The Rock 'N' the Roll. 'N That

by Steven J. Gill

  Danny’s car also plunged down the shallow bank to meet its watery grave. Jumping off and straight onto the prone figure of Mikee, who was struggling to stand under the weight of the now water filled suit. As the two figures splashed and rolled around the pond, two torchlights proceeded to pick them out.

  “What the fuck!” With a look of pure confusion on his face, the PC looked at his colleague and back to the two Sumo figures. “I really have no idea…”

  Slowly it dawned on the comically brawling musicians that they had company. “Mikee. Look.”

  They flopped off each other, sat in the middle of the pond, the two electric cars now both partially submerged and resolutely written off.

  Clearing his throat, the taller of the two officers addressed the situation, picking out the two now laughing hysterically figures with his torch. “Gentlemen. At least I presume you are. I cannot wait to hear your explanation…”

  ***

  With no idea as to which police station his errant rhythm section had found themselves as temporary guests, Johnny had no choice but to sit and wait for news.

  Sitting up in bed trawling through the internet idled away an hour or so. The band now had several clips posted on YouTube – all with very favourable comments alongside them.

  At 9.30am his phone rang. Grabbing it from the bedside table he saw that it was Danny. “Mr Martin. You ringing up for a solicitor?”

  A somewhat sheepish and tired D-Mo replied, “No, Johnny. We’re heading back from Paddington Green police station. Spent the night in the cells…”

  Interrupting him sharply, he said, “So what have you done then?”

  “Can you meet us at reception to pay for a cab. We’re both skint. I’ll tell ya later. Long story.”

  “You both okay though?” Johnny finally asked.

  “Yeah. Just cold and tired. And starving. You stand me a Mickey D’s breakfast, boss?”

  Johnny realised that if he was already thinking about Bacon McMuffins, they must be pretty much unscathed.

  Having showered quickly, Johnny picked up his wallet and phone and went to greet the returning jailbirds.

  Sitting in the reception sipping a strong white coffee, it wasn’t long before the two bedraggled figures arrived at the hotel.

  Giving Mikee thirty pounds for the cab fare, Johnny couldn’t help but smile with relief when he saw they were both okay.

  “Let me tell you what happened then Johnny. But can you crash me a tenner to get some breakfast before it finishes, only got fifteen minutes…”

  Chapter 27

  “Where the fuck did you find the suits then?” asked Dominic, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “And the mobility scooter things. Sick touch. Just wish I’d seen the pair of you!”

  “It was freezin’ in the cell! We got piss wet through in the pond and they didn’t have dry clothes for us,” Danny moaned, hunching his shoulders at the memory. “I’m gonna get a right load of fuckin’ grief off Dee. I never texted her back. Loads of missed calls as well…”

  Slightly more upbeat about the whole situation, and decidedly less ashamed, Mikee clapped his large hand on Danny’s shoulder. “You should have seen the police trying to push us into the back of the van in the Fat Suits. D-Mo got stuck. I think I pissed myself watching them try and get him inside.”

  Johnny turned around in the driver’s seat to directly address the two felons. “You two can pick up the tab for this little escapade. I’m fucked if I’m paying for this one. And I don’t imagine the label will be too keen to pay for it,” he said sternly.

  “Or too pleased to hear about it,” Jamie added.

  “Alright Mr. fuckin’ sensible,” said Dominic with a dismissive shake of his head. “Anyhow bro. Did you fuck that cutie from the NME? I had my eye on her, but got waylaid elsewhere.” Leaning over the seat, he tapped Danny on the shoulder. “Fuckin’ gorgeous the girl I ended up with.” At that his phone pinged and he glanced down. “That’s her now. No doubt to say thanks for best night of her life,” he added with a cocksure grin.

  Sitting up-front in the passenger seat, Jamie was reading a newspaper he had picked up from the hotel reception. Looking over at Johnny, and with a quick shake of his head, “I didn’t. Had a good chat with her. She’s dead cool but thought better of it y’know.”

  “Yeah we don’t want a bad review just cos you can’t satisfy her bro. Leave it to me next time!”

  “Dick,” Jamie muttered under his breath.

  Ruffling Jamie’s crop of hair, he said, “I’m only messing, J. Don’t get a strop on!”

  As they finally joined the M1, Johnny mentally totted up the aftermath of the tour – in excess of thirty service stations visited - Tebay the runaway favourite. Some twenty accounted for sexual liaisons. A broken shower cubicle. A new set of tattoos. An arrested rhythm section. Two written off mobility scooters. Two possibly beyond repair PVC Sumo suits. And a tourbus that needed some serious fumigating.

  Offset against the fact that the band now had their first tour under their belt, national radio exposure, a record label that had big plans for them and a live set that now fizzed with pure rock ’n’ roll energy, it wasn’t a bad trade off.

  “We gonna stop off at a service station soon, boss? I’d murder a cig and a Maccies.”

  Life on the road, Johnny laughed to himself. It was brilliant. Fucking brilliant…

  Chapter 28

  “Hello. Err, can I speak to somebody about err, an operation please,” Danny asked, his voice fraught with nervous anxiety.

  “Hello sir. Certainly. And what type of procedure are you looking at please?”

  “Err, what kind? Err. A nose-job. A nose job innit,” he said hurriedly.

  “Absolutely fine. Let me take some details from you, sir, and we can arrange for a private consultation. And your name please, sir?”

  “Yeah, it’s Danny. Daniel Martin. But everybody calls me D-Mo…”

  ***

  “Oh boys! You don’t have to knock,” Cally said, her face lighting up. “I’m so pleased to see you both! Come in and tell me all about it!”

  “Maybe not all though, eh Mum,” Dominic said, kissing his mum warmly on both cheeks.

  Laughing knowingly, Jamie hugged his mum, giving her the bunch of flowers he had held behind his back. “Yeah, maybe not quite everything…”

  “They’re lovely! Thank you both,” Cally said, performing the time-honoured bouquet sniff.

  “Let me put these in water and I’ll stick the kettle on.” Passing by Dominic, who was now helping himself to some sliced ham from the fridge, she said, “Ooh that’s a nice jacket love. Is it new?”

  Through a mouth full of partially chewed ham, he answered, “Got it in London. Looks alright, doesn’t it?”

  “Get you already. With your fancy London ways!” she laughed. “And don’t eat all that, I was going to do sandwiches for you.”

  Once the kettle was boiled and the sandwiches prepared, they sat down in the front room. The small family reunited. The world of rock ’n’ roll couldn’t have been further away from the good-natured scene, Cally savouring every second as it was the longest she had ever gone without seeing her boys.

  ***

  After a couple of sound nights’ sleep and two days of detoxification, Johnny was refreshed and ready to deal with the weeks offerings.

  Slouched over the breakfast bar sipping a fresh cup of coffee and eating wholemeal toast whilst trying not to get too many smudges on the highly polished granite work surface, Johnny sifted through his emails.

  He opened one from Claire to finalise the signing over of the house. After the London gig, he had texted her back saying that he wished she’d ‘come along for the ride’. The financial deceit still weighed heavily on him and it pained him how desperate she had looked when she realised that her dreams of a family had been put on hold.

  The next email completely blew Johnny’s mind. It was from Simon Moran – the director of SJM Promotions. Simon had recently m
asterminded a Stone Roses reunion for later that summer, and the reformation had prompted huge levels of hype and excitement. Rightly so. It was a momentous occasion that few ever saw coming such was the supposed levels of animosity and antipathy between the various band members.

  Staring wide-eyed at his laptop screen, he readjusted the angle of the screen as if the light were playing tricks on his jaded eyes. Letting it sink in for a moment, Johnny whooped and slapped his hand on the granite surface.

  ‘Hi Johnny, Hope the tour went well. Just to let you know that Ian Brown heard a couple of the band’s tracks and loves them. Wants to have you on the bill at one of the Manchester shows. Works for me as I can see big things happening for them this year. Regards Simon’

  This was utterly without doubt the greatest email he had ever read. The Roses. Supporting the fucking Roses. In Manchester. THE ROSES! He reached for his on-charge phone and texted Jamie, trying to project an air of calm but desperate to meet up face to face to share the amazing news –

  ‘Jamie, very huge news. Fuck that. FUCKING HUGE FUCKING NEWS! Get over here with Dom soon as x’

  Staring down at his phone’s screen, he willed a quick response as he re-read the email. Unbelievable. Having seen them at Spike Island, he had always loved the band, and this was just beyond superlatives.

  He had to wait an hour for a reply from Jamie –

  ‘Can’t wait. I’ll be over with Dom in 10 x’

  The apartment intercom buzzed, Johnny leaping over in two excited bounds. “Hiya J, I’ll buzz you in.”

  The twins were clearly not long out of bed. Dominic was in jog pants and a hoodie, Jamie in jeans, hoodie and a grey woollen beanie hat, his hair tufting out at the sides.

  Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Dom gratefully accepted the coffee Johnny had prepared in advance of their arrival.

  “Take a seat,” Johnny motioned to the black leather sofa with a dramatic sweep of his hand. The rush of excitement had resulted in him still being dressed in his bed attire of a sloppy T-shirt and boxer shorts.

  “Looking good man,” Jamie said with a glance at Johnny’s unkempt appearance, “Ta for the coffee.” Taking a sip, “Let’s hear it.”

  “Okay.” Johnny took a deep breath, and perched on the edge of one of the tall polished chrome stools that surrounded the breakfast bar. “Firstly, the label wants to do a remix of ‘Long Time Dead’. They love the track and want The XX to do a dub style remix. Really dark and stripped back. Sounds like it could be cool as fuck.”

  With nods of their heads, the brothers were clearly impressed. “That’s brilliant news Johnny, when we going to do this?”

  “Soon as. The label wants you in the studio this week.” Slapping his exposed thighs with the flat of his hands, he said, “BUT!” shaking his head in disbelief, “that’s not all! I still can’t get my head round this” unable to stifle a high-pitched laugh, “SJM have emailed me, y’know the promoter…”

  “Yeah, yeah,” interrupted Dom impatiently, placing his drained cup on the breakfast bar, ignoring the drinks coasters that were haphazardly scattered.

  Johnny reflexively moved the mug across, to which Dominic pulled a peevish face.” You know The Roses have reformed…”

  “Obviously!” interjected Dom again.

  “Anyhow. Ian likes the track he’s heard and wants you to play on the bill with them in Manchester.”

  Leaping up from the stool, Johnny performed what can only be described as a deranged person’s jig. “HOW FUCKIN’ GOOD IS THAT?”

  Staring at each other dumfounded, the twins were speechless.

  “Well, say something,” Johnny beseeched.

  Wide-eyed with shock, Jamie floundered for words. “Fuck me. That’s,” he stammered, “That’s mental. Fuckin’ mental.”

  “I don’t know what to say Johnny. Man, this is just fuckin’ madness. It just gets better and better.” A serious look then passed over his face. “You sure about this. It’s not a mistake or anything?” Dominic said. Pulling his hair off his face, he shook his head in disbelief.

  “No. No, look at the email. I read it about twenty times myself. You’ll be low down on the bill, but still!”

  Scanning the email, his finger tracing every line slowly, Dominic turned to his brother, “Fuck me J. We’re gonna be playing with the Roses!”

  “Beats working,” Jamie laughed.

  “You were a student,” Dom teased. “Never done a proper day’s work in yer life…”

  Yawning exaggeratedly, Jamie play-punched his brother on his thigh. “I was working my mind Dominic, we can’t all be the working-class hero.”

  “Brilliant gig though. We need to get a gig sorted for close to the date to warm-up and a couple after ’cos people will know the name then,” Johnny said adamantly.

  “I can’t wait… And that XX remix. How cool is that!”

  Chapter 29

  The recording again took place at The Bunker and was all done and dusted in under four days. Jamie’s vocal was extraordinary. The dark, menacing lyrics were sung with an anguish and undercurrent of pain, with the final chorus building to an impassioned almost Cobainesque scream. It was stunning – from Mikee’s metronomic drumming, the rolling bassline that Dan painstakingly nailed and Dominic’s slashes of angry spiky guitar.

  Upon first listen, Johnny commented that it seemed a shame to let someone ‘fuck about with perfection’. It would be an album track in its original form undoubtedly – but the Jamie XX remix would raise the band’s profile considerably.

  ***

  “Daniel. Language! You know I don’t approve of cursing. From you or your father.”

  “Sorry Mam, but if all you had to worry about was a bit of swearing…”

  “I know, I know. Your fathers had a bad time of it. He was dealt a bad hand for such a good man,” she said, the gentle Irish lilt in her voice still prevalent despite having lived in Manchester for forty-five years.

  “I can’t believe you defend the cu—” shaking his head vigorously, “I can’t believe you can make excuses for him. You’ve done nothing to deserve what he does. And neither have I. The fucker!” Raising his hands, he said, “Sorry Mam, it just gets me like that.”

  “I know Daniel, but we just have to live with it. Our cross to bear.” Looking up at the crucifix affixed to the front wall room, Mrs Martin crossed herself and looked towards the skies for divine guidance.

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you Mam. It doesn’t have to fu— It doesn’t have to be like that from now on. Things can be different. And soon I hope.”

  “How so?” A confused look passed across her kindly face.

  “Look. I’ve not talked about it much, but you know I told that things were happening with the band.”

  “I know. Your friends who you love playing music with. Such nice boys, the twins.”

  “Yeah, them. Anyhow. We’ve got a record deal. I tried to tell you, but you didn’t seem to get it.”

  “I did Daniel, I’m not that stupid. You went away to play your songs. I know.”

  “But that’s not just it, Mam! We’re gonna get paid to make a record. And if it sells loads, then…” His words trailed off as he looked for the right words. “Right! If we sell a shitload of records, then you can leave him. I’ll get you yer own place. No more getting knocked about and plates of food thrown back at you. Leave him, leave the fucker and be happy again. I miss the happy you!”

  “DANIEL! I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous!”

  “NO MAM! You used to always be happy and smiling. You can be happy again. I can make that happen. Leave him. For you. No-one else. Fuckin’ leave him…”

  “I told you about your cursing, but with all this stupid talk as well.”

  “Mam. If. No. When I get the money, then you think about it again.” Looking down at his hands, his breath coming in short pants, his big eyes filled with tears. “Please Mam, think about it…”

  Cupping her sons face in her hands, she said, “Oh Daniel, D
aniel, my baby. You’re such a good boy. I always knew that you’d do something with your life,” running a hand gently through his hair, “You go and be famous. Make me proud. But I can’t leave your father. It’s just not the done thing. I’m sorry.”

  “Think about it though. And promise me you won’t say a word to him.” He lowered his voice to a whisper even though it was just the two of them sat in the small front room, “And don’t laugh, but I’m going to get me nose fixed.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with your nose. It was the one God gave you.”

  “Yeah, well the beardy all-seeing twat was a bit generous with me, wasn’t he?”

  Struggling not to laugh, Mrs Martin’s eyes glinted with a flashing spark of merriment. Composing herself suitably and again crossing herself, she said, “Jesus and all his carpenter friends! Please don’t talk about Our Lord like that. And what’s wrong with your nose? Just like your grandfather’s.”

  Rubbing at the unwanted genetic hand me down, he said, “Yeah well, it’s going. I’m going to get it sorted. Have a bit shaved off it. Plenty of it, so I won’t miss it.”

  “Danny, you’re a funny one. I can’t stop you doing that. It’d be your money. And I won’t say a word to your father. About any of this. I promise.”

  “Like he’d notice anyway. Just less for him to aim at…”

  ***

  “It is him. Definitely.”

  “OI! DOMINOS! OI DOUBLE PEPPERONI! “

  “Don’t ignore us. Ya spotty twat. Double crust and don’t I get a free garlic bread with my order?”

  Putting his head down, Dominic pulled his hood up, quickening his pace. Shop frontages passing him by in a melange of offers and signage. He touched the volume up a notch on his phone to block out the redundant but still spiteful insults. He knew that everything had changed, but the anguish they had caused him for the whole of his schooldays still ran deep.