The Rock 'N' the Roll. 'N That

by Steven J. Gill

  Unable to contain her laughter, she agreed. “They are, Dominic, but you know I hate that word.”

  Just as Cal finished admonishing her son, the lead singer/guitarist then pathetically tried to segue into ‘Crosstown Traffic’. The solo was clearly beyond him, although it was met by cheers from a sizeable pocket of the crowd.

  “Fuck me! I can’t believe how many friends the cunt has got,” said Dom, unable to contain his derision.

  “DOM!” Cal scolded again, although this time with a wicked smile on her lips.

  More drinks were consumed, with Johnny and Mark buying three rounds of margaritas. The mood had lifted considerably by now, and the evening’s technical problems seemed to be behind them.

  As The Bitter Pills – a Mod-ish looking combo – started their set, Mikee and Dom, now both in alcohol-fuelled high spirits, started whispering conspiratorially. Chinking shot glasses and knocking them back with a high-five, they headed off to back of the club, laughing to themselves as they passed the peacocking Jimi Jimi frontman, who was stood dismissively with his back to the stage.

  As they reached the dressing room, Mikee and Dom could no longer contain their giggles. Peering into the dressing room, Dom looked back. “It’s clear. You ready? I’ll keep cover.”

  Stepping into the room, Dom identified the target of their ire. A guitar case painted at no small expense with psychedelic air-brushing picking out the band name – Jimi Jimi.

  Popping the case open, Dom saw the Fender Stratocaster lay in its purple velvet housing. Part of him regretted what they were about to do – given his love of guitars – but this was an exceptional circumstance…

  He whispered to Mikee in between snorted giggles, “Right, it’s there. I’ll keep cover. You do the deed.” Laughing again, he put his hand over his mouth to smother the noise.

  Mikee stepped into the dressing room, dropped his jeans and boxer shorts and squatted centrally over the open case. And the prone guitar.

  Clenching hard, he slowly let out a long brown cable of shit right across the strings and the scratch plate of the black Fender.

  Hearing Dom’s whispered call of, “Hurry up!” he glanced down between his legs, looking admiringly at the parallel poo he had just deposited, hurriedly did up his jeans and placed the now closed guitar case back to where exactly it had been.

  Fist-bumping before heading straight back upstairs to the bar, Dom passed the soon to be horrified singer/guitarist/cunt and patted him on the back, “Good gig, man. Good gig.”

  Acknowledging him with a dismissive wave, he carried on regaling his girlfriend with yet another blow by blow account of their set.

  Still stifling their giggles, Dom announced that he and Mikee were going to head down the road for a change of scenery. With their own gear being safely transported home by a friend of Mikee’s, the night was young.

  Both Danny and Jamie agreed they would join them once the headline band had finished their set.

  “You’ll be okay getting a taxi, won’t you?”

  Putting her hand on Jamie’s cheek, she said, “Of course I will. I have been into Manchester before!”

  “We’ll make sure she gets a cab J, don’t worry,” said Johnny. “I think we’re going to head to Rusholme for a curry, so we’ll get the one after her.”

  “Ah thanks Johnny, “Cally smiled, “See Jamie, good management, thinks of everything.”

  “Thanks Johnny, and sorry about tonight. It was all a bit shit.”

  “Not at all, nothing you could do. All experience isn’t it.” Checking his watch, “Anyhow, I’ll catch you next week, so we can decide what we’re going to do with these tracks.”

  Hugging warmly and patting each other on the back, Jamie said, “Thanks man, I’ll catch ya later. And thanks for seeing that Mum’s right.”

  Leaving the venue, the four of them headed for the nearby taxi-rank. Ensuring that Cally was safely ensconced in a black cab, Johnny smiled as she opened the window, smiling that beautiful smile of hers. “Thanks Mr Harrison, I had a good night.” Hiccupping slightly as the cab pulled away, Cal turned and smiled to herself.

  “She is bloody lovely mate. The arse and legs on her!” said Mark, shaking his head in admiration.

  Nodding and thinking to himself, isn’t she just…

  Chapter 19

  “Johnny! The letter from the hospital has arrived. You up?” Claire shouted up the stairs.

  Padding out of bed and heading to the bathroom for a pair of Nurofen and a large glass of water, he rubbed sleep from his eyes and yawned. “Give me a minute, I’ll be down.” Relieving himself loudly, he washed his hands and face, before heading downstairs.

  Claire was sat at the dining table, still in her oversize bed shorts and skimpy vest, her glasses perched on the end of her nose. She was holding the unopened letter at arm’s length, staring at it as if she could read the contents merely by concentrating hard on it.

  Standing over her, he scratched the back of his head, and then pushed his hair back behind his ears as he struggled in his hungover state to find the right words. “Well, open it. It’s not a Wonka Bar with a golden ticket inside. It’s just an appointment date. Fancy a bacon buttie? I’m starving.”

  “I know, I know but…”

  “But open it. It’s only going to say when we go next. Rip the top. Pull. Read. Put it on the calendar. Easy!”

  “Don’t be so sharp, just ’cos you’re tired and hungover. And you stunk of beer and curry last night. You kept breathing on me in bed,” Claire harrumphed.

  “That’s cos I had beer and a curry. Well done CSI Manchester…”

  Looking over the top of her glasses, she delivered what she perceived to be one of her stares at him. After all this time, he was impervious to them.

  Heading to the kitchen, whereby he picked up a marker pen. Pulling the top off, he stood by the Parisian Scenes calendar. With the pen poised, he said, “Right, when we are going?”

  “I’ve not opened it yet!”

  “Just open it!”

  “Okay, okay!” Peeling back the top of the white envelope slowly, she skimmed the two-paragraph letter. “This coming Friday. At 3.30. Can you get time off work?”

  “Off course I can. It’s on the calendar.”

  Setting to with the frying pan, he lost himself in thought, staring out of the kitchen window blankly.

  ***

  Waking with a start, Jamie heard his brother cackling with laughter through the party wall that separated their two rooms. Technically speaking it was one room. Their mum had moved into the smaller second bedroom when the boys got to about ten years old. A local carpenter had erected a floor to ceiling wall in the larger front bedroom. It was a far from ideal solution, but it had proved to be an effective sticking plaster.

  With the wall being so thin, communication was possible. “Fuck’s sake Dom, what’s so funny? It’s only, “glancing at his phone, “fuck. It’s only just gone half eight!”

  Laughing loudly again, Dom said, “It’s just a text from Mikee.” Now roaring with laughter. “He said he didn’t need a shit this morning!”

  Unable to understand why such a missive should have amused his brother quite so much, he lifted his pillow and shoved his head under it, pulling it tightly round his ears.

  Before he could return to sleep, he heard a small knock at the shared bedroom door. “Morning boys.” Popping her round the door. A hint of last night’s makeup smudged on her on her eyelids. “You two okay? I enjoyed it last night. It was really good of you to invite me.” Yawning softly. “Either of you want a cup of tea?”

  Mumbling from under the pillow, Jamie said, “Too early for me ta.”

  Full of the joys, Dom said loudly, “Love one. And some breakfast would be good. Thanks Mum. Glad you enjoyed it. Shame the gig was a bit shit.” At this, he threw himself back on his bed in fits of laughter.

  “Weirdo,” Jamie grunted and willed himself back to sleep.

  ***

  As Tuesday roll
ed into Wednesday into Thursday into appointment day, Johnny left Claire in bed as he set off for work. “It’ll be okay. Whatever happens, it’ll all be okay. I’ll still love you and you might still think I’m alright.”

  Looking up and laughing half-heartedly, Claire already looked lost. Shrouded by a defeatist air.

  “I’ll see you down there., I’ll get a cab from the tram stop. And I won’t be late. Promise!” He blew her a kiss as he left the house, the morning drizzle not adding to his humour.

  ***

  Meeting there at 3.25 promptly, Johnny held Claire’s hand as they headed for the fertility clinic. Squeezing it for reassurance, he said, “It’ll be okay,” as convincingly as he could muster.

  Smiling up at him meekly, she said, “Thanks Johnny. But you could have left your tie on, looks so much smarter with that suit. Cost a fortune didn’t it.”

  “I know,” he deadpanned, “my lack of neckwear will have a huge bearing on the quality control checks they’ve been doing on my sperms!”

  “I didn’t mean it like that!”

  Sitting in the waiting room for no more than two minutes, they were summoned in to their appointment on the dot of 3.30pm.

  Dr Atiq sat behind his desk, immaculately dressed in a charcoal grey pinstripe suit and a pink oxford cotton shirt, unbuttoned at the neck and without a tie.

  “Hello again, Claire, Johnny. Nice to see you both again. How have you been?”

  Both nodded silently.

  Dr Atiq proceeded. “I have had a look at all the test results and you are clearly both fit and healthy people for your age.”

  “It’s always ‘for our age’ these days, isn’t it doctor?”

  Laughing gently, he said, “Yes, it is Johnny. But neither of you have anything to worry about overall.” He paused. “I have looked at the test results carefully and I can say that there is nothing wrong with your sperm count. All seems perfectly fine, slightly above average. No issue there.”

  There it was. An elephant had just gate-crashed the room.

  NO ISSUE THERE.

  There was a bombshell coming. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, thought Johnny as he snuck a look at Claire.

  Turning to Claire and looking at her, with such compassionate large brown eyes, Dr Atiq said, “Claire. There is a slight problem with your fallopian tubes. They are not letting the sperm pass as easily as they should. It isn’t a major problem. But it is not going to help you conceive.”

  Remarkably stoically, Claire smiled as Johnny gently squeezed her thigh. “What can we do?”

  “Well Claire. There is no surgical procedure to correct the problem. You could just carry on as you are and hope that you are lucky. Or you could look at a procedure to facilitate a pregnancy.”

  Sighing gently to himself, Johnny replayed the last phrase in his head – ‘facilitate a pregnancy’. Who said romance was dead? he thought.

  “Do you mean IVF then, doctor? I have already been looking at this online. I’d be very keen to explore this route.”

  “I think that is something you need to discuss. It’s a very big step and a huge commitment. Both emotionally and financially. I think that you need to speak to somebody and ask them all the questions that you will no doubt both have.”

  Looking at them both in turn, he said, “I hope that you become a family and I’m sorry that this wasn’t the news you’d hoped for. But with the procedures available, there is no reason why you cannot become parents.”

  Standing and shaking the doctor’s outstretched hand, Johnny said, “Thank you for your time.” Turning for the door, Johnny realised that Claire was still fixed to her chair.

  “Are the tests definitely right then, doctor? There is no possibility that the results were wrong?”

  “I’m sorry Claire but they are 100% correct. I wish there was more I could say…”

  “You’re sure,” she said, barely audibly.

  “Quite sure I’m afraid. But don’t be despondent. This is the start for you. You must look at other options if you’re serious about this.”

  Feeling Johnny’s hand on her shoulder, Claire finally stood up. “Thank you, doctor. You’ve been very helpful,” she said flatly but politely.

  Leaving the hospital building and heading to the car park, Johnny said, “Come on, let’s get you home. I’ll drive. You got the keys?”

  Reaching in her handbag and passing him the keys, Claire was catatonically silent.

  With the kettle on and words not yet exchanged, Claire was slumped on the sofa, her head leant against the plump black brocade cushion.

  Placing a cup tea beside her, Johnny placed the palm of his hand gently against her cheek, caressing her ear and whispered, “It’ll be okay,” before kissing her tenderly on the forehead.

  As he returned to the kitchen to busy himself with anything that would be a distraction, he heard Claire say quietly, “It’s not your fault though, is it.”

  Squatting down on his haunches, and ignoring the creak of his knees, he looked at her face that was wracked with distress. “Hey, hey, it’s not about that. I said that right from the start. This is nature. Nobody is to blame. Don’t be silly.” Sighing loudly, he shook her leg gently. “Come on. Don’t think like this. It could have quite easily been me with something or other that wasn’t quite right.”

  When he didn’t receive a response, he carefully took Claire’s shoes off, so that she could tuck her feet under herself, and placed a nearby throw over her.

  Looking up at him with tear-filled eyes, she said, “It is my fault though. The doctor said so.”

  Johnny returned to the squatted position. “He didn’t say that. He said there was a slight issue.”

  Deciding that a noble retreat would be by far and away the best option, he lay on the bed staring at the ceiling rose, unable to fathom the maelstrom of his emotions. Relief that it was not down to him. Guilt that it wasn’t. Pity for Claire and her burden. Confusion at what they should do next. Uncertainty at? Uncertainty at everything…

  Having dozed for a good hour or so, he read a few chapters of a Dylan biography that he had been slowly ploughing through before he thought that an approach to Claire would be wise.

  “Hey lady. You hungry? I’ll cook.”

  As he walked past her to the kitchen, he glanced down at her laptop. Inevitably, there was a window displaying the procedure for the cycles of IVF treatment. A vibrant looking female face at the top of the screen exuded positivity with various contact details next to her, imploring desperate to-be-parents to contact them and have their dreams expensively concocted.

  Without looking up from the screen, she said, “There’s some chicken in the fridge. I got it out this morning. You could do something with that. Nothing spicy. But you know best babe.”

  Every drawer that he opened, or pan placed on the hob seemed to make an amplified noise, jarring against the cloying silence.

  He placed the large bowls down of chicken pasta on the dining table and sat across from Claire. Grinding pepper onto the steaming food, he said, “You okay?”

  “Not really,” she smiled meekly, “but I just have to deal with it and decide what we do next.”

  Before Johnny could reply, she added, “I don’t think we have any choice other than to look at IVF.”

  We’re having a ‘grown-ups’ conversation, Johnny thought. Fortune favours the brave and all that.

  “We do have choices though.” Putting a large forkful of chicken and pasta into his mouth, he chewed slowly whilst he considered his next words.

  Claire waited expectantly.

  “But we do. We can carry on as we are and see what happens. We can consider treatment, or we can leave it to Mother Nature.”

  Staring back at him without a word, it appeared that Claire had been expecting a miraculous solution from him.

  “Look, the whole IVF thing,” he said, pausing slightly before taking the plunge, “It doesn’t come with any guarantees. Mark and Jen looked at it. Said it was really hard work. And expensive.
But then they got lucky and she got pregnant just before they decided to go ahead.”

  Seizing on the word, Claire snapped back, finally closing the laptop down, “LUCK! That’s exactly it. It’s down to luck unless you do something about it!”

  More irritably than he had intended, he said, “But it’s always been about LUCK!” Exhaling loudly, he took a long sip from his glass of water. “What do you think people did before the scientists in their white coats realised that they could play God?”

  With what he considered to be the momentum on his side, he carried on, banging his fork on the edge of his bowl for extra emphasis. “We wouldn’t all be here if it wasn’t for luck and the miracle of the reproductive cycle. Difference now is you can alter your levels of luck by fucking about with nature!”

  “It’s not like that though is it!”

  “It is! Don’t get me wrong, I’m not opposed to it but it’s a big step and we need to take our time to decide it’s what WE want…”

  “I know.”

  Sighing with what he hoped had been progress, Johnny ran a hand across his face.

  “But I’ve booked an appointment for us this week. At an IVF clinic…”

  Snatching up his empty bowl, he said, “Fuck’s sake Claire! What did I just say?” He slammed his dish down on the kitchen work surface. “I said that we need to talk about this and you’re ploughing full steam ahead and booking appointments!”

  “Don’t shout at me. Not now,” she said pitifully.

  Grimacing slightly, he said, “Sorry. I’m not shouting. I’m just exasperated that you’re booking appointments before we have even had chance to chat.” Shaking his head slowly, he added, “I was going to suggest we chatted to Mark and Jen, find out a bit more from them.”

  With an unshakeable resolve, she replied, “But we’ll still go on this appointment this week though…”

  Chapter 20

  Band meeting. Everyone in attendance. Everyone eager for the next big steps.

  Okay.” He raised his glass to them all individually. “What have I got for you.” Glancing down at an A4 pad on the pub table, he said, “I’m putting together a press pack so that I can send the tracks out to selected people. Radio. Press. Record companies and that. “