by Tim Roux
“I just need to get it all out.”
“Your audience is with you.”
Right. It’s me against the world night tonight.
Heaven knows I took the blows
And I’ve been down on the floor.
I dried my tears, ignored the sneers
And now I’m back for more.
Maybe they were right to write me off but I’ll take that bet,
Cos I’m back and I ain’t finished yet.
Once an old man said to me:
“Son, find what makes you tick.
If you can’t kick that whole wall down son,
Do it brick by brick”.
Maybe they were right to write me off but I’ll take that bet,
Cos I’m back and I ain’t finished yet.
Cos I’ve lived those dark, dark days when nothing’s going right,
And at times they got me down but not without a fight.
I bore the bruise of bitterness, it grew from blue to black.
But I’m up and stronger now so look out world I’m back.
Next time that I hit the canvas,
I know what I’ll do then.
I’ll pick my dreams up, dust them down
And do it all again.
Maybe they were right to write me off but I’ll take that bet,
Cos I’m back and I ain’t finished yet.
I’ve had so much borrowed time I’m now deep down in debt,
But I’m back and I ain’t finished,
If life’s a battle I’m gonna win it,
Yeah I’m back and I ain’t finished yet.
I look up, and it sure is me against the world. Two very ugly, small, wiry guys are staring at me - one dark, one white. I’ve been sort of expecting them.
There are a lot of people coming into Zest this evening. I seem to be a bit of a draw. I throw in a few quick remarks between songs and avoid asking if anybody has any requests. That’s only safe in front of the home crowd.
I notice that the two ugly, small, wiry guys are even dancing. That doesn’t happen to me too often. I’m not exactly disco. Perhaps I have won them over and I won’t get a major beating after all, or perhaps they are subtly pointing out to me that I’ll be the one doing the dancing next. Subtle - I don’t think so.
Chapter 16
I leave Zest after a triumphal evening, even though I say so myself, feeling a lot better. I am walking down Victoria Ave wondering whether the ugly, small, wiry guys are following me, when two other blokes approach me.
“Are you Jake Pembleton?”
“Yeah.”
“Caught you at the Galtres Festival. We were really impressed.”
They sound like they might be A&R men. That could be a stroke of luck. Ever hopeful.
“Jason, Sony Records. Hi.” He steps forward and holds out his hand.
“Jeff, Sony Records.”
I can feel an idiotic grin stretching my face.
“We have a proposition for you.”
“Sure.”
“Can we discuss it at your place?”
“Sure. It’s just down here.”
When we draw level with my old Victoria Ave flat they stop. “I don’t live here any more. Got kicked out. I don’t think she would want to see me.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Jeff corrects me. “Rather the opposite.” He takes my left arm. Jason takes my right. “Let’s find out shall we. No point in making false assumptions.”
No, false assumptions and prejudices are dangerous things. I think I’m just about to find out how dangerous.
They bundle me through the porch and into the hallway. “Do you happen to have a key on you, Jake?”
As it happens, I have.
“Ta, mate.”
Jade is waiting for us in the lounge with very red eyes from crying. Jackie is there too. She has very red eyes from fuming. “Well, well, well. Look what the cats have brought in.”
“Hello, Jackie.”
She doesn’t greet me back.
The boys sit me down. “I think you have an apology to make to our kid sister,” Jason says. Figures. Wakefield high security prison seems to have brought them up in the world judging by how they dress.
Jade looks at me, a drip appearing on the end of her nose. “Why, Jake?”
I shrug my shoulders. “I can’t really explain. Pressure, I suppose.”
“Pressure of what?” Jackie demands.
“Pressure of fatherhood or something.”
“You’re not normal, Jake,” Jackie assures me.
“No.”
“Jade loves you, Jake.”
“I love Jade too.”
“And you are prepared to simply toss it all away.” She makes an elaborate tossing gesture across to the other side of the room. It probably hit the ceiling too.
“I wasn’t planning on it. No.”
“Have you thought of all the diseases you could give Jade here, and your child for that matter?”
I cannot answer that.
“Have you had yourself tested?”
“No.”
“You could have AIDS.”
A possibility, I suppose. I am not feeling good about myself right now.
“Not to mention all the other stuff which is making the rounds.”
“True.”
“Why, Jake?”
“Jackie, I have no excuses.”
“Don’t tell it to me, Jake. Say it to Jade.”
“I’m sorry, Jade.”
“Sorry isn’t good enough.”
“No, it’s not.”
Still, half an hour later I’m back in the flat. Not forgiven, not by a very long chalk, but momentarily reprieved.
“Come on, boys,” says Jackie. “Let’s leave these two love-birds to settle their differences on their own.” That might have been one of Hull’s rare jokes. “And no touching my daughter until you have been tested,” Jackie orders me pointing a finger right into my face. That wasn’t. That was serious.
* * *
“I’ve been so upset, Jake. I have been frightened that I would lose the baby.”
“I’m sorry, Jade, I really am.”
“Why, Jake? Why?” More tears, more drip to the nose.
“I just let myself get carried away.”
“They seduced you, did they?”
“Yeah, I sort of got forced into it.”
“Was it at gun point or knife point?”
“No.”
“Did they knock you unconscious?”
“No.”
“Did they date rape your drinks?”
“No.”
“How did they force you, Jake? I’m not being funny. I really want to know.”
“It was Jerry …..”
“Ah, Jerry. It’s always Jerry. I’d have thought you would have learnt by now. If you wanted to that is. He’s your walking excuse for everything that goes wrong. Do you think he got into trouble?”
“Don’t know.”
“Bet you he didn’t. According to you, he sets things up, you fall into them, and he walks away Scot-free leaving you holding the can. That’s it, isn’t it, Jake?”
“I suppose you could see it like that.”
“And you, Jake? How do you see it?”
I look for a better explanation and cannot find it. “Yeah, that’s how I see it too, I suppose.”
“So what are you going to do about it for the future?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stay well clear of him, Jake, that’s what you are going to do. If he’s down for the same gig as you are, you pull out, OK, unless I am there to look after you. You and Jerry are never going to be alone together again, got it? And Lesley and Saskia and Martin don’t count either. I don’t trust any of them an inch. If you have to play, my mum comes with you. Yeah?”
“Yeah, I suppose so.”
“No, Jake, you promise.”
“OK, Jade, I promise.”
“Good. I can stop crying now.”
A brave smile crosses her face. I move towards her and am rewarded with a tightly clinging hug. “I can’t be doing anything with you yet. You heard mum.”
“That’s all right. I’m just glad to be hugged again.” She tightens her grip.
* * *
I got myself tested at GUM in Prospect Street as I promised. It was really embarrassing as several people there knew who I was.
“Hullo, Jake. Don’t expect to see you around here.”
“You can never be too careful. Civic duty and all that.”
“So you are here as part of a public health campaign, are you?”
“Only a private one.”
“You’re one up from me, then. I’m here because I got the clap from a lass named Nancy.”
That threw me. How many Nancies can there be in Hull. Maybe that’s a different question. Anyway, it must have been a different Nancy because, to my great relief, I hadn’t.
So Jade and I are glued together again.
It’s the smell of coffee in a morning
It’s the feel of freshly fallen snow
It’s that last clue on the crossword
It’s that kiss before I go
It’s taking time to see the sunrise
It’s that lazy summer day
With Sam and Jamie by the seaside
Watching waves wash on the bay
It’s the simple things that make you happy.
Think about it and you’ll find
It’s the simple things that make you happy
We forget that sometimes….
It’s that moment when you see her
As she’s stepping off her train
It’s going rowing on the Mere
It’s dancing barefoot in the rain
It’s when you wake up on a monday
Rub your eyes and hang your head
And then remember that it’s sunday
Smile and climb back into bed
It’s the simple things that make you happy.
Think about it and you’ll find
It’s the simple things that make you happy
We forget that sometimes….
It’s the smell of hot-dogs round the harbour
It’s re-runs of Inspector Morse
It’s the way that Andy Wilson tells it
That one about the talking horse
It’s the simple things that make you happy.
Think about it and you’ll find
It’s the simple things that make you happy
We forget that sometimes…
* * *
One down, one to go …….
I phone Cathy because we haven’t talked since Galtres. Her mobile starts ringing, then it disappears from the system. I have been disappeared.
At lunchtime, when I can get home, I phone her on Skype.
“Cathy Hayes.”
“Hi Cathy.”
Bye, Cathy.
Two weeks later and there has still not been the slightest contact with Cathy, not even to suggest our time-honoured hostile encounters for a spot of beer or coffee chucking. I have phoned her several times but have not yet managed to get past “Hi Cathy” and when I went round she snarled at me and slammed the door in my face.
Reconciliation off.
I happen to bump into my old friend Nancy - not Grimsby Nancy nor the guy in the VD clinic’s Nancy, the regular Nancy - in the centre of town. We haven’t seen each other for a bit so we chat away in soundbite biographical mode for a few minutes, then Nancy says “Who is this Trevor then?”
“Trevor?”
“The guy Cathy is knocking around with suddenly.”
“Which Cathy?”
“Your Cathy, or your ex-Cathy.”
“Cathy?”
“Yeah.”
“Trevor?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know. I have never heard of him.”
“Yeah, she brought him along the other night. She’s ditched Harry and now she has this Trevor. I’m surprised she hasn’t told you.”
“I haven’t seen her for a few weeks. She isn’t talking to me at the moment.”
“Oh. Well, we all agreed that he is fairly weird. Mike absolutely couldn’t stand him. He nearly hit him a couple of times, and Stoker wasn’t much impressed either.”
“Tell Mike he’s welcome.”
“I think he has figured that out for himself.”
“I had better investigate.”
“I thought you two were getting on again. At least that is what Cathy told us a few weeks ago.”
“We were.”
“Dare I ask?”
“You can ask.”
“Oh, it’s like that is it?”
“Yeah, it’s a lot like that. I was completely stupid.”
“Not as stupid as Cathy. Wait till you see Trevor.”
* * *
The ugly, small, wiry guys caught up with me in the end as I returned to base. Roger gave me a stony look. “I don’t know what these guys want but I am guessing that they aren’t buying a house. Don’t bring your private business here, Jake.”
“I’ve never seen them in my life before.”
“Well tell them to piss off and you will meet them when you have completed your day job - the one that pays you.”
“Hello, mate. My name’s Jason and this is Jeff. We’re from Crowflies Records.”
“Not Sony, then?”
“No, not yet mate, sorry to disappoint you. Mind you, we might be one day with a stroke of luck. I hear that Sony treat their artists like crap, so perhaps you are better off with us in the meantime.”
“It’s good to meet you but I’m sorry guys, I’ve a few things to do. Can we meet up another time?”
“What time do you knock off?”
“Five.”
“We’ll be back at five.”
And they were. “Time for a beer,” they suggested and took me back to Zest. “Brilliant gig the other night, mate,” said Jason or Jeff - I couldn’t work out which initially.
“Yeah, fantastic,” said the other one.
“I was in a shit mood.”
“Worked wonders for you, mate.”
“So how can I help you gentlemen?”
“Well,” explained one of them, “we are looking for local talent.”
“Musical talent or female talent.”
“Oh, musical talent. We know where the female talent is.”
“You see,” said the other one, “what it is is that we want to sign up musicians on a regional basis so, in this case, in East Yorkshire. We then give them a bit of cash - not too much, so don’t get your hopes too high - and see what we can make of them. If things go well and, in your case, we’re betting they will, we aim them at half the country, i.e. the North of England in your case, and then nationally. If things go really well, then who knows? Could be international.”
“So who have you got so far?”
“Nobody yet. We are hoping that you might be the first.”
“Why me?”
“We’ve heard your music. You’ve got real talent, you really have. With a bit of work and the help of some smart session musicians, we believe that your stuff could be gold, solid gold. Platinum, even.”
“So you want me to change my style?”
Whichever one it was grabbed me by the shoulder in a display of earnestness. “We want to enhance your style, mate, not change it.”
“I like it as it is.”
“So do we, but it will sell a hell of a lot better our way, believe me - some piano, some electric guitar, some sax, some electricity. You could be huge.”
When you have been around the music industry as long as I have, you hear a lot of bullshit like this. There are so many crooks out there trying to make a quick buck. They promise you pounds and they steal your pennies.
“It’s quite simple, mate.” Whichever one it was delved into his pocket and pulled out a data stick. “We’ve had some guys do a number on a couple of your songs -
‘Me & Billy The Kid’ and ‘St. Martin’s Lane’. Play it to some people whose judgment you trust, then come back to us if you think that there is something we can do for you.”
“And if I do, what is the offer?”
“If you do, the offer is that we would pay you ten thousand, give you a bunch of musicians and work on a sort of greatest hits album for you. We would also set you up with some tour dates and take it from there. When we have the album and you’ve done, say, six gigs for us we can discuss what happens next. Have you any holiday you can take?”
“Yeah, I’ve got a week I can take more or less anytime.”
“Well, that will do for the recording. Anyway, take away the stick, give it a play, and we’ll contact you again in a couple of days. All right?”
“I suppose I could do that.”
“You should, mate. It could be your lucky break.”
* * *
“You’ll never guess what.”
“What?”
“Some guys are trying to set me up for a recording contract.”
“We need the money.”
“Yeah, it would certainly help. They want to give me a makeover.”
“What kind of makeover?”
“Dunno, I’ve got it here.”
“Let’s hear it then.”
It doesn’t take us more than a few bars to realise that this isn’t just a quick buck. This is classy. I hardly recognise it. Jade smiles. “I wouldn’t say no just yet.”
“No, it might be worth a week of my life.”
“A week?”
“Yeah, they want me to spend a week in the studio with them recording my greatest hits.”
“Sounds good to me. Can I come?”
“I’m sure you can. It’ll be a bit boring though.”
“It’ll be a bit boring here. Besides, I might meet somebody famous.”
Chapter 17
Well, the boys weren’t splashing out and shipping us off to London but they weren’t skimping either. They had chosen the Soundworks Studios in Leeds, home to several Leeds bands (including The Pigeon Detectives) with the Kaiser Chiefs and Suzie Quattro thrown in as extras. It certainly beat my shed. I just love the size of those mixing desks.