Chapter Five
RIVER
River peeped through the spyhole, an unnecessary action given that Heather’s description of ‘man in a black cap with an N and a Y on it, bulbous nose, searching emerald eyes and naff gold medallion, accompanied by an aura… or on second thoughts, perhaps it’s just a huddle of bodies behind him’ painted the picture of band manager and entire line-up.
“You’re wasting your time, guys,” he shouted at the door and its peeling claret paint, heart thudding so loudly he was sure they could all hear its drum beat outside. “There’s nothing you can say to make me change my mind. It’s over. You’ll easily find a replacement for me. Just switch on The Voice and pilfer one of the rejects. They’re all pretty good these days.”
“River: Open up and stop being childish, you owe me an explanation,” Lennie echoed back. “You can’t play hide and seek for ever. If you don’t talk to me soon, it’ll only be the paps that end up cornering you… your choice, but I know what I’d prefer in your shoes.”
“Yeah,” chimed in a band member whose voice he couldn’t put a face to through the wood, though it definitely wasn’t Alice.
“Let them in, love,” said Heather, placing a heavily bejewelled hand on her son’s shoulder. “You were going to have to face the music… oops, ‘scuse the pun,” she paused and closed her eyes at her careless remark, “at some point. I’ll brew up some catnip tea. It’ll help calm you all down so you can come to some sort of arrangement and move on.”
“There’s nothing to discuss, Mum.” River uncurled her fingers and shook himself free. “My mind was made up a long time ago, you know that. There’s more to life than getting out of our heads on the road, no idea of where we are, who we’ve slept with or what day of the week it is.”
“Look, son,” Lennie said in that manner of his that River was more than accustomed to. He imagined him squaring his jaw against the door, just like he had all those times when Bear and Alex had refused to open their hotel door for a rehearsal, and River and Lennie had paced the corridor, facepalming foreheads as to how the evening’s gig could even happen.
“Look, son,” he said it again as River let out a deep breath and scratched at the shoddy paintwork. “You’re under contract and all.”
“I think you’re forgetting the slightly important fact that we didn’t actually renew the contract last—”
“Horses for courses…yada yada yada… you can’t just walk away mid tour, or mid anything. This is business. Have you any idea how much money, not to mention credibility, you’re costing me… I mean us?”
“Wanker.”
That was definitely Alex. A fitting reply too. Well, too bad, rules were there to be broken.
“I told all of you to pipe down, leave this to me,” Lennie’s words trailed behind him. “This is delicate business,” he added in a stern whisper, oblivious to the fact that River and Heather could hear everything.
“Would you like me to pass you a tray of catnip through the kitchen window?” Heather said to the door. “I’ve got some freshly baked root ginger biscuits too, perfect for grounding the body.”
“You what?” said Lennie.
“Catnip tea,” said Heather. “It’s a soother, and if I can get River to drink a little too, well, who knows, maybe you can come to some sort of agreement.”
“Mother, Heather, just stay out of this please.”
“Sounds delectable,” said Lennie, and even through the shield of the front door, River knew he was embarking on his Condescending Charade.
“Tell you what, you bring it round to the kitchen window, sweetheart, and I’ll meet you there for a sip or two. Don’t fret, these hangers-on will be firmly root gingered here, to the spot,” he could be heard to shout the latter behind himself.
“You’re a fool if you trust a word that comes out of his mouth,” said River. “Once the window’s up, he can easily force his way in.”
Lennie’s hot and recent, but frankly quite pointless (owing to the size of his paunch) pursuit popped into his head. River saw himself sliding down the banister once again, all the way to the ground floor of their Mexican hotel and the haven of the busy streets, in a bid to beat his manager who’d no doubt have opted for the lift, which at that time of night would have stopped at just about every floor, carrying diners to the first floor restaurant for all things à la carte.
The guy was an avarice stopping at nothing if he thought he was in danger of losing money.
“And here was me thinking I’d brought you up to see the positives in people.” Heather shook her head in her hallmark what-are-we-going-to-do-with-you way.
River shrugged as if he didn’t know the answer himself, and retreated to his old bedroom, not that Heather had ever really done anything with it since his exodus from the West Country anyway. It was clear she’d always expected the rock bubble to burst; for him to come running back to his roots. You can take the boy out of Somerset but you can’t take Somerset out of the boy.
Jim Morrison was the first to challenge his loyalty as he flopped onto his bed. Their eyes met above the headboard in a moment which seemed to scream now or never. Funny, River had never noticed The Doors’ lead singer look at him like that before. He sat up, crawled over to his pillow and smiled pitifully at him.
“Yeah? Look what all of this did to you, mate.”
Jim was ripped briskly from the wall and River proceeded to do the same to Bowie, Gary Stringer from the local band Reef, (who the media loved to portray as their pedestal rival), The White Stripes, and finally the members of Muse, whose curious Mona Lisa-esque gazes all seemed to follow him wherever he placed himself in the tiny room. The bare walls strangely soothed; a cathartic symbol of a fresh beginning. River drew in his breath through his nose, enlarging his navel, bringing his shoulders up high as he’d seen Heather do before meditation and yoga, and exhaled slowly through his mouth, letting out the burden and baggage of twelve years of musical institution.
He dimmed the light and crept to the window, peeling back the mock velvet curtains and their mouldy linings which Heather never seemed to get round to washing, to reveal two shifty looking former band mates – and the angelic Alice – crunching gravel on the front path below. They reminded him of the trick-or-treaters who used to gather in their garden for pranks. Although Heather never opened the door at Halloween given her Pagan roots, she and River would snoop on the hullaballoo below from his bedroom window, praying there wouldn’t be a re-enactment this year of the gate being wrenched from its brackets and flung into the hedge – or too many eggs and bags of flour pelted at the kitchen window.
Alice, Bear and Alex, they may have been furious now, but in all honesty, Alice was evidently more enamoured with all things L.A., hot-blooded, swanky and size zero, and Bear and Alex had been getting lazier by the day. At the very least, the trio beneath him needed time out themselves. By which time they’d either recognise that one of them could easily take over on the lyrics front, making the spanner River had thrown into the works even easier to resolve, hiring a new guitarist or drummer; a piece of musical cake. Alice, yes, their paths were sure to cross again when she came back to visit her parents, but as for the other two London lads, what had they ever really had in common with River besides a chance meeting at a festival anyway?
Naff all.
But it was no use trying to distract himself, he just had to listen in on the downstairs proceedings. He opened the door to his room so it was just ajar, and instantly heard the unmistakable sound of the lower kitchen window’s eerie creak along with an accompanying tray of clinking china.
“Thanks, darling, appreciate it,” he could hear Lennie saying to his mum.
“It’s the least I can do,” she replied. “So where are you all staying? There’s not a lot of accommodation in town at the moment, what with the festival in full swing.”
“Don’t you go worrying about that; we’ve got an RV with all the mod cons parked down the end of the road. It’s just a quick visit anyways.”
River could no longer contain his curiosity and tiptoed down the stairs to spy on their dialogue behind the kitchen door, where the narrow crack in the hinges revealed Lennie’s brown-nosing mug talking to Heather.
“I know you from somewhere, doll. I’m sure of it. Your face is ever so familiar,” he said unexpectedly, looking at Heather in earnest, offering her a distasteful but light flutter of his translucent eyelashes as she strained leaves into her small green hand-painted teacup.
“I really don’t think so.” Heather furrowed her brow. “Here, take some tea,” she added without looking at him. “Perhaps I can coax him down in a minute.”
Lennie took off his baseball cap, hanging it on the edge of Heather’s window box, resplendent with its flurries of marjoram and dill. He poured some ombre-coloured liquid into his own teacup, which, whilst the same size as Heather’s, suddenly became an accessory from a doll’s house, lifted it to his lips with sausage fingers and took a polite sip. As Heather did the same, and their eyes met properly, minus his Yankees’ peak, she began to tremble. There was no mistaking her reaction. Even from afar. Something unspoken passed between them. What, River had no idea. But it was circuitry enough for Heather to push tray, china and root ginger biscuits outside, somehow also lunging at the window frame in the same sudden movement. And then she pulled the lower half of the frame down in blind panic, secured the lock, drew the peacock feather print curtains together tightly and grappled at the window sill, taking several shallow breaths.
“Mum! What’s up? Did he try to hurt you? I heard a right commotion just then.”
River waited a few seconds for authenticity before bursting into the kitchen.
“It’s nothing, nothing,” she hyperventilated, “just… just one of my panic attacks – that’s all. It’ll pass… in a while,” she added finally, steadying herself. “See… if we’ve got… some brown bags in the top… drawer there.” She pointed to the cupboard next to the cooker. “I’ll try… that… that technique to slow down… my breathing.”
River quickly found her a paper bag, stood to watch her slowly regain control, protective hand on her shoulder as her chest puffed in and out, and then made for the front door.
“He won’t be back, Mum, but don’t answer the door to anybody… just in case. Not that there will be a just-in-case, but you know what I mean. Stay here and stay safe. I’m going to have to give him a piece of my mind, put an end to this shit for once and for all. He’s got to accept that it’s over and stop hounding me. I’ll get the police involved if I have to.”
It had crossed his mind to tuck his teenage baseball bat, still lying beneath his bed, under his arm while he was at it, but then he thought better of it, remembering his naturally peaceful nature; the very reason he must have been reeled in by Mercedes all along.
“River, no!”
But Heather’s delayed protest became a whisper as he stormed out of the house.
Outside in the damp summer evening air, he pounded the pavements near and far for the last traces of Lennie’s RV, a screech of tyres perhaps, a whiff of diesel maybe; the hum of a distant engine.
Lennie and the band may have long gone. But River’s mind burned with curiosity. What in the hell was that sequence of events at the kitchen window really all about?