CHAPTER SIX

After the exertion of giving my wife a couple of orgasms and her returning the favour by sucking me dry in the shower, I go back to bed while she heads out for a day of shopping with Jimmie and George.

I eventually wake up just after noon. After a quick coffee and the bowl of porridge Ash insists I have to eat every day, I go back to the study and start reading...

1985

The next few weeks were the stuff of dreams. Our album broke into the top ten on the Tuesday charts, just a day after its release. It was number one by the following week.

The entire UK tour was a sell-out, and extra dates were added where possible.

Maca’s birthday arrived, but there was no sign of Georgia.

Until that point, we had been on our best behaviour―back to our hotel rooms, or just to the bar for a few quiet drinks, but not Maca. He just went back to our room alone as soon as each show ended.

Kombat Rock were still the headline act, but everyone knew it was us that people were turning out for, and that pissed Rocco off on a nightly basis.

He had kept his distance since Whorely Gate, but was still partying up in his room or backstage after each show.

On the night of Maca’s birthday, the entire crowd sang an impromptu rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ as we returned to the stage for our encore. After Maca said a few words, thanking the crowd for turning out, buying the new album and their support in general, it meant that KR started their set about fifteen minutes late.

As we left the stage and they headed on, Rocco called over to Maca.

“Hey, birthday boy.” We all turned to look at him.

“You want me to call up Haley so you can celebrate with some coke and a side of rape later?”

Maca never got a chance to reply. Tommy stuck the nut on him and put him straight on his arse. For anyone Non-English reading this, Tommy head butted Rocco, knocking him onto his backside.

The fight that ensued after was just what we needed as a band. We once again became one, a unit, all looking out for each other. It was over as quickly as it began, but I landed one punch right to Wayne Allen, KR’s drummers jaw, and dodged all that were thrown my way. Maca was dragged away by Len before he had a chance to do anything. Rocco tried to stand, but Tom caught him in the gut and sent him to the floor again. Billy ended up the worst, with their guitarists both landing punches to his pretty face before one of our roadies stepped in and separated things.

We were all eventually hauled back to our changing room where Maca was pacing and shouting at Len that he’d had enough and wanted to quit.

Tom pulled a bottle of bourbon from somewhere and we passed it between us, each taking a swig.

We were silent for a few minutes. My hand hurt, but I wasn’t about to admit that in front of Len. Billy’s nose was bleeding and Tommy had a wet towel wrapped around his knuckles. The door flew open and Jim walked in. She’d sort of fallen into the job of Len’s assistant since she’d joined us and the label had put her on a wage. She mainly dealt with the press and booked our hotel rooms so everything was ready when we arrived at the next town.

“What the fuck just happened?” Her eyes met Lens, “You okay?”

“I’m fine. It’s this lot that think they’re Rocky.”

She lifted my hand and looked at the split skin on my knuckle. “Go run that under the tap and I’ll get some ice. Otherwise, you won’t be able to play tomorrow night.”

She followed me into the bathroom and placed a small hand towel under the running cold tap, then shoved my hand under the flow.

Jim and I didn’t talk much anymore. Things hadn’t been great for years, but they’d been even worse since Paris. We both stared down at my hand as I held it under the running water.

“Have you spoken to George at all?” I eventually ask. She shrugged her shoulders before answering.

“A few times, but it’s hard, ya know?” She gestured with her chin out to where the boys were.

“She doesn’t want to hear anything about him, the band, or ...”

“Me.” I finished for her.

“Look, Marls. She’s hurt and she’s angry. She’ll come around eventually, she’s just really struggling right now and dealing with all this shit in her own way.”

I nodded my head as my belly did continuous forward rolls.

“I don’t think she’s ignoring you as such,” She continued, “its just that talking to you, it’s like talking to him and she’s not ready for that.” I licked my bottom lip a couple of times to try and hide the fact that it had developed a wobble.

‘Don’t cry. Don’t you dare fucking cry.’ I repeated over and over in my head.

“This is George we’re talking about, Marls. She’s never experienced things not going her way in life.” She swallowed and I knew she was struggling not to cry too. “Just give her time, yeah?” I wasn’t entirely sure who she was trying to convince in that moment.

“I’m gonna go and clean Billy’s face up before Linda gets here and freaks the fuck out. I’ll get you some ice once I’ve done that.” She leant up on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek.

“You know you can ask me about George anytime, Marls. If you want me to pass on a message or anything, just let me know, yeah?” Her brown eyes looked over my face while her hand rubbed up and down my arm in what I assumed was a gesture of reassurance, understanding, friendship? Who knew, but in that moment, I felt that it was more than I deserved.

We all ended up back in our room, blind drunk that night. Even Jimmie and Len joined us, as well as some of the crew. Maca spent a lot of the night drinking whiskey and crying on Jim’s shoulder, while I joined one of the lighting engineers in the bedroom with a girl he had picked up. He willingly shared her and his illegal substances with me.

Things changed after that night. We were tighter than ever musically, despite the celebrating we did after each show. Our days were filled with television, radio, magazines, or newspaper interviews. On our nights off, we tended to go off and do our own thing, but it was getting harder and harder to do anything or go anywhere without being recognised.

I loved the attention, the women that threw themselves at us, but the rest of the band, not so much. Tom and Billy were still with Cheryl and Linda, the girls they’d been with since school. They were with us most of the time, both of them forgoing careers to travel with the band. The label insisted they keep a low profile around the fans and the press, but when we were back at our hotels, they were there, waiting for their boys. They partied with us sometimes, but usually they’d just disappear off to their rooms.

Since the success of the album and the fact that the tour was a sell-out, Len had negotiated for us to each have our own rooms and after a few drinks, Maca usually disappeared off to his, alone every night.

We spent some of our days writing, but because the UK was so small, we didn’t use the tour bus like we had in Europe, so the opportunities to collaborate didn’t present themselves as often.

Spending so much time alone, Maca was writing a lot, and although a lot of it was a bit mushy for me and obviously about George, by the time we had worked on it together and tweaked a few things, we were coming up with some amazing stuff. We knew that it wouldn’t be long before we had enough new material to write another album.

Our UK tour was due to end in late July. A couple of festival dates were added to our schedule in August, and studio time was booked for the beginning of September.

Maca finally cracked and ended his self-imposed exile and celibacy on Georgia’s birthday.

I had been home a few times during the tour, but she still refused to speak to me, closing the door in my face every time I went to her room. I don’t know if Maca was still trying to contact her, he never said, and my dad never mentioned he was still being a pest when I spoke to him.

The label rented us a flat to live in close to the studios when the tour ended, so we spent the end of that summer making music, eating, drinking and partying together.

We had found a quiet little pub around the corner from our flat in in West London and had turned it into our local. It was the last place that anyone would think of looking for England’s biggest band, so we could spend our evening having a few drinks, a game of pool, and even grab some lunch or dinner if we hadn’t previously eaten.

I’m not sure how word got out, but when Maca and I arrived at the pub one night, there were four girls standing at the bar and we knew that it was us they were waiting for.

Tom and Billy had headed straight off as soon as we had finished recording. We had a day off the following day, so they had driven back to Essex to see their girls.

I stood at the bar, waiting for our drinks while Maca racked up the pool balls. I watched as one of the girls approached him. She was tall. Even without the shiny patent leather heels she was wearing, she had a cracking pair of legs. Her dress was a royal blue colour, skintight, and made from this stretchy waffle patterned material. Funny how after all these years I should remember all that. I think it’s because Jim had a similar type of dress and we had all commented on how good her arse looked in it, earning me a smack upside the head from my brother.

“They’ve been asking what time you usually get here.” Jock, the landlord told me, placing two beers on the bar. “I told them I didn’t know what they were talking about,” he said with a nod as I handed him a tenner.

Jock knew who we were. His daughter had recognised us when she was working behind the bar one night and sent him over for autographs. We’d asked them to keep it quiet, donated to buy the pubs football team a new kit and given Jeannie, his daughter, a pile of signed merchandise and an album.

“Cheers, Jock. How long they been here?” I asked.

He looked at his watch and gave a small shrug. “Since about six. There were two more, but I had to throw them out for being underaged,” he said quietly in his soft, Scottish accent.

“Those four have got IDs, but they’ve all only just turned eighteen, except for the brunette talking to Maca, she’s older. You boys watch yourselves.”

“We will. Cheers again, Jock.”

I headed towards the pool table, smiling at the three girls trying to artfully prop themselves at the bar and note that they all looked a bit ... soapy, as my dad would say. That didn’t mean they were covered in bubbles if that’s what you’re thinking, it meant that they looked like they could do with a good wash, and I don’t care what ID they’d flashed at Jock. Not one of them looked to be more than fifteen or sixteen.

Now I know I was only just nineteen myself at that stage, and a bit of an animal, but jailbait was not my thing, and something I was extra careful about after Whorely Gate. Not that she’d been underage or anything. She was actually a few years older than us, but after that incident, the label had sent one of their female exec’s to give us ‘The Talk.’ Basically she told us to always practise safe sex, always make sure we’re aware of the age of consent, depending on which country we’re in, (especially places like the U.S., where it can vary from state to state), and never, ever let anyone film or take pictures of you in the act.

It hadn’t slowed down the amount of women I’d slept with, but I was very aware of who I slept with and tended to go with the girls that looked older, rather than younger, just to be safe.

I passed Maca his drink and held mine up so we could say cheers. We both knew what the date was. He’d been very quiet and looked extra sad. I silently wished my sister a happy birthday and took a swig from the bottle.

“This is Siobhan,” Maca introduced her, tilting his beer bottle towards her, then to me.

“Siobhan, this is Marley.” She looked me over, every inch, with the most amazing blue eyes.

“Siobhan.” I nodded towards her. “Isn’t that Irish? Sounds like it should be spelt S, H, E, V, O, N, but instead has a B or some random letter in it?”

“That’s right.” She said with a smile and proceeded to spell out her name. She was definitely older than the other girls were ... much more groomed and better put together. Having a guess, I would’ve said she was about twenty-five. Older than most of our fans, but an average age for a groupie, although I wasn’t sure if that’s what she was. I was suddenly on alert.

“So, what’s a nice girl like you doing slumming it in a pub like this?” I asked her.

“I could ask you boys the same thing.” Her reply was followed by a nervous laugh.

“Press,” I said to Maca as he leant across the pool table to break.

His head swung up to look from me to the woman standing between us. He looked back along the pool table and potted a stripe. Standing up straight, he gripped the cue with both hands.

“Fuck off,” he said to her, gesturing with his head towards the door.

“Wh-what?” She looked between us, her mouth hanging open.

“Oh come on, boys, give a girl a break,” she pleaded.

“Give you a break?” I asked. “Do you have any idea the damage you lot have done to us, my family, and our band?”

She looked down at the ground for a few seconds, then back up, looking back and forth between Maca and me.

“Look, I know some of it was a bit rough on your sister, but that wasn’t me. I’m not that kind of reporter.”

“There’s only one kind of reporter,” Maca told her. “The cunt kind. Now fuck off before I get Jock to throw you out.”

She held her hands up as if she was surrendering.

“Look, I’m gonna go to the bar and get a drink. I just want a few words from you. I don’t wanna ask questions about what happened in France or anything to do with that.” She looks between us. “Just a little something about the success of the album, the sell-out tour, and how you’re coping with it all. Maybe something about what you’ve got coming up next year? Please, just think about it?”

We both stood and watched her hips sway as she walked to the bar. I had to adjust my dick in my jeans. I hadn’t had a shag since the tour ended, and I was more than a little desperate.

“She’s got a nice arse,” I said quietly.

“What the fuck has that gotta do with anything?” Maca turns back around, takes his second shot and misses. “Your spots.”

“I know. What if we do her a deal?” I pot one spot, followed by another.

“What type of deal?” he asked, his eyebrows drawn together.

I stood up straight and passed him the cue back after missing my third shot. “I dunno ... a blowie or summit? I’m gagging for a shag.”

“You’re gagging for a shag? How d’ya think I feel? It’s been four months and three countries since your sister left Spain, and I last got my leg over.”

I took a step back from him. “Dude, do you know how seriously happy my life would be if I never had to talk, or even think about you shagging my sister again? Like, ever?”

He laughed and took his shot. It was good to see him smile. I know that he’d made a point of making sure that Jimmie knew the phone number and address of our new flat, but there had still been no contact from George.

“Was she doing anything special tonight, d’ya know?” He took his shot while asking. I knew it was so that he didn’t have to make eye contact with me as he talked about her.

“My mum said that she didn’t want any fuss made. She has college tomorrow.” I tell him what I know.

“How’s college going for her?” He took another shot, still not looking my way.

“All good, I think. You know George. She and Len are the brains of the family.”

Unable to avoid me anymore, his eyes met mine. “She seeing anyone?”

I shook my head. “I honestly don’t know, mate. She’s not spoken to me since she left Spain. Jim, Len, Mum, and Dad, only tell me what she wants me to know.”

He looked down at his feet before picking up his bottle and finishing the contents.

“I really fucking miss her,” he states, his eyes shining with tears.

“I know you do mate, but without sounding harsh, she’s getting on with her life and I think it’s time you moved on with yours.”

He nodded his head before potting every stripe on the table, and then the black. “Yeah, I’m beginning to think that too.

Game over.