The Rock 'N' the Roll. 'N That

by Steven J. Gill

They were back.

  And Manchester loved them for it. The crowd unifying as Mani’s iconic bassline opened ‘I Wanna be Adored’.

  Ian Brown stood, staring out at the delirious crowd. King Monkey resplendent in a black Adidas bomber jacket, low-slung jeans and white T-shirt. Soaking it all up. Mainlining the crowd’s energy into their performance. It was incredible. Every note was sung back at them. It really was what the world was waiting for. Squire stood aloof as ever, dressed to casually kill in full-on rock star red tartan suit jacket, effortlessly coaxing notes and chords from his sunburst splashed Gibson Les Paul.

  ***

  Cally stumbled forward as the crowd surged tidally – the chorus rolling epically over them.

  Regaining her balance as Johnny’s hand steadied her, she turned around, an incredibly serious look on her face. “I can’t do this,” she whispered.

  Having been unable to hear exactly what she had said, and unaware of her anguish, Johnny bent down to allow her to repeat herself. “Sorry Cally, it’s amazing isn’t it! What did you say?”

  “I’m sorry Johnny I can’t do this. I’m so sorry,” she said with a barely detectable choked sob in her voice, a tear rolled down her cheek from under her dark glasses.

  Carefully removing her glasses as the crowd around them jostled and celebrated the end of their returning heroes’ opening track, Johnny looked down at Cally’s bloodshot tear-soaked eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” he said, placing a consoling hand on her arm.

  “I’m sorry. But he’s here. I know he’s here…”

  With that Cally broke free from Johnny and headed off to the quiet safety of the now abandoned hospitality area.

  Immediately giving pursuit, he caught up with her just as she was flashing her pass at the lone security guard.

  Sitting down at a freshly cleared and cleaned table, Cally put her head in her hands and sobbed. A low, uncontrollable and wretched sob.

  Bewildered by her reaction, Johnny attempted to muster up some consolatory words.

  “Hey, hey. What’s wrong?” He patted her gently on her shoulder, before realising that it felt like the actions of someone congratulating a Crufts winner.

  After what felt like several minutes of crying and shaking, Cally looked up, her face streamed with mascara, loose strands of hair stuck to her face. “I can’t tell you Johnny. I can’t. I shouldn’t have come. I have to go. I know he’s here.”

  “I don’t understand. Who’s here?”

  She sobbed loudly again. “Please Johnny, leave me alone. I can’t tell you. I can’t,” she said, shaking her head violently from side to side. “I’m going back to the hotel. I’ve got to go…”

  Still utterly at a loss as to what was causing her so much distress, he said, “I’m not leaving you like this. I can’t.” With a selfless gesture, but one tinged with a slight regret, he added, “Come on. Let’s go back to the hotel. We’ll get a drink and you can talk. If you want to.”

  Pulling Cally into his side, they headed for the exit. A lone couple, beating a retreat two hours ahead of the other 74,998.

  A taxi was quickly flagged down and the fifteen-minute journey back to Manchester made in total silence, aside from the odd sniffle and blow of Cally’s nose.

  ***

  “We’ll go to your room, it’s bigger than mine, and we’ll get drinks sent up,” he said, a hushed tone to his voice as they made their way through the reception.

  “I don’t know. I just want to be left alone,” Cally said, her sunglasses firmly in place despite the advancing hour.

  “It’s up to you, but it might help you—”

  “If I tell you what’s wrong—” she breathed out heavily, “If I tell you. Everything changes. Everything.”

  As much as Johnny couldn’t claim to know her incredibly well, he knew enough to know that Cally wasn’t prone to unnecessary dramatics.

  With a strong resolve in her voice. “One drink.”

  They rode the lift to their floor and entered what was now Cally’s hotel suite without exchanging a word.

  Sitting on a small two-seater settee, still in her leather jacket and boots, Cally pulled her feet up underneath her. “I suppose I better start at the beginning.”

  Sipping from his glass, Johnny pursed his lips and fell silent.

  Speaking in a quiet but determined whisper, she began. “Like you, I went to Spike Island. Seems a lifetime ago now.” Tears again stung her eyes. “I wanted a brilliant time. For it to be the perfect day. We met some boys. Had a drink and watched the show. It was amazing.”

  She was breathing in short, controlled movements.

  “And then it wasn’t.”

  Meeting Johnny’s increasingly concerned gaze. “We got a lift back from them. In a camper van.” Anger now replaced the tears in her eyes. “And I was raped. Raped whilst my best friend in the whole world sat right in front of me. And she didn’t know a thing.” In slow monotone Cally repeated the fateful words, “I was raped in front of my best friend.”

  ***

  “Wake up! Come on gorgeous. There’s a spliff and I’ve got a bottle of vodka stashed. That’ll see you right.” Davey shook her leg again, a bit more forcibly this time. Cal was drifting in and out of consciousness, wishing for sleep to replace the waves of nausea that consumed her.

  Davey’s hand reached for the waist band of her jeans and he slowly undid the top button and as carefully as possible pulled the zip down to reveal a pair of powder pink coloured knickers, embroidered with tiny yellow flowers along the waistband. Pulling the jeans down to her ankles, Davey glanced over his shoulder to ensure that he was not being observed. The garish mustard coloured curtains were pulled across the rear of the driver’s compartment, giving him all the privacy he needed.

  Cally lay with her head towards the rear of the camper van, face unseen by her fellow passengers. Davey loomed over her with his intent now starting to bulge under the waist band of his flared jeans. He heard her murmur as he slid her knickers down. Gazing upon the exposed wisps of pubic hair. Wetting his finger, he slowly but forcefully inserted it into Cal’s exposed vagina. Pulling down his jeans and ‘hilarious’ Homer Simpson boxer shorts, Davey positioned himself over the unwilling body beneath him and pushed his decidedly average sized cock into her. A squealed gasp heard only by Davey was quickly smothered as he slapped his hand across her mouth. Widening eyes and a frenzied shake of her head was all she could manage as Davey thrust forward, entering her as she tried in vain to buck against his unwanted trespass.

  Please no. Not like this. I liked him, but I don’t want this. Not like this. Not today. He’s been so nice to me. But stop. PLEASE. PLEASE. PLEASE. PLEASE FUCKING STOP. You’re really hurting me. You’re hurting me so much. I’ll scream and then he’ll stop. FUCKING STOP.

  Trying to scream. But the calloused fingers were clamped too tightly.

  At least be over soon. Finish, you horrible selfish bastard. You horrible selfish raping bastard. Finish…

  At 5ft 7 and a delicate size 8 – indistinguishable under her baggy garb – any resistance would have been nigh on impossible against someone almost twice her weight. The cracked vinyl on the roof forming cobwebs, mazes and spirals through her stinging tears.

  With her right arm pinned against the side of the van and her sexual assailant holding her left arm down at an increasingly painful angle, she couldn’t look up. Now screwing her eyes shut, but feeling they’d burst under the weight of tears. Unable to open her eyes and witness his stolen pleasure.

  As the music on the tape player sped up, Davey’s rough thrusting and grunting increased. His sour breath hot on her neck. A trail of spit was hanging from his gurning mouth, forming a viscous chandelier with her hair.

  White noise pierced her very thinking. This was all she could hear as Davey poured himself into her. Clamping down on her mouth as he came inside her.

  ***

  “Cally… I just don’t know what to say,” he said, aware of the pathetic inadequacy
of his words.

  “And have you not guessed the rest yet? You not worked out the dates? The years?” she said, almost goading him.

  He shook his head blankly, unable to instantly work out the obvious correlation.

  “Jamie and Dominic. My two boys. My beautiful babies. Who I love more than anything in the world. Can you understand now…”

  After the shock of the initial revelation had started to sink in, Cally went on to tell Johnny that the pregnancy had led to her parents virtually disowning her – instigated unequivocally by her father.

  That one dreadful unsolicited event could have had such long-lasting ramifications for her was stunning.

  Johnny sat in silence. The disclosure had rendered him mute. The fact that these words had never been spoken to a soul before compounded their emotional impact.

  Putting his empty glass down, he sat beside Cally, placing a hand gently on her cheek and tenderly wiping a tear stain away. Taking her slightly trembling hands in his, he pulled her to him, hugging her tightly into him.

  Letting out a few gentle sobs, Cally returned his embrace, her head rested on his shoulder, her now unkempt hair spilling over him. After a few moments, they parted. Johnny, still struggling for words, blew his cheeks out and rubbed a hand through his hair.

  Breaking the silence, her voice once again calm, she said, “Now you know. The terrible truth…”

  Pulling air quote gestures caused Johnny to smile ruefully.

  “I love them. But you can see the price I paid? I was all alone with them. A nineteen-year-old girl expecting twins. All alone.” Reaching for her glass and taking a big gulp, she said, “I shouldn’t have come tonight. Do you now realise why I was so reluctant? Why I wasn’t excited for the boys? I should have loved every second of today for them…”

  She drained the remaining third of her glass. “That bastard. That selfish bastard would have been there tonight. I could just feel it…”

  “Cally. I don’t know what to say.” Having collected a further bottle of red wine from room service, he was now slowly pacing the suite with a concerned look etched on his face. “I can see why you had to leave. Totally.”

  The right words just weren’t forthcoming. Sitting back down in the padded armchair, as he realised his pacing wasn’t helping the situation, he said, “You said it changes everything. It doesn’t.” Narrowing his eyes slightly, he attempted to judge her reaction. “It was a terrible, terrible thing that happened to you. But you have the boys—”

  “Which can feel like a constant reminder!” she snapped back. “I didn’t tell my parents that I’d been raped, I thought that would make them even more ashamed of me…” Bowing her head, she let out an exasperated grimace.

  “Today just bought it all flooding back for me. I tried to put a brave face on for the boys. For you. But it just made everything feel so raw all over again…”

  Blurting out his next question slightly clumsier than he had hoped, he asked, “And what about your mum and dad? They’ve had next to nothing to do with you in all those years?”

  “Pretty much,” she replied bluntly. “They gave me some money to rent a house and that was it. Dad was high up in the Law Society and big at the church. Catholic. As if you couldn’t guess. Said I’d bought shame on the family.” Her voice resonated with a mixture of bitter anger and regret.

  Swinging her feet round from underneath her, she said, “There’s nothing more to say.” With a slight shake of her head, “I’m surprised. I’ve never talked about this before. To anyone…”

  At a loss for the appropriate words, Johnny said, “Cally, I’ll never say a word about this. And I’m glad you felt you could talk to me.” Wincing inwardly at how trite he felt his words sounded, he reached for his glass to mask their inadequacy.

  Tears flooded down her face. Sobs wracked throughout her body. The deep aching hurt that was the horror she had endured all those years ago. And her boys. A constant living breathing reminder of the heinous trespass.

  “I feel drained.” Putting her face in her hands, Cally screamed. A muffled, “FUUCCKKK,” startled Johnny.

  “I’m not the best of listeners as a rule and I don’t have anything to say that’d even touch the sides…” said Johnny plaintively. Tugging at his earlobe as if this would elicit him to produce some words of wisdom.

  “You listened and didn’t say anything stupid. That’s pretty good in my book,” said Cally with a rueful smile. “I’m exhausted after all that,” she added whilst stifling a yawn.

  Her phone pinged, and a startled look passed briefly across her face – a text from Jamie asking where they were. She whisked back her response.

  ‘Hi Jamie, loved the show, but felt bit unwell and didn’t like all the crowds of people. Johnny brought me back to hotel. Love you both xx’

  The conversation moved on to the boys’ childhood days, and her hopes and worries for their future history. Having ‘held on’ as long as possible whilst Cally poured out her anguish, Johnny went to the bathroom.

  Returning, he said, “I’m gonna head back. If you’re okay with th—” Johnny looked towards Cally, who was now curled up, her head resting on two plump cushions. Fast asleep.

  Fetching an over blanket from the wardrobe, Johnny removed her clumpy footwear and wrapped the rug over her.

  Picking up her unfinished glass, he sat back down in the armchair. Two sips later, he was head lolling to one side and asleep.

  ***

  They woke with a start as the hotel room telephone rang. Johnny sat up, bleary-eyed, and tried to acclimatise himself to the unfamiliar surroundings.

  Cally, now in bed, pulled the bedsheets around her as she sat up.

  Picking up the receiver, she said, “Hello?” Shaking her head slightly. “Hello?”

  Putting the phone down. “No-one there. I’m sure hotels do that on purpose just to wake you up.”

  As Johnny made his way to the bathroom. “Yeah, they’re called early-morning wake up calls…”

  “Very funny aren’t we!”

  As he entered the bathroom, Johnny tried to gauge his hangover. He was not much of a red wine drinker, and the thick end of two bottles had left him feeling decidedly rough. And the toils of a middle-aged hangover could take some shifting.

  “You okay?” he asked, having finished his ablutions.

  “I woke up on the sofa and got into bed. You were snoring like Godzilla, so I left you to it!”

  “I meant after, y’know…” Johnny said.

  “You were right. Nothing has changed. Other than someone now knows ‘the truth’. I’m sorry to have dragged you away from the gig…”

  Incredulously, he said, “No apologies!” And with comedic timing added, “Anyway. I can go tonight. And tomorrow.…”

  “We could fall out. Quickly.”

  “I’m glad I could be there for you.” He waved his goodbye. “I’ll see you soon.”

  Opening his own hotel room door, he blew his cheeks out and raised his eyebrows. That came straight out of the left field, he thought. Flopping on to his own pristine bed, he squinted at the breakfast room service menu and then decided against as he felt the onset of his hangover – which needed shifting in order that he could resume his ‘Squire worshipping’ that evening.

  ***

  “She said yes!” said Danny excitedly. “I proposed when the fireworks were going off after ‘Resurrection’ had finished!”

  “That’s a big commitment man! Y’know. I’m pleased for you and that, but you’ve not been together long,” said Dominic, as they shared a taxi across Manchester. Neither had slept at all. A particularly lively aftershow had seen to that. Their hotel rooms had barely been touched, having been a luxury indulgence from Johnny to mark the occasion.

  “You could sound a bit more pleased for me!” said Danny, seemingly hurt by Dominic’s cynicism.

  “Come on D-Mo, I am pleased, just a little shocked, that’s all. Y’know. We’re just starting out as a proper band. It’s all ahea
d of us, man. And you’re tying yourself down.”

  “But I love her!” Danny protested.

  “Yeah, of course. And that’s a good thing. But come on. You weren’t exactly a good boy on tour,” said Dominic, feeling that his counselling skills were suitably impressive.

  “It’s different now I’ve proposed to Dee. She trusts me,” Danny replied defensively.

  “Anywhere here mate,” Dominic indicated to the cab driver. “You got this D-Mo?”

  “Yeah, yeah. And ta for your wise words,” he said slumped back into the taxi’s freshly valeted seat.

  “Laters D-Mo! Blinding evening. And congratulations man!” said Dominic as he leapt from the taxi.

  Chapter 31

  Following the Roses concert and a totally sold out local show, aside from the filming of the video to promote the first single, they would have six weeks off.

  ‘Calm before the storm’, Johnny had described it as.

  However, the suspense of receiving hard copies of the album was killing them.

  Especially Danny.

  He could not wait to see it for himself. No matter how many times he had copies of the artwork emailed to him or heard the final mix, he failed to accept that it was ‘real’.

  Now living with his fiancée, his world had changed immeasurably. Weekly trips to the supermarket were now the norm.

  ‘I don’t like them’, ‘they make me gag’, and ‘make sure we get more ketchup’ were his stock-in-trade lines.

  The concept of buying food that didn’t come in a polystyrene box slathered in spicy condiments and low in nutritional value had previously been alien to him, but Dee, a resolute gym bunny and health-food fanatic was slowly but surely educating him in to a culinary world away from e-numbers and additives.

  “If you steam them rather than boil them, they’re lovely. Until you insist on slapping ketchup all over them!” she smiled at Danny, as he pushed the trolley begrudgingly round the fruit and veg section. “But we’re getting there aren’t we!”

  Mustering as much enthusiasm as he could, he placed a large clump of broccoli into the trolley. A little too much domestic bliss had left him pining for his bandmates and the subsequent video shoot.