by Stella Duffy
Saz followed Peta back downstairs and put on a brave face as she entered the kitchen. The heads of three men turned as she walked into the room. As she told Molly that night, “A straight girl would be in heaven. They really are beautiful guys.”
Dan stood up first, wiping his right hand on his jeans before he held it out to her. Saz figured he was about six three, his black skin a burnt caramel brown, jet black eyes, long curly hair caught back in a pony tail and an incredibly well worked out body which he made no attempt to hide under a very thin, just buttoned shirt. Steve introduced himself next, an inch or two shorter than Dan but his wider girth actually made him seem bigger. His close cropped hair revealed a dragon tattoo across the back half of his head when he bent over to kiss Saz’s hand. Peta pushed him away playfully with a shake of her head and a stage whispered, “No chance, darling, she’s one of us.”
At which point Dan burst out laughing and shot his left hand in the air with an exultant “Yes!” and Alex fell back in his seat, groaned and pulled a ten pound note from his pocket which he then passed to Dan. Peta glared at Alex and turned to Saz, “I’ll have to apologize for my brother, he’s not normally such a rude bastard.”
“Fuck off, Petey,” Alex interrupted her, “I’m a rude bastard most of the time actually. I pride myself on it. And I don’t need my baby sister apologizing for me either.”
He pulled himself up off his chair and walked over to where Saz still stood in the doorway. He looked down at her, the shortest of the three men but still a good few inches taller than Saz. He had the same bright blue eyes as his sister, but his accent was muted from many more years living in England. He smiled at her encouragingly as he held out his hand, “Saz, is it? And you’re sure that you’re gay, are you?”
Saz smiled back equally encouragingly as she shook his hand and to the delight of the other two men answered, “Well, I was last time I checked. And are you sure you’re straight?”
Dan’s whoops of laughter were silenced when Alex dragged him to the ground, the two men mock fighting for a few minutes while Steve provided a commentary which dealt rather more with the finer points of Alex’s sexuality than his battle technique. Which is where Siobhan found them when she poked her newly highlighted and perfectly made-up head around the door to call them to their rehearsal.
“I see you’ve met my men, Saz. Leave Alex alone, guys, he’s valuable. And get a move on, Greg’s waiting downstairs.”
And all three of them meekly rose as one and followed Siobhan down to the basement. Saz watched after them as Peta grabbed a bar of chocolate from the fridge. “Does that sort of thing happen a lot?”
Peta ripped open the giant-sized bar of fruit and nut and crammed six squares in her mouth, nodding her head. “Depends. They’re good craic when they’re happy.”
“That’s happy?”
“Sure. Have you no brothers, Saz?”
Saz shook her head, “Just a sister. But I’m quite close to my brother-in-law. We have an understanding. Doesn’t involve a lot of physical interaction though.”
Peta nodded. “Right. Well, I’m the youngest of five. Four big boys and then me. Alex is the oldest and I love each and every one of them to pieces. And he is a bastard too, Alex. An angry young man, even at his age. This, the being with them, playing about with them, I love it. It’s like being at home again.”
Peta smiled as she walked out of the room, “I make every man my big brother, Saz, that way I’m not tempted to fuck any of them.”
That evening Saz described her day in minute detail for Molly. As they sat down to eat Molly poured Saz a generous glass of Chilean Pinot Noir and asked her if she thought she was likely to be affected by big brother syndrome.
“I don’t know, Moll. I mean, I can see that Siobhan is stunning, it’s common knowledge and confirmed in real life, and I suppose I’d noticed that the boys were good looking too. But I can’t say watching them on telly prepared me for meeting them in the flesh. Their size, their energy. And they’re funny too. To tell the truth, I was impressed. Dan in particular is very beautiful.”
Molly left her Spanish omelette to go cold while she bodily reminded Saz that testosterone or oestrogen, whichever hormone is only as impressive as its results, and Saz went to sleep that night smugly thinking it might not be a bad thing if she could manage to make Molly a little more jealous just a little more often.
TEN
Having spent her first day helping in the office, thereby setting herself up in Peta’s and the boys’ minds as the general help, Saz was itching to get on with her real work. But when she met Siobhan the following morning and asked for access to her and Greg’s old correspondence and some time to talk about any other leads either of them might have—not so friendly old friends, for example—she was met with Siobhan’s claim that they were far too busy to go through all that “old stuff”. When she volunteered to go through their things herself, the response was icy. The shutters came down on Siobhan’s usually smiling huge grey eyes and the dimples fled her chiselled cheeks.
“Saz, I’m perfectly happy to have you rummaging through my past, if you must, but there’s nothing about me and Greg—as a couple—that could possibly have any relevance to the case.”
Saz tried to disagree, “Surely if someone is out to have a go at you, then all your relationships are relevant …”
She was cut off by Siobhan with a wave of the hand, “Greg is not the one being hounded here. I am. This is about me and I’d like to keep him out of it as much as possible. Greg and I are very private people. I don’t like being asked about him, I don’t like being asked about my past. What I do now is public, that’s fine. What I’ve done, what I’ve been, that’s old news.”
She carried on talking, not giving Saz a moment to interrupt, “Believe me, no one I grew up with has ended up wealthy enough to send huge great bunches of yellow roses. And as far as Greg goes, I can’t imagine it’s anyone in New Zealand. Do you have any idea how much it costs to order yellow roses on Interflora these days?”
With that she twinkled a “See you later, must work” while slamming the basement door on Saz, ending the conversation with a bang. Saz stormed back to Peta’s office more certain than ever that Siobhan was hiding something and determined to look into Siobhan’s history at the earliest possible moment.
Alex walked into the office half an hour later looking for his little sister. He looked tired and dishevelled and didn’t bother wishing Saz a good morning, simply growling, “Where’s Peta?”
“She’s gone to the Post Office. Anything I can do to help?”
“Got any drugs?”
Not especially prudish, but all the same surprised at his audacity, Saz didn’t quite know how to reply and Alex sneered at the confusion on her face, “Pain killers I mean. Christ, it’s only eleven in the morning, what kind of an arsehole rock and roll band do you think we are?”
Figuring that honesty was likely to get her more information than anything else, Saz replied, “I don’t know. I’m not that much into music and I don’t know a lot about you guys.”
“Yeah, well, that’s obvious.”
“You’ve got a headache?”
“Hangover. Brain fucking shafting bitch of a hangover, aching stomach and a mouth that tastes like … oh fuck it, I don’t know, not enough sanity for clever similes. Now where does the silly tart keep her drugs?”
He then rifled through the drawers of Peta’s desk until he found a box of Nurofen, swallowed the last four dry and left the office, slamming the door behind him. Saz watched after him, delighted to have been of use.
Later that morning Saz asked Peta about Alex’s drinking habits and she was treated to a lecture on the drugs of choice of the whole band.
“No, it won’t be just a hangover on Alex. Too much bloody coke, that one. He wants to watch it, last time we were all home for Christmas my mother nearly caught him at it and there’d be hell to pay if she did.”
“They use a lot of drugs?”
/> “The band?” Peta shrugged her shoulders, “Depends what you call a lot. They’re hardly the Velvet Underground. The boys smoke dope. Every day, I guess. Well, not Steve, he hardly ever touches anything other than lager—his body is a temple, if you see what I mean.”
Saz did. “The others?”
“Alex and Greg and Siobhan like a line or two of coke. Several lines in Alex’s case. Addictive personalities run in my family …”
Saz could see that Peta was about to launch into a tale of alcoholic aunties and uncles and drew her back to the band, “Dan?”
“A little of whatever’s going, I suppose. When you’ve got the money and you need to keep working and half the time the work looks like partying, well it does the trick, doesn’t it? Dan’s more into your young person’s drugs though. Clubbing and all that. He likes E. I don’t touch any of that stuff myself, I can’t stand the music that goes with it and I prefer my chemical release in liquid form.”
“What about Siobhan?”
“She doesn’t smoke, but she’ll do the rest now and then.”
“She doesn’t like dope?”
“Bad for the voice, you know. Actually, it’s bad for the band really. The five of them, they’re ready for an argument almost any time these days, but with the drink and drugs—it just makes them even nastier to each other.”
“When they’re off their faces?”
Peta laughed, “Oh no, that’s the only time they seem to like each other anymore. They’re all the best of friends when they’re pissed. Even Alex. Mostly. It’s when they have to be sober and get on with the work while they’ve still got the hangovers from the night before that the shit really starts to fly.”
“Like Alex this morning?”
“Exactly. Mr Happy coming down. It can get very nasty. Alex picks on Siobhan. That’s normal enough, he’s always picking on Siobhan. But then maybe he goes just a little too far, Greg sticks up for her and Alex turns on Greg. Then Siobhan screams at Alex, Dan has a go at Alex, blah blah blah. Eventually even Steve gets pissed off and then they’re all at it. It’s why Kevin left in the end. He couldn’t stand it.”
Saz sat up at the mention of a new name, “Who’s Kevin?”
“Ex-tour manager. He was an old mate of Siobhan’s. He was with the band from the beginning—at least, from the beginning of doing gigs anyway. Started off as just a mate humping the gear, then as they did better and better he went from roadie to crew to tour manager.”
“But not any more?”
“They had a big bust-up last summer. Alex was screaming at Siobhan—”
“It sounds to me like he’s always having a go at Siobhan about something.”
“He is. She and Greg might be the centre of the band but Alex thinks he’s her svengali—she couldn’t do it without him, wouldn’t have the right words to sing without him—all that bollocks.”
“Not true?”
“He’s probably right. She’s pretty—well, let’s say flighty. Alex is the only one who can get her to really concentrate. And he does write really good stuff for her. Everyone knows that, he’s just dead arrogant with it. Anyway, last summer, they’ve just got off stage, everyone’s really hyper, it had been a brilliant gig but Alex doesn’t see that. Alex is off his face and screaming at Siobhan about fucking up some line or other, on and on about how she’s ruined the whole gig with that one mistake and eventually she starts crying. Greg’s not there, he’s gone off to talk to some journalist and Kev just comes up and smacks Alex in the face.”
“You saw it?”
“I mopped up the blood gushing out of his nose. Now, the guy’s my own brother and I’d be the first to admit he deserved it, but Siobhan sacked Kevin anyway.”
Saz shook her head, “I’m sorry? Siobhan sacked the man standing up for her?”
“I know it doesn’t make any sense. He was one of her oldest friends too. But you see, I don’t think Kevin ever really understood—I think they need it, the five of them.”
“Need what?”
“All the shouting and carry on. It’s just part of the game.”
“Of the band?”
“That’s right. The dynamic is just that—Alex is hateful and everyone puts up with it. They just shut up and are relieved to listen to him being nasty to someone else. Anyone else, as long as it’s not themselves. You know, when someone else is getting it in the back of the neck, it’s actually almost funny. Alex’s sarcasm is brutal but it’s definitely witty.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“And the more hungover he is, the nastier he’ll be. Siobhan always gets the worst of it but it just seems to suit her. I think she actually likes him screaming at her. She gets off on the drama of it all.”
“So what happened to Kevin?”
“Slunk back off to Liverpool, I suppose. I’ve no idea actually.”
Then Peta looked at the pile of unopened letters that had come in the second post, “Look, I’m quite happy to tell you all the juicy gossip if you’re really interested, but d’you think we could get on with some of this work at the same time?”
Peta kept Saz fully occupied for the rest of the day opening letters, checking tour itineraries with the band in an attempt to accommodate all their individual requirements. While Alex had been single for some time and Dan was newly alone, quite a few important details had to be co-ordinated with Steve’s model girlfriend Tiana and the seven stone Canadian princess was not easily satisfied. Saz had to content herself with brain-filing her own little pile of information. She planned to check out the peremptorily sacked Kevin as soon as she was free and she’d also make a few more enquiries about Alex. If he and Siobhan really did have such a vicious relationship, then it wasn’t inconceivable that he might choose to upset her just that little bit more. With a bunch or two of roses perhaps.
Saz went home to complain to Molly about how on earth she was supposed to proceed while not letting Peta know why she was really there. As she explained over their takeaway pizza—American hot with extra pepperoni and chilli sauce, “I mean, I like the woman, Moll, I’m sure she’d be cool if I told her the truth, but I’m not allowed to and so she’s really just …”
“In the way?”
“Exactly. I did what I could with her around. This afternoon I went through all the fan letters the band had ever received. Thousands of them, all neatly filed in cardboard boxes.”
“Thousands? Really?”
“I exaggerate. It just felt like thousands. I wanted to give up after ten of the bloody things. How many different ways can you say ‘Siobhan Forrester, I fancy you?’”
“Didn’t Peta think it was weird you were rifling their archives?”
“Official business. My task was to alphabetize the letters, thereby helping her compile a fan database.”
“And did you?”
Saz swallowed a fingerful of stretchy mozzarella and sneered, “Ms Steele, that’s a very stupid question. To do that, I’d have had to actually use the bloody computer. However, one of the more useful things was finding correspondence about this Kevin bloke in with all the fan stuff. The latest address was about a year ago so I’ll follow that up tomorrow. I also made a note of the twenty-two letters with the same sort of expensive writing paper as the letters sent to Siobhan—only eight of which were printed, the others were written by hand. Once I’ve sussed out Kev, I’ll get on to checking out the addresses. Then I relocated to Siobhan’s room for a couple of hours and called practically every florist in North London.”
“Exaggerating again?”
“All right, I didn’t bother with too many in the outer reaches of Colindale. Anyway, it’s not as if any of them can remember someone coming in and asking for more than the usual number of yellow roses.”
Molly laughed, “And what’s the usual number?”
“It’s an engrossing statistical study actually, you might be very interested.”
Saz sat up from where she was lying on the floor at Molly’s feet and pushed the finished p
izza carton away. She had been absent-mindedly forwarding through the pile of old video tapes, one of which she knew held the Orson Welles version of Jane Eyre, which she and Molly planned to settle in and watch that night. If she could ever find it. She pulled three sheets of close printed figures from her file and looked down the numbers. “According to my research, most people buy red roses, then white, followed by tacky red carnations, then even tackier pink carnations …”
“What’s wrong with carnations?”
“They’re nasty, cheap and I hate them.”
“Carrie?”
“Who else? Sent me three bunches in one week.”
“To say sorry?”
“No. She sent them the week before she left me, buttering me up.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“Please do. I’d prefer lilies. And finally, a surprising fifth in our top ten poll of flower buyers’ favourites, yellow roses.”
“All of which means?”
“Absolutely nothing as far as I’m concerned. No one’s jumped up and said, oh yeah, sure, bloke comes in once a week for an armload of yellow roses, then takes them off to his pop star love. None of the letters match directly, and even if I found one that did, I couldn’t do any more without fingerprinting and all that analysis nonsense.”
“I wouldn’t let Helen hear you say it’s nonsense.”
“It’s only nonsense when I don’t have access to it.”
“Ask her to help.”
Saz shook her head. “Can’t. Siobhan won’t let me contact the police at all and the other reason is …”
“You know that Helen and Jude don’t approve of you working alone after the last disaster.”
“Thanks for the memory. The fact that since my recovery I’ve had two cases of missing fathers, addresses and phone numbers passed on to the mothers—”