“What do you want to know?” she said in a whisper.
“What’s his name for starters, I suppose? You’ve just never talked about him.”
“Davey. David,” she said brusquely.
“David what?”
“Err. David. David Parks,” Cally said as decisively as she could.
She was unsure of his actual surname, having only heard him referred to by his nickname.
“Okay. David Parks. Where was he from?”
“Manchester. He was from Manchester,” replied Cally, an anguished look on her face.
Pondering his next question, Dominic frowned and rubbed at his forehead. “How long were you together?”
“Not long. Not long at all,” said Cally, desperately holding back a sob.
“How long’s not long then?”
“Not long at all, Dominic. He left me as soon as he found out I was pregnant.” A tear rolled down her cheek as the painful lie left her lips.
“Why did he do that though? Why?” said Dom, taking his mum’s hand in his.
“I don’t know. I just don’t know,” said Cally, her voice now barely audible, the tears flowing down her face.
“Look. I’m sorry. This seems hard for you. But I need to know,” said Dominic, having now joined his mum on her sofa.
“There’s nothing more to know,” she said, breathing deeply as she attempted to compose herself.
“But there must be!” implored Dominic.
“There isn’t. He left me. And I decided that I wanted to keep the baby. Which turned out to be babies. You. And Jamie. And I’ve not regretted that for one second. Not one second.”
Closing his eyes and kissing her on the forehead tenderly, he said, “Thank you. Honestly. Thank you for saying that. I know you won’t want to hear this, but I want to try and find him. I want to find my dad.”
Cally looked at him, wiping at the tears that were now streaming freely. “Please don’t do that. Please, Dominic.”
“I’m sorry but I have to. If he lives in Manchester, I could have walked past him in the street. He could have bought our album. I have to do this.”
“You’ll never find him,” said Cally resolutely.
“Well I’ll try. I’ll try and see what happens,” said Dominic, wiping his hand gently across his mum’s tear-stained cheek.
“Okay. I can’t stop you. But as lovely as it was to see you, can you go now. This all upsets me,” said Cally, standing up and drying her eyes with a tissue.
“Look I’m sorry to have upset you, but you must understand why. I’m sorry. I’ll see ya soon, yeah?” said Dominic. As he went to hug her, Cally wrapped hers arms around herself defensively.
“Of course, and thank you again for the present. It’s amazing. Bye Dom.”
“Yeah. Bye Mum, and I am sorry.”
As soon as the front door was closed, Cally curled up on the sofa, a cushion squeezed between her arms, and cried. And cried at the truth her son would never find…
Chapter 46
“Right then. We’ve done the introductions. Glasgow Barrowlands tonight. Soundcheck at 4pm. Back at t’venue for 7pm. Gentlemen. As you were. The M6 awaits,” said Maggie as he read from the itinerary on his iPad. “Anybody have any questions?”
Steve Jones aka Maggie. A dyed in the wool Yorkshire man who had worked in the industry for twenty-odd years having started giving out fliers for promoters outside venues. He loved music with a passion and watched every show by every band that he had tour managed. At six feet two and a solid fourteen stone of toned muscle, he was an intimidating figure. His self-styled moniker of ‘Maggie’ was, to quote, “I’m a bit of a cunt from Yorkshire. A blonde haired hard-faced cunt.”
Pushed in Johnny’s direction by the record label, the band were still very much at the ‘getting to know you’ phase.
Slightly sheepishly, Danny raised his hand.
“What the fuck are you doing, D-Mo? We’re not at fuckin’ school!” laughed Mikee, dragging Danny’s arm down.
“Danny. Yes. What’s your question?”
“Err, can we stop at Tebay, near the Lake District. Wicked scotch eggs!” said Dan hopefully.
“Consider it done,” said Steve/Maggie. “I’m rather partial meself. Belting little shop they have their in’tit?”
Suitably heartened by this and with the prospect of a scotch egg imminent, Danny took his seat on the tour bus with a big soppy grin.
***
Glasgow was a sweating melting pot of euphoric Scots. High on rock ’n’ roll and the prospect of the festive boozeathon that lay ahead of them.
Dublin was equally triumphant. The only issue of concern being the number of cousins that Danny had to try and accommodate on the guestlist. This had caused Steve/Maggie much consternation and numerous amendments to said list. The wanker sign that Danny had made behind his back after a particularly protracted expletive-littered grumble had only just passed undetected.
And then Manchester. So much to answer for…
A homecoming gig for the band – that were now firmly lodged in the hearts of the citizens of their fair city. This was no mean feat given the roll call of bands that went before them and they were more than aware of the illustrious footprints they were treading in.
‘GOD KNOWS YOU’RE LONELY SOULS! GOD KNOWS YOU’RE LONELY SOULS!’
The rhythm section-produced entrance track was going down a storm. With strobe lights whipping the audience and the sampled track roaring the announcement of the band, the crowd’s adrenaline soaring even before Dominic hit the first chord of the evening.
A second-ever stage dive from Jamie resulted in him being carried almost half way to the back of the converted station hall. Upon returning to the stage, the band tore into a blinding cover version of ‘Touched by the Hand of God’.
The aftershow party that followed their tumultuous set was packed to the rafters. A nearby bar had been convened for the evening and a procession of family, friends, well-wishers and blaggers ensured that the band slept until Watford the next day.
Johnny had spent most of the evening deep in conversation with Cally – to any passers-by this would have looked deeply conspiratorial, such were the hushed words they were exchanging.
And finally. London. Their own headlining show at a previous stomping ground. The Shepherds Bush Empire.
A sold-out show and a spiralling out of control guestlist had set Steve/Maggie’s stress levels off the scale. He seemed to be perfectly in control of every other on the road aspect, but pleas for additional passes and places for shows just threw him into a frenzy of foul-mouthed Yorkshire turmoil.
Two names on said guestlist needed no introductions. And no ridiculous pseudonyms this time. Ms Lara Bearheart. Johnny had also made every effort to ensure that Ms Amanda Fletcher was firmly access all areas.
It had been decided that they would partake in a dressing room post-show ‘Secret Santa’ ritual and names had been drawn from Mikee’s somewhat sweaty trapper hat as they idled through the London traffic. The rules were simple. Soundcheck and then you had until showtime to procure said present for your recipient/victim.
Names had been drawn and knowing nods exchanged.
A veritable scrape of photographers was circling the front of the venue from mid-afternoon so discreet exits under veil of headwear, hoods and shades were made just as the afternoon’s light started to fade to evening.
A raucous and impeccably delivered set had seen several new tracks seamlessly introduced to their set. And after a rousing encore of ‘Salvation’, that was 2013 finished and boxed off for Lonely Souls.
The small matter of Secret Santa remained. The dressing room door was locked, and the band and the five presents were safely stashed in an empty bass drum box from Mikee’s drum kit. Dominic had appointed himself the role of Father Christmas.
“HO HO HO. Okay boys and girls. Have we all been good as gold this year? Gold, d’yer get it?” said Dominic putting on a deep booming voice.
&nb
sp; “Most of the time,” laughed Danny, chinking bottles with Mikee.
“HO HO HO. And our first present is for Johnny. Have you been good this year, little Johnny?”
“Amanda!” coughed Mikee.
“Jealous,” said Johnny, with a smile.
Accepting the badly wrapped parcel from Dominic, Johnny looked round the dressing room at the band’s expectant faces.
Ripping the paper away, Johnny pulled out two small boxes – Just for Men ‘touch-up kit’ and 24 Viagra.
“Why thank you. Thank you very fucking much,” he laughed, although the latter made him inwardly grimace at what had fortunately proved to be an isolated incident.
Glancing at the band for any reaction, he saw Danny struggling to contain his laughter. “Thanks D-Mo. You have thought of everything that an old man could possibly want!”
“IT WASN’T ME!” said Danny indignantly.
“Hmmm. Well do remind me to play high-stakes poker with you sometime soon.”
“Honest! It wasn’t me,” he said unconvincingly.
“HO HO HO! And our next present is for Mikee.”
Slowly peeling away the Sellotape off the slender parcel, Mikee then roared with laughter – fancy dress ‘prison tattoo sleeves’.
“That’ll save me a fortune at the tattooist!”
Putting one on his comparatively ink free left arm, he flexed his bicep and nodded in approval.
“HO HO HO! And next present is for little Daniel Martin. Now Daniel. Have you been a good boy? My little helpers tell me that you like having your weewee sucked and kissed by naughty girls,” said Dominic, with a snort of laughter.
“Very fuckin’ funny!” said Danny, snatching the badly-wrapped present from Dominic.
Shaking the box slightly, he looked puzzled as he tried to guess what was inside. “New shades?” he asked hopefully.
Tearing the paper away, he looked at the box and filled up. Baby sized ear-defenders. His bottom lip trembled slightly, and he shook his head unable to speak. Rubbing at his eyes, his huge smile said everything.
Taking the box from Danny, Jamie held them up to the room. “They are wicked. The first Lonely Soul baby can come to our gigs. Love it!”
“Pass ’em back J. I’m gonna send a picture of ’em to Dee,” said Danny, still struggling to maintain his composure.
“HO HO HO! And next we have a present for Jamie. Now have you been a good boy this year? I read in the newspapers that you’ve been doing bad things with a naked lady!” said Dominic, beaming a smile at his brother.
Opening the present, Jamie burst out laughing. “Oh, thanks Mikee. You shouldn’t have!”
“WHAT!” said the drummer, convincingly feigning innocence.
Holding up the DVD, Jamie read the back of the box. “Pornahontas. Watch as the Native American beauty goes on a voyage of sexual discovery. Using her seductive power to fuck the white man out of her precious homeland. Watch Pornahontas and marvel at her sexual liberation from innocent virgin to wild cock-hungry woman.”
Shaking his head, Jamie handed the box to Mikee.
“And that is not going on the player on the tour bus!” Jamie said firmly.
Looking down at the box, Mikee said, “She doesn’t half look like Lara!”
“Remind me to ask her later if it was her,” deadpanned Jamie.
“HO HO HO! And at last it’s a present for me,” said Dominic, pulling out the remaining parcel.
The opened revealed a cardboard backed plastic sealed box containing ‘false glasses, nose and moustache for the prefect disguise’.
“That’s wicked. I’ll wear them every time I leave the flat and walk past the scrape!”
“And we have one more present,” said Jamie, pulling a large flat parcel and handing it to Johnny.
Pulling back the brown paper carefully, Johnny looked proudly down at the picture on front of him. The photograph he had taken of the band on the station platform just after they had signed their record deal. Signed with individual messages of thanks and love, Johnny read them all with a lump in his throat.
Choking back his emotion, Johnny nodded a simple thank you, before he stood up and hugged and kissed each band member in turn.
A whispered ‘I love you man’ from Jamie had him in absolute bits and with tear-filled eyes he raised his bottle. “Lonely Souls and an even bigger and bigger AND AN EVEN BIGGER 2014!”
Five bottles all raised together and the band as one shouted, “LONELY SOULS!”
Chapter 47
As large a scrape of photographers as Jamie had witnessed greeted him and Lara as they stepped out into the cold December air, their breath clouding in front of them.
“JAMIE! LARA!” came the shouts from the scrape. Camera flashes illuminated the pavement as the photographers jostled for position.
“OVER HERE JAMIE!” “LARA! YOU LOOK LOVELY! OVER HERE!”
Jamie ushered Lara forward, guiding her by the small of her back with one hand, the other pushing away the overly-intrusive lenses. The black car was only yards away, its engine idling. The safety of the plush leather seats invitingly close.
A blinding flash in front of Jamie caused him lift his arm in front of his face. With the loss of stability he had been providing, Lara started to overbalance as a lens was thrust in her direction. Too late. As their car door opened, the heel of Lara’s teeteringly high Sergio Rossi shoe snapped.
Falling forward, tumbling onto the pavement, Lara now lay full length in front of the expectant scrape.
With no thought whatsoever for her personal well-being, she was light up by a volley of flashbulbs as the photographers ravenously snapped her prone form.
Struggling to her feet, the broken heel causing her to reel again, she managed to lean against the car for support.
Wheeling on the snappers, Jamie shot them a glare that could have frozen vodka.
“FOR FUCK’S SAKE! You’ve got your fuckin’ pictures!” he shouted, both hands flailing at the barrage of lenses in front of him.
“TOO MUCH TO DRINK ALREADY?” was one shout.
“FIGHTING ON THE PAVEMENT AGAIN?” came another.
A moment of clarity and Jamie pushed his way to Lara, who was now sliding gingerly into the car, the broken heel dangling uselessly from her right foot. Slamming the door shut, with no thought for grabbing hands and fingers, he was breathing heavily. Flashbulbs ricocheted off the car’s window, hands banged on the roof and bonnet.
“FUCK!” he cried out. Turning to Lara who was wincing at both a small cut on her knee and the passing of her new favourite shoes, he said, “Fuck! Are you okay?”
“Oh, I’ll live,” she replied pragmatically. “My fucking shoes. Shit. My new fucking shoes! The motherfuckers!”
“Yeah, but are you okay?” said Jamie.
“I’m fine. But my fucking shoes. They were a limited edition. Motherfuckers!” Lara grimaced as she took the shoe off and mournfully shook her head.
“You must have the odd one or two other pairs?”
“Oh, Jamie Thorne. You’ve got a lot to learn,” said Lara with a serious shake of her head.
***
Scanning his eyes predatorially around the assorted liggers and party animals, Dominic’s strafing gaze stopped when he alighted on a very familiar face that was making her way towards him.
“Grace!” said Dominic, his surprise causing his stomach to flip. “I. Err. I…”
“Hello Dom. Surprised to see me?” she said with a smile.
“Err, Look I’m sorry, Can I get you a drink? “
“I will. But I didn’t come for your apologies. I’m not sure why I came actually,” she said, folding her arms defensively.
“Why then?” asked Dominic, his usually unbridled confidence now distinctly dialled down.
“Get me that drink. Then I’ll talk to you.”
Hurrying back with the glasses, Dominic discreetly ushered Grace to a quieter part of the room.
“Got you a double,” said Dominic some
what nervously.
“Not trying to get me drunk, are we?” said Grace, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.
“Fuck! No. Err. I err just thought you’d li—” he stammered.
“I’m joking,” Grace said sternly. Sipping at the vodka and coke, Grace smiled in approval as the alcohol bit. “Great show tonight. Nice new guitar you’ve got yourself.”
Perking up slightly, he said, “She’s a beauty. Cost me a fortune. She sounds gorgeous. Gonna use it on the next album. I won’t let anybody else touch her!”
“Good to hear that you treat your guitars better than you do your women,” Grace said archly.
Squeezing his eyes shut at his own faux pas, Dominic was for once speechless. “Easy to wind up, aren’t you?” said Grace, with half a smile.
“I sai—”
“I don’t want you to say sorry. What’s done is done.” Taking a large sip from her drink, she said, “Look at me as your Ghost of Christmas Future.”
Dominic looked understandably puzzled, and still resolutely speechless.
“Sorry for being so cryptic. I could easily have gone to the papers. Made a few quid for myself after our evening that went so, ahem, off the rails.”
Dominic nodded, unsure where all this was going.
“Anyway. I decided against that. I’m a nice girl like that, Dominic.”
His mind now racing, Dominic feared he was about to be blackmailed and looked frantically round the bar for Johnny.
“Don’t panic, Dominic. All I wanted to say was. Don’t do it again ’cos next time you might not be so lucky. My friend’s sister is the receptionist at your record label. That’s why I can come to the party.”
“Thank you,” said Dominic, his words dripping with relief.
“Don’t thank me. I hated you for how you made me feel. But after I’d calmed down, I just didn’t feel like ruining your career,” said Grace softly. “Don’t treat women like they are just cunt for you to use and toss aside!”
His eye’s widening at her forthrightness.
“Err, thank you,” Dominic said, still struggling to articulate his feelings.
“I said I don’t want thanks. Just remember this and how bad things could have been.”
The Rock 'N' the Roll. 'N That Page 33