The Rocks Duet: Fake Rocks & Real Rocks (a fake relationship rockstar romance)

by Julie Archer

  When I finished, Jonas was silent. He didn’t speak for several minutes and I thought we’d been cut off.

  “Jonas? Are you still there?”

  “You do realise how serious this is, don’t you, Saff?” he said at last.

  “What are you talking about? Carl was threatening me. Tris stopped him.”

  Jonas let out a long sigh. “Tris has a record. It might not be as simple as you think.”

  I didn’t know what he was talking about. “But I can tell the police exactly what happened. They’ll have to believe me, then Tris can come home.”

  “That’s not necessarily how it works, Saff. If what you’ve told me is true, then Tris might be going back to prison.”

  24

  Saff

  How Darren managed to get any sleep while I tossed and turned beside him, I would never know. When I did finally get a few moments respite, my nightmares were clouded with visions of Tris being sent to prison again and I’d wake up, drenched in sweat, with the startling clarity that it might not be a dream. I constantly checked my phone, waiting for any sign from either Jonas or Tris himself that everything was fine. How was he coping? What was happening to him right now? What could I do to help him? Eventually I slipped into a dreamless slumber for a whole blissful hour until the vibrations of the phone woke me. It was a voicemail from a Manchester number.

  It had to be Tris. Maybe he had been released and gone back to the hotel. My heart soared. Everything was going to be okay.

  The initial euphoria faded as I heard the monotone voice of a Detective Sanders asking me to attend the police station as soon as possible to provide a witness statement in relation to an incident at The Matchbox. He left an address and phone number, encouraging me to contact them sooner rather than later.

  Spurred into action, I shook Darren awake.

  “We’ve got to go to the police station,” I said, pulling the covers off him. “I need to tell them what happened and then Tris can come home.”

  He rubbed his eyes and yawned. “What time is it?”

  “Six-ish. Come on, we need to go.”

  “You want to go to the police station looking like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Saff, take a look in the mirror.”

  I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror opposite the bed. Still dressed in last night’s stage clothes, my make-up was all over my face, my hair mussed up. I didn’t look exactly like the demure girlfriend ready to vouch for her boyfriend. The stripper heels taunted me from the floor where I’d discarded them last night.

  Maybe Darren was right.

  “I don’t have anything here. All my stuff is at the other hotel.”

  “Then why don’t you go back there, get a shower and some breakfast. I’ll meet you there. I’m not letting you do this on your own.”

  “You don’t know how much that means.” I pounced on him, enveloping him in a huge hug.

  He extricated himself from my embrace, wrinkling his nose. “I think the Manchester police force will prefer a fresher smelling Saff too.”

  I punched him. He was one of the few people I’d let get away with those type of comments.

  The walk of shame back to the other hotel was every bit as excruciating as I’d imagined. Serious cyclists and runners gave me the judgy-once-over as they went past, a couple of taxi drivers tooted their horns at me, and I even got thrown shade by some uni students who were probably doing the exact same thing.

  When I arrived, I realised Tris had the room key card. I approached the reception desk. “Hi, I checked in yesterday, but my boyfriend has the key. He’s, um, not with me right now, so can I get a spare?” As I spoke, I realised how dodgy it sounded.

  The duty manager met me with a frown. “What was the room number?”

  “It’s one of the top floor rooms, sorry, I don’t remember. The booking was in the name of Tris Judd?”

  He tapped something into his computer, his frown deepening as he looked at the screen.

  Please, please, don’t let there be an issue.

  My silent prayer appeared to have been answered as his face relaxed and he grabbed a spare card from a drawer, activating it within seconds.

  “Here you go.” He gave me a small smile, which didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “Thank you,” I breathed. I clutched the key to my chest and made my way to the elevator.

  The room was empty. I don’t know why I was expecting otherwise.

  We’d left the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on when we’d left the previous evening, so the room was in the chaotic state we’d left it.

  One of Tris’ t-shirts was on the bed and I grabbed it, bringing it to my face and breathing in the faint, lingering familiar scent of his aftershave. A single tear slid down my cheek, but I quickly brushed it away. I needed to pull myself together, get to the police station and get this mess sorted out. I wanted us to go home.

  Twenty minutes later, I was back down in reception waiting for Darren. I tapped my fingers against my thigh impatiently as I stood there. Given I hadn’t factored a police visit into this trip, I dressed as smartly as I could. My outfit consisted of black jeans, a purple tie-dye t-shirt and a leather biker jacket. Although at least the stripper heels had been replaced by Converse now. I hoped it would be enough to persuade the people asking questions I was a strong, upstanding citizen and not a flaky rock star, battling a horrific hangover.

  “Sorry!” Darren burst through the door. “I had to tell Barney and Tommo what was going on. They’re going to head home. We’ll meet them in London.”

  With all of my heart, I hoped we would all be going back to London later.

  Once I’d arrived at the police station and asked for Detective Sanders, he kept me waiting for a good half an hour. During that time, my mind went over every possible scenario: ranging from Tris already being released, to him still being questioned, to seeing Carl again. The thought of the latter made me feel sick.

  My stomach rumbled loudly, the sound filling the waiting room.

  “Did you eat?” asked Darren.

  I shook my head. I’d been more concerned about getting here than with food.

  “Let me get you something from the machine.” The minute he stood up, a man dressed in a cheap-looking suit appeared.

  “Saffron Barnes?”

  Given there was no-one else waiting, it was a pretty good guess from him. If he were so intuitive, Tris should have no issues in being released. I kept my thoughts to myself though, I didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot.

  “Yes. Detective Sanders?”

  “Thanks for coming in.” He extended a hand and I shook it, feeling the clamminess of his palms.

  Surreptitiously, I wiped my palm on my jeans as I followed him towards an interview room.

  “Good luck!” called Darren.

  Right at that moment, I felt like the criminal even though I’d done nothing wrong. I was there to help Tris.

  Two hours later, I had absolutely no idea whether I’d been any help whatsoever.

  Detective Sanders had asked me several questions—what felt like the same question but in about a hundred different ways—to try and understand the circumstances of Tris and Carl’s fight. He’d quizzed me about my relationship with Tris, how I’d come to know Carl, my drug use, the band’s tour and he’d even asked about Scott Lincoln. Quite what Scott had to do with anything I had no idea, maybe Detective Sanders liked his gossip.

  “Thank you for coming in, Ms Barnes. We’ll look at your statement, along with those of other people present at the incident, and one of the officers will inform you of any next steps.” He shuffled his papers together, seemingly dismissing me.

  “What? That’s it?” I stared across the table at him. “Can I see Tris?”

  “No. Visitors aren’t allowed in custody suites.”

  The abruptness of his answer shocked me. I’d spent the past couple of hours helping him out with his enquiries and he couldn’t even grant me a few
minutes with my boyfriend?

  “Then can I at least speak to him?”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, that’s not allowed either.”

  “So you’re saying I can’t even talk to someone who is clearly innocent?”

  “ABH is a serious allegation, Miss Barnes, and whether Mr Judd is innocent or not isn’t for me to decide.”

  My head swam with his words. I had never felt so helpless.

  25

  Tris

  I barely got any sleep. Every time I drifted off, a noise woke me, or I came to in a cold sweat, images of Carl’s bloodied face in my head.

  When the officer brought breakfast, I couldn’t eat it. Although I could probably have bounced the scrambled eggs off the walls instead. It would at least have passed some time.

  The minutes and hours dragged as I waited. I guessed they would be speaking to Carl, Saff, the staff from the club; anyone who had seen anything.

  After what felt like an eternity, the door swung open and Detective Sanders stood there.

  “If you could come with me,” he commanded.

  As if I had a choice.

  We walked back in the direction of the same interview room I’d been in last night. As we passed through the main area of the custody suite, Carl was at the desk, collecting his belongings. He turned and saw me, his face now bruised rather than covered in blood. I winced as I realised I’d been responsible. The pain in my own ribs reminded me I wasn’t the only one in the wrong.

  “All right, mate? Get a good night’s sleep, did you?” he cackled. “I know I did.”

  I chose not to respond, his laugh jarring right through me. At least if he was getting ready to go, I wouldn’t be too long behind him. I hoped Saff was still around. We could go and get breakfast, maybe find the place we’d had bacon rolls from the last time we were in Manchester, go back to the hotel and…

  “Sit down.”

  Detective Sanders’ voice broke into my reverie. I noticed the duty solicitor sitting at the table, and slowly my body grew cold.

  “We’ve spoken to everyone involved in the incident at The Matchbox last night and believe there is sufficient evidence to charge you with ABH of Carl Doherty. You’ll remain here until your hearing at the magistrate’s court in the morning.” He slid a charge sheet across the table to me.

  The blood drained from my face. “Pardon?”

  “Did you understand what Detective Sanders said?” The duty solicitor touched my arm and I jumped as if she’d stabbed me with a red-hot poker.

  How the hell could this be happening again? How could they believe I was doing anything other than trying to protect Saff?

  I shook my head, trying to make sense of the situation. “No.” The word came out as barely more than a whisper. “That can’t be right. He was the one who attacked me.”

  “Is there anyone else you’d like us to call?”

  Saff. I wanted to speak to Saff. To make sure she was okay. To tell her I was going to be okay. Even if, deep inside, I knew I wasn’t.

  With a fortifying breath, I sat up straight, staring at the wall opposite. “Jonas Barnes. I’d like to talk to Jonas Barnes.”

  “Tris. How are you holding up?” It was almost reassuring to hear Jonas’ voice. He was the one person I knew who would be able to find a solution.

  “I’m…” I didn’t know what to say. I felt numb. Not believing history was repeating itself.

  “Have you seen Saff?” He filled in the gaps for himself and jumped in with another question.

  I gripped the telephone handset. “No. She came in to make a statement, but they wouldn’t let her see me.”

  “Rules, I guess.” Jonas paused. “Tris, what really happened? Saff told me about Carl threatening her.”

  “She said what?”

  “Surely you knew? Carl had been messaging her for some time, warning her he’d make public the pictures he had of her taking heroin if she didn’t give him the money he wanted. When he showed up at the club, he demanded twenty thousand pounds from her to stop them becoming public property.”

  Why hadn’t she mentioned this to me before? It went some way to explaining some of her strange behaviour before the tour, and also explained exactly what Carl had been doing at The Matchbox. I sagged against the wall. Saff had been going through all sorts of shit and hadn’t said a word to me. Now I knew the truth, I wished I’d given Carl the beating he truly deserved. Then I’d really have something to go back to prison for.

  “I had no idea.” I dragged a hand over my face, rubbing my stubbled chin. “Surely this changes things?”

  “If Saff told the police about Carl’s threats in her statement, it would certainly show the incident in a different light.”

  Would she have done? What if they hadn’t asked her directly about it?

  “Let me sort out a solicitor to come and see you before tomorrow’s hearing. Unfortunately, in my line of work you’re not the first person I’ve had to bail out of a sticky situation. Thankfully this time it’s not an under-age sex case.”

  Had things been different, I might have laughed at Jonas’ comment. I’m sure the bands he dealt with had done far worse things than me, although right now I couldn’t see how it could get any worse.

  “Oh, and do you want me to speak to Col?”

  Shit. Uncle Col and Aunt Annie. Neither of them would know. I felt sick at the thought of having to tell them. After everything they’d done for me and I could end up being back in prison again. I made a fist and pushed it against my temple, trying to work out what to do.

  “They need to know, Tris, if you’re not going to be home for a while.”

  I hated how he said those words. I didn’t know how long I would be away for. If things went the same way as they had before, it could be another three months. I didn’t know if I was strong enough to go through it again.

  “Please, could you? I’m not sure I could face telling them.” Not least because I didn’t know if I’d be allowed another phone call after this one.

  The uniformed policeman pointed at his watch, indicating time was against me.

  “Of course, I’ll speak to them as well. And rest assured, Tris, we’ll do all we can for you. Look after yourself.”

  “Look after Saff for me,” I added. She was more important now.

  “Got it. Bye, Tris.”

  “Thanks, Jonas. Whatever I can do to repay you, let me know.”

  The line went dead. I hung up the receiver, my hand lingering on it as I contemplated what Jonas had told me about Saff and Carl. I only wished she could have told me the truth herself.

  26

  Saff

  The hotel room felt like a prison, but I imagined it was nothing compared to what Tris was going through. I’d persuaded Darren to stay with me until we knew what was going on and we’d spent most of the day watching trashy films and gorging on room service. Well, Darren did most of the eating and I spent much of the time making inroads into a bottle of cheap vodka I’d bought from a nearby supermarket. Anything to numb how I was feeling.

  When my phone rang, I was pleased to see it was Jonas. Hopefully he had good news about Tris. “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Have you been drinking?”

  “What else am I supposed to do?”

  Jonas hefted a huge sigh down the line. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe do something to help your boyfriend?”

  “Like what? Go down to the police station and break him out?”

  “Nice idea, Saff, but it’s the last thing he needs. I’m getting a solicitor to him before his court appearance tomorrow.”

  “Court appearance? Isn’t he coming back to the hotel?”

  “Saff, Tris was charged with assaulting Carl. He’s staying in custody.”

  My vision swam. “What? Why?” My hand shook, spilling some of the vodka and tonic on my jeans. Absently, I brushed it off.

  “They will know about his previous conviction and on the basis of that probably decided it was better to keep
him in.”

  “Keep him in? It’s not a fucking hospital!”

  Darren gave me a sideways glance, then turned the volume down on the TV.

  “Can I go and see him?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  I screwed up my eyes, willing the tears to go away. I’d shed enough over the past few hours. “Then what can I do?”

  “You could have told him about Carl’s threats.”

  My hand froze mid-air as I lifted the glass to my lips. Somewhere in my befuddled brain I remembered telling Jonas. But I hadn’t told Tris, or the police. What if that was the evidence which made a difference for Tris.

  “Has Carl been in contact since last night?” asked Jonas. “You’ve still got the messages he sent you, right?”

  I took my phone from my ear and put Jonas on speaker. For some reason, it seemed my notifications had blown up. Wearily, I scrolled past them, wondering which gossip columns had got wind of the fight or whether Scott Lincoln had posted some other lie.

  When I saw Carl’s number on the screen and read the words, my glass slipped from my grasp, smashing into smithereens as it hit the floor.

  Always was queen of the gossip columns, weren’t you, darling? How’d you like it now?

  There was a link to The Goss.

  Nausea rising in my throat, I clicked on it.

  There, in grainy black and white, was the picture I’d dreaded him putting out there.

  The picture that could ruin my career.

  The picture that could ruin my relationship.

  The picture that could end it all.

  I wished Tris had killed the fucker.

  The phone went the same way of the glass and I leaped up, only just making it to the bathroom in time heaving and retching until I was convinced there couldn’t be anything else left in my body.

  After a couple of minutes, Darren appeared in the doorway. “Saff? You okay?”

  “What do you think?” I hugged the toilet bowl as some sort of comfort and gulped in some air as I tried to regulate my breathing. “You saw the picture.”