by Julie Archer
Saff going on tour with Trash Gun held one big fat problem. Although he was anything but big and fat.
Scott Lincoln.
He had a reputation which would rival Saff’s pre me. A real lothario. Love ‘em and leave ‘em, and shag ‘em even if they are involved with someone else.
I could feel my eyes burning green.
Saff would be in close proximity to Scott Lincoln day and night for however long she went on tour for.
I swigged some more beer.
“Aren’t you going to say something?” Saff’s brows knotted together as she sipped her wine, her gaze fixed on mine.
“Um, yeah, sounds like a big deal. It’s a great opportunity for you to get some new fans, really good to get your name out there.” I babbled on, not really knowing what to say.
“Tris.” Saff put down her glass and slid her hand across the table to cover mine. “Are you okay about this?”
My mind screamed. No. No, I’m not. I don’t want you anywhere near Scott Lincoln. Instead I said, “Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?”
She smiled slowly, eyes shining. “Well, you know what goes on tour stays on tour.”
Even though I was sure she was teasing me, a pang of insecurity raised its head.
“But if you’re lucky, I’ll show you exactly what some of those things are…” Her voice trailed off as she dragged her fingernail over my palm.
The light touch sent shock-waves down to my cock. While I wasn’t sure I wanted to know about tour stories, I sure as hell wanted her back in my bed tonight.
“When are you leaving?” I grasped her hand and tried to quell the hardening of my cock.
“Next week. Tuesday, I think.”
“So soon?”
She nodded.
“I’ll miss you.”
She lifted our clasped hands to her lips and gently kissed my knuckles. “And I’ll miss you too.”
Although we hadn’t been together long, the thought of being without her made my chest heavy. I just had to tell myself it wouldn’t be for long—and believe it.
7
Saff
Tuesday came around all too quickly. I spent as much time as I could with Tris on Sunday and Monday, before he went back to his aunt and uncle’s place on Monday night. Jonas had asked Tris if he could have the house to himself while I was away as he wanted to invite Benoit over. He didn’t want it to be awkward for Tris playing third wheel. I thought it was sweet Jonas had found someone he liked enough to ask to sleepover, better it was without the added pressure of me and Tris being there.
We left London shortly after midday in a people carrier, driven by the guy who was effectively our tour manager and roadie as well. Our equipment was in a large transit van, currently trailing us down the motorway towards Bristol.
The journey was a mostly raucous affair punctuated with singalong and games of I-Spy and Never Have I Ever. I hated that game. I usually lost.
When we finally arrived at the venue, Scott Lincoln and Trash Gun were finishing up their sound check. As the support act, we got to do ours last as we would be on first. Usually it meant there wasn’t a lot of hanging around between getting everything ready and being on stage. But as this was the first night, we were there a lot earlier than normal to get the lay of the land and meet the other band.
“Well, well, Saff Barnes.” Scott’s voice drawled over the PA system, echoing across the empty room. “Long time, no see, babe.”
I inclined my head in his direction. Scott was far worse than I’d ever been for column inches and gossip. He was always being linked with a model, an actress, a reality TV star, whoever needed the most publicity at the time. For a few weeks, he and Rosie had dated until she dumped him when she found him shagging someone from Love Island in her bathroom at a party at her house. My cheeks coloured as I thought of what Tris and I had also done in her bathroom.
Tris. I missed him already. It was going to be hard being without him, even if only for a few days.
“We’ll be done soon,” said Scott. “Then we can have a chat. Talk about how things are gonna work.”
I rolled my eyes at his arrogance. Darren and I stood near the mixing desk, while Tommo and Barney went to chat to the sound techs. They were much more interested in that side of things than I was, although I always wanted my voice to come over perfectly.
“He’s pretty good, isn’t he?” observed Darren, as Scott began singing one of the band’s most recognisable tracks.
I laughed. “I think you underestimate him. His ego will have you believe he’s the greatest of all time.”
Even in the understated set-up of the soundcheck, Scott exuded the kind of star quality which had got Trash Gun signed in the first place. He prowled around the stage, his usual routine downplayed for the current assembled audience but it would be ramped up several notches as soon as the audience were in situ. There were some things I could learn from him.
“Why did it have to be these guys we wind up going on the road with?” Darren complained. “Have you seen the number of guitars they’re going to be using?”
“You need to start writing more songs in different tuning then,” I teased. “Then you can have as many guitars as you like.”
“You make a good point. Two is nowhere near enough.” He laughed.
“I’m going outside for a cigarette,” I said. Watching other people sound check was as dull as fuck and I was already starting to get bored. I was pleased they hadn’t sorted out a meet and greet where the audience members got to come and watch. Making polite conversation with star struck fans wasn’t always my strongest point.
Once outside, I stood to one side of the doors, making sure there weren’t too many people around who might recognise me. A couple of bouncers were already there, checking the barriers and making sure everything was set up for the night. I was impressed with their diligence. Doors didn’t open until six and it was only half past four.
As I sparked up, my phone pinged, and I reached into my pocket for it.
Did you arrive yet? It’s really boring without you. Can we talk later? x
A grin lifted both sides of my mouth. How did Tris always know when I needed to hear from him?
I typed a reply. We arrived about twenty minutes ago. The traffic on the motorway was shit and Darren couldn’t decide between Burger King and KFC at the services. I’m sound checking which is as boring as watching paint dry, something you’re no doubt familiar with x
This is true…wish I was there to help relieve the boredom. Am sure I can think of something x
I groaned. Now wasn’t the time for him to be teasing me.
I’m sure you can, you’ll have to wait until later…x
What time will you finish? Uncle Col’s got us starting super early tomorrow on a job the other side of London. See, I told you I should have stayed with Jonas x
Not sure, maybe around ten? x
“Ten? We’re due to finish then. I thought you’d at least stay around until the end of our set.” Scott’s head loomed over my shoulder, peering at my phone screen. I quickly shut down the message thread and shoved my phone back inside my jacket, thanking my lucky stars I hadn’t been looking at anything from Carl.
His dark eyes appraised me as he lit a cigarette of his own and blew smoke rings into the air. “How’s Rosie?”
“Doing a damn sight better now she’s not seeing you.”
“I guess I deserve that.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “What you did wasn’t cool.”
He shrugged. “We weren’t serious. I never promised her anything. We were just having fun.”
The words resonated. For such a long time, it was exactly how I’d been with guys. A night here, a night there, a couple of dates, usually a splash in The Goss and then onto the next.
“I’m not sure she saw it like that.”
“Me and Rosie Tatton? Come on, love, it was never going to be serious, was it? We’re from totally opposite poles.” His Mancunian accent gr
ew broader as he spoke, emphasising the differences between his and Rosie’s cut-glass one. He raked a hand through his long fringe. “Now, what I want to know is how you managed to get on tour with us. I heard you’d got some new music out, but had no idea you were ready to take it out on the road.”
Back on safer ground, I was happier to talk to him. “Jonas sorted it out.”
He snorted. “Ah, yes. How could I have forgotten the great Jonas Barnes and his protege cousin.”
“Hardly,” I snapped. “We worked hard to be where we are.”
“‘Course you did.”
Now wasn’t the time to be having this argument. We had to coexist for the next week, regardless of what he thought.
I changed the subject. “You’re bigger than these venues anyway, aren’t you? Surely a sold out gig at Wembley would be more your speed these days?”
“Ha, I wish. Headline slot at Reading and Leeds would work well, but we can’t get close yet. Maybe second stage next year.” A wistful expression crossed Scott’s face.
“We’d love to do a festival.” It was true. As a band, we’d spoken about it so many times, although nothing had come to fruition.
“Hey, why don’t you join us for a song each night?”
“What do you mean?” I frowned.
“You know our track Wasted By My Side? It’s got the female vocal on it.”
I knew the song he meant. It was one of their oldest songs and a fan favourite, although I knew they couldn’t play it live much because it needed a woman to sing parts of the verses. When they first started out, they had a female backing vocalist, but she quit before they made it big. Their guitarist gave it a good stab, but his voice didn’t always cut it.
“It’s fine, you don’t need to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Take pity on me. On us.” I didn’t need any favours from Scott Lincoln and Trash Gun.
“I’m not. I thought it might be a fun thing to do. Come on, Saff, cut me some slack here. I’m trying to be friendly.”
As I dropped my cigarette butt to the floor and ground it out with my heel, I considered his offer. Sharing a stage with Scott for one song wouldn’t be the worst thing to do. It might get TheSB some good publicity and then maybe one day, we could aim for a festival slot too.
Darren appeared. “We’re ready to sound check now, Saff. Are you?”
“So, what’s your answer?” Scott grabbed my arm as I started to walk past him.
“Your answer to what?” asked Darren, as he glanced suspiciously between us.
“Whether I’ll sing with them on Wasted By My Side.”
“Oh, right.” Darren seemed less bothered than I was. “Why wouldn’t you?”
It seemed everyone else thought it was a good idea and who was I to argue.
8
Tris
Being back at Uncle Col and Aunt Annie’s house was weird. I’d got used to the Barnes’ house and I was even starting to make friends with Jonas.
On the drive back from work, it felt like the early days when I’d first moved down. Uncle Col had the radio on, and I dozed in the passenger seat, answering the occasional question he threw at me. I had no real excuse to be tired as I was used to the manual labour now. While we were stuck in traffic, I got the chance to message Saff to check she’d arrived in Bristol okay.
“Are you going to catch up with your friends while you’re back?” asked Uncle Col as we started moving again.
Friends? I wondered what he meant by that. The people I considered to be my friends now, Saff, Darren, Barney and Tommo, were currently somewhere in Bristol.
“You know, the people from the shop.”
Suddenly it clicked. After Jonas banned me from working with Uncle Col, I’d got a job in a local DIY store and made a few acquaintances. There were a couple of guys I’d been for beers with, but I hadn’t mentioned to them I was coming back. After all, it was only for a few days.
“Yeah, maybe.” I was deliberately vague, not wanting to commit to anything.
“Remember we’ve got an early start tomorrow. Don’t be staying up too late talking to Saff.”
I laughed. “I’ll try.” She hadn’t messaged me back since I suggested we talk at around ten. I had no real idea what went on when a band went on tour. I guessed if she didn’t contact me it was because she had something to do, not because she didn’t want to.
There was an unfamiliar car in the driveway when we pulled up.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
Uncle Col didn’t answer and got out of the van, opening up the back to take inside the tools he wanted to keep safe. There wasn’t a great deal of crime where they lived and I didn’t think thieves would be interested in a set of paintbrushes and rollers, but it was his routine, so I didn’t argue.
I opened the front door and heard voices chatting in the kitchen.
It was a voice I recognised.
One I hadn’t heard since the night of Saff’s comeback gig.
My blood ran cold.
I rushed into the kitchen to see my dad chatting to Aunt Annie, as if nothing had happened.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded.
He turned, guilt on his face. “Annie invited me,” he replied.
I turned to my aunt, narrowing my eyes. “Why?”
“I thought after everything the two of you ought to talk, you know, clear the air.”
“Well you thought wrong. Get out.” I shoved his shoulder.
“You still have a temper, I see.” Louis’ tone was calm, infuriating me even more.
“I don’t have anything to say to you.”
Aunt Annie came to my side, gently stroking my arm. “Give him a chance, Tris. There’s a lot you don’t know about.”
“All I know is he upped and left with Donna and didn’t give a fuck about me.” I spat the words out.
“That’s not true, Tris. I’ve always cared what happens to you.”
“Why did you desert me when I was in prison? The one time I needed support and you weren’t there. And when I do see you, it’s because I’ve found someone who has money. The pound signs lit up and that’s all you saw.”
Louis shook his head. “Is that what you think of me?”
“Why would I think anything else? You’ve always been chasing the cash ever since I can remember. Anything to make a few pounds.”
“I needed to provide for us, Tris. To look after us when your mum died.”
It was low bringing her into it. I didn’t want to talk about her. In fact, I didn’t want to talk to him either. I turned on my heel and stalked upstairs to my room, slamming the door behind me with a satisfying crash. I dropped my bag on the floor and then sank onto the bed.
Why had Aunt Annie asked him here? Why was she interfering in something which wasn’t her business? I didn’t need him any longer. I’d managed to carve out a life for myself without him in it. If I let him back in, who knew what might happen.
There was a tentative knock on the door.
“Can I come in?” Uncle Col poked his head into the room.
I lifted and dropped my shoulders in response.
“She’s only trying to help, you know.”
“Is she?”
Uncle Col came and sat next to me. “Annie’s always been close to Louis.” He let out a long breath, which led me to believe he wasn’t exactly happy about the situation. “I guess with me and your mum being so inseparable, they felt like the outsiders and stuck together. Until you moved up North anyway.”
“I never asked him to be around.” I paused. “I’ve been a lot happier without him.”
“I know, Tris.” He patted my arm. “What you’ve got here is good, a new start, away from all the memories and the bad stuff.”
“And why having him here reminds me of all the crap times.” My heart sank as I realised it was true. I associated all the awful, lousy shit in my life with him: losing mum, scraping around to make a living, being sent to prison, being
on my own. The past couple of months with Uncle Col, Aunt Annie and especially Saff made me realise there was more to life. Much, much more.
There was a pause, which neither of us looked to fill until Uncle Col shifted uncomfortably.
“You should try to make a fresh start with him, Tris.”
“Why? What’s the point?”
“It’s not up to me to tell you.”
Instantly, I was curious. What couldn’t he tell me? All kinds of thoughts filled my head, none of them good.
“Maybe think about giving him a chance.” My uncle stood up. “Dinner will be ready in a bit. Come down and we’ll chat.”
Once he’d left the room, I stared at the wall. Whatever was going on had to be serious. How serious, I didn’t know, but I needed to find out.
My phone buzzed.
Saff.
A smiled tugged at my lips as I opened the message she’d sent of her and Darren in a chicken restaurant having dinner before the gig. Tagged ‘the glamorous tour life’, my chest tightened as I thought about how much I missed her already. She’d been gone all of one day and already I couldn’t wait to see her again. I hoped the next week would fly by.
9
Saff
It was definitely strange singing a well-known, popular song with the person who wrote it. I loved Wasted By My Side. It was possibly my favourite ever track of Trash Gun’s - not that I’d ever admit it to Scott, and I knew the lyrics inside out and backwards. He’d suggested we run through it a couple of times before TheSB sound checked, to make sure it worked as he envisaged. Although neither of us were singing at full capacity, we bounced off each other, the phraseology coming easily as we traded lines. As the song reached its climax, Scott pulled me towards him, staring deep into my eyes as he sang the final words to me. I wriggled out of his embrace as the chords died down, not liking the way he was touching me.
Despite Scott’s touchy-feely efforts, it was almost as if I should have been part of Trash Gun, particularly given the applause we received from the technicians and other assembled musicians.