by Danni Fall
Ryan pulls a face. "Yeah, like I've got a chance with Zoe. I'd need to wear a push up bra and lipstick to get anywhere with her."
"Bet you're wishing you had a musical bone in your body now."
"How's that?"
"Cause if you learned guitar, that'd solve both of our problems."
"What, because you'd have a replacement for Mark and I could be the fit girl on guitar and date myself? I know I'm gorgeous but I'm not sure girl me would be. She'd look like a linebacker."
"Stop talking about you in a dress, you'll give me nightmares," Simon shivers. "I mean it'd be two birds with one stone. Mark does my head in and you hate working down the warehouse. If you joined the band, I'd have a new guitarist and you'd have an interesting job."
"How hard is guitar?"
"I've never learned it, it's too fiddly. I prefer synth, it doesn't hurt my fingers the same way."
"Think I could pick it up in a weekend?"
"No."
"What if I pulled an all-nighter? Really knuckled down?"
They share a grin.
"No."
Ryan tuts with disappointment. "Pity. Really could do with a new job."
Simon feels guilty as he looks sidelong at him. "How bad is it?"
"It's fine," Ryan finishes the spliff and stretches out. "I just hate everything about it."
"Everything? What about the people you work with?"
"They're fine, there's not a lot of time for chatting. I do this thing where I clock off and then a big countdown starts in my head."
"How d'you mean?"
"Like, I punch out and then I'm counting down to my next shift, how many hours away it is."
"Don't do that, that sounds crap."
"I don't mean to, it just happens. I'll be watching telly or going to the supermarket and I'll think it's twelve hours till I'm back there. Anyway, it's fine."
"It doesn't sound fine."
"Guess not. With school it always felt like next year might be different and even if it wasn't, we'd all leave and get jobs one day anyway, but now... this is it. It's just this, over and over till I drop dead."
"You could get another job."
Ryan looks on the verge of saying something, a pained smile on his face.
"Well you could, couldn't you?" Simon prompts.
"I guess I could dust off the old CV, or write one in the first place. It'll be short and sweet."
"Things have a way of working out, like with me and the band."
"Think that's got more to do with you being a jammy sod, Si."
Simon doesn't know what to say so settles for humming.
Ryan gives him an interested glance. "What is that?"
"You mean what I'm humming?"
"Yeah, I recognise it."
Simon tenses. "Do you?"
"Hum it again." He obeys while Ryan looks thoughtful. "Maybe I don't, is it one of yours?"
"Yeah, it's gonna be the next single."
"Sing it properly, gimme an exclusive performance."
Ryan gives him goading looks until Simon cracks and sings a verse and chorus. Ryan's amused expression shifts to interested.
"So, yeah, it's sorta like that," Simon finishes lamely.
"And that's gonna be the next single, is it?"
"If Mark doesn't write anything better. We've got a bet on who can write the better song."
"You should up the ante and put some cash on it, then give me some."
Simon grins to himself as he finishes his lager.
"You're gonna get properly famous," Ryan says quietly, as though the thought is dawning on him.
"You're saying I'm not already?"
"They'll play that on the radio."
"You reckon?" Simon asks.
"Don't be pretending like you're modest, Pratt. You know they will."
"If it does better than the last single, we'll get a deal with Maiden Records."
"Didn't their logo used to be a girl with her tits out? No wonder you wanna sign with them."
"It's not some girl with her tits out, it's art, innit? She's the maiden."
"What's so good about them?"
"They've signed a load of good acts, they're definitely most interested out of the big boys. They've got this bloke in charge of signings, he's called Simeon."
"Simeon?" Ryan repeats, baffled. "What kinda name's that?"
"Dunno, posh or something."
"So he's like a posh Simon?"
"Guess so. He's a slick bloke. Got the shirt with the metal cufflinks and business cards in a matching card case. Really white teeth."
Ryan snorts. "You fancy this bloke?"
"I'm just saying, I bet he's no mug. We'd do worse than sign with them. Better than Solitaire, anyway."
"That's who's releasing your singles, yeah?"
"They look like their mums still cut their hair."
Ryan barks a laugh. "Think I'd rather be mates with Simeon."
"One good thing about Solitaire though, they're gonna make a music video for this next song and try and get it on music channels."
"That does me a load of good, like I've got satellite TV."
"Does Donna? Good excuse to go round hers," Simon teases.
"Oh I'll bet she does. So you're telling me that you're gonna release that song with a video?"
"Unless Mark writes one better, yeah." Ryan looks blindsided. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong, it's just... you're gonna get properly famous."
"Maybe, yeah."
"People recognising you in the street, wanting your autograph, newspapers taking your photo, that kind of famous."
"I don't know about that."
"Simon, come off it. It's better than half the stuff I hear playing down the warehouse."
"Yeah but just cause your song's good doesn't mean it'll do well. We don't sound like everyone else, we're not part of the hit factory."
"Where's that ego buggered off to? Simeon." Ryan purposefully makes a meal of saying the name. "Simeon wouldn't approve of that attitude."
"Right, yeah," Simon murmurs. "Thanks, mate."
"You're welcome, mate."
They finish their beers and watch the estuary.
"Are you ready for that?" Ryan prompts. "For Donna to actually start asking about you? For everyone to start asking about you? Is that really what you want?"
Simon listens to the water lapping at the shore. He pulls out his pills again and starts toying with the cap.
"I don't know," he admits. "Guess we'll find out."
Chapter 9
Simon
Mark looks surprised when he walks into the recording studio and finds the rest of the band already in position with their instruments.
He makes a point of checking his watch. "Did the clocks go back?"
"Get plugged in and tuned up," Simon says. "Sooner you're ready, sooner you can start learning Who Are Ya."
"You spelling you Y A? Very classy."
As usual, Mark lets Joe tune his guitar. He studies Simon while he waits, smile growing. "You don't look like you've slept, Si. Up all night working on your jingle? Don't worry, we don't have to do this if it's had you fretting."
"You ready?"
"Always. If you want, I'll let you save face and concede now."
Simon pretends to consider. "Five K says mine's better than yours."
Mark's eyebrows fly up. "Big man, eh? You'd have to sell your cockmobile to fund that bet."
"Stop calling it that. Five K – in or out?"
"Make it seven K," Zoe chimes in.
"D'you know something I don't, Welly?" Mark asks.
"I can neither confirm nor deny."
"Not at all suspicious. Joseph, you wanting to place a wager one way or t'other?"
"I suggest we make a start before Will arrives," Joe says, sitting to his drum kit.
"Agreed. No bets, Sharp." Mark slings on his guitar. "We're doing this for the glory and the bragging rights. Let's not cheapen things."
"Cau
se you're pure class," Simon mutters. "You go first then."
"Smart man. It'll save us time when you decide not to bother."
Simon hovers by the mic but Mark gestures to the battered sofa across the room.
"Take a load off, Zoe and I'll fill in for you."
"Wish I'd brought my ear plugs."
Mark smirks before turning to the Oes. "Alright, count me in Joseph."
Simon sits back and smiles as the song gathers steam. It's more upbeat than normal, but still features Mark's usual mopey lyrics and moody melodies. His smile grows when the perfectly serviceable chorus hits. Mark clearly interprets the look Simon shares with Zoe as awe.
Mark ends the track with a deep bow. "Still want to play yours?"
Simon gets to his feet and swaggers over to Cynthia. "Yeah, I think I do."
"Over to you then, maestro."
"Count us in Joe," Simon says.
Joe thumps out the beat and they dive in. Mark's reaction is like when he first heard Simon sing. He sits up and stares so hard Simon feels his attention like heat concentrated on his skin. At the chorus, Simon makes a point of singing straight at Mark, whose wide eyed look turns almost angry.
He finishes without flourish and sits down beside Mark. "Something like that."
Mark's smile stiffens. "Something in that ball park, eh?"
"Yeah. We voting on it then?" Simon looks around the room. "Show of hands, who wants to go with Mark's track?"
Joe and Mark's hands go up.
Simon boggles at Joe. "I said who wants to go with Mark's track."
"I heard," Joe says. "I think it fits better with the rest of the album."
Mark looks at Zoe. "You're betraying me for that footie chant, are you?"
"It's better, catchier."
Simon tears his eyes off Joe and toys with his fringe as he thinks. "I can't believe we're wasting time because you don't want to admit I wrote the better song. Will'll be here any minute, we should be practicing."
"There's no such thing as better," Mark says, "there's just different."
"Can you hear yourself?"
"Joe's right, it sounds different to the rest of the album, it's inconsistent."
"That's a good thing," Zoe says. "We need a musical kick up the arse and this is it."
"It needs to sound like one coherent product," Mark insists.
"You really can't admit I'm better than you?" Simon asks.
"That's a leap from you writing a better song, isn't it? Trying to humiliate me? It'll take a lot more than that."
"I'm trying to save our career from going in the bargain bin."
Mark looks around expectantly. "Well, come on. Someone's got to change their mind."
"Why have they?" Simon retorts.
"We can't pick a bloody single if we're tied, two to two, can we?"
"Why can't you change your mind?" Zoe asks.
"Yeah, like I'm doing that. C'mon Welly, you can't honestly want this Polly, Put The Kettle On sounding bollocks to be the single."
"In the interests of time, might I suggest we start practising and make a decision later?" Joe asks.
"Far too sensible, Joseph." Mark holds out an expectant hand. "Come on then: chords, lyrics, some clue what I'm supposed to be doing."
Simon pulls a tab sheet from his synth case. Mark's eyes dart over the page, brow furrowing as he goes.
"Does that make sense?" Simon asks. "Want to play along with me?"
"Alright. Let's have a couple of goes through. Be good if I had a clue what I'm playing before we commit this to tape later, eh?"
"It was your idea to do this."
"Having it sound unpolished works," Zoe adds. "It's more punky that way."
"Lucky, that," Mark says. "Count us in Joseph."
They play it through while Mark makes a half-hearted effort to join in. After a few goes at the chorus, Mark has gotten the idea and starts adding flourishes and syncopated rhythms. They stare at one another as they play, Mark's expression switching from distant to searching.
"Alright, I've got it," Mark says. "Simon, be a dear and fetch my notebook from my guitar bag. The lyrics for mine are on the page with the folded corner."
Simon finds the page and skims the words.
"What's it called?" he asks. Mark shrugs. "You can't not have a title! What is it with you and titles?"
"Fine, then it's called Simon Pratt's A Bellend."
"Sharp!"
"Sorry, Simon Sharp's A Bellend."
"What's this about Simon?" Will asks from the doorway, flanked by the bloke from reception.
"He's saying I need a title for my competition entry."
"What competition would that be? Why are you all here so early? I was fully expecting to send out a search party for some of you."
"You can say for me and Laddo, Willy, we won't be offended."
"Speak for yourself," Simon mutters.
"We've had a little song writing competition going," Mark explains. "We both had a crack at writing the next single."
"The next single is Muck," Will says. "We discussed this, remember? You said you were going to rework it a little."
"Muck's as good as it's getting. This is something else, something we've been working on."
Will looks stricken. "You're saying you've got a new song I've never heard and you want to record it, today, to be the next single?"
"Correctamundo. It's for the best."
"Have you told Solitaire about your plan? We'd agreed to Muck."
"Are they coming today? I'll tell 'em right now."
"Joel and his team are tied up."
"That's convenient," Simon says.
"Can you really call three blokes and a dog a team?" Mark adds.
"In their defence, they weren't to know they'd need to make themselves available to hear new songs," Will says. "Which you're not recording, to be clear."
Mark wafts a hand. "They'll prefer this un when they hear it, just smooth things out with them later. Let's get cracking, time's wasting."
"We need to pick which version is gonna be the single and which version is gonna be the B side," Simon reminds him.
"True. We're at an impasse, Willster. Zoe likes Simon's and Joe likes mine. You'll have to give your casting vote."
"That's not how the quorum thing works," Simon says.
"We're on the clock, let's park arguing the finer details of Deff's constitution. Besides, it's not like either of us have slipped Will a bribe, is it? I think we can trust his judgment."
Simon gnaws his lip. "Fine, let's do it."
"And if I listen to both and cast my vote, you'll be ready to record either, will you?" Will asks.
"Yeah, more or less," Mark says. Will looks alarmed. "I'm kidding. Raring to go."
"I'm doing this on the understanding that we never, ever take this approach ever again, agreed? Never in a million years."
"Scout's honour," Mark rattles off. "I don't mean to rush you Bill, but we are on the clock."
"You're really trying to get yourself murdered," Zoe says.
"Let's start with Mark's, then Simon's," Will directs. "Then I'll give you my verdict and we get recording. Agreed? Good."
Deff take their positions and play through both songs. Will looks puzzled when they're finished.
"What's up Will?" Mark asks. "Thinking of ways to let Simon down gently?"
"Did you really write that, Simon? The second one?"
"Yeah, Who Are Ya. Why?"
"Just didn't know you... Interesting," Will says, practically to himself before clapping his hands together. "Simon's song is the single."
Simon crows as Mark's expression turns neutral in a practiced way.
"What about Muck instead?" Mark asks.
"Oh fuck off, we're not arguing that again," Simon says. "You lost, get over it."
Mark looks to the sound engineer. "What d'you reckon, mate?"
"I prefer Simon's," he admits.
Simon turns to grin obnoxiously at Mark.
"I'm so scared, like you're gonna punch the guy who's writing stuff people actually wanna listen to."
"Gentlemen," Will interrupts. "Enough. I'll figure out how to explain our deviancy to Solitaire. In the meantime, we're recording the guide track for Who Are Ya. Joe and Simon, you stay in here. Mark and Zoe, you can join us in the studio."
Simon gives Joe an awkward smile when they're alone. "Didn't think you'd like Mark's song better."
"This isn't a competition," Joe says as he gets comfortable on his drum stool.
"I mean, it is," Simon says, pulling on his headphones. "That was the whole point."
"Our career and our future as a band isn't a competition. We shouldn't change our plans on a whim."
"You ready to play or what?"
"I'm ready."
They lay down the guide with minimal effort thanks to Joe's impeccable timing. Mark is still poring over the lyrics to Who Are Ya when Simon joins him in the studio.
"I can give you some tips, if you'd like," Simon says. "Lyric writing tips."
Mark whacks him with the sheet. "Cheeky fucker. What's it about?"
"Nothing."
"Just one of those generic songs about duplicity and the fragility of one's identity?"
"What's Duplo got to do with it?"
"Don't play dumber than you are, Sharp. Care to share?"
Simon watches Joe set up to record, feeling how Mark keeps watching him. Eventually he returns the look. "What?"
"Y'didn't answer my question. We're gonna be here a few hours yet, might as well chat, mightn't we?"
"I dunno, I can think of loads I'd rather do," Simon mutters. "Clip my toenails, read the phone book."
"Is it about you?"
Simon resists looking offended. "It's hypocritical."
"What? How's it hypocritical?"
"You know, it's not based on a real person. I just made it up."
"Hypothetical," Mark corrects.
"Yeah, whatever, it's just made up."
Mark makes a sceptical noise as he rereads the lyrics.
"How was your birthday party?" Simon asks.
"You were there, remember? Or you were until you buggered off."
"I meant after we left."
Mark's smile turns sinister. "Take a wild guess. We went to Chris's and it turned out he'd made me a lovely cake. Chocolate, with sprinkles and candles. We wore pointy hats and everything."