“I’m sure she’ll show. You know what women are like. Bit of drama just to keep you on your toes,” Johnny said, with one eye on the diminishing pile of coke.
***
As the band stood and watched the headline band finish their set, Jamie’s phone vibrated in his pocket. Snatching it out, he finally saw what he had been waiting for. A text from Lara.
‘Hey Jamie. Sorry I’ve not been in touch. Had a virus and my doctor ordered me to stay in bed. I hear you killed it in NYC. Love lots L x’
Reading and re-reading the message for any hint of ambiguity or sub-text, Jamie cursed to himself.
Aside from him not getting to see her, he felt it also made him look ‘a right twat’ in front of the rest of the band.
He stepped back into the sanctuary of the dressing room, and sat down to ponder his response. The first time they play in America, and she is five minutes away. In bed. He’d been hoping that she might have surprised him and showed up at one of the other dates, but appreciated her work commitments, ‘advertising shit’, were always exceptionally pressing.
With much deliberation, he replied – ‘Hey Lara. Sorry that you’re not feeling well. Shame you missed our shows. We fly home tomorrow afternoon. I can come and see you…. J x’
Composing himself and with a final bout of profanities, he went to join his bandmates to celebrate the last night of their first US tour.
***
“Twins?” said the achingly cool hipster chick. Skinny as a green tea and cigarettes diet, the black-haired Cleopatra-alike admirer was making no secret of her desired cardinal sins. “I’ve never fucked twins,” she said matter-of-factly.
“I have to tell you Tyra, that is going to stay that way. Certainly, as far as these twins are concerned,” said Dominic, with a dismissive shake of his head.
“Shame. You’re both so hot,” Tyra purred.
“Mikee is your man to talk about threesomes, but you’d need to bring along a pretty friend,” Dom said, pointing in Mikee’s general direction.
“I have lots of pretty friends. Marcus is beautiful. Shall I introduce him to your friend?” Tyra said, arching an eyebrow.
“That’s not the sort of threesome he has in mind. But ask him. Definitely,” laughed Jamie.
Just then, his phone buzzed again. Glancing at Dom, he excused himself.
‘Hey Jamie Thorne. Bring me chicken soup. The deli on the corner opposite my building opens late. Love L x’
Screwing his nose up in frustration, Jamie weighed up his options. He had promised the boys that he’d party with them on the last night of their tour. But he wanted to see Lara. And most of all, he wanted Lara to answer his questions.
“My shout, bro. Another beer? And a shot,” Jamie said, returning to the fray of the aftershow.
Their blistering set of rock ’n’ roll, coupled with them being English – and in the twins’ case, exceptionally good looking – meant that they were never short of attention. The New York scenesters had some sort of sixth sense when it came to identifying the next hot talent.
Beers and shots were dispensed with. Covert invitations for convivial trips to the washroom to share a line were readily accepted. Heads were nodded appreciatively at compliments and at tunes played over the bar’s ageing sound-system. Or ‘real vintage shit’ as the bar owner had described it to Jamie as he ordered another round.
As he returned with half a dozen bottles of Michelob, Jamie glanced over at where Johnny was stood. By himself, idly flicking through the old-fashioned vinyl-only jukebox.
Excusing himself, Jamie went over to him and gently shoulder-charged him in the back.
Reeling round, Johnny was holding his mouth as he had just cracked the bottle he was drinking from against his front teeth and was trying not to drip beer on his newly purchased coat.
“Oh shit! Sorry man. I didn’t realise you were drinking,” Jamie said, raising an apologetic hand.
“It’s okay seeing as though it’s you,” Johnny said, gingerly pressing a thumb against his teeth.
“Why are you stood on your own?”
Gesturing round the bar, he said, “C’mon J. Look at them. All these hip young kids. I’m old enough to be their fuckin’ dad!”
“Last night of the tour man! You have to have a drink with us,” Jamie said.
“That’s good of you J. But I’ve seen your set. That’s enough for me. I don’t want to be making a twat of myself in front of this lot.”
“C’mon. They’re alright, the crowd we’re with,” Jamie said, nodding his head in the direction of the fashionistas.
“J. The last thing I want is a sympathy shag off one of them just because I’m your manager. I don’t want to give them an excuse to see even more of their $150 dollar an hour therapist.”
“Don’t be soft, you—”
Cutting Jamie off, Johnny said, “If I can borrow your favourite expression, it’s all about the music.”
Smiling, Jamie placed his hand on Johnny’s shoulder. “You do like a bit tired.”
“Oh cheers!” Johnny said, mock-indignantly. “Six weeks on the road with you lot. Is it any wonder?”
“As long as you’re okay,” Jamie said.
“I’m fine J. I’m gonna get back to the hotel. There’s bound to be some adverts on the TV that I’ve not seen yet.”
He hugged Jamie to him. “I love yer man.”
“You too,” Jamie said, kissing him on the cheek, the smell of heavy spirits hot on his breath.
“I’ll see you tomo—”
He was interrupted as the door to the bar crashed open.
The whole room turned towards the gate crasher.
Jamie’s face dropped.
Lara.
A clearly not really that ill and wide-eyed Lara.
“Fuck,” he mumbled under his breath.
Marching over to him, Lara stood in front of him with that familiar ballsy hands-on-hips pose.
“Jamie Thorne.”
“Lara. You said you were ill in bed,” Jamie said, looking more than a little taken aback. He breathed a gentle sigh of relief that he had been chatting to Johnny.
“WHERE DA FUCK IS MY CHICKEN SOUP?” asked Lara. Her accent became notably more native-Manhattan when she was either angry or off it.
“What?” Jamie said, thinking fast on his battered Converse. “Is chicken soup some secret code I don’t know about?”
The rest of the bar had now dropped to hear a pin drop quiet as they eavesdropped the irate exchange. Camera phones were rapidly deployed as the partygoers turned into on the spot reporters. Fortunately, a swift intervention from Mikee quickly curtailed this.
“You know exactly what I mean!” Lara said, her dilated pupils blazing.
“I actually don’t,” Jamie said, “Look, let’s step outside and talk.”
Trying to hold Lara by the elbow and steer her out of the bar, she slapped his hand away angrily.
“When you didn’t show at my apartment, I got mad.”
“I did! Last night,” Jamie snapped.
“Fuck you Jamie Thorne,” Lara snapped back.
“And tonight, I’m having a drink. On the last night of our tour. With my friends,” Jamie batted back.
Lara slowly shook her head. “Not good enough.”
Pursing her exquisite lips together, Lara stared at Jamie. Her eyes a dead giveaway of her narcotic intake.
“I don’t play games, Lara. You know that.”
“Neith—”
Jamie cut her off before she could get out of second gear.
“I was gutted when you didn’t show last night. And you’d only texted me a couple of times.” Hesitating slightly, he added, “And you don’t seem that ill.”
“I was ill. But I’m better now,” Lara said, her hands placed on her hips.
“I can see that. So why didn’t you text me?” He shook his head in frustration at the Jekyll and Hyde nature of her personality. “You’re here now. Do you want a drink?”
&nbs
p; “Get me a beer,” snapped Lara, “And a shot of JD!”
“You have been ill though?” asked Jamie.
“I have. My doctor said that I’ve been working too hard. Burning the candle at both ends,” Lara said, fortunately now an awful lot calmer, after her earlier dramatic whirlwind entrance.
“I know this isn’t easy. Us,” Jamie said, as he peeled distractedly at the label of his bottle.
“I told you that,” Lara said, rubbing at a tiny tell-tale crystalline white speck on the inside of her nose.
“You did.”
“So, we carry on and see where this shit takes us then?” Lara said, before kissing Jamie on the mouth.
“I’m glad you showed up. But fuck me…” Jamie said.
“I blame you, Jamie Thorne. I’m not used to chasing after someone.”
“Well now that you are here, I can ask you.”
“Ask me what?” Lara said eagerly.
“Come to Glastonbury. You owe me after missing the last two nights.”
“How did you know I wasn’t already going?” Lara said coyly.
“’Cos I hadn’t asked you.”
“I can’t wait,” she said, “now let’s finish these and head back to mine.”
“Need me to pick up any chicken soup on the way?”
***
Having decided that it had been a good time to leave, Johnny stepped out on to the sidewalk and let out a deep breath. Feeling his phone vibrate, he looked at the message. Cally.
‘Hiya Johnny. Thank you for the picture. It’s great. I’ve put it as my screensaver. I’ve missed them so much. It’ll be great to see them. And you xx’
Smiling to himself, Johnny sat down on a metallic bus stop bench - festooned with elaborate street graffiti. Earlier that day he had taken a picture of the twins at the top of the Empire State Building, arms around each other, smiling down the camera. The Manhattan skyline in the background not quite stealing the show.
‘Hi Cally. Not long now. They’ve loved it here, but they’ve missed you. And it’d be good to see you when we get home x’
Rubbing his hands across his tired face, Johnny thought of Cally. The way he caught her smiling at him. Or at least that’s what he thought…
Chapter 52
“I’ve just bought some wellies. And I treated myself to a couple of nice summery dresses in case it doesn’t rain,” Cally said, as sat with her feet curled underneath her on the sofa.
“It’ll be brilliant but it’s mad that you’re going,” Dominic said.
Cally frowned her displeasure. “I hope you don’t mind?”
“No! Not at all,” Dominic replied unconvincingly.
“When I found out The Stones are playing,” Cally said, clapping her hands together softly.
“Same stage but different day. We’re playing Saturday. Those Mumford twats are headlining that night.”
“Dom!”
“They are. I can’t stand them. And they dress like utter wankers.”
Unable to resist laughing at her son’s outburst, she said, “I’m going to get the train down on Saturday morning.”
“I’m glad it’s not just Mick and Keef that you’re coming to see,” Dominic said as he sat and admired the framed gold disc that sat pride of place in his mum’s front room.
“And I may get to meet Lara. Jamie told me that she’s going to be there.”
“You’ll know about it if she’s there,” Dominic said, idly checking his phone as it shuddered at the arrival of a text message.
“What do you mean by that?” Cally asked, edging forward on the sofa.
Dominic hesitated, not wanting to breach his brother’s trust.” She’s just a bit high maintenance at times. D’y’know what I mean?”
Cally nodded and waited for her son to carry on.
He ran a hand across his blonde hair, which he had taken to wearing in a top knot - the days of hiding his face behind curtains of lank hair long behind him. “It’s just these public kick offs that she seems to get off on. It’d do my head right in.”
“Jamie says she’s lovely. Most of the time,” Cally said.
“Most of the time,” Dom said and then screwed his face up. “Just a bit too split-personality, yeah?”
“I’ll hopefully get to meet her and make my own mind up,” Cally said.
“I’m sure she’ll be on her best behaviour if you do. She’s good at that fake PR shit.”
“Another drink? Anything to eat?” Cally asked as Dominic finished off his cup of tea.
“No. I’m good thanks.” Taking a deep breath, Dominic sat up and leant forward. “Look Mum. I know I’ve not mentioned it in a while, but I’ve got nowhere trying to track down my dad.”
Cally’s mood changed instantaneously.
“I just wanted to know if there was anything more you could tell me. Anything?”
“Such as?” Cally replied softly.
“A middle name? Date of birth would be really helpful,” Dominic said.
“I don’t have any of those things. I told you that.”
Sighing, Dominic said, “I know. I know. Nothing at all? It’s just a bit, just a bit odd y’know.”
“I told you. He left me as soon as he found out I was pregnant. I’m sorry Dominic, but I’m not hiding anything from you.” Her stomach knotted as soon as the lie once again left her lips.
“You can’t have been with him long to know so little about him,” Dominic said slowly.
“What are you trying to say?”
“I, err, I don’t know what to think.”
“If there was anything else I could tell you, I would,” Cally said emphatically, knowing full well that her son was attempting to trace the impossible.
“Not a lot more I can say.”
“I’m sorry Dom. Just nothing more I can say,” Cally said, her resolve growing.
With a shrug of his shoulders, Dominic reached out for his mum’s hand. “I know. Thanks. And next time I’ll see you is in the mud at Glastonbury!”
“Don’t say that! It’ll be glorious sunshine. Think positive,” Cally said, with a squeeze of her son’s hand.
Getting up to leave, Dominic smiled and then said, “Just don’t forget those wellies…”
***
“Three days. I’m due three days after you play Glastonbury!” Dee said. Her patience had worn thin over the course of what had been a difficult first pregnancy. “I’m in my last two weeks. My waters could break at any time.”
“I know. And I can’t wait,” Danny said as they sat in the beer garden of their local waiting on their food.
“Can’t wait for what! The festival or our first baby?” Dee said, placing both hands on her hugely distended stomach.
“THE FUCKING BABY!” Danny said exasperatedly. “Obviously the baby.”
“What have I said about swearing in front of baby?”
Rolling his eyes, he said, “Look how many times do I have to tell you that I’ll be there for you.”
“I don’t not want you to go to Glasto, but it worries me, it worries me tha—”
“I WILL BE THERE!” Danny shouted, banging his first down onto the edge of the woodworm pockmarked table.
“You better be, Daniel Martin. You better be.”
***
“I’m already packed,” Lara said as he sat on the sofa in her apartment blowing softly on her freshly painted nails. Her own brand. Naturally.
“I can only imagine,” Jamie said, as he paced up and down his new apartment, the mobile phone clamped between his cheek and shoulder as he pulled the protective wrap of a newly-purchased sofa.
He had recently moved to a building that had its own reception and concierge. There was parking accessed by a security gate and these two features provided Jamie with a reasonable shield of privacy from the permanently in-situ scrape of photographers.
“Don’t be like that,” Lara said, “I have to pack for every eventuality.”
And every photo opportunity, thought Jamie.
“I’ve sorted somewhere really cool for us to stay. Well, Johnny’s sorted it. But it’ll be great.”
“I can’t wait,” Lara said, wincing at a slight smudge on her index finger.
“Me to! And we get to see The Stones,” Jamie said excitedly.
“They got nothing on us, Jamie Thorne,” Lara said, smiling as she recalled their incognito karaoke turn.
“Glastonbury it is.”
“I’ll see you there. And don’t bring that Manchester rain with you…”
Chapter 53
Stepping back onto the tour bus having collected the precious Access All Areas accreditation, Johnny handed them out. “And don’t fuckin’ lose them.”
Looking out across the sprawling site, the band – all Glastonbury virgins – were all taken aback by the size of the farm-cum-decent sized town as their bus rolled through the Artistes’ entrance.
Johnny sat and tapped his pass rhythmically against his nose. His last visit to the festival had resulted in him meeting Claire. On the back of his father’s death and a subsequent broken relationship, he had literally bumped into Claire whilst she danced on her own outside a beer tent.
He still harboured deep regrets about their ending and the band were a constant reminder of the subterfuge he had immersed himself into. But what a gold disc rock ’n’ roll reminder they were.
The band were planning on finishing their set with a new track that they had just finished recording at the legendary Monmouth Studios.
They had been particularly keen on the idea of working there after Johnny had informed that the Roses had recorded The Second Coming there.
Dominic had acted suitably reverentially and the guitar parts that he had laid down were by far and away his best work to date.
Unfortunately, the tour bus equilibrium was not quite right. The twins and Mikee couldn’t have been more relaxed as the bus parked up. Danny, however, was a tightly-coiled mass of panic and running the risk of a repetitive strain injury such was the frequency of his phone checking.
He’d convinced himself that Dee was going to go into labour the second they took to the stage and such was his anxiety, the band had even absconded from their usual winding up duties.
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