“How soon till we have a deal then?” asked Danny impatiently.
“Like your enthusiasm, Danny.” Johnny had yet to adopt the bass player’s newly acquired moniker. “To go along with the press pack, we’re going to need some decent pics. I have arranged for a photographer to come down to the studio next Sunday. Take a few shots whilst you’re rehearsing and then have a wander round town and he can try and do something interesting with you.”
Turning to Danny,” We’ll look to get a gig a month and start to build momentum. I have got a mate that works over at XFM. Going to play the tracks to him and look for some airplay. All depends on what interest we get from tracks. I know, and you know how good they are, but we need other people to see that.”
“Which they will,” Jamie stated confidently.
Nodding towards him, he said, “As Jamie says, which they will. Lads, I’m still playing the tracks in my car all the fuckin’ time and I still can’t believe how good they are.”
“Nice one,” said Dominic. “Will be good to get some photos done.”
“I’ll get another round and then I’m off,” said Johnny.” You lot make sure you get a good night’s sleep before the photo session. Want you looking your fresh-faced best!
***
Pulling up at home, he again wrestled with when it was going to be the right time to tell Claire about the band and his involvement. With so much going on with the ‘baby stuff’ he felt that the timing was not quite right.
Opening the front door and shouting a quick hello, he put his keys and phone down on the hall table. Claire was sat at the dining table on a chair that faced the front door. As ever there was a laptop in front of her. With a sharp intake of breath, he realised that it was his laptop.
This isn’t good, he thought. This isn’t good at all.
“You alright lady? What’ve you been up to?”
Wrong question. Totally the wrong fucking question.
With a tone to match the serious expression on her face. “I really should be asking you that.”
Clicking the spacebar on the laptop, the browser page reappeared. The page showing Johnny’s Barclays deposit account. The account where his inheritance monies had sat largely untouched for the past decade or so. The account that he had been using to bankroll the band.
Looking down at the screen with the studied focus of a forensic accountant, Claire started to list off the withdrawals, complete with dates, amounts and payees.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON, JOHNNY? WHO THE FUCK IS SHE AND WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN BUYING HER?”
Taking a seat in the chair opposite her, Johnny looked at her in total silence.
“WELL? FUCKING SAY SOMETHING!”
Looking down again at the screen, she said, “That’s assuming it is a woman, because some of these payments don’t make any sense.”
Picking his words as carefully as he could, speaking slowly and calmly, he said, “It’s an investment.”
With a furrowed brow like an irrigated field, she said, “An investment? An investment in what? The fucking Premier Inn? Because you paid them,” glancing down, “£310.00 on the 21st June. Wasn’t that when you said you were down in London seeing Rob?” – complete with obligatory air quotes.
At least spare me the fucking air quotes, Johnny thought.
Attack is the best form of defence. Onwards.
“Anyhow. Why were you looking at my bank account? On my laptop.”
“I left mine at work and needed to check my emails. You wouldn’t have minded if you had nothing to hide,” she replied curtly.
“I’ve nothing to hide.” Swallowing with an audible gulp. “Nothing that can hurt us.”
Taking off her glasses and looking across at him with wide owl-like eyes. “NOTHING TO HIDE. NOTHING TO FUCKING HIDE! It doesn’t look like it.” Placing her glasses back in place. “I’ve always trusted you Johnny, always.”
“I’ve never given you a reason not to,” he interrupted, “thank you for that.”
Shaking her head in partial disbelief, she said, “I even knew your passwords because you’re so bloody predictable and honest. ‘GLASSONION99’. On every account. You never think to change them?”
“I do when they ask. The ones that don’t, I just leave them be.”
Smiling and shaking her head simultaneously, she said, “So what the fuck has been going on? I checked the account to see how much was there,” hesitating slightly, “to see how much was there if we decided to go ahead with the IVF…”
He grasped for any sort of moral high ground. “Oh right, so you were already spending my money on IVF. Why ever not.”
“DON’T FUCKING GET CLEVER WITH ME JOHNNY!” She said, standing out of her chair with both hands flat on the table either side of the laptop. “YOU’VE NOT EVEN STARTED TO TELL ME WHAT THE FUCKING HELL YOU HAVE BEEN UP TO!”
Exhaling deeply, he put his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.
“I’ve been making an investment. In a band.”
“What the fuck do you mean? Investing in a band?” With a look of abject confusion on her face, Claire scratched her head frantically with both hands. Her blonde hair fell forward over her pained face.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’ve been wanting to tell you, but the time never felt right.”
“Go on. I’m all ears as to where you have spent the best part of nine thousand pounds. NINE FUCKING THOUSAND POUNDS, JOHNNY!”
“YES, I GET IT! I have invested nine grand of my money!”
She cut him off abruptly. “IF YOU SAY FUCKING INVESTMENT ONE MORE FUCKING TIME!”
“I saw a band at the start of the year and I thought they were brilliant. Which they are,” he rubbed his hand across his forehead, “and I met up with them. Decided I wanted to work with them. Invest in them if you will. And it’s gone from there.”
“IF YOU WILL! IT’S ME YOU’RE TALKING TO! WE’RE NOT IN FUCKING COURT!”
Happy with the absolving confession, Johnny breathed out softly. “You’d like them. They are really, good. Nice lads as well.”
This casual candidness sent Claire ape-shit ballistic. Standing out of her chair, she calmly took her glasses off. Composing herself. The hum of the ‘exhibit A’ laptop was the only noise in the room.
She began to pace round the room. Her bare feet padding loudly against the wooden floorboards.
“I’D FUCKING LIKE THEM WOULD I? OH, THAT’S ALRIGHT THEN!” Her levels of anger rose. “AND WHAT THE FUCK HAS YOUR MONEY BEEN INVESTED ON?” Again, performing the mandatory air quotes.
“WILL YOU QUIT IT WITH THE STUPID FUCKING FINGER THING,” Johnny gritted his teeth, “Gets right on my tits.”
“OH, IT DOES, DOES IT!” She was now screaming at him. “I’LL TELL YOU WHAT GETS ON MY TITS,” doing the air quotes thing but now with added sarcasm, “WHAT GETS ON MY TITS IS MY PARTNER SPUNKING THOUSANDS OF POUNDS ON A FUCKING NO HOPE BAND WITHOUT TELLING ME!”
Walking towards the kitchen to fetch a drink, Johnny was determined to remain as calm as possible. Drinking straight from the bottle of Becks he had just pulled from the fridge, he said, “If I had told you right from the outset, then you wouldn’t have wanted me working with them. Never mind investing money in them. This could be big. This could be massive! It’d benefit the both of us if the band takes off.”
Staring at Johnny as if he had been talking Mandarin, the look of disbelief on Claire’s face was like nothing Johnny had ever witnessed before. “What the fuck did you just say? Benefit the both of us?” Tossing her head back, and cackling manically. “ARE YOU FUCKING MENTAL?”
Breathing heavily, unable to suppress her rage, she continued, “SO EXACTLY WHAT HAS ALL THE MONEY BEEN SPENT ON THEN?”
Johnny drank deeply from the chilled bottle. “The money has been spent on rehearsals. Recording some tracks. New equipment. And the away day gig – when I said I was at Rob’s. I’m sorry about lying to you.”
Gathering momentum with her rant now, Claire bowled on
, “YOU’VE WASTED SOME FUCKING MONEY IN YOUR TIME,” snorting through her nose as she now stood hands on hips, looking up at Johnny from only a foot away. “YOU’VE WASTED MONEY ON FANCY CLOTHES. DRINKING WITH YOUR MATES. I KNOW YOU HAVE PUT MORE THAN ENOUGH COKE AWAY OVER THE YEARS.”
She jabbed a finger sharply into his chest.
“I DIDN’T MIND ANY OF THAT. I KNEW WHERE IT WAS GOING. WHAT YOU DID OR DIDN’T HAVE TO SHOW FOR IT. IT WAS YOUR MONEY!” Again, the finger poke. “BUT THIS! YOU’VE SPENT YOUR MONEY ON SOME MAGIC FUCKING BEANS IN YOUR TIME…”
She was composing herself for a final assault.
“BUT THIS BEGGARS ALL FUCKING BELIEF! AND AT NO POINT DID YOU THINK THAT YOU SHOULD TELL ME OF THIS INVESTMENT. YOU’VE SPENT NINE GRAND ON A STUPID FUCKING BAND. MONEY THAT WE WERE GOING TO SPEND TO HAVE A BABY! A FUCKING BABY JOHNNY. NOT SOME STUPID PIPE DREAM OR SOMETHING TO HELP YOU CLING ON TO YOUR YOUTH.”
Stepping into the kitchen and looking to put a little distance between him and the incandescent Claire, Johnny leant against the breakfast bar, his arms folded across his chest. “Have you finished? It was my money. I was spending, sorry investing, on this band way before any of this IVF bollocks was being talked about.” He corrected himself sharply, “I say talked about, I meant you deciding that we were going to spend this money on IV-FUCKING-F!” Smacking the palm of his hand on his forehead, he said, “Anyhow. You’ve checked my account. There’s enough money. MORE THAN ENOUGH MONEY there IF we decided to go ahead and try this bloody treatment.”
With an aghast look of horror, she said, “But there might not be enough! That’s the point. It costs a few thousand per cycle and with the money you’ve spent, if we weren’t successful the first time or…”
Reeling to face her, he said, “YOU’VE GOT THIS ALL PLANNED OUT HAVENT YOU. ALL DECIDED FOR US. WE HAVEN’T EVEN TALKED ABOUT THIS!” Bringing his voice down a few levels, and with an air of exasperation, he said, “Fuck’s sake Claire. We haven’t even started to talk this through!”
With tears starting to form in her eyes, Claire looked at him with a lost, vacant look and then she spoke. Very slowly and calmly. “You utterly, totally selfish self-centred cunt.”
The C-Bomb. She had never called him that in all their time together.
She assumed an air of resignation. Staring through Johnny as if focussing on a faraway horizon.
“Not a lot more to say then is there?” he asked.
He had never seen her look so vulnerable, but whatever words he could conjure up, however he attempted to placate her, would have fallen miles short. “Look, I’m going a walk. Let things calm down here. We’ll talk again when I get back.”
Heading towards the front door, collecting his keys and phone and a pair of headphones from his work overcoat pocket, Johnny turned to face Claire who had followed him to the door.
“Just go. I need to be left on my own.”
Closing the front door behind him, Johnny walked down the road, his head a maelstrom of chaos. His two worlds had just collided in the untimeliest fashion…
Chapter 21
Waking at the sound of a door being banged loudly, Johnny looked round the room. He had been staying at the hotel for almost a week now and every morning he had been waking with a start, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, before reality reminded him he was now a resident of the Premier Inn, Salford Quays.
Having smuggled a microwave into the room, stashing it during the day in his wardrobe, Johnny was now living a Partridge-like existence, eating a combination of microwave ready meals and bags of salads. Not quite on first name terms with the reception staff but it was only a matter of time…
Since the huge revelation about the band and his ‘investment’, Claire had asked that they have some time apart. Having been unable to face living with his mother, and both Mark and Chris not unreasonably saying that there was no room at the inn, a hotel had afforded him both the privacy and solitary that he had required.
He felt their relationship was ultimately doomed but hadn’t ruled out a reconciliation - telling Claire that he would talk whenever and wherever. The band were unaware of his current domestic situation, as their ‘involvement’ in the breakdown of his relationship could wait.
Cabin fever was exerting a suffocating grip and he pined for his previously taken for granted home comforts – and Claire.
***
“Looking good man. Looking good. Very rock star, D-Mo,” Dom said, with a little too much sarcasm in his voice for Danny’s liking.
Rubbing at the sides of his newly shorn head, Danny said proudly, “Bit short at the sides, but looks good on top,” smoothing the buzz cut fade at the sides and pulling tentatively at the small quiff. “I fancy the arse off the girl that cuts my hair and she said it’d look good, so I went for it. She said she’d come down to our next gig as well. Proper fit she is.”
Nodding his approval, Dom said, “Good work. No harm with more pretty faces at our gigs. Can’t wait for the next one. I’m still annoyed about the Night and Day gig.” Glancing behind in Mikee’s direction, who was busy setting his kit up, they exchanged a knowing wink.
Plugging in his guitar, Jamie looked round the familiar surroundings of their rehearsal room, nodding at each band member individually. “Looking good.”
With the photographer due to arrive within the hour, the band continued working on the new track they had part written at The Bunker. Jamie had now finished the lyrics, which felt like a deeply noir murder ballad –
‘Friend of mine, don’t let me down, as you’re a long time dead. A secret shouldn’t be so hard to keep. Whispered promises when you’re asleep. Empty vessels make most noise, don’t let me down again…’
The haunting lyrics were sung with a threatening sneer, and the intent and menace of the song were beautifully underpinned by Danny’s minimal bassline and Mikee’s metronomic drumming. The song bringing a definite touch of light and shade to their catalogue.
On the stroke of four o’clock, an bedraggled-looking Johnny arrived, accompanied by a small but lively figure carrying a large grey canvas bag in his right hand and sporting two cameras around his neck from lurid coloured straps.
Putting a hand dramatically in front of his face, “No pictures please,” grinned Dom.
Grinning at his bandmates, Danny popped his trusty shades on, instantly pulling his best ‘Sid stare’ at the room’s whitewashed blank wall. Mikee was re-united with his trapper hat, Dom dressing like Danny in black jeans and denim jacket, but with an impressive looking pair of military boots on, worn over the jeans. Jamie had got his black leather coat on and of course his red scarf tied round his throat.
“Afternoon lads. I’m Simon. I’ll be taking some pictures this afternoon. Pretend I’m not here and just get on with your playing.”
Sitting down on the trusty upturned beer crate-cum-seat, Johnny rubbed a hand across his tired face.
“You okay man?” asked Jamie, clearly concerned at Johnny’s tired and unkempt demeanour.
Looking up, bleary eyed, he said, “Yeah, I’ll live. Thanks man.”
Jamie didn’t look convinced.
“Good news. My mate at XFM loved the tracks. Going to get them played on the Evening Session show,” Johnny said.
“Wicked,” Danny, said with the customary snap of his fingers.
“Nice work Johnny,” Jamie said, still frowning at his manager.
Some thirty minutes later the photographer was done with the live shots. “Thanks fellas. Plenty for me to work with there. If we could all go outside, and I’ll take a few of you outside. Just stood against the wall and that. Nothing too staged.”
With the pictures all taken, Simon told them that he after he had applied a little studio trickery, he would have them across to Johnny by the end of the week.
As the band made their way back inside the building, Jamie caught Johnny by the elbow. “What’s up man? Never seen you like this before. Not like you, you’ve barely spoken a word.”
Stopping and sighing deeply, Johnny stood with his hands on his hips and closed his eyes and stared skywards. “Fuckin’ hell Jamie.” “Curling his arms around his head, his eyes looking bloodshot and drawn, “Problems at home. Or should I say problems not being at home. I’ve hit a big bump in the road with Claire.” Wincing inwardly at his choice of words. “All my fault. I’m living elsewhere for now.”
Jamie looked down with a thoughtful expression on his face. “I’m sorry to hear that…”
“I appreciate your concern,” he said, laughing quietly, “You don’t miss a trick.” He checked his pockets and fished out his car keys. “Just keep this between you and me for now. I’ll tell the rest of the lads when I know how the land lies,” he added as cheerily as he could. “Won’t stop me working with you lot though. Busy couple of weeks getting the track sent out and that.”
Giving Johnny a peace sign, Jamie said, “Thanks man. Take care of yourself,” patting his hand on the roof of Johnny’s car.
***
“SHHH!” Dom said, looking sternly at Danny, who could barely contain his excitement. “Fuckin’ shut it! EVERYBODY.”
As Dominic tried to restore an air of quiet, he put a finger to his lips, looking sternly at his bandmates, who had now fallen into line with a hushed quiet.
The voice on the radio said the words they had yearned to hear. As with everyone who has picked up an instrument and formed a band, the first measure of success was playing in front of an appreciative crowd – whatever the size. Hearing your song on the radio was very much the next big step.
“I’m Tim and you’re listening to XFM MANCHESTER. And now we have a track from a new local band that goes by the name of Lonely Souls…”
By this stage, Danny was now literally biting down on his finger to restrain his unbridled delight.
Having bought a digital radio into the studio especially for the occasion, Johnny was perched on his usual beer crate seat, whilst the band stood around the radio, which was perched on the top of Dom’s Peavey amp.
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