“We’re confirming dates in America for the start of next year, but that’s ages off,” he said, looking up to her and fixing her with his blue eyes.
“Jamie. Look. This is going to be a difficult relationship for a whole bunch of reasons. Let’s see where the breeze takes us.”
Frowning at the sentiment, he said, “I know bu—”
“But. We’ve had a great time. You’re going to be so busy all over the world with your band. Don’t put more pressure on yourself. On us,” said Lara, putting her hand on the side of his face and caressing his cheekbone with the tip of her thumb.
Feeling like a child being told a blunt reality of the world, Jamie took Lara’s hand in his and kissed the back of it softly.
“Don’t be a stranger, Lara Bearheart,” said Jamie as he zipped his bag closed.
“Not a chance, Jamie Thorne.”
With a lingering hug, Jamie left her apartment and headed for the airport. His New York sojourn at an end…
Chapter 45
“Have a nice flight Jamie?” asked photographer one, as he lazily snapped off a couple of pictures of Jamie as he got out of the taxi.
“Did you kiss and make up with her then?” said photographer number two.
“Cat got your tongue?” laughed photographer one.
Lifting his sunglasses up, Jamie reached inside his jacket pocket. Tossing a small packet of in-flight peanuts towards the baying scrape of photographers, he said, “I saved these for you. Don’t want you getting hungry whilst you’re waiting around.”
“You’re all heart Jamie. All sorted with Lara? Or have you realised that she’s out of your league?”
Photographer two sniggered, causing a globule of spittle to drop off his bottom lip, catching on the zip of his fleece.
“Laugh all you want. You fat cunt,” said Jamie slowly. “Must drive you fuckin’ mental when you’re trying to sleep at night that the closest you’ll get to a woman like that is crackin’ one off over your pictures.”
With a slow dismissive shake of his head, Jamie laughed at the photographers. “I get this now. It’s all a game. And I can use you as much as you use me. And remember. You need me a damn sight fuckin’ more than I need you.”
“Good speech,” said photographer number two sarcastically.
Photographer number one started to give Jamie a slow handclap.
“Been taking lessons off Lara, have we?”
“Truth hurts, doesn’t it? Our record went gold whilst I was away. I could retire at thirty if things carry on like this. And you’ll still be freezing your bollocks off desperately snapping pictures.” Tossing his head back and laughing loudly, he said, “Fuck me! That’s funny. I’ll leave that thought with you.”
“We’ll be waiting for you to slip up Jamie. I’ll be here. Don’t you worry,” said photographer one, as he opened the packet of peanuts and tossed one into the air before catching with a remarkable dexterity for a man of such girth.
***
“Band meeting,” said Johnny, still trying to mine the Flight of the Conchords line for all its worth. His apartment doubling as an office-cum-meeting room.
“This better be good,” yawned Dominic impatiently, “I’m knackered.”
“You over your jet-lag yet, Jamie?” asked Danny, as he idly rolled a cigarette.
“It’s not bad coming from East Coast, bit tired but nothing too bad, thanks man.”
“Listen to the jet-setter!” said Dom. “He’ll be demanding first-class or nothing before you know it!”
“Funny,” said Jamie, clearly not amused.
“Only messing bro. You had a great time, so a little jet lag is a small price to pay. Or is it ’cos Lara kept you up all night?”
Danny giggled childishly and received a dirty look from Jamie.
Clearing his throat, he said, “Band meeting.” Looking down at his laptop, Johnny said, “Right. If you lot can be arsed listening, I’ve got some big news for you.”
“Sorry bossman,” said Mikee, delivering a ‘shut-the-fuck-up’ look to his talkative bandmates.
“Cheers Kong,” said Johnny appreciatively. “Okay. Where shall we start? Album went gold at the end of last month. 100, 000 UK sales. The label are delighted but not as much as we are. Next single is out at the end of November and we’ve got four Christmas gigs lined up – Glasgow, Manchester, Dublin and London.”
“Wicked,” said Danny, “there’s nothing better than gigging.”
“Saves you getting grief at home off Dee, doesn’t it D-Mo?”
He rolled his eyes. “If you say so Dom. Can’t you change the fuckin’ record?”
“I could. But you get so wound up by it!”
“I’m gonna be a dad. It’s not a joking matter,” said Danny, again leaving himself wide open.
“As I said…” replied Dominic, as he leant over and pinched Danny’s ear playfully.
“Right! Next item,” said Johnny. “Festival dates are being put together and we are down to play Glasto. Possibly V and very likely T in the Park. So, get some wellies on your Christmas list as it’s bound to piss down at Glasto.”
Glastonbury. The place that he had met a rain-sodden and very drunk Claire, all those years ago. It would be the first time Johnny had been back to the festival since that day.
“Aren’t the Stones rumoured to be headlining?” asked Jamie in an almost reverential whisper.
“Rumoured J. But who knows? They’ll keep it all under wraps for a while yet.”
“Imagine being on the same bill as The Rolling Stones!” said Dominic, looking as star struck as was possible.
“Okay. Next item on the agenda. Brit awards. We’ve been nominated for best newcomer and best single. Last one’s voted for by Radio One listeners so that’ll mean One Direction or some such shite will piss it. I think we stand a good chance of best newcomer though,” said Johnny, as he looked at the band’s reaction.
“I’m disappointed,” said Dominic, pulling his bottom lip out. “We should have easily been in best album and group.” With a dismissive shake of his head, he added, “If fuckin’ Mumford and his bastard Sons win it, he’s getting it. The posh twat in his shit clothes!”
Struggling to stifle his laughter, Johnny looked up at the guitarist’s obvious displeasure. “Win the lot the year after then,” said Johnny, throwing the gauntlet down.
“About the Brits,” he said with a pause. “They’ve asked us to play live, but.”
“But what,” interjected Jamie.
“But. They want us to do one of those mash-up/soundclash things with,” glancing down at the notes on his laptop, “Street Baby Fury. Some grime act that XL have signed. Apparently, he’s up for best urban act. I haven’t heard of him. But I’m not down with the kids. Word,” said Johnny, making an embarrassingly bad gangster sign with his right hand.
“He’s the bomb!” said Mikee, with a snap of his fingers. “Jay-Z found him rapping outside a gig at the O2. He’s done some proper sick stuff. Wicked beats.”
“Discovered outside the O2 by Jay-Z,” said Johnny cynically, “And if you believe that one…”
“I’m not mad about that,” said Jamie with a frown.
“Can’t say I am,” said Johnny with a nod of his head. “And they don’t name rappers like they used to. What’s wrong with a good old-fashioned Flavor Flav? His people are going to send across a track to our people, so we’ll see,” said Johnny, nodding in agreement with Jamie.
“I think it’ll be fuckin’ cool,” said Danny, turning to his sizeable partner in rhythm.
“I hear ya D-Mo,” said Mikee as they bumped fists.
“Anyhow. There’s more. We’ve finalised the deal with XL US and the album will be released in the States in February and we’ll tour it for most of March. Supporting somebody. Not been confirmed who though yet.”
“Err, Johnny. I’ve just worked out that Glasto is in June and that’s when the baby’s due!” said Danny, with a look of panic on his face.
; “Bring her down. Get some druid or what have you to help with the birth. Get it done in the middle of Stonehenge or something!” said Dominic.
Trying to maintain some semblance of order and attempting to placate Danny’s concerns, Johnny said, “Get me her due date and we’ll take it from there…”
“Fuck’s sake,” Danny mumbled to himself. “I think that it’s 20th June, but I’ll double check.” He went to text Dee and then thought better of it.
“America. That’ll keep you happy then bro,” said Dominic knowingly.
“Hmmm,” replied Jamie, a thousand-yard stare indicating his thoughts were not quite in the room.
Seeing Danny nudge Mikee excitedly, Johnny could see there was something else on the agenda.
“Go on D-Mo. You look fit to bust,” said Johnny with a playful grin.
“Let’s have your laptop for a second,” said Mikee, producing a USB stick from his jacket pocket.
“Err, careful. I don’t want my laptop full of grot!” said Johnny.
“Like you don’t look at that stuff,” said Mikee with a wink. “Got to make sure you can keep your pecker up at your age, haven’t you?”
“Thank you for the biology lesson, Kong.”
Having accessed the Windows Media programme, Mikee turned the laptops speakers up to full volume and demanded silence. A thundering drum and bass track emitted from the speakers, with some slashes of angry guitar complimenting the beats. A sample of the Richard Ashcroft vocal then kicked in on repeat. ‘God knows you’re lonely souls. God knows…’
“That’s fuckin’ sick,” said Dominic.
Looking up proudly, Danny said, “Me and Mikee have worked on it. For when we walk out on stage. Lights down. Play that full fuckin’ blast. We step out. Boom. Lights on. And we fuckin’ start to tear it up!” he added, with a particularly loud snap of his fingers.
“I love it,” said Johnny, replaying the link again.
“Good work,” said Jamie, delighted by this little bit of studio-trickery. “Cool as fuck.”
“Okay. Band meeting over. Happy with all that lot I take it?”
“Yeah. Brilliant,” said Jamie, “We’re going to be working on the new tracks for a few weeks now. Nice and relaxed to see how they take shape.”
“Right. Get on your way. I’ve got work to do!” said Johnny, already checking the day’s emails.
“Cheers Johnny. See you soon,” said Jamie as he left the apartment, his thoughts already transatlantic.
***
Having had the London gig in December confirmed, Johnny had texted Amanda to inform her. The response of ‘Hello Mr Manager. I’ll see how busy I am nearer the time. I’m not just here for you when you’re in town. A x’ had taken the wind out of his sails somewhat. Modern women. Got to love ’em, he thought. But resolutely on their terms…
***
“Lara. It’s Jamie.”
“Hello Jamie,” said Lara sleepily.
“Are you still in bed?”
“I am. I’ve been working hard and just crashed out all day,” she said.
“I’ve got some good news. We’ve got the American tour dates sorted. We’ll be over for a month. Starts mid-February.”
“Good news,” said Lara. A little less enthusiastically than Jamie had hoped for.
“And we’re playing London in December. It’d be great if you could make that. London’s amazing in December. It’d be great,” he said unabashed.
“I’ll look at my schedule, Jamie. Can I get back to you? I’m tired.” Lara rolled over in bed, the phone still held to her ear.
“Err. Yeah. Sure,” said Jamie. “I’ll speak soon to you soon then?”
“You will. Sorry Jamie. But I’m beat right now.” Hanging up the call, Lara dropped her mobile phone. Right onto a piece of silver foil, scorched and burnt black in the centre…
***
“But Danny! You promised,” shrilled Dee.
“It’s not my fault,” said Danny, as he started to strip wallpaper off the spare room that they planned to use as a nursery.
“It’s Glastonbury the week I’m due. What if I’m late!” cried Dee, as she stood with her hands on her hips.
“I’ve said I’ll be there, and I will!” said Danny, as he started to scrape furiously at the wallpaper.
“YOU CAN’T SAY THAT!” said Dee, throwing her own scraper at the wall. It ricocheted back, causing Danny to jump backwards.
“Fuck’s sake!”
“What did I say about swearing in front of the baby?”
“Whatever.”
“Not whatever. I want. No. I insist that you’re with me when I give birth to our baby. Our baby, Danny.” With a genuinely wounded look on her face, Dee lowered her voice. “This is the biggest thing that’s ever happened to us. It might never happen again. Surely you know why I feel like this.”
Wisely thinking better of telling Dee that a gold album was a pretty fucking big deal too, he hugged her into him. “It’ll be okay. I promise.”
***
“And then what happened?” Asked Mark, with an unhealthy level of vicarious interest.
Sat in the vault of a once oft-frequented local, Johnny and Mark were having a long overdue catch-up. Over several pints of well-poured Guinness.
Sipping from his pint, Johnny sighed and let out a low chuckle. “So, we started messaging.”
“Text or Facetime?” Mark asked. A little too keenly.
“Text! For fucks sake. I’d never done anything like that before. Sexting with stabilisers I guess.”
“What was she saying?”
“Y’know. I’m naked. Touching myself and that. Proper turn on.”
“And what did you do?”
“Really? I’m sure even your vanilla imagination stretches that far,” said Johnny.
“Did she send any pictures?” said Mark, with a somewhat pervy rub of his hands.
“No. It all went a bit pear.”
“Why?”
“I was, y’know. I was cracking one off,” said Johnny. Assuming a sheepish tone.
“Who said men can’t multitask!” said Mark, with a conspiratorial nudge wink gesture.
“I was going to message her that I was about to err, finish.”
Shaking his head at the recollection, Johnny drained his pint glass. “In all the excitement, I forgot the predictive text was on…”
“And?”
“And I said I was going to Cumbria…”
Having just taken a long gulp, Mark’s eyes started to bulge as he tried to stop the drink from shooting back down his nose.
“You know what I meant to say. Obviously.”
Wiping tears from his eyes, “Oh mate! What did she say after that? Ask if she needed to bring her walking boots?”
“Very fucking funny. Not a word to anyone about this. And no, she didn’t message back after that…”
***
“More washing for me?” said Cally as she opened the front door for Dominic.
“Not this time, mum. But I am starving,” said Dominic as he hugged her warmly.
“How’ve you been? It’s good to have not been reading about you in the papers.” She hurriedly added, “even though I know it’s all a load of rubbish!”
“I’m okay. Just writing and rehearsing some new stuff. Next year is going to be amazing though,” said Dom, plonking himself down on the sofa.
“Tea or coffee?” asked Cally, as she walked towards the kitchen.
“Err. Coffee. I’m knackered.”
Returning with two mugs of coffee, Cally sat down on the other sofa. “So, go on. Tell me your news.”
Blowing on the hot coffee, he said, “Well, we’ve got a few gigs on the run up to Christmas. One’s in Manchester so you’ll have to come to that. At the G-MEX. Massive show for us!”
“Ooh. I will. Thank you.”
“And then!” with a suitably dramatic pause, “and then, we’ve got the Brit awards. Two nominations and we’re playing and then we’re off to
America. A month-long tour. I can’t wait!”
“That’s amazing,” said Cally, concealing her disappointment that she would be unable to see her boys for so long.
“I know! And then we’ve got festival dates lined up in the summer and hopefully have the second album ready to release around then.”
“I still can’t believe all this is happening,” said Cally.
“Until you read another load of shit in the papers…”
“Until I read another load of shit in the papers,” said Cally, shaking her head ruefully.
“Anyhow, I’ve got something for you.” Pulling the large carrier bag from beside the sofa, Dominic handed it across to his mum.
“What is it?” said Cally excitedly.
“Open it.”
Ripping at the brown paper that Dominic had wrapped as carefully as he could, Cally’s face light up as she pulled the picture frame out of the bubble-wrap packaging revealing a gold record.
“Oh Dominic,” she gasped. “Awarded to Lonely Souls for UK sales of 100,000 units.” Looking up to Dominic proudly, she said, “That’s so kind of you.” Choking back tears, she leant across and hugged her son to him.
“Come on Mum, don’t cry. It’s only a little present,” said Dominic, rubbing a tear away himself.
“And not many mums would ever get a little present like this. It’ll be on the wall before you’re home. I promise.”
“Thanks Mum.” He drained his cup of coffee. “Look there’s something I want to talk to you about,” he said, with a serious look now on his face.
“What’s that then?” said Cally.
“All the shit in the papers. They’ve said a couple of times about having no dad and coming from a single-parent family. It winds me up.”
“It upsets me too. But you know I did everything for you I could,” said Cally, her voice cracking slightly.
“I know you did. That’s not my point.” He took a deep breath. “I want to know more about my dad. Is there anything you can tell me? Anything at all?”
Wringing her hands together, causing her knuckles to whiten, Cally stared at the wooden floorboards beneath her feet.
The Rock 'N' the Roll. 'N That Page 32