you can just pick and choose when you want to turn up, and if you can’t be bothered to show up at all … well, it doesn’t really matter, does it? We’ll all forgive you anyway because you’re so fucking wonderful.’

  William said nothing, just stared back at him.

  ‘You know what your trouble is, don’t you?’ Curtis went on. ‘You’re starting to let all that crap in the papers go to your head … you’re actually starting to believe it. You’re Billy the fucking Wonder Kid, you can do whatever the fuck you want –’

  ‘All right,’ William said calmly. ‘That’s enough.’

  ‘No, you fucking listen to me –’

  ‘You’ve made your point, Curtis,’ William went on, his voice slightly harder now. ‘But don’t push it, OK?’

  ‘Or else what?’

  William sighed. ‘Look, I’m sorry about last night, OK? I’m sorry I couldn’t be here, and I’m sorry it pissed you off so much. But I had to do something –’

  ‘Yeah? And what was that then? What exactly was this vitally important thing you had to do?’

  ‘That’s my business.’

  Curtis shook his head. ‘We sat here for two fucking hours waiting for you – the least you owe us is an explanation.’

  ‘I don’t owe you anything.’

  ‘No?’

  William just stared at him for a few moments then, and I could tell from the tired-out look in his eyes that he’d had enough of this now. I don’t think he was particularly annoyed with Curtis, and he certainly wasn’t angry with him, he’d simply had enough. And as I stood there, watching and waiting, I was fully expecting William to just turn round and walk out. I knew that’s what he was going to do … I just knew. And I could already feel the emptiness in my heart.

  But I was wrong.

  He didn’t walk out.

  Instead, he looked down at the ground for a moment, let out a quiet sigh, then looked up at Curtis again and said, ‘Do you want me to go?’

  ‘What?’ Curtis said.

  ‘If you want me to go, just say it. You won’t see me again.’

  Curtis looked puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’

  William sighed again and picked up his guitar case. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Stay,’ I heard myself say.

  Curtis looked at me, his eyes momentarily shocked, then angry, then confused … and just for an instant I saw a flash of bitterness too, and something cold and calculating … but it was all so mixed up, so chaotic and fleeting, that before I could make any sense of it, Curtis had looked away from me and was smiling, quite genuinely it seemed, at William.

  ‘Hey, come on, Billy,’ he said breezily. ‘Lighten up, for Christ’s sake. I was only … you know … like you said, I was just a bit pissed off, that’s all. I mean, it’s no big deal or anything … all right?’

  William looked at him for a second or two, making him wait, then – with no expression at all – he just nodded.

  ‘OK,’ Curtis said, trying his best to sound upbeat, but not quite managing it. ‘Let’s get on with it then. I want to see if we can get these new songs sorted out before Friday …’

  After the night at the party, when William had told me all about his life, we hadn’t had much chance to talk to each other again. Not on our own, anyway. William didn’t socialize with the rest of us very often. He’d sometimes hang around after a gig or a rehearsal and share a couple of drinks with us, but most of the time, once the gig or the rehearsal was over, he’d just pack up his guitar and go. And even when he did hang around with us, I was always with Curtis, so we were very rarely actually on our own together. Even so, the closeness we’d shared that night at the party was never far from my mind, or my heart, and I didn’t have to be alone with William to know that he felt the same. The closeness between us, our innocent intimacy, was always just there … in a shared glance, a fleeting smile, a knowing silence.

  It felt good.

  But wrong.

  Like a purity tainted with sin.

  That night, during a break in the rehearsal, I waited for Curtis to go to the toilet and then I went over and spoke to William.

  ‘Are you OK?’ I asked him.

  ‘Yeah …’

  ‘Sorry about Curtis, you know …’

  ‘No problem,’ he said, smiling at me. ‘Thanks for speaking up for me.’

  I shrugged. ‘Curtis would never have let you go anyway.’

  ‘You reckon?’

  I smiled. ‘You’re his hero.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ he said, laughing. ‘Billy the fucking Wonder Kid …’

  I glanced across the warehouse, checking to see if Curtis was coming back yet. He wasn’t. I turned back to William and lowered my voice. ‘Is everything all right? You know, with Nancy and everything …?’

  ‘Everything’s fine.’

  ‘What about last night …? I mean, was that anything to do with –?’

  ‘No.’ He looked at me. ‘No … it was just …’

  ‘Something you had to do?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  The heat that night was so thick and muggy that it was almost impossible to sleep. After the rehearsal, William had left straight away, and I’d gone to the pub with Curtis, Stan, and Chief. We’d stayed until closing time, then me and Curtis had gone back to the squat and just sat around in his room for a while – listening to music, reading … not really talking very much. It was too hot for talking. It was too hot for anything. The window was wide open and we had a little fan going – Curtis had found the fan in a skip a while ago – but the air was so heavy that nothing really made any difference. Curtis was drinking Special Brew and smoking joint after joint, and when he went over to his desk and started scribbling away in his notebook, I decided that I might as well try to get some sleep. I stripped off and lay down on top of the bed, closed my eyes, and tried to think cooling thoughts. I pictured myself sitting beside a mountain stream, dipping my bare feet in the ice-cold water. It was springtime, I imagined, a fresh afternoon in April. The air was crisp and scented with grass, the world was quiet, and a refreshing breeze was drifting down from the mountains, cooling the back of my neck …

  None of it worked, of course.

  I just lay there, covered in sweat, only too aware that far from sitting barefoot beside a mountain stream, I was in fact lying on a clammy bed in the suffocating air of a shabby little room in North London.

  I don’t know what time it was when I eventually fell asleep, and I don’t know what it was that woke me again either. All I knew, as I groggily opened my eyes and sat up in bed, was that Curtis was sitting in a chair by the window, leaning towards me, his arms resting on his knees, staring intently into my eyes. He was bare-chested, his skin glistening with sweat, and his face in the darkness looked so cruel, so alien, that for a moment or two I didn’t recognize him. I didn’t doubt that it was Curtis, I just doubted that I’d ever really known him. He was like a stranger wearing Curtis’s skin.

  ‘Curtis …?’ I mumbled sleepily, rubbing my eyes and glancing at the clock. ‘What’s going on? It’s four o’clock in the morning –’

  ‘What do you think of him?’ he said quietly, still staring at me.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Billy … William … what do you think of him?’

  I rubbed my eyes again. ‘I don’t understand … what do you mean?’

  He leaned towards me and spoke very slowly. ‘What … do … you … think … of … him?’

  ‘I don’t know …’ I muttered, beginning to feel a little bit scared now. ‘He’s all right, yeah … you know … he’s OK …’

  Curtis smiled coldly. ‘He’s OK?’<
br />
  ‘What’s this all about, Curtis? Why are you –?’

  ‘You think he’s OK, do you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I sighed. ‘Is that a problem?’

  ‘A problem?’ he said quickly, leaning back in the chair. ‘Why should it be?’

  I realized then, as his body slumped to one side, and he tried, but failed, to sit up straight, that he was so stoned out of his head on something that he’d virtually anaesthetized himself. All he could do was sit there, slumped sideways in the chair, like a puppet without any strings.

  ‘What do you think of me?’ he said.

  ‘I think you need to go to bed. You’re totally wrecked –’

  ‘Do you love me?’

  ‘Yes, I love you,’ I lied. ‘What have you taken tonight?’

  ‘It’s a reasoned derangement, you know …’

  ‘Listen, Curtis –’

  ‘Of all the senses … it’s a reasoned derangement … all shapes of love, suffering, and madness …’ He sighed heavily. ‘God, I’m tired.’

  ‘Come on, Curtis,’ I said, getting to my feet and going over to him. ‘You really need to go to bed now. Here, give me your hand … Curtis?’

  When he didn’t answer, I leaned down and looked at him. His eyes were closed.

  He’d passed out in the chair.

  22

  It’d been rumoured for a while that Malcolm McLaren was trying to arrange a big event in August to showcase the Sex Pistols, and when he finally announced that they’d be playing at the Screen on the Green cinema in Islington on 29 August, supported by the Buzzcocks, the Clash, and Naked, Curtis and Jake were absolutely convinced that this was the chance we’d been waiting for.

  ‘It’s going to be massive,’ Jake said excitedly. ‘Everyone’s going to be there – journalists, photographers, all the record companies … it’s just going to be huge.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Curtis agreed. ‘I still think Malcolm should have put us higher up the bill though. I mean, we shouldn’t have to play first, for Christ’s sake. It should be the Buzzcocks first, then the Clash, then us, and then the Pistols.’