 
### **Contents**

About the Author

Synopsis

inside cover

Copyright

Dedication

Glossary

December 1985

Thursday 12th

Friday 13th

Saturday 14th

Sunday 15th

Monday 16th

Tuesday 17th

Wednesday 18th

Thursday 19th

Friday 20th

Saturday 21st

Sunday 22nd

Monday 23rd

Tuesday 24th

Christmas Day

Thursday 26th

Friday 27th

Saturday 28th

Sunday 29th

Monday 30th

Tuesday 31st

January 1986

Thursday 2nd

Friday 3rd

Saturday 4th

Sunday 5th

Monday 6th

Tuesday 7th

Wednesday 8th

Thursday 9th

Friday 10th

Saturday 11th

Sunday 12th

Monday 13th

Tuesday 14th

Wednesday 15th

Thursday 16th

Friday 17th

Saturday 18th

Sunday 19th

Monday 20th
**Mick Kelly** was born in Liverpool and now lives just across the River Mersey from the mighty music metropolis that is his home town. In between being born and fetching up in New Brighton, he has worked (as a computer programmer) all over the United Kingdom, many European countries and in the USA before retiring to concentrate on writing.

_Also by Mick Kelly_

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Mr. Logic and The Summer of Love
December 1985 and New Romancer's first single had peaked at number 40. Keyboard player Jonnie Cole's dreams of girls, money, girls, travel, girls, drugs, girls and music seemed to have stalled. But with new hit producer 'Magic' Dan McCloud on board, 1986 looked like being their year.

Join them on their first tour of Europe as they discover themselves, each other and the dangerous cargo they have unwittingly stowed on the tour bus.

CAUTION: This tale of sex, drugs and synthesisers contains all three, plus a lot of swearing.

**Acknowledgements**

I have read many artist and band biographies over the many years I have been obsessed by music. Many of them will have contributed to this book and I thank all the authors for my many unattributed borrowings. In particular I would like to thank Nasher (Brian Nash) for 'Nasher Goes To Hollywood', Julien Cope for 'Head On' and Toya Wilcox for an article in a Leicester tourist magazine which was the accidental genesis of this book.

Copyright © 2017 Mick Kelly

All rights reserved.

The moral right of the author has been asserted

_All characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance _

_to real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental._

__

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ISBN: 1535509627

ISBN-13: 9781535509626

Published by Kellicom Ltd.

To Sue, my own number one.
**Glossary**

  * **Bpm** \- Beats per minute
  * **808** \- The Roland TR-808 programmable drum machine - one of the first and most widely used drum machines
  * **B3** \- Hammond B3 organ - venerable old organ, much used in jazz and early pop music.
  * **DX3, DX5, DX7** \- Keyboards produced by Yamaha in the 1980s which exploited a new form of sound synthesis called FM. Widely used and very popular.
  * **Fairlight** \- The Fairlight CMI was a sampler - an computerised instrument that took a sound sample and allowed it to be played with a musical keyboard.
  * **Fender Jazz** \- A bass guitar
  * **FM synthesis** \- Method of creating different tones for a synthesiser. Pioneered by Yamaha, it was the sound that powered the explosion of synth pop in the late 1980s.
  * **FX** \- Sound effects
  * **Les Paul** \- Electric guitar
  * **Leslie** \- Old type of speaker cabinet, were the speaker revolved to give a vibrato effect. Usually used in conjunction with a Hammond organ (e.g. the B3)
  * **LinnDrum** \- Widely used drum machine based on sampling.
  * **Marshal** \- Guitar amplifier widely used in heavy metal.
  * **Mellotron** \- Keyboard from the 1960s that used taped samples to provide the sounds. A sample for each note had to be individually recorded - a time-consuming operation that the later digital samplers replaced by computerised re-pitching. Much used by The Beatles and The Moody Blues etc.
  * **MIDI** \- Musical Instruments Digital Interface is a computer communication system that allows electronic instruments to talk to each other. So a player using one keyboard can control another keyboard, or a drum machine, or a lighting rig, or a sound effect or sample etc.
  * **Pitch Wheel** \- Control on a synthesiser to swiftly raise or lower the pitch of the note by a small amount. It allows keyboard players to emulate the 'string bending' sounds of guitarists or the 'tonguing' of saxophone players.
  * **Premier Kit** \- drumkit.
  * **Roland GR700** \- A guitar which could be used to play a synthesiser by sensing the frequency of the notes played and converting to a control signal (not MIDI) to play a Roland synthesiser. Available as lead (6 string) and bass (4 string) versions.
  * **Sample** \- A snippet of sound which could be recorded and played back at different frequencies and incorporated into music. Much used (and over-used) in the 1980s.
  * **Synclavier** \- An early sampling machine.
  * **Synthesiser** \- An electronic instrument for producing music. There were (and are) a variety of different designs.
  * **Wind Controller** \- An electronic instrument operated by blowing - somewhat like a clarinet or saxophone, but driving a synthesiser.

****

### **December 1985**

****

### **Thursday 12th**

###

You think being in a band is all late night parties, unlimited sex, top quality drugs and being interviewed by 'journalists'. You don't imagine early-morning meetings with what we laughingly called 'management'. However you live and learn. So at 10:30 on a grey Thursday morning we were sitting in Degsie's office. Derek Daniels, our manager. Fat, forties and foul-mouthed, he was the granite-faced bouncer who we hoped would let us in to the wonderful night club of girls, money, girls, drugs, girls, travel and girls - oh, and music too.

Our first single charted at number 40. Despite a week of radio appearances the second week saw it drop to 73. Hell, it was better than not charting at all. Howie said we were more of an album band. That's the kind of thing Howie says. Maybe it's the kind of thing all bass players say. Anyway, with Christmas three weeks away, it looked like 1985 wasn't going to be our year. But 1986 was still there for the taking.

Degsie was talking – it was difficult for him, which is why he had to throw in a 'fuck' every third or fourth word. He had been talking for quite a while. He would probably carry on for quite a while longer. Meanwhile I turned my mind to the more urgent matter of sex. You see, I was the keyboard player. Any of the few nice girls that turned up at our gigs or appearances tended to go for Graham even though our sexually ambivalent singer was more interested in boys. So failing any interest from him the girls went for Jake our axe-hero guitarist and even Howie. I only scored over The Hulk, our drummer, on the grounds that he wasn't human.

As a keyboard player, girls thought I was an intellectual, more intelligent than the others. That was certainly true. But they seemed to think me less interested in matters of the body. When I got any girls at all, I got the ones who wanted to talk about philosophy for hours. Frustrating. Degsie was still going on....

'Don't get me wrong lads, I'm not sayin' it's shite – just needs a bit of – you know – tweaking – and he's the fucker to tweak it.'

'Who is?' I said.

'Are you fuckin' back with us?' I do love a scouse accent, so sweet and lyrical, especially from the mouth of an Adonis like Degsie. He had been in our position nearly twenty years ago, in one of the last groups to be counted as part of the Liverpool Sound. No doubt he had done his share of sitting in the offices of various ex-crooners or whatever they had in the fifties. No doubt he was insulted and patronised by those has-beens. Now it was our turn.

'I'm fuckin' talking about Magic Dan McCloud. We're gonna hire the fucker for your second single'.

'To do what?' I said, living dangerously. Degsie got a little redder in the face.

'Look mate, what comes out of this end' he gestured with a trotter at his mouth, 'them's werds. You're supposed to fuckin' listen. If it comes out the other end' - he farted – which he could do at will – 'you can probably ignore it – if you can.' He laughed at his own joke – well it was one of his better ones.

'Magic Dan is gonna do you a twelve inch'.

Me and Graham had mixed the last one. That is, I had played the tape, added the loops, segued them in, balanced the mix, panned the stereo and so on. Graham had snorted a lot, coughed a lot, sneezed a bit before going out to score some more coke. I didn't see him for three days. He liked being a star but I don't think he was that keen on being a musician. I opened my mouth to object to the appropriation of my job.

Degsie's face went redder still and I closed my mouth to reconsider. Degsie relaxed a little. I'd got us to number 40. Magic Dan would probably give us our money back if he couldn't do better than that.

'When?'

'We're sending the masters over now.'

'Which track are we releasing?'

Degsie smiled at me. He doesn't often do that. With teeth like his, neither would I.

'We' – he paused to emphasise the inclusiveness – 'will release whatever fuckin' track Magic fuckin' Dan thinks he can fuckin' whip into fuckin' shape.'

Sometimes the poetry in Degsie's soul just shines through. It was probably time to go 'home' to the London flat I was sharing with Howie and the others, but I had to have the last word.

'Well we are supposed to be touring so we might not be available to do any re-recording.'

'I don't think you'll be required. Magic Dan knows some fuckin' musicians, the kind that can fuckin' play.'

On the way out I stopped to chat to Sandie – she was – well I don't know what she was – P.A? secretary? accountant? – she was lovely though, and definitely female. I could tell she had the hots for me by the way she only ever talked about Graham.

'We're having a party at the weekend' – well I could arrange one if I had too.

'Is Graham coming?' - I would have said something crude but she looked at me with her big tawny brown eyes and I pictured – well, I'll keep that to myself.

'Yes sure, Graham will be there.'

'Where?' Graham walked up to the desk. 'You having a party tonight Sandie? Sounds divine, but I don't want to make Gideon jealous.'

Gideon was his latest boyfriend – not that it seemed to stop Graham when it came to flirting with girls but these days, he left it at the flirting stage.

'Anyway, love, we can't, we're all going over to Magic Dan's, apparently.'

'Since when?' I said.

'Derek's right, you do live in a dream world, Jonnie, dear boy.'

It's true, I'm afraid, the real one is too brutal, too cruel, too lacking in the one thing that keeps a man up in the bedroom practicing scales and chords when he could be out clubbing – the promise of mindless, unfulfilling, instinctive, animal sex. It turned out that we had been summoned by the great man. We were to be there at nine that night in his studio in St Johns Wood.

We shared two taxis back to our dive in Camden. Well, it wasn't really a dive when we moved in, but it was now. The cleaner had quit two weeks ago and there were smells from the kitchen that suggested new life forms.

Graham and Gideon had the top flat (he liked to call it a Penthouse), Jake the axman and The Hulk on the first floor, while me and Howie had the ground floor flat. We all shared the front door and stairs, so it was pretty nominal. There was also a basement that had been half-heartedly soundproofed and we used it for rehearsals. Once in, I dumped my coat, grabbed a little bag of grass and headed downstairs with Howie.

The basement had two sets of equipment. One set was the stage stuff - all synthesisers, steel and shiny plastic. The other set was our old gear from our heavy metal days. Old, scuffed, frayed and loud. Off-duty, it was the old stuff we went for. I suppose I was the exception. I had junked all my old keyboards in favour of newer models. I was in my element with my DX7s and Emulator. I still wasn't allowed to buy a Synclavier - too expensive. Though Degsie had promised I could have one if we got a number one.

Howie plugged his real bass – a Fender Jazz – into the Marshal stack and started to grind out a slow funk. On stage 'Image' dictated that he had to use a Roland electronic bass and synth. Playing his real bass, Howie almost smiled – his mouth forming a straight line across his round face, rather than the usual downturned U. He didn't bother with hair-lacquer when off-stage, so his streaked mousey hair hung over his ears. He was small – we all were – and his Coventry City shirt did no favours in hiding his little pot-belly. The huge Fender Jazz did a better job of disguising his love of lager and curries.

I left Howie to the funk and rolled up a long relaxing smoke. I'd barely filled my lungs for the second time, when the smell brought Jake down from upstairs. He had his old black Les Paul guitar in one hand, his box of effects in the other, and a fag in his mouth. On-stage he pranced about with a Roland GR700 - a mirror to the synth-bass that Howie played but off-stage the Les Paul was rarely out of his hand.

He was wearing his usual torn jeans and a black Judas Priest tee shirt. He plugged into his stack, taking the joint from me and pulling deeply on it a couple of times before sticking it in Howie's mouth, and going back to his fag. Jake's usual expression hovered between a sneer and a smile and I was never sure if it was because of his attitude or the fact that he always had a cigarette in his mouth.

He hit some clean, high chords and they jammed, evolving into 'Superstition' with Jake playing the Clavinet part that I should have been hammering out, if I wasn't having a little John Travolta moment, dancing towards them and grabbing the joint. And so we passed the afternoon, jamming and smoking, smoking and jamming on a grey December day in north London.

It was nearly ten when we arrived outside the tall white house in St Johns Wood. Degsie's Jaguar was already there when we tumbled out of the taxis and stood on the gravel drive looking at the few glimmers of light that escaped the curtains.

Graham advanced on the doorbell and played it masterfully. Inside the house a dog barked, and was joined by another. A deep bark joined by a deeper one. A muffled swearing brought the picture to my mind of Igor pulling back the wolf-hounds by their ancient chains. I was rather disappointed when the door was opened by a woman in her middle thirties, with two rather roly-poly Labradors.

'Ah, the band – Daniel is really looking forward to this. I'm Dotty – my name, not a description. Do come in, and don't mind the boys.' A torrent of words came from her rather lovely mouth, delivered in an impossibly posh accent.

We had all acquired a 'nice' accent – Image again – despite coming from Leicester, but her cut-glass delivery was the real thing. She wore a chunky 'ethnic' waistcoat over her ancient Hendrix tee shirt and faded jeans. She was slim and tall – five or six inches higher than my five foot four inches (on a good day). Following her down the wide hall, I felt like a tradesman summoned by a duchess.

Graham attempted to interject a camp quip or two, but he was trying to swim upstream against the tide of her relentless chatter. He soldiered on, admiring the wallpaper, the book-lined walls, the paintings, while studiously avoiding any contact with the dogs.

'Have you eaten – I'm afraid cook's gone home for the night, but I can rustle up something if you fancy anything.' We muttered variations on 'no thanks' as she guided us down the corridor to where we could hear the muffled thump of a bass.

I was third in line behind Graham and Jake and could only see the back of her blonde head – Graham and axe-hero Jake were the same height as me, while Howie was the big man of the group at five foot six, and he was behind me. The Hulk 'stood' at fifteen hands from floor to forehead and he was bringing up the rear.

Oh yes – and Gideon came after him. He only thought he was in the band. He had written a couple of songs with Graham, but never appeared on stage though I think it was his ambition to replace me as the keyboard player. Graham seemed to be rather enjoying playing us off against each other.

We went down a short staircase and Dotty opened a wide heavy door, letting out a blast of a bass-heavy dance groove, and we wandered into the studio control room.

Degsie was standing there, chewing an unlit cigar – it was so big, I doubt if he could reach the end to light it. Sitting at the mixing desk was a hippie. You get a lot of them in the music business. Even sitting down, he looked tall and thin. Long lank brown hair descended from a bald spot to almost hide his thin grey face. His eyes were brown, with yellowish whites, a little bloodshot. A couple of day's growth of stubble further hid the long creases in the cheeks that framed his permanent frown.

In all the subsequent time I knew him, I never saw him clean-shaven and I never saw him with a proper beard. I just don't know how he did it. He cut the tape and the music died. Degsie prodded his cigar in the hippie's direction.

'This is Dan, lads –he's going to give you a number one.'

Magic Dan grunted something I couldn't catch. Degsie was waving his cigar around...

'He's listened to the whole album and he's picked the top one.'

Now, we are a band – all for one, one for all, and all that sort of thing. Except when it comes to girls, money, equipment, billing, clothes, cars and writing credits. Here it's every man for himself. Graham and I wrote seven of the eleven tracks on the album, while he and Gideon had another two. Howie and I had one more and The Hulk had the last track on side one.

Our first single, 'Hard Landing' had been a Hutchings / Cole composition – Graham and me - so it was natural that the second be another, but I felt a frisson of tension as we all looked at Magic Dan.

'I reckon on 'Take Me Home, Trudie' – just right for the post-Christmas market, it's got a lovely after-the-party feeling. Nice.'

Nice! I must admit that I laughed. Graham spluttered while The Hulk displayed what might have been a smile, and grunted.

When it came to including The Hulk's track on the album it was only threats of physical violence that swayed our judgement. A three-chord song with an inverted middle eight, it might have come straight out of the sixties. We had a bugger of a job cutting it on synths. I wanted to put a more interesting chord in here and there – a ninth, maybe a suspended – but The Hulk wouldn't have any of it.

Two major chords and a seventh. My piano teacher would have sneered at me – mind you, he always did.

Degsie loved it, of course. I think he even called it a 'toe-tapper', while I did my best to compress my lips into a thin line to express my contempt – wasted on Degsie, he'd been held in contempt by better men than me.

'This is going to put New Romancer at the top of the charts.'

I don't know if I have ever explained the name to anyone – we weren't supposed to talk about it. Sounds a bit dated now, but 'New Romancer' we were.

Originally, me, Howie, Jake and The Hulk had been in a heavy metal band called 'Neuromancer' – after the William Gibson book. Our singer at the time, Case, lived for sci-fi, and even took the name of the book's (anti) hero. We played a few gigs and at one of those Graham saw us. He was taking a risk in a heavy metal bar wearing his ruffles and frock coat, but headbangers don't really deserve their reputation – well, most of the time.

He collared our Guitar God, Jake, after the gig and asked the name of the band. In the din of the low-ceilinged pub he mis-heard it.

'But you don't look like New Romantics', he said, 'I'll have to change your clothes – well, change them a bit – I do like the leather.'

And that was basically that. Case was sacked, Graham was in, and Jake, Howie and I were wearing lace with our leather trousers while The Hulk wore leather shorts and fingerless leather gloves. Even in the Midlands the New Romantic thing was a bit dated - but not with Graham.

It wasn't that we wanted to dress like monkeys and play cod soul with pretentious lyrics, it was more that Graham would not be denied. He was two years older than us, and that counted for a lot. He also knew 'people' – so he said, though we never really found out what people.

He could also have won a gold medal for needling, whingeing and generally banging on about how The World needed to let Graham do what Graham wanted to do. I'm not saying he was spoilt, but I think his mum and dad still have a collection of golden thrones of various sizes as a memento of his childhood.

He was at it now with Magic Dan.

'I do know what you mean – it's a sweet song, and he is such a dear – but really, I think I know our market, and I really think that they would be best pleased with 'Why Now?' or 'Love is So Last Year.'

Magic Dan looked at him as if sizing up an opponent in a poker game.

'Take Me Home, Trudie' is the one I've picked.'

I won't bore you with the next half an hour. Magic Dan never spoke another word. He left it to Degsie. We got to the point of Degsie threatening to pull out a copy of our contract to point out the clause that gave the management total freedom to choose release dates and content.

Graham left – trying to slam the sound-proofed door, but not succeeding as it weighed a ton. He still managed an impressive flounce.

Gideon patted The Hulk on the arm in a conciliatory gesture and followed Graham.

As Graham's main writing partner I should have followed him, but – well, I could learn a lot from Magic Dan.

Jake and Howie stayed as well, though they looked a bit shame-faced.

'O.K. Let's get started.' Magic Dan came back to life.

I pulled out some grass and a packet of cigarettes.

'Magic Dan doesn't allow no smoking in the studio', said Degsie, waving the unlit cigar.

'Really', I said – prepared to flounce out myself. I don't like being ordered around, and once a night is enough.

Magic Dan reached under the mixing desk and pulled out a bag of white powder, and threw it to me.

'Go easy – it's top stuff.'

Well, I'm not a man to refuse another man's hospitality, and it looked like being a long night.

****

### **Friday 13th**

###

I was wrecked.

Jake and Howie had left the studio not long after midnight – mixing didn't interest them and the allure of the nightclubs was too great. Besides, it has been over three hours since Jake had had his last cigarette – a record, in my book. Degsie went at about one – I think it was time for a quick half bottle of whisky and bed. That left me with Magic Dan and The Hulk.

Magic Dan was right about the cocaine – it was top stuff. Magic Dan did not indulge while working. The Hulk had a bit but I had the majority.

I was practically running around the studio. I felt completely in control of the recording session – The other two assisted as best they could while trying to keep up with the torrent of my ideas.

Well, that's what it felt like. In reality (whatever that is) Magic Dan got on with his job, and kept me occupied with the Bolivian Marching Powder.

The Hulk did what The Hulk did best – nothing much. All I really contributed was a sampled guitar solo, played on Magic Dan's Fairlight.

We (we?) had it all done by about five, and ended up in the kitchen with Dotty, eating cheese on toast, eyed hungrily by the dogs. Dotty had kept up an endless stream of words as she cut the bread, rattled the grill pan, sliced the cheese, fed the dogs some biscuits, poured the tea, asked me about my plans for Christmas, explained that they would be in Germany and finally lapsed into silence as she ate – being too well brought up to talk with her mouth full, I guess.

Magic Dan didn't talk much. He finished half his cheese on toast, pushed the plate away and said...

'That sampled guitar isn't right – good tune, Jonnie, but I think we need a real guitar.'

'Well, it's not really Jake's style', I said – it had a 24-note triple-time arpeggio from low G over four octaves – I couldn't see many guitarists doing it – maybe some obscure jazzer or maybe Jimi Hendrix, the man on Dotty's chest.

'Not a problem', Magic Dan said 'I've got someone – I'll get him over for this afternoon.'

Well, I didn't want to lose control of 'my' session, so I hung around while Magic Dan arranged everything for five in the afternoon. We managed to get a taxi and head back to the flat, in the rain.

When we arrived, the place was almost in darkness. Jake and Howie were still out, Graham and Gideon were in bed, so me and The Hulk shared a quick spliff and turned in. Needless to say I couldn't sleep, thanks to the coke.

I tossed and turned, analysing – yet again – my relationship with Graham. When he first took over the band he was eager for anyone who could write a tune. Case having been dumped, Jake was the only songwriter in the band at that time.

All his stuff was metal, though – he thought Iron Maiden a bit high-brow, and preferred AC/DC or Motörhead, and his own music reflected it.

Graham started trying out little bits with me. I had been classically trained (sort of – I'd got to grade six before losing interest) and I knew how to construct a chord sequence. We seemed to hit it off, and the songs started to flow. Graham had a good ear – he didn't read music and had to rely on memory. Above all, he knew what suited his delivery, and what he could do with the numbers on stage. I looked up to him and saw our partnership as our route to stardom and riches.

We played around Leicester and out to Birmingham and Nottingham, getting a bit of a reputation, and finding out what worked and what didn't. What really set us apart, though, was Graham's stage presence. People would come just to see what he was wearing. While we guarded our flight cases and amps, he would have laid down his life for his make-up case and suit-carrier.

Though as small as the rest of us, he was thin and rangy – he looked tall and acted taller still. His long face was sinewy and seemed to hold a real inner strength. His hair had been dyed so often he had forgotten its original colour, but his skin was fair and might have been freckled, if it ever saw the light of day.

Degsie turned up to one of our gigs, in response to a demo tape we had sent him. Graham had dyed his hair bright red to match the shirt he was half-wearing. He had tight white trousers, and boots with a three inch heel. He had painted a red lightning flash on the boots, Bowie style, and was camping it up to the hilt.

We always finished with 'Liberation', and that night he threw himself into it with more abandon than I had seen before, goading the audience into singing along with the choruses. I could only see him from behind, of course, and in one move, he'd sink to his knees, before kicking himself upright and belting out the last verse.

This time, he leant forward, level with the punters in the audience, and he kissed a guy who had been ogling him all night – our first contact with Gideon. We had to hold the chords for about three bars before he stood up and bawled out the last verse.

He got some barracking from some of the lads around the bar, but most of the audience took it as part of the act, and sent us off stage with the best applause we'd had so far.

After the show, Graham had to juggle Degsie and Gideon, ambition and lust vying for his attention.

In the end, ambition won and we spent an hour listening to Degsie's bullshit and agreeing to a try-out in a decent studio. That arranged, Graham disappeared with Gideon and it was three days before we saw him again.

It had been a brilliant gig for all of us – even I managed a night between the sheets with a girl from the front row – I can't remember her name, or even the colour of her hair, but I can remember the tattoo of a blue-bird on her breast and the way it almost flapped its wings as she bounced up and down on top of me on the bed in Joe's flat - Poor Joe ended up alone on the couch – still that's a roadie's life.

Everything after the meeting with Degsie was a bit of a blur – contracts, lawyers, image consultants, recording sessions and better drugs than I had ever come across in the provinces.

Almost from the start, though, Gideon began to take over my position. He was tall – five foot eight – which was tall by our standards. He was dark, and he was handsome – elegant, anyway. He was always well-dressed – fitted shirts, tight pants and well-shined shoes with a penchant for white silk scarves worn under his leather bomber jacket.

He could play keyboards and he could write a tune – he had a lot of half-baked songs already done. Graham seemed to take a delight in playing us off against each other. I had the advantage that I could play better, and write a more convincing tune, but Gideon was his lover and was with him twenty-four hours a day.

Graham has a bit of a malicious streak, I find. Seeing that I was upset with losing my creative outlet (not to say songwriting royalties) he cut me out even more, preferring Gideon's banal output to mine. I tried writing with the others, but only The Hulk seemed interested and I found him clumsy and slow with words and ideas.

Fortunately, Gideon's keyboard playing wasn't up to stage standards, so there was little chance of me being ejected from the band, but I turned it over and over as the coke gradually dissipated. Success was within our grasp – but would I have to move on as soon as it arrived?

Late that afternoon, I was back in St Johns Wood. So was Degsie, but we were the sole representatives of New Romancer. Far too early for Jake and Howie. Graham and Gideon were still sulking over the song choice, while The Hulk had lost interest.

I got in before Degsie, and met Magic Dan's pet guitarist. Another hippie. If he had been a basketball player, they would have outlawed him. Too tall, too thin and hands bigger than the basket. Anyway, Douglas played the riff on the second attempt, note perfect. Not quite good enough for Magic Dan though, and he was on the fifth take when Degsie came in...

'Dougie, me old mate.' Douglas gave him a sickly grin.

'Me and Dougie go way back' – he came up to the guitarist and punched him in the arm. Douglas gave him a (literally) pained look.

'Awright Degsie' – oh my God, I thought, another scouser. He had kept his accent under control until Degsie arrived.

'When Dan told me he was using Dougie, I had to come over'. I had a sinking feeling, but there was nothing that could stop the reminiscences about the good old days back in Scouseland, back in the old transit vans, back in the old bars and coffee houses. I wouldn't mind, but I could see myself in twenty years doing the same thing – boring the arse off some young guy about how great the eighties were, and how easy they had it these days.

'Dougie was in my first band – 'The Ferrymen' – great band.'

'You mean, you joined my band', said Douglas, animated for the first time.

'Now, you lads wouldn't have got nowhere without me.' Degsie pulled out a partially chewed cigar and waved it.

'Course, I went on to 'The Five Swingers' and you know the rest. Dougie went all psychedelic– didn't you mate – what was your group called?'

'Well, we were called 'Spiral Consciousness', but I don't think the North was ready for that sort of music. We had it easier when we moved to London, but the record company never really got behind us.'

Magic Dan was ignoring all of this, concentrating on adding extra drumbeats from the Fairlight. Degsie was going on about his 'hits' – a number five, a number four and a number two – 'We was robbed - fuckin' Rolling Stones'.

After that, his career foundered, though he spent four years in cabaret with various incarnations of his group, before going into what he laughingly called 'management'.

Dougie, meanwhile, played in a couple of other bands – including a spell with 'The Five Swingers' – before going into session work.

Still, Dougie could play and we got the riff down pat after another couple of takes. Magic Dan didn't have a Synclavier, but he did have the Fairlight – I'd used it for the guitar samples that Dougie was replacing - and I put down a couple of orchestral stabs to liven it up.

We had finished by seven, and Degsie was insisting on taking Dougie home for a drink. I wasn't invited, but took a lift into town. Degsie lived in Kensal Rise, and dropped me at Ladbroke Grove on his way home, with Dougie looking a bit gloomy in the passenger seat. On the way Degsie was prattling about the tour we were about to start.

We were due to embark on our first tour of Europe. Sounds great? Well, we were practically unknown, and we weren't supporting anyone, so it wasn't a question of a tour bus and two pantechnicons to kit out the football stadiums – It was a minibus and a Mercedes van. We were playing to venues with three to five hundred seats, but it was a start – and who knows, when the single hit in January, we might have to upgrade the venues. Starting in Holland we would go to Germany, France and Spain before coming home towards the end of January. There was even talk of a follow-on tour of the States if we had a hit.

Magic Dan was now Degsie's best friend and the name 'Dan' was rarely out of his sentences. It would have made a change from 'fuck' but he kept the 'fucks' in anyway.

'Dan's got a sideline in van hire, you know.' I was surprised it was something so prosaic – not brain surgery or artificial intelligence.

'Ay, fuckin' van hire – we're going to lease our stuff from him for the tour.' I was really interested – I almost bothered to reply, but I'd sunk so far into apathy I couldn't muster any sarcasm.

'He's well impressed with you, so he can't be all that fuckin' clever.' Was this a compliment? First I'd ever had from Degsie. I grunted something and cheered up a little.

To be honest, I think I was a bit down after the coke binge, so I was happy to get out and walk around in the bright lights of the shops. Nearly Christmas, and there were mountains of tat for the punters to snap up. It had stopped raining, and the lights seem to banish the cold.

I'm not a cynic – at least, not about Christmas – and I just enjoyed myself walking the streets and feeling more and more happy. I'd done my little bit of Christmas shopping the previous week. My dad had died a few years back, so there was only Mum and my sister in the immediate family. I was going to be really egotistic and send everyone else a signed copy of our album. Cassettes for the younger ones, and vinyl for the oldsters. To be honest, I didn't have a lot of money, and most of what I had went on what Graham would have called 'inspiration'; green herbal inspiration, white powdery inspiration or the occasional inspiration pill.

I passed a bookshop on the corner of Westbourne Park Road, and they had a display of the paperback of Adrian Mole's Diary – I knew my sister was dying to read it, so I slipped in to get a copy – I would add it to her Christmas presents. She was nearly three years younger than me, and still lived with Mum.

Inside the shop, it was nearly empty. Being Christmas, it was late night closing – eight thirty, according to the sign. I grabbed a book and headed off to pay.

The girl on the till was just my type – female. She was a little older than me, and not that much taller. Dark brown hair and an olive complexion that said warm exotic country with hot sun and long siestas.

'Hi – I'm Jonnie Cole', I said 'from 'New Romancer'- you might have heard our last chart entry?'

She looked at me blankly and said 'That'll be one ninety-five' in a Birmingham accent.

I paid and walked out into the night, wondering when we would get on 'Top of The Pops'.

I'd had enough of Christmas cheer so I got the tube back to meet the rest of the guys and see if they wanted to rehearse or get wasted. I had a suspicion it might be the latter.

In the end, we did both.

We'd been playing for an hour, and had gotten through about three good joints. Graham never indulged – 'I must be careful with the voice, dear' – so he had snorted his last little bit of coke without offering to share.

I'd brought back a couple of cassettes of the twelve inch and I gingerly introduced the idea that we might listen to it. Graham was not pleased, but when we played it, he gained a bit of enthusiasm.

'He's got my voice nicely mixed.' – Magic Dan had stuck a slapback echo on it, and a bit of phasing. It really suited the falsetto in the chorus. The striking feature of the record was now the end – Magic Dan had introduced a final minor chord, and he seemed to float Graham's voice over it, sustained by the echo, and the music died and was replaced by the mournful sound of the wind. It was so lovely that it might actually tempt DJs to play it all the way through.

Once Graham had okayed the mix, we were free to get excited.

'It's very commercial', said Howie.

'Number One, for sure', said Jake.

'We're on our way, lads', said I.

The Hulk grunted in what we took to be a positive way.

'Maybe you could listen to some of the tunes I've got', Gideon said to The Hulk. That disloyalty was a step too far. Graham let out an audible sob and left the room, pursued by Gideon, while the top of The Hulk's head nearly came off, his grin was so wide.

We stood around for a bit, then thumped our way through 'The Sun Always Shines on TV' – which looked like being the Christmas Number One. We did a couple of Jam tracks to keep Howie happy, then Jake crept out to see what was happening with Graham while I tried 'Sir Duke' – tricky, and too complicated a keyboard rhythm for The Hulk to start in the right place.

Jake came back half an hour later, and picked up the guitar again. He reverted to metal with a bit of 'Black Knight' – Howie half-heartedly following on bass.

'He's not happy', Jake said eventually, pulling out a packet of fags.

'No – really?' I said, ever helpful.

'He says he won't do the tour.' Jake did seem to be taking it seriously.

'Friday the thirteenth', Howie said, gloomily.

'He won't leave', I said. 'He said that yesterday, and the day before and the day before that.'

Graham must have left the band twenty times. Every time someone wanted to do something that he didn't, he would flounce off, threaten to leave, and relent when we agreed to do what he said. I was getting fed up with it, but I suppose we realised that we needed him a lot more than he needed us.

We skinned up and smoked another joint – and another. Feeling better, I fantasised about getting another singer, but I knew it wasn't going to happen. We were depending on Gideon to get us out of this mess – after all, he had gotten us into it.

We tried another couple of tunes, but the session was over. We sat and smoked then crashed, awaiting what tomorrow would bring.

****

### **Saturday 14th**

###

It was early when I woke up – about ten thirty – and Howie was still snoring in his bed. I was still a bit spaced from all last night's dope. I had a shower and let the lukewarm water ease me into the day.

I hadn't phoned Mum for over a week. I could only manage to phone her at the weekend – she worked during the week, and I was always occupied at night.

'Hi Mum – It's John' – no 'Jonnie' with Mum.

'John – I wanted to speak to you' – oh dear, she was using that voice.

'Sally says you're not coming home for Christmas.'

'I'm sorry Mum, but we're touring, and Derek wants us in Amsterdam for the end of December.' No 'Degsie' either, for Mum. 'Then in Germany for Christmas Day, and I just can't make it home.'

I'd meant to break it to her earlier – we always made a big thing of Christmas, even more since Dad died, and I knew it would be hard for her.

'I've got all my presents, Mum, I'm sending them off tomorrow.' Liar! But, I would have to do it soon. We were going in eight days. That is, if we still had a band.

She went on for a couple of minutes, to make me feel guilty – but this might be my one chance for fame, fortune and mindless sex. I tried to change the subject a bit.

'I've got Sally a Walkman – one of the sporty ones – and I might even throw in a copy of our album.' At least that made her laugh. Sally had a box full and she'd given a copy to just about everyone at school and all their relatives. She was really proud of me, especially since we made it (just!) into the pages of 'Smash Hits'. It had a little bio about each of us – I've still got mine...

_Little Jonnie (that's how he spells it!) Cole is the baby of the group – just 20 this year! He gave up a promising career as a concert pianist (yes, we believe that as well) to play keyboards with New Romancer. He doesn't have a girlfriend – so you could be the one!! His favourite colour is green and his favourite food is strawberry cheesecake. _

I wouldn't mind, but I hate cheesecake. Even so, I kind of expected a couple in the post but, sadly, no.

'And I've got that Adrian Mole book.'

'Oh – she's already read that one, John.' Shit, still I could return it, and maybe get a bit further with the foxy little lady in the bookshop.

We went through the two uncles, their wives and our small crop of cousins. I bought presents for the uncles and aunts, but not normally for our cousins. This year, however, I was 'famous' - not that I had any money – so Mum convinced me that it would have to be a Walkman for each of them. There were only four of them, so it wouldn't really break the bank.

By the time I'd finished with Mum, it was after eleven and time for breakfast. There wasn't much in the kitchen, but I managed toast from some stale bread, and two cups of coffee before leaving for the tube – just as Howie surfaced.

Tottenham Court Road in the weeks before Christmas isn't the place to be if you dislike crowds. Me, I love them. I always enjoyed feeling part of something, even if it was only part of the swivel-eyed panic that the approach of Christmas induces.

I love electronics too. Keyboards, pedals, recorders, drum machines – I just love them. I had to stop at virtually every shop and stare. Even so, it didn't take me too long to get the four Walkmans. I left the shop clutching two carrier bags with the bulky cardboard boxes.

At that point, I realised maybe I should have gone to the bookshop first. I wasn't sure that this was a good idea, as I rattled around the Circle line – but a plan is a plan, even if it's a crap one. Still, it did occur to me that I could have walked up to Charing Cross and all the bookshops there.

I made my way along Kensington High Street, still enjoying the crowd and looking forward to the encounter with Foxy Bookshop Chick. I was looking in the windows of the various shops – clothes, crockery and food, mostly - when I passed a wholefood café. A familiar stocky figure drew my attention.

It was Degsie – he was at a table in the window with a girl – not bad looking, and really fashionably dressed – dramatic black and white blouse, with a black headband round her blonde hair. She had pale lipstick and dark eye make-up. She was arguing with Degsie – fair enough, he wasn't the kind of guy you should agree with.

I reckoned she must be one of his other 'acts'. He kept telling us he was neglecting them to look after us. Presumably he was telling her that he was neglecting us to look after her – and she probably believed it as much as we did.

I thought it might be time to introduce myself. She wasn't really my type – though she was definitely female – but with Graham unhappy and our best shot so far getting to number forty, it might be time to make new acquaintances in the business – everyone needs a keyboard player, after all. And even if she wasn't my type, I could make an exception.

Weaving my way through the people in their bulky coats, with their bulky presents, I was swinging my bags of electronics around and making myself unpopular. Fortunately, there were only a couple of tables between the door and their table.

'Good afternoon, Mr Derek. Won't you introduce me to your delightful companion?'

'Oh fuck off, that's all I need – one o' you tossers.'

'Is this one of them?' She said in a broad scouse accent. Was the world full of them? Call me prejudiced, if you like, but scouse seems even worse coming from a woman's mouth.

'Look, Jonnie, mate, me and Amanda are having a personal chat, and much as I'd like to discuss your hopes, needs, desires and aspirations, I'm busy – so fuck off.'

'There's no need to be so rude to the lad.' – All I needed was the scouse-ette sticking up for me – 'but we do need to talk, so please excuse us.' She had turned to me to deliver the brush-off, and I noticed how blue her eyes were – a deep, dark blue.

'I will, madam', I said, bowing, and attempted to leave the café without swiping anyone with my bags – I almost succeeded – just one small collision with a middle-aged gent by the door. He huffed, I apologised and I was out in the cold air again.

'A personal chat' – surely he wasn't knocking her off – mind you, anything is possible and the lure of the music business might lend even Degsie a certain charm – in low lighting conditions, anyway.

I was used to being insulted by Degsie, but even so I felt a little low as I approached the bookshop. FBC was at the till, just visible through the piles of rubbish Christmas books. I went in and pulled out the book, in its brown paper bag, and the receipt.

'She's already got it, I'm afraid – can I get a refund?'

'We don't do refunds.' She'd get rather ugly lines on her face if she made that expression too often.

'Or an exchange?'

'O.K.' She seemed to be softening a little.

'Do you read 'Smash Hits'?' It wasn't meant as an insult, honest.

'No – but if you do, we've got the annual.' She made that face again.

'It's for my sister', I said, and shuffled off to the Christmas shit. It had been published weeks ago, of course, so no mention of us – just Phil Collins, Paul Young, Nik Kershaw and all the others.

Still, I picked up a copy and paid the difference.

'We might be in it next year', I said. There is a particular type of look that a woman can give you that combines extreme contempt with insulted pride. She was very good at it. Still, one tries.

'Do you like pop music at all?' I stumbled over whether to say 'Rock'.

'No – not at all.' And she turned to the next guy in the queue, with an expression that said a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

I got the tube back to Camden. At least I had the Christmas presents, but on the way I pondered the future. Too many rejections does that for a man.

I decided that I really had to make an effort to put myself around a bit more in the London music circles. Our band had been fragile when Graham took us over. Jake and Howie were really a bit uncomfortable playing anything other than metal. I was more in touch with the synth pop thing, but I would play anything - with anyone - to stay in this business.

The band had gotten even more fragile when Gideon appeared on the scene. I could see him taking my place sometime soon. Even The Hulk was getting in on the writing act. I'd hardly started phase one of my career, and it was time to move on.

The life of Magic Dan seemed more appealing to me now than life on the road. I wouldn't mind living with Dotty and the dogs. Mind you, I had to find my Dotty first – preferably one with a bit less of the endless chatter.

It was more or less dark when I got back to the flat. I could hear the thud of the bass and drums a couple of houses away – no soundproofing works that well – and my spirits rose. When I got in, they were all in full flow and they gave a little mock cheer as I entered the room.

I was home.

****

### **Sunday 15th**

###

The plan was to launch our tour with a press gig in London before leaving for Holland. Degsie couldn't find a decent venue free except for the Monday. Not ideal, but it would have to do.

We had Sunday in the hall to practice, and fiddle with the running order. Ade, Joe and Sam had set up the lights and equipment by the time we arrived. I'd known Ade and Joe since we were at school together, while Sam had been at Jake and Howie's school a couple of years before them. He was already an established soundman by the time we arrived in London with a vacancy, so it was nice to keep it all in the family.

Graham had produced the running order for the press show. He had cut it down to the tracks on our album, highlighting 'Take Me Home, Trudie' halfway through. That was its natural place - with the other slowish numbers. We had to plan the lighting changes with Ade and try and time everything out to about an hour.

Graham was in prima donna mode. Every suggestion I made was rejected with some variation on 'I've spent all night on this, and all you can do is complain.' Ade got a bit more respect, but everyone else just did as they were told.

We were rehearsing 'Love Is So Last Year' and just getting into my solo (DX7 winds, using the breath controller) when Degsie arrived. He had the girl from the café with him. She was dressed in a heavy dark blue coat, open to reveal a blue boiler-suit tucked into motor-bike boots, with a black head-band around her blonde hair. An electric blue scarf around her neck set off her eyes. She was about average height for a woman – a bit taller than me – and slim. She had a Nikon camera hanging from her neck, and a large gadget bag on her shoulder.

Degsie pulled himself up to his full height – two inches shorter than the girl - and shouted...

'Awright lads, knock it off for a minute.'

We ignored him, of course, and finished off the song. The girl raised the camera, which had a short telephoto in place, and aimed it at the band, taking a few shots, but not straying too far from Degsie.

Once we had finished, we came down off the stage to meet the pair.

'Lads, this is Amanda, and she will be taking the photos on the tour.' He looked a little bit embarrassed.

'Lovely to meet you, my dear.' Graham advanced on her and planted a kiss on her cheek, ignoring the hand she had just extricated from the camera. The rest of us mumbled various greetings.

'I take it Tim is not available?' Graham asked Degsie, who coloured a little. Tim had done the album cover and all of our publicity shots, so far.

'Look, lads, Amanda is a crackin' photographer, and it's time for a change of image – more modern, more artistic and that.'

'Well, I'm sure Amanda is excellent, but we haven't seen her portfolio.'

Amanda herself was going a little red in the face – though not as red as Degsie. She straightened her back and said to Graham...

'Graham, what Derek has omitted to say is that I am his daughter. I have asked for a trial for this assignment – if you don't like the photos I take over the next couple of days, then I'm out – but if you are prepared to give me a chance, you won't regret it.'

I was amazed – I didn't know scouse girls could speak proper English. Even more amazed to think that Degsie could produce a kid like her. Her mother must have been a looker to offset the Degsie genes.

Having proved his point, Graham was as gracious as the Queen at a corgi-breeders' garden party.

'Derek, you rascal, you never told me you had such a lovely daughter – how many more are you hiding?' I stood back in case Degsie exploded – his face was as red as a tomato.

'Amanda, my dear, I am so looking forward to the photos. O.K. boys, let's get back to it.' Our lord had spoken so we started back for the stage. I nodded to Amanda.

'Nice to meet you again', I said. She smiled and busied herself with the camera, as we piled back onto the stage.

We worked pretty hard that day – with Amanda crawling round in her boiler-suit getting angles and going for arty shots of the lighting rigs and so on. Degsie walked up and down making encouraging motions with his cigar and disappearing as soon as the pubs opened.

Graham became human again as we worked. It was back to 'one for all and all for one' – aside from the odd bust-up over Jake's solos, my voicing, Howie's backing vocals, Ade's lighting changes and The Hulk's surprising lack of a sense of rhythm. Well, it was as near as we get to total harmony.

We had it more or less licked. Graham wanted to try some complicated opening to the show, with each of us getting on the stage in turn – gradually building up the song till he jumped on and we kicked in at full blast. After a number of trials, failures and arguments, though, we opted for a bog standard opening with everyone in place. Graham only sulked for an hour or so.

'Well, if you're all incapable of the simplest bit of theatre, I suppose we'd better abandon it.' Graham was always gracious in defeat.

Around eight thirty, we called it a day. As we packed the equipment away, Ade shouted over...

'Anyone fancy a quick one – there's a pub on the corner.'

Well I was in – I hadn't talked to Ade and Joe for a couple of weeks. Graham and Gideon passed, though...

'Love to Adrian, but we're going to the opening of an exhibition – an old friend, you understand.' Graham was keen to trumpet his knowledge of the art world, the theatre, the world of books and his status as the renaissance man of British pop. He and Gideon had kissed and made up – and were ready to bestow their patronage on whoever was fashionable at the moment.

Jake and Howie were up for a couple of beers, of course, as were Joe and Sam. Then Amanda called from behind the speaker stacks.

'Am I invited?'

'Of course', said Ade 'You're one of the crew, now.'

I knew Ade fancied his chances with her. Ade was nearly six foot, and a real good looking black guy – well, mostly black – one of his grans was white. For a lighting man, he dressed well – the roadies' uniform of black tee shirt and jeans looked fantastic on his rangy frame. He had a steady girl, at the moment, but you always have to be open for better offers.

He had been the only black lad in our form at school, and I was easily the smallest. We both tended to be picked on by the bullies, so we became allies, then friends – along with Joe.

Joe was bullied because – well, because he was Joe. He seemed a bit dumb, but he wasn't. He was easy to tease, and he took any insult at face value, getting red and angry at the smallest prick to his ego. Kids would wind him up until he lost it – kicking and thrashing at his tormentors.

It was a kind of bullfight, with Joe as the bull. He was bigger than Ade and bulky – half muscle, half fat. At school he was a smaller version with big fists that he swung around with abandon, but only connecting with empty space, as the other kids danced out of harm's way.

On the rare occasions that he did catch anyone, it would always end in the headmaster's study, with Joe being disciplined for the bleeding nose, black eye or, on one occasion, the broken leg of the real culprit.

Now, he was over six foot and bulky, his brownish blonde hair was shoulder length and tied in a pony-tail, covering his ears. He habitually wore various shades of khaki with brown boots, as if he was a squaddie gone to seed. In true roadie style, he had a sheath-knife on his belt and was fond of pulling it out and throwing it at the speaker bins. All this macho posturing didn't stop Jake and Graham picking on him, though.

'What's it like having Degsie as a dad?' I swear she almost shuddered, and I laughed – which wasn't a good thing to do.

'Look, it's not a joke – right?'

'Sure, I didn't mean anything by it.'

'He doing his best. It's just that the damage is done. He walked out on us and left Mum in the lurch. You can't forgive him for that – you just can't.'

'Joey, my step dad, was great. But he didn't move in with us till I was seven or eight. He's dead now – cancer. We were expecting it – doesn't help, though.'

'What was your dad like?' She asked, looking me with her almost purple eyes.

Amanda and I were jammed together in the corner of the grotty pub. Jake and Howie had left after a pint, taking Sam with them to find a better pub with a bit more action. Ade had made his predicted play for Amanda, but she wasn't taking the bait, and he was bit half-hearted. I could see that she might fancy him later – maybe after she got the job. Then Joe had started talking earnestly to him about the lighting and stage company they were thinking of starting, so that left me and Amanda to find something to talk about.

My dad was a familiar subject for me.

'It's funny, really. I can remember my dad when I was little, and I can remember him when I was older, and it seems like two different people.'

'Why?'

'Well, when I was little, I loved him. He used to play football with me. We used to take the dog for walks. He used to take me fishing, though I didn't like that much – too slow.'

'When I got older – about twelve – he just seemed to be shouting at me all the time.'

'Maybe you were a naughty boy?' She laughed - I should have taken her back to the flat and shown her how naughty I could be, but I was too wrapped up in the story now. I'd already rehearsed it with the others several times, so she was getting the polished performance of me as a spoiled brat.

'Maybe, but by the time I was fifteen we just rowed the whole time. I just hated him – really hated him.'

'And then he died. Just keeled over at work. We had our usual set-to the night before – I was playing my music too loud, I was good for nothing at school, I was untidy and all that.'

'It was the last time I saw him. A week later we had the funeral and that was that.'

'If I could turn back the clock I could tell him that I didn't mean it all. But I can't, so I've got to get on with it.'

She touched my arm, and didn't say anything. Having brought us both down, I thought I had to try and lighten up a bit, but Amanda got in first.

'So we're both orphans', She said this with a smile.

We clinked glasses, and the other two looked at us – Ade giving me a particularly sharp look.

'So what made you sign up for this tour?' I said.

'Well, I had a few offers of work after college – you send a portfolio out, basically, and they offer you freelance work or a job, but nothing looked exciting. Then my father got back in touch – and offered me this gig. It certainly won't do me any harm to have the experience, and I'll get to know him – I may not like him, but I need to know what kind of a person he is.'

'There you are – I've been looking everywhere for you fuckers.' Degsie appeared through the engraved glass door, right on cue. He dragged a stool over, ignoring the woman trying to tell him that it was being used, and plonked himself down at our table.

'Are they ready for this gig?' He asked Ade.

'I don't know Degsie – ask Jonnie.'

Degsie lifted his right hand up till the gloved hand was behind his ear, and the elbow pointing straight at me.

'Jonnie, mate, is this me arse?' It wasn't the first time he'd paraded this example of the famous scouse wit, and it wouldn't be the last.

Amanda clicked her tongue, and Degsie suddenly realised that he should be on his best behaviour.

'Well it better be good tomorrow – our last opportunity to impress the fuckin' hacks before we hit Europe.'

As Degsie had arrived, we all thought it was time to leave, so I got the tube back to Camden, while Ade and Joe left for Bayswater. Amanda shared a taxi with Degsie.

I sat in an almost empty tube carriage and wondered if it was too early to have stage fright. I decided it was much too early, but my body still went for the 'where's the nearest toilet' option. I'd be glad when this was over.

****

### **Monday 16th**

###

Monday is not the best day for a gig. You don't need me to tell you that. No-one's got any money. No-one wants to be out late, 'cos they were out late last night, and there's another four days of grind, grind, grind.

On the plus side, it was getting on for Christmas – I'd just posted all my presents back to Mum that morning. Some people in the hall were in the party mood, and with a free bar, the rest of them were rapidly getting that way.

Also we knew half of them, so the other half were probably girlfriends, boyfriends and other hangers-on. I hadn't spotted the two 'journalists' (we're talking Smash Hits here) I knew, which was a bit odd, but then I suppose Christmas is not a good time to go to mid-week gigs, even if it is your job.

We had changed a few arrangements – the influence of Magic Dan had me doing orchestral stabs on the Emulator and Jake attempting long arpeggios in key instead of the pentatonic - I didn't know he could even play a proper scale. Howie had something resembling a smile – I didn't know he had those muscles.

Even The Hulk seemed sometimes to achieve a bit of subtlety. His normal approach was to hit everything as hard as he could, as often as he could. Leaving the occasional gap emphasised the main beats and a slow glimmer of comprehension seemed to pass over his features.

So we were all looking forward to trying the stuff in our first proper gig as a recorded band, with one hit (number forty is still a hit!) and another in the pipeline.

Graham was in full-on star mode, though.

He complained to Degsie about the dressing room.

Degsie told him to fuck off.

He complained to Degsie about the lighting.

Degsie told him to fuck off.

He complained to Degsie about the colour of the monitors.

Degsie told him to fuck off.

He complained to Degsie about the punters smoking.

Degsie told him to fuck off.

He complained to Degsie that we were going on too early.

Degsie told him to fuck off.

He complained to Degsie that Amanda hadn't turned up.

Degsie told him to fuck off.

But then Degsie looked thoughtful, told him he would look into it and we didn't see him again till after the gig.

I hate hanging around backstage before the gig. We were nervous and edgy. It was always like this – even when we played small bars and nightclubs, the adrenaline tightened the throat and loosened the bowels.

Graham had lost Degsie to complain to, so he turned to Howie.

Now, Howie had an outlook on life that even Morrissey would regard as overly negative. The more Graham complained, the more Howie agreed that everything was crap, and getting worse. The more Howie agreed, the more Graham complained. And so it went on with them digging a deeper hole of grievances against Degsie, the punters outside, the record company, the record-buying public and THE WORLD in general.

The Hulk started making little growling noises. Might have been attempts at words, I suppose, but they were accompanied by swigs of a bottle of Jack Daniels – god knows where he got it from, but I guess he thought it was what rock was about. Jake managed to get it off him for a couple of hits, but he got his paws back on it quickly.

Now I should say that The Hulk would have liked to be Keith Moon, the Who's famously hedonistic drummer. However, he had a couple of things working against him. He couldn't hold his drink, and he couldn't hold a beat.

There was nothing to be done about the first problem, but with timing we usually used a drum machine – an 808 or a Linn – and he played along to the pre-programmed tracks. So long as he wasn't completely legless, we were O.K.

So Graham and Howie kept up a litany of complaints while the Hulk got pissed. Jake and I smoked some stuff he had been given while Gideon just paced the floor – though why he was nervous I have no idea – he would only be watching us make fools of ourselves.

God, that grass was strong, though. It was some kind of home-grown shit – dark green and coarse. A couple of hits and I was really out of it – I mean, really. Normally with grass I just sort of mellow – but this stuff seemed more like acid. The whole world seemed to go sort of two dimensional, and my heart – already thumping from the pre-gig nerves – started pounding in my chest, like it was trying to escape.

'You're on', shouted Gideon and we trouped towards the stage. We had been introduced by some suit from the record company, and some of the audience were applauding as we approached the side curtains, nearest the drumkit.

Graham led us on, followed by The Hulk, who appeared to be weaving a bit. As they reached the side of the stage, Graham stopped to peek out at the audience. The Hulk didn't stop and bumped into him. Graham pushed him off, and he stumbled, grabbing Graham as he fell.

Graham went right over the top of The Hulk and tripped onto the stage, blundering into the drumkit. We all rushed on to cover the confusion, except for The Hulk, who was on the ground. We plugged in and tuned up as The Hulk got to his back paws, and weaved on, sitting behind the Simmons kit with a thump. He ran the sticks around the kit, making enough noise to wake all of North London. He kicked both bass drums simultaneously and fell backwards off his stool and into the Linndrum he had so carefully programmed to keep time.

It crashed to the floor, and the leads snapped off at the back – the roadies would have to take it apart to remove the bits of jack plug from the outputs.

At this point, the audience thought that this was part of the act. I was still out of it, and I think Jake was not that well. Graham hissed...

'Come on, let's do it.' And counted us in to 'Morning Comes to Marianne' and we started off.

What a total, unbelievable, fucking shambles.

The Hulk played all over the place. Like a broken watch, he was only on-time twice a day. Jake played half the song a semitone too high, while I played my solo using a choir voice instead of the piano it should have been. Graham got more and more wound up, and his voice started to choke in his throat.

We finished the number – well we stopped it when we ran out of words. There was silence in the hall. Then a couple of our friends started some polite applause and a few other people joined in – pitiful.

'Well folks, we're a bit short of match practice', said Graham, turning round to glare at me, for some reason, and counted us into 'Now Is The Time'. If you know the number, you will know that I start it with a kind of honky-tonk piano before the bass and drums come in and Jake hits an A minor.

I was sweating and almost hallucinating with the grass when I started, but training took over and the honky-tonk emerged intact, if a little shaky. Howie and The Hulk managed to almost coincide, and the tune took off. I couldn't understand why Graham was looking daggers at me, till it slowly dawned on me that we were still out of tune – almost a semitone. I looked down in horror at the tuning knob – it was off-centre – Jake hadn't been out of tune at all, it was me.

I centred it quickly, pulling the keyboard back into tune, and you could almost hear the sigh of relief from the audience and we rushed through the rest of the song.

We pulled it back a bit, but we had lost the audience, and some of them had started to drift out. We got as far as 'Liberation', which would end the first set. Graham had figured this as the audience participation number with its chorus...

_I'm so liberated_

_Free to change, to break the mould,_

_I'm so liberated_

_Free to do what I've been told. _

When we got there, though, he didn't have the nerve and we just plodded through it, glad to get to the end of the first set. We trooped off stage to some applause, but not much.

We sat in the dressing room, silently brooding for a minute or two until Graham hurled the towel he had been using onto the floor.

'You should have been playing, Gideon, ' Graham said 'instead of this tosser.'

'and you...' he rounded on The Hulk. Well The Hulk gave a sort of grunt and threw a punch at him. I say threw, because he was over four feet away and only succeeded in spinning round and falling on top of Jake.

Gideon attempted to pull The Hulk off Jake.

'Come on boys, think positive. You've got the second set. You can pull it back.' He got The Hulk back to a standing position but he threw another punch, this time connecting with the side of Gideon's head.

The Hulk doesn't have much in the way of stature, but he does have strength in those paws. Gideon went down while Graham gave a shriek and crashed over a chair in his eagerness to get at The Hulk. Howie then decided to put himself between them and The Hulk landed one on the back of Howie's head.

I sat looking at Jake. He looked at the mayhem, looked me in the eyes and slowly shook his head, drawing deeply on a cigarette. I sat watching as Gideon, Graham and Howie took a corner each of The Hulk, leaving the left back paw to kick ineffectually at the air.

At that moment, Degsie walked in, with Amanda. She was holding the Nikon with a telephoto lens.

'Fuck's sake – what's going on?'

'Bit of a disagreement, Degsie', said Jake. The Hulk continued to kick the air. Graham was making a peculiar whining noise, while Gideon was trying to calm things down...

'Mike, Mike – we're all in this together.'

He was the only one to call The Hulk by his real name – Michael Purvis – if I was him, I'd prefer to be called The Hulk.

Amanda seemed highly amused – she was snapping away with the Nikon, crouching to get angles while trying to keep out of the way of the threshing back paw. She had tight black pants on, with a thin grey cotton shirt, that was quite deliciously stretched in places.

Degsie weighed in and grabbed The Hulk's waving paw. He tried to break free but couldn't. Then he did something that really shocked us.

He started crying.

Gideon let go of him and put a hand on his shoulder.

Graham huffed in high-pitched disgust and dropped the paw he was holding. Howie looked uncomfortable, while Degsie looked like he was deciding whether to aim a kick at his ribs or his balls, but then he let go as well.

Amanda let go of the camera, allowing it to hang from a neck-strap and she held The Hulk's other shoulder. Comforted by Gideon and Amanda, his sobs became quieter. Eventually he wiped his eyes and sat up, looking pathetic.

'What the fuck's going on, then?' Said Degsie.

'We were absolutely fucking awful.' For once, I thought, Graham had summed it up rather well.

'I know – we was watching.' Degsie attempted to put his arm around Amanda, but she moved away, and he shook his arm as if he had really been attempting some aerobic move.

'Hello, Amanda', said Graham, running forward to kiss her on both cheeks.

Everyone else said 'Hi', even The Hulk, who was now upright, if a bit unsteady. I tried to look moodily into her eyes, but she seemed pre-occupied with The Hulk. She was bending down with a hand on his shoulder. It was quite a contrast, she was nearly six inches taller than him and about half the thickness of the barrel-chested alien. They looked like they were rehearsing a scene from The Wizard of Oz, with Dorothy consoling a munchkin.

'Are you alright?' she said in her best scouse.

'He's pissed', said Jake, unnecessarily.

'Are you lads doing the second set? Only there's not many people left out there now', Degsie said. We looked at each other glumly.

'We'd better – we're professionals', said Graham. Degsie nearly pissed himself.

'Fuckin professionals, Ay. – Look, lads, none of 'em paid for the tickets, and it was a free bar – and there was no press there – I didn't invite them. The first gig's always shite – that's why I set this up. Look – you've got a week of rehearsing to get yerselves fuckin sorted, so get down to it tomorrow. Sam can do a disco for an hour or so while the fuckers get pissed on my money.'

So there we were, first gig on the tour a disaster, completely demoralised, and face to face with the fact that we were completely unfit for the next two months of gigging – there was only one thing to do.

You had to lip-read. The music was so loud, your spine vibrated in sympathy with the bass. I don't normally drink – I prefer a good smoke, but Graham insisted on buying a round for everyone – including Amanda, Ade, Joe and Sam. I managed to compromise on an orange juice. Graham fussed around us, playing mother, arranging the seating, making us drink a toast to our future success, even patting The Hulk on the head.

I was sandwiched between Sam and Amanda. I was getting a bit impatient, to be honest. There were girls out on the floor just aching for my freshly showered body, and I didn't want the little bit of coke I'd done to wear off before I was dancing. We had all gone home, got ready and got out in record time to make the most of what was left of Monday. Sam was eager to give me his news though...

'I'm not going on the tour, you know.'

'Why not?'

'Magic Dan's got the gig.'

'Sam, that's terrible' – I was delighted. I mean, Sam was a nice guy, but Magic Dan was something else again. Dotty had mentioned that he was on the look out for a keyboard player, and Degsie had said he was impressed with me – maybe a sideline beckoned if I could get in his good books.

'I'm not bothered, at least I'll be home for Christmas, and Dan might take me on as his tech when he gets back', Sam said – maybe Magic Dan dangled carrots in front of everyone.

'Who's doing the rehearsals, then?' I said.

'Both of us – Dan's not free full-time till the tour starts. Even then, he's got some dates in the studio in Germany – I think that's why he agreed to it, anyway.'

'Fair enough.'

'You two are going, aren't you?' I said to Ade and Joe.

'Sure', said Joe. Ade nodded.

'Drink up, Jonnie, I've got you another one – come on Amanda, finish it off, dear.' Graham was behind us, drinks in hand. He handed me a drink – coke and something, and gave my orange to Amanda.

I drank the first orange down and swapped the coke and something with the orange juice in front of Amanda. It was easier than arguing with our lord and master. Not so Amanda.

'You trying to get me drunk, Mr Hutchings? I didn't think you'd be interested.'

'Well you do look a little boyish in that outfit, my love.' She had changed into black pants and a cream top, and her hair was cut quite short, but there were a couple of things that said 'woman' to me.

Still, she giggled and downed the first drink, starting on the next. I drank mine, and said to her

'Do you fancy a dance.'

'No thanks, Jonnie, I'll sit this out.' – she patted my arm. I looked out towards the dance floor and noticed that all the other guys were staring at me. They all looked away instantly and I shook my head. Paranoia – I must have been coming off the edge of the coke.

'Oh come on', said Graham, 'lets all three go. Quick, finish your drink, you don't want to leave it here.' Amanda giggled and did what she was told. Graham led us both onto the floor, me by his left hand, Amanda by his right, while the rest of the guys cheered.

I didn't care. It was loud, it was colourful, I'd had a snort or two and I was about to dance. Out on the floor, the lasers were amazing. They weren't sync'd to the music, but the interplay of the two made a rhythm in my head that I could complement with my feet and hands.

Graham danced as he normally did. Feet together and unmoving while he swayed his body from the hips and waved his arms around his head and shoulders. It wasn't what I call dancing, but it had charm.

Amanda was good – she swayed a bit like Graham, but moved her feet to the off-beats in a way that I found myself imitating. We three formed a circle, but as Amanda and I were moving, and Graham rooted to the spot, we ended up circling the front-man – much as he wanted, I guess.

Gideon joined us, taking Graham's hands and leading him off for a dance that made no concession to homophobia – I'm straight but even so, I thought it was erotic.

Amanda and I started to synchronise our movements, touching hands on occasion – by chance to start with, then by design. The spotlights seemed to strobe in time to the bass – or was that just in my head? The touch of Amanda's hand was unbelievably sensual somehow. Two bars, left hand, two bars, right hand, one bar left, one bar right, two bars left.

It seemed like we were tapping out a secret code that was powering the music, not responding to it.

The DJ segued into another track, but we were ahead of it, changing our dance instinctively to a spiral pattern that spun us round, back to back then face to face, then face to back in a mathematical pattern powered by music.

As we went back to back, our bums touched. It was an erotic charge that electrified me. It was scarcely human, it was so fierce. I didn't miss a beat though, and when we repeated the move, we did it again, firmer and closer this time, and then again.

Face to face, we were closer too, and we threw our arms back as we moved past each other, touching, the tips of her breasts tracing arcs across my chest.

Next time we made the move, our faces were close enough for her hair to brush mine. Hers lacquered and still, mine floppy and just a little sweaty now, under the lights.

The music faded as the DJ started making announcements – move this car, phone call for someone and so on. Graham reappeared with bottles of water.

'You'd better drink these – you people are working hard!' he said, handing us the water. I hadn't realised how thirsty I was, and drank it down. So did Amanda as the house lights fell again and the music started up.

Off we went again, dancing around each other, dancing closer, dancing further apart, then dancing closer, closer, so close. The night wove around us in lights, music, sound, energy, vibrations. It seemed to last for ever, but eventually the DJ started to wind up the night.

I was disorientated and seemed to be seeing strobe effects even when the houselights were gradually raised. All the guys clustered around Amanda and I - she seemed as confused by the bright lights as I was. Fortunately Jake had fetched our coats and Amanda's bag from the cloakroom and Graham or Howie had called a taxi for us. Amanda and I tumbled in and she gave the driver her address. That done, we started kissing as the taxi negotiated the almost empty streets.

****

### **Tuesday 17th**

###

The taxi driver winked at me as I paid the fare. I tipped him far too much in my eagerness to get into Amanda's flat. It was up a little flight of stone steps with what was once a grand front door split into two rather thin ones - one for the students upstairs and one to Amanda's.

Once in, we sat for what seemed like an eternity kissing and touching each other through our clothes as the little gas heater struggled to warm the room up enough for us to take our clothes off. Then the bed was icy as we jumped into it naked, and Amanda yelped at the shock of the cold. A little judicious wiggling and stroking warmed us up quickly, though.

I realised in the club that our drinks had been spiked, but I didn't know the drug. A bit like speed, and a bit like acid, but not really like either of them. I had made love to a girl when I was stoned on weed – a lovely, friendly, giggly experience. I had made love to a girl when I was pretty coked up on the white powder – a bit of a frantic race to orgasm but a reluctance of the body to cooperate in anything so speedy.

But this was unlike anything else. My skin was alive, my fingers burnt with an icy fire. The core of my being writhed in floods of unimaginable pleasure. Neither of us was in a hurry and the drug let us savour every single minute. Even when we came, it was swiftly followed by renewed desire and further exploration of the most wonderful tactile sensations. We didn't do a lot of talking, but at one point I said 'You know, our drinks must have been spiked.' Amanda answered 'Thank God for that,' and a very small part of me wondered what she meant.

It must have been well after four when we finally fell asleep – exhausted.

I woke up before Amanda. She had blackout curtains in the bedroom but the grey daylight still leaked in somehow. It was hot and stuffy in the flat – the little gas heater was still on max, and we were both lying on the bed, with the quilt drawn over us up to our waists. Amanda was in an almost foetal position, and I was wrapped around her.

I was very dry and got up to get a drink. There was a hand basin in the little bathroom, but no glass, so I turned on the tap and cupped some cold water in my hands, half drinking, half splashing my face. I was a bit down after the drug, whatever it was. I felt somehow at right-angles to reality. I knew I wasn't dreaming, but everything looked and felt strange.

I glugged down a bit more water and stepped back into the flat. Amanda had kicked off the quilt, and was lying on her back. I thought she was beautiful. I'm no fool – she wouldn't have made a living as a model – but I saw only a beauty I had never really seen before. Her pubic hair was almost red, in this light, like a fox's fur. Her breasts were wonderful – small, but beautifully rounded and soft. It was probably the drug but I felt somehow complete and at peace. I stepped over to the bed and kissed her on the forehead, and on the nose, then on the lips, and she struggled to wake up.

Drowsily, she looked at me, gradually gathering the bits of her consciousness together. Her face puckered in something like horror.

'Oh God.'

'What's wrong?' I said.

'You bastard, how could I be so stupid.' She was practically shouting at me. She sat up in the bed and, realising she was naked, grabbed a pillow and clutched it to her chest with her left hand. With the right she slapped me across the face. It was no token blow – it really hurt, and spun me round and away from her.

'Get out – get out of here.'

'What's the matter?' I was confused and overwhelmed with her sudden anger.

'Out.' She screamed the word and I fumbled for my clothes, starting to dress while she sat on the bed obviously struggling not to cry. I kept asking her what was wrong, and she kept refusing to tell me, just shouting at me to hurry up, to get out, to leave her alone.

The only sense I could get out of her was that Graham had tipped her off about me, but about what she wouldn't say. As I left she stood by the bed – pillow still over her breasts, but otherwise naked.

I left the front door of her flat and started to descend the five or six stone steps that led to pavement level. I was about halfway down when Degsie appeared. He had Amanda's camera bag over his shoulder and was whistling.

'What are you doing, you little bastard.'

'Pleased to meet you, too', I said.

'Don't play the fuckin' smartarse with me', he said, squaring up to me. I was in no mood to placate him, but I suppose I had just slept with his daughter, so maybe some tact was in order.

'Look – nothing happened, we just spent the night talking, and then I slept on the couch.'

'Alright, but just you keep your fuckin' distance.' With this, he brushed past me and up to ring the bell. I turned and left quickly before Amanda answered the door.

'Hey, it's lover boy!' Jake shouted, as I entered the flat. There were wolf-whistles from the others, and they crowded round me.

'Well, let's have it – what was little Mandy like?' This from Graham, hands on his skinny hips.

'We didn't do anything', I lied. 'We just talked.'

'I want my money back for that stuff, then', Graham said, as he turned to Gideon and winked.

'What was it? – and what did you tell Amanda about me?'

'Oh, just a little white lie to spice things up. I told her you had a bet with Jake on which one of you could have her first. She seemed quite amused at the time.'

'Why did you do that?' I was angry with him, but puzzled, too. He'd been a bit short with me since Gideon appeared on the scene, but never vindictive.

'It was an experiment, Jonnie. Have you heard of MDMA?' I'd read a bit – it was big on the gay scene, some kind of psychedelic aphrodisiac. It had crossed over to the straight scene in America – they called it Ecstasy, but I didn't know you could get it in England.

'I wondered if it would be strong enough to overcome a little bit of natural hostility – seems not, then.' He sniffed.

I should have just hit him. No-one should spike your drink. Even if you enjoy it. I didn't hit him, though, I was too preoccupied.

****

### **Wednesday 18th**

###

The next two days saw us working the hardest we ever had – it was practically like a real job. We even got to the hall before midday. We rehearsed the lighting moves, the stage moves, new arrangements, new solos and even a couple of word changes. We tightened up everything we could tighten. It was hard work. Harder for me, initially, in that Amanda was around, taking pics at every opportunity.

I don't think I figured in any of them.

I tried to talk to her a couple of times, but she wouldn't listen to me. I wanted to explain that I hadn't spiked her drink, that I was as much a 'victim' as she was. Most times, if I tried to talk to her, she would just walk away. The couple of times she had to listen to me, she didn't believe me.

The first day, she came in – not dressed up, really, just jeans and a black tee shirt, as she was going to be crawling about the little stage, looking for angles. Graham, Jake and I were on stage, working on the lead-in to Jake's solo in 'Love Is So Last Year'. Graham called out...

'Hiya, doll.'

'Hi Graham, Jake – and you Casanova – shagged anyone nice recently?'

I just didn't know what to say, and the guys laughed like it was the best joke that they'd ever heard. I just mumbled something, and I think I actually blushed. She had no business making me feel like a criminal. Before I could think up something cutting, she was off to the lighting console, to photograph Ade and Joe in action.

Once the drug had worn off, I had re-thought my relationship to her, anyway. If we were about to take off, the last thing I needed was a full-time girlfriend, especially one that was on the road with me.

It wasn't even as if I needed to spike her drink. Jake and Howie had both got laid that night, and they were full of how the girls in the club were so keen. Even The Hulk had disappeared, apparently, with another of his species. If that was what it was like for a nightmare gig, what would it be like if we played well?

Anyway, that was the past. Time to work on the future. I kept out of her way, and she kept out of mine, so we got along fine. Plenty more fish in the sea.

Halfway through the first day in the hall, Magic Dan showed up. He had been listening to the album and had a notebook full of changes for the songs. Graham threw a tantrum – he was still stinging from Dan's choice of 'Take Me Home, Trudie'. He wouldn't attack the big man, though.

He went for Ade's lighting changes, so we spent nearly two hours of arguing about whether the spots should be red, blue, green or yellow with just about every bar. You think that playing the keyboards is about scales and chords – think again, it's about standing around in cold, echoing halls, listening to dick-heads picking fights with whoever they think they can browbeat.

Ade's defence is always sarcasm. When Graham demanded a yellow fill on 'Love Is So Last Year', he said...

'With your skin?'

Graham hit the roof, and stormed out, shouting

'I can't work with these wankers any more.'

There was near silence in the hall for a minute or so, then Magic Dan cleared his throat.

'I think I need to talk to him.'

He followed Graham out of the door, leaving the rest of us standing around. The Hulk started throwing his sticks at the snare drum. He had perfected the art of aiming the sticks so that they bounced off the snare and flew like darts at whatever he was aiming at – usually Howie for missing a beat, or Jake for arsing around, or Graham for – well you didn't need a reason.

He was aiming at a fire extinguisher, and clipped it at the third attempt. Fourth and fifth missed, but the sixth really rocked it on its mount. He'd run out of sticks then and went to retrieve them. Jake beat him to it and grabbed the extinguisher.

You can write the script. The Hulk was covered in foam by the time he managed to get his hands on another extinguisher. Howie is a miserable bastard and he sighed, put his bass back in the case and slipped out of the side door. I was a bit down myself, but not about to miss a bit of fun. I grabbed a fat extinguisher just as the other two were running out of foam. Mine was a water type, though, and I got to spray the other two with freezing water – cleaned them off nicely as they chased me towards the back of the hall.

The back door opened, and it looked like Howie was coming back in for a reconnoitre. I let loose with what was left, just as Amanda came through the door. She was still in black, but this time a black shirt, with a red bandana that matched a red Alice band that held her blonde hair back from her eyes. I got her squarely between the eyes.

'Fuck off you childish bastard', she shouted as the water soaked her. She was her father's daughter all right. A foul mouth and a scouse accent, it's a timeless combination.

'Gang of fuckin' kids', she said as she slammed the door. We pissed ourselves laughing, and went off to find a towel.

I don't know how Magic Dan got around Graham, but by the time we had dried off, and cleaned up the mess, they came back. Graham looked at the wet areas with amusement...

'You boys are getting too excited again.'

Graham explained that he had been telling Dan how the new tracks needed to be mixed, and 'they' had come up with some ideas. Apparently, we had to stop messing around and concentrate on the rehearsals, otherwise he, Graham, would take his talents elsewhere.

I started playing 'Do You Really Want To Hurt Me?' and Howie joined in after a couple of bars.

'Fuck off, we've got work to do.'

So we got down to it.

At the end of rehearsals, Magic Dan came over to me.

'We need to make some technical changes, I think.'

'What sort of technical changes?'

'I need to put some new boards into your DXs, and introduce some new programmers and sequencers. They're easy to use and you'll love them. Oh, and the Linn – it needs MIDI.'

So we bundled the kit into the back of his car and went back to St Johns Wood.

We were in Magic Dan's workroom – small but well lit and very sparse. He had one of my precious DXs open on the bench and was soldering some circuit boards into place.

'These boards are good, but they're hand-made so it's a bit of a fiddle sometimes.'

He re-assembled the keyboard and plugged it in.

'What you've got is three extensions – first of all, there are now 1,000 memories.'

I whistled.

'You can also transmit and receive on any channel.'

'Right.' I didn't really know why I needed to, but I guess the Professor would tell me.

'And finally, you get multi-timbral support.'

'O.K.'

Magic Dan grinned at me – he knew I hadn't got a clue.

'Let's do the other keyboards and I'll show you how to use them.'

Three hours later, my head ringing with MIDI channels, programme changes, patches and system commands, we were back in the kitchen, with Dotty and the dogs, this time facing home-made cake and I was about to feed a bit of the fruitcake to one of them when Dotty spotted me.

'Don't – it's got hash in it.'

'Oh right', I said, and shovelled it into my own mouth, much to the dog's displeasure. Dotty rubbed the creature's black nose.

'Never mind, Mickey – we'll get you some biscuits.'

So the dogs noisily crunched biscuits while we got slowly stoned.

'How did you get into this business?' I asked. Magic Dan looked contemplatively at the crumbs and raisins on his plate and rubbed his stubbled chin. He thought for some time before replying, while Dotty seemed eager to fill the silence that had descended on the kitchen.

'It's a long story, and you probably wouldn't be interested. Have you had enough to eat? – I've got some nice chocolate cake.'

Magic Dan finished rubbing his chin, and settled in the kitchen chair.

'Well, Dotty's right - it's not that interesting, really. I was in a band, but we didn't get anywhere, so I went into the trucking business – and I tended to work with the bands that I met when I was playing.'

'I did well out of trucking and built my first studio, as a hobby really. Because I built it myself, I knew the hardware inside out, and it helped in the recording and re-recording.'

'We do other bits and pieces – Dotty trades antiques and we do rare books and prints – anything to turn a penny, really.' He laughed and Dotty added a harmony.

'How come they call you 'Magic'?' The question had only just occurred to me.

'Well...' He showed me both his hands, palms upward and empty. Then he stretched out his right hand to me and I suppressed the urge to duck out of the way. He reached behind my left ear and fiddled around under my hair – a rather uncomfortable experience but it only lasted a couple of seconds before he drew his hand back, holding a fifty-pence coin. He dropped it into the palm of his hand and closed the fingers. Then he tapped his closed hand three times then blew into it, pointing it at the crowded dresser behind me. Then he opened his hand – the palm was empty, and he rotated both hands in the classic magician's fashion.

I laughed. 'Where did you learn that stuff?'

'Well, I wasn't working, one summer – at least, not formally,' He laughed and Dotty joined in again – a bit nervously, I thought.

'...and I found that book, there' he pointed at the dresser, which was crammed with old books, letters, scraps of paper and one or two beleaguered china ornaments.

I stood and turned to the dresser, roughly where he had pointed, and looked through the books.

'The next shelf – the fat one.' I found the book, it was normal size but about two inches thick, and titled 'The Boy's Bumper Book of Magic' by Professor Ali ibn Kazah.

'I especially liked the trick on page two hundred and twelve, or thereabouts.' I opened the book to the page, and a coin fell out to the floor – a fifty pence piece. Having been taken for a sucker, I replaced the book and sat down.

'For a while, it satisfied my need to show off, once the band had folded. Then I started re-mixing some of the tapes that the bands had made – really just to master the technical side of studio work.'

'I just found that I had a talent with other people's material that I didn't have with my own – and that's it really – it just grew from there.'

Dotty gave a sigh.

'I love your songs, Daniel.'

'So do I, Dotty – but it's time for Jonnie and his friends now.' With this he winked at me, and clapped me on the back.

'Look – I like the way you play, you've got technique and a good musical sense.' I didn't know what to do about praise – the guys in the band just took the piss, as did Degsie, so I stared at him in silence.

'After the tour, let me know when you're in London – if you fancy it, there's always plenty of work here.'

****

### **Thursday 19th**

###

By Thursday, Amanda had some prints of her photos for us to look at. We all knew it would be a bit of a formality that she would do the tour, but we had to go through the process. Everyone liked her and she liked everyone – apart from me.

I kept out of the way as much as possible, but Graham couldn't let it pass.

'Jonnie, come and have a look at these shots. I can't find one of you yet, but they're very good.'

Amanda went a little pink and pulled out a big black and white print – about eighteen inches wide.

'I see this as being a good poster', she said as I went over. It was a lovely job – a collage of separate photos. Graham dominated, of course, but the individual shots had been merged, with a ghostly image of a lighting rig in the background, so that each of us was backlit, seemingly by the lights on the rig.

'It's perfect', I said – and I meant it.

'Thank you.' Amanda looked me in the eyes as she said it. Her look was one of defiance – but maybe there was a touch of tenderness. I held her eyes till she turned and put the print away.

Back in rehearsals, the changes Magic Dan – sorry Graham – suggested were mainly about continuity. He seemed obsessed with bpm – beats per minute. Everything seemed to need a click-track, so that the show had a constant pulse. Over the course of the set we were to start fast and speed up even further, then fall back and back before suddenly picking up and accelerating towards the end of the show.

It was the same game plan we always used, but somehow more scientific, going from 130 bpm to 160, then back to 110, then right back to 160. We couldn't lose momentum when it was strictly controlled by the 808 or a Linn.

Magic Dan even had a gizmo that would trigger the lights from the MIDI signal on one or two beats per bar. Ade used it with subtlety but often – it was a killer.

I was using the same MIDI master signal to control the echo on the keyboards – so was Jake on his guitar. All the echoes where in sync. It was all clean, clinical and modern.

Dan also had some wonderful samples for the emulator – a whole box of floppy disks with orchestra stabs, backwards trumpets, treated percussion – like nothing we had heard before. I had to spend a lot of time with our master sound man – my job became less of a keyboard player, and more an electronic technician, syncing everything up and keeping it all ticking to the same clock.

By the Thursday, we were tight and hot and ready for anything. Degsie came in to look, and even he was impressed.

'Not too fuckin' bad at all' – praise indeed. According to Degsie, he had been pushing for the single to be pressed and in the shops for Christmas, but had been knocked back in favour of Shakin' Stevens. We would get a white label out to the DJs and journalists, but the punters would have to wait till after Christmas. We would be in Germany by then.

Graham wasn't too dismayed.

'Well, it'll be there for them to spend their record tokens on – and when you fly us back to do Top of the Pops – do make sure it's first class tickets.'

'You can kiss my fuckin' arse, mate.'

We were shipping out the next day, so we all got to work with the packing – except Graham of course, who dragged Gideon off – without too much protest – to the theatre.

'Tickets to Les Miserables, boys – they're like gold-dust.'

Degsie helped by walking around and pointing with his cigar, till he got bored and left. He offered Amanda a lift, but she turned him down, obviously preferring rolling up cables to sharing a cab with Degsie – most people would make the same choice.

When we got the stuff in boxes and flight cases, we left it with Ade and Joe – they were waiting for Magic Dan to arrive with the truck. I suggested the pub, but Amanda couldn't resist a dig at me.

'Love to, but I think I'll buy my own drinks, thanks.'

Jake and Howie laughed while I went red and The Hulk looked uncomfortable, and said.

'Look Amanda – it was Graham who spiked your drink – Jonnie had nothing to do with it.'

She looked confused and addressed Jake.

'Is that true?'

He shrugged and said.

'Yes – it was just a prank.'

'And that bit about the bet?'

'We made it up.'

'Don't you lie to me again – understand?' Jake nodded, refusing to look at her.

And that was that. No apology to me. No 'Oh, you're not such a bastard after all'. Not even a nod in my direction. She turned on her heel and marched out of the hall, leaving me and the three musketeers to go off to the pub.

****

### **Friday 20th**

###

It was clear breach of the Geneva Convention. We were forced to get up at seven-thirty in the morning. I name Degsie as the guilty man. I didn't even know he had a key to the house, and there he was shaking me by the shoulder.

'Get up, you lazy fucker.'

By half past eight, we were standing, shivering by a white minibus with dents on all four wheel arches, and 'Mac's Motors' written on the doors, over a cartoon of a hippie in a noddy-car – Magic Dan's last name was McCloud. The cartoon hippie couldn't have been Magic Dan, though – the cartoon guy was smiling.

The minibus was the kind with a big sliding passenger door, a ladder and roof-cage. The roof-cage already had a couple of monitor speakers in waterproof covers, so I guessed that the other van must have been crammed full.

Once we got the luggage stowed inside or tied into the roof-cage, we climbed aboard. There were four rows of seats with one seat on the right, and a big seat for two on the left. They were all covered in fake sheepskin that must have been white, once. It was freezing inside - I can't recall the heaters ever working.

Ade was asleep in the driver's seat, with Joe in the big front passenger seat. Amanda was back in the second row of seats, dozy but awake. She was wrapped in a fake fur coat and all I could see of her clothes was her thick black tights and black dance pumps.

Degsie went around to the front and banged on the driver's door.

'Ade, get these fuckers moving, you dozy bastard.'

Ade slowly opened his eyes and looked down at him.

'Yo, Boss – is you getting on board, Boss, or is you gonna walk?'

'Don't be fuckin' funny, Ade.'

With Degsie in, we rattled off. I was asleep before we got out of Camden. When I woke up, we were in the docks at Harwich, and Degsie was shaking me again.

'Wake up you dozy fucker, we're 'ere.'

Safely on board, we made for the lounge – you could find it by the combined smell of burgers and vomit. Inside we found Magic Dan and Dotty. I hadn't known that Dotty was coming, but I was glad she had, though my eardrums might regret it.

They had driven the main truck up from London. Dan had insisted on taking our own P.A. with the rest of the gear, so they had an eight-tonne truck. Ade and Joe were licensed to drive it as well as the minibus, but Magic Dan opted for the first leg.

Dotty was talking to Degsie – and the rest of the bar - in her headmistress's voice.

'.. and when he said he was going away for Christmas, I just had to go with him. I'm not spending Christmas alone – though it breaks my heart to leave Mick and Keef with Mum, though she's happy enough to have them...' on and on in a rolling tide of home counties vowels.

It was an eight hour trip, and too cold to go on deck, so we sat around the bar while those who drank prepared to get pissed and those who didn't prepared to sleep. I just about belong in the drinkers camp, but mostly I stick to the magical herb. This would be a dry crossing for me.

Amanda went over to Graham and talked – I expected some feathers to fly, but they just put their coats on and went out on deck for a private talk. I had cornered Jake after the scene in the rehearsal room and he had told me the full tale.

Graham had set up the joke by telling her about Jake and I betting who could sleep with her first. Then he had spiked our drinks. After my night with Amanda, Jake had 'admitted' to the bet about which of us could jump her first. Then every day either he or Graham would pass some remark to remind her of our 'bet' and how cocky I had been to win it. Bastards – nothing new for them, though.

One of the facts about life in a band is that you always get someone who thinks they can enliven life on the road with a practical joke or two. We were doubly lucky in that we had Jake, who specialised in the brainless apple-pie bed sort of 'joke' and Graham who handled the cruel psychological jokes. When they joined forces, you could guarantee a laugh a minute.

Degsie had slipped loose from Dotty and was wandering down the lounge, whisky in hand, looking for someone to entertain. For some reason, he chose me, sitting down heavily beside me.

'What's up, Jonnie? You've gorra face like a smacked arse.' The world of poetry lost its favourite son, when Degsie went into the music business.

'Nothing wrong with me, Degsie – just wondering what your daughter's got against me.'

'Search me, mate. I love women, but I've never understood 'em. I didn't understand her mother, and I don't understand her. Don't take it personal, I say.'

'The thing is, I never really got on with Sandra – that's her mother.' Degsie took a gulp of his scotch while I sipped a cup of what was advertised as coffee - I suppose that being offshore meant they were safe from the trading standards people.

'When Sandra got pregnant, I was willing to look after her – do the right thing, y'know. But she had a fuckin' tongue in her head. We fought like cat and dog for the nine months. I thought it might be a bit better when Amanda popped out, but – fuck me – it was ten times worse. She called me every fuckin' thing you could think of – and a few more.'

'Then I started gigging again. I was gone for a month, back for a week, so it was a month of good times, and a week of fuckin' trench warfare.'

'I was a good lookin' fella in those days.' I suddenly felt sick – an image of a young Degsie had popped into my mind, in a smart sixties checked suit and cravat with a couple of mini-skirted girls.

'There was no shortage of girls. Sandra wasn't one to miss that, though, and she found a packet of Johnnies in a coat. She nearly burst my fuckin' eardrums, but it was worth it when she threw me out.'

'I sent her money, of course – when I had it. But I couldn't bear going round for a another batch of verbals, so I kind of missed out on Amanda.'

He started staring moodily at his whisky, so I nudged him...

'How did you get back in touch.'

'Oh Ay – it was Dougie – you know the guitarist at Dan's. We go way back, me and Dougie, and he told me she was down in the Smoke. He's a friend of Sandra's, and she asked him to keep an eye on the kid. Well I got in touch. I can't say she was that happy to see me – she's only heard her mother's side. But I persuaded her to come on the tour so we could get to know each other again – and she's a crackin' snapper, isn't she?'

Well I had to say yes. She was pretty good, actually. Just as Degsie finished his tale, Amanda and Graham re-entered the bar, hand in hand and laughing, both wet from the rain. I was glad to see them enjoying the funny side of spiking drinks.

Dotty was going round everyone, checking that they had something to eat and drink. Not trusting the food on board, she had an enormous bag full of sandwiches and home-made cake. I hoped it wasn't more hash cake – we'd been warned off trying to bring anything through the customs in Holland.

Degsie sidled off, and I tried sleeping. I don't get seasick, and the slow roll of the boat was just right to get me off to sleep, but I couldn't manage it. I was ready for action, and sitting around was getting on my nerves. No smoke, no pills, and my nerves were getting a bit jangled.

I wasn't paying attention and I was startled when Dan clapped his hands on my shoulders.

'Dozing Jonnie? - After the late start this morning? What's seven o'clock for a fit young lad like you?' He was still laughing when he pushed past me and out of the door onto the deck. It didn't seem funny to me.

I didn't want to talk to anyone else, so I kept my eyes shut. Not for the first time, I wondered if it was possible to repair my relations with Graham. I don't blame him for choosing his lover as his writing partner, but I honestly thought we complemented each other well. His lyrics tended to be the story kind, and I had an orchestral style that worked well with it. Gideon was O.K. – don't get me wrong – but his simple chord changes and song structures made Graham's lyrics seem silly.

Maybe it was me. Maybe I would have been better off in the days of ELP and Yes. I had been a bit too young for punk, though I liked the attitude – well it pissed my dad off, and that's always good. The synth pop was more my thing, with the chance to use classical and soul influences, but it didn't really stretch me. The more I thought about it, the more I realised that '86 was probably going to be my last year with New Romancer.

I was tipped from my reverie by Dotty and her sandwiches.

'Come on now, Jonnie, we don't want you fading away.' I took a couple of cheese sandwiches off her, to keep her quiet, but she sat down next to me.

'You should talk to Amanda you know – I know you've got some kind of feud, but life's too short – really.'

'Well, you know how it is, Dotty – was it all sweetness and light when you and Dan met?'

She smiled at me – she had those round cheeks that seem to fill up when she smiled.

'Love at first sight, of course, Jonnie – is it like that for you and Amanda?' She poked me in the ribs with a finger.

'No – honestly, there's nothing between us.'

'Is that why you spend all your time staring at her like a scolded spaniel?'

'I do not.'

She gave me a sceptical look and I decided to change the subject.

'You must have rows, though - you and Dan?'

'No', she said - drawing out the vowel to emphasise the negative. I must have looked a little unbelieving and she thought about it for a few seconds.

'One sometimes gets a little impatient with him.' I held my peace and the silence made her elaborate.

'He's sometimes a bit...' she paused '....a bit obsessive. You know - every little detail has to be right and everything has to be planned.'

For some reason she looked at my coat and tutted, but I had no idea what that was about.

'Anyway - not everyone can be as happy-go-lucky as you.'

With that she smiled and went back to circulating. I wrapped the sandwiches in a napkin, put it on top of my little pile of duty free, and tried to go to sleep. Not much chance of that as the noise level was rising. I looked over at Ade, Jake and Howie. They were sitting with Dan who was holding a pack of cards.

'This one then?' He held up a card and they shouted him down.

'OK this one, then?' They barracked him again - evidently he had fluffed the card trick.

'Oh, I give up then.' He threw the pack sideways over his shoulder - right at me. It hit the corner of my chair and exploded into a fountain of cards - mostly onto the floor, but a couple over my shoulder and head.

'Oh my God, sorry Jonnie.' Dan jumped up and ran over, picking the cards off my shoulders and the chair. The others wandered over, laughing.

'Full house or a flush?' Jake asked, while Dan looked quizzically at me.

'Jonnie - what's that card in your top pocket?'

I reached into the breast pocket of the jacket I was wearing. There was a card there. I pulled it out and turned it over - ten of diamonds.

'You bastard Dan - ten of diamonds it was.' Jake thumped Dan on the shoulder while he picked up the card and added it back to the deck. I realised that Dan had planted it half an hour ago. Great - now I could add 'magician's stooge' to my CV.

Our first gig was Amsterdam. Damn good place for a party.

I only wish I remembered it.

On the way from the docks, I had decided that, since Graham didn't want to share his lyrics with me, I'd have a go at writing my own.

I was doing ok. You don't write a lyric like you do poetry. It doesn't stand alone, so with the music behind it you don't need a syllable on every beat.

You can get a line, and add music to it, or get the music and add words, or a mixture. There's much more freedom, and many more possibilities. So it is far easier than poetry and well within my capabilities.

After half an hour, I was still staring at a blank page, with a small doodle in each corner.

I had the pad open, and was sucking on the pen, waiting for the muse to strike. Amanda was going past, camera in hand, trying to get atmospheric pictures with the flat countryside in the background.

'I like your lipstick, Jonnie.'

I spat out the blue ink – all over the sheepskin cover.

'Well, I'm not sitting on that – move over.'

I folded the blue bit of sheepskin over and sat on it, while Amanda slid into the aisle seat.

'Jonnie – I'm sorry for all the misunderstanding. Graham's a bit of a bastard, really.'

'That's alright', I said, awkwardly. Maybe I should have been a bit more angry but with her sitting so close, I couldn't really be angry with her. I didn't fancy her but, at the risk of being clichéd...

'Maybe we can be friends, now', I said, summoning up my famous originality of expression.

'Of course – you know, I should have realised earlier. Every day, Graham or Jake said something to wind me up a bit – everyone else just seemed embarrassed. Why didn't you tell me?'

'I tried.'

'You didn't try very hard.'

'Look – it's not my fault', I said. After a week of treating me like shit, she was trying to make out that somehow it was me that was to blame.

'I never said it was. Anyway, I've got work to do.' And with that she stood up, and nearly collided with Degsie.

'Sorry, presh.'

'I'm not your precious – so don't try it on.' She pushed past him and back to her seat.

'Sorry I spoke – Christ she doesn't 'arf take after her mum.' He gazed at her retreating back before turning to me and thrusting a couple of packets at me.

'Condoms', He said.

'What?'

'You use 'em when you're shaggin' – I've given you twenty-four – should be enough – you don't need 'em for wankin'.'

'Why are you...'

'I don't want to have to sort out any little bastards you leave behind. Besides, shaggin' is fuckin' risky these days.'

And with those pearls of wisdom, he left me to the blank page - maybe Amsterdam would bring some inspiration. Maybe I could use Degsie's presents.

We had a tour of the red-light district, photos with the professional girls. Photos with the Christmas lights, in the bars, in the cafes. If you know Amsterdam cafes, you'll know what I'm talking about.

I'm a sucker for the weed. I ate the cakes, I smoked the pipes. The world was bright and muted at the same time. Quiet and loud. More than anything it was funny. I giggled, I laughed, I howled. By the time we got back to the hotel, I was ready for anything – and fit for nothing.

Degsie had disappeared – maybe the professional ladies had something to do with that. Magic Dan and Dotty had gone as well – I didn't really expect them to spend much time with us. On the other hand, we had acquired a few new friends – mostly female, I'm happy to say. Amanda had disappeared to stash her camera gear, leaving us boys in the company of our new-found companions.

There was a bar – a club, really – in the basement of the hotel, and we made our way down there. I found myself talking to a tall, leggy red-haired girl. Degsie had given us all a little bit of pocket-money in Guilders, so I'd traded some of it for some decent Lebanese resin. I rolled up one to share with Foxy.

She was a couple of inches taller than me – but then, so is everyone. We smoked and chatted – she taught me a couple of Dutch swear words – I taught her a couple of English ones. I told her about the band and the new single and how we would need some good looking girls for the video we would soon be shooting.

I was wondering how I should manoeuvre her upstairs for an audition. Eventually I thought that the direct approach would be best. As luck would have it, though, Graham was just passing, and he gave the perfect excuse.

'My favourite keyboard wizard – have a present' - he handed me a little phial of white powder – 'I'm told it's good stuff.'

With that, he was off, across to Gideon who was trying to communicate with The Hulk and a couple of human females. I turned to Foxy...

'Why don't we go upstairs and try this?' I said, shaking the phial.

'No thanks, I don't do that stuff – there's no problem doing it down here, though.' She was right – everyone seemed to be snorting or smoking something. How the bar made any money was beyond me.

I took the little rubber stopper from the phial and took a pinch of the white crystals – already fine enough to snort, so snort I did. It was probably bravado that made me take a big pinch of the stuff. It didn't feel like the normal coke rush. It was stronger and more disorientating. I had difficulty making my mouth work as I talked to Foxy. After a couple of 'pardon me?'s and 'sorry?'s she said she had to go to the ladies and left me at the bar.

I needed some air, so I headed for the door. It was fire escape type with push bars and a notice in several languages that I didn't read, in case it said anything about being 'emergency only'. I pushed my way through and into the night air.

I was in the garage – I'd forgotten that the bar was in the basement. I turned back, but the heat and din of the bar seemed ten times worse from the outside, and I felt a sudden spasm in my stomach. I leant against a car and puked over the boot, unable to stop myself.

I was sick three or four times, finally retching a few drops of vile tasting liquid and gasping for air. I staggered away from the noise, my head starting to hammer. In the dim, yellow light, I could make out our minibus, with the cartoon hippie and the familiar sight drew me across the concrete towards it. As I staggered towards the bus, the world exploded in pain.

'What have you been doing, you silly fucker?'

Not the best way to wake up. I was aching all over. I was getting shooting pains from my head down my neck and body. I was freezing cold and my head throbbed and banged like a drumkit being thrown downstairs.

Worst of all, I was staring into Degsie's bloodshot eyes, and breathing his whisky perfumed breath.

'I don't know, Degsie, something I snorted, I think.'

'You've cracked your head, you daft bastard. Let's get yer back inside.'

He helped me stagger back into the bar. It was still noisy, but less crowded. It must have been late. Amanda and Ade were there, but no-one else from our brave little party.

Degsie sat me down in a chair and thrust a drink – brandy, I think – under my nose – I almost puked again before managing to push it away.

'That looks bad.' Amanda came up behind me, and I gave myself a new set of shooting pains trying to turn around.

'Sit still.' She sounded cross. She went off somewhere and, after a little delay, she returned and started sponging the top of my head. It was a bit painful, but she was gentle and I almost found myself drifting off to sleep.

'What happened to you – I saw you go off with the red-head.' Degsie sounded pleased with himself. Behind me, Amanda humphed and applied some TCP.

'Ow - I didn't – I don't think.' I couldn't be definite – did I go off with her? If so, it was a real shame, because I couldn't remember anything.

'I'm off to bed – night, night Don Juan.' Amanda left me, Degsie and Ade in the dim bar.

I fished around in my pocket and found the phial. The stopper was gone, but there was a little powder left in it.

'That's the stuff', I said.

'What stuff?' Ade said as he grabbed the phial, and I explained about what had happened. He tipped out a couple of grains onto his finger and tasted it.

'Heroin', he said.

'Are you sure.'

'Yup – couple of guys at the squat were smackers, and this is the stuff alright.'

I made a mental note to give Graham some serious grief tomorrow, but all I wanted to do tonight was get my eyes shut. Degsie and Ade helped me up to my room, and I went out like a light.

****

### **Saturday 21st**

###

There was just me and The Hulk on stage. The audience didn't know that the show had started. I was unlit and invisible, The Hulk was behind his Simmons kit. Double bass drums, four toms. He had real cymbals and a snare. He had a Linndrum playing a closed high-hat at 130 bpm. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Louder and louder. As the volume rose, the lights went down and the audience hushed.

A spot picked out The Hulk, miming to the Linn with his left paw on an inactive tom. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. He raised his right paw in the air with four fingers sticking straight up, and the spotlight followed it. He counted down, folding his fingers one by one – Four, tick, tick, tick, Three, tick, tick, tick, Two, tick, tick, tick, One, tick, tick, tick – Duh, Duh – he kicked the bass drums with a double tap, as Howie hit the bass with low E to F sharp. The lights threw a red and green spot on either side of the stage. The coordination was so tight, I almost wet myself with delight.

Duh-duh, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick,

Duh-duh, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick,

Howie walked on stage from the right, lit by a tight white spotlight, playing on the one. Jake came in with a high F sharp minor, disco style, a slide on the one, and double strokes on all the other beats. He came on stage from the left. They both advanced slowly towards centre stage.

As they met centre stage, Howie changed to a constant F sharp, double time, eight beats to the bar, metal style and Jake matched him on the guitar. Now it was my turn. I had a choir voice set on the DX7 and played an F sharp minor arpeggio, two notes per bar as I climbed five octaves from the bass up to the impossibly high. The ever-rising single chord racked up the tension to breaking point.

Just as I reached the highest point, the lights flared to maximum white, The Hulk crashed both bass drums and hit sixteen machine-gun like snare beats. Graham leapt on to the stage from the left, tracked by two spots.

He was dressed in a tight white vest with baggy grey pants. His hair was blonde and lacquered in a triangle across his left eye and up to a peak over the right eye. The band moved in tight unison from F sharp minor to B major and into 'Morning comes to Marianne'..

_Morning comes to Marianne,_

_ Waking up with another man, _

_ Is this the way you had it planned?_

_ Is your life over, Marianne?_

Graham had them in the palm of his hand – he worked the stage from side to side, seeming to look at each one of them individually. With the first four verses over, he stood to the side in a dramatic pose that drew their eyes to him while he pointed his radio mic straight at me for my solo – a grand piano weaving around the F sharp minor while Howie and Jake played a descending backbone from the B.

The song finished with another gunfire-like burst of snare drum beats from The Hulk, and there was a stunned silence before the audience drowned us in applause.

After that opener, we could do no wrong. We went from song to song, playing tighter than we ever had played before. We finished with 'Take Me Home, Trudie', playing the extended version that was on the twelve inch.

We came off to as much noise as four hundred people can make. Graham hugged Gideon, who had been waiting off-stage, with Amanda. Then he hugged each of us, as well. Amanda was pretty emotional too, she almost smiled at me. She gave Jake, Howie and The Hulk a kiss on the cheek, and Graham a big smacker on the lips. He looked surprised and said something to her I couldn't catch in the roar from the crowd. So maybe he had a choice of partner tonight. Though it was none of my business. I was last in line, and she gave me a dutiful peck on the cheek.

We went out for the encore we had prepared - 'Down and Dirty', and one we hadn't – the old Beatles number, 'Things We Said Today' – it was the only other song we all knew well enough, and it went down a storm as well.

I came off knowing one thing – it was going to be a hell of a party tonight.

The day hadn't started well, though. We were all crammed in a tiny breakfast room on the first floor, the regular restaurant being closed for alterations. All the other guys had gotten laid last night, apart from Graham and Gideon who were playing the faithful married couple and Ade, who had a big thing going with a girl at home. He never struck me as the faithful type, but you never know.

Ade must have told Joe about my adventures, because he was all over me...

'Are you alright – should you see a doctor? A bang on the head can be serious, you know.' He was worse than my mum, and he set Dotty off. She was threatening to drive me straight to the hospital until I offered to walk around the railings on the balcony of the first floor breakfast room to prove I didn't have concussion.

Magic Dan looked on intently, and almost smiled when I met his eyes.

I was going to give Graham a piece of my mind, but getting Graham to admit guilt is like asking Margaret Thatcher if she has ever been wrong about anything.

'Look, Jonnie, one of the punters gave it to me – probably wanted to get into my pants – and I know how much you love nose candy. I didn't know it was smack - why should I want to get you incapable, you're not my type, dear.'

So we got into the van, with me fuming about Graham's actions and his attitudes.

Dan was driving, with Dotty in the middle of the big front seat.

Degsie jumped in beside her, making her shuffle up towards the handbrake.

The rest of us plebs had to pile in the back. Amanda always took the big seat in the second row, so she could pile all her equipment next to her – it made a handy wall against the insanity in the rest of the van.

The rest of us had established our places in the bus during the trip out. I made my way to my seat, still seething about the events of last night, to be interrupted by Graham.

'Now you know that that's my seat – mine and Gideon's.'

'No it's not – look it's got the ink stains', I said, rather pathetically. It did, though, it had the stains from where I'd spat out the ink on the way in to Amsterdam.

'Don't be a bore, Jonnie, you're making it up.'

'No I'm not.' And I proceeded to tell everyone about the pen, the ink, the spitting and so on. I tried to get support from Amanda, but she wasn't co-operative.

'It's not important, is it Jonnie?'

I was a bit riled now, though, and I wasn't going to let Graham put one over on me. It was my seat, and I was staying put.

'Come on, you fuckers, sit down – come on Dan let's get going', Degsie shouted.

Magic Dan looked back from the driver's seat.

'What's the problem?.'

I explained it all to him, feeling a even more childish. The more I told my little tale the more like a ten year old I felt. Writing lyrics, sucking a pen and spitting out the ink onto the seat cover - and then wanting to sit in the same seat with same blue stain. It was just absurd for a twenty-year old. I seemed to be demonstrating how I hadn't really grown up.

Dan looked at Graham, who said,

'Well it doesn't really matter to me, but we always have the third seat, Jonnie always has the fourth, but just to humour him, we'll go here.' He sat down with a flounce, and Gideon sat next to him. I stayed where I was and realised that he had been right all along. I always sat behind them. All the seats were pretty stained with one thing or another and I had just made a mistake. Maybe it was the drugs from last night but I wasn't about to admit it.

This, by the way, is what bands mean by 'musical differences'. Magic Dan looked at us curiously, not saying a word, then drove off, while we fumed in the back.

Back at the hotel, after the gig, we were buzzing. I think the frustration and arguments before the gig had fed the energy and it was time to set the place on fire.

I had a slow joint and a quick shower, before riding the lift to the basement. The promoter had hired the basement club (no doubt with a sweetener from Degsie) for our start of tour party.

They had some weird ideas in Holland. All of the serving staff were in historical costume from England – wigs and frock coats for the men, and low-necked white dresses with corsets for the women. The air was already thick with smoke. You only had to breathe to get high. There were trays full of glasses of sparkling wine (not champagne – I'm not a wine buff, but I know that champagne isn't sweet and sickly). Food was standard buffet fare, and I ate little Greek cheese rolls till I felt sick – I blame the smoke. After a couple of joints I could eat a horse - saddle, bridle and reins included.

I saw Degsie in deep conversation with the promoter and Magic Dan. There were a couple of other guys of the same age with them, and I had no desire to join the conversation. After a couple of minutes, I looked back to see that they had left the room en masse – letting the 'kids' enjoy themselves I guess.

The bar was free and the bartenders were mixing cocktails and tossing bottles around. Everyone was there – the band, Ade and Joe, loads of people I had never seen before (or would see again). But mainly, my eyes were on the women. They were everywhere, smiling, laughing, drinking and, largely, wearing very little. I had no doubt how this scene was going to develop. Already, one of the girls was completely naked, and dancing on the bar to the disco – I think it was the deeply horrible theme from 'Fame'. She was being ignored by everyone, except for Joe, who was gazing in rapt fascination. He was so close, he could probably have managed cunnilingus – and I reckoned that he would do in a few minutes from now.

I was quite moved by the thought and went over to the bar and ordered a screwdriver. Normally I don't drink but tonight I thought I would be the height of sophistication and order a few cocktails before switching to soft drinks. I was a bit put off by the drinks menu - all the 'sour' and 'bitter' stuff, but orange juice and vodka I could definitely handle.

Another girl had joined the first dancer on the bar – though she kept her g-string on. I was getting in the swing of things, and had another drink. Looking around the room, I could see that the Graham, Jake and Howie were the centre of a small knot of people – mainly female. I was going to join them when a girl next to me said, in heavily accented English...

'You are the keyboard player?'

'Yes – Jonnie, Jonnie Cole', I said, bowing and removing an imaginary hat. She simpered and allowed me to kiss her hand. She seemed to have a ring on every finger.

'You are very funny.' Her voice was deep and purring. She was wearing a low cut top over tight black jeans. She seemed to have nothing on underneath the top. As she talked, she gestured with her hands, holding an empty glass in her left hand.

'Let me get you a drink', I said, and ordered a couple more. Hers was a whisky and ginger, mine another screwdriver. I had actually asked for an orange juice, but the barman was dancing to 'I'm Gonna Live Forever', which was much more important than listening to me. The girl and I chatted about this and that – she was constantly gesturing and moving in a theatrical effort to communicate over the disco, which was now thumping out 'Eye of The Tiger' – was the DJ a film buff or just deaf?

I didn't mind, though. With each movement, her marvellous full breasts rolled beneath the fabric. Every movement seemed to bring her nipples closer to the neckline of the top.

She finished her whisky far faster than I managed my screwdriver, but I gulped it down and ordered re-fills, not bothering to even try changing the order in the racket from the disco.

I had established that her name was Magenta, that Graham had invited her to the party, and that she liked keyboard players, especially English keyboard players, and particularly small English keyboard players.

Another couple of drinks appeared and disappeared quickly, followed by more of the same.

'You know, it seems to me that all English men prefer to talk to my breasts, rather than to me', she said in a particularly husky voice. I was nodding enthusiastically, when the meaning of her words finally seeped through the lust. I reluctantly raised my eyes from her lovely chest, past the long neck with its black, diamanté encrusted choker.

'Hello, Jonnie' She had a long face, striking, rather than beautiful, with full lips, brown eyes and a lot of make-up. She was about six inches taller than me, with blonde hair – I couldn't see the roots, but I could guess.

'Why don't we go upstairs, to your room, and I'll introduce you to them...' she pushed a finger into her neckline, and pulled up her left breast. The nipple peeped out over the parapet at me, promising hours of innocent fun. I gargled something through the vodka and orange, and she turned and walked towards the lifts, while I followed her hypnotically bobbing arse like a dog on a lead.

We kissed in the lift, with me craning my neck to connect with her lips. I had my right hand on her buttocks, and my left on her right breast. I didn't believe in heaven, but if it did exist, it was going to be a disappointment after this. She made a low sound in her throat – a moan, a growl – whatever it was, it was good. I kissed her throat through the choker and she did it again, moving under my hands. I nearly came, but remembered my responsibilities to the girl.

When the lift arrived at our floor, I staggered out backwards, still holding Magenta. She put her hand between my legs. I was only wearing thin trousers and she connected with my prick, holding my balls and massaging with her thumb. I pulled away, just to get her into my room. The key was in my jacket pocket and I fumbled for it for an eternity. Once I'd found it, it was another eternity before I got the door open and got us both inside and on to the bed.

Magenta pulled off her top. Her breasts were slightly pendulous but the smallish nipples were brown and beautiful - erect and pointing somewhere over my head as I moved forward. She pushed me down onto the bed and crouched over me, pushing her breasts into my face and rubbing the nipples against my lips.

We rolled over till she was on her back on the bed. I threw my shirt off and kissed my way down her body, between her breasts, down her stomach, licking her navel and undoing the top button of her jeans. I thought about pulling the zip down with my teeth, but it would have taken too long, so I used my fingers to pull it down slowly – teasing myself. Just the first inch revealed her pubic hair – she wasn't wearing any knickers, and she was obviously a bit of a hippy in the pube department.

I pulled the zip down a little further.

'Easy, Jonnie easy – take your time' well I would do my best, but I reckon that the rest of this encounter might be over sooner than I'd like.

I eased the zip down another inch, and up popped an unwelcome addition to the party – a half-erect penis. It took me a moment to realise what I had hold of. I felt my own droop as I let go of the thing.

'You're a man', I said, rather obviously.

'Well yes – in a way', she said. 'You don't like this?'

She seemed genuinely puzzled.

'Graham said you would enjoy it', she said, as her penis mirrored mine and deflated onto her now mostly open zip. Now I knew, I could see she was male – the thin hips, the square jaw. If I had have looked at anything other than her chest, I might have realised.

I looked around, half expecting to find Graham looking over my shoulder having a giggle. I'd fix that bastard. No point in upsetting Magenta, though.

'Sorry Magenta, I'm not really – Graham is joking with both of us.'

She reluctantly dressed as I stood around feeling, for once, conventional and straight. She explained that she didn't have the money for the big op just yet. She was on the game to try and get the cash and Graham had supplied a generous payment for her to 'entertain' me.

Hormones and implants had supplied the boobs – nice ones, too, a voice at the back of my head said, but it would take all of 1986 to get the rest of the money together to finish the job. I gave her what guilder notes I had left. I doubt if it was more than ten pounds.

I was ready to get back to the bar but Magenta was in no hurry. She sat down on the bed after pushing the notes into the pocket of her jeans and looked up at me with an expression that seemed both pleading and arrogant. I sat down at the foot of the bed and Magenta told me something of her life. She had realised in school that she didn't want to be a man. She assumed she was gay or bisexual. She had dated girls and, secretly, boys. But when it came to sex, she hung back, not knowing what she wanted. Then one day a girl she was dating forced the issue and they ended up in bed. she managed to make love to the girl but looking at the girl's naked body she knew at last that she didn't want to make love to a girl, didn't want to be outside that body but inside. She was a girl. All she needed was the outside world to be adjusted to her inside world.

And so began seven years (and counting) of doctors, psychologists, and the slow progress to where she was now. The drink had made me maudlin and I shared some tears with her and held her for a while. Finally she felt ready to face the world again. She fixed her make-up and went to the door and I crossed to close it after her. She walked through the door and leaned back to kiss me. She touched my nipple – I was still naked to the waist – and walked back to the lift. At the lift, she waved and I waved back. I turned around to see Amanda standing down the corridor watching us.

'Hi Jonnie – have a good time? Hope it was better for her than it was for me.'

With that she turned and walked down the corridor. I was going to run after her and explain – but it was no business of hers what I did, so I finished dressing and went back to the party.

There were probably loads of uncomplicated women just raring to meet a sexually frustrated keyboard player.

****

### **Sunday 22nd**

###

Where the hell was I? I peered at the world and it seemed to be red and blurred and mostly composed of stairs and railings. Slowly, slowly it came together. I was in a hotel, in Amsterdam, lying on the stairs. The only lighting was the emergency lights. Surveying myself, I realised that I was freezing cold, mainly because I was naked apart from my knickers.

I sat up, and the world swung around me in a dizzying blur, as my stomach threatened to project its contents over the faded carpet. I groaned and rubbed my eyes, trying to remember how I'd arrived here. Gradually, it came back.

Back in the bar, things had been quieter, as most of the guys had paired off with female party-goers and disappeared. Ade and Joe were still there, and Joe was making an effort to stay upright by holding on to Ade with his right hand, while clutching a bottle with his left. Ade looked like he would far rather be elsewhere.

I helped him get Joe into a chair, and took his bottle off him – taking a good swig to establish that it was a friendly action. It burnt all the way down, but was sweet, orange flavoured and a bit sickly. I looked at the bottle – Southern Comfort. Not bad, though, so I had another pull.

'Go easy, Jonnie – you don't want to get Joe'd', Ade said, eyeing the ceiling.

'Whazzat?' Joe peered around, trying to make sense of the world.

I looked around to check out the girls that were left. Not many around, and the disco had finished, so no more naked dancing girls. There were a couple of nice looking chicks over by the bar though, so I decided to make a play for them, when Joe grabbed my hand and pulled me down onto a chair.

Ade sat down as well, and we chewed the fat for a bit, with me and Joe swapping pulls on the Southern Comfort.

'You had a good night?' I asked Joe.

'Fantastic – you wanna try some of these.' He fished around in his pocket and brought out a couple of capsules.

'Only two?' he looked confused, before thrusting them at me. 'you can 'ave 'em'.

'What are they?' I said.

'Um – dunno.'

'Some kind of downer', Ade said with a sniff. He only used weed and he looked down on prescription stuff. So did I really.

'How many have you had?' I asked.

'A few', he said.

'He's had half a dozen while I've been watching. I'm sharing a room with the bastard, you know. Still, at least he got the shagging in early.'

So he'd had his wicked way with the dancer, I guessed – good luck to him, I was looking to emulate him before the end of the night.

I looked at the capsules he still held out to me. Well, I thought, if he's had six, two wouldn't harm me, and I necked them, washed down with a drop more Southern Comfort.

'I thought you had more sense', Ade said, looking disapprovingly at the pair of us. 'I'm off to bed.'

It was time to try my luck with the girls at the bar. I looked over in their direction. Some nice looking women, but some part of me kept thinking of Amanda. I must have been pissed, I suppose, after all those cocktails. Then I started to tell Joe about it – I was definitely pissed.

I told him about Graham spiking our drinks.

Joe took a pull of Southern Comfort, and so did I.

I told him how I felt when I woke up next to her that morning.

Joe had another pull, and so did I.

I told him how I had tried to make peace with her.

Another pull.

I tried to explain how her stupid scouse aggression made it impossible to get near her.

We emptied the bottle.

I told him that I just wanted to clear the air.

Joe fell off his chair.

The rest of the night is a bit of a blur. I must have made it upstairs. I think I put Joe to bed - probably assisted by Ade, as they were sharing a room. I must have made it to my room and taken my clothes off and I'm pretty sure I made it into bed.

I was on the second floor, in a little room at the end of the corridor. The rest of the guys were on this floor. Ade and Joe were doubled up, as were Graham and Gideon. Me, Jake and Howie where in individual rooms. The others, including Amanda, were on the floor above us.

I thought about all that had happened over the last couple of weeks, and I made a decision. I was going to go up to her room. Surprise her. Explain everything. Make friends with her again – something like that.

It took me a long time to open the door, but when I did, the corridor was empty. I could almost walk, but I felt better on all fours. The lift seemed too complicated and I decided on the stairs. The doors to the stairway opened outwards, so I managed them just by pushing, and crawled up to the next floor. The doors were more of a challenge here, as they opened into the stairwell, and I would have to raise myself up to the handles, and pull. It seemed like a big effort, so I rested my head for a little while, and that was the last thing I remembered.

When I woke up in the cold of the stairwell, it didn't seem like a brilliant idea to knock on Amanda's door in the middle of the night while only wearing my knickers. Time to beat the retreat, I thought.

I attempted to stand up – more blurred vision and nausea – but I got upright with the help of the handrail. I needed to go down a floor, but just as I started down, I heard a door open and footsteps climbing towards me.

The footsteps seemed to be coming from a long way down. Maybe the ground floor or even the basement, so I had plenty of time to quickly and silently slip into the corridor. In my state, though, it was all I could do to hold on to the handrail, and prepare an explanation for some outraged guest or porter.

The steps approached, and Magic Dan appeared, in his ancient reefer jacket.

'Oh, Hi Jonnie – I left my book in the van. Can't get to sleep without it.' He patted something under his jacket.

'Fancied a walk?' he said – obviously suppressing a laugh. My tongue seemed to be glued to the top of my mouth, but I managed to reply.

'I seem to have over-indulged – could you help me get back downstairs?' Some of it was intelligible. Magic Dan looked a little troubled.

'Just a sec, Jonnie. I'll drop the book off, and come back out.' He went to move past me to the door to his floor. I attempted to put my arm around his neck, but he had moved by the time my arm got to where he used to be, and I fell against him.

He put an arm around me and the book fell out of his jacket to the floor. He bent down instinctively to retrieve it, and I fell on top of him. He fell to all fours, and I tipped off him, onto the floor, just next to the 'book'.

It was a package of some brown substance, covered in cling film. I made an effort to pick it up, but he was faster than me.

'Let's talk about this tomorrow', he said.

Leaving me on the floor, he took the package and slipped through the doors. After a few minutes, he returned with Dotty. She was wearing a thick faded pink dressing gown, with fluffy slippers to almost match.

'Jonnie – you silly boy. What would your mother say if she saw you like this.' She continued scolding while they got me downstairs and into my room – the door was still open. By the time we got there, I could walk unaided and I got into bed while Dotty drew the quilt up, and smoothed my hair as if I was ten years old. As she bent over, the dressing gown gaped a little and I had a glimpse of her breasts – the sight seemed to fill me with peace and happiness rather than lust, and I felt sleep rising to overtake me.

When they left, I rolled over and picked up my watch from the bedside table. It said three-thirty.

Over breakfast, Graham ensured that everyone had a good laugh over Magenta, even Magic Dan managed a half smile, and I thought Amanda would choke on her coffee. I resolved never to drink again.

Graham was even more sarcastic than usual.

'Well you don't seem to be that successful in the hetero world, I thought you might like a bit of something more exotic.'

I felt outraged on Magenta's part. She deserved respect. I swear I would have stood up for her if I hadn't had a clone of The Hulk playing a double Premier drumkit in my brain – a clone that could keep time with four beats in every bar. On the one, something like an electric shock went down my spine, and on the three the back of my eyeballs were spiked by two blunt needles.

They all had a good laugh. To be honest, though, it only stung because it was true. Jake and Howie seemed to have no problem. A different girl after every gig, and no problems. I had some success, of course, but even then it always seemed more complicated.

Joe came down a bit after me. He looked worse than I felt, and I felt about as bad as I had ever been. Joe's complexion was usually a bit flushed. Now he was as white as a sheet. He was a bit on the plump side as well, but now he looked drawn and lined. Degsie was immediately sympathetic and took the lad in hand.

'Fuck me, Joe, you must've had a skinful. What you need is a decent fry-up – I'll ask the chef to whip you up some bacon, eggs and fried bread – just the job.'

Joe turned from white to green and fled back upstairs, cheered by the love and support of his best friends...

'Fancy a Southern Comfort.'

'I've got some J.D. here.'

'Want to finish my ham? It's a bit too greasy for me. You can see where the fat's congealed.'

I didn't share in the laughter – It was too close to home. I was having difficulty getting started on a croissant, and pushed it away at the mention of ham.

Never mind, maybe the next gig would straighten me out. Give me a couple of genuine girls to play with, and keep me off the substances. Before that, though, we had a day of interviews culminating in the joy of miming in the local TV studio. If that didn't bring in hordes of keyboard-mad groupies, I might have to give up and turn to selling insurance.

'We've got a busy fuckin' day – let's get moving.'

Degsie turned to lead us downstairs, past the building site of the ground floor restaurant and out to the van, oblivious to the forest of v-signs behind his back.

The interviews were all with either Graham alone or Magic Dan and Graham, so God knows why the rest of us tagged along – moral support, maybe – or to keep us out of mischief, more likely.

We spent a couple of boring hours in various lounges or control rooms listening to Graham banging on about his 'influences' and Magic Dan talking about the new digital technology, and how he thought it would revolutionise the business of music making.

We got a late lunch break, before we had to go to the TV studios and mime. Amanda had come up with the idea of speed skating around Erasmuspark, so we arrived there about two-thirty and hired the in-line skates.

Degsie and Magic Dan watched from the sidelines while the rest of us sped around the park or tried to remove our arses from the ground with dignity. Amanda was quite amazing, zooming around and skating backwards, photographing the rest of us. We should have been photographing her, really. She was all in black, long coat, black jeans, fingerless gloves and ear-muffs. I don't know where she learned to skate, but she was weaving between us like a professional, while we wobbled and struggled to remain upright.

Degsie provided moral support...

'Don't break your fuckin' legs, they're not fuckin' insured.'

Magic Dan looked on impassively, though I thought I detected the ghost of a smile when The Hulk crashed into Gideon and pulled him over onto the asphalt.

When we had finished making fools of ourselves for Amanda's portfolio, we grabbed a coffee in the outdoor cafe. There was the usual noisy banter, drowning out the radio that was jabbering through the speaker horns attached to a pole on the far side of the cafe. Amanda suddenly held up her gloved hand.

'Shush – listen'.

Just at the edge of hearing, through the traffic noise, we could hear a familiar guitar riff and the closing chorus...

_This just isn't fun, it's getting a bore,_

_We're fighting for love_

_ Out here on the dance floor,_

_So take me home, Trudie,_

_I don't want to be here no more. _

The DX woodwind chord sustained as the sound effects of the wind gradually covered it. Just as it faded from hearing, it was covered by the jabbering of the Dutch DJ and we breathed out.

A touch of genius on Magic Dan's part, the sound effect over that last chord. It forced the DJs to play the whole thing through, just to hear the sound of the wind

'We're on the radio.' Howie smiled. I didn't know he had those muscles.

I was sitting next to Magic Dan and he nodded at the end of the record.

'You did a good job', I said.

'Thank you.'

He turned to me and sipped his black coffee.

'You said we would talk, today', I said.

'You can remember last night?' He raised an eyebrow.

'Just about.' I grinned, ruefully.

'Not here, though, Jonnie – later.'

It was the first time we had mimed. You'd think it would be easy. It was for me, but then, who looks at the keyboard player? Jake hammed it up, slanting the guitar and kissing the camera, which annoyed Graham, who had decided to downplay it. It was a sad song, after all, and one arpeggio doesn't make a metal solo.

We had time for three run-throughs and the third one wasn't bad. Jake wouldn't back down, but he did bore easily, and the editor concentrated on Graham, so the eventual take was almost sombre. I was impressed with Graham. It was almost his first time in front of a camera, but he knew how to play it instinctively. He was born a star. Mind you, the bastard knew it.

Back in the hotel, there was no party, but the cellar club was still half full – they actually had a metal band on. It was funny that now we didn't play metal, it seemed fairly ridiculous to me – especially the Dutch songs. The other thing about metal is that the audience was ninety-five percent male, and the five percent females each had their own personal leather-clad, tattooed minder.

We gave up on it, and went back to the make-shift restaurant for some food and wine. Degsie was there with Magic Dan, Dotty and Amanda so we dragged them over to a bigger table and asked for the Dutch set meal. I'll spare you the details. I had a couple of mouthfuls of Stamppot, studiously avoided the Haring and then just kept to the Poffertjes – they were nice little pancake things, just right with strong coffee.

At the end of the meal, Magic Dan leant towards me.

'Let's go into the lounge.'

We went into the unoccupied lounge. No wonder it was unoccupied. Sixties leather and teak chairs, with splits in every second seat. Still, it was private.

Magic Dan looked at me and sighed.

'I have a feeling we may spend some time together, Jonnie. I may be wrong, but any relationship has to be based on trust.'

'I suppose so.'

'I could tell you half truths, or part-truths, but I'm going to tell you the whole story. That packet was cocaine.' I nodded, carefully. I knew it was something, of course. No-one hides packets of icing sugar, do they?

'I got it from the minibus – I didn't know it was there.'

I must have looked sceptical, because he sighed and sipped his wine.

'I've got to tell you the whole thing – from the beginning.'

There was another long pause, while he took a small sip from the glass of red wine he has carrying.

'When I was your age, I wanted to be a star – not a pin up, just respected for the music, you know.' I did know what he meant – and it looked like I was going to get an autobiography, instead of an explanation. I took a sip of my coffee and settled back in the old armchair.

'I used to like a smoke – cannabis, I mean – I used to like it a lot. I don't smoke these days. One reason is that I don't like smoking – don't like drawing smoke down into my lungs. The older you are the more you respect whatever is left of your body.'

'But then, I loved it. I was with a few guys who loved a smoke as well. We used to get an ounce or two for the weekend. Then we thought, why not cut out the middle man and get a kilo. So we pooled our money and bought one. One of us – probably Mulvaney, but it might have been me – realised that if we sold 24 ounces of it at the rate we normally paid, we would get 11 ounces to smoke ourselves for nothing – pure profit. It was not like we were dealing - just getting a free smoke.'

'So we did. There were five of us in the syndicate, but it seemed like me and Mulvaney did the lion's share of the selling. So we started pocketing the price of an ounce, here and there – it was only fair, as we were taking all the risk.'

'Eventually, of course, there was a bust-up and we went out on our own. My band was going reasonably well, but we weren't making enough to live on. But life in a band is demanding, and it's difficult to hold down an ordinary job at the same time. Picking up dole is always an option, but they are always after you for one thing or another.'

'So I got to depend on dealing to keep me going. I didn't view it as criminal – I was helping like-minded people break what was a stupid and unjust law. I still smoked myself, and it was more of a community, in those days.'

'Mulvaney was always full of ideas about how to earn money. None of his schemes worked that well. He had a mobile snack bar, a cleaning business, office stationery – you name it. He always wanted to employ other people to do the work and they always seemed to let him down – I always thought that it was because he paid such shit money, he only attracted the desperate.'

'It was him that suggested the move into coke. Though maybe I'm re-inventing the past there. I'm no angel, so it might have been me. The worst thing about moving into coke is that we started using it as well. The best thing is that I met Dotty through it.'

'Today coke is everywhere and really cheap. Then it was expensive and hard to come by. With the weed, buying a couple of kilos of Lebanese Red or Afghan Black would mean meeting a couple of hippies in some flat in South Kensington. Some Jamaican grass would see you in Kensal Rise with a couple of black guys trying to get you stoned enough to pass off a bag of stalks. Your worst encounter would entail a bit of shouting.'

'Coke was entirely different. Your contacts often wore suits. They often had bodyguards. The bodyguards often had shooters. It was all image, all front – but it scared the shit out of me.'

'Mulvaney loved it. At last, he was in the big league. He had a suit himself – his many visits to the bank manager meant that he needed it. He set about acquiring a shooter. Thank God he never had to use it – I think he would have blown his own head off.'

'Our different attitudes meant that we started to split up the work. He tended to buy, I tended to sell. Plus which, my lifestyle was bands, clubs, record shops, studios – a captive audience. His lifestyle was more aspirational. He wanted to move among the people he was dealing with – to be respected.'

'My band was going nowhere, though. I lacked the heart to join another one, but we were just going through the motions. We hadn't written a song for months, and when we gigged we just played covers. We got a fair bit of work, but no record deal and no real prospect of one.'

'Our singer, Jim, had a day job – with the civil service, no less. They had one of their periodic 'let's all move to the regions' upheavals, and he got offered a management job in South Wales. Well, he was married, with a little one on the way, so no-one complained when he took it, and the band folded.'

'I was making good money now – and I was going to some pretty high-class parties. I had the best hi-fi in town, and I was buying my own flat in Camden – this was the early seventies, though – Camden wasn't fashionable at all. Trouble was I was visible. I had a mortgage - based on faked P60s and so on - and I had insurance, for God's sake. Then I got a tip-off from one of Mulvaney's contacts, that the tax people were after me. I hadn't paid them a bean for two years.'

'I was in a bit of a panic. I knew a guy in the local pub who had a small van hire business. He wanted to go back to Ireland, and I bought him out – probably for too much money. It was pretty small – just 5 vans, with one guy looking after the motors, and a woman part-time in the office, but it gave me a plausible excuse for being able to have made some money and I managed to fake some documents to make it look like I'd just not registered the purchase of the company properly. I got a little fine, but not too bad – I didn't go to prison.'

'I was stuck with the business, then, so I carried on running it – it made a tiny profit, and the vans came in useful for Mulvaney. We could hire them out to fictitious punters and pick up goods for him from the ports, or drop off to major customers. If they got busted (which never happened, thank God) we could deny all responsibility.'

'I was under suspicion, so I couldn't flash the cash around too much. So, I bought more vans with the cash, and put fictitious loans in the company books. The firm got bigger, and I was branching out into trucking – I started doing band trucking – I enjoyed being around musos, even punk ones – and it was a marketing opportunity for the coke.'

'I met Dotty at a party that one of the bands threw. It was a punk band, and the bassist was her brother. I was shocked – he had a thick Irish-Cockney accent, just like Johnny Rotten, and in came his sister with a drawer-full of silver spoons in her mouth. Time was when elocution lessons taught the common people to speak posh. In the seventies, it was the other way round.'

'We hit it off pretty quickly, and moved in together. Dotty left work and started dealing in antiques and first editions – she had plenty of contacts who wanted a nice bookcase and a couple of yards of expensive leather bindings to fill it.'

'I was kind of stuck with van hire and trucking then. I was still getting too much cash in, though. More than that, the trucking business started to make a profit – economies of scale and all that.'

'As a kind of hobby, I built myself a studio. I still hadn't acquired any talent though, and I was too old – I think I was about thirty-two when I built my first studio. I started letting it out to the bands I was trucking, then I started engineering and producing. '

'By this time, Mulvaney and I were no longer partners. In effect I was working for him. I purchased smoke and coke from him. But there were now several other dealers who were considerably bigger customers than me. Mulvaney didn't want to relegate me to his second division, though. He seemed to get a particular kick out of lording it over me. I didn't tell you that he was a little guy – Being a six footer, myself, I don't normally think about these things, but I think that he needed respect, it validated his view of his own importance – sorry Jonnie – I don't generalise about little guys, and you don't seem to have a chip on your shoulder.'

'Dotty and I were thinking of starting a family, and I wanted to move to being legit. When you're on your own, going to prison doesn't loom large, but now I had her, and might have a couple of little ones, it loomed larger.'

'So when I went to pick up twenty grams from Mulvaney, I mentioned that it might be my last one. He wasn't happy. He started asking about my 'loyalty', and whether our friendship meant anything and so on. I couldn't really understand his motivation. When he threatened to shop me to the police, I could have retaliated with the same threat, but something told me that it was time to act humble.'

'So I drifted on for a while, gradually reducing my turnover of the illegal stuff, and paying more attention to the trucking business. About the same time, Dotty and I found out that we wouldn't be having a family. There were a lot of tearful nights and I lost interest in the whole business of dealing. I couldn't be bothered.'

'Mulvaney turned up at the studio late one night and took me for a ride with a couple of his heavies. He was trying to scare me, I guess, but I was past it. We had been friends once – close friends at that. He asked me some stupid question about whether I loved the life I had become accustomed to – as in, didn't I want to keep on earning big money.'

'For the first time ever, I lost my temper with him. I told him that this Hollywood gangster stuff didn't impress me, and told him where to stick his heavies, his guns and his drugs.'

'I think I rattled him. He didn't want to go big league and actually top me. Plus which we had nearly twenty years of history together – and Dotty would probably have torn his balls off before dragging him down the police station.'

'That was the last time I bought from him – you had almost the last gram of Mulvaney's coke when we remixed 'Take Me Home, Trudie' - but he was still using my vans. One step at a time, I reckoned. I would give it six months, then ask him to use normal commercial routes – he could pay me for the use of the vans, and do whatever he wanted. I would be ok if he got busted.'

'Then you had that argument with Graham over the seats. That told me that the seat covers had been switched, and it suddenly clicked. You were coshed in the hotel car park the previous night as well - it wasn't just a tumble. That was when they planted the stuff.'

'I went down and had a sniff around. I think there is half a kilo of coke in every seat, maybe more.'

He sat back a little in the ancient armchair and took a sip of the red. I was calculating in my head. Minimum of 8 kilos – we must be talking of over £100,000 worth – and we were about to go through customs with it. We could be looking at a long, long time in jail.

'I don't know what to do with it, Jonnie. If I just dump it, I'll have Mulvaney on the warpath, but now I know it's there, I just don't fancy coming back through four sets of customs.'

I was still thinking – the stuff I saw was brown, not white – I'd have said it was heroin. I said so to Magic Dan.

'No – what they've done is taken the coke, and wrapped it in cling film, covered that in beeswax and then put the whole lot in more cling film – so the dogs can't sniff it. That's why I had that packet when we met on the stairs. I took it apart and checked – it's coke alright – and uncut. I don't think Mulvaney does heroin – and he's the only one with keys to the vans.'

'Apart from Ade and Joe', I said and he nodded.

'No - they're ok. I guess.' I'd known them both since school – they wouldn't do this. Not to me, anyway.

'So what are we going to do?' I said.

'Await developments, I guess – there's a lot that can happen before we go home.'

'What did you do with the packet you had?' I said – thinking maybe I could help get rid of some of the evidence.

'I stuffed it back, after I'd re-sealed it.'

I nodded and tried to digest it all.

'Jonnie – it would be best if you kept this to yourself. I told you because I don't want to lie to you, but if they all know about the stuff all hell could break loose. No-one else will suffer, I promise. If customs discover the stuff, I'll go down for it – no-one else. I'll try and take Mulvaney down with me, but you guys will be O.K.'

I nodded again.

'I realise you'll want to tell Amanda.'

'Why would I want to tell Amanda?'

'Well Dotty said that...'

'Well, Dotty is mistaken', I said.

'Why tell me, though?' She said, staring at me with her deep blue eyes.

'Well, I thought...'

'You thought it would be good for me to know that we might all end up behind bars? You thought it would be good for me to deceive my father?'.

'I didn't want to lie to you, and we won't be behind bars – I told, you, Dan will take the rap.'

'But you want me to lie to everyone else?'.

I had nothing to say, really.

'Jonnie – we are not an item. We slept together, once. We will not do that again – will we?'

'No' – well I couldn't say anything else, really.

'As long as we understand that – I'll keep your secret.'

So we went back to join the others – to find that Jake and Howie had brought their acoustics down and had started on Christmas carols.

****

### **Monday 23rd**

###

After we had begged some money from Degsie, we wandered around the sights of Amsterdam. I went to the Van Gough museum – I'd always loved his paintings, especially the 'Wheatfield with Crows' – it was painted in the last year of his life, and it seemed like a bad acid trip – a pleasant country scene mutated into something horrific.

I wasn't disappointed with the real painting, the paint was smeared onto the canvas like snakes writhing in the sun – like he was too impatient to get his vision down, a need to express what he was feeling before it dissipated.

Graham and Gideon were with me, but they went on to the Rijksmuseum to see the Rembrandts – I don't really like those old brown paintings, so I wandered out of the museum and across the tram lines into the city.

There was a freezing wind coming along the canal, and I turned my back against it as I walked over the bridge, looking back towards the museum.

A couple of streets to the left, across the wide flat plaza, I caught sight of a street market and decided to follow my nose. I wandered past the stalls, pausing at the ones selling records. I almost bought a Ray Charles album, but it was a German 'best of', and I had most of the tracks already. At breakfast, Amanda and Dotty had decided that we would have a 'bran-tub' for Christmas. I'd never heard of it before, but we had to buy something for five guilders and wrap it up. Then we would draw one each at random on Christmas day. Any proper presents would wait until we got home in January. I was on the look out for something suitably rude but all I could see was the usual tourist tat.

Getting deeper into the market, I was passed by several people eating chips and mayonnaise. It smelt like time for lunch, and I made my way towards what looked like the source of the culinary delight in a side street.

The street seemed mainly to consist of old book shops, but at the far end, I could see a couple of kids hanging around outside the chip shop and I crossed the road, heading for them, when I caught sight of Magic Dan in one of the bookshops.

I put my hunger on hold for the moment, and went inside the dusty looking shop.

'Oh Daniel, these look just the ticket.' Dotty's unmistakable vowels split the silence of the dingy shop, and I spotted her denim-clad bottom in the far corner, as she bent down over a long row of leather-bound books.

'Hi', I said, and Magic Dan swivelled to face me, expressionless. Dotty straightened quickly and turned to me, looking a little flushed.

'Jonnie, dear – are you a bookworm?'

'No – I was on my way to the chip-shop when I spotted you.'

'Just seeing if there's anything - ' Dan paused and looked around for the shop-keeper. The three of us appeared to be alone in the shop. '- anything we can make a profit on, back home.'

I sidled across to Dotty and had a look at the set of books she had found. 'Preken en Meditaties' – about twenty volumes by Pastor Jakob Villmen.

'What are they?'

'Collected sermons, I think.'

'Will they sell well, in the UK?'

Dotty laughed.

'It's the bindings that we want. If we find a ragged old set of Dickens we can re-bind it using these covers and double our money.' She clapped her hands girlishly, in an 'aren't we clever' sort of way, and picked one of the volumes up to look at it more closely.

'Good leather, and no mildew. There's plenty of extra to make new spines, so I think we have a sale, if they're not too dear.'

Magic Dan rubbed his chin and went back to scanning the shelves.

'There's a set of Spinoza here, Jonnie, if you want to brush up on your Dutch philosophy.'

'I'll go and get those chips.'

The second gig was twice as good as the first. In spite of our bravado, we expected a poor turnout so close to Christmas, as a relatively unknown band, but quite a few of the people from the first gig turned up, the radio and TV helped, and word of mouth pulled a quite a few more in.

'Morning Comes to Marianne' went down a bomb. It was even tighter than the first gig. Graham was in top form, running around the stage and climbing the rig at the side. Urging them on in 'Liberation', he dived into the crowd, pogo-ing and punching the air as they joined in the chorus.

I had put in a new solo in at the end of the chorus. I split the DX with the left hand playing strings, the right playing brass. The Hulk was just beating out bass drum notes. Single, at first, then doubled, like a palpitating heart. The solo began with a bit of cod Bach cello'ing up and down the scale, then bright brass sevenths over the continuo. Two bars and Jake and Howie crashed in with the riff, and Graham bawled out the last chorus. Absolute magic.

We did 'Down and Dirty' and 'Things We Said Today' as encores once again. If things continued like this, we would need to find songs for another three encores.

When we left the hall there was a small crowd outside, but all the girls seemed to be accompanied. It was early days yet, though.

Amanda was with us – I wondered if I could get off with a groupie in front of her. Of course I could, I decided, when the chance came.

We got back from the gig about twelve, and the hotel was pretty dead. Degsie wouldn't stump up the cash to let us live it up in town, so we sat in the bar till Ade and Joe got back, after stashing the gear for our drive to Germany in the morning.

Joe sat on the bar stool next to me, his size twelve army boots on the floor. If I took my feet off the rungs, they dangled nearly a foot off the ground.

'You alright?' he said.

'Sure, you?'

'I still feel fucking awful after the other night. I'm going to turn over a new leaf – new year's resolution and all that shit.'

'It's not even Christmas yet, Joe.'

'Yeah, well. Are you alright after that bash on the head? I was worried. I didn't want anything to happen to you – people get concussion and stuff.'

Now I knew that the pills or the booze had addled his brain – I've never know Joe to be bothered about anything. I decided to change the subject.

'What's the mag?' He had a rolled up magazine under his arm. 'Is it porn?'

'No – look.' He opened it out. It was some puzzle magazine he must have got on the boat. 'Tea Break Teasers' it was called.

'I'm not taking drugs no more – I'm going to improve my mind.'

'Will that do it?' I knew Joe wasn't what you would call an intellectual – and maybe 'War and Peace' wasn't the answer, but 'Tea Break Teasers'?

'It's a start – once I've finished this lot, I'm going to start on proper ones – Magic Dan can do the Guardian crossword you know.'

With that, he pulled out a ball-point and rolled the magazine out on the bar, signalling the barman.

'Double vodka and coke, please Garcon.'

'I thought you were on the wagon?'

'Who told you that?' he said. 'I'm not doing no drugs – I didn't say anything about booze – that's natural init?'

I ordered an orange juice and we clinked glasses.

'Here's to intellectual improvement' I said.

'See there's a thing - you're making fun of me, aren't you?'

'No - honest, I'm all for it', I said though I wasn't telling the whole truth - Joe was obviously taking this seriously.

'The thing is that I'm not as dumb as people think I am but I'm just not quick like you guys. I have to chew things over for ages before I come back with a snappy answer but by then we're ten miles down the road'.

'But...' I started, but Joe ignored me.

'If you can train to be a boxer, you can train your noggin to be quick on its feet and that's what I'm going to do. You just watch me. I ain't gonna be at the back of the class no more.'

The thing was, he was absolutely right. He'd always been one of the gang - but always on the edge looking in. When we formed the band, we never thought of Joe as a muso, but we roped him in as a roadie. We took it for granted that he'd do the job. He had been an apprentice with the gas board after school and when we got signed we never thought for a minute that he might not quit his job and move to London with us. Maybe he was due a bit of respect. So I commiserated with him and we made a start on some of his number puzzles. I eked out my too-sweet orange juice while Joe threw down a few more vodkas. When the bar shut, Joe went back to his room with The Hulk to take care of the last of the duty free.

The rest of us – Howie, Jake, Ade and me – went back to Jake's room to finish the stuff we had, and the room was soon full of wholesome smoke – booze may not be natural, but the sacred herb is another matter. We would be going through customs tomorrow and Degsie had warned us that they always checked musos so it all had to go.

Jake got out his acoustic, and Howie fetched his twelve string and we spent the next hour singing country and western – not that any of us knew a song from start to finish. Ade does a good Stand By Your Man, though he had to fight against Jake's barracking for not possessing the requisite physical attributes to go with it.

A couple of hours later, with the hash gone and our stock of country songs exhausted, Ade went back to the room he was sharing with Joe. Ten minutes later he was back.

'Come on, and keep your voice down.' We followed him down the corridor, as he got to his door and carefully opened it.

'Shhh' we followed him into the room.

Joe was flat on his back, on the bed, snoring loudly. He was naked apart from a sheet, drawn up to his waist. The sheet rose majestically over a wonderful erection.

'Who's got a camera?' Jake asked, whispering. I turned round to go and get mine, and blundered into a chair, clattering it into a table.

Joe snored on.

Ade went over to him and clapped his hands – no reaction.

'What's he on?' Howie asked.

'Just vodka, I think – though he's probably got a good bit of those pills still in his bloodstream. Looks like he's having a good dream though.'

'Let's have some fun', Jake said. I had been on the receiving end of Jake's 'fun', and knew that it was stupid, childish and vindictive – so I was in.

We picked him up, sheet included, and got him to the lift. He gave a few grunts, but nothing intelligible. We ferried him down to the now deserted breakfast room, on the first floor, and tied him to a table, using the ripped-up sheet.

To spare his blushes, Ade got a handful of bagels from the kitchen and threaded them onto his pride and joy. We left him snoring, for the kitchen staff to discover.

****

### **Tuesday 24th**

###

'I suppose you all think that was fuckin' funny.' Degsie was reading us the riot act.

'I spent half a fuckin' hour apologising to the manager, and I've promised that you fuckers are going behave. So fuckin' grow up.'

'I even had to pay for the fuckin' bagels.' Jake started to snigger and Degsie gave him The Look, but spoiled it almost immediately....

'Did it really take six? The lad could have a future in them mucky movies they do 'round 'ere.'

We were all gathered in the lobby. We hadn't been allowed to go into the breakfast room, but now that Degsie had paid up, we were reluctantly let in to pick over the remains of the self-service breakfast.

We didn't normally get to eat breakfast as a group, so it gave Dotty the chance to make sure that everyone was eating properly.

She was busy trying to persuade Graham to eat some fruit to keep up his vitamin C

'You need to keep up your vitamins – stops you from getting colds – you wouldn't want to lose your voice.'

'Oh, I generally rely on a special gargle', Graham said, while Jake mimed an impression of the special gargle with a cigarette, behind her back.

Magic Dan raised an eyebrow at him, and he stopped. Magic Dan was well known for his powerful eyebrows.

We shipped out at eleven. Dotty had stayed behind – apparently to get some books and antiques shipped to England – though why they didn't just stuff them in with the equipment, I don't know.

The border to Germany was pretty busy. They just waved most of the traffic through but they stopped us and got a sniffer dog to check out the vans. I was acutely conscious of the coke in the seat-backs, and found myself shaking when they took the dogs in. I don't think I breathed properly until they emerged again. Thankfully, they left the equipment alone, it would have taken hours to undo all the speakers, monitors, lights and keyboards, and hours to put them back together again.

They searched us all, of course, and it took Joe ten minutes of pleading to be allowed to keep his sheath-knife. I've never really understood it, but it's the mark of a roadie to wear a sheath-knife on his belt.

I've never seen one of them use the thing – other than playing 'split the kipper' during the sound checks. This involved two of them facing each other and taking turns to throw their knife into the wooden stage between the opponent's legs. The opponent would then have to move a foot up to the knife, bringing the feet closer together. This carried on, in turns, till one of them chickened out, or was taken to casualty.

Joe never got the chance on our tour, Ade being too sensible and anyway he didn't carry a knife.

I was surprised, though, to see how Joe's hands shook while he tried to talk to the customs men – I'd never thought that Joe was one to be intimidated by anyone.

The fields had a little bit of snow on them as we sped through the darkening countryside. Our first German gig was in Dusseldorf, in two days time, and we were stopping in a little town on the outskirts, as all the inns in the city were full (this is traditional at Christmas, I'm told).

I was thinking of wooden houses, cobbles and lederhosen. So the grey concrete flats came as a bit of a shock. Once we had passed by the ring of sixties buildings, we found the old town, where our hotel was. I suppose a lot of it was destroyed in the war, but there were quite large areas of the old Germany.

There wasn't a secure car park at the hotel so Magic Dan insisted that the gear be taken out of the trucks and stored in one of the rooms. We all gave Ade and Joe a hand – apart from Graham, of course. I think Joe could have done it himself. His biceps were thicker than my waist. He could almost lift the speaker cabinets single handed, and got a bit annoyed if you tried to help him.

For once the whole party was at the dinner table together. Food was never a big thing with the band. We seemed to have hardly graduated from school meals, so the food in the cheap hotels that Degsie booked didn't normally bother us. Magic Dan and Dotty had higher standards and often wandered out to eat somewhere decent, but on Christmas Eve everywhere half-decent was booked up.

Various combinations of noodle, sausage and cabbage were the only things to be had and we variously shovelled it down (Joe and Degsie) or pushed it around the plate after nibbling anything edible that was accidentally included by the kitchen staff (everyone else).

Jake was amusing himself by balancing a fork on his finger while Howie nudged him repeatedly in the ribs. As the fork clattered to the floor, Dan gave a sigh and rose from his chair, walking around the table and picking up the fork from the floor behind Jake.

He held it to the light.

'You've weakened the molecular structure, now', He said gloomily.

'Yer what?' said Dessie, mopping up the gravy on his plate with a bit of pumpernickel bread.

'He's loosened the inter-molecular bonds that hold the metal together - look.'

Dan held the fork balanced horizontally on the index finger of his left hand. He began to stroke it with the index finger of his right. Gradually the dining room quietened as everyone turned to stare at the grim looking hippy gently stroking a fork. Everyone was leaning forward as the fork began to bend and wobble under his gentle touch. More and more it trembled under his finger tip, each side moving independently until it fell in half, each piece of the fork falling onto Jake's plate with a clatter.

It seemed as if the diners were about to break into applause when Degsie chipped in with his own special tribute to the conjurer's skills.

'Oy, Yuri fuckin' Geller - I'll have to pay for that fuckin' fork now. Keep yer fuckin' hands off the cutlery - and leave me fuckin' watch out of it, too.'

Drugless, we gathered in the bar of the small hotel. Jake and Howie started to investigate the local vodkas while The Hulk ordered JD. It was going to be a long night.

They had a piano in the bar, so I started playing some boogie-woogie. The action was shit, and I was getting pains in my left hand, so I switched to a bit of easy classical – some exercises I used to do, transposed to a minor key, and elaborated a little.

Howie had disappeared when I started, and he came back with his twelve string, and Jake's six string. We ran through some Beatles numbers, which pleased the few other people in the hotel bar. We actually got some applause for 'She Said, She Said'. Graham came in just as we were finishing the number.

'What's all the noise? Can't hear myself think.' He never liked it when I sang – mind you most people don't. He joined us for Happy Talk and we tried The Model – we were in Germany, after all. I gave over the piano to Gideon – my hands were hurting by now, with the effort of sounding the notes using the slack stringing.

The Hulk grabbed the twelve string from Howie, and they started into some country and western – always a bad sign. Graham left them to it, and came over to me.

'Jonnie, how are you?'

'I'm fine Graham, just fine – could use some blow, though.'

'You've got no inner resources, poppet.' He patted my arm.

'It's true.'

'Or maybe you need the love of a good woman – how is Amanda?'

I could see that this was going to be another piss-taking session.

'I'm sure Amanda is perfectly fine, Graham, but that's of no interest to me.'

'Pardon me, but I thought you rather liked her – let's change the subject.'

'Yes let's. How's song writing?'

'I'm glad you brought it up. I'm having rather a hard time with Gideon.' Now I knew he was winding me up. We hadn't really talked since Gideon appeared on the scene and I couldn't see him confiding the secrets of his relationship with me.

'Yeah?' There must have been something in my voice...

'No really – I admit that I was a bit preoccupied these last few months, but lust eventually runs its course, you know.'

Well, no I didn't, actually, but that was my problem.

'Gideon and I have had a good time. A very good time.' He looked suitably reflective.

Over his shoulder I could see Gideon laughing as The Hulk attempted to keep up on the guitar. Jake was playing effortlessly, with a fag hanging from his lips, while The Hulk had his tongue out in concentration, trying to keep up with the changes.

'I think we are starting to realise that it was all just physical, really.'

'You and I had a good partnership, Jonnie. Maybe it's time to crank it up again.' I actually think that this was Graham coming as near as he could to an apology. The bastard could really twist me round his finger, though. I was as happy as a puppy. Self respect demanded a little coolness, though.

'You got anything to work on?'

'You could have a go at this.' And he pulled some crumpled sheets of paper out of a pocket.

'Be a bit discreet, though.' With that, he went over to Ade and Joe, who were downing lagers and watching football on a tiny television in the corner of the bar. Joe had his 'Tea Break Teasers' open on the counter – providing a useful beer-mat.

It wasn't that late, but with not much happening I was tempted to just go up to my room and have a look through Graham's lyrics. I was brooding on how I could approach writing without a decent keyboard under my fingers. Did I have enough theory to think the chords and changes – and then write them down?

As an exercise, I went through the new solo for 'Liberation' and tried to visualise the parts written down. I was getting a headache when Degsie sat down heavily next to me.

'Jonnie, you've got your smacked arse face on again, mate. What's wrong with you?'

Amanda, was just behind him, and she made a little face.

'He hasn't got any drugs and there's no groupies around.'

'It's not like that', I said 'I'm thinking.'

'Fair do's, Jonnie, I can see it's hard work.'

Amanda raised her eyebrows at his customary rudeness and turned to face me.

'It's Christmas Day tomorrow, Jonnie – are you coming to the town hall – they have a bar, a brass band, a choir and everything.'

She seemed excited by the prospect. It did sound good to me – there was snow on the ground, decorations in the hotel. I wasn't tired of parties yet – even drugless ones.

Degsie raised his whisky –

'To Christmas Day in the Rathaus – that's German for town hall, y'know. We'll get rat-arsed in the Rathaus.'

Ah Degsie, international playboy, polyglot and piss-artist.

****

### **Christmas Day**

###

We were snowball fighting in front of the town hall, with Amanda clicking away. There were quite a few locals taking the air in the market square, and some of the younger ones joined in, while their elders did their best to chuckle indulgently.

Amanda was all in black, except for a bright red scarf around her neck. I don't know how she managed to look so good every day. I'd almost run out of clothes already, and I was looking forward to the shops opening again – assuming I could prise some money from Degsie. I think my stage clothes could have walked on by themselves.

After half an hour, the average age of the snowballers had descended to about ten, and we left them to it, making our way down to the scummy-looking river before heading back to the hotel for our Christmas lunch.

I fell in with Amanda as we walked along the riverside path. The others were all ahead of us, in a hurry to get back into the warmth.

She still had her camera at the ready, but had stopped taking photos for the moment. The combination of grey sky, grey water and muddy grey banks didn't make for a fantastic background to a photograph.

The approach of Christmas seemed to have improved her mood – maybe it was time to declare a truce.

'Happy Christmas', I said.

'Happy Christmas.' She put her hands on my arms and kissed me on the cheek, bending slightly.

I sneaked a kiss on her lips as she drew back, and she laughed.

'Come on, let's get back – it's freezing out here.'

As if on cue, a light fall of snow started, billowing in the wind off the river, and we hurried along to catch the others.

Back at the hotel, I went down to the lobby telephone with a collection of loose change. Mum was delighted to hear from me and Sally was keen to know how famous her big brother was on the continent. Of course, I didn't exaggerate in any way. After a couple of minutes, I pleaded lack of change and hung up, leaving them to their chicken ('A turkey is too big, with just the two of us', Mum said – not in any way trying to make me feel guilty.)

As I left the phone booth, Amanda approached it.

'Do you want my spare change?' I said 'I've finished.'

'Thanks – I'm sure Mum will go on a bit.' She looked a bit apprehensive and I laughed.

'It's not that bad – my Mum will forgive me in a year or two.'

She gave me the ghost of a smile, took my collection of coins, and entered the phone booth. With international calls so expensive, I knew she wouldn't be long, so I busied myself reading the menu, looking at the town map and the 'What's On' listings. The only bands I recognised were us, and Depeche Mode, later in the year.

'Your trains are so efficient – even on Christmas Day – marvellous. Dorothy McCloud – you should have a reservation.' Dotty's unmistakeable stream of vowels drifted into the corridor from reception. I decided to remain intent on the adverts.

After about three minutes, Amanda emerged and I casually intercepted her.

'Did you wait for me?' she said. 'Thank you.'

Then I noticed that her eyes were red – almost crying, but not quite.

'Homesick?'

'No, not really.'

'What, then?'

'She thinks I've betrayed her.'

'By spending Christmas here.'

'No – by spending it with my father.'

'Yeah – I can see that. Do you ever think that growing older doesn't involve growing up?'

'Maybe in your case', she said, sharply, and walked off.

Christmas lunch was taken seriously at the hotel, and we had to be formally seated by the head waiter.

They had made an effort with the dinner, and were offering roast goose, pork and various kinds of spiced sausage. The sight of the assembled dead animal flesh was enough to send you veggie, but I struggled manfully with it all.

I had some wine with the meal but switched to orange juice when we finished at the table and strolled into the bar. It was already getting dark outside as we all sat in the lounge. We had pulled three tables together and I was sitting with Magic Dan, on the one side, and Howie on the other. Amanda and Degsie were almost opposite me – at least, the space where Degsie should have been.

It was all getting a bit dull – no drugs and not much going on. I would have liked to talk to Amanda, but I don't think she would have been interested. She was toying with a glass of wine and looked as if she wanted to be somewhere else - home in Liverpool, I supposed. I was starting to feel a bit down myself when Degsie re-appeared with five nicely wrapped Christmas presents, that he proceeded to hand out to the band.

'Merry fuckin' Christmas'

They were 'presents' from the record company. Inside we had seven inch and twelve inch versions of the single, tour shirts and a couple of miniature bottles of vodka, with 'New Romancer' labels – they didn't last long, though - Joe had mine.

Degsie also had tour shirts for everyone else, and some big bottles of booze to help the atmosphere – shame I was still off it. The festive cheer continued when Dotty plonked a drum case on the table. It contained the 'bran-tub' presents we had bought in Amsterdam. I had almost forgotten about them.

'Ladies first!' Dotty said as she picked out one of the more nicely wrapped packages. She opened it neatly, prising open the tape and folding the paper carefully. It contained a small bottle of perfume. She opened it and sniffed it. I'm guessing it smelt good, but I smelt a rat.

Amanda went for the next package and opened it with as much care as Dotty, to reveal a very similar little bottle of scent. I guessed that they had made sure they didn't get a packet of condoms or worse. The rest of the presents were exactly what you would expect from a bunch of lads loose in Amsterdam. Howie got a mug inscribed 'Kok' and a picture of a guy in a chef's hat. Jake got a hash pipe which might come in handy in the future, if we ever got our hands on some resin again.

Ade got some shot glasses, which were relatively inoccuous. And so it went on - nipple tassels, a half-bottle of gin, a bottle opener with an anatomically correct shape that made Dotty blush and Amanda tut, a drumstick pen, a mini bicycle with a nude woman on the seat. Each was opened to a cheer from the company. Degsie ended up with a tasteful pocket mirror with a Rembrandt portrait of a woman on the back - he donated it to Graham.

'Yer can check yer make-up, mate.'

I got a 'special' condom. It was in the shape of a man's head with a big nose and sticky-out ears. The packet was titled 'Eikel' so I guessed that was Dutch for dick-head. Naturally I blew it up and tied it to Joe's chair.

Presents distributed, swapped, broken or drunk we gradually quietened down as the drinkers in our party started in earnest and the rest of us wondered when it might be time to go to bed. Around us, the other patrons were leaving, and the handful of other residents were going back to their rooms. Jake had given up on the barmaid when her boyfriend turned up to take her home.

He sat down next to Degsie, who was eyeing the whisky bottle like he had just seen an old and dear friend.

'What a way to spend Christmas, eh?'

'You're like fuckin' kids you lot. You need a kiddies entertainer. You're a fuckin' clown Howie, why don't you have a go?'

I was feeling mischievous.

'Dan's a magician, isn't he?'

'He's terrific.' Dotty said, patting his arm, 'but he needs encouraging. '

That was enough for the lads.

'Magic, magic, magic, magic' Jake, Howie and Joe banged the table in time to the chant. Magic Dan initially looked annoyed, then amused. He held up both hands, palms forward.

'Magic – maybe not, but the para-normal – the extra-normal, perhaps.'

'Bullshit.' Joe was a bit drunk, and taking it all a little seriously.

'ESP – thought transfer, Joe, hardly bullshit. Why, the soviets went to great lengths to keep their thought transference experiments a secret. Allow me read your mind, Joe.'

'Ave a go at Jonnie – tell us if you can find anyone home.' Degsie waved his unlit cigar at Magic Dan.

'Oh, don't be so mean, Da...' Amanda choked off the last word, but it wasn't lost on me or on Degsie, who gulped like a fish out of water, as Amanda turned and stared fixedly at Magic Dan.

'Pass me that menu.' Magic Dan took the small Christmas menu from Howie, and tore it, so that he had a blank square of stiff paper. He took a pen from his denim jacket and passed them both to me.

'Jonnie – I want you to write something in the middle of the paper - the name of a band, an album, anything – just don't show anyone, then fold it in four.'

I did as he said, hiding the writing with my hand like a schoolboy doing an exam.

He took the paper from me and tore it into rectangular pieces, smaller and smaller till he couldn't tear it anymore, then dropping the fragments of paper into an ashtray, already half full of ash and a couple of Degsie's cigar butts.

'Derek – can I have your lighter, please.' It took a second before Degsie reacted to being called Derek, but he came to and handed the gold-plated lighter to Magic Dan. He clicked the lighter and directed the three inch flame to the pile of paper fragments, letting the outer ones catch fire. He handed the lighter back as the fire took hold, and the flames spread to the centre.

No-one spoke as he leant forward and wafted a few plumes of smoke towards himself, breathing deeply to inhale the pungent fumes. Fumes inhaled, he bowed his head in contemplation, folding his hands into his lap. By this time we were all leaning forward staring at his creased forehead, as the flames died and the small pile of paper turned to grey ash.

Then he chuckled.

'Jonnie, I asked you for a band name. Are you trying to trick me? This is a girl's name.'

Oh fuck. I started to colour in anticipation of what was coming. He leant backward and summoned me with a finger. He cupped my left ear in his hand and brought his lips so close to my ear that they touched it as he whispered.

'Amanda?'

'That's right', I said and pulled back looking at him. He rarely looked anyone in the eye, but he did this time, mouth creased almost into a smile. Everyone else was leaning forward, trying to catch the whisper. He almost winked at me.

'The name is Trudie.'

'You boring bastard', Joe said and gulped his drink. Everyone relaxed back into their chairs.

'How did you do it?' I asked, breathing at last.

'It's a spacio-temporal facility, I've had since youth', he said airily. 'But that's enough ESP for tonight.'

He stood to leave, and Dotty took his arm.

'See you all tomorrow', she said as they left. Amanda rose and followed them.

Soon after, Graham left - followed, after a few minutes, by Gideon. Joe was renewing his relationship with the vodka, Degsie with the whisky. The others were glugging lager and telling jokes I'd heard at least ten times before. I was bored and decided to go to bed. Although it was early, I was tired and we did have the gig tomorrow.

In bed I turned everything around in my head, gradually deepening my mood of boredom into something blacker. It was Christmas day, and I'd never been so low, so utterly dejected. Maybe it was the lack of grass, or coke.

I longed for what was left of my family, but I didn't want to be with them – I wasn't a child any more.

I wanted to be with the guys downstairs, but they bored me now.

I wanted to be with Amanda, but that seemed so impossible.

Happy Christmas, Jonnie.

****

### **Thursday 26th**

###

The Düsseldorf gig was nearly a sell-out, and they were in the mood to enjoy themselves. Maybe it was my imagination, but when I sneaked on to the blacked out stage, with The Hulk, I found the waft of Christmas after-shave from the audience overpowering.

We had the opening off so tight, now, I was hardly nervous. Who am I kidding? I only just got out of the toilet in time to sneak on stage.

Playing to the tight machine sounds of the Linn was becoming second nature to Howie and Jake, and the android quality of the music was leavened by Graham's human voice and charisma.

'Morning Comes to Marianne' hit them right between the eyes. They roared when the number finished, and they nearly drowned the introduction to 'Now Is The Time'.

The Hulk got carried away in the middle eight, playing triple time on the twin bass drums under Jake's solo. Nearly heavy metal heaven for Jake for a few bars – maybe not six-eight, but as close as you could get. I laughed as he got to the high point of his solo – he shook his long black hair in a characteristic toss of the head he had learned from videos of Aerosmith – except that his hair was now short and blonde – and lacquered.

The crowd loved it all. By the time we got to 'Take Me Home, Trudie', they were exhausted and ready for a slow, soulful number. You could have cut the atmosphere with a knife as I played the last chord, and keyed the FX from the emulator.

The whole world seemed to stand still before the crowd erupted in applause. It didn't get better than this. When we came off stage at the end of the gig, I could see tears in Graham's eyes.

I was sitting next to Magic Dan, who was silently pushing some noodles around his plate with not much enthusiasm. It is genuinely difficult to work up an appetite at nearly midnight, but eating before a show is impossible. He gave up after a while and turned to me...

'I'm doing some mixing for a German producer tomorrow and Saturday. Do you want to come? Might need some keys'

'Yes – sure.' Perhaps things were looking up. A song from Graham, and some studio work from Magic Dan. I was becoming popular.

'Berlin or Düsseldorf?' We were shipping out tomorrow to the old capital.

'Berlin – we'll have to be up early, to get the gear shipped and then over to the studio.' Maybe I shouldn't have agreed so quickly.

Graham was across the table from us. He leaned over – there was quite a racket from the guys – mostly The Hulk and Gideon singing 'Ring of Fire', with Jake and Howie doing percussive effects with the cutlery.

'Which producer, Dan?'

'Heinrich Kirschner – do you know him?'

'Maschinknopf?'

'That's the man.' Magic Dan pushed his noodles around a bit more. 'He wants some organic sounds in some project, but real instruments are a step too far. He's heard some Joe Zawinul and he's got the hots for it.'

'Can I come? I'm a big fan.'

'Sure – early start, though.' I could see that Magic Dan was wondering if Graham could get up before his normal eleven – I'm not sure I could.

'That's not a problem for me, Dan – not to meet Maschinknopf.'

****

### **Friday 27th**

###

The Berlin studio was a surprise. I had expected something clinical – stainless steel, chrome, glass and state of the art electronics. In fact, it looked like my uncle's shed. It was full of teak-sided electric organs, ancient tape machines, bits of home-made electronics and a primitive eight track desk.

Also – it didn't seem to have any heating – it was bloody freezing.

Herr Kirschner was impressive. He was an inch or two taller than Magic Dan, and as thin as a malnourished matchstick. He seemed to get most of his nutrition though his nose, which also made him manic, paranoid and prone to sudden bouts of depression and elation. Just a regular muso, then.

The track we were to work on had already been two months in the making.

It consisted entirely of percussion.

Every bar was different, but somehow, the same. Seven minutes of twelve-eight at about 140 bpm. It felt a bit like having a woodpecker trying to get into the tin helmet you were wearing.

Magic Dan's horizontal mouth dipped slightly when he heard it.

I felt like diving under the desk.

Graham was wreathed in smiles.

'That's the sound I've been trying to get – that's what we need. Brutal and modern.'

Herr Kirschner put an arm around him, and introduced him to his mirror, razor blade and substantial bag of white powder.

Magic Dan started to coax an ancient Melotron into life.

'These will be worth a bit, one day', he said. I was less impressed, but when he got the choir going, it wasn't that bad. There was a Hammond organ - a B3 - in the corner and I managed to get it up and running, though the Leslie speaker seemed to have a burnt-out motor. It was still serviceable though, and did sound a little meatier than the DX7 – though not as versatile, obviously.

'Do you have a tune in mind?' Magic Dan said. Herr Kirschner considered it.

'Not at the moment. Though I have some favourite chords.'

'Lyrics?'

'No.'

'So, just the drum track?' Magic Dan sucked in his cheeks.

'No, it is not just a drum track. It is THE drum track.'

I had been working on Graham's latest lyrics in the hours I couldn't sleep. They were really meant for a slow song, but I wondered if they would work with this speed. In effect, if we doubled the bar length, you have a ballad at 70 bpm over a backing of 140 bpm.

'Play it again', I said, and as he rewound the tape, I played with the drawbars of the B3. I'd never played one of these things before, but I knew the principles, and it was a lot easier than FM synthesis – I think you needed a university degree to patch the DX7. I eventually got a light, bluesy sound, with lots of sawtooth in it.

As the track began, I played a slow minor progression over the top and sang Graham's words.

_ Don't tell me it's your fault, losing love is not a sin,_

_ Don't waste your life, _

_ thinking of what might have been_

_ Another love will soon begin_

_ And my heart keeps your love so safe within_

Graham's face lit up, and Herr Kirscher looked surprised at the slow bluesy tune. Magic Dan held his head on one side, listening.

'It's got potential.'

'Who wrote this?' asked Herr Kirschner.

'Graham wrote the words', I said, intending to modestly admit to my genius as a tunesmith, when pressed. Before I could turn to the matter of melody though, he wrapped his arms around Graham.

'It's perfect, perfect. What is it called?'

'Epilogue for Love – and, thank you Jonnie, it's a lovely tune, perfect.' Graham seemed moved by the song. We generally had four or five re-writes, but not this time, it seemed.

Magic Dan breathed deeply.

'Let's get down to work.'

Now in a blues, you often have a triplet rhythm – each beat in the melody will have three little ticks on the hi-hat or the cymbals. For a rock song you drop the middle beat of the triplet. Here, the timing changed from verse to chorus – double to triple and back again. You couldn't settle with it – which was great for the song.

Magic Dan supplied the master stroke by putting a melotron choir on the second beat, so like a normal accent but displaced by half a note. If he had used it all the way through, you wouldn't have noticed, but with me playing conventionally on the B3 and his little chorus-like structure, you didn't have a place to rest until the last verse.

With Graham singing, the result had us all grinning.

Experimental, arty, but still commercial, somehow.

Nothing is ever that simple with Magic Dan, though. He needed to get the timing right on every chord, and we had no midi to keep everything synchronised. Take after take got us a few bars on, so it was early evening before we split, promising to come back first thing to put on the finishing touches.

'Heinrich and I might work on another number tonight, boys', Graham said. 'I'll get a taxi back.'

So, Magic Dan and I took the van back to our hotel, in time for more sausages, and a relatively early night. I was still slightly high from Herr Kirschner's cocaine and was mouthing off a bit about ancient instruments.

'You play the B3 well, though – suits you.' Magic Dan was in a garrulous mood, evidently – though he hadn't had any coke. 'Good tune, too - I like the diminished in the chorus.'

'Did you realise what the song is?' He looked at me, in a way that was supposed to be significant – it scared the shit out of me. Call me old-fashioned, but I like drivers to stare at the road.

'No – what is it?' I was expecting him to trot out the name of some obscure seventies song.

'It's Graham's goodbye to Gideon.'

It had been a long day, and we had another hotel to negotiate. We found the bar easily enough though, where Gideon was deep in conversation with The Hulk. Jake and Howie were vying for the attention of the girl behind the bar.

I was sitting with Ade and Joe, eying up the other guests.

Not a woman unaccompanied or under thirty in the place. No grass, no pills and no coke except the bit in my bloodstream, courtesy of Her Kirschner. I sipped my lager and wondered when it would be time to go to bed.

Amanda joined us after a while, hair still slightly damp, as she had just washed it. She was wearing jeans and a white tee shirt, with black boots.

'When do we get to see some photos?' Said Ade.

'Probably back in England – with the holidays and that, we don't stay anywhere long enough to get them developed. I must have fifty rolls of film waiting.'

Degsie wandered in wearing an overcoat and scarf, cigar in hand.

'Concert's a sell-out, boys – just under a thousand.' I took it that he had been to see the promoter. He always came back from these meetings a bit red in the face, and in good spirits. He sat down heavily next to me, unbuttoning his coat.

'Chart's are out tomorrow, Jonnie – what d'you reckon?'

'I don't know, Degsie, we haven't really promoted it in England – we need to do a video, you know.' We had all been on at him, but it was always the same story.

The record company had let us do a video for the last single, Hard Landing, and it probably wasn't the best thing you've ever seen.

Graham had a friend of a friend called Trevor, who was an 'experimental director'. Now, if you remember Hard Landing, it's about a guy being thrown out by his (gender uncertain) lover and being pretty relieved about it.

Trevor decided that it would be better re-interpreted as a near crash in a light aircraft. Maybe it was his Birmingham upbringing.

Even then, we could have all gathered in an (earthbound) studio and run from side to side in time honoured Star Trek style, but no.

Graham and some chick (totally lovely, and with a foot high back-combed hairdo) had to actually fly in a ten seater from some God-forsaken airport near Liverpool, and be shaken around by the bored pilot.

It's a funny thing about doing these things for real. It doesn't enhance their believability. It looked as realistic as a rubber chicken, but not quite as much fun. It also came in at double the (admittedly tiny) budget.

So we got it in the neck from the company and it was never shown on UK TV, apart from being the butt of a good deal of sarcasm on the Clive James show.

Degsie shook his head.

'They'll only let you have another video if you get a hit – they'll need a video for the American market. But the pluggers say they're pulling out all the stops. Wotsername from the office said the returns from the chart shops are well up – you're going to do it, mate.' He clapped me on the shoulder – enthusiasm or the promoter's Schnapps – I'm not sure which.

Joe had pulled out his puzzle magazine for a little more self improvement, and was sucking a half-size biro with a look of studied concentration.

'"Was he duplicated? Unfinished but over." \- Four blanks, ee, dee, two blanks'.

'Fucked up.' Degsie called out, with relish.

'Dad!' Amanda had no shame about the D-word, now. Degsie coloured a little, but was still smirking.

'It can't be fucked up, Degsie – they wouldn't put 'fuck' in a woman's magazine, would they?' Joe appealed to him.

'Go 'way Joe, they don't think about nothin' else, women.'

'You're terrible, you lot – I'm going to bed.' Amanda flounced off, while Degsie contained himself till she was out of earshot before laughing like a hyena.

'She'll 'ave to toughen up if she's gonna be a band photographer. They don't teach them swearing at college – or the facts of life about you little shits.'

'What do they teach them?' I said – I was genuinely interested, and it might give me something to break a bit more of the ice around the snow queen.

'Lenses and that, I suppose. Amanda specialised in food.'

'Food?'

'Yeh – photographing food. It's a big thing, so she says – lorra work in them women's magazines – and it gave her enough experience to photograph a turnip like you.'

****

### **Saturday 28th**

###

We had gotten to bed relatively early, so I was ready to go before ten - after Magic Dan had banged on my door for ten minutes.

'Graham's not here', he said.

'Maybe he couldn't get a taxi', I said

'Gideon doesn't seem worried', he said as he strapped into the driver's seat.

We got to the studio about ten thirty. Magic Dan had to ring the bell several times – Herr Kirschner lived over the shop. Eventually, he emerged, unshaven and naked to the waist.

He rubbed his blonde stubble and let us into the hall.

'Sorry, I overslept – coffee time, I think.'

We sat down in the kitchen with a mug of black coffee each while Herr Kirschner disappeared to shave. Halfway through the coffee, Graham appeared, fully clothed but also unshaven – not that it made a lot of difference to Graham.

'Morning boys, how are you today?'

'Fine', I said 'Couldn't you get a taxi?'

'Don't know', he said 'I didn't try. Hienrich and I have been getting acquainted.'

We took the coffee into the studio and Graham hit the playback on the desk.

The new track was smoother. Natural percussion and found sounds, one of them seemed to be a sampled dripping tap, played back at different speeds, but compressed to give constant length. They formed something like chords – all open fourths I think. But like church bells, they weren't really single notes. I played with the B3 to get something harmonious as Graham hummed a kind of tune, and Magic Dan listened with pursed lips.

Herr Kirschner returned.

'Not the organ – we something new need.' I killed the power, still holding down a minor in the bass. It wheezed to a halt, with the pitch falling as the sound died. These old Hammonds have valve amplifiers, and they carry on pumping out sound after the electrics die. As the pitch is done by a spinning wheel, this slows and the pitch falls producing a similar effect to a pitch wheel on a modern keyboard, but more organic, somehow.

'That is wonderful!' Herr Kirschner was all smiles.

So began another long day, as I had to record each chord, switching off the organ and letting the tone wheels grind to a halt.

It was a nightmare for Magic Dan, trying to get the timing and length of each chord right. He ended up recording them onto the melotron and playing them back – it took hours.

Vocally, Graham had a poem he wanted to recite – but that had to wait till we got the backing track in place. By the time we had done with the backing track, it was time to head back to the hotel and out to the gig.

'I'll be back', Graham said, as he kissed Herr Kirschner and climbed into the van.

Back at the hotel, we didn't have too long to get ready for the show. I shaved, showered, lacquered my hair, and got back down to the entrance hall, to find Graham and Gideon having a domestic in the lobby, with The Hulk looking on awkwardly.

'You don't own me, you know.' Graham had his hands on hips and had drawn himself up to his full height – all five foot four of it.

'That goes for me too.' Gideon opened his mouth to continue the conversation, but Graham spun on his heel and marched out to the van.

Gideon closed his mouth again. He turned around and strode off at speed towards the lifts. The Hulk looked towards his retreating back like a bloodhound that had witnessed a quarrel between his owners.

'None of our business, I think', I said, and made to leave. The Hulk shook his head and turned towards the entrance as Amanda appeared, in a black quilted jacket, black tee shirt and jeans. Her hair was held back by a blue scarf.

'What's up with Gideon?' She said. 'He's just passed me, and he looked like he was ready to fight someone. I've never seen him so angry.'

'Lover's tiff'', I said, and The Hulk growled.

'The road to true love never runs smooth', I said, touching her elbow, and trying to remember which song that was.

'Don't start', She said – but she ran a hand through my hair. Well, I'd only spent ten minutes or so getting it right.

The opening of the show was perfect now. Once again, it wowed the punters and we finished Marianne to a storm of applause.

Once again, though, anger fed the show. The curl of distain on Graham's lips was more pronounced than ever, and the power in The Hulk's hammer blows to the drumkit was up a couple of notches.

By the time we got to 'Liberation', Graham had them in the palm of his hand. He was ready to kick into the song when Degsie walked onto the stage with a piece of paper in his hand.

I thought Graham was going to head-butt him, or club him with the radio mike. This wasn't a working men's club, to be doing announcements about the bingo or a badly parked car. He went up to Jake's mike, and addressed the crowd.

'Meine Damen und Herren.' German in a scouse accent is a lot like English in a scouse accent – unintelligible. He pressed on in English.

'I have to tell you that the official charts are out today, and 'Take Me Home, Trudie' is number one in Holland.'

They cheered in a good-natured way.

''Take Me Home, Trudie' is number one in Germany.'

They cheered wildly.

'and 'Take Me Home, Trudie' is number one in England.'

I think we would have brought the roof down ourselves.

Degsie ran off stage and we launched into 'Liberation'.

After the gig, Degsie strode into the dressing room, to be kissed by Graham.

'Fuck off, you daft bastard.'

'Look, you lot – you've got to get back to England to do Top Of The Pops.' We cheered.

'So that means no fuckin' partyin' – we'll be flying out in four hours.' We booed.

Still, a lot can happen in four hours, if you're determined enough. We changed, and packed up our stage gear. It started to sink in – maybe we wouldn't have to do our own packing for much longer.

When we emerged from the side door of the hall, we actually needed the bouncers to hold back the crowd – only three or four deep, but a healthy proportion of women, I noticed – and not really dressed for the cold.

Jake was keen to bring a couple of the frauleins back to the hotel, but Degsie was firm.

'You've got enough fuckin' distractions. I want you on that fuckin' plane.'

I didn't mind – we were going to be on TOP OF THE POPS.

****

### **Sunday 29th**

###

Flying out at three in the morning, there was no point in going to bed, so we just grabbed some sleep in the departure lounge, the plane, the car – wherever we could.

We had to fly from Berlin to Frankfurt, and then on to London. Just Degsie and the band, in the cheapest seats – were we really number one? Still, it was actually only the second time I had flown, so I couldn't have cared less.

Graham was a STAR, though, and he cared a great deal, so the flight to the UK consisted of a sequence of Graham moaning, Degsie telling him to fuck off, and the other passengers tutting and trying to pretend to have misheard what the horrible fat scouser had just said to the nice young man.

Gideon had come with us. It annoyed me that he got a trip and Amanda had to stay behind. At least she could have done something useful. Gideon only ever got his privileged treatment because otherwise Graham would have whined and sulked until he got his way. Now I wasn't sure if Graham would have put up a fight to keep him on board. As it was, Gideon sat in silence for most of the trip, gradually thawing a little, until he eventually got back to his old self.

Amanda had come with us to the airport. She kissed us all on the cheeks for good luck. She seemed to hold me longer than the others, and I tried to steal another kiss on the lips, but she was too fast for me. She smiled at me, though, and squeezed my hands.

At Heathrow, there was a delay as customs strip-searched Jake. They had looked at Degsie and curled their collective lip, then stared at Graham and Gideon as they walked, arm in arm, through the green channel - any animosity between them was forgotten with the chance to piss off the 'straights'. The customs men were merely dismissive and off-hand with me and Howie but Jake's habitual sneer at anyone in a uniform did not go down well.

'Excuse me sir, are you sure you don't have anything to declare?'

He drew deeply on his fag before looking the guy up and down and replying.

'No way, officer – I smoked it all in the plane's toilet.'

'If you will just accompany me sir.'

An hour or so later we got in the BBC car and listened to the driver moan about the delay all the way back to Shepherds Bush.

I didn't expect the BBC to be glamorous, and I wasn't disappointed, though I did catch sight of Les Dawson and what might have been John Peel as we were hurried through the foyer by a tiny woman with a large clip-board. I fantasised briefly about being in the sort of band John Peel would play, but as my ticklist for the benefits of playing in a band went girls, money, girls, travel, girls, drugs, girls, music, I guess it would stay a fantasy.

We were herded into a tiny dressing room by the tiny woman.

'As you are late, we will have to hurry – we've allocated you thirty minutes for the run-though, then we'll record it. Do you do your own make-up, or will you require someone?'

No champagne, then.

The run-through went better than in Germany, Jake being a bit subdued. I don't know how thorough the customs men had been, but he did seem to have a little problem sitting down in the car.

Degsie had gotten a music store to deliver a copy – more or less – of the kit we had in Germany, and they had set it up for us. No amps, obviously, and nothing plugged in, or even attached to the mains. Still, I had a couple of DXs to pose behind, Jake and Howie had silver Rolands, while The Hulk had an even bigger Simmons kit than normal.

The recording was already taking place in the main studio when we arrived, with Neil Tennant's voice booming out West End Girls over the studio. We took up our positions to hear John Peel's link to Janice Long.

'Well here's a band I've been just aching to see, ever since their stunning debut album mysteriously disappeared from Peel Acres, around about the time that a rather fetching black vinyl fruit bowl appeared.'

'Calm down, John, the waiting's over – here's New Romancer with this week's new number one – 'Take Me Home, Trudie.''

Tiny woman with clip-board signalled the crowd to applaud and we were on. I mugged the opening chords to the camera, and we were off, Graham looking suitably solemn – well as solemn as you can be in a silver jump suit.

It seemed to be over in a flash, and Peel was introducing the fade-out clip of Ah-Ha as...

'The best thing to come out of Norway since the pickled herring.'

Graham took a small camera out of his pocket and took a few photos. The crowd were heading away, but a few of them came back when he got the camera out and we finished the film with pics of them and us, arms around each other in the rapidly emptying studio. I was struck by what a crappy little camera it was. Where was Amanda when you needed her?

That thought suddenly struck home, and I wondered what she was doing back in Berlin. I let go of the girl I had my arm around, and wandered over to Degsie, who was jabbing with his cigar forcefully at the tiny woman.

'You know that your boss won't be pleased when he realises that none of our other acts are gonna come on this poxy show.'

'Mr, uh, Daniels', she had to look at the clip-board, 'Many people tune in just to enjoy Mr Peel's off-the-cuff remarks, and there is no way either he or we will remove them from the show. You have signed the waiver, the show is recorded, and will be edited without your interference.'

With that, she turned on her tiny heel and left. Degsie grinned at her retreating back.

'Nice when she's angry, don't you think?'

His expression changed back to purple petulance.

'Fuckin' John fuckin' Peel – he's not even a scouser, you know. Fuckin' Heswall he comes from. Tosser.'

He stuck his unlit cigar back into his mouth and relaxed a little.

'Still, that Janice Long is a proper scouser - not bad lookin' neither.'

'When are we going back to Berlin, Degsie?' I said.

'You're not off to some fuckin' night club, if that's what you're after – we're back to the airport in an hour or so – time for a piss and a pork pie, that's all – and tell that smartarse' he pointed at Jake who appeared to have his hand up the skirt of one of the girls 'tell him to keep his gob shut on the way back'.

I was relieved. It would be a long trip back, but I couldn't wait.

I seemed to be slightly under the weather on the flight back, Not helped by the fact that I left my coat back in the dressing room. I'd only had to walk thirty yards in the freezing cold, but even so I was feeling unlucky.

The other guys made up for my low mood, though. Jake made a determined play for one of the air hostesses – he later claimed to have shagged her in the toilet – and Howie found a couple of Frauleins who were fascinated by ein kleiner Popstar, though not fascinated enough to share the toilet apparently.

Graham held court to whoever was around. He assured a middle-aged British couple that what pop music needed was an equivalent of Oscar Wilde (guess who?). He informed the German guy next to him that the future of music lay in digital equipment and industrial sounds (of which, he was the pre-eminent expert). He gave the cabin crew a pep-talk on how to keep the passengers happy and, with the help of the in-flight magazine, told them the best route for the plane to take.

Degsie ignored him by turning his attention to the miniatures. I attempted table football with some peanuts and watched The Hulk – two seats up – join Degsie in the welcome oblivion of the tiny bottles.

Eventually we made it back to Berlin and the hotel, in the early hours of the morning. Degsie could still walk, just, but The Hulk needed assistance. He would only allow Gideon to support him, which meant a sulk from Graham. I wasn't going to hang about in the freezing cold with no coat on, so I went to bed and left the ménage-a-trois on the slush-covered pavement outside the hotel, to sort itself out.

****

### **Monday 30th**

###

I got down to breakfast relatively early – before eleven, anyway. There was no-one around, other than Howie. He was staring at a croissant on a plate in front of him. As I got to him he arrived at a decision, sighed and pushed it away. Looking up, he saw me.

'I could murder a bacon butty.'

'Never mind – we'll be in Spain in two weeks.'

'What?'

'Sausage, egg and chips country, Howie, you'll be right at home.'

'I don't think we'll make it as far as France.'

Howie always looks on the dark side of everything – and usually finds it laughably optimistic – so I didn't bother asking why, and went up to get some breakfast. When I got back he couldn't wait to tell me what I had missed last night.

'I don't know how you could sleep through it. Apparently some German bloke had been waiting all night in the lobby to see Graham.'

'Hienrich?'

'I don't know – but he was pretty excitable. He and Graham had obviously been...'

'I know', I said.

'Why didn't you tell us? Did you know about The Hulk?'

'No – what about him?'

'Gideon and The Hulk have been having it off.'

'You're joking', I said. 'He doesn't look the type.'

'What type's that Jonnie?' Gideon had come up behind us.

'I don't mean it like that.' I turned around to face him.

'A queer? An arse bandit? A cock-sucker? Is he too normal looking for that?'

I was about to try and explain, but he stomped off – he seemed to be doing a lot of that, recently.

'You didn't handle that well', Howie said. 'Gideon's a bit sensitive, at the moment – you should have heard what Graham called him.'

'Oh God.' I shook my head. 'What happened last night then?'

'A lot of shouting. Graham was going to go off with the German guy, but Degsie wanted him here. He refused to use his old room – said it was 'contaminated' and he wouldn't stay under the same roof as Gideon, on account of Gideon cheating on him.'

'Well what was he doing with Hienrich?'

'I know, but you know what he's like.' Howie was well into his stride now – revelling in the gossip, and very nearly smiling.

'What about Gideon and The Hulk?'

'Well, Graham was bad-mouthing Gideon, and The Hulk took a swing at him.'

'Was he hurt?'

'The Hulk? No more than usual – couple of bruises.'

Jake wandered in as we were talking. He got a black coffee and started on his first cigarette. He was coughing as usual as Howie filled him in on my faux pas with Gideon and then finished off the tale of last night.

'In the end, Degsie got a new room for Graham and the German guy, and got everyone settled – then got a bottle of whisky from the bar and disappeared'

'I don't blame him.'

We lapsed into silence to contemplate how the rest of the tour was going to play out. As we pondered Gideon came back with The Hulk. Gideon glared at me and Howie, while The Hulk smiled sheepishly. They sat down at a separate table, and Jake looked at them quizzically. He coughed again and stubbed his cigarette out, walking across and sitting with the happy couple.

'You don't mind sitting with a heterosexual?' he said, and The Hulk laughed. Gideon relaxed and put his arm around the axe-hero.

'No Jake, no I don't.'

So Howie and I went over as well, and we all had breakfast.

There was no gig today, so we had a whole day and night to patch the band together again. How much longer it could last, though, I didn't know.

'That's the one – looks great.'

I turned in front of the mirror to look at the back. It was just longer than a normal jacket – about two inches below the bum. It looked a bit like a shorter version of a Crombie. Black wool and fitted.

As I was admiring it, Amanda plonked a black fisherman's cap on my head and laughed.

'That's it.'

I must admit that it did look great – and it hid the brown roots – I would need to find a decent hairdresser before we left Germany.

The coat was much better than the one I'd left in London. The only other coat I had with me was a ropey old duffle coat that I'd once thought was cool – but now looked to me like a reject from an Oxfam shop.

I'd managed to talk Amanda into coming shopping with me, and we wandered around the department stores. We had gotten quite a generous amount of Deuchmarks from Degsie. A number one record obviously loosens the purse strings. He had looked quite smug.

'I'll have a surprise for you fuckers this afternoon.'

We paid for the coat and hat, and I put the duffle coat in the bag, wearing the new coat. As we left the shop, I offered Amanda my arm, and she linked hers through it. As we walked down the road, in the wintery slush, with the soft pressure of her breast on my arm, and the music of her laugh in my ears, I was in heaven.

'Slant it a bit.' I pushed the fisherman's hat to an angle and looked towards her, through the Navigator shades I'd fished out of the duffle coat.

'Look towards the Wall, so I get the reflection in the sunnies.'

Amanda clicked away as I posed in front of the Berlin Wall. We had taken a cab and tracked the Wall, looking for a section where the snow hadn't been tramped into a slush. We found it in a run-down area of the city. A couple of cars had left tracks, but the snow on the pavement was virgin.

Amanda wanted some atmospheric pictures. No point in being in Berlin if you don't see the Wall. No point in photographing the Wall unless you get a new slant on it - that was the way she saw it. I was just happy to have her to myself for a few hours.

'Let's have a couple of you.' I grabbed the camera, and she let me have it. She started kicking the snow towards me, with the Wall behind her. I got some wonderful shots, black, grey and white and the scarlet of her scarf.

The whole photo shoot disintegrated into a snowball fight and we ran the length of the deserted street, laughing and getting wet and cold in the snow.

I grabbed her, and she let me kiss her. I tried to get a bit more serious with the kissing, and she pushed me away with a laugh.

'Not on a first date, Mr Cole. – Let's get a cab back – I'm freezing.'

We walked through the streets, looking for a cab. It was a rough area, but eventually we found a prowling cab and flagged it down.

It was already getting a bit dark as we drove through the narrow streets towards the centre of town. I put my arm around Amanda, and she gently pushed me off, turning towards me. She was laughing but then saw something through the window.

'That's Joe – isn't it?' I turned quickly, but we were already leaving the street. I caught a glimpse of him, though. He was standing next to a thinner, shaven-headed version of himself in front of the mini-bus, talking to a couple of other guys in overcoats.

'I think, so – looked like the van. We can check it out later.'

We got back to the hotel just as it was going dark.

'Some more English guests – old age pensioners, by the look of that', I said, pointing out the coach in front of the hotel.

The coach stood at the entrance, 'Broadbent's air-conditioned Luxury Tours', it said on the side. We paid off the Taxifahrer and went inside to find most of the guys sitting in the lounge, with a few new faces.

'Where've you been.' Degsie looked at us, narrowing his eyes at me.

'Just shopping', I said, twirling in the coat. 'Like it?'

'Let me introduce you', Degsie said, ignoring my sartorial elegance.

'This is Jenny.' He gestured at a bosomy blonde girl in a short skirt and tall heels.

Degsie appeared to be dribbling.

'She's your new image consultant.'

'I'll be doing your hair, make-up and advising on clothes purchasing', she said this as if it was all one word, with a rising inflection that indicated that it was the tenth time she had said it today.

I nodded a hello, and Amanda smiled – though a bit coldly if you ask me.

'This is Jason.' Jason was tall, well built and had brown hair, streaked with blonde – probably by Jenny. He was wearing a faded denim shirt over a white tee shirt and had a gadget bag at his feet.

'Jason is a movie maker – he'll be directing your new video, but he's here to get some concert footage to intercut.'

I managed a manly handshake, hoping that the fingers would recover before the next gig. Amanda was distinctly warmer with Jason, than with Jenny.

'We've got a lot to talk about', she said, gesturing at her camera, while he smiled a little condescendingly at the stills photographer.

'and last but not least...' Degsie pointed his cigar at a couple of renegades from Motörhead.

'Donny and Stevie – they'll be helping Joe and Ade with the humping. They're a bit tired, aren't you lads – they've driven all the way from Calais in the bus – 'ave you seen it?'

So the 'air-conditioned Luxury Tour Bus' was ours. It suddenly morphed in my mind from pensioner's pram to cool penthouse on wheels. Then I remembered the coke.

'What's happening to the minibus?'

'Why is everyone so interested in it?' Degsie said. 'Joe's gone off with it somewhere – it pissed off Dan and Graham.'

'Why'

'They were going to the studio with that Krau... German guy, to do the vocals. They had to get a cab.'

As if on cue, Joe strode into the lounge.

'What're you looking at?' He returned the group stare defiantly, sticking his hand in the waistband of his jeans. I had a vision of him going for his knife.

'Don't know mate, the fuckin' label's dropped off.' Degsie jabbed his cigar at him. I pictured the swordplay between them, with Degsie parrying the knife thrusts with his trusty Havana.

Degsie went through the introductions once again, as Joe nodded at each of the newcomers, a little sullenly. When we got to the two Motörhead deserters Joe narrowed his eyes. Stevie jumped up and offered his hand. Joe took it, and they looked like a pair of prize-fighters sizing up their next opponent.

'All we need is Graham and Dan, and it's one big happy family again.' Degsie left us with that pearl and he turned to go to the bar, reaching up to Joe and putting his arm around his shoulder.

Joe was happy enough to be led to the bar, and I followed, discretely.

'We was worried about you – and Dan was wondering were the van was.'

'Sorry, Degsie – I was just visiting my brother Terry – he's with the BFG – I didn't think anyone would want the van – I paid for the diesel.'

I remembered Terry – he was one mad bastard. He had signed up to the army when I was fifteen. Last I heard he was in Northern Island, but evidently they had been shipped out to Germany.

'BFG - British Forces, Germany' Degsie let me in on the acronym – he was an expert on all things military, having done national service.

'The Battle Field Gods they call themselves – Big Fuckin' Goons more like it.' He dug Joe in the ribs and waved at the barmaid.

'A Black and White, please love, a big one – and a double vodka and tonic – Jonnie, are you having one?' The Kellnerin was used to him by now, and poured the Scotch.

'I'll have a lager, thanks.'

I turned to Joe.

'We saw you up by the Wall, I think, with some guys.'

'Oh yeah, yeah.' He looked embarrassed. 'You know what Terry's like.' I did, unfortunately. An expert on making your life a misery - but without leaving scars. He was three years older than me at school and a foot taller. He was still both of those things.

'He had some tinned food – corned beef, beans and that. You know, catering stuff.'

'Liberated from the Naafi?' Degsie finished his Scotch and signalled for another.

'Dunno, Degsie, but he asked me to drop it off for him, on the way back.'

Degsie tutted.

'Stolen goods – that's three Hail Marys.'

I knew Joe was lying – he had gone red and sweaty.

'Get a good price?' I asked – Joe got a bit redder still. I knew he was lying, and he knew I knew, but Degsie hadn't known him since school, as I had. Joe could carry on lying to our beloved manager without fear of being found out.

'I lost out on the deal – I had to pay Terry in advance.'

Not bad, I thought. It had the ring of truth, at least. I wondered if this was about the coke – did he know about it? Maybe he had found it. Maybe it was something else. I decided to smoke him out.

'Degsie – what are we going to do with the van, now?' I asked him as he lit his cigar.

'I don't know – up to Dan, it's his fuckin' van. Maybe one of the new lads can take it back.' Joe looked concerned, and was about to chip in when Graham appeared with Hienrich. Graham had overheard us.

'I want to use it for me and Hienrich – I'm not sharing some doss-wagon with this bunch of losers.'

Degsie sighed and downed his scotch.

'Look, if you don't want to share with Gideon...'

'What do I care about that tosspot? – We just want a bit of privacy, and Hienrich's got a full German driving license.'

'That's not going to be any use in France and Spain.'

'Who said we're going to France, anyway.'

I took my bottle of lager and left them to it. Once – a long while ago – I thought that Degsie taking fifteen percent of our earnings was a liberty. After a few months with Graham, I thought Degsie was selling himself cheap. When they finished, I planned to get a one-to-one with Joe.

If he had found the coke, he should have told us. If he was in on the deal, I'd kill him. We were supposed to be friends. Whichever way you looked at it, he was stitching us up. Either he found the stuff and kept it to himself, or he was in on the deal and was prepared to see his friends go down if the customs people had found it.

But then again, maybe it was nothing to do with the coke – and I'd kept it secret from him, after all. I was alternating between rage and guilt when I re-joined the others.

Amanda was talking to Jason, while Jake had Jenny giggling and pushing him playfully in the arm. There were a couple of likely looking girls at the bar, eyeing us up, so I presumed Jake felt an obligation to service all the girls in the crew first. It suddenly occurred to me that maybe he had succeeded with Amanda as well. What sort of life is it were you can't trust anyone?

I saw Jason leave Amanda to go and talk to Howie, so I sidled over to her.

'How are you getting on with him?'

'He's a tosser. He wants to shoot the video in Spain, with girls in bikinis, round the swimming pool.'

Sounded fantastic to me.

'Yeah? Rubbish, eh? – maybe we can overrule him. Fancy a drink?' I suggested that we move to the smaller bar – it was a kind of kitsch German theme bar, absolutely horrible, but a bit more private. Amazingly, she agreed, and put her arm through mine as we walked through the hall.

It was a squeeze getting through the door – a very pleasant squeeze, and I kissed her on the cheek as we entered the bar.

'Hello, you two – what do you think of this – marvellous stuff, eh?' Dotty was on her knees in front of a truly hideous carved sideboard / dresser / wardrobe monstrosity.

It was about six feet wide and nearly as tall, with four doors at the bottom, a row of drawers, and three bigger doors on top. The whole thing was carved in vine leaves, grapes, wine barrels and bottles. A hymn to the German obsession with getting pissed and to their complete lack of taste.

'I think it's Swiss', she said.

We must have spent half an hour with Dotty and the monstrous sideboard. We left her looking for the owner so she could make a bid for it.

'Maybe we should take a drink upstairs', I said.

'Let's see what the main bar's like', she said – though she held on to my arm, so maybe it would be a possibility later.

Only Howie and Ade were left in the bar.

I got an update from Ade. Joe and the new roadies had gone off to find a 'proper drinking pub'. Degsie had gone off with Graham and Herr Kirschner for a meal and a heart to heart, while the others had disappeared without Ade noticing.

'We could go somewhere for a meal', I said, turning to Amanda.

'All four of us?' She said, deliberately misunderstanding me.

'I think I'd like to have a chat with a couple of the ladies by the bar', Howie said, eyeing them up.

Ade, at least, was on my side.

'I'm just going to have a quiet meal in the restaurant.'

'Let's all do that', Amanda said, and led me and Ade through to the sausage emporium, while Howie sauntered over to bar, doing his best Mr Cool walk.

I tried my best with Amanda, but she was no more than friendly. Ade seemed amused at my lack of progress, but when she went to the toilet he leant over.

'I'm out of here in a minute, brother – want me to ask the Maitre D to put some Barry White on?'

'Piss off', I said.

'Love you too', he said, laughing and slapping me on the back.

True to his word, he left just after Amanda returned, and I made my play.

'Amanda'

'You look serious – I hope you're not', she said this with a smile, but a wary one. I ploughed on.

'I think I've fallen for you.'

She sighed.

'I mean it – I'm not just trying it on.'

She took my hands in hers and turned to face me full on.

'Jonnie, I like you – I like you a lot, but I'm not looking for anyone right now – I don't want to be tied down.'

'I don't mind', I said 'I don't want to tie you down.'

'You just want to sleep with me, again?' she said, still smiling.

'No - well yes - but I mean more than that ....' I was getting lost. I knew what I meant to say, but when it came to words, I'm not the world's best poet.

She put her finger on my lips.

'Don't Jonnie. Find someone else – really.' She looked grave, now.

I pressed on, but it was hopeless, I knew – I'd overplayed my hand. I probably could have gotten her back to my room if I'd played it cool, but I had to come on like a love-sick idiot. We signed for the meal and she patted my hand as she headed for the stairs.

'Jonnie – you're a musician, you're on tour and the place is full of groupies – you don't need me.' She went through the door to the stairs and left me standing in the hall.

She was right, of course. Here I was – a number one record, no ties, and three boxes of condoms courtesy of Degsie. What was my problem? Why did I feel so shit?

I made my way back to the bar. Howie had gone, along with the girls. I suppose I could see what he was up to. I walked up the stairs to our floor, and past my room, Howie was in the next room to mine, with Jake next to him. I could hear the music from Jake's room – metal, of course, but Howie's seemed quieter.

I put my ear closer to the door. I could hear the regular groans of a fraulein and the squeak of the bed. I didn't want to burst in on him. Jake's room sounded more like a party.

I opened the door and the decibels doubled. 'Highway to Hell' was booming out from a ghetto-blaster in the corner while the smallish room was full of flesh.

What I took to be Jake's buttocks were pumping up and down as he shagged a blonde-headed girl, doggy-style, on the bed. Another fräulein was standing behind him, naked, with a hand between his thighs.

I hoped she didn't have too tight a grip on his balls – the rate he was pumping the other girl, she might have ripped them off.

On a chair to the side of the bed our 'Image Consultant', Jenny, was sprawled out. Probably naked but I couldn't be certain as she was miming to the AC/DC track with Jake's Roland guitar.

At least that's what I thought until I noticed that, although her left hand was on the fretboard, her right hand wasn't strumming the strings – it was between her legs, strumming something a little more interesting.

'This is what you joined a band for', I thought – and with a sigh, I backed out of the room and closed the door.

It looked like another early night. I guess I should have found Joe and had it out with him. I wish I had. But it didn't seem that important, or that urgent.

****

### **Tuesday 31st**

###

'O.K. which of you fucking jokers has hidden it?' Graham stood in the breakfast room, hands on hips. Herr Kirschner stood a little behind him, looking embarrassed.

'I don't mind a joke, but this is too fucking childish – it's got to be you, you fuckwit.' He pointed to Jake, who was eating ham and croissant with his left hand, while making wanking motions behind his back – out of sight of our seriously pissed off singer.

'Taken what?' Howie looked up from his cold sausage.

'You know what – the van. Our van.' He put an arm around Herr Kirschner.

'No-one would take the van, Graham', I said – at least, I hoped so, but I had a sinking feeling in my stomach.

'Joe took it.' Ade looked up from the mess of fruit and yoghurt in his bowl. 'He said he wanted to pop out to take some photos of the Wall at dawn – couple of hours ago.'

'It is the smallest motor we've got.' Ade was sticking up for him – he knew Graham would hit the roof, and he did.

I caught Magic Dan's eye. He nodded to me, and while Graham was working himself up, I took the opportunity to sidle over to the door.

'He had no right, no right. That's our van, not a fucking taxi.'

I slid outside with Magic Dan as the volume increased. Amanda noticed us, though, and gave me a hard look – she knew we were up to something. There were several side rooms off the main lobby, and we stepped into one of them. There was no heating on inside the side room, and it was freezing. We huddled together.

'Do you think he knows?' Magic Dan spoke in a whisper.

'Not Joe', I said 'It can't be him – I've known him since school – but then, who knows what money can do?' I had to be loyal to him, but I knew he had been lying yesterday.

Magic Dan looked grim. 'I'm going to phone Mulvaney – I need the truth.'

I went back to the restaurant, while Magic Dan went to the phone booth. Graham and his new lover had left, and everyone else was picking silently at their food. I wasn't hungry but I poured some more coffee. I sat next to Amanda, who didn't seem to mind the fact that our legs were touching under the table. She looked like she wanted to talk, but silence reigned at the table and she fiddled with a napkin.

After a couple of minutes, Degsie gave a sigh and rose to his feet.

'I'd better go and talk to him. You lot get on the bus – and don't sit in the front seats – leave 'em for his highness.'

Jake and Howie gave him the customary V-signs, while Gideon and The Hulk looked embarrassed by the whole thing.

We all trouped out into the hall, to get our bits and pieces – camera bags, picks, strings, pedals and so on. Magic Dan was coming down the corridor and nodded slightly to me. We went back into the side room. He was about to say something, when Amanda joined us.

'What's going on with Joe? Is he in on this stupid smuggling thing?'

Magic Dan looked at me, and I did my best to apologise with my eyes.

'How much do you know.'

'Everything that he knows.'

Magic Dan pursed his lips.

'I'm sorry you're involved in this Amanda. I'm not responsible, but if I weren't here, you wouldn't have this problem.'

'I've just phoned Mulvaney – this is his work. When I told him that Joe had disappeared with the van, he hit the roof. He didn't even have the courtesy to apologise for hiding the stuff in the van. When I pointed out that it might have gone better if he'd involved me, he just blustered. He paid Joe to help the guys in Amsterdam – it wasn't Joe who coshed you, by the way – he complained to Mulvaney about that – according to Joe you were incapable of seeing what they were up to, anyway.'

'Well, that's a little unfair', I said.

'No it's not', Amanda said, punching me in the arm – surprisingly hard.

'Anyway, he wasn't bothered about Graham and Heinrich, so long as the van made it back to the uk. He reckons that Joe has just done a runner with the stuff.'

'I think I know where he's gone', Amanda said.

I guessed she meant where we had seen him yesterday. I had wanted to keep it to ourselves, but I suppose Magic Dan knew more about the business than I did.

'It doesn't matter. Let him take the stuff. What difference does it make?' Magic Dan was suddenly animated. 'If you succeed in getting the stuff off Joe, you've got to get it back to the U.K. You've got to get it through customs, but most important of all, you've got to sell it without Mulvaney knowing, and that is completely impossible.'

'But I don't want the stuff', I said.

'We just want – well, to do what's right.' Amanda was suddenly like a little girl.

'What's right is to forget all about it. Joe's got himself into some real trouble, and I doubt if we can help him now.'

It was the first time I had seen Magic Dan angry, but angry he certainly was – with Joe, with Mulvaney, maybe with us, I didn't know. In any case, he strode off, leaving us looking at each other.

The sound check was at three, so plenty of time to settle in, and create a little bit of an atmosphere in the dressing room. Usually another way of saying that we stink the place out with grass, but in a foreign country and over the Christmas period, we were woefully short on the wonderful weed, so there didn't seem that much point.

Amanda whispered to me...

'Do you want to see what's going on?'

'No – and neither do you. This is too dangerous – much too dangerous.'

'But, I bet they're where we saw them yesterday – up by the Wall.'

'No way', I said. 'I'm going for a walk to clear my head. I'll see you later.'

I went back to my room to get my new coat, and back to the lobby – she wasn't there.

Joe and I had been together for eight years – over a third of my life, and all of my adult life. If he was prepared to set me up, I wanted him to tell me. If he was in trouble – well I had to do what I could. I slipped out of the lobby and chose a cab from the few decrepit vehicles outside the hotel. I had a vague notion of where I wanted to be...

'Die Mauer im Norden?' I tried my best German on the unshaven slob who was slouched behind the wheel, cigarette in mouth.

'You are English, yes?' He turned in the seat. 'Which part of the Wall do you want to see? The North is not so impressive, I think.'

'I am looking for a street but I don't know the name. It is near the Wall, though, so if you just drive through the streets there, we will find it.'

'Of course – it is not nice up there. I live there, so I am knowing.' We drove while I tried to describe the street where we had seen Joe. We visited a few dingy streets, but none that clicked. I racked my brain for the details, but all I could really remember was Amanda.

'It had some small factories, I think, on one side. Maybe garages.'

'Ja, maybe Josef Karfeld Strasse.' He took a couple of left turns, and we entered a dingy street with three-storey pre-war flats on one side, and a mixture of lock-ups and tiny industrial buildings. Some had signs up, advertising the business. I thought I could identify a builder's and a plumber's but none of them looked like they were doing well.

'I think this is it – I'm sure it is. Can you wait for me?' I said. I didn't fancy being stranded here without transport.

'It is near to the end of my shift. I do only the night-time and morning.'

That would be a no then. I paid him off and surveyed the silent street.

I scanned the street as I stood near the corner. It joined a slightly better-looking boulevard – at least it had some shops and some people in it. A little further on, there was an approach to the main Autobahn out of town.

The first place was obviously derelict – the windows were boarded up on the ground floor and a couple were smashed on the first. The second had a faded sign over the door –

'Karl Frisch – Klempner'.

A picture of a dripping tap provided the translation. It comprised a small two-story brick office, seemingly deserted, with double doors leading to a yard next to it. A sloping roof of corrugated plastic covered most of the yard, but stopped a few feet shy of the timber doors. I cupped my hands over my eyes and tried to see through the frosted glass door – I could just make out an empty passageway, but nothing else.

'Gotcha!'

Amanda grabbed my arm. Even though she had whispered, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

'What are you doing here?'

'What kept you?' She ignored my question. 'I've been here for ages waiting for you.'

She pulled me to the yard doors and I peered in through the gap between them. There was the van. I couldn't see it all from the narrow gap, but I could see the cartoon hippy on the door. Amanda seemed proud of finding the thing, but she looked scared and the trembling of her hand wasn't entirely due to the cold.

'Let's get out of here', I said.

'Shouldn't we knock?' she said, but the expression in her eyes held the answer. I would get her back to the hotel and come over here later.

She had a hand through my arm, and I slid my hand around her, to steer her back to the main road, and the chance of a taxi. We drew level with the glass door, when a heavily accented voice came from behind us.

'Guten Morgen – do you not wish to go in?'

We turned and faced a thick-set six-foot man in a black overcoat and astrakhan hat. He stood close behind us with his arms folded and an unpleasant expression on his face. It didn't seem polite to refuse a man a foot taller than us but I felt this was an occasion to make an exception. I prepared myself for some unpleasantness and turned to Amanda.

'Run', I hissed, but she was looking in horror at the man in black. I turned back to him to find the barrel of a gun pointed at my chest. He leant past us – rather too close to Amanda for my liking – and unlocked the door, gesturing for us to go in with the stub-nosed gun.

We went through the door, into a corridor that seemed to run the length of the building. A glass door led to an office at the front, but we walked past the empty room and towards the rear. The next door was solid but open, and we could hear voices – one of them Joe's – from the opening.

We entered and found Joe and another huge black-clad figure sat at a kitchen table, with a hold-all on the floor and a familiar looking packet on the table between them. It was the coke. I glanced into the hold-all. It was packed with the rest of the coke - ten or twelve packets like the one on the table.

Joe had his sheaf-knife out and was about to cut into the packet on the table when we entered. Joe swivelled towards us and the second goon looked up at us. He looked like a slightly older, slightly nastier version of the first one.

'What the fuck are you doing here?' Joe shouted.

'Nice to see you, too', I said.

'Shut the fuck up, you stupid bastard – what are you doing?'

'Do you want me to shut the fuck up or do you want me to tell you what we're doing?' I said. Amanda tittered, but I think it was nerves, rather than my scintillating wit.

'These are my friends', Joe said to the two goons. At that point Goon Two caught sight of the gun that Goon One held, trained on us. His face contorted into a snarl and he growled a stream of guttural German at the gunman. I'd only done a couple of terms of German at school but I didn't need a translation to understand that he wasn't keen on the first Goon having the gun with him.

He held out his hand and Goon One gave him the weapon, sheepishly. Goon Two placed it gingerly on the table, keeping his hand on it and returning to the business in hand.

'You are trying, perhaps, to cheat your companions?'

'Well, you know', Joe said, spreading his hands. It was at this point I realised that we might just have gotten into something that was a teenzy-weenzy bit too deep for us – Joe was clearly scared shitless. He was the same size as the goons but outnumbered two to one.

'Perhaps you would like to cheat us as well?' Goon Two said. It struck me that two goons with a gun versus one goon (sorry Joe) with a knife is not a real contest. I didn't think that Joe was going to get his money, somehow.

'Why do not we dispose of your associates?' Goon One said. I suppose it was just boasting, but my guts started into their normal showtime routine, where they turned entirely to liquid.

'But maybe we could have some fun first?' he added. He was standing behind Amanda. As he said this he leaned forward, roughly pulled Amanda's coat open and took her left breast in his gloved hand, squeezing hard. She yelped in pain and spun away from him leaving me facing him.

He threw back his head and laughed. Now, I'm a peaceful man, and I was a foot smaller than this piece of shit, and probably half his weight, but I drew back my right arm and launched my fist forward with every ounce of strength I had. I hit him right between his nose and his open mouth. There was a satisfying crunch and his head flew back and cracked into the door-frame.

Behind me Goon Two jumped up knocking the table over. He hit me over the head with the butt of the gun. I knew nothing of this, but from my point of view I felt an excruciating pain and everything went black as I fell to the floor.

I didn't quite lose consciousness though and I was aware of Joe jumping over the table as I attempted to stand up. Joe slammed into me knocking me back down again. I heard a scream – whether Joe or the goon, I couldn't make out, and struggled to my feet again.

Goon One was on his feet, bleeding from the mouth and gesturing furiously with his fist at us. He was supporting Goon Two who was holding his side with hands that were covered with blood. Goon One took the gun from his injured companion and waved it at Joe

Joe was standing, red-faced in fury with the bloodied sheath-knife in his hand. Amanda was next to him, white as a sheet.

'Drop it. I will kill you all – her first.'

Slowly, Joe realised he had no choice and dropped the knife. It clattered on the floor and silence ensued for a couple of seconds until the stabbed goon groaned.

'Out, out – all of you – along there.' The armed goon was white-faced with fury, as he gestured with the gun. He backed out with his injured companion and pointed along the corridor. What else could we do? We trooped out and walked to the next door. I was in the rear, and the armed goon kicked me soundly in the back of my knee. I went down and he kicked me in the thigh. I waited for the boot to land again but instead he just shouted - I guess the effort of kicking me while holding up the other guy was too much for him. It certainly wasn't any kind of compassion.

'Get up, get up.'

'Inside. Now.'

We walked – limped in my case - through the door into a dingy room – maybe it had been a storeroom or something, but it was empty now and windowless except for a small frosted glass window over the door.

If he was going to kill us, it would be here, and I tried to manoeuvre myself between him and Amanda. Joe seemed to have had all the life sucked out of him, and sat heavily on the floor, head in hands.

Once we were inside the room, however, the goon just slammed the door. After half a minute, I heard the key in the lock turning. Another half a minute and I heard the table being dragged up the corridor and wedged against the door. Then silence except for some muttered German, and some scuffling, followed by the slam of the front door and silence.

A couple of minutes passed and we heard a car start up, and the engine fade into the distance.

The only light in the room came from a pane of frosted glass set over the door, but it was light enough. Joe sat on the floor, back to the wall.

'I'm fucked, completely fucked. I should have waited till the weekend and got Terry to come with me – at least he'd have had a fucking rifle.'

'Don't worry, Joe, we'll get out of here – we're still in one piece.'

'I won't be when Mulvaney finds me. Do you know how much that stuff was worth?' That confirmed what Dan had said. Joe had been in on this from the start.

'I want the whole story now Joe - what's this all about?'

He rubbed his face with his big meaty hands. I thought for a moment he was going to start crying and he wouldn't look me in the face.

'There's this fella called Mulvaney...'

'I know about him, Joe - Dan told me.'

'What? You knew about the stuff?' Now he looked at me. I suppose I had been lying to him but I didn't feel guilty. He looked shocked. I guess he thought himself some kind of criminal mastermind but now he realised that he was just a bit-part player in other people's games.

'I'm a fucking idiot.' He looked at the floor and carried on in a low monotone.

'He paid me a couple of grand to let some guys stash the stuff in the van. That was supposed to be the end of my job but I told Terry and he saw a chance to get his hands on the cash. He knew them guys - the ones that just done us over - dunno their names. We was supposed to hand the stuff over yesterday, but they said that they hadn't got the cash together - I think they were going to rob us, but you know Terry and no-one would chance messing with him.'

I nodded. You would need a Chieftain tank to intimidate Terry.

'We was supposed to come back today. Terry was only on a day pass, though. I thought I could do the job on my own.' He shook his head.

'Fuckin' couldn't though - Mulvaney is going to absolutely kill me. Should've waited till Terry could come but with all the fuckin' fuss about the van....'

'Come on Joe - we've got six weeks or so to come up with a convincing lie.' But he just shook his head again as Amanda chipped in.

'Let's get out of here and then talk about it. Give me a lift up to the window.'

Joe continued to sit there, so I put my back to the door, and sank down, cupping my hands together. Amanda looked at Joe and shrugged, putting her hands gently to my head.

'Another cut – you won't have any scalp left, soon.' She kissed the cut, holding my head in her hands.

'Give me your shoe.' She was wearing flat shoes, with rubber soles, but mine had two inch wooden heels. I slipped them both off, and gave her the left one.

She put her foot in my hands, I straightened up and she rose in the air. For a lovely moment, her breasts scraped across my face and she giggled, under her breath. Then I pushed up until her waist was level with my head.

With a brief struggle, she got her feet onto my shoulders. I had to stand away from the door to give her the space, and I had to take her full weight for the first time – and I promised myself that, if we got out, I would take up body-building.

I steadied her as she swung at the window. Three blows, and the window cracked, another couple of blows and glass fell on the far side of the door, crashing and breaking.

Amanda used the shoe to knock out a few more bits of glass before dropping my shoe and struggling through the window. When her weight left my shoulders, I turned around just in time to see her bum disappearing through the small window.

'He's stuck a table here, I can just – ow! Shit...' and her feet disappeared through the window and I heard her crash down outside the door.

'Amanda' I shouted.

'I'm alright – I've just cut my hand a bit.' There was some bumping and the sound of the table being pulled away, then the door opened and Amanda stood there – one hand leaking a little blood through a gash in her gloves.

She was shaking a bit as I hugged her, but she was impatient to move on.

'Come on, Joe, let's get back to the others. Those two bastards might be back any minute with reinforcements.'

Joe shook his head, but got slowly to his feet, while I got my shoes back on. We walked back along the corridor, and entered the room we had been in. The table had gone, of course – and so had the holdall.

Amongst the dirt and papers on the floor was a packet of coke – it had been on the table when Joe knocked it over. The goon had pulled the table out to block our exit, leaving a heap of debris.

Joe pounced on the packet of coke. Somehow I didn't think it would be enough to pacify Mulvaney. Joe stashed it inside his jacket, and his eyes acquired the piggy squinting look that told me he was cooking up something. If you want some easy money just play poker against Joe. He might as well have a mirror mounted in the middle of his forehead to display his cards to his opponents but I let him be for the moment while we got the doors open and he started the van. I held the door open while the van backed out past me. I noticed that all the seat covers were off, lying on the back seat, and some of the seat backs had bits of foam stuffing spilling from them.

Amanda walked past me into the street as the van started a three point turn. I pulled the door shut, locking it and going back inside, to leave by the front door. I was a well brought up boy and I didn't want to leave our delightful hosts exposed to burglary.

Just as I was opening the front door, I heard the van starting to accelerate and Amanda shouting. I jumped through the door, slamming it behind me.

The van was heading at speed for the corner onto the main road. Amanda was inside – she must have got in before Joe set off. I'm not sure Joe had even seen her. She was hanging onto one of the seats as Joe accelerated. He took the corner far too fast and the back of the van skidded in the slush and out into the road. Joe steered into the skid and the van turned three-sixty, and powered out of the skid.

Amanda tried desperately to hold on to the seat, but she lost her hold and I saw her smash heavily into the luggage rack and go down like a sack of potatoes in the back of the van. I was running like a madman down the side street, and my heart sank to see her, as the van disappeared from my view.

By the time I had reached the end of the side-street, the van was thirty yards down the main road, waiting at a red light for the on-ramp to the autobahn. I could hardly breathe, but I forced my legs to pump faster, while I pulled my mini-Crombie open and shrugged out of it, throwing my best coat into the gutter.

I closed the distance to 5 yards, and the lights turned to green. Damn, damn, damn, I shouted with the little bit of breath I had left. Thank God there was a truck going across the junction. Joe was driving out towards it, but couldn't get past. I half stumbled, half ran up the steep incline and launched myself at the roof ladder. I got hold and tried to get enough air into my lungs. My throat was raw and my head thumped with the effort.

I could swear that Joe could see me through the mirror – but he didn't stop or slow down. I could see Amanda slumped on one of the double seats.

Shit, the only way in was to crawl up onto the roof-cage and then hang onto it while opening the side door. As we were crawling behind the big truck, I needed to get on with it before Joe picked up speed. Reluctantly I pulled myself up the ladder, as Joe manoeuvred around the truck. Still a couple of seconds before the on-ramp became wide enough for him to push past the truck.

I crawled along the roof-cage as we passed the truck. I could see the autobahn traffic to my left, bowling along at German speeds. Joe was standing on the accelerator and the van was growling like a bear with a sore head. Some kids went past on the autobahn in a VW camper – they were pointing at me and laughing. I'd gotten level with the door. No time for nerves, I took a deep breath and jumped over, with both hands on the cage bars.

The Transit joined the autobahn traffic into the right hand lane. I had a glimpse of cars flashing past in the fast lane of the two lane autobahn. Some guy in a black merc blared his horn. Not quite sure what the fuck for.

I let go of the bar with my right hand, and fished for the door handle. I opened it and pulled outward. The door was a sliding one, but it still needed to come out nearly a foot to open – I couldn't do it with my left hand clinging to the roof rack.

Another car passed us, though we must have been doing seventy by now. The draft seemed to pull me out, as I let go of the roof rack, and I fell away from the van. The door opened and I scrabbled to get my left hand onto the top of the now open door. I was covered in sweat and about to throw up, as the door started to slide open, slamming my left hand into the roof rack support. I had to scrabble once again to regain the door, and get my knee inside, then my leg, then my arm, and finally I was inside and shutting the door against the seventy-mile-an-hour wind.

Joe was driving like a madman. There's no speed limit on the German autobahns, but there is definitely a speed limit for Transit vans – they shake themselves apart at about ninety. We were just under that limit.

I made my way up the aisle, lurching from side to side. Joe could see me in the mirror.

'Come near me, and I'll brain you.'

Amanda was still unconscious, slumped in the double seat behind Joe.

If I tried to jump him, he would either knock me out, or run the van into the other traffic that was thronging the autobahn. I sat down on the seat behind Amanda.

'That's better – you stay put.'

'What are you doing, Joe?' I shouted above the rattling of the Transit as he pulled into the fast lane.

'I'm getting the fuck out of Germany, and I'm going to sell this stuff in Amsterdam – there's no shortage of dealers in Amsterdam.'

'Get out of the way.' He shouted this at the poor guy in the Opal in front.

'How's that going to help?' I said, shouting up at him. Even if he wanted to go to Amsterdam, he didn't have to do it at this speed. And the bastard could let me and Amanda out first.

'It'll get me a ticket out to somewhere. Scotland, maybe. I don't care – any fucking where.'

'Look Joe, slow down - this isn't going to help anyone.'

'I'm makin' my own decisions now', he said and edged closer to the Opal. It was only a two lane highway, and we had a truck and trailer on our right. The guy in the Opal couldn't move into the slow lane, and Joe was flashing his lights at him and driving a couple of inches behind his bumper.

'Come on, you bastard.'

The guy in the Opal must have touched his brakes and Joe, acting out of instinct, slammed on the anchors. The Transit wasn't that well adjusted, and we slewed around, the nose towards the central barrier and the tail into the lorry next to us. We hit it between the main lorry and its trailer.

I don't know a lot about physics, but I know that if you hit something twenty times your size, it travels on in a straight line, and you get bounced out of the way. It spun us round, and we hit the central barrier. I was slammed into the back of Amanda's seat, while she was tipped onto the floor. The van was facing backwards now. I could see that Joe had gone through the windscreen, scattering little pieces of glass everywhere. He was half on the bonnet, his head invisible to me as it was hanging down in front of the van. His coat had been half-ripped from his body and the packet of coke was dangling from the remains of the coat.

I watched in horror as a cream-coloured Mercedes tried to brake in time. It couldn't, and in slow motion, I watched it hit the Transit's bonnet, and a plume of blood and shards of flesh shot upwards, covering the Transit and Mercedes and throwing me onto the floor again.

I was on the floor of the van, winded and bleeding from the nose. Amanda was under the seat, blood on her arms and face. I grabbed her and tried to pull her out, but she was stuck in the seat supports.

I crawled forward, becoming aware of the smell of petrol and the crunch of glass under my hands and knees. I pulled her forward but the big lapels of her jacket were still stuck on the seat support, holding her back. I was throttling her before I realised and reached over her to pull them clear.

Then one of her feet caught in the other side of the seat. I stood up to reach over her body, and the world swam around me. Steadying myself on the seat, I managed to free her foot, and tugged again at her shoulders.

She was free, now, and I pulled her into the aisle and towards the door. The driver's door was a mess, buckled and almost half height, but the passenger side door looked intact. Pulling on the door release I pushed outwards. It was too heavy for me and I groaned in frustration. I had to drop Amanda and use my full weight to push the thing open and get it to slide back.

Pulling Amanda by the shoulders I managed to get us both out, onto the highway, just as a German trucker got to the door. He lifted Amanda bodily off me, and I collapsed back into the Transit, watching as he carried her away to the hard shoulder.

I staggered to my feet and climbed out again. The truck, with it's trailer, was twenty or thirty yards up the road, on the hard shoulder. The Transit, minus windscreen and crumpled to almost half hight on the driver's side, was facing the wrong way in the fast lane. The Mercedes was bonnet to bonnet with it but jackknifed so that the slow lane was half blocked and traffic was building up behind it.

I held myself up by leaning on the Mercedes, trying not to look at whatever was left of Joe. I could see a spreading pool of blood between the vehicles and I noticed smoke was starting to curl out of the wrecked bonnet of the Merc. I looked at it curiously, unable to interpret what I was seeing.

The driver was still slumped over the wheel and I was standing at the passenger side. I opened the passenger door and sat down heavily, legs still outside the car. I turned to try and release the seat belt, and the pain down my side made the world spin again.

Groaning, I swung my feet inside, and released his seat-belt. He was a big man. I pulled him back from the wheel and his head sunk onto his chest, only inches over his belly. I pulled at him, but couldn't budge his huge weight. I would have to get out of the car to get more leverage.

Pulling myself out of the car, I found the trucker pointing and shouting in German. I got out of his way and he reached inside pulling the driver out with both hands. He placed his foot on the door sill and gave a final heave, getting the driver half out. I took hold of the fat man's arm and pulled as hard as I could. His hips cleared the car and I transferred my hands to his belt while the trucker cursed and jerked at his arms.

Both of us tugged and pushed until the driver was out. The trucker was shouting something at me, but I couldn't understand. I helped to get the driver away, one foot, two foot, three foot. The guy was so heavy and so awkward, and I wanted to go to sleep. Just sleep.

I shook my head as I heard the whoosh of the flames as the Merc went up. Me and the trucker seemed to find new strength from the fear and we dragged the fat man over to the hard shoulder. I felt the van go up from the blast of heat on my back. I turned to face it. The flames were a good fifteen foot high, black smoke bellowing into the sky.

I sank to my knees and everything disappeared into darkness. My last thoughts were of the coke lying somewhere inside the burning van.

****

### **January 1986**

###

****

### **Wednesday 1st**

###

If I said I remembered New Years Day, I would be lying. I have some dreams that I can't verify. I remember people - doctors? - looking down at me. I remember trying to get out of bed and being firmly restrained by some shadowy figure. I think I was trying to find Amanda, but it wasn't until the next day that I did.

****

### **Thursday 2nd**

###

I was woken early by the clatter of hospital routine. I was in a small side ward in one of the two beds it contained. The other was empty. I listened to the noise of people walking about and the hubbub of German voices and I fell back into a deep sleep. When I next surfaced it was to find a doctor or nurse - I don't remember which - flashing a small torch into my eyes and speaking in English.

'Herr Cole - how do you feel - have you headache?'

I mumbled something and she turned to a big man in a suit at her side. They spoke briefly in German and then both went away. I thought that that was a good thing. I decided on another nap.

I was woken by someone stroking my forehead and opened my eyes to find Amanda looking down at me.  She was wearing a shabby striped dressing gown over a blue and white nightie and had a large red lump on the side of her head. I put my hands out to pull her towards me and was astonished to find them encased in bandages. She took them in her hands and held them.

'How are you feeling?'

'O.k. I think. What....' I never finished the 'what happened' because it came back to me then. Not all of it but enough.

'Joe?' I asked. Amanda shook her head.

She bent over me and I kissed her, half-rising from the bed. She pushed me back down with the flat of her hand on my chest then pulled up a chair and sat down.

'How are you? Are you alright?' I asked and found her hand again with my bandaged one.

'I've got a headache' she pointed at the red lump 'and my side hurts.' I nodded and regretted it as the world continued to swirl around. Amanda leaned in towards me.

'I'm going to have to talk to the police - what should I say?'

'Don't mention the drugs', I said, suddenly panicking. I'm sure German prisons were much better than English ones, but I didn't want to find out. She nodded, a dubious expression on her face and was about to argue with me when a white-suited figure appeared behind her.

'Miss Daniels - that is probably enough for Mr Cole.'

I decided on some more sleep.

****

### **Friday 3rd**

###

Polizeioberkommissar Hanning was a polite, softly spoken man. Evidently fond of his sausages, dumplings and beer. There was not a line in the smooth folds of his face, and a well-cut suit disguised the bulk of his body. He had wanted to talk to me yesterday, apparently, but I don't think I made enough sense for his official report. He re-appeared at my hospital bed just after they told me that I was being discharged.

Amanda had been released the previous day. The bump on her head meant a minimum two days of observation according to the rather dour schwester who had cleaned her up and dressed her in that rather fetching blue and white nightie. It took most of Thursday before I could string a coherent sentence together - nothing new there, I guess. They kept shining lights in my eyes until I could remember what my name was and could count backwards. I'm told these are vital skills in German life.

By the end of the day I had been able to assess the damage - a cut on my head, multiple little cuts on both hands with one on the right deep enough to require stitches. I wouldn't be playing a concert again for a couple of weeks. I'd hit my head on the autobahn when I fainted but although it gave me interesting dreams for a few days, it left nothing to show on my battered head.

Once my fogged brain had cleared I had had plenty of time to think. I had decided to tell the police the complete truth. After all, knifing the thug was self-defence on Joe's part, and they would certainly find the coke either on Joe's body, or in the wreckage. When I had talked to Amanda yesterday - that is to say, whispered - we had agreed not to mention the drugs, but now I could think clearly I could see no point in concealing the truth.

'Herr Cole, you are well, I trust?'

'Yes, thank you.' I took a deep breath, and readied myself for what was to come.

He had a copy of the New Musical Express - in English - and he placed it on the bed, next to my bandaged hands.

'I have been reading my son's music paper – you read this also?'

'I haven't read this week's edition, sir.' Read the NME? – Did I look like a student?

'Several witnesses to your unfortunate accident have testified that a person was climbing on the roof of your vehicle prior to the crash. This music paper has an interesting interview with a young man, a musician like yourself, on tour in America, who says he likes to make play by crawling out of a car window, while it is moving at speed, making his way over the top of the vehicle, and then back in the opposite side. Very interesting. He says he only does it when high on the LSD.'

He showed me the page. It was Julian Cope boasting about his spider-man-like ability to cling to the metal. The relevance slowly dawned.

'I think this is not appropriate for our Autobahns. We know that Mr Ashworth had not taken any drugs' – Joe had been straight since Amsterdam.

'and we have taken the liberty of analysing your blood.' – it was a liberty, I never signed anything.

'and you also were not in the influence.'

'Under', I said, stupidly 'under the influence'. He looked hard at me.

'As you say. You have smoked cannabis in the recent past, but not for several days. We have also searched the wreckage of the kombi – of the minibus – and we have found a few grains of cannabis and cocaine. We have toyed with the idea of prosecuting you for this, but it may be more trouble than we wish.'

A few grains? The fire must have destroyed the half kilo that Joe was carrying.

'As far as I can see, Mr Cole, you have committed no serious crime. Your unfortunate friend has put several peoples lifes – lives - at risk, and has taken his own. I feel that there are events connected to this incident which may be illegal, but I am prepared to leave this to my friends in the English police – I have trouble enough with my own German criminals.'

'Also, you are to be thanked most well for the life of Herr Frauendorfer.' I guessed that that was the name of the fat businessman in the Merc.

'I understand from your manager that you will all leave the country as soon as you are discharged. I have asked to be kept informed of progress in the UK and will now release you, with a caution, as I believe you say, to behave more with responsibility.'

He stared at me with his pudgy blue eyes as I stammered a thank you.

We had been walking by the river, talking about Joe, about Mulvaney, about drugs and finally about us.

'We'll be back in London soon – we may never see each other again.'

'Not if I can help it', I said – I meant it, too.

'Yeah, right. I know musos, Jonnie. Girls are notches on the headboard – if we are that important.' She ruffled my hair as she said it, though, and smiled.

'Graham seems definite.' I decided to change the subject, but slid my arm around her. Graham had decided to fold the band – really, this time. Typically Graham had said something about Joe's death being a portent but I talked to Magic Dan about it and he told me that Heinrich had been teasing him about the 'New Romancer' name. We had tried for a couple of months to get him to change the name with no response other than sulking, but Heinrich only had to rib him for it being old-fashioned and that was the end. Even if winding up the band was a bluff on Graham's part, Degsie had called the bluff this time. He had just pointed out that he held a personal contract on all of us. Whatever Graham did, Degsie got fifteen percent. Graham had shrugged and went off to Heinrich's studio.

'Dad said that the authorities want us out of the country, anyway. The official line is that it was a terrible accident and we are too broken-up to carry on. With that and your poor hands, we should get to pick up on the insurance. Any fighting the authorities and we might get expelled, and lose out on the compensation for cancelling the tour.'

We walked in silence for a while, but she covered my bandaged hand, at her waist, with her gloved one. I thought again about Joe and his short life. He had been happy quite often I thought. Not often enough though - there is never enough happiness in life. We passed under a bridge and I shook my head in the dim light. Life is for living. I kissed her.

We stood under the bridge kissing and I felt her press her hips into mine. I let my tongue enter her mouth and she responded with hers. We pulled our heads apart as a sleety rain started to fall outside the bridge. We were about five minutes away from the hotel and we had the rest of the day before we had to ship out for England first thing in the morning.

'Let's run for it', She said, and sprinted out into the rain. I followed, savouring the movement of her hips. Even through the heavy black coat I could enjoy her lovely bum.

It had stopped raining by the time we got to the hotel, and the run had become more of a chase. I grabbed her as we reached the door and kissed her. She nipped my lower lip with her teeth and broke away, with a laugh, running up the stairs.

We were all on the second floor, and I ran after her up the four flights of stairs till we reached my room – hers was further up the corridor. She turned, letting me catch her and I grabbed her, kissing her while I got the key out, and the door open.

This time there was no MDMA involved, and my bandaged hands were not the best tools for love-making, but we managed - and then we managed again. The picture I have in my mind of Amanda sitting astride me, flushed and panting, is one that will stay with me for the rest of my life. And, try as I might, the sight of the angry purple and blue bruise over her ribs will too.

****

### **Saturday 4th**

###

Most of the others had already left, as they were flying out, but Ade and Magic Dan had to go with the equipment. Dotty insisted on going with Dan and I had volunteered to help - though I wouldn't be that much help with my bandaged hands. The truth was that I didn't want the abrupt transition to being back in London facing an uncertain future and trying to persuade Amanda to share it with me. Amanda also wanted to go by boat - she had a fair bit of equipment to take care of but I think that, like me, she didn't want to let go of the this new exciting life just yet.

She had stayed the night with me in my room but had returned to her own to shower and dress. Even allowing for the lacquering of my hair, I was still down at breakfast before her.

When I got down to the breakfast room I found Degsie working his way through ham, hard boiled eggs, cheese and assorted bread rolls. He was wearing sunglasses - at 9:30, indoors, in January. He waved a fork at me as I collected a croissant and a little pot of jam. I was sure he should have been en-route to the airport, but I supposed he knew what he was doing.

'Dodging the press, Degsie?' I said.

'Fuckin' comedian. I went to see Terry, offer me condolences and all that.' He raised the sunnies to reveal the purple bruise around his right eye.

'Ouch! He's a big lad, is Terry.' I was genuinely sympathetic.

'He might be big, but he's not a scouser. I s'pose he might be able to walk again soon.' Degsie jammed that sunnies back on and attacked the blameless ham again.

'What happened then?' I said and he pushed the now-empty plate away and wiped his mouth, settling down for the tale. As he did, Amanda appeared and went over to the breakfast bar.

Degsie lowered his voice to his version of a whisper, though you would have to be in the next room not to be able to hear it loud and clear.

'He went for a left hook - classic. I ducked but I wasn't fast enough.' He pointed to the hidden black eye.

'He went to follow through with the right, but I sent the knee in and it took 'is mind off it. So I right-armed him to take his mind off his balls, then sent the knee in to remind him about 'em again.'

'Then he went down and I worked me way up his ribs on the right side, then down again on the left side. Then I fucked off before the MPs - that's Military Police to you civvies - before they showed up.'

By now, Amanda had sat down opposite us and was adding milk to her muesli.

'Honestly Dad, you shouldn't be fighting at your age.' Degsie grinned like an eleven-year-old.

'I'd only gone to give him me commiserations and to ask if he regretted getting young Joe into all that druggy stuff.' I knew that Dan had told him about the drugs, but I don't think he had got the whole story. All he knew was that Joe was trying to sell coke to some people that Terry knew. Degsie went on...

'I also kinda mentioned that he should have regretted getting Amanda involved in it all. Seemed to fuckin' upset him for some reason.'

'Look Dad - we knew...' Amanda started to say, but I thought it was time to interrupt. It wouldn't help to have Degsie know about Mulvaney or that I had covered up the smuggling plot - and especially not that Amanda had. I had turned it over in my head and her words when I told her - 'You want me to lie to my father' - had echoed through my head several times while I was in hospital.

'We knew he was up to something, but we don't know what part Terry had in it', I said while Amanda concentrated on her breakfast.

'Well he's a wrong 'un - I can tell yer that', Degsie said looking satisfied.

'Dad, there's something else.' That dented his confidence and he waited for her to reveal some worse news.

'Jonnie and I - we're...' she turned to me 'What are we?'

'Er... an item?' I suggested. Amanda grimaced at the Americanism and stuck her tongue out. Degsie looked at me as if I was something he had just stepped in. I watched several emotions struggle for possession of his face and his multiple chins. Eventually he looked at me with his little eyes.

'Could've done worse, I suppose.' I breathed out, suddenly aware that I had been holding my breathe. Amanda slid her leg between mine, under the table and I lost the next couple of words. I came back to reality to find Degsie was talking travel.

'The consul is handling poor Joe's body, so I'm flying out in a couple of hours - Dan says your going back with him. Long trip, that - you sure mate?'

'Er yeah', I said. I hadn't really thought about it.

'I'm going with Jonnie', Amanda said, and Degsie nodded and mulled it over for a few seconds.

'Awright - take care of her, won't you? Yer too fuckin' accident-prone.'

****

### **Sunday 5th**

###

The drive across Germany was dull and grey. The drive across Belgium was duller and greyer. Ade, Amanda and I were in a Volkswagen we had hired to replace the minibus - our air-conditioned palace on wheels having gone back to England with our new-found friends while I was in hospital.

Magic Dan and Dotty were in the eight-tonner, so we were spared Dotty's relentless chatter. We listened instead to cassettes on Ade's newly acquired ghetto-blaster as the grey landscape rolled by. I guess we were still in a state of shock and we discussed music, television, books, films - anything but what had happened to us a few days ago, or what might happen in future.

We eventually arrived in Calais and checked in to a cheap hotel to wait for the next sailing. Amanda and I shared a room. The bandages on my hands were now quite grubby after helping with the gear and she wouldn't let me touch her with my hands. Nothing else was out of bounds though and a little imagination and innovation meant we didn't get a lot of sleep before we had to stuff breakfast down and get moving.

****

### **Monday 6th**

###

The customs men were quite apologetic, but firm. They were going to take everything apart, check every piece of equipment, open every box. They had been tipped off by the German police and leant on by the English police – and, hell, they liked it anyway.

Ade and I volunteered to help them, and to keep an eye on what they might accidentally drop into their hold-alls. The others went off in search of something to eat. I could be a bit more useful now as I had taken off most of the bandages and a nice nurse on the boat had put a fresh dressing over the three stitches on my right hand.

Dan told me that the others were dreading the reception at the airport, so we were 'lucky' to have spent most of two days travelling by land and sea but, as it turned out, it wasn't too bad. With Thin Lizzie's singer Phil Lynott dying on Saturday, the tabloids were too busy making life hell for his family to bother with the guys too much. I don't suppose Graham would have worried about being on the front pages, but even he must have been a bit down, leaving Heinrich in Germany.

There were two customs guys on the job, Mike and Bob, and a rather foxy-looking customs lady called Denise. Of the guys, Mike was thin and nervous, Bob was a bit fat and found bending over the equipment a little challenging.

They started by opening the back of the Volkswagen. The Volkswagen didn't have any of the stage gear in it so it looked like an easier job than the eight-tonner. We let the two guys go through the VW's lockers, search the luggage, check the seats, pull up the carpets. They deflated the spare tyre and felt inside it.

Then we started on the eight-tonner. The stage lights didn't take too much time. There's no way to hide anything in a light, and the control panel was easily opened – no room inside for anything. Ade showed Denise how the gels worked, and got the board switched on with a couple of powered spots. She stood at the board while he stood behind her, guiding her hands over the switches and relays.

He might be committed to his girlfriend, but he kept himself match-fit at all times.

Dotty had bought the hideous sideboard from the hotel, and it was jammed into the eight-tonner. Me and the two customs guys pulled it out and put it to one side, and started unloading the speaker bins. These were probably the worst thing to search.

Each of the speaker bins had a screw every six inches and half of them were painted over with matt black paint. We got most of them out, but we had to lever the back off a couple of speakers, with resulting splinters of broken chipboard. Still, chipboard is cheap.

The actual equipment was a slower job. There were three DX7s and I had to take the backs off them, and let the guys peer inside with little torches, hoping to God they wouldn't see anything suspicious and order us to get the keys off or something. I offered to give Denise a quick demo of the keyboards, but she didn't seem keen. Bob, however, was an amateur keys player in a local band, and was dead keen to have his hands on a decent Yamaha. I had to show him some of the joys of FM synthesis while dodging his blue-clad beer-gut.

After a couple of hours we were done. We'd taken the shells off the drums, opened the control panels on the guitars, let them take out the miles of cable, and then reloaded the fuckers. They even peered inside the microphones. Finally, they stripped what they could of the body of the truck, and let the spare tyres down. Mike, at least, gave us some directions to the local garage where we could pump them up again.

We had got most of the stuff back in the eight-tonner, and were about to pick up Dotty's sideboard in its bubble-wrap and polythene.

'Hang on, lads', said Mike, imitating a bemused local looking at a five-legged cow.

'We haven't had a look in this.' He went off and came back with a pair of scissors, proceeding to cut through the polythene and bubble-wrap.

'Truly fucking hideous', said Ade. He read style magazines. I only read Sound-on-Sound, but I tended to agree. There is something about carved leaves that puts me in mind of my grandma's taste in tat.

'Well I think it's nice', said Denise, while Bob nodded.

'Lotta work in it', he said. There was a lot of work in a Bucks Fizz single, but...

'I suppose, in the right context...' Ade was tying to get on Denise's good side, but I reckon he'd blown it.

By now, the hyper-efficient Mike had stripped all the plastic off it, and was opening the doors. He had his head inside one door and his torch inside the other, combing the inside.

'Might be a touch of woodworm in here – I'd 'ave it treated, if I were you.'

He straightened up and pulled out the drawers, checking underneath and peering into the holes before replacing them. Bob, meanwhile, grabbed a drawer and checked out the dovetails.

'You can't fault the workmanship, even if it is German', he said, ponderously – and still people ask me why I don't get a proper job. I didn't bother telling him it was Swiss.

Mike finished the scrutiny and started sticking the bubble-wrap back together. Bob still had the drawer in his hand and was looking at the sideboard. He held the drawer against the side of the piece.

'This is a bit shallow, isn't it?' You should know, I thought. He got down on his knees with a bit of effort, and examined the hole where the drawer had sat. He peered in with his flashlight and eventually, reached in and clicked something inside.

'Ha – secret drawers – a lot of these have 'em.' He drew out a rather crude pine drawer, about five inches deep, and examined it, eventually looking up at me.

'Well, Mr Cole, I might have to caution you before we discuss the contents.'

My famously liquid guts made an appearance as Bob stepped over to me and thrust the drawer under my nose. Inside was a folded magazine. I took it out. There was several more inside. Though obviously old, it was in colour and consisted of pictures of rather hefty German Frauen in the nude. Swimming, playing leapfrog and various ball games (in the original sense of the phrase).

Bob was laughing.

'Importing pornography – it's very serious! – but I think we'll exercise our discretion and let you off.'

Even so, he checked the other three hidden drawers. All contained porn of the same vintage. Probably thirty years old, I guess. All those women would be in their fifties now, I supposed. Older than my mum – I shook my head.

We helped to patch up the bubble-wrap and re-wrapped the sideboard returning the hideous thing to the eight-tonner, re-packing the lights, signing the disclaimer, locking up and GETTING THE FUCK OUT OF THERE.

The next few hours were tedium. Hired equipment to drop off, our own stuff out to Camden Town, Magic Dan's stuff to St Johns Wood, then the trucks to deliver. We took Amanda home relatively early on - about five minutes to midnight. She had all her gear to organise, and the films to ship off for development. They might never be used, but you never know. I wanted to stay but she was off to her Mum's first thing. I had asked her if she wanted me to go with her and she shook her head.

'No - wouldn't be a good idea just now.' So we kissed for a few minutes while Ade played gooseberry in the van.

****

### **Tuesday 7th**

###

The house in Camden seemed hollow, somehow. Graham had gone - no-one knew where but Jake said it was the Hilton. The Hulk had moved into the 'Penthouse' flat with Gideon, so Jake had a floor to himself. I was still stuck sharing with Howie while I speculated about whether Amanda could move in here or if I could move in with her. One thing for sure was that me and the lads wouldn't be staying here for much longer. The house was leased to the band and the band was defunct. Mentally, I had given us a month's notice. I expected that to be made official soon.

Ade had given me a box of Joe's stuff to sort through before it went to his Mum's. Ade had his suitcases, so I had to do my bit with the odds and sods he had in the hotel room. We didn't want any porn, condoms or worse being left for Mrs Ashworth to discover.

I unclipped the top of the box and started sorting through the clothes on the top. I just checked the pockets of the jeans and combat trousers and threw a couple of packets of condoms into a plastic bucket that was taking the place of a waste-paper basket in the living room.

There were a couple of dog-eared sci-fi books, and a heap of cassettes – Foreigner, Paul Young, Frankie – Joe was a top-twenty sort of guy. I left them for Mrs Ashworth.

There were some tools in the bottom – screwdrivers and pliers, and a screwed up magazine. I smoothed it out – 'Tea Time Teasers'. I had to laugh. The guy was still stuck on the crossword. He'd finally got four across, though... 'Was he duplicated? Unfinished but over.' – in his childish capitals it read 'WASHED UP'. I threw the magazine in the bucket.

'Jonnie Cole', I said into the receiver, hoping it was Amanda. She said she would call and it was after ten. I had been lurking by the telephone since about seven. The other guys were fed up of taking the piss out of me by now, but they managed a little cheer when it finally rang.

'Miss you.' It was the first thing she said. I was amazed how two words could have such an instant effect. My eyes filled with tears and my stomach felt as if it had been squeezed by a giant hand.

'And I miss you', I said. 'Just a sec.' I covered the mouthpiece to have a word with my beloved bandmates.

'Why don't you fuck off?' I said as Howie mimed playing the violin and Jake started singing the Rene and Renato classic 'Save your Love'. I must have made some impact as they flicked some Vs at me and went down to the basement.

'Sorry about that - bit of barracking from the guys', I said.

'Can't be too long, Jonnie. I've just popped out to the phone box. I didn't want to call from Mum's'.

'Are you alright? How is she?'

'I'm fine and she's hysterical.' I laughed and she joined in politely.

'Seriously. How are you feeling?'

'I'll be ok. I'm all Mum's got, you know. Well, that's what she keeps telling me, anyway.'

'It's true, I suppose. I'm sure she'll calm down in a day or two.'

'I hope so.'

We carried on talking about inconsequential things while I tried to picture her standing in the phone box in her coat and gloves and the silly little ear-muffs that she had bought in Calais. Eventually her money ran out and with a quick 'Love you' from both of us, I was holding a silent phone while a heavy metal version of the wonderful Renee and Renato classic drifted up from the basement.

****

### **Wednesday 8th**

###

We were back in England again.

We were back in London again.

We were back in Degsie's office again.

He was droning on again.

But this time I was listening - we were discussing my future. Well, everyone's future I suppose. Degsie was being official and I was wondering if he had a tape-recorder running. He hardly swore at all - only once per sentence or so.

'The thing is - a band is not like a company or somethin' - so 'New Romancer' is whatever it is, if you get me.' I didn't and I don't think Degsie did either. We were all there - even Graham. He sat quietly, hands in his lap, gazing at Degsie with a calm expression with the merest hint of superiority and condescension - something was most definitely up.

'So now His Majesty has decided to fuck off...' he jerked a thumb at Graham, who nodded to acknowledge the tribute of his subject. '...We can divvy up the proceeds so far, and look for a new singer for you tossers.' He looked around the room and we all shifted a little uncomfortably. But it was true. Graham had opted out but the band existed before him and could exist after him - and we had a number one to capitalise on.

'And there's the American tour. Money to be made there - they're only little theatres but you can break in the new boy - perfect!' Degsie rubbed his hands together.

'I've bin asked to set up a little charity gig as well - you can try that out for your first appearance.'

'Just one thing though, Derek.' Graham held up a hand and we all turned to look at him. He did, in fact look quite fine in a green check suit and a yellow-tinted fedora. The red bandana around his neck might be a touch loud, but loud was always better than quiet, in Graham's book. He paused as if waiting for the right moment.

'I took the precaution of copyrighting the name 'New Romancer' last Monday. I have decided that I don't want to see its reputation sullied by a cheap imitation of the band.'

There was pretty much a shocked silence for a few seconds before Degsie weighed in.

'We'll see what the company solicitor says.'

'Of course Derek. Do have him call my man.' Graham took out a business card from the leather bag he had slung from his shoulder and gave it to Degsie. Degsie attempted to set fire to the cardboard with the ferocity of his gaze while Graham rose from his seat and brushed some imaginary dust from his bum.

'I hope to see you around boys. Good luck with your future.'

And with that, he left.

I had found that there was a telephone point in my bedroom, so I moved the only phone in the house into there before anyone noticed and listlessly played some tunes on a mini keyboard I had set up in there. I had been to the hospital in the afternoon to get the stitches out, and had been trying out the hand. It pulled a bit, but didn't seem too bad.

At just after eight Amanda phoned from the phone box. We talked for a minute or two about her relations and their Christmas and New Year parties while I tried to make the picture of her in my mind come to life and hug me. I filled her in on the morning's meeting and she tried to describe what her mum thought and said.

Her mum had taken the week off from work - she was a primary school teacher. A week off was unpopular at the start of term but they understood, apparently. She and Amanda had exchanged Christmas presents - Amanda had bought her some German chocolate and some Dutch blue and white china vases. Her mum had bought her loads of stuff - clothes, records, a fancy handbag and so on.

I had hoped that Amanda would be back in a day or two, but as her mum had taken the week off, she felt obliged to stay for the whole week.

After ten minutes, the cold was getting to her and I urged her to get back home and into the warm. I nursed the phone for a minute or two before going down to the cellar, as my nose told me that someone had replenished our stores of resin and my ears told me that we had a drummer, a bassist and a guitarist cranking out a twelve bar blues. They needed a keyboard player to shift them onto something more up-to-date.

****

### **Thursday 9th**

###

I was due at Magic Dan's studio at some unheard-of hour of the day. I was only ten minutes late when I hurried up the road. I was over in St John's Wood at Magic Dan's invitation to play on a track he was mixing.

I was just turning into the gravel drive when a big black car came out at some speed and slid past me spraying gravel over my shoes and forcing me back against the brick gatepost. It was driven by small man, about my height in a smart suit and tie. As he passed me I noticed that his hair was artfully combed around a bald spot, like a solitary egg in a bird's nest. There were two bigger, shadowy figures in the back, so I guessed it was a taxi - though it looked a bit smart for that and it had no insignia or badges.

The driver glared at me as he passed, evidently upset that an upstart pedestrian should get in the way of his smart new car. Politeness was obviously a characteristic of a bygone age, I thought before laughing. I was twenty and already an old fogey. I rang the bell and the usual noises of dogs and footsteps preceded the door opening.

'Hello Jonnie, come in – Daniel is in the studio. Would you like a coffee, dear – have you had breakfast? I've got some muffins – and cook's here if you want a fry-up.'

Dotty managed this while opening the door, pulling back one of the dogs – I don't know if it was Mick or Keef – and kissing me on the cheek. She is a talented woman.

'Who were those guys in the car? The driver didn't look like a happy man', I said, and that stopped her flow of cut-glass vowels as she frowned and grasped my forearm with her free hand.

'You had better ask Daniel.'

Douglas was there as well – he was laying down some bottleneck guitar when I got into the studio.

I suppose Magic Dan knew what he was doing, but I didn't see what bottleneck had to add to modern music. When they finished, Magic Dan looked up and read the question on my face.

'Wait till you hear it with echo, Jonnie – you're going to play the same riff.' He pointed at the two DXs which were a permanent feature of the studio.

The next hour was pure pleasure. We eventually knocked it off as a kind of percussive effect, based on the DX's steel drum preset, with the sliding guitar tones underneath. It was certainly different – I was unconvinced up until it got to number three in February – one of Magic Dan's best.

When we had finished, Dan carefully shook my hand, eyeing the red scar and wrote out cheques for Douglas and me.

'First of many, I hope, Jonnie – you staying for lunch?' This was addressed to both of us.

'No ta, Dan – a quick coffee would be nice, though', Douglas said as he packed up his guitar.

'Sure – what about you?'

'Any of Dotty's special cake?' I said, getting a laugh from Douglas and a smile from Magic Dan.

'Amanda's up in Liverpool with Sandra, then?' Dougie had a black coffee in hand as we sat around the pine table in the kitchen. Dan had a matching cup of the black stuff while mine was 'contaminated' (Dougie's words) with a good splash of milk. Dotty sat down with us and gave me and Dan a small slice of her special cake.

Dougie cocked an eyebrow at me, waiting for me to reply. I had almost forgotten that he was Amanda's 'uncle'.

'Yeah - till the weekend.'

It looked like I was going to get an interrogation.

'I hope you don't mind me interfering but are you serious about her? She means a lot to me, you know.'

'I am. Serious, I mean.' Dougie nodded and looked quizzically at Dan. Dan took a sip of his coffee before answering his silent question.

'He's a good lad.'

'He is', added Dotty 'and they're a nice couple - you know they are right for each other.'

'Hang on', I said, 'I'm sitting here, you know.'

They ignored me.

'I promised Sandra I'd look after her, and she ended up in hospital and involved with an unemployed keyboard player.' He said this with a wink, though. I made some noise to chip in a defence, but was ignored again as Dan said...

'He's not unemployed - I've just paid him. And you never know - Derek might bring Graham around again.'

That seemed to be good enough for Dougie but I thought it was time to change the subject before they moved on to my politics or religion or something.

'Who were those guys in the car before? Almost knocked me over.'

'No-one important', Dan said. Dotty looked worried and Dougie puzzled.

'Pissed you off though, didn't he? When you got back to the desk, you were nearly snapping those switches off.' Dougie was enjoying Dan's discomfort but got nothing else out of him other than a grunt.

'Has Joe's funeral been arranged?' Dotty asked, changing the subject again, and we discussed it for a few minutes. Most of us would be there. I was guessing that Graham would give it a miss, but all the rest of the band would be there, including Ade and Gideon. Amanda wanted to come as well. Degsie would be a possible guest, but Terry would probably be there and that might be a bit awkward. I told Dougie about Degsie's fisticuffs and he laughed.

'Shouldn't laugh, but that's Degsie all over. Always been a real scally. He boxed for Liverpool as a boy, y'know. Lightweight division. Dirty bastard apparently - kept getting disqualified, so he never won anything.'

We chatted aimlessly for a few minutes and then Dougie rose to leave and I followed his lead. Magic Dan was deep in thought as we were herded along the corridor by the dogs.

'Jonnie, can I have a word?' he said.

We left Douglas at the door with Dotty. He raised an eyebrow as the two of us went back into the house but said nothing. Mick and Keef padded around, wagging their tails to show how pleased they were by all the excitement of people walking up and down the hall.

'Come into our store-room.' Magic Dan directed me into a medium sized room full of books, small pieces of furniture, prints and pottery.

'My gracious visitor that you were asking about - that was Mulvaney and two of his minders. He came around here demanding his money. I don't know where this is going to lead, so there are a couple of things I should let you in on.'

I was wondering what he had missed out from his heart-to-heart in Amsterdam. There was only one thing I could think of.

'You mean to say you were in on this from the start?' I said, my hands balling up into fists automatically.

'No!' he said firmly. 'And I didn't know Joe was involved, and if I had, I would have done my utmost to get him un-involved.' My fists relaxed a little, but the adrenalin was still flowing.

'One of the reasons I wanted to get out of drugs was that so many people get hurt. You might think it's a victimless crime – no government has the right to tell you what to drink, smoke or sniff – and I agree, as far as that goes.'

'All these laws do is make criminals out of good people and hand power to bad people. So the victims are ordinary people whose worst motive is a bit of greed – like Joe, I guess.'

He was looking down at the ground as he said this, but he raised his eyes to mine...

'I took all the coke out of the van in Amsterdam. All we were carrying through the customs was plaster.'

'Plaster?' I said.

'You know – the stuff they put on walls.'

'I know what plaster is – how did you...'

'They were redecorating the restaurant in the hotel – so it was to hand – it saved buying icing sugar or something.'

'I wasn't going to carry that stuff through customs. Not for Mulvaney. Not for anyone. I hoped that he would unload it back in England, and blame his Dutch suppliers.'

'I didn't think he had an inside man – I thought I knew Ade and Joe well enough. Even if he had an insider, I didn't know Joe would try and steal the stuff.'

'Poor Joe', I said. Even if we hadn't surprised him with the goons, he would likely have been badly beaten when they found out they were buying plaster dust. Whichever way I turned it over in my mind, Magic Dan wasn't to blame.

'Mulvaney somehow found out that those two dealers in Berlin were cheated. So in his mind, it's either me or Terry who took the coke.'

Dotty joined us after seeing Douglas out. She looked a little anxious, and was biting her lower lip as she stood at the door of the store-room.

'What happened to the stuff', I said. 'Did you dump it?'

Magic Dan crossed the room to a bookshelf. It contained the books of sermons he had bought in Amsterdam. He picked a volume from the middle of the set, and opened it, turning it to me.

The centre of the book had been cut out – a square hole in each page, so that the book had a cavity of about eight inches by ten, and nearly an inch deep.

'Dotty had them freighted to a business address we sometimes use. We picked them up on Tuesday. The coke is in several places now – small amounts. We might get done for possession – but not for supply.'

'What are you going to do with it.'

'Dunno. In some ways I wish I had just dumped it. Might not be too late for that, but you know the music business, Jonnie. The white stuff is fuel for fragile egos – we've got about three years supply, I reckon – and it suits me fine to keep away from the open market.'

'Do you still use it?' I said.

Magic Dan and Dotty both shook their heads.

'I'll stick to cakes', said Dotty.

'I feel like every crystal has got someone's blood on it.'

I shook my head. My love affair with the white powder had only just started, but maybe it was time to quit. I turned to leave, and Dotty moved forward to kiss me on the cheek.

'You were a good friend to Joe. The best he had.' I squeezed her and turned for the door, but I had one more thing to ask.

'What is Mulvaney going to do?'

'He's threatened to take me down - whatever he means by that - but I'm worried he will try something on with Terry. I know he's not an innocent, but....' He let the words hang in the air as I opened the front door.

'So what will you do?'

'Nothing. He's got nothing on me and I've got plenty on him. I'll let him think it over. Once he's calmed down, he'll see sense and write it off. It's just a business expense. If I give it back to him, it's an admission of sorts and that would give him ammunition for keeping me as one of his runners.'

'If the worst comes to pass, I'll just have to 'fess up to the police and take him down with me. Last resort though - I really don't fancy a couple of years inside.'

Dotty came over and put her arms around him.

'Especially if I have to share a cell with the bastard.' He smiled at me, placing a hand over Dotty's arm as she kissed the top of his head.

****

### **Friday 10th**

###

We should have been playing in Balboa. Never mind - Friday night in London could have been a great compensation for missing that gig. Always plenty of action and good music in the big city, but I was on my way to the takeaway to pick up dinner for one and was looking forward to a solitary night in front of the telly.

Gideon had bought tickets for all of us to see Marrillion at the Hammersmith Odeon. I liked them, but I didn't want to miss my phone call with Amanda. I got the usual barracking from Jake and Howie, but Gideon took me to one side and said how he understood.

I thought that was a bit of a liberty, really. It was none of his business to understand me or not, but then I realised that the Marrillion gig was his way of trying to apologise for the bust-up with Graham and he was doing his best to keep the group together. I hadn't really thought of it like that and when I saw how awkward he felt I muttered some platitudes and gave him a little hug to show I appreciated it. Best I could do, really. My own emotions were a bit up in the air.

So I had had the house to myself, but nothing to do with it other than wait for Amanda to ring. I was looking forward to a nice long chat but she was in a hurry and it was cold. After a few 'miss you's and 'love you's the conversation fell flat. We almost lapsed into silence before her money ran out and she hung. up. I felt empty - I had been looking forward to the call all day, but I hadn't done anything and she hadn't been anywhere so we just had the sound of dead air and nothing to fill it.

A little bit of snow had fallen during the afternoon, so I made my way to the Pride of Bengal through the rapidly melting slush. There was very little traffic in the side-streets of Camden at this time of night - just one car, obviously lost, driving at walking pace. I guessed that the driver was trying to read the road names and I turned the corner. I heard the car speed up and pass me, spraying up a fine half-frozen spume that just fell short of my legs. I was alone on the street and not paying any attention, but then I realised that the car had stopped just ahead of me, on a 'Keep Clear' sign in front of a double-doorway. I assumed that the driver was going to ask me directions, but I wouldn't be much use to him as I didn't even know the name of the street we was in.

As I drew level with the car, two guys got out of the back seat and approached me. They were big and their bulky overcoats didn't make them any smaller.

'Inside, mate.' One of the them said, and grabbed my arm. I pulled away but the other one took my other arm and they dragged me, without breaking a sweat, into the back seat of the car. It was real leather, and new - I could smell it even over the smell of my own fear. I recognised the back of the driver's head - the solitary egg in the birds nest - it was Mulvaney.

He turned around and I got to see his face properly. He looked a lot younger than Dan. Baby-faced and unlined, he stared at me with his pale blue eyes and the smile on his red lips was pleasant and welcoming. Without the two bouncer-types flanking me I might have felt pleased to be there in his flashy car. As it was, there was a chance I could dirty his clean leather seats pretty soon when the adrenaline kicked in.

'Jonnie Cole, I believe. I'm pleased to meet you. I understand that you were actually present when my goods went up in smoke. Though my suspicion is that they may have been half-inched before the unfortunate accident.'

He had a classic mockney accent - somewhere between Jagger and Michael Caine. I started to reply but he held up a gloved hand to stop me.

'I'm not a great one for stories and theories', he said 'I just wish to be reunited with my cargo or recompensed for it.' I tried again to interject but he held up his hand again and signalled to the guy on my right. He jabbed his fingers into my kidney and the world went a little fuzzy. I tried not to throw up as the pain washed over me in waves. Mulvaney waited until I opened my eyes again and blinked away the involuntary tears.

'I know it's unlikely that you are personally involved - nor the young lady, wherever she is.' He paused for a moment but I said nothing.

'But Mr Daniel McCloud is. He and I go back a long way and I have no desire to see either of you two delightful young things drawn into our dispute. He claims, like yourself, to know nothing but I know him better than he knows himself. Goods such as mine do not disappear into thin air without the involvement of some slight of hand.'

'So if you could...' at this moment a phone rang and it took me a second or two to realise that he had a car-phone. The bulky leather-clad base was clamped between the front seats and Mulvaney picked up the almost-normal looking handset. I could hear the caller quite clearly in the confined space of the car.

'It's all fixed - Tilbury. Saturday or Sunday.'

Mulvaney reached into his pocket and took out a slim leather-bound notebook \- the kind with an integral pen inserted into the spine. The disembodied voice continued:

'E - M - W -U - 3 - '

'Hang on', Mulvaney interrupted him as his mind returned to me. He covered the receiver with the hand holding the notebook and addressed me:

'As I was saying, if you could remind Dan of his obligations. Thanking you in advance.' He signalled to the overcoat on the left who opened the door and dragged me out. He pushed me forcibly and stuck his huge foot in front of mine. I went head over heels onto the wet pavement and he kicked me in the ribs.

At least, that was what I was expecting. He was certainly making kicking movements and I could hear the thud of his boot against the wet pavement, but it wasn't connecting with my side. Then his foot slipped in the slush, his boot caught me on one of my ribs and I yelped in pain.

He stopped and turned back to the car, climbing in as I lay prone on the ground. I waited until they drove off before picking myself up and carrying on to the takeaway. My side hurt and my trousers were wet from the slush but it was my pride that hurt the most. Maybe I would sign up for Kung Fu lessons.

****

### **Saturday 11th**

###

First Saturday back in London. The Hulk and Gideon were out on the town somewhere, so Howie, Jake and I were in the 'Crown and Anchor'. I was on mineral water, orange juice, something green that I didn't finish and a tonic water. The other two drank bottled lager and Jack Daniels until there was a noticeable sway when either of them walked to the toilet.

There was a lot of noise in the place, but I was pre-occupied thinking about Amanda. I had been down in the basement practicing modal scales. Not because we were using them - they're more your folk music sort of thing - but just for something to do. We hadn't heard anything from Degsie about the band. He had said that the record company solicitors would 'piss all over' Graham's copyright, but after three days I was starting to lose faith in the promised new singer who would rescue us in time for the US tour. Just over twenty days before we were due to play our first gig in Ohio, but every day that passed without a singer was a day's less practice.

Jake came down the stairs, guitar in one hand and a joint in the other. He handed the joint to me as he plugged in.

'What's that shit you're playing? Sound's like Greensleeves.'

I took that for a complement.

'Amanda phoned - asked me to say she can't phone later - out with an uncle or something.'

'Or something?'

'Can't remember - anyway there's no point in hanging round like a spaniel that's lost its squeaky toy.'

Any reply I might have thought up was drowned out in a mass of feedback and screaming arpeggios as he blasted out a Van Halen type solo.

I had meant to wait until she phoned, then nip around to Magic Dan's to tell him about my encounter with Mulvaney but Jake was right, I was imitating a puppy without its favourite toy. I felt dejected and abandoned. So when the lads said they were going to the pub, I tagged along to enjoy the bright lights of a Camden Town Saturday night - I could always ring Dan later.

The return of the lads from the bar dragged me back to the smell of beer and after-shave in the pub. I added the bottle of ginger ale to my non-alcoholic collection on the table. They were looking to go on to a club but I didn't see the point. I'd been a keen club-goer before Amanda but now the prospect seemed a bit boring. The realisation hung over me as I swilled soft drinks and tried to understand the increasingly slurred speech of Jake and Howie. Howie did his man-of-the-world duty.

'C'mon Jonnie - there'll be loadsa chicks there. You've had a number one, you tosser. Why not use it?' Howie emptied his glass and tried to recruit Jake to his cause.

'You tell him, J.'

'The way it is, man - she don't want you. You gotta get over it. In a month's time, she'll be shagging someone else and you'll have lost yer chance. Face it. Betcha she's out with an old boyfriend tonight - 'uncle' my arse.' He drained his glass too. I knew they were wrong but I thought there was no point in moping around. So I tagged along behind them as they swaggered down the road. Jake had an open invitation to some nightclub a couple of streets away and he was confident he could blag an entrance for the three of us. He was right.

I guess it must have still been early - you could still move around inside and you could still just about have a conversation. It would have looked quite glamorous if you were drunk, stoned or otherwise chemically enhanced. Powered spots and strobes pierced the overriding darkness and kept the eyes throbbing in rough time to the music.

Stone cold sober, I tended to notice that the underlying walls and floors were shabby where the matt black paint had rubbed off. The ceiling was a metal grill, above which were the pipes and ducts for whatever they had pipes and ducts for. Futuristic and industrial if you were high, rather more like a pie-making factory otherwise.

Jake and Howie had lost no time in heading for a little gaggle of young women and boasting about 'Take me home Trudie' which had dropped out of the charts after two weeks but was still fresh in the memory. You could see the girls were not too impressed. Jake had cut off his dyed blond hair and had an even inch of black stubble on his head. Howie's still had blond tips to his natural mousey colour, but with no lacquer it flopped rather shapelessly around his face.

At least mine was still in almost full New Romantic mode - I'd had it re-dyed and cut two days ago. It had been something to do, something to pass the time. So when I slowly rolled up to the girls, one of them recognised me.

'Oooh - you're the keyboard player', she shouted, pleased with herself and with the turn of events.

So a shouted conversation ensued with Jake making rapid progress with the tallest, blond shapely one. Howie had the attention of a slightly chubby girl with a low cut top and tight slacks, while the one who had first recognised me clung on to my arm. Her name was Judy and she was quite sweet really. Her long brown hair was conventionally cut, falling around her shoulders and streaked with spray-on silver for tonight. She was wearing big scarlet-framed glasses whose shape mirrored her heart-shaped face, with its bright red lipstick. Her V-neck blouse revealed some intriguing flesh and a little bit of black lace and I was becoming quite used to the touch of her body as she shouted into my ear, pressing against me in a way that lifted my spirits. Jake and Howie were in somewhat higher spirits and they decided that a move back to the flat and a bit of a party were called for.

Two cabs later and me, Jake, Howie and five girls were making vaguely dancing motions to 'Ace of Spades' in the sparsely furnished living room at our place. At some point Jake and two of the girls disappeared upstairs and it wasn't long before one of the remaining three girls disappeared with Howie to the bedroom he normally shared with me.

That left me and other two girls in the living room with the stereo, bottles of JD, vodka and rum and half a 'jumbo' packet of peanuts. I sat on the still-new black and chrome sofa with Judy draped over me and breathing JD fumes into my ear which she was nuzzling. The other girl, Alicia, was sitting on the end of the sofa looking fed up. I had two possibilities - get rid of Alicia and utilise the casting couch to get my wicked way with Judy, or interest Alicia in the possibility of a threesome. I ran a hand over Judy's breast while I decided and she coo'd in my ear to encourage me to make the right choice. Her breast was lovely and soft under the thin bra.

As I stroked it, I realised it was about the same size and consistency as Amanda's - not really surprising I suppose - but it stopped me in my tracks. I took my left hand from the cleft in her bum and moved my right away from her breast. She pulled away from me and looked at me to try and gauge what was going on.

'I'm sorry Judy - look, the truth is that I've got someone else. Someone I can't cheat on. I'm really sorry - I shouldn't have...'

She pushed her glasses back up her nose and regarded me wisely.

'I can respect that', she said, rather primly, while Alicia started to look happier.

And that was that. I paid for a taxi for them and waved them off from the front door before returning to the couch and stretching out for a night that contained very little sleep and a deep sense of opportunities missed that might never again be available.

****

### **Sunday 12th**

###

I had an excuse for phoning Amanda, I decided. I was going around to Magic Dan's to tell him about Mulvaney's threats, if that's what they were. So I had a rather flimsy explanation for ringing her just after noon. I had a little speech prepared for when her mum answered, so I waited with anticipation as the phone rang and rang. After about two minutes I gave up and put the phone down. But then, maybe I had misdialled? So I rang again, carefully following the numbers on the folded piece of paper she had given me a week ago. Still no answer.

Magic Dan listened to my story without interruption. His frown deepened as I related the poke in the kidneys and he raised an eyebrow when I told him what I could remember of the telephone call and nodded meaningfully when I informed him about the notebook. Once I had finished, he sat and contemplated for a second or two without speaking.

'This', he said, finally, 'has got to stop.'

'I wasn't really hurt', I said. I didn't want to admit to being scared shitless.

'No, but I don't want him bothering you." I shrugged.

'Or Terry'. I shrugged again.

'Or Amanda.'

I thought of the pain of that kidney punch and imagined it happening to Amanda. I stood up with my fists balled. Dan stood up too and put his hands on my shoulders, gently pushing me down into the kitchen chair, just as Dotty arrived with a distressed looking canvas bag.

'Wait till you see what I found in the market!', she said before seeing me.

'Jonnie, dear - what brings you around? Daniel! You haven't given him any coffee.' She started to take her coat off, placing the bag gingerly on the floor.

'It's Mulvaney', Dan said and she sat down, with coat half off.

'Oh dear.'

****

### **Monday 13th**

###

Monday was the day of Joe's funeral. Monday 13th. Not the best of days, but the best that could be done. I had left Dan's with the promise of a plan - rather than a plan itself - and an enthusiastic appreciation of some sixties china cups and saucers which, according to Dotty, were going to be the next big thing. They looked remarkably like the ones my mum had thrown out ten years ago.

I was sitting uncomfortably in a hastily-bought black suit, in the passenger seat of Degsie's Jaguar. Howie and Jake were in Magic Dan's car, with Dotty. Gideon and The Hulk had hired a car as they were going to see The Hulk's mum and dad after the funeral.

I'd never seen Gideon so nervous. But then, he was about to be introduced to his kind-of-in-laws and The Hulk was going to come out to his folks. I didn't envy them at all. I was already getting butterflies at the idea of having to meet Amanda's mum sometime. I just hoped The Hulk's parents were not too up-tight. I remembered Mr Purvis well - he used to drive his son to our practice sessions. He seemed like a nice man - and he wasn't a bad drummer himself. But who could predict how he'd react to the news?

I had been given the honour of travelling with Degsie because Amanda was coming down by train from Liverpool and she would be coming back to London with us. Degsie seemed to have come to terms with our being together and he was sharing his relationship tips with me.

'Trouble is, she's had a week with her mum. Bad that. A week of Sandra telling her what a shit I am and how musicians are all the same. We'll have to see.'

I thought I'd change the subject.

'Who else will be there?'

'Apart from you lot, just his family - his mum, couple of aunts and that shit Terry - if he's recovered and if the MOD has let him out without a minder.'

'I called Joe's mum on Thursday you know - she told me that Terry said he had been beaten up by a gang in Berlin.'

Degsie laughed at me and then swore at the pensioner in front of him. Our esteemed manager was evaluating the string of HGVs in the middle lane and I wondered if it would be OK to close my eyes for the rest of the trip. He gave up on dangerous speculation and swore at the pensioner again before returning to the subject.

'Dan told me all about it yesterday, y'know. Pity you didn't tell me about that Mulvaney fella. I'd have told Joe to fuck off and we might not....'

'What! Dan phoned you?'

'Yeah. It's a pity he never told me in Amsterdam. And it's a pity you found out. And it's a pity you didn't tell me. And it's a pity you had to tell my Amanda.' I felt that this was not really going well. Silence fell between us and I was rather grateful for the fact that it was difficult for a driver to knee someone in the passenger seat in the nuts. A couple of seconds ticked by before he spoke again.

'Still, what's the point in being young if you can't be a fuckwit? And at least I might get a chance to get me mitts on Mulvaney. Little bastard put my daughter in danger, split up my band - who, if you remember, had just scored their first number one.'

'First?'

'You're not finished yet, Jonnie boy. I've had words with the solicitors and they're gonna get back to me on a little thought I had.' He tapped the side of his nose and gave me a knowing wink, while I stared at the back of the car in front as we closed in on it at a terrifying rate of knots.

'Wot's he fuckin' brakin' for? You'd think they'd teach 'em how to drive proper in the old days - mind you he probably passed 'is test in a fuckin' horse an' cart.'

This was my second ever funeral - the first had been my dad. Then, I had been in a state of shock and I didn't really remember too much about it. This one I had been dreading for the last week.

We had to call at the train station to pick up Amanda. The train was delayed ten minutes due to 'congestion at Birmingham New Street'. The little knot of anxiety in my stomach tightened a bit more as we waited.

Eventually Amanda appeared in a black coat and obviously wearing a dress underneath it - her legs in black tights and black leather shoes. I wanted to run up and hug her but with Degsie next to me I forced myself to be more restrained. I still kissed her on the lips, though and she pushed her lips hard into mine when I did.

'How's yer mum then - still spittin' poison?' Degsie said, after giving her a hug.

'Honestly Dad! She sent you a letter.' She took a small envelope out of her pocket and gave it to Degsie, who put it in his inside pocket.

'I'll save it for later - when I'm wearing protective clothing.'

Amanda tutted at him while I picked up her two cases and ferried them out to the car. She sat in the front and talked to Degsie about aunts and uncles and cousins and so on. While doing that she put her left hand through the gap between her seat and the door and waved at me with her black-gloved fingers. I took her hand and we sat like that on the fifteen minute journey to the cemetery, communicating with little squeezes. She said later that her arm went dead after five minutes, but she hadn't minded.

In the chapel, Mrs Ashworth and her family were in one set of seats - including Terry with an ill-fitting suit and shaven head. The members of the band and a few other school friends were in another set, across the aisle. Various other people were scattered around.

I remember my grandma at my dad's funeral saying that she only ever met some of her family and friends at funerals and that funerals were getting to be a real social occasion as she got older. I thought she was just saying stupid things because of the grief, but now I saw what she meant. There were people I hadn't seen for four, five, even six years.

The funeral itself flashed by me. Joe was never a churchgoer and the priest knew nothing about him other than, I suppose, what the family had told him. The priest said he was a Leicester City supporter - news to me, but I guess they were stuck for things to say.

I was conscious, all the time, of Amanda standing next to me. I wanted to talk, I wanted to hold her, I wanted - well, you can guess, but it wasn't appropriate for a funeral and I genuinely wanted to feel sad, to honour Joe's memory, but I couldn't. When the priest called on us to pray, I closed my eyes and promised Joe that, one day soon, I would pick a quiet moment and think of him and his stupid soldiers' boots and his ridiculous camouflage trousers and his daft sheath knife and then I would say goodbye properly. Man to man. Not in a big crowd of people mumbling prayers to a god they didn't believe in.

When the congregation said 'Amen', I opened my eyes and was surprised to find the lashes wet and two trails of tears down my cheeks.

At least they didn't roll his coffin out to some hymn - they played 'Wherever I Lay My Hat' which might have been his favourite song - it was certainly one of them - but was definitely appropriate for a lad who died a few hundred miles from home.

Once out of the chapel, people milled around. Mrs Ashworth had invited most of us back to the house and those that hadn't been were told by one of Joe's uncles that they were just as welcome.

As Howie and Jake were staying on with their families overnight, Magic Dan and Dotty hit the road back to London unaccompanied. I had managed to convince Mum that I was needed in the studio, but I couldn't really get out of the buffet and a quick visit to my family - all two of them. So Degsie loaded me and Amanda into the car and followed the black funeral directors car to the cramped streets where Joe, Howie, Jake, Ade and I had grown up.

I was worried about Degsie and Terry being in the same room. But Degsie was relaxed about it.

'He knows the score. I've had my say. That's in the past.'

I stood in Mrs Ashworth's remembering the many times I'd been there before. The old wallpaper had gone, but it was otherwise the same. Joe's dad had left after the service - he and Mrs Ashworth had been divorced years ago, so Mrs Ashworth was alone circulating amongst us and thanking us for coming. She held me for quite a while and a few tears tricked down her cheeks as she talked to me.

'You were the last one to see him alive, Jonnie.'

'Yes Mrs Ashworth - I would have saved him if I could.'

'I know son, I know.'

Over her shoulder I saw trouble brewing. Degsie and Terry were squaring up and Terry was bent over, bringing his face close to Degsie's. I couldn't see myself trying to separate them and I was getting terribly embarrassed for what might come, when I saw Degsie reach up and put his arm around the soldier, leading him out into the back yard where there was a small overflow of people, in spite of the cold. I could just make them out through the relatives, neighbours and friends and I saw Degsie take out a hip flask and pass it to Terry, before they became obscured.

We left soon after. Once we had paid our respects, I went with Amanda to gather our coats and we spent ten minutes in the hall without much conversation - only breaking apart at the sound of someone else coming up the hallway. We went and found Degsie, still in the back-yard.

Terry was standing with him and nodded to me.

'You off Jonnie? Take care, mate. Degsie told me you did your best. I won't forget it.' We shook hands and then we left. I let out a sigh of relief that it was over without any blood being spilt.

The rest of the day dragged by. We had to visit my mum. I would never have been forgiven if we hadn't. I hadn't told my mum too much about Amanda. She knew she was Degsie's daughter. She knew I liked her and no doubt she could read between the lines. When we left she hugged Amanda for an embarrassingly long time - but Amanda didn't seem to mind.

By the time we set off, it was rush hour and the A1 was once again doubling as a car park for most of the motorists in the neighbourhood.

It seemed like an age before we were back on the North Circular, even with Degsie's heavy right foot. We hadn't really talked about anything important. Joe's funeral cast a gloom over everything. We were crawling towards Amanda's when Degsie said:

'Where am I dropping you then, Jonnie?' And I was nonplussed. Fortunately Amanda wasn't.

'Can you drop him at mine, Dad? Jonnie and I have got some things to talk about.' My heart sank a bit. We hadn't talked properly for days and I was wondering if her 'talk' would be the beginning of the end. She had seemed pleased enough to see me, but who could tell?

We arrived and unloaded her bags from the boot. A quick kiss for Amanda and a not-so-light punch in the arm for me from Degsie, and he was off and we were standing behind the front door to Amanda's freezing flat.

'We need to talk?' I said, intending to get it over with.

'Not really', Amanda said, undoing my coat with her right hand and unbuttoning hers with her left. I could see I was going to be impressed with her dexterity.

****

### **Tuesday 14th **

###

I woke up in Amanda's bed. My head was still spinning from yesterday. The mixed emotions seemed to heighten each other. My sadness over Joe was put into sharp relief by my feelings for Amanda. She wasn't in bed and there was the rattling noise of a grill pan and the smell of percolating coffee coming from the little kitchen. I stretched and yawned - a man could get used to this. I got up and padded to the kitchen wearing Amanda's dressing gown, which had been lying on a chair in the bedroom.

'Ah - Rip van Winkle.' She was fully clothed and putting bread under the rather hit-and-miss grill on her cooker. Amazingly Amanda had brought a loaf down with her from Liverpool, so we had black coffee and toast while we talked.

'Don't really know what Degs... what your dad is doing about the band. He said he still had a trick up his sleeve, but really I'm guessing it's game over', I said, burning my tongue on the coffee.

'He phoned me most nights while I was at home. Mum didn't like it, but...' I nodded.

'He said he still had some ideas on the band. He hasn't given up on the US tour, but he's lined up a plan B - giving it to Factory of Dreams - apparently they are just starting to break there.'

That was news to me, but inevitable, I suppose. I'd heard Factory of Dreams a couple of times - even jammed a bit with them when we were in the same studio. Amanda carried on as I mulled it over.

'I'm sure it won't come to that. Dad is still hopeful he can talk Graham round. But I guess we ought to make plans just in case the band is over - you'd be losing your flat, I guess'

'I could move in here', I said, hopefully.

'Don't you think it's a bit soon?' She said, licking melted butter from her wrist.

'Anyway, if Factory of Dreams take the tour, Dad says I'm in with a chance for the photography.'

I paused to take that in silently for half a minute and she covered my hand with hers.

'Come on Jonnie, we need time to find out what we mean to each other. We don't want to take a flat together and find we're at each other's throats after a couple of weeks.'

'Like your mum and dad?'

'Exactly.'

I could see she was right, but....

'Well, I better get back to the lads and get a bit of practice done - we've got a keep up to scratch, just in case', I said.

Actually there was no urgency - they wouldn't be back from Leicester until the afternoon - but things weren't quite working out as they had done in my head for the last week. I wanted some time to myself to think things through. I stood to leave.

'It's only just after ten - the others won't be there yet.' She took my hand and kissed it before pulling it into her midriff. She moved it gently to her breast, rising from her chair. I stood up and she lead me back towards the bedroom.

Then the doorbell went and she looked up at the ceiling.

'I bet that's Dad. You'd better get some clothes on.

I had just tugged my trousers on. All I had at Amanda's was the cheap suit and overcoat that I had worn to the funeral. I was struggling with the zip of the trousers as I heard Amanda open the door. I reckoned I had time to get the shirt buttoned up while they were exchanging scouse greetings but instead I heard Amanda say 'Yes?' in a puzzled way, followed by a the crash of the door being slammed and a choked off scream. I ran through to the hall in bare feet, wearing only the trousers and an unbuttoned shirt.

One of Mulvaney's men was standing there holding a meaty hand over Amanda's mouth. His face held no expression as he looked around to the source of the noise I was making. He looked at me in surprise and jumped over to me, releasing Amanda. He pushed me hard in the chest so that I staggered backward against the wall.

'Get back in and lock the door', I shouted as he raised a fist towards me. I knew there was no lock on the kitchen door, but it might have put him off if he thought there was. As I shouted he grimaced as if someone had hit him and turned to look at Amanda as she dithered in the kitchen doorway. He dropped his fist and exhaled heavily before shrugging, lowering his gaze and talking to the floor.

'I've had enough of this job.' I waited for him to explain, and Amanda took a step back into the hall. I tried to warn her off with my eyes, but she was looking at the thug.

'I'm supposed to put the frighteners on the girl - I didn't know you were here, son.' He thought for a moment.

'I've had it. He pays us on a Friday - once he does, I'm off. I'm not cut out for this.'

'Do us a favour - if I leave you alone, will you break a couple of things and ring the police? The insurance or whatever will pay for it and I can tell Mr M that I worked the place over. '

Suddenly something clicked.

'Was it you that gave me that pretend kicking?' He nodded without raising his head.

'Why did you pretend?'

'I'm just not set up for it. I don't mind getting involved in a ruck but you're only kids, it's not right.'

'What will you do?' Amanda said.

'I'll be alright - I've got something planned. I was gonna do a runner anyway. I just want to pick up me money and I'm off.'

Amanda still looked concerned.

'Can we help?'

'No. No. - Just make out like I busted a few things and that'll satisfy him. I've only got a week to go.'

And with that, he was pulled open the front door and slammed it shut behind him.

I sat next to Amanda at the big table in the dining room opposite Magic Dan. We waited in silence. Eventually there was a ring on the front doorbell and we heard Dotty walk up the hall and open the door.

'Hello John. Hello Mister.....?'

'Larry is what he goes by.' Mulvaney's mockney voice was calm and confident.

'What about...' Dotty's voice was a little uncertain.

'Donald will stay in the car.'

'Let me take your coats and stuff - Daniel is in the dining room - just down the hall.' We heard Dotty leading them down accompanied by the soft padding of the one of the dogs. They entered the room and nothing was said as Dotty showed the bulky Larry to the chair by me and led Mulvaney towards Dan. He pulled the chair out and, with a mou of displeasure, lifted a handbag off the seat and offered it to Dotty. Dan sprang up to take it and somehow got his feet tangled in the chair, bumping heavily into Mulvaney who tutted loudly before thrusting the bag at Dan. Dan held it clumsily with both hands under the bottom, evidently taken by surprise. He passed it on to Dotty with a muttered 'sorry'. Dotty was more direct.

'Have to excuse the mess, John - hastily arranged meeting and all that. Who wants tea or coffee?' She took the order from the five of us. Larry was embarrassed to be included and had to be persuaded - he obviously saw his role as standing around looking menacing rather than drinking milky coffee with three sugars and it took all of Dotty's persuasive powers to tease the request out of him while Mulvaney sulked.

When Dotty left to make the drinks, Mulvaney leaned forward towards Dan but looked at me. I got the impression that he didn't want to look Dan in the eye.

'You know what I want - only what's due to me. When do I get it?'

'John, let me list out a few truths for you.' Dan held up a hand to begin ticking off his points but Mulvaney was not impressed.

'Stuff that Dan. I know you. I've known you for twenty years mate. Twenty years - that's longer than you've been married.' Just at that point, Dotty reappeared with a tray full of cups, biscuits, sugar and spoons. Mulvaney fumed as she distributed the cups and prattled on about only having boring biscuits left like Nice and Bourbons. She finished off with...

'Will you boys - oh, and girls! Sorry Amanda. Will you excuse me - I want to photocopy a knitting pattern - the photocopier is just next door so do come through and ask if there's anything I've forgotten. Don't ask why the photocopier is in the kitchen, it's something to do with faxes and phone points. I gave up trying to follow it when the man installed it.'

Mulvaney pretended to bang his head on the table as she left.

'Drive me mad she would - dunno why you married her.' Dan gave him a contemptuous look and resumed.

'You planted drugs in my van without my knowledge', he said.

'Well - you wouldn't have agreed would you?' Mulvaney patiently explained, suppressing a grin. Dan ignored him.

'You bribed one of our roadies.'

'Got the wrong one there - should have tried the black one.'

'Ade wouldn't have done it', I butted in.

'Everyone's got a price, sonny', he said and I bit my lip as Dan resumed.

'You bribed Joe and you were willing to see us in prison. You risked these lads being saddled with...'

'Come off it. Would've been great publicity. Daily Mail warning the parents not to let the kids buy their records - couldn't get anything as good as that from a PR agency. Anyway to return to my point - I want my money or I want my stuff - I know you've got it Dan. You are one sneaky bastard. I heard on the grapevine that those two snakes in Berlin got stuffed with buying cement or something. Serves 'em right but it means that either you or that stupid squaddie has got my stuff. I'd put a grand on it being you.'

'I have got nothing and I'd bet that Terry hasn't either. He wouldn't send his little brother into a situation like that.' Dan's voice was calm but he gripped the arms of his chair as if he was trying to stop from springing out of it. I guessed that Larry would take a dim view of that - though he seemed preoccupied with dunking Bourbon biscuits in his coffee for the moment.

'And now you go around to Amanda's flat, break up some valuable and sentimental crockery and rough up poor Jonnie here, for the second time.'

Mulvaney smirked and Larry shifted uncomfortably as Dan lied on his behalf. He hadn't broken anything. We hadn't rung the police as he requested, though, we rang Magic Dan instead. So here we were with the boss man himself. I hoped this was the last of it. Dan spoke in a low voice.

'I want this to stop.'

'Well give me my stuff.'

'I haven't got it.'

'Then pay me for it - you've got money. You ain't got as much as me.' Mulvaney stuck his jaw out, ready to be challenged but, when he wasn't, carried on.

'But you got plenty.'

'I want it to stop, John, and I will make it stop. This is my last and only warning.'

'Ooooh big boy now, are we?' He stood up abruptly and I wondered if Dan's threat meant more to him than it sounded like to me.

'I can see I'm not welcome here. Larry, let's leave these people to their own company.'

'I'm busy for the next week Dan but after that I'll be back and I'll expect some resolution to our little difficulty - maybe I'll have to have a longer talk with the young lady?'

Dan stood up as well, looking menacing, and Larry hastily pushed past me and around to their side of the table. Dan stood unmoving and Larry shepherded Mulvaney to the door. As he leached it, Larry said

'Thank Mrs err Mrs umm.... for the coffee and that.'

Larry carefully closed the door behind him.

I heard Dotty come out of the kitchen and fuss around them.

'Don't forget your coat John. It's freezing out there - look here's your gloves. Are you all right Larry? There. John, you've got that scarf rucked up, let me.'

Mulvaney was obviously riled.

'Stop fussing Dotty. You know I hate it. Look, sorry, sorry - didn't mean to shout.'

'That's ok John, I'm sure you've got a lot on your mind.'

'Come on, Larry, get a move on. I don't pay you to hang around drinking coffee.'

And with that, they left.

Dotty came back into the dining room and exhaled.

'He's gone, thank the Lord. I can't stand the man and I couldn't have stayed around him much longer without biffing him on his beastly little nose.'

I'm afraid I laughed. But it released the tension and we all ended up laughing, Dotty most of all.

'Will somebody tell me what's going on', I said, finally.

'Well', Dotty said 'just this.' She went into the kitchen and came back with the handbag that Mulvaney nearly sat on and a small pile of papers.

She held up the handbag by the bottom and pointed at the handles. Magic Dan supplied the explanation.

'If you look closely, you'll see the handles are a slightly different colour.'

It was true, but I was still mystified and he smiled at my mystification.

'They're from another bag?' Amanda chipped in and Dan nodded.

'Indeed - and they have Mulvaney's fingerprints on them.'

Some of the mist cleared.

'Now, when I reunite the handles with their rightful bag, I just have to find a way to utilise it.'

'and the paper?'

Dan turned to Dotty and raised an eyebrow.

'You trained me well, Daniel. It's back safe and sound over his foul little heart.'

I was starting to realise how Mulvaney felt. This place was a madhouse. Dan took pity on me and spread the papers on the table.

'You know when Mulvaney picked you up he had a notebook - I took it from his pocket when I bumped him. Dotty photocopied it and stuck it back in his pocket when she helped him with his overcoat.'

I picked up the photocopies - it was a diary, a week to every two pages. Largely empty but with a few entries like 'T' or 'L' every couple of weeks followed by a jumble of letters and numbers. I leafed through to the current week - it had an entry for Saturday and I stared at the meaningless letters and numbers for a moment before Dan took the papers from my hand.

'That's the end of your involvement. This is my problem. I will solve it. You two go home.'

'3 - 0 - 5 - 4...', I started reciting as Amanda and I turned out of the gravel drive on our walk home.

'What?'

'Sh.... 3 - 8 - 3' I fished in my pocket for a pen and paper. I always carried them in case inspiration struck and a lyric occurred to me on the bus or the tube or even on foot. These flashes of inspiration happened out of the blue and could strike at any moment - I was still waiting.

'E - M -W - U - 3 -0 - 5 - 4 - 3 - 8 - 3' I found the almost empty A5 sheet - it had a doodle in each corner where I had tried to influence the God of Inspiration. Amanda was mystified.

'What are you talking about. You're as mad as Dotty.' I fished out the pen and wrote 'T - EMWU3054383' on the empty piece of paper and exhaled, letting the memory disappear now it was captured in blue ink.

'This is the entry in Mulvaney's diary for the weekend. It must mean something', I said, staring at the digits while Amanda stopped and grabbed my hands, making me turn to face her.

'Dan said he would handle things. We need to forget all about it.'

'But...'

'Jonnie, look.' She took a deep breath and let go of my hands.

'If we hadn't have interfered - if I hadn't interfered - Joe might still be alive. I don't want anyone, especially you, to get hurt because we poked our noses in to this mess. Let Dan sort it out. He knows what he is doing and we don't - do we?'

It's something I had turned over a dozen times in my head - was it our fault that Joe had died? If we had let things lie he'd have got a beating but maybe nothing more.

But what's done is done. I shook my head and we walked along the darkening street in silence.

We walked back to Camden. Amanda wanted to see The Hulk and Gideon to find out how they got on with The Hulk's parents. It was slightly longer via Primrose Hill but we managed a cuddle at the top with the lights of the Post Office Tower shining through the gathering dusk. It's never quiet in London, but sometimes you can imagine it is. You can feel yourself alone as a million other people run around concentrating on their own lives and ignoring yours. So we stood with our arms around each other, alone in a little bubble of happiness as the cold gradually ate through our clothes and forced us to climb down the hill and into the bright lights of Camden Town.

Amanda knocked on the door of the 'Penthouse' flat and at a muffled 'come in' from Gideon we went in to find The Hulk in his boxer shorts with a towel around his hair and another around his hairy shoulders and Gideon lying on the couch with a paper-back of 'The Cider House Rules'.

The Hulk seemed a little embarrassed when he saw Amanda and he made a grab for a rather distressed looking dressing gown - it was covered in burn spots from home hair-colouring kits. Amanda got straight down to the subject when Gideon shifted his feet to let her sit down. I picked up 'Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit' from the easy chair and parked myself opposite her.

'How did you get on with your mum and dad?'

'They were marvellous.' Gideon answered for him and was about to elaborate but Amanda wanted it from the horse's mouth.

'You must have been nervous Mike?' He nodded and Gideon supplied the commentary.

'He was bricking it!' The Hulk reddened a bit and actually spoke, after a few seconds pause.

'Dad. Fantastic - said he always knew.' Gideon decided to help him out.

'His mum too - she is so sweet. We spent the whole night talking about the theatre. She does amateur dramatics at the Little Theatre. We had so many people in common - lots of gossip.'

'How did your mum react Mike?' Amanda was nothing if not persistent.

'Oh you know.' Silence reigned while we waited to see if there was anything more to come.

'Our Sandy's pregnant so mum'll be a granny soon. So I guess I'm expendable.'

Amanda stood up and put an arm around him and kissed the top of his head through the towel.

'I'm sure she's really proud of you. Anyone would be. Did she see Top of the Pops?'

He nodded,

'Got it on tape. She had copies made. Everyone's got one.' He had a wide grin that lasted for the next few minutes of desultory conversation.

We were half-heartedly rehearsing the show. Amanda had gone home. I did my best to get her to stay but she said that she wanted the night to herself to tidy up, wash clothes and all that sort of thing. In reality I got the impression that she wanted to discourage me from being around every night and treating her flat as my own. She wouldn't even let me take her home. I got her to promise not to open the door to anyone over five foot six - that was the best I could do.

Back in our nearly soundproofed basement, I did the singing or, at least, something approximating to it. We wanted to stay ready just in case the band was still in existence in a couple of weeks time.

Once we had been through the whole set reasonably well, I told them about Degsie lining up Factory of Dreams for the US tour. I'd left that gem till the end of rehearsal so that there would be any kind of a rehearsal at all. The news had the expected effect.

'Fuckin' Art School tossers', Jake said, putting down the Roland guitar and strapping on his heavy metal axe.

'Might have fucking known it', Howie said, his customary frown deepening. He said something else, but it was lost in the howl of feedback from Jake's guitar. The Hulk bashed his way around the kit, hitting the pads as hard as he could before throwing his sticks down and walking up the stairs to the consoling arms of Gideon.

I started shutting down the keyboards, routing boxes, effects racks and so on - being a keyboard player these days was more like being an electronics technician than a musician.

I thought back to the one time I spoke to Simon - the singer and one of the three keyboard players in Factory of Dreams. He told me over coffee at the company offices that he saw the future of music as being in computer programming rather than the tedious process of actually learning to play. I was losing the thread of his argument, though, as he kept using words like 'stochastic processes' and 'micro-timbral interpolation'. I came to the conclusion that he ate a dictionary for breakfast and a thesaurus for supper but didn't get around to whistling much. I left him musing over his decaffeinated dairy-free mocha and went back to talk to Jake about how many decibels it took to be counted as a serious metal guitarist.

Maybe I ought to get a hobby to pass the time, I thought. Maybe I ought to start looking for a new band? There's a lot you can think about when you're packing away keyboards in their flight cases. Normally I would have left them set up but Jake's howling guitar was sounding angrier and I didn't want him to start smashing things up a la Pete Townsend.

Keyboards safely packed, I left him and Howie making increasingly disorganised heavy metal sounds and went to spend some of my meagre allowance on some new clothes.

****

### **Wednesday 15th**

###

A quiet night in. That was the idea - a takeaway and a video on the timetable and maybe something a little more interesting later. I rang the bell of Amanda's flat with a copy of 'Fright Night' in my hand and a menu from 'Curry in a Hurry' in the pocket of my new parka. I rang the bell confidently expecting her to look carefully through the spy-hole before releasing the chain and opening the bolt. I wasn't in a hurry and I had insisted that she take precautions if she was going to be in the house by herself.

Truth is, I was hoping that it might persuade her to give me the position of a rather diminutive body-guard but she was a strong minded girl and she was determined to keep her independence.

However, there was no chain, no bolt and no delay. The door opened and my lovely Liverpool lass had been replaced by an older and nastier scouser.

'Alright Jonnie. Just popped 'round for a natter. I'm glad yer 'ere, son.' Degsie had a whisky glass in hand and the look of man who was settled for the night. He put his free hand over my shoulder and ushered me into the lounge, as I struggled to get my parka off.

'Amanda! It's yer fella', he shouted as he dug me in the ribs and pushed me down into the sofa, while he sat down heavily in the armchair opposite. Amanda came in behind him and met my eyes, looking up to the ceiling and shrugging her shoulders.

'Coffee?' She asked. I nodded and she went out again.

'Not havin' a good time mate.' He said, and poured himself another inch from an almost full bottle of Grant's. Amanda came back with a couple of mugs and sat next to me.

'Fuckin' curse of New Romancer.' He said. 'I just got Factory of Dreams to take your tour. Got the press fuckin' release done. Got the fuckin' artwork done for the posters and the bastards have split up. I spent the whole fuckin' day trying to talk sense into the fuckers. Waste of fuckin' time.'

I didn't know whether to feign indignation at our tour being touted around, or show the relief I felt at FoD splitting. In reality it wouldn't have mattered. Degsie wan't really interested in my feelings. He stared into the amber liquid in his glass.

'Apparently they find the record company too fuckin' restrictive. Tossers. They need the space to reconsider their fuckin' artistic vision. Wankers. They're enterin' a phase of parthenogenic re-formulation. Don't look at me like that, mate, I can read a book, yer know.'

After Degsie explained that parthenogenic re-formulation was another variant of 'artistic differences', we set about studying the take-away menu and my hopes for the night evaporated amidst the speculation about how hot the Madras was and how many popadoms we needed. I fished a bit of paper out of the pocket of my pants to write down the order. It had some doodles on one side where I had hoped a song would be. I turned it over and the other side contained the line I had memorised from Mulvaney's photocopied diary entry for the weekend.

'T - EMDU3054383'

I had been trying - and failing - to make any sense of it, other than the 'T' was probably 'Tilbury', as that is what Mulvaney's caller had said. I drew a line under it and added '4 Pops, 1 Lamb Mad, 1 Veg Bir, 1 Ch Bhund.'

'What about Samosas or Bhajis?' I said and looked over Degsie's shoulder at the menu. He caught sight of the paper.

'What 'ave yer got a container number for? Yer goin' into shipping? Norra bad idea the way the music business is going.'

I was anxious to change the subject. I didn't want Degsie to know we had been talking to Mulvaney and not told him. He'd missed out on the opportunity to try out his boxing skills on Larry, Donald and Mulvaney. But at the same time I was intrigued.

'Err well I. Erm, that is I overhead it on the tube - just wondered what it was. The 'T' is Tilbury.' Degsie looked at me dubiously, his little eyes narrowing. I've always reckoned that I could come up with a convincing lie if I had a couple of days to think about it, but I hadn't. Degsie didn't call me out though. He went on:

'Aye - well our kid still works in the docks - walks around with a clip-board and a face like a monkey's arse. That's one of them numbers that they paint on the side of the shipping containers - like a car registration thing. Anyway I'll 'ave two lamb samosas if yer twistin' me arm.'

There was a further delay while I found out 'our kid' is scouse-ese for 'brother', with Degsie and Amanda poking fun at my ignorance of the Queen's English as spoken on the banks of the Mersey. I phoned the order in and Degsie stared contemplatively at his whisky. He seemed to be mulling something over so Amanda and I chatted about The Hulk, about America, and about what the openings would be for an unemployed band photographer. Eventually Degsie came to, and poured himself another inch of golden fluid before broaching the real object of his visit.

'I come round 'cos Amanda said you'd be over, like.' He had a lubricating slug of the whisky and continued.

'Only there's this charity gig I set up for them wankers on Friday.' I assumed he meant Factory of Dreams.

'And the fuckers won't do it no more. So I 'ad a word with Graham - see if there was any chance you lot could do a one-off gig.'

'And?' I said, suddenly excited again.

'He told me to fuck off.'

'He's always like that', I said, somewhat deflated.

'He told me to fuck off about twenty times and I was only on the fuckin' phone for a minute', he said, resorting to the bottle again while I finished my coffee. Amanda put her cup down and put a hand on my knee before chipping in.

'No-one else who can do it? Anyway, what charity is it?'

He shook his head to the first question and evaded the second.

'Some fuckers what build schools in Africa. It's all the rage these days.' He was about to carry on when the bell went and I went out to get the take-away. I came back to find Amanda saying...

'Well, you can ask him. He can only say no.'

'Ask me what?' I said.

'How about you doin' the singing?'

****

### **Thursday 16th**

###

'Well, you're no Frank Sinatra.' That was the nearest thing I got to a compliment when we did the first run-through. That was from Gideon. The others were a bit more forthright.

I wasn't that insulted. Not at all.

'Well you fucking do it then', was my witty riposte to one of Jake's cat-calls, but Gideon did his peace-keeping role and we took a break to pass a joint around and discuss it.

'Now be fair - Jonnie doesn't claim to be a singer. He's doing this to get us out of a hole.' Previously I would have objected to Gideon using 'us' but he seemed to be more dedicated to the band than most of the rest of us. It turned out - or at least Degsie said - that we could use the name 'New Romancer' so long as we didn't have any new members - so one of us could sing but no-one new would be allowed.

'It's not that bad - you just can't get the high notes.' Howie tried to be constructive. 'The Hulk can get them but not the low ones.'

'Can you share it?' Gideon asked after a little snipe at Howie for calling Mike 'The Hulk', but we had been doing that for five years or more and it wasn't going to change just because he shared a bed with Gideon.

So we had a try at sharing the singing. It didn't work. When he sang, The Hulk lost the timing of his drumming, even when playing with the drum machine. So we tried with me doing all the singing but singing the high bits an octave lower - that didn't work because it just sounded naff. After about two hours we hit on the idea of adding extra machine percussion that I could trigger from the keyboard to fill for The Hulk when he was singing the high notes. When he sung I managed a harmony line below him to give it a bit of body. It sounded fine. Well - it sounded sort-of-fine-ish. It would have to do.

We stopped for another celebratory smoke feeling pleased with ourselves. One song down. Just another eleven to go and we were done.

I came up the stairs from the basement wondering if I should give Amanda a call. On the one hand, I didn't want to appear to be too needy. On the other hand - well I didn't have a convincing argument for the other hand, but it wouldn't hurt to pass the time of day. But as I approached the phone, it rang.

'Hi Jonnie. It's Dan - I wonder if you could do me a big favour?'

The pub was fairly empty and I stood with an orange juice at the bar. The glass was a bit dirty but I didn't feel like complaining. The barman looked like an ex-boxer. A heavyweight ex-boxer. A heavyweight ex-boxer who lost a lot of fights but a heavyweight ex-boxer who definitely wouldn't lose a fight against me. At least there wouldn't be any trouble in here, and I was very nervous about the plastic carrier bag I had on the floor between my feet.

The Prince of Wales was what they call a 'spit and sawdust' pub - though there was no evidence of either. It looked like it hadn't changed since the last war - probably about the last time they rinsed the glasses. There was a mirror behind the bar. Dirty and obscured by the shelves of glasses, but it enabled me to see Larry entering behind me and I turned to face him. He came over and allowed me to buy him a pint before escorting me to a table in the far corner of the bar. There were three or four other people in but at 9:30 on a Thursday night in Balham it was never going to get crowded.

Dan had explained to me that, after hearing about Larry's lack of enthusiasm for the job of knocking people about, he got Dotty to slip him a note when he came around with Mulvaney. The note asked Larry to ring, but when he did he refused to talk to anyone other than me. Dan had hoped to keep it all to himself, but Larry was insistent.

So here I was and here Larry was. It was a long way from north London but Larry explained that he didn't have a car of his own and he could only get away for an hour at the most. My brief from Dan was just to listen to him and offer him a little bit of work. So I started on the first part of my job.

'How did you end working for ...? I didn't want to say the name.

'It's a long story.' He took a swig at his pint and stared into space. After a couple of seconds, he continued.

'I loved me mum and when she died I s'pose I went off the rails a bit. I was 16 then and a bit of a tearaway. I wasn't never that good at school but I did me best when Mum was alive - to please her, sort of thing. It was only me and her left in the flat - me dad left us before I could remember, me brother was living with his girlfriend and me sister was married. Well they organised the funeral and everything and I still had the flat but I didn't have no money. Well, I finished school and signed on. But I didn't really know how to manage money neither - got a couple of little jobs and that but I never seemed to have any cash in me pocket - 'specially when it came to paying the rent. So, cut a long story short, I got slung out of the flat and ended up dossing at me brother's or me sister's or anyone who'd have me, really. Done a couple of spells in the young offenders' - bit of thieving, bit of this, bit of that.'

'It was me sister's husband pointed me in the way of Mr M. He was looking for someone to live in, y'know. I was a big lad by then - nearly 20 and I could handle meself. I'd done boxing and judo and I liked weight training and that - something to do that wasn't drinking or watching the telly. So I got a bedroom and little kitchenette on the ground floor of his house in Balham - I had to wear a suit and tie and answer the door. He tried me doing a kind of butler thing - waiting on table and that - didn't work out. I'd always forget to wash me hands or I'd spill something or stick me thumb in the soup. So in the end he just had me answer the door and give a bit of a slap to anyone what got a bit out of hand.'

'I would've drove for him, not that I had a license, but he always liked to drive himself. Always had a new motor. Used to take me and another fella around with him when he made a call. We didn't normally do anything, just stand around while he talked. Most of the time I lost interest but I know what it was about - 'you owe me, you haven't paid, you need to pay before anything happens' . Couple of times we had to knock a bit of sense into someone, but I tended to let the other fella do the work. I'd just hold someone's hands behind them while they got a bit of a working over.'

'Maybe that's why I stayed with Mr M - there was a string of other fellas but none of them lasted. Mr M generally said that their home lives let them down and 'cos I lived with him, I didn't have no worries in that direction. But it wasn't true. I've always wanted me own life. Me own little flat. Not much, y'know, nothing grand. But something was happening to me inside, somehow. As I got older I was finding that the fellas we were slapping was getting younger - at least they was looking younger to me. I kind of saw meself in them, if you know what I mean. I'll be thirty next month - that's too old for this business, init?'

'I was lucky when I was young. I used to take speed - blues, y'know? They're not a classy drug but they're cheap. You can get 'em anywhere. So now and again I would run up a bill, but not that much, and if I couldn't get out of it, the next payment from the social would be enough.'

'These lads though. Look, I'm not letting on what Mr M was doing. I'm not a grass or a nark. I'm just saying, right? These lads - they run up big bills. And the bigger the bill, the bigger the slap - you know the score. And like I said, I was seeing meself in these young lads. An' I didn't want to do it no more, y'know? As for Mr M - I got the feeling that he got a bit of a kick out of it all, y'know - seeing people knocked about. I'm not saying he does, like - just a feeling I got.'

'So I told Mr M I didn't like it and he said that was my job and I could take it or leave it. So I had a think and realised that I didn't have much choice. So I asked me brother - that was months ago - if he could help out. I'd forgotten really. But he come good - got tipped off about a commissionaire sort-of-thing. A little flat, long hours but less than what I'm doing now. They interviewed me and I put on that that was kind of what I doing for Mr M - well it is really. I had to own up to me record - but I been clean for 9 years or so. They just nodded. They wanted someone who could handle themselves and do things like put the bins out, take in parcels, look after the post and that. And stop undesirables coming in.'

'I thought it might be an idea, though, if I kept the job to meself. Mr M ain't what you call understanding. So I slipped most of me bits and pieces to me brother and got ready to dart when Mr M paid me. Every two weeks on the Friday, cash in hand. That's the deal.

'So when we picked you up, I was just - y'know - going through the motions. I'm sorry if you ripped your pants or anything but I had to trip you up. Then I just sort of kicked the ground y'know - make it look like I was working you over. '

'An' the truth is I thought it was a bit out of order, what he did. He was boastin' about it. I'm not saying nothin', y'know - just don't think it was right to set you lads up like that. An' I saw you on the telly, couple o' weeks ago. Mr M called me in - 'that's 'em' he says. '

Larry swirled the last of his pint around and looked in space.

'I'd have loved to do that sorta thing when I was your age, y'know. Me brother used to play the drums 'n' that. But...' He let the sentence drop and continued his tale.

'Then Mr M told me to go over to the girl's flat and frighten her a bit y'know what I mean? I didn't want to do it. I think he was kind of testing me, y'know? Wanted to see if I would do it. I wasn't sure about it and when I saw you again - well I could have knocked you about but I've had enough. I'm getting me money and going.'

He had finished the pint and I guessed he didn't have any cash, so I bought him another and got a bottle of coke - no glass - for myself. Cheeky barman put a straw in it. I just grinned at him and went back to Larry.

'Thing is' I said. 'Dan is looking for a favour. You know that Mul...Mr M, is looking to get some of his property back from Dan?' He nodded.

'Well Dan hasn't got it all but he does have part of it.' This was a white lie - a couple of grams had been consumed by a certain popular singer, but Dan still had most of it. I had asked him why he didn't just give it all back and he had explained that that would give Mulvaney a hold over him - a hold he would never let go. And, incidentally, a hold over me as well.

'So he would like you to put the stuff in Mr M's car - he's willing to pay you.'

'Why didn't he just cough it up on Tuesday?' Larry said, looking at me suspiciously.

'Well, that's the thing. We want to give it to him secretly. And it might help you too, Larry - keep him out of your hair for a while.'

'Nah - I'm not setting him up.' Larry shook his head and looked at his watch.

'He won't find out.' I said, feeling this was slipping away from me.

'It's not that - I just won't do it. Look, Mr M ain't the nicest of men, but he's ok. The filth have been on my back since I was fourteen. In this life, you got yer friends and you got yer enemies and all them other people in between. Well Mr M might not be a friend exactly, but he's more of a pal than the police ever was.'

He drained his pint and I guess I must have looked a bit down in the mouth. I was looking at my shoes when he tapped me on the knee.

'Look, if you want to do him over, he's up to something on Saturday. I don't know what. I never go with him when he goes to one of the ports - I have to look after the house. But if you wanna find out and shop him, that's between you and him. He's done you over an' yer entitled ain't yer? If you do though, that's the time to do it. I know he's starting out at lunchtime - about one. As soon as he's gone, I'll be off - me brother's coming round with the car for the last few bits and pieces.'

I nodded as he stood up.

'But watch yerself. Just be careful, kid - understand?'

I nodded again and he walked out. I finished my coke and picked up the empties as I stood up. I put the empties on the bar prior to going out to the tube, with my dangerous and precious plastic bag.

'Cheers sunshine' the barman said, coming over and picking up the pint glass and coke bottle from the bar.

'Larry a mate of yours then?' He was obviously in a talkative mood.

'More of an acquaintance, really - seems like a nice enough guy.'

'So long as you stay on the right side of him.' The barman leaned towards me and lowered his voice.

'Are you looking to buy gear?' I made the assumption he wasn't talking about fishing tackle. I was tempted, but I had turned my back on coke and I had all the weed I needed.

'No. No thanks. It wasn't to do with that.' He nodded and returned to pushing glasses into a sink full of somewhat grimy water. I didn't know if I'd been dismissed but once he'd dunked Larry's glass he came back.

'Larry's a mate, you know. I don't want anything to happen to him.'

'Me too', I said, as convincingly as I could.

He gave me a look that said he didn't believe me.

'Or to you, sunshine.'

I decided it was time I left before any further unpleasantness, so I nodded and headed for the door. My heart was in my mouth, but he made no move to stop me leaving. The beating of my heart was approaching stage fright levels as I left the pub and turned towards the tube station.

There were several small roads - hardly bigger than alleyways - meeting the road I was in. As I passed one of them a large dark shape ran towards me. My instincts told me to run as fast as I could towards the tube, which I could just see in the distance, but my brain informed me it was already too late as a meaty hand closed on my elbow and dragged me into the alley. I tried to pull away and the shadow said...

'Don't be daft, it's me, Larry.' I could just about see his face in the dim lighting of the intersection and stopped struggling. He thrust a hand forward, breathing heavily after his run.

'Take this.' And my fingers closed on a car key.

'I just run back to get it. He lost it just after he got the latest motor. Had to have a new one cut. I found this one a couple of weeks later in the drive - he'd dropped it and it got pushed into the gravel. I was taking the leaves up and it got stuck in the rake. It's no use to me, and it might help you out, son.' He turned around before I could thank him and disappeared back into the alley.

It was quite late when I got back to the flat and the walk from the tube station meant encountering the odd drunk but not the mayhem of a Friday or Saturday night.

It was a long ride from Balham and I had stopped off at Euston to drop the carrier bag in a left-luggage locker. The locker key was in a zipped pocket in my parka, next to the car key that Larry had given me. I couldn't risk bringing the white stuff into the flat. I was amazed that the Police hadn't come round since we moved in - the noise would always be a pretext for sniffing around and discovering some class C's and even class A on occasion. It would just have been my luck for them to have raided us tonight and discovered a plastic bag containing a leather hold-all containing nearly half a kilo of South America's finest cocaine.

I didn't want to take it back to Magic Dan's - Dotty would never have slept. And I definitely didn't want to dump it at Amanda's. So after a brief and guarded phone conversation with Dan, I left it at the station.

I suppose it was Dan's problem to sort this out, but I was feeling a bit down about it when I saw Degsie's Jaguar outside the flat. It didn't improve my mood. He only came around with bad news. But knowledge is power, so they say - but they also say ignorance is bliss and, on balance, I preferred the bliss. I opened the door anyway to the sound of acoustic guitars playing sixties music and a loud scouse voice directing them.

'E minor - _I can feel yer heartbeat_

D _\- I can hear yer -_ C- _breathin' in me ear_

D - _Wouldn't you agree, _

_G - Baby, you and me,_

_D - Gorra groovy kinda love.'_

'See I told yer you could play proper music if yer tried.'

Then Degsie spotted me.

'Ay look - it's the Scarlet Pimpernel - they seek 'im 'ere, they seek 'im there.'

I'll spare you the five minutes of barracking and scorn that I had to endure. Fortunately I'm not a sensitive soul and I knew I'd recover eventually. Degsie came around to the point.

'I come round to see you Jonnie - private like', he said that pointedly to Gideon, Jake, Howie and The Hulk, who sat unmoved by any desires of our beloved manager.

'So we'd better go to the pub, then' he said, and took my elbow, picked up his coat and manoeuvred me towards the front door.

'Hang on.' I managed to say, but by then the door was open and I was outside while he opened his car and thrust me into the passenger seat. Two minutes later, we had parked around the corner. Nowhere near the pub.

'Now then Jonnie. You and me need to come to an understanding.' I had no idea where this was leading so I just nodded. Degsie's face, lit by the sodium yellow of a street light, looked particularly nauseous.

'I said last Monday that it was a pity that you didn't come clean about the drugs.' I nodded again.

'So I'd like yer to let me in on yer sudden interest in shipping containers. An' I thought you might enlighten me about whether you plan to visit one of these shipping containers. An' I'd like yer to pay particular attention to 'ow that might affect my daughter. Then I'd appreciate knowing where you've been tonight. An' when you've done that I'll consider whether I should break yer fuckin' arms right now or wait till after the concert.'

I felt that this wasn't how I'd planned things. I scrabbled around in my brain for a plausible explanation and Degsie sighed deeply and saved me the trouble.

'Yer know, Amanda's me only kid - far as I know, anyway. But me brother's got a couple of boys and a girl - the oldest boy, he's about your age.'

'Well he can't tell the truth to save his soul. He prefers a lie to the truth 'cos it's more romantic than livin' in semi in Litherland with his mum and dad.'

'They have to keep telling any girls wot come round that he's not a nightclub owner or a professional gambler or doing a trial for Liverpool. He's actually a trainee accountant and not a particularly fuckin' great one.'

'One day, he'll grow up and leave all that behind. He's gonna find it easier to tell people what's really going on rather than some cock and bull story.'

'I'm not saying that you're the same kind of dick-head as our Francis, but I'm waitin' to be convinced, like.'

I gulped.

Degsie waited.

I gulped again.

Then I told him the whole thing. Everything. Including Larry coming around to Amanda's, us going round to Dan's, Mulvaney lording it over everyone and Dan's pickpocketing skills. I finished up with my abortive trip to Balham and the drop-off at left luggage. He said nothing. Instead he pulled out a letter and thrust it at me, turning on the interior light - even though I could read perfectly well by the street light.

'It's from Amanda's mother.'

Derek,

It's been a while since I wrote to you. Not that long since I shouted at you, screamed at you or swore at you - I do that all the time. I've kicked a hole in the plaster in the hall, pretending the wall was you. The neighbours are used to me cursing you whenever I hear what you're up to with Amanda.

So your latest exploit was to nearly get her killed and to let her get infatuated with one of the stupid boys that nearly killed her? You're famous for your cursing but you had nothing on me when Amanda told me about that. So I've spent a couple of days shouting at her, crying, pleading with her to stay here where I can keep an eye on her and keep her safe - my only child, my baby.

But yesterday I went to see my Aunt Maureen - you should remember her. You used to say you'd have fancied her if she was twenty years younger. Well she wears better than you, I can tell you that. Anyway, I told her about everything and how I was going to move heaven and earth to keep Amanda here, where I can keep an eye on her.

She said she envied Amanda. Envied her! Seeing the world, travelling, enjoying herself, getting involved with unsuitable boys. I wouldn't listen - I said she wouldn't want that for her girls. Then I realised she did. And I realised she was right. I had another couple of glasses of wine and I had a cry and we had a laugh and I came home late and woke Amanda up to tell her that she was right and I was wrong and I would love her forever - whatever she did or wherever she went.

She's going back to you tomorrow - please take care of her. I don't like her being involved with your world - but that's what I wanted for myself once, before I met you. She has to grow up and live the life she wants.

By the way - I still think you're a bastard, and I still hate you, but she's your daughter too. Try your best not to screw things up for her.

Sandra

'So I'm gonna have to do my best to keep her safe from this bastard. Now - explain to me why I shouldn't just go round to this Mulvaney's gaff and kick seven shades of shit out of him.'

I didn't have a convincing explanation. But one thing occurred.

'Well - Larry will be there and maybe that Donald guy.' That didn't seem to phase him.

'And you might end up in gaol rather than him.' That seemed to get through.

'So why don't we just fuckin' shop him?'

'He won't keep anything on the premises - so they won't have any evidence. That bag is all we've got.'

He turned it over in his mind - looking a bit like a cow chewing a really tasty cud.

'So you're saying we've got to plant the stuff on him? What if we get lifted? Then we go down as druggies and he's laughing.' I took note of the 'we'. I wasn't sure I liked it.

'So this Larry fella says he's up to something on Saturday? An' you reckon it's something to do with that shipping container?' I shrugged and assembled my very limited knowledge.

'Well, according to Larry he's going to a port. According to the phone call, it's Tilbury, and that's the number I remember.'

'Ay awright. Let's phone someone who knows what he's fuckin' talkin' about. Give us that bit of paper.'

He looked at the scrap of paper with last night's meal details and stuffed it in his pocket. He started the engine and drove back to the flat.

'I would've rung him from the office, but it's a bit late. Have to use your phone.'

So I let him in and ignored all the other guys while he grandly unplugged the phone from the lounge and took it into the bedroom I shared with Howie. I shot in with him before he shut the door. I'm sure the others would have wasted no time in pressing their ears against the door as he plugged the phone into the point in the bedroom and dialled a number from memory. I could only hear his end of the conversation.

'Awright Jan? It's Degsie.'

'Ay, don't be like that. I don't only phone when I want something.'

'Look I phone you Christmas as well. An' birthdays'

'Yeah, awright. But I was busy this Christmas.'

'I just want a quick word with our kid.'

'I'm not going to, honest.' There was a pause while 'our kid' came to the phone.

'Awright Stevie, boy. When you gonna gerra divorce?'

'Only jokin', mate, only jokin.'

'Can you do us a favour mate? There's a container number I want tracing. Yeah I know. After hours drinkin' is illegal - doesn't stop you does it? Anyway I think you'll find it's confidential not illegal. And...' he paused dramatically.

'You'll be helpin' the police with their inquiries.'

'Not at liberty to disclose, Stevie. You'll be the first to know.'

'Top man. You gorra pen?' another pause while 'our kid' went for a pen.

'E-M-W-U-3-0-5-4-3-8-3'.

'Give us a ring tomorrow at the office.'

'Cheers fella - I'll buy yer a season ticket if it works out.'

'If it doesn't? I'll buy yer a Everton season ticket.'

****

### **Friday 17th**

###

I'm not a prima donna. I'm no diva, God knows, but I just couldn't do it. The only thing that gave me any confidence was Magic Dan. He had listened to my vocals for the last couple of days. He knew how thin it was and at the end of the sound check I had a heart-to-heart with him.

'Dan, I can't do it - I just can't'.

He rubbed his chin and said nothing.

'I'm just a crap singer.'

He scratched his head and said nothing.

'Half the time I can't even remember the words.'

He cleared his throat and I waited but no reply.

'I need to tell Degsie. He can arrange a refund.'

He looked up at me.

'I'll see what I can do.' And with that he left, leaving me to camp out in the toilet for the two hours before the show.

Now it was show-time and Degsie was pounding on the cubicle door.

'Gerrout 'ere yer little fucker. Yer five minutes over already. Sam's run out of fuckin' records to keep 'em 'appy. I can break this fuckin' door down y'know.'

I knew he wasn't joking, so I reluctantly did up my stage pants - Some shiny white material with black and gold seams. I should have got a pair in brown. Degsie put a burly hand on my arm, just above the elbow. I could have pulled away but I didn't think even a broken arm would have stopped him from thrusting me on stage, but then the words trickled through my terror.

'Sam? Where's Dan.'

'Bin 'eld up. He'll be 'ere in a minute.'

'I'm not going on without Dan - he's got something to improve my voice.'

'I'll improve yer fuckin' voice in a minute - be a fuckin' falsetto, though mate.'

We were on the wings of the stage by then. The other boys were on stage, though the lights were down. There in the centre was my dual keyboard set up, facing the audience, who I could hear stamping their feet and clapping. A good-natured barracking at the moment, but I knew that could easily change. I wished I had eaten more than the half a sandwich I had had at lunchtime - then I could have thrown up. Even the sight of Amanda with her telephoto trained on The Hulk did nothing to combat my nerves.

There was nothing for it. Prodded by Degsie, I stumbled on stage and tip-toed to the keyboards, hoping nobody would see me. But they did and the stamping changed to applause and cheering. I waved to the crowd as the spots picked me out and the click-track started in my ear. On the four I hit the opening chord and the boys came in in at the start of the first bar. I had an eight bar intro and it calmed me a little as I took a deep breath for the first verse of 'Here and Now'.

_Don't remember the past, _

_I can't see the future,_

_Don't want it to last, _

_It's not in my nature._

I felt that I had them with me. My voice was weak but they were prepared to give me a chance. I got through the first verse and was looking up at the sound desk as I played the two-bar turn that introduced the next verse. I saw Magic Dan taking over from Sam. He waved down to me and I felt a little relaxation and my level of stress went down from screaming panic to just suicidal. I began my second verse and heard the leap in quality on the fold-back.

My voice was doubled - like a slight echo but thicker with more quality that I had hoped - whatever effect Dan had stuck on it was much, much better than a simple echo. My voice improved as my throat relaxed and some of the panic that straightjacketed my chest subsided. The sound in the next two verses was full, fat and convincing.

The middle eight was tricky for me to sing. I had to pitch it on the major - a B, in this key - then slide it into a minor - a B flat - while the underlying chord changed from a G to a G minor. It was a long slide over a semitone. I had never really managed to pace it right and somehow it went wrong again. I got out of sync with the new echo effect and it sounded horribly discordant. I had never practiced with it, after all. The tight chest and throat returned and I just stopped singing. I intended to pick it up in the next bar, once we were in the new chord.

But somehow the 'echo' carried on and the realisation dawned on me me that Dan was using a tape of some kind. I was really annoyed with him. We were a live band and this was cheating. I know that sounds big-headed but I nearly stopped playing while I decided what to do. Maybe I should call him out? Could I carry on and signal to him that I didn't want to go along with this?

Playing on stage, when something goes wrong, is a bit like a car-crash in that time seems to slow down. So I got all this thinking done in in the space of a bar or two. I noticed that, now I had stopped singing, the spot that illuminated me was dimming.

Another spot picked out a guy standing just forward of the audience, who were still seated. He had his back to me - facing the audience. He wore a smart black morning suit with a black fedora. He waved at the audience and they cheered while we were still playing a backing track to the tape. Then he turned around.

It was Graham. He had a radio mike. It was no tape, it was the genuine article. He had been singing along with me, almost in sync. He leapt onto the stage and bowed to us, still singing, while shrugging out of his suit jacket. Underneath was a silver vest and now I could see that the trousers of his suit were black, shiny spandex. He threw his fedora into the audience and finished the song to good-natured applause.

'Hello!' He greeted the audience and they shouted back at him, as he crossed the stage to my keyboards. He leaned across them and kissed me on the lips - his mouth tasted of some orange liqueur - before turning to the front again.

'A big hand for Jonnie.' They applauded me and I bowed.

'Marrianne' our leader demanded and I keyed the midi for it, skipping the first few bars.

We absolutely blew the roof off the place.

At the end of the concert, I don't mind admitting that I was crying - but I was not the only one. After the encores - three of them - Graham went around kissing everyone - including me again and The Hulk and even Gideon.

The others were all agog to hear why Graham had changed his mind, even Amanda. I was agog to hear what cock-and-bull story he had come up with. I knew that he was here because Dan had convinced him it was in his interests to be here. He waited until they had run out of shouted questions before sitting down in the dressing room. He waited until we were all sitting as well. Amanda had to sit on my knee in the cramped dressing room, which didn't do wonders for my powers of concentration, but I tried.

'Now today was a one-off. It's a good cause and one I believe in.' I bit my lip. In my opinion the only cause Graham believed in was Graham.

'But I've been thinking that this American tour is too good a chance to miss and I'm up for it.' We gave a little cheer interrupted by another 'but'. We quieted again.

'With some conditions. One is that Heinrich is our support - and we'll need you playing with him, Jonnie.' I nodded.

'And the other conditions?' I asked.

'We have Magic Dan on the desk - Heinrich and I need him to do some tracks in Sound City.'

That was the second condition. He had the look of a man with the upper hand,

'And?'

'No more singles from our album - from now on we write decent stuff.' I was relieved he had said 'we' and, as for material we already had a couple of new songs in the wings. And we had already released the best two tracks on the album. Plus two of the others for B-sides, and the bonus tracks on the twelve inch. There wasn't much left unreleased. This would be more of a problem with the record company than with us.

'Any more?'

'The name of the band. New Romancer is dead.' You could have heard a pin drop - or at least the grinding of mental gears as we turned this over mentally. Our number one was as New Romancer but on the other hand we weren't that well known in America and we had been keen on dropping it before the record deal. Heinrich's ribbing seemed to have hit a raw nerve with Graham so now he finally agreed with us.

'What will we call ourselves?' Jake asked. I breathed a sigh of relief when Graham didn't object to the 'ourselves'. He appeared to consider it before replying.

'The Anarchic Heart'. He said it with an up-raised hand and a gleam in his eye like an old testament prophet revealing the word of God.

Well, I thought, it could be worse. I could see everyone was thinking the same. Time to move on.

'What does Degsie say? Contracts and all that...'

'I haven't told him - where is he?'

Just at that moment, there was a polite knock on the door followed by a middle-aged woman sticking her head around the door and peering nervously at us through pink-framed specs.

Seeing that we were all decently clothed she came in and waved a hand at us.

'Hi all. I'm Jasmine Stone and I just want to thank you for playing - it was super. Derek was right - you certainly draw a crowd! It was a sell-out and that's over seven thousand for our schools. Thank you so much.'

As she said it, the bulky figure of a scouser appeared behind her and she jumped as he pinched her bum.

'Don't be giving them airs and graces, Jas - I'll only have ter knock it out of them.' She squealed and turned to kiss him on the lips. She turned around again, slipping her arm through Degsie's and beaming at us.

'You back on board then, yer lordship' This was directed at Graham.

Graham looked at him with an expression of contempt and said.

'We need to talk.'

Degsie sighed.

'Let's go and eat something.' He steered Graham and the charity lady out of the door and left the rest of us behind in the crowded dressing room.

****

### **Saturday 18th**

###

My ears were still ringing from the noise of the night club we had chosen for the celebration. I was in the kitchen trying to cook scrambled egg and toast. All I can say is that it's not as easy as it looks. It was going to take me longer to wash the pan than to eat the breakfast. Still, the smell was good enough to tempt Amanda out of bed and into her dressing gown, and we ate the results at the small kitchen table.

'I realised something last night', she said slapping my hand as I tried to steal a piece of her toast.

'How devastatingly handsome I am?'

'Nah - you're pig-ugly. But if you change the name of the band, New Romancer will be a one-hit wonder.' She started giggling before I could point out that we had had two hits. Ok one was only a number 40 but still...

'Like St Winifred's School Choir.' That really started her off.

'And Clive Dunn - Grandad!' She slapped the table and I thought she was going to fall off her chair. I concentrated on my coffee. I was just finishing it when the doorbell went. Amanda was still halfway through her breakfast, giggling between mouthfuls. Childish.

These spy holes are like fish-eye lenses, so Degsie looked particularly revolting when I peeped through it. When I unchained and unbolted the door though, he looked just as bad in real life.

'Too fuckin' early for me, Jonnie.' Were his opening words - it was nearly eleven, but I agreed with him. I guessed it had been a late night.

'What's the deal with Graham.'

'I gorra' talk Magic fuckin' Dan into coming but I'm hoping he'll have a favour to owe us by tonight. You 'ad yer breakfast?'

We sat in the seedy cafe while I drank a dismal tasting coffee and watched Degsie work his way through a full English. It didn't take long. He'd kissed Amanda, said we'd be busy all day and I'd be back late, then spirited me out of the door and down to a greasy-spoon in South London, stopping at Euston long enough to get the bag and a parking ticket.

The cafe was just by a bus depot and full of drivers and conductors getting their regulation dose of cholesterol before facing the travelling public. Degsie mopped up the last of his egg yolk with a piece of fried bread and got down to the business in hand.

'Right. That container is coming in from Portugal. Previous to that it was in Manila and before that it was loaded in Valparaiso - that's in Chile, for them at the back of the class. Careful scrutiny of the manifest by our Stevie says that there wasn't nothing left on it from Chile when it was loaded in Manila, but I reckon the manifest ain't tellin' the whole truth. The cargo from Chile to Manila was all sorts of shite, but included a crate of tinned mangoes. The cargo from Manila to Oporto was all sorts of different shite but including a crate of tinned mangoes. The cargo from Oporto to Tilbury is all sorts of other shite, but it had a crate of tinned mangoes. Can yer see where I'm headed with this one?'

'Ok, but what do we do?'

'Well, I had a word with Dan. I had a few actually. He'll get over it. Yer know the trouble with you Londoners is...'

'I'm from Leicester!'

'Same fuckin' thing. The trouble with you Londoners is that you reckon that anyone 'oo hasn't got a cockney accent is too stupid to be let in on big boys stuff. But I've shafted more cockneys than I've been shafted by. So I've told Magic fuckin' Dan to sit on his magic fuckin' hands and let me sort it.'

I tried again.

'But what do we actually do?'

'Keep our eyes open, find out what we can. Maybe we can use your bag, maybe not. We'll 'ave to see.'

'What a dump'. I was looking out of the passenger window at the rolling landscape of abandoned factories and council houses.

'You haven't seen Kirkby. Anyway - 'the man who is tired of the A13 is tired of life' - wasn't that Shakespeare?'

'What's the plan? C'mon, I won't tell anyone.'

'Well, the container's due out at 3:15 today - that's any time between half-two and next Wednesday - and our Stevie says the company has it's stuff painted Red and Green - should be easy enough.'

'What company?'

'EMWU means the container's owned by EMW - Eastern Maritime and Warehousing. Red and green. 'Orrible, but handy for us. Anyway, we park up on the dock road out of Tilbury and wait.'

'And'

'And see what happens - you've got no patience, you lads.'

There was only one road out of the docks and we waited in a lay-by. Periodically a lorry would pass by and we gave it our attention.

In between lorries we talked about women in general - 'trouble but dead nice, like' - women in particular - Sandra was a 'mad bitch, but a dead sexy mad bitch'. Amanda was 'dead cute when she was little - hasn't changed 'as she?'. He took me through a potted history of his conquests. I knew one of them - my mum had a couple of her records, but mostly they were just names. He sounded wistful when he got to the charity lady.

'Y'know maybe I should settle down. Not gettin' any younger. Jas is dead nice - posh, too.'

'Known her long?' I didn't get a reply until two lorries rolled past - one white, one black and yellow.

'Couple o' years, on and off. Do a concert for 'er every year. She was born in Kenya. Dad's something high up in the foreign office now. Yeah, I might settle down.'

I wouldn't have bet the house on it.

We talked music 'I'm not sayin' it's all shite now but it's like, all the same. Not like in my day. You lads are all right, like.'

Another lorry interrupted the flow.

'Now 'Easy Lover' - that's a good'n. 'I Got You Babe' - one of the old ones. Wham, now - they could've been a Merseybeat group. I'm not into all them beepin' things. Like Depeche watsit. But there's still good stuff around'

We talked religion - 'My lot are Catholics - fuckin' great - yer can do what yer want and just repent it all. Few fuckin' hail Marys and yer sorted. Mind you it's twenty years since I went to confession, so I might be fucked.'

We talked politics, briefly. 'Bag o' shite, the lot of 'em.'

We had a tussle over whether to listen to Radio 1 or 2. So we listened to Radio 2.

It had gone dark by the time EMWU3054383 went past, and we gingerly followed.

There were two cars between us and the lorry as we approached the turn-off to the services and they slowed down as the lorry turned into the service station lorry park. We were hardly out of the port. Maybe the driver really fancied a sausage roll and a pee, but I doubted it, somehow. My heart started to pound like it did just before we got on stage.

'Lights, camera, action!' Degsie shouted as he followed it. At least someone was enjoying life. The lorry pulled into the far side of the lorry park, well away from the service station. We parked up as near as we could in the car park without making ourselves conspicuous. We sat in the car and waited. Only a couple of minutes passed before a Transit-sized van and a flash black car pulled out of the car park and went around to the back of the lorry. I recognised the car.

'That's Mulvaney.'

'I thought you said he had a nice car - that's only a fuckin' Beamer M6. If he want's a proper car he needs one of these', he said, patting the dashboard dismissively. He pulled a piece of paper out of the glove compartment and started writing the registration numbers down.

'Is that a 'F' or a 'E', d'yer reckon?'

We worked through all of them - Degsie was blind as a bat in this light. Eventually he had them and he opened his door.

'Right - time for an anonymous phone call to the boys in blue. Then we can fuck off and get some dinner.'

'Hang on - we haven't planted the bag on them yet.' He sat down, making the car bounce on it's suspension, and closed the door again.

'Yeah, but we need to get the police on 'em straight away. Fuck knows what they'll do when they've loaded up and fucked off.' He contemplated for a minute.

'I'll just tell that they been here and loaded the stuff, and that they might find something interesting if they opened his boot. I mean, the van will be full of the stuff and we might get a chance to do the Beamer later. An' if the worst comes to the worst, one of us might have to volunteer to be a witness.' He had opened the door and left before I could mull it over. I had no doubt as to which one of us would have to 'volunteer'.

So I stayed and watched. It was difficult to see what was going on, but it looked like the 'mangoes' were being unloaded from the HGV into the white van. So the police would arrest the van driver if they stopped him.

But unless Mulvaney kept a sample, he would be clean. The more I thought about it, the more I thought we had to plant the bag in his car. And if we didn't that would mean carrying the thing back to London again while the police were busy looking for drug-runners on the A13. I wasn't happy but there was nothing I could do about it until Degsie got back.

Now the van was loaded, they moved it and the BMW back to the car park, close to the pedestrian entrance to the service station. The lorry manoeuvred slowly out of the service station. I guessed that they didn't want to all go down the road in a convoy, so the van and Mulvaney's car stayed put in the car park while the lorry left. I saw Mulvaney and a minder get out of the BMW and talk to the driver of the van. Then the van driver got out and locked up. They all walked off quickly in the direction of the cafe - I guess none of them relished the little bits of freezing rain being whipped up by the wind.

Now was the time - while I had the chance. The plastic bag was on the floor behind the drivers seat and I grabbed it, pulling out the key that Larry had given me from my parka. Not wasting time by putting the parka on, I stepped into the cold in my thin leather blouson and Live Aid tee shirt and covered the fifty yards or so to Mulvaney's car. I stuck Larry's key into the keyhole on the boot. My heart was in my mouth wondering if the key would work, but it did and I raised the heavy boot. It was empty inside and I pulled up the floor cover to reveal the spare tyre. I intended to drop the leather bag out of the plastic one to avoid touching the leather one and I was about do it when I heard Mulvaney shouting.

'Just get me a coffee - black - I'll be back in a sec when I've got my wallet.'

Peeping over the boot, I could see him with his back to me, shouting into the service station. He was only twenty or thirty yards away. Panic gripped me and I huddled behind the opened boot. There was nothing for it. It was the only place. I jumped into the empty boot, curling into a foetal position with my hands to the back where I could pull the boot shut. I did it carefully, aiming to rest the boot-lock on the bottom of the boot. Like the rest of the car, it was heavy and solidly made and I was trying to hold it with my fingertips.

My fingers slipped. The boot fell the last couple of inches. The lock clicked and I was locked inside.

Whatever Degsie's opinion, the BMW was well-made. As we drove out of the service station, I barely felt the speed bumps and could hear hardly anything other than the wheel noise and a murmur of voices from inside the car. Mulvaney seemed to like the sound of his own voice. The minder - Donald, if I remembered rightly - hardly got a look in. I couldn't make out a word of it, though.

I had had to wait at least half an hour before they moved off. I had no idea what Degsie was doing or if he had phoned the police. I had three possible scenarios for what would happen next.

In the first, we got back to Balham, they opened the boot and found me. After a good beating, they would let me go.

In the second, we got back to Balham, they found me, and Donald produced a handy sawn-off shotgun to ensure my future co-operation with the role of being fish-food in the Thames.

In the third, we got back to Balham, and they didn't open the boot until they smelt my rotting corpse two weeks later.

None of them made for an easy relationship with my hyper-active bowel.

But then there were the police. Maybe Degsie had phoned them. Maybe they would stop Mulvaney's car and I would only be arrested for possession of half a kilo of precious white powder. Two years inside? Three years? More? At least I could learn a trade in prison - how to pick locks and fiddle alarms. So at least I would have a job to go to when I was released - that's if I didn't end up in the same nick as Mulvaney or his minder.

I don't know how long we were on the road. Maybe fifteen minutes, maybe thirty. I tried to remember the route - Purfleet, Rainham, Dagenham, Barking - all classy places to be beaten up or arrested in. I guessed that Mulvaney would be going back to Balham, but maybe they had to rendezvous with the van before that - he must keep the stuff somewhere. I lay there getting colder by the minute and speculating about where I was to take my mind off what would happen when we stopped.

I had almost run out of fearful imagined scenes when I heard the police siren. Mulvaney speeded up - instinctively, I think, because he slowed almost immediately and pulled over. The siren passed by and stopped - presumably the cops had parked in front. I could make out the sound of slamming car doors.

I heard the policeman walk around the car to the boot. I think I preferred being found by the police. Tough choice though - a thorough beating versus a couple of years or more inside. Either way I desperately wanted to fast-forward through the next encounter. The boot was opened and a uniformed constable and a plain-clothes detective peered in at me. I blinked in the light of the torch the constable was waving. He opened his mouth to say something, but the detective held up a cautionary arm. The detective hadn't looked happy when they opened the boot but when he saw me his frown deepened considerably. His brow furrowed and I could almost hear the gears grinding.

After a second or two he looked over the boot to someone standing by the car.

'Well, well. Interesting.'

He beckoned to me and pointed at the leather bag, still in it's plastic bag. I passed it to him and he extracted the leather bag, using a single gloved finger. The plastic bag fluttered onto my cramped legs. He slammed the boot returning me to darkness. I heard a mumble of voices, some of them raised. I could pick out the odd word but not enough to work out any sentences. I guess the German engineers who had designed the car boot reckoned that hostage victims and other unwilling boot passengers were entitled to a quiet ride.

Eventually the car was started and the journey continued for another fifteen minutes or so. Another five minutes passed with various voices coming from outside that were completely impossible for me to interpret. Then the boot opened again and a police constable - maybe the same one - stuck in a hand and helped me out. He allowed me to massage some life into my left leg before escorting me, and the plastic bag, into the police station and along a corridor lit with fluorescent lights and lined with frosted glass doors and partitions. Eventually we reached an open door and went inside.

A form lay on the desk with a cheap biro on top.

'Fill this in, son. Don't lie, you're in enough trouble.' I had to agree and I started out on my name and address.

****

### **Sunday 19th**

###

The form had disappeared about half an hour after I arrived when a different plain-clothed copper popped his head around the door. Armed with my name, address and date of birth he went off without a word.

It must have been nearly three in the morning when the first detective appeared again. I had had about three cups of machine coffee, one trip to the toilet (escorted), one cup of tea that tasted like machine coffee and a toffee produced from the depths of the constable's pocket. His name was Jim and he liked nights because he could tend to his garden during the day. He was getting married in May and taking his sergeant's exams two weeks after the honeymoon - which was set to be a walking holiday in North Wales. After three hours, I think I had enough information on Jim to construct the entire path of his life up to that moment, and the likely progress of the rest of it - up until the gold watch and the advent of enough time to spend with the grandkids on the allotment. He knew nothing of me, nor did he seem interested.

But the original cop seemed both well-informed about me, and rather world weary when he made an appearance.

Detective Inspector Willkie sat in front of me but reversed the chair, either to look more like Humphrey Bogart or to put a barrier between us, I'm not sure which. He dismissed Jim and brandished my form, turning it over to the blank page marked 'statement'. He placed the carrier bag I'd used to hold the leather bag on the table.

'Mr Cole', he said, looking up from the paper with what he probably thought was a searching expression. I noticed that he had mismatched eyes - one blue and one a mixture of blue and hazel. A bit like David Bowie, I thought. My exhausted brain was seizing on irrelevant details like a man sinking in quicksand clutching at twigs. I felt I would be consumed by sleep at any moment. All the adrenaline had long since disappeared from my system. There comes a point when you can't be any more scared than you have been for the last three or four hours and all you want is for all of it to go away and let you sleep.

'Well young man. We have a light goods vehicle with 48 cases of tinned mangoes, each case concealing half a kilo of very decent cocaine. We have the driver of the van and the driver of the HGV that once housed the said mangoes. We also have a very similar half-kilo of cocaine in a leather satchel, found in the boot of a rather nice BMW. The satchel has the driver's finger prints on it, and the driver is, as they say, a man of interest to the Metropolitan Police.'

I nodded and he continued.

'All nice and simple for a jury to understand. One would say open-and-shut?'

I managed to nod again.

'All nicely set up for the prosecution and conviction of a man who richly deserves it.' He paused and looked up at the ceiling before returning his lop-sided gaze to me.

'So who ordered a pop star in the boot of our villain's car? What relevance has this to anything in the collective mind of a jury? These are the sort of questions that tend to run through one's mind.'

I opened my mouth but he carried on before I could add anything.

'And this pop-singer was involved in a somewhat bizarre incident in Germany. Odd. Very.'

He stood up from the chair and took a couple of paces away from me and addressed the wall.

'Tell me about the cocaine in the leather bag, Mr Cole.'

'It was Mulvaney's', I said, rather lamely. 'He had it planted on our tour bus. I wanted to return it to him. I didn't get away in time.'

He considered this for a moment before turning around to face me again.

'We were tipped off by a man who rung while you were busy in the boot, as it were. He informed us about the presence of a leather bag, but no mention of a pop star. Any idea who our mystery informant could be?'

I thought it over. With Degsie's accent, it would be no mystery that it was our dear friend and mentor, but I still couldn't shop him.

'I prefer not to say.'

He sighed and walked slowly to the desk. He put the form I had filled in into the plastic bag.

I was wondering if I should ask for a solicitor, or that phone call you are supposed to be allowed. Or maybe I should ask to be cautioned. This didn't seem to be much like the police series on the telly.

I made the mature decision to keep my mouth shut.

'Come with me Mr Cole.'

D.I. Wilkie leant across me and opened the passenger door. We were in the car park of Barking Station.

'There is a train to London at 6:25 I understand. Only an hour or so. Enjoy your trip Mr Cole. I advise you to be careful about the company you keep in future and about your recreational habits. You are a man who attracts attention.'

'I don't understand.' He stared at me unblinkingly.

'Most people in this situation would simply make themselves scarce.' He shut the passenger door again.

'We have had an eye on Mulvaney for some time. We've interviewed him a couple of times and a previous attempt to prosecute him failed for lack of evidence. We've done his drivers, his couriers and a couple of his hard-men. He has always managed to stay aloof from the hurly-burly of his trade. Now we have some solid evidence of what has always been apparent.'

'Juries, alas, do not have our history of long and patient stalking of the man. And a man such as Mulvaney can purchase the best of solicitors. Any complication in the evidence would be unfortunate and exploitable by even a trainee defence brief. Hence my lack of interest in secondary facts, interesting though they may well be. I have consulted with my colleagues in the Met and they concur. I have also spoken to an old friend of yours in Germany. One day I would like to know what went on here - but not for the next twenty or twenty-five years, thank you.'

He opened the door again and I got out, slightly less confused, tired and ready for the train. Just as he closed the door, D.I. Wilkie added his last word.

'P.O.K. Hanning sends his regards and requests that if you should tour Germany again, to stay out of Berlin.'

I watched him pull out of the car park. There were a couple of other cars there, but I didn't pay much attention - I was too tired and I was rapidly getting freezing again. All I could think of was getting home and forgetting all about it. I had had enough of mysteries, surprises and shocks. I hoped and prayed that a quiet life was beckoning me.

Then a hand closed over my shoulder and my empty stores of adrenaline were suddenly replenished. I whipped around to find myself looking at a fat scouser with what must have been a smile on his lips.

'You took your time. I was waiting opposite the police station for four hours. I've used more petrol on the fuckin' heater than I 'ave on the road.'

He steered me towards his car.

'Come 'ed, let's get 'ome.'

****

### **Monday 20th**

###

Degsie looked around the office at us. He had a big brown envelope on his desk.

'You fuckers are hard work. Especially His Highness there.' He jabbed a finger at Graham who smiled imperiously in response.

'But it'll all be alright now, won't it kiddies?' He emptied the envelope on the table.

'Plane tickets to Ohio in the U-S-of-A.' We whooped, apart from Graham who pouted and chipped in...

'First class?'

'Don't start, mate. They're business class and I had to move heaven and earth to get them, so shut it.'

I reached forward to get mine and Degsie snatched them all back, gathering them back into the envelope.

'I'm keeping these safe. You'll get 'em when we board and not before.'

'Are you coming then?' I said and he nodded, wobbling his double-chin.

'Me, youse lot, Amanda, Gideon and Dan.'

'And...' Graham said, as if testing the limit of his power.

'And the fuckin' Kraut is flying from Frankfurt.'

'Friday?'

'This Friday, two o'clock. That means I pick you lot up at ten thirty. If yer not packed yer go without yer suitcase. If yer not dressed yer go in yer nuddy. Alright?'

'And me?' Graham said.

'Dan said he'll pick you up from the hotel - same time.' Graham was staying at the Hilton or Dorchester or some such. I refused to remember which, being confined to our Camden hovel.

Degsie lifted a bottle of champagne in a metal cooler - it had been hidden behind his almost-empty desk. He followed it by a tray of glasses and proceeded to pour half a glass of champagne and half a glass of froth for each of us.

'Here's to a great tour - let's hope it's a lot more fuckin' borin' than the last one.'

