The Afterparty

by Leo Benedictus

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘But Hugo’s not been himself for a while.’

  ‘Since when?’

  She lit a cigarette and exhaled hard.

  ‘I don’t know. Two years ago? During all the Sinbad reshoots. We were still close. But the pressure … I think he began to have issues with it.’

  Odd that she was defending him now. The sourness of those days seemed suddenly so faint, diluted by time.

  ‘Did you think about having children together?’

  Garth had removed his coat, revealing a suit and tie. He asked the question seriously, like your oldest friend, but the body was wrong. Too much focus. Perching eagerly forward from the armchair’s lip, elbows on knees, hands clasped together tripodding the chin, gaze locked. Mellody’s addiction counselor had sat a bit like that.

  ‘Nope.’ She was firm. ‘I’m not going to talk about that.’

  ‘I just think it’s something people will want to know. You did say, um …’ He shuffled through a pack of printouts. ‘… last March that children was something you were thinking about.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what I said. I’ll talk about last night, and Hugo. Whatever else you get is a bonus. Call Rebekah if you’re not happy about it.’

  ‘No, that’s fine Mell. You’re in charge here.’ His BlackBerry fizzed and murmured. ‘So let’s talk about last night, then,’ he continued, ignoring it. ‘When did you and Calvin get together?’

  Mellody expelled a little scoff. So this was how it would be. No delicacy, no seduction of her secrets into being told. Consent had been granted. The only thing remaining was the act.

  ‘After Cuzco,’ she sighed. ‘We went to another party, and he kissed me. It just seemed right. Hugo and I have had an open marriage for the past year now. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s had his own liaisons, and I know he didn’t mind about mine.’

  ‘Who were his liaisons with?’

  Irritably: ‘Like I said, I don’t even know if there were any.’

  ‘How about yours?’

  She said nothing. Smoked her cigarette.

  ‘Did Hugo know about your relationship with Pete Sheen?’

  ‘He knew. We didn’t talk about it, but he knew.’

  Once one violation was survived, how easily the others followed.

  ‘And was Pete there at the squat when you and Calvin kissed?’

  ‘He was. Although Peter and I split up a while ago. We still hung out, but that was it.’

  ‘Why did you and Hugo stay together if you were seeing other people?’

  Mellody considered this. The front of her house shimmered silently on TV.

  LIVE, the screen said.

  ‘He’s been having a hard time recently. A lot of stress – with work, I think, and with personal problems that I’m not going to discuss. If I’d left him I don’t know what would have happened. When you’re as successful as Hugo, you get surrounded by a lot of people with agendas, not all of whom you can trust. But he knew – he’s always known – that I only had his interests at heart, even if it was obvious that we couldn’t stay married much longer.’

  ‘So why are you telling your story now?’

  ‘Oh come on!’ Like he didn’t know.

  Garth rephrased it. ‘What would you like to tell people?’ he said.

  Mellody considered the question.

  ‘That I just cannot be a part of what happened last night. I am worried that Hugo may be being badly advised, by people who are exploiting him for their own gain. If that tape was genuine then it can only be because other people have got him all confused and messed up inside himself. Hugo is the sweetest guy I’ve ever met. He would never harm anyone. The Hugo I know would have done everything he could to help Calvin. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Do you think the tape was genuine?’

  ‘I don’t know. It sounds like him, but I don’t know.’

  ‘So what did happen last night, as you experienced it?’

  She stubbed out her cigarette. Scratched her knee. Her arm.

  ‘Well, after the party, I went on to this other party. Then I came back home with Calvin and some friends … Jesus, I just can’t believe he’s dead.’

  Garth nodded, but said nothing. He was young, and his tie was pink like Turkish delight, suspended from a beefy Double Windsor.

  ‘So anyway, there were still a lot of people at the house who had been at Cuzco. We all kind of hung out for a while – just talking and drinking. Calvin was great company. A lot of people in the music business get pretty cynical, but he was just totally positive about what he was doing. And he had a great sense of humor. We had only just met, and I know he was younger than me, but we really clicked. It’s like we had a real connection. I was really looking forward to getting to know him better. I’m devastated about his death, especially for his family. It doesn’t seem real.’

  ‘Did you have sex together?’

  ‘Jesus. You really expect me to answer that?’

  ‘I think it’s an important question.’

  ‘I bet you do.’

  Now her roof was on TV. There was a policeman on her roof on TV. And one of her towels. LIVE. What was her towel doing live on TV?

  ‘Well, people are saying you did have sex.’ Garth’s voice gave its first hint of irritation. ‘If you don’t deny it, what do you think that means?’

  ‘You know what?’ Mellody leaned forward now. ‘I don’t give a fuck.’

  The guy actually looked hurt. Like he believed he was only trying to help.

  ‘I’m not your enemy, Mell,’ he said. ‘I’m here to write your story for you.’

  ‘WINE RADICALS’ CLAIM RESPONSIBILTY FOR BOMB ATTACK, read the tickertape along the bottom of the screen.

  ‘OK, OK,’ Mellody said impatiently. ‘You’re just doing your job. I get it. But the answer is still “no comment”.’

  ‘And in your car? Did anything happen?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘How about drugs? Did Calvin take any drugs?’

  ‘Possibly. I didn’t see him.’

  ‘Were there drugs around, as Hugo says in the recording?’

  ‘If you go to a party, there will be people taking drugs, so sure, there probably were.’

  ‘Did you take anything?’

  ‘No. That time of my life is behind me now. Drugs have destroyed people I was very close to and they nearly destroyed me. I was lucky enough to get help before it was too late. And Hugo was there for me all the way …’

  It only took a second for the tears to come … But no. No! Mellody squeezed them back. Not in front of this guy. She would not allow it.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ she managed. ‘Wait!’ And breathed deeply.

  Back to her front door again, live on TV.

  ITALIAN FOOTBALL CANCELLED IN POPE’S HONOUR

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘There probably were drugs around, but I didn’t have any.’

  ‘How do you feel about Hugo today?’ The guy just kept on coming.

  ‘I’m sad for him. Things are difficult right now, of course, but we’ll always be friends. Most of all, I feel so sorry for Calvin’s family.’

  ‘Mmm.’ The sympathy noise.

  And now on screen, her front door was opening.

  Hugo was stepping out.

  Hugo was stepping out.

  He looked OK. His face was calm, though it seemed to shiver in a thousand claps of artificial light.

  ‘Turn it up!’ Mellody yelled suddenly. ‘Turn it up!’

  Garth released the mute.

  Hello, Hugo said. I hope you all have your equipment ready, because I’m only going to say this once. There will not be any questions.

  Hello, he said. I hope you all have your equipment ready, because I’m only going to say this once. There will not be any questions.

  Hugo stood in front of the gate. A man arched by dark magnolia leaves above, and steel bars behind. He held the statement low, one white sheet gripped fast in an untrembling hand. There were mixed shouts. Or
ders and interrogations. How did Calvin die? Hugo, over here! Is this a cover-up? All were ignored until all faded.

  Renée pressed in close by Michael’s side to improve her view of the screen. He edged fractionally away.

  A young man, Calvin Vance, died today, Hugo said slowly. What it is like to be in the shoes of his family and friends right now, the rest of us cannot know. And we should all hope that we never find out.

  ‘Good,’ Renée hummed appreciatively. ‘Good.’

  HUGO MARKS STATEMENT, crashed on to the screen. LIVE.

  Michael felt sick, but could not look away.

  I met Calvin only twice, and briefly. But just a few moments in his company was all anybody needed to feel his warmth, and his enthusiasm for life and for his music.

  He spoke it very plainly, with authority, giving everybody time to write it down.

  I know many people, not just his fans, believed that Calvin was on the brink of achieving something special. It is just one of the many tragedies of his death that now we will never know.

  Michael’s phone rang, making Theresa jump. Renée looked at him crossly. It was work. He considered answering, then pressed Reject.

  As the police have already indicated, Calvin’s death seems to have been a terrible accident. But while the investigation continues I have been asked not to comment publicly on the events of last night or this morning. And I won’t.

  Had he? No one had asked the same of Michael.

  I understand your interest, and the interest of many people, in finding out about what has happened. But today, and in the coming weeks, Calvin’s family must be put first. Events in Rome have made this is a sad time for millions of people around the world, but they also show us that decency and respect are infinitely more powerful forces than gossip and insinuation.

  VANCE WAS ‘ON BRINK OF SOMETHING SPECIAL’, began to roll beneath his knees.

  The purr of helicopter blades, rising in pitch, then passing overhead.

  As for myself …

  ‘What the fuck?’ Renée yelped suddenly, snatching up her copy of the statement.

  … if you feel your story needs somebody to blame, blame me.

  Michael was transfixed. What was this? It was not in the speech he had read.

  The price of success is an obligation to set a good example. I accept that, even though I have not always managed to do it. And it is difficult, you know, when some people prefer to watch the spectacle of failure.

  ‘What is he doing? What is he doing?’ Renée offered her palms in open desperation to the room.

  This is the audience that I have, however, so I must accept that, too. And more than that …

  In his pocket, Michael’s phone was ringing again.

  … I would sincerely like to thank all the thousands of people who have taken the trouble to watch my stage and film performances over the years. If my work has pleased you, then I’m glad. Nothing has made me gladder. All I ever wanted was the chance to tell good stories. But I am a real person, and real people fail. Thank you very much.

  There was a confused silence.

  In the flat centre of the camera’s gaze, Hugo folded up his piece of paper, put it in his pocket, walked back through the gate and up the path. A few journalists, jolted from their shock, called out to him – Why are you to blame? How have you failed? – but too late.

  VANCE FAMILY ‘MUST COME FIRST’ said the yellow letters.

  Michael’s phone was still ringing. He slipped out with it.

  ‘Hello?’ he said.

  ‘Michael, it’s Andrea.’

  ‘Hi there.’ Scurrying up the stairs to his room.

  ‘Hello. Look, I’ve had a word with a few of the top brass about this, and we all really want to hear your story. We can set something up over the phone, send a car, come to your house, whatever, really. And the editor’s prepared to pay you quite well, I think.’

  ‘OK.’ Shutting the bathroom door. ‘That’s great. I’ve been thinking about it too.’

  ‘Well done, boss,’ Bonzo said, closing the door.

  ‘Thanks, Bonzo.’

  His hall looked different.

  ‘What the fuck, Hugo?’ Renée was pouring down the stairs at speed. ‘What the fuck?’

  She was very angry. He knew she would be very angry.

  ‘I wanted to explain myself.’

  ‘And you didn’t want to tell me about it?’

  Hugo shrugged. ‘You would have said no.’

  ‘I’m not your fucking boss, Hugo. You can do what you like. But you’re damn right I would have said no. That would have been my advice, yeah. Because what you just did …’ Eyes revolved in their sockets. Hands rose together as if imploring God for a new hyperbole. ‘It could kill your career, Hugo. OK? It could kill your career.’

  He was so tired.

  ‘They will tear you apart! They will make it look like you’ve gone crazy. Like some spoiled showbiz brat. If you think you’re going to get these guys to blame themselves, then …’

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I’m tired. I want some time alone.’

  ‘OK.’ She tried to calm herself. ‘Good idea. You go upstairs, get some sleep. I’ll talk to the police. We’ll see how this goes down. Independence will never forgive you, though. This is not exactly …’

  ‘No!’ Now Hugo was shouting. ‘I want to be alone! I want everyone out! Now!’

  Theresa’s face peeped out above the banister rail.

  ‘Hugo.’ Renée was gentle. Friendship for a mental patient or a child. ‘I know you’re under a lot of pressure, but we need to stick together.’

  ‘Leave!’

  So loud he squeaked it, though he felt no real rage. It felt like he was watching himself. This was what his tantrums looked like. How interesting.

  ‘There are police, Hugo.’ She was trying to calm him now, which was sensible. ‘We can’t ask them to leave. Why don’t you take a few minutes, maybe have a nap, and then we’ll talk.’

  ‘Just go! All of you! I don’t want your help!’

  Bonzo looked frightened. Renée sighed.

  ‘OK.’ Glancing back over her shoulder. ‘Let’s go, Theresa. Get our stuff together and call an extra car. We’ll go out the back. Hamish, do you need a lift?’

  ‘Thank you,’ Hamish said.

  ‘You too, Bonzo.’ Hugo tried to sound kinder.

  ‘Boss?’

  ‘I think Bonzo should stay here, Hugo.’

  ‘This is my house!’ It sounded almost as if he really was upset.

  ‘OK, Bonzo,’ Renée said. ‘Just wait on the street with the guys. Don’t let anybody in.’

  Bonzo nodded, and walked out of the door.

  Hugo looked at Renée. She seemed smaller, in her pressed white shirt, vibrating even now with energy, blazing out great wavefronts of fear.

  And now Theresa was shouting something. Something about bakers.

  ‘What?!’ Renée yelled impatiently.

  ‘What about the caterers?’ she repeated, picking a route down the stairs with three laptop bags.

  ‘Cancel the caterers,’ Hugo snapped, and noticed himself accelerating along the hall.

  ‘Erm…’ Theresa speaking timidly. ‘And Vikram?’

  ‘Cancel Vikram!’ he bawled. ‘Cancel everything!’

  He began his descent into the basement.

  The curtains were closed, the TV still on. Mute light played upon the walls in coloured alternations.

  ‘BLAME ME’ BEGS MARKS IN SPEECH.

  EMOTIONAL STAR CONFESSES ‘I FAILED’.

  He heard the front door shut. After a minute, the back door slammed too.

  Hugo knew what he was going to do.

  Mellody opened the front door and winced.

  ‘You must be Giles’s friend?’ she said.

  ‘That’s right,’ said the man. And then, oafishly, ‘Sorry oy took a while getting ’ere.’

  He had a weird accent, like a pirate. And as he smiled, two red cheek blemishes, stalled healings from
some long-lost wound, stretched lengthways with the skin. Nor were his teeth of the quality that Mellody expected.

  ‘That’s right,’ she said, standing back. ‘Come in.’

  Ducking beneath the doorframe, he ambled past her, smile still in progress. A hooded top and boyish face, much too deeply lined, overworked by grimaces and grins. He might equally have been a lively forty or a ruined twenty-four. Mellody eyed the shrivelled backpack hanging off his shoulder.

  ‘Could you just wait in the kitchen for a minute, while I take care of something?’ she said politely, as he was about to advance into the lounge.

  ‘Don’t mind,’ the man said, and did as he was told.

  Garth was in the armchair, peering at his BlackBerry.

  ‘Can we take a break for half an hour, Garth?’ Mellody said briskly.

  ‘Half an hour?’

  ‘Yup. A friend’s arrived and we need some time together. It’s been a difficult day. Do you think you could just go for a walk or something?’

  ‘A friend?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘OK.’ He wasn’t happy. ‘We still have a lot to cover, though, Mell.’

  ‘Sure.’ Picking up his overcoat for him. Ushering him to the door. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.’

  She closed it behind him.

  In the kitchen, Giles’s man had found some sushi in the fridge and started eating it.

  ‘That’s a lot of bubbly you gat in there.’ He licked his fingers, and nodded at the line of Moët.

  ‘It is,’ Mellody said. ‘Open one if you like.’

  ‘Nah. I’m driving, thanks.’

  ‘OK.’

  She shut the door and the bottles jangled.

  ‘I had a hell of a time getting here,’ the man said, as he unpacked his bag. ‘There was an accident on the A28, I think it was. They was diverting us all round Beckley.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  He had placed a set of digital scales on the countertop, and was reaching inside what looked like a gent’s washbag.

  ‘How much you want then?’

  ‘How good is it?’

  She would only get enough for a day or two, that way things could not get out of hand.

  ‘Oh, it’s very good. Don’t you worry about that.’

  Naturally. It always was.

  ‘Just give me a gram.’

  The man took out a Saran-wrapped package and worried away the outer layers to reveal a small beige ingot.