 
# _Johnny and_ The USed Wonz

By DaNeo Duran

Text copyright © 2013 DaNeo Duran

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition

To Beverley for always believing in me and to you for taking the time to read this story. I hope you enjoy it.

Table of Contents:

Johnny and The USed Wonz

Acknowledgements and legal bits

About the author

## Wichita, Kansas: Saturday 02nd June 1984

The USed Wonz had plenty to feel confident about. Two months earlier the band's _Million Memories_ promo video had found its way into the countless American homes now subscribing to MTV. That had helped reactivate their debut album's sales. With the video in heavy rotation the band hardly needed commercial radio stations' help spreading their music.

Currently midway through their second US tour, The USed Wonz now found their own gigs selling out along with the shows they opened for larger acts with larger crowds.

But, backstage this Saturday night Johnny didn't feel good. He felt caged.

In a crate-sized dressing room his three bandmates sensed his anxiety. This close to show time he should be revving everyone up. Instead his mind bounced thoughts like pinballs; none of them hitting home.

'What's up Johnny?' Stu asked.

_I'm screwed and so are all of you,_ he thought looking at the drummer's knowing expression.

'Nothing's up, I'm fine,' he said; like Stu would believe him.

Nevertheless Stu, the trendiest band member turned back to the mirror and spiked his hair.

Both orphaned girls, Christine and Mazz had witnessed the exchange and Johnny saw them stiffen. He glared at the back of Stu's head with a frustration he'd not felt for his best friend since their vehement introduction years earlier.

'I need some air,' Johnny said checking the clock above the mirror and re-buttoning his silk shirt.

He left the shabby dressing room and squelched in leather pants still not dry from their daily soaping. He left the cool of the venue's backstage area and headed into Wichita's heat, still radiating from the tarmac.

Despite having lived in the States for eight months he still had to think which way to look before crossing roads.

On South Webb Road, he found a pay phone and dialled an office number from memory.

After three rings a woman's voice came through America's west coast lines. Only then did he realise how stressed he'd become.

'Linda,' he said flopping against the booth's casing.

* * *

In her newly rented office Linda only half recognised the caller. 'Johnny?'

'Yeah.'

'Can't be, you've not asked what I'm wearing.'

That didn't actually surprise her. Things had been different between them since they'd returned from The USed Wonz' video shoot in London months earlier.

'I expected the answering machine. What you doing there?' he asked.

'It's not so late this far west.'

'Linda, it's Saturday, you should be elsewhere enjoying yourself.'

He had a point but she sat back and twirled a lock of chemically lightened hair whilst gratefully avoiding home. 'What can I do for you?'

'I didn't know who else to phone.'

Never tiring of Johnny's English accent, Linda rested her feet on the desk and her eyes on his Stetson. He'd left it in her old owner occupied office. When she sold it and moved into her rented office his hat came too.

'You talk, I'll listen,' she told him.

Johnny talked.

Linda listened; then her eyes shot open.

With feet back on the floor she sat forwards and slapped her hand into her desk. 'What?'

'I said—'

'Never mind, I heard you.'

She stood up, then sat down. Neither spoke. Linda's mind raced.

Her feet searched for her shoes under her desk. 'I'll sort it.'

'What – you can't.'

'Which gig's this one?'

'Port of Wichita.'

She pulled a drawer and opened a file. 'Got it, Kansas City tomorrow right?'

She faced the map of the States behind her and checked her watch. 'It'll take me at least until 2am your time to reach you.'

'Linda, you know how I feel—'

'I've no idea what you're about to say but I need you off the phone. I'll meet you in your motel's reception.'

'Okay.'

'Johnny?'

'Yeah?'

'Have a good gig.'

Alone in her office Linda screamed but without sincerity. Looking at the phone she pondered where to start knowing she shouldn't be starting at all.

She booked a Wichita flight then rang her apartment.

'Hi Dwight, it's me,' she said surprised to get the answering machine. 'Mom's not well again. I'll stay with her and see you tomorrow, okay?'

She could have told the truth but choose to lie having not seen her boyfriend since their first proper argument the previous morning.

Then she dialled her mother and apologised for not being able to visit that night.

Two minutes later she buried her foot on the gas of her burgundy Lotus Esprit. The turbo-charged two-seater roared the airport's thirty minute journey in twenty.

* * *

Having seen a group of girls outside the venue Johnny turned to avoid being recognised before stepping into the road. A blaring Cadillac horn soon saw him checking left and right properly.

Minutes later back in the dressing room Christine asked, 'Why d'you phone Linda?'

Ignoring her Johnny unbuttoned his shirt and recomposed himself following the micro-mobbing he'd received after the Cadillac's horn had blown his cover.

Not having fathomed his feelings for Linda himself, he didn't appreciate Christine exaggerating about her being old enough to be his mum no matter how well-meaning the intention. And he didn't know why since their trip to London, Christine's feelings towards their agent had downturned whilst his had gone stratospheric.

He scowled at the twenty-three year old Christine but couldn't blame her for his bad mood.

Like Mazz, Christine wore a black figure hugging dress with heels. With the effort she made before gigs, Johnny found her as attractive as any woman he'd ever known. The same went for the eighteen year old Mazz who, since America re-raised its legal drinking age, pretended nightly to be twenty-one.

While Johnny and the brawny but pretty-boy Stu brought masculinity to the stage, the girls gave their audiences something else to remember The USed Wonz by.

'Are you going to answer the question?' Christine asked in her adopted American accent.

'What?'

'Why d'you phone Linda?'

'I thought that was rhetorical.'

The door swung open. Dane stuck his spherical head in the room. 'Showtime guys; place is rammed.'

Christine thanked their pudgy tour manger then to Johnny said, 'Why?'

'Look, I phoned Linda because I felt like it. Do I have to explain everything?'

Dane sniffed and pushed his glasses up his nose. 'Johnny, how many times, Linda is our agent and a thousand miles away? I am the manager. Any problems; bring them to me.'

Weeks earlier much to Johnny's annoyance, Christine had seen Howie, their last tour manager sacked. Johnny felt no warmth for their newly positioned manager. Competent in only the most trivial of matters, Dane had been an office jockey dumped on them against his will by their record company.

As leader of the band Johnny snapped to it. 'Let's take the roof off this place. Everyone out.'

Christine knowing she'd already pressed too far turned her attention to Mazz giving her an encouraging hug.

Dane retreated and the girls past Johnny who held the door.

Finally Stu stood up from the counter he'd been leaning on. He walked but stopped in the doorway. With his face inches away he searched for clues in Johnny's expression.

'I know you too well,' the drummer said gripping his shoulder with compassion.

Johnny said nothing but followed him out to where his troubles evaporated in the heat of approaching cheers welcoming the USed girls to the stage. The nearing lights then silhouetted Stu's lean frame.

In the wings Jack, the guitar tech, handed Johnny his unique dark dusty-blue and grey Stratocaster. Johnny took it and felt a million bucks again.

'Small in size massive in spirit,' Jack said about the venue. Then about the guitar, 'She's good to go.'

Striding on stage Johnny gave the strings a chop and received confirmation from his amplifier.

'People of America,' he declared into the mic whilst swigging cold tea from a Jack Daniels bottle, 'thank you for welcoming us to Wichita.'

The USed Wonz had enough UK and US experience to know what needed doing. If English audiences didn't like you they might face front wearing miserably bored faces. In America they'd look happy enough but plain ignore bands who failed to grab them early. With singles, video and album, The USed Wonz had their feet under the table but Johnny didn't take chances at the start of gigs in the country they hoped soon to call home. Everything had to please the rabble.

'You guys invented Rock 'n' Roll,' Johnny said. Stu's drums kicked in from behind. 'You gonna show us Brits how to make noise?'

Long before they'd left England, Johnny wrote lyrics praising the US correctly trusting Americans would love it.

Into the first song he sang, as usual making them wait for the guitar. When it came the proud Americans joined the whole band singing the chorus, _Let's get to the heart of this right now, You with us we are go, go, go._

To his right, Johnny heard fumbled bass notes. The audience didn't notice so he didn't look over but knew Mazz would be kicking herself. He kicked himself too knowing his bad mood had stressed her into the mistake.

At the back, now overly familiar with the songs Stu's limbs automatically beat out rhythm after rhythm. Stu loved America and had been grateful when none of the band objected to starting the second US tour right off the back of their first. Linda had booked them into fresh towns, placing them into America's seemingly endless supply of venues. But his mind had grown musically bored of their songs. He thanked God they'd be back in the studio soon working on new material – even if that meant temporarily returning to England.

The few years he'd known Johnny had been intense. Of course, Johnny's whole life had been intense. Stu believed only he understood Johnny's stoicism but as songs passed he tried but couldn't guess what had spooked his pal so badly.

* * *

Wichita had sent so much love on stage that back in the dressing room the band felt like their normal selves and wanted to hit the nearby bars.

After the venue emptied of fans they mucked in with their punitive crew packing their equipment away.

Shortly afterwards they jumped off the bus that dragged them town to town, state to state and headed into a bar where none of the middle-aged patrons cared to recognise them.

Johnny gave the waitress their order whilst Dane prepared to pay.

'It still amazes me how important we are to those who see us on stage and how irrelevant we are to everyone else,' Mazz said.

She wondered if that would still be true of Little Spirit over the Atlantic. She'd kept an eye on the UK charts so knew of Little Spirit's extraordinary debut single achievement.

Though The USed Wonz gigged tirelessly they'd chosen America, a far bigger animal than Britain to slay. So far they hadn't made the same dent Little Spirit had in Britain.

She looked at Christine who, having washed her face of makeup and hidden her curves beneath T-shirt and jeans looked but a memory of the voluptuous stage goddess she'd been earlier; holding chords and twisting knobs on her synths.

Mazz herself had also stripped of the dress and heels that kept musos attention on her body and off her left hand. She never relaxed sensing people scrutinising her bass technique.

Though Johnny looked good, only Stu maintained his impeccable image. Mazz figured it made sense nobody would pay them heed after their performance.

'Go easy guys,' Dane said, 'Kansas is only three hours away but you've got radio interviews and I've booked a rehearsal.'

'Right,' Johnny said. 'That's good. I wanna try some new lyrics.'

'What time we up?' Christine asked.

'Eight too early?' Dane looked at Johnny.

'Eight's great,' Johnny said. Then, thinking of Linda flying to see him added, 'But you drinkers will have to drink twice as fast. Can't stay out too long.'

* * *

Two hours later back in a cheap motel's family room the ever sober Johnny readied the pull-out mattress whist Stu converted the lounge seats. The girls flopped into the double bed; a routine so well practiced it didn't require discussion.

Nearest the door Johnny put the light out lay and down to wait for Stu's beer and the girls' cocktails to send the band to sleep.

He'd never normally encourage them to drink before, or after shows but tonight required an exception. Soon breathing patterns changed.

Checking his watch around 2am Johnny crept out the room and pulled his jeans on in the corridor before heading to the lobby.

The dozing night porter jumped at his arrival. 'Can I help you?'

'It's okay, I'm expecting someone. I'll wait.'

When the porter looked suspicious Johnny said, 'It's alright she's a woman. I mean she's a friend; she won't be staying.'

Johnny lay on the blue furniture that clashed with the grungy wooden floor and suddenly doubted Linda would show. The thought depressed yet focused him. He felt himself descending into a familiar sensation but, resting his head lost himself to sleep.

* * *

Sometime before 3am Linda found Johnny. He murmured and wrapped his hand around her fingers when she touched his shoulder.

'You came,' he said retrieving Tic Tacs from his pocket.

'Of course.'

She sat and resting his head in her lap looked down at the young man rubbing sleepy eyes. She stroked his blondy-brown hair whilst he chewed mints.

'I'm extremely cross with you,' she said. And then asked, 'Are you smiling?'

'You're cross, but you came.'

'I came because this isn't just about you,' she said with irritation but knew she would have anyway. 'The USed Wonz are...'

'What?' Johnny said becoming more lucid.

'I'm losing acts.' She continued stroking his hair as his smile faded to concern. 'I'm glad I moved to the smaller office but I can't afford to have you guys go down.'

Johnny sat up and fluffed his hair. 'Hang on, if The USed Wonz are keeping you afloat how can you afford to bail us out?'

'Because, I owned the other office. I bought it for a song years ago with money I inherited from my stepdad. It was too big and because its value rocketed I figured time to sell. I've still got the proceeds.'

'Any money you give me you'll get back plus expenses.'

'I believe you,' she said. But the statement hung as the pair looked at each other.

'You're wondering how I could lose so much money,' he said. 'Linda, I'm a damn good poker player. I know what's what at the table and I know for damn sure I had the best hand.'

She looked away. 'Johnny.'

'What?'

'When you turned the cards over the other guy had the better hand.'

'Not before the cards went over.' His raised voice startled the porter.

Linda smiled towards reception. The porter closed his eyes.

'So you're telling me you've never lost money?'

'At the poker table? Of course but I know how to minimise losses. I never would have bet that much against someone like that unless I was sure I had the strongest hand.'

'But it was still a gamble.'

'Not when you know the odds. I even know about cheating. One of the first proper games I played was an elaborate scam.'

Linda's expression dropped. 'I'm not impressed.'

'Look, even if I misread the game, and I assure you I didn't, the whole thing was a setup. The second the cards went over the door opened and in walked two heavies – right on cue.'

'Sounds like rough justice but it's senseless that you were gambling that sort of money.'

'Yeah well, desperate times and that.'

Linda knew she must look incredulous. 'What are you on about, you're doing great?'

'Are we? You won't want to hear this given you've just told me your companies losing acts but, Vanquar are shuffling bigwigs at the top. Apparently someone up for promotion doesn't like us. Whispers in the corridors say if he gets the position he'll cut the live feed.'

'Stop you touring – why – how d'you know?'

'Dane told me on the quiet.'

'That's crazy.'

'Can't escape the fact that every day with the bus costs money.'

'Smaller gigs like tonight's are brilliant earners.'

'But Vanquar control the initial outlay and want their share of the returns before we get ours.'

'And they're getting them aren't they – you're still turning over plenty of money?'

'Not compared to bigger bands, but we making some because there's an album to promote.'

'So what's Vanquar's problem?'

'That this is the second US tour on that record. We need _album two_ in order to justify carrying on.

'But as far as Vanquar are concerned you'll record _album two_ the minute this tour's over. They don't know that GMD already advanced you its funding; and you blew the lot at the poker table.' Linda stopped herself saying more.

Johnny took a deep breath. 'So GMD pay for _album two,_ but Vanquar still have to fork out to market and distribute it. Without _album two_ there's no tour investment and no point anyway.'

That didn't explain why anyone at Vanquar would want The USed Wonz off their books. To lighten the mood Linda said, 'We always knew GMD giving you the advance early was risky.'

'Well now I wish they'd kept it too,' Johnny said sulkily. 'Look, the point is Vanquar aren't contractually obliged to do anything with future USed albums. If the fella that doesn't like us gets promoted, he'll ditch any future involvement with us. If I hadn't lost GMD's funding we'd still get a second album but we'd have to find another record company to get it in the shops and advertise it through tours. And, even though it'd be in GMD's interest we can't rely on their help to find us another major record company because they're so wrapped up in England with Little Spirit. Can you see how useful some extra cash would be?'

Linda finally saw his point. It didn't seem fair, none of it did. She thought of her British friend Trudie who worked for Vanquar-UK. Seconded to Vanquar-USA Trudie had temporarily relocated to America and generated a heap of useful business for Linda's booking agency.

Trudie had brought her The USed Wonz and if it hadn't have been for their success and Trudie's help, Little Spirit would probably still be stuck with GMD and no Vanquar-UK or any other major label to make them as massive as it seemed they'd become.

'And Trudie's too wrapped up with Little Spirit, as GMD are right now,' Johnny said as if reading her mind.

Thinking of anything Linda said, 'Can't Dane get someone down from Vanquar's head office to see how you've grown?'

'You don't need me to tell you how useless Dane is,' Johnny said. 'I just wanted to keep the USed account plump and for a moment back there I thought I'd be leaving the poker table happy. I never meant to risk the next album's advance. Things got out of hand.'

'I'll say.'

Johnny stayed quiet a beat. 'Some guy came in halfway through the game. The atmosphere frosted.'

'Some guy?'

'The other players might've known him. I don't know if they expected him though.'

'How come you were there at all?'

'It was after the Bottleneck gig in Lawrence last night. Three guys found us in a bar. I recognised them from the gig. I'd even signed their T-shirts.'

'What, and they said, _d'you wanna play poker?_ '

'Nah, they said they were off to play in some room above a business. When you don't drink and you're in a bar with the same people you've spent every moment with for weeks on end you fancy a change. I invited myself.'

'Doesn't sound like a setup.'

'Not yet. But they must have known something. It's no coincidence they were in the same bar as us.'

'Did you trust them?'

'Initially. We got to playing and everything was fine till the next guy arrived; some silver-haired fella; old before his time. He sat down and the stakes went up.'

'So he intimidated you?'

'I wouldn't have said so though he had that bad tempered Yul Bryner look about him.'

'And you couldn't just leave?'

'No.'

'Why?'

'Psychological reasons partly. But by the time my instinct started scratching we were well into a round of no-limit Hold'em. If I'd have folded I'd have lost what I'd put in, which was plenty, and by that time I knew I had the strongest hand.'

'So you say.'

'Linda, you'd be amazed how I know what players are holding and the only way that guy could beat me is if the pack had three black aces. He had one, the table had one facing. But, I'd seen one in the deck.'

'Then heavies appeared?' Linda said not knowing how he came to be sure about the third ace.

'Immediately the cards went over. But weirdly the game stopped right when we reached my limit. GMD gave us a recording advance of seven-thousand pounds. That's just under ten-thousand dollars. The guy knew when to stop. He didn't give me the chance to raise. He just said, _Let's see_.'

'So why didn't his heavies just beat the money out of you?'

'Because they knew I didn't have it on me. I'd written an IOU. Plus if they'd kicked my head in I'd have gone to the police and done them for assault.'

'Can't you go to the police now?'

'And say what – I've been cheated?'

Linda looked away. 'Good point. I'm still not convinced.'

Johnny let the remark pass. 'Well, the convincer for me was when one of the heavies pulled out our tour schedule.'

'Tour schedule?'

'Pulled it from an inside pocket. I mean why? He must have known I'd be there.'

'I see.' Linda thought for a moment picturing the towns she'd booked for the period. 'Maybe it is suspicious. The geography is perfect.'

'It's been planned and from our schedule they gave me till Monday to get the cash. I'm to meet them in Kansas City.'

'You think they'll come back for more?'

'Doubt it. They know we've nothing left.'

Linda reached into her handbag. 'Who do I write the cheque to?'

'He wants cash, which just makes things sound dodgier. I'll put it through my personal account.'

She looked up. 'That won't work. You haven't funds to cover this size of un-cleared cheque.'

'Dammit.' Resignedly Johnny said, 'It'll have to be The USed account. The advance is still there ready to pay the studio.'

Linda watched him slump. 'How bad would it be to tell Dane?'

'Well I'll have to now. I really didn't want him of all people to know. Dane could be part of the whole scam; he's only been tour manager a few weeks. I mean, who else knows we've been given the advance?'

Linda thought for a moment. 'Richard at GMD knows.'

'He gave us the money and he's in England so that rules him out.'

'I know about it.'

'You're bailing us out so it can't be you.'

'Vanquar?'

'No. The advance is from GMD so it's none of their business. Plus we make them cash. Killing us would kill the income we produce.'

'Unless, as you say they want rid of you.'

'But that's the future. Ending us mid-tour wouldn't make sense.'

'None of the band have told your road crew?'

'Jack and Quinn shouldn't know. I'll check though. I can only think it's Dane. He's got access to the accounts.'

Linda nodded but didn't know what to think. Obviously she wanted The USed Wonz safely on her books but for Johnny she'd do anything.

He went on. 'I never imagined you'd come through for me. Your being here is...'

She broke eye contact seeing his expression change. 'Don't say it.'

'Fine, but I'm not joking around. You must feel something of what I do otherwise you wouldn't be here. Who else would you've done this for; especially given the trouble your own company faces?'

'Stop it Johnny.'

'Stop what? You reckon I'm nuts because you think I gambled the band's future but we were just discussing you handing over seven-thousand quid only to watch me leave the country for weeks to record another album. How d'you even know I'll be back?'

'You love America.'

'That's you assurance?'

Linda held up her hands. 'Alright, let's just leave it there shall we?'

'Yeah, well I'm just saying. Anyway I'll speak to Dane in the morning.'

Though Linda found Johnny sexually delectable she hadn't a magic wand to narrow their age gap. She did however feel responsible for him well beyond any normal agent/client relationship.

'I've had a brilliant idea,' she said. Getting up she took a piece of paper from the dosing porter's desk. 'If you can stall the band a couple of hours on Monday morning you can avoid telling Dane.'

Johnny perked up.

'I'll get to the bank first thing Monday and see the funds are in my account.'

She took a fountain pen from her bag and wrote.

Handing him the signed paper she said, 'Get to Citibank in Kansas City with this letter of entitlement and your passport. Be there at 11am – 9am Pacific Time.'

Johnny carefully folded the letter feeling alive again. He held out his hand and she put hers in it.

He smiled. 'You always wear ruby-red nail polish; I love it.'

She smiled too but pulled her hand free and looked at her watch. 'I need a cab.'

* * *

Soon a Crown Vic seesawed on ineffective dampers over the motel's bumpy parking lot.

The driver got out. 'No luggage?'

'Just me,' Linda said.

Johnny held the back door for her. 'Linda, how can I ever thank you for this?'

'Just get me my money back quick smart. And for God's sake keep me in a job.'

'Leave it with me. You'll get your money. I swear we'll record the best album and you'll have no time to work on other acts.'

He shut the door and she wound the window down to speak. Johnny jumped back when suddenly she got out and hugged him.

Linda's petite body clamped against his. His arms only had time to find her before she released him. With a kiss to the cheek she got in the car and slammed the door deserting him by the curb.

## Carlisle, Cumbria, UK: Friday 26th April 1974

Ten years earlier near the Scottish border, Barry Peters sat alone in his bedroom. Despite only being fourteen he felt like the man he'd grow, or perhaps shrivel into.

He'd been out-developing his school schoolmates for two years since his mother died leaving him with his older brother Frank and violently abusive father.

The official report said his mother died of natural causes. But both Barry and Frank knew the stress their father, Les Peters, had savagely inflicted had caused her to weaken to the point where her other ailments became insurmountable.

Barry's then seventeen year old brother mercifully tried protecting him from Les who, ruined with guilty remorse and insoluble rage, would return from the pub howling and lashing with backhands should Frank get too close when trying to moderate him.

Having beaten his wife and two sons more times than anyone could have guessed, Barry didn't believe his dad deserved comfort from the misery of his own doing.

Nevertheless he admired Frank's ability to dig deep and find love for someone so worthless.

Barry hadn't turned twelve when his mother died. Since then he believed everyone except his beloved Frank had written him off as a lost cause.

Alone in the Carlisle council house, surrounded by darkness and too shocked to cry, Barry shivered fully aware that Frank's support and protection had come to an end.

## Wednesday 21st June 1972

Two and a half years earlier, Barry might have caught the young, Miss Wilkinson rolling her eyes when he'd first turned up for her afterschool guitar lessons but, whatever she'd thought, he'd kept at them.

Like other eleven year olds his hands struggled to stretch and grip chords on the school's classical guitars. Sometime later, shortly before his mam's death in March, a neighbour lent him an electric guitar.

Though the electrics no longer worked the instrument had enough ambient volume to satisfy Barry. Practising on the slimmer neck he mastered the chords Miss Wilkinson showed the group.

After his mam died Barry practiced harder. Whist most in the group concentrated on their left hand fingering, Barry found he could look away from the guitar neck and listen to the ensemble.

One lesson in June he looked over to Miss Wilkinson and found her smiling at him. He looked away sheepishly.

'Can I have a quick word?' she asked afterwards whilst everyone replaced borrowed instruments.

'Okay Miss,' he said not knowing what he could have done wrong.

Once the class had left he sat behind a desk waiting admonishment.

Miss Wilkinson drew a chair beside him.

He faced forwards not looking at her.

'Your guitar playing's improved so much these past weeks I'm sure you could be a superb guitarist.'

Unable to believe his ears Barry turned to face her. Besides his mam and occasionally Frank he'd never received compliments least of all from teachers.

He didn't speak. His mam had told him he could be anything he wanted but without her he felt like nothing.

Miss Wilkinson swished her curly mid-brown hair behind her.

He faced forwards again and closed his eyes having caught trace of perfume similar to his mam's.

Miss Wilkinson said, 'I hope you don't mind, but I mentioned you to Mr Martin. He says when you're left to your own devices you work the metal with natural artist flare. He believes there's skill in your hands that's beyond what he's taught you.'

Another compliment. Barry hardly knew how to respond. 'I like metalwork.'

When Miss Wilkinson didn't say more he looked at her again.

She said, 'I heard about your mum.'

He looked forwards scrunching his eyes. Why had she said that?

Her hand laid on his shoulder. When emotions started bubbling he wanted to run, but where; not to a house with a horrible dad and no mam.

'With the skills you're learning on guitar...'

He heard words but couldn't process them. His lips quivered and he drew a deep breath which came out sobbing.

He cried out.

Without warning Miss Wilkinson's arms wrapped so tightly around him he couldn't move. Nor could he avoid saliva, tears and running nose flooding into her striped nylon blouse.

He wanted to stop but knew at once he couldn't and so gave in.

Eventually though, he did stop shaking and with no more tears he relaxed. He'd nearly lost his breath but his breathing returned to normal.

Miss Wilkinson's embrace eased and he looked up to her face seeing tears of her own.

Suddenly his senses returned. He smelt her perfume and felt the texture of her blouse. The fingertips of one hand pressed into her bra strap. He let go.

'Did you cry at the funeral?'

Barry shook his head. 'Dad doesn't like to see us cry. Can I go now?'

Miss Wilkinson nodded and handed him his school jumper. 'What I was going to say was, someone who can play guitar as well as you could make up songs to help them through a time of grieving or anything else they wanted to feel better about.'

Barry looked at her and sniffed. 'You think I should write songs?'

'That's what I'm suggesting.'

'I can't.'

'Sure you can. You, Barry, can write songs.' When he shook his head she picked up a guitar. 'The first songs people create are usually rubbish but if they stick at them they'll get better and better. Listen.'

She strummed E, A and D chords. 'You know these chords; we've played them over and over. But you can play them in any order and they'll sound good.'

To his surprise she began singing over the top of the guitar. ' _You can sing anything you want, anything you want.'_ She repeated the line then said, 'When you're ready change the sequence.' She played C# minor and D chords singing, ' _Why do people think writing songs ain't easy, when that just ain't the truth.'_

She repeated that line then returned to the first chords and sang her first line again.

'Wow,' Barry said.

'You just make it up as you go along. Go ahead and,' she paused for thought, 'break some rules.'

Barry couldn't believe his ears. 'Break rules?'

'Yes, be your creative self. Mix up the chords and sing what feels right.'

'And, will the words have to rhyme?'

'Only if you want them to. Bring me a song that says what you want to say and I don't mind how rubbish it is or how rubbish you think it is. You never know it might even be good. Just make sure you do your other homework first.'

Despite Miss Wilkinson's last piece of advice Barry ran home and picked up his electric guitar deciding homework could wait.

He looked at the chords for _House of the Rising Sun_ and played the progression backwards. He soon discovered, just like she'd said, chords could be played in different sequences and sound good.

## Wednesday 28th June 1972

The following Wednesday Barry headed into his after-school guitar lesson with the rest of the group. Miss Wilkinson barely acknowledged him so he sat down without a word.

After an hour of singing and strumming the group packed up.

His teacher still hadn't said anything to him. Dithering, worried she'd changed her mind about their appointment, Barry returned the school guitar to the store.

'Have you forgotten about me?' Miss Wilkinson said when the last kid left.

'No Miss,' he said with relief until nerves took hold as he picked a guitar back up.

'Thank goodness. I've been looking forward to this,' she said kindly. 'How've you been this week?'

'Fine, I wrote a song.' His voice trembled a touch.

'Great, tell me about it before you play it.'

Barry handed her a sheet with the lyrics he'd written before explaining how he'd created his song's chord progressions.

'I discovered that playing chords wrong sometimes sounded better,' he said.

Before his nerves could worsen he strummed a C minor chord with a high F in it to sweeten the sound. He checked Miss Wilkinson's reaction wondering if she'd tell him off for playing the chord differently from how she'd taught.

When the young teacher nodded her approval he carried on; distracted only momentarily when she crossed her legs inside a long blue skirt ending at tall medium-heeled black boots.

Opening his mouth he felt exposed hearing his voice without the chorus of the group.

Ploughing on he sang, ' _How can he say there's no faith, when you give me faith with your words? How can he say there's no hope, when you give me hope with your thoughts? How can he say there's no love, when you give me love with your touch... ?'_

'Astonishing,' Miss Wilkinson said when he wrapped up the two minute piece.

He explained that he'd discovered _faith, hope_ and _love_ from hearing the end of _Songs of Praise_ on the TV whilst waiting for _Robin Hood_ to begin.

Miss Wilkinson looked over her lyric sheet again. Is she'd fully understood his words she didn't let on.

'You can keep them,' Barry said indicating the lyrics. 'I made that copy for you.'

## Friday 15th September 1972

The Border city's secondary school had two music teachers, Miss Wilkinson and Mrs Rice. Barry returned after the summer holiday to discover Mrs Rice had left.

Rumour had it she'd suffered a nervous breakdown – a common problem amongst the staff at his school.

Mr Evans, as young as Miss Wilkinson, arrived as her replacement. Barry heard he had an extensive personal history of Rock 'n' Roll.

Mr Evans would teach in accordance with the school's curriculum by day and on Wednesdays (same night as Miss Wilkinson's guitar group) hold an after-hours class for rock bands.

The school only had one drum kit and one bass amp but somehow Mr Evans had managed to get enough money from the school to buy more used amps and a practice drum kit. He asked only that guitarists and bass players bring their own electric instruments and approach his Wednesday sessions as bands; not individuals seeking to join bands.

By October Mr Evans would have three bands to coach; the youngest member being fifteen.

With neither a band nor a working electric instrument, Barry had turned up at Miss Wilkinson's after-hours lesson as per usual on her first Wednesday.

The following Friday however, Miss Wilkinson kept him back after his class music lesson. He had no idea what she'd want.

'D'you remember I said you would outgrow my guitar lessons?' she said.

'Yes Miss.' He couldn't remember her saying that specifically but didn't want to sound daft.

'Well I'm sure you'll agree that's happened.'

He nodded and looked down.

'Don't look sad.' She pinched his chin. 'Mr Evans' Wednesday sessions are what you need now; something where you can progress at your own rate. I've spoken to him and I'm pleased to say he's expecting you next time.'

As much as he didn't feel ready for the big boys of rock he didn't want to stop seeing Miss Wilkinson. 'I can't, you have to have an electric guitar.'

'I thought you did?'

'Doesn't work.'

'That's fine, he'll get it going again.'

'Will he?'

'If he can, yes.'

He liked the sound of that.

'Miss,' he stood before her awkwardly, 'you're so nice to me. The thing is I'm facing expulsion for fighting.'

She shook her head. 'I know. News travels fast round the staffroom.'

'Oh.'

Her voice softened. 'Between you and me pupils don't get expelled for one incident.'

'It's not the first time.' When she only gave him a surprised look he said, 'Guess you were out the staffroom that day Miss.'

'You're unbelievable.'

'Sorry. I didn't start the fights.'

'Okay, I'm not here to judge. The latest incident happened after the final bell right?'

'Yeah, I was attacked outside the gates.' He sighed. 'It was only one punch. He started it and there was a gang of them.'

'Alright, try not to worry.' She held up calming hands. 'Can you remember to bring your guitar in next Wednesday morning?'

'Yes Miss.'

'Good lad. Bring it to the music department and Mr Evans will lock it in the cupboard. What's your next lesson?'

'Double maths.'

'Crikey, best you get going.'

'Thanks. And, thanks for not being cross.'

Barry hovered on the spot then acting on impulse hugged her.

'Go on, get out of here,' she said patting his back.

## Wednesday 20th September 1972

Barry stood in the middle of the school hall clutching his electric guitar amidst more noise than he'd ever heard. His untrained ears couldn't make sense of the racket the first band on stage made. The older fifth year lads looked like grownups to Barry making him feel insignificant and shy.

'Sir,' one of them said, 'What's he doing here?'

Mr Evans looked from the stage where he'd been trying to stop the exhausted Olympic drum kit from wobbling away. 'Oh, thanks Nicolas.'

'I'd prefer you called me Tocky.'

Mr Evans ignored that and jumped off the front of the stage. 'Hi, you're...'

'Barry, Sir.'

'Of course. Miss Wilkinson sent you.'

'Yeah, but I can go if you like.'

'It'll be alright,' he said fluffing Barry's hair. 'Let's have a look at this guitar of yours. Miss Wilkinson says it doesn't work?'

'Yes Sir.'

Mr Evans faced the stage and shouted, 'You lot'll be alright a minute?'

The band's lack of response seemed sufficient.

In the music room Mr Evans unscrewed the guitar's scratchplate and found his way to the instrument's workings.

'There's usually a simple explanation. You might need to get a new pot or something.' They both peered inside. 'Messy. You got a plectrum?'

'No Sir.'

'You'll need one. Here.' He handed him an inch long piece of plastic. 'You hold it like this.'

Barry copied the grip whilst they both continued looking for anomalies amongst the guitar's jumbled wires.

Barry spotted it. 'Sir.'

'Hmm?'

'I see a wire not joined to anything.'

'Well done. Ah, no wonder. It should be connected to the volume pot.'

Mr Evans heated a soldering iron but his chubby fingers couldn't easily reach the potentiometer. Barry hadn't used a soldering iron before but under the teacher's guidance dropped a tiny blob of molten metal and touched the wire to it.

'Neat job,' Mr Evans said inspecting the work. 'We'll try it later.'

'Okay Sir.' For a moment Barry felt happy.

'Now then, each band gets twenty minutes on the stage. In the meantime they practice together in one of the other classrooms. I'll be trying you in the last band.'

He felt anxious again. 'Okay sir.'

'Don't worry, Miss Wilkinson says you show real promise on the instrument.'

'She's nice.'

Leaving his side, Mr Evans popped open a guitar case and produced a fabulous looking electric guitar.'

Mr Evans laughed seeing Barry's expression. 'It's an Ibanez; as good as a Fender but half the price.'

Barry had no idea of Fenders or how much they'd cost.

'Show me where A is on the E-strings,' the teacher said.

After pointing this and all the other notes out, Mr Evans said, 'You've probably been playing chords with Miss Wilkinson like this.'

He performed a number of familiar open chords before saying, 'I'll show you something even easier and believe me thousands of rock songs have been written on nothing more complex.'

With a single left hand position Mr Evans demonstrated power-chords. 'You heard Machine Head?'

'No Sir,' Barry said not understanding.

'Deep Purple's new album.'

Within sixty seconds Barry had learnt, _Smoke on the Water_

'We'll start you off with power-chords with your band. Keep tight hold of your plectrum and keep practicing. I'll be back in a minute.'

With Mr Evans out the room Barry repeated the riff he'd been shown with the alien feeling plectrum.

Minutes later Mr Evans returned with a fifth year girl.

'This is Sonja. She sings in the band.'

'Hi,' she said with a surliness Barry couldn't miss.

She turned to Mr Evans. 'Barry isn't going to like this.'

'I'll be fine,' Barry said to the pair of nuclear warheads tightly bound in the older girl's jumper.

Popping chewing gum she said, 'Barry's the band's guitarist.'

'Look,' Mr Evans said, 'young Barry here, has potential. The older Barry can still play lead guitar. Young Barry will play rhythm to thicken up the bass end.'

'I don't know,' Sonia said.

'Plus,' Mr Evans went on, 'having a junior will give the band more quirkiness. Record companies love stuff like that.'

'Suppose,' Sonja said.

'Good. So your job's to look after him; introduce him to the others.'

'Right-oh.'

'D'you hear that Barry?' Mr Evans said. 'You'll be alright.'

Barry nodded.

Picking up his guitar he left following Sonja.

'Okay,' she said stopping outside a classroom door, 'I'll introduce you and we'll practice some songs till we get to go on stage.'

Barry couldn't have been more nervous if she'd said, _till we get to go in the boxing ring._

'And for God's sake pack in staring at my tits.'

'I'm sorry,' Barry said mortified. 'I didn't—'

'Yeah yeah, you didn't know you were doing it.'

With cheeks burning with shame Barry followed her into the classroom.

'What's this?' a big lad with an electric guitar and downy moustache said whilst two other equally big lads looked on.

'This is Barry,' Sonia told the lads.

'What's he doing here?'

'Evans says he has to join us; says he's got promise.'

'Is that right?' the older guitarist said pulling up the sleeves of his denim jacket and giving him a threatening look. 'Well I'm the lead guitarist here so you can forget playing solos.'

'I'm only to play power-chords with the bass,' Barry said looking at the other two seniors not knowing which would be the bass player.

Sonia introduced everyone.

The lead guitarist seemed even less pleased about Barry's presence when he discovered they shared the same first name.

He looked at Barry. 'What's that you've got there?'

'Guitar,' Barry shrugged.

'Yeah, a crap one. I meant what make is it numb-nuts?'

Barry looked it over. 'Dunno.'

'Gizza look.'

Trembling, Barry approached the older lad guessing he'd be taller than his older brother Frank.

The lad snatched the instrument and burst out laughing. 'Oh my god it is crap. It's so crap it's not even got a brand name.'

Barry glowered and gritted his teeth whilst the older lad proceeded to play _Smoke on the Water._

'It's in tune I suppose. Here, have it back. I'd rather die than be seen with that.'

Barry took his guitar and with a dejected stoop set off towards Sonja.

He didn't comprehend her suddenly alarmed expression before the sting of a slap to the back of his head shocked his eyes closed.

When he opened them he'd already dropped his guitar. Spinning round he unleashed a tirade of punches and kicks into the older Barry.

Chair and table legs screeched against the tiled floor as the other two lads rushed to break up the fight.

The door swung open.

'What the hell's going on?'

Barry faced Mr Evans whose eyes darted around the room.

Nobody spoke. Nobody moved.

'Right, Sonja, get him out of here. Wait for me in the corridor.'

Barry couldn't move. Sonja led him away by the hand.

In the corridor she called him a crazy little man.

He usually wanted to cry following such a fierce loss of temper but managed to keep it together by pacing and sucking the air.

'Jeez,' Sonja said. 'Calm down. It'll be alright.'

Barry looked at her. 'It won't,' he choked a tear back, 'I'm gonna be expelled. My dad'll kill me.'

'People don't get expelled for silly things like that.'

'You don't understand, I'm already maybe getting expelled for fighting.'

'Really?' she asked sounding almost excited, 'looks like I misjudged you.'

Barry stopped pacing. 'I don't want to get beaten up by my dad.'

'No, of course not. That'd be awful.'

He could tell she hadn't believed him.

Mr Evans came out the classroom and looked at his watch. 'You're on in a few minutes,' he said to Sonja. 'You go inside. Barry you come with me.'

He followed the teacher down a corridor to the school's deserted reception.

'Sit down fella,' Mr Evans said motioning him to the visitors' seating.

Barry silently obeyed.

'I'm sorry. That was my fault. Sonja warned me Barry wouldn't be happy. I shouldn't have left you unsupervised.'

Relief washed through him. 'You're not telling me off?'

'I don't think so this time,' Mr Evans said. 'But Miss Wilkinson mentioned you've been in trouble for fighting recently.'

'I might be getting expelled.'

'Look, as a new teacher I don't always know what's best. How about we go and see her afterwards and between the three of us agree to keep this incident from the headmaster?'

Barry looked up from the floor. 'You'd do that?'

'I'm not saying you were justified but from what I gather Barry was out of order with you. As lead guitarist in the band it makes sense he'd feel threatened by a talented second-year pupil.'

'I don't like him,' Barry said sulkily.

'I know, but how about we get on stage and see if that guitar of yours works. I'll keep an eye on Barry the whole time.'

'Thanks Sir.'

Before either stood up Mr Evans said, 'You know, a young man of your age could do with learning to control his temper. If you could prove you were taking steps towards doing that it'd help your case against expulsion.'

'Sir?'

'What d'you do Saturday mornings?'

Barry shrugged. 'Practice guitar.'

Mr Evans smiled. 'You are keen. However, a course of karate might help you focus your energy.'

'Really, karate?' he said brightening.

'It's a martial art no doubt, but if you study it with the right attitude it'll help you remain in control of violent situations.'

* * *

On stage Barry avoided looking at any of the older lads. Mr Evans positioned him stage left and plugged his guitar into an amp adjusting the gain to what might be a sweet rock sound.

'Play some power-chords,' Mr Evans said.

With plectrum in hand Barry did as he'd just learnt astonished to hear rock sounds coming out the amp.

On the other side of the stage the older Barry turned his amp and blasted a lead riff.

'Can I just borrow that a sec?' Mr Evans asked of young Barry. 'I just want to check something.'

He handed over his unbranded instrument and Mr Evans' fingers danced all over the fretboard like Hendrix. Next he turned down the volume and tone before performing some rip-roaring finger picking.

Barry exploded with glee. 'I wanna play like that.'

'Not as hard as it looks,' Mr Evans said handing the guitar back. The older Barry pretended not to notice but turned his amp down a notch.

At the end of rehearsal Mr Evans said, 'Right one of you Barrys needs a nickname to avoid confusion.'

'Well I'm Barry and I was here first,' the older one said.

'You want a nickname?' Sonja asked the younger one.

'Not bothered as long as it's not stupid.'

* * *

Back home Barry raved to his delighted brother about how the guitar worked and what Mr Evans had played on it.

He went to his room to practice before helping with tea. With their mother gone their dad expected everyone to chip in with meals. Barry went to the sink to wash what they needed. Frank chopped vegetables and their dad turned the oven on.

No one spoke if they could help it. But halfway through the meal their dad asked Frank about his day.

'It was fine.' The reverb of Frank's words filled the following silence.

Eventually Les asked Barry, 'What about you?'

Barry looked at Frank then said, 'I joined a rock band.'

His dad stopped chewing. 'You joined a rock band?'

'Yeah,' he said fearfully.

'Good for you son.'

Barry and Frank exchanged glances thinking that'd be the end of it before...

'I hope you're not expecting me to buy you a guitar.'

'No, the music teacher fixed the borrowed one.'

'That's great. So how did you get on?'

The mood lightened and Barry told him about the playing but said he hadn't got on with the older boys. It turned out Frank vaguely knew them.

'Did these, so called big lads talk about sex at all?' Les asked pouring more Bisto on his potatoes.

'I don't think so,' Barry said wondering but not wanting to ask what that had to do with anything.

'It's all lads that age think about. Like Frankie here.' Frank looked embarrassed but said nothing. 'What you need is currency son.'

'I don't know what you mean.'

'You can buy your way into their favour.' He rubbed thumb and forefinger together. He turned to Frank. 'How would you feel about going to the chemist and buying condoms?'

'What?' he said aghast.

'Exactly. Lads that age want condoms. Makes them feel like men or that they might get lucky. But they're embarrassed to buy them. Leave it with me son. I'll sort yer some blobs.'

Barry smiled. His dad showed him what he'd need to do by arranging a two and five pence coin in his trouser pocket.

'In front of the lads you take your plectrum from your pocket.' He showed him the two pence coin. 'But you bring a condom out too.' He re-pocketed the two pence coin. This time when the coin appeared the five pence piece fell out his pocket.

'How d'you do that?' Barry asked nervously.

His dad repeated the trick. 'Simple. You nip the two pence against the lining of your pocket. Whatever's in their will also come out.'

The decreased tension that usually hung around the two boys in their father's presence soon spoiled when, after they'd emptied their plates, Les asked Frank to get him a can out the fridge.

No one moved. Barry looked at his plate and figured if telepathy existed his dad must hear his pleas.

Eventually Frank got up and handed him a beer. The sound of the ring pull triggered a flurry of activity from the boys who dumped the plates in the sink and vanished to their rooms.

## Wednesday 27th September 1972

With a little digging Barry found where he could join a Saturday karate lesson free of charge and joined the Shotokan class.

On the following Wednesday Barry picked his guitar up from Mr Evans' music room. Turning round he came face to face with the older Barry. His grip immediately loosened on the guitar's neck ready to drop it and attack.

Fortunately the older lad spoke up. 'It's okay. I'm not gonna do owt.'

'Oh.' Barry readjusted his grip.

'Let's just say we was getting to know each other last time.' He held out his hand to shake. 'Peace?'

Barry warily accepted the handshake. 'Okay.'

Feeling strange he put his hand in his pocket. His finger touched a condom but he resisted the urge to offer one so soon.

His dad neither bought nor mentioned condoms again.

Instead, just that morning Frank, wanting to help and having agreed that the trick would do his own reputation some good, had taken a deep breath and entered a pharmacy while Barry waited outside. Soon he'd emerged with an eighteen-pack of Durex condoms and a triumphant grin.

'You're a battler aren't you?' the older lad said.

'Dunno.'

'I hear you're maybe getting expelled.'

'I'm not. They've decided I should stay.'

'Well that's good – I guess. Come on let's practice before we get to the stage.'

* * *

'Hey, here he is,' Sonja said as the older lad held the classroom door for Barry. She smiled and put an arm round him. He blushed. To the group she said. 'Let's have a go at that song we were doing last week.' She looked at Barry. 'You got your plectrum?'

'Yeah.' He put his hand in his pocket, found the plectrum and with a nip of pocket lining allowed two condoms to fall to the floor.

As he'd rehearsed he hurriedly grabbed them but Sonja spotted them.

'What's them?'

'Nothing,'

'Show me.'

Barry opened his hand. 'Johnnies. What d'you want with johnnies?'

'I nick 'em for me brother.' The other lads closed in. 'You never know when you might need them.'

'Not in your case,' the older Barry said. 'I never know when I'll need them. Anyway who's your brother?'

'Frank Peters. You probably don't know him.'

'Frank? He's in my geography class. So you're Frank's kid brother?'

'Yeah.'

'And he needs johnnies?'

Barry shrugged. 'I've got a few, have one if you want.'

* * *

The nickname Johnny took immediate hold amongst the older band members. As Barry progressed on the instrument the older guitarist willingly allowed him to take the more complex musical parts seeming to have little interest in developing himself.

On breaks and lunches Barry would seek out his grown-up friends; Sonja claiming to find him cute whilst the older lads still tolerated him even after he'd given away the last of the condoms.

At home his dad had lost his job but started another one in another town. The extra time taken by the thirty minute walk plus fifty minute train journey meant Barry and Frank took over all the cooking and housework. By way of non-verbal thanks Les paid for Barry's martial arts gi.

Barry had mentioned karate to one of his dad's friends who'd guffawed insisting kung fu would serve him better.

Indeed Barry later found this to be the case after joining a class. But the fracas he got into at school tended to involve headlocks and often ended up on the floor. With that in mind he joined yet another class and worked his way through the judo belts.

## Sunday 03rd June 1984

After leaving Johnny's motel, Linda had managed a couple of hours sleep on the plane back to LA. At 8am Pacific Time she pulled the Lotus into a diner and ordered the menu's healthiest breakfast.

Afterwards she read a few chapters of the novel she'd taken with her so she could hit her apartment at a realistic time. She didn't want Dwight suspecting she'd not visited her mom.

Sipping coffee she thought of Johnny; and then Dwight. She'd begun dating Dwight two months earlier; almost immediately after a terrible drama with her previous boyfriend. With her now ex-boyfriend, Earl in remand with a suitably high bail price she could have waited but Dwight had appeared; charming and happy to take things slowly.

Linda couldn't have coped with anything more following Earl but needed something to fill the void he left.

Even before Earl's arrest, Johnny had repeatedly and foolishly attempted to win her affections. He'd taken her last rejection to heart and though it must have hurt him he hardly commented when she'd started seeing Dwight.

She had thought Dwight fitted the bill perfectly. He'd begun staying over at weekends but the previous day he'd kicked up an argument that escalated into unpleasantness yet to be resolved.

Soon, too drowsy to care about Dwight's suspicions she drove home. Five minutes later she pulled into her street but surprisingly saw no Dodge Ram lumped on her drive. Her heart quickened as she wished she'd told her mom to cover for her should Dwight check her whereabouts. Having not seen him all weekend she pondered whether he'd left her following the argument. She clicked the remote and the garage door lifted.

In the hallway the answering machine blinked. Rewinding and pressing play she first heard her own message explaining that she'd not be home. She deleted it hating the sound of her own voice.

Next, a message from Dwight: _Hi Sexy, looks like I'll be away a while. Got a job. Don't get too excited it's only temporary. See ya soon._

Pressing _delete_ she smiled. He hadn't even been there to hear her message. For a moment she hoped he'd found another woman as well as a job. But looking around her hollow apartment she thought again. She didn't even have a cat since Earl forced her to take her to her mom's.

Once showered and in comfy clothes she lay on the couch to watch TV. The familiarity of loneliness came over her as she rested both hands on her abdomen and cursed the ex-boyfriend that had broken her insides.

## Friday 21st September 1973

Even with judo belts Barry felt his training lacked something; he didn't feel tougher. But, a year after starting karate, he knew what he had to do.

It took him weeks to pluck up courage. After school one night he walked to the edge of his council estate. From the safety of the working man's club car park he watched rough looking lads with tracksuits and sports bags over their shoulders enter a vehicle repair workshop.

He'd done this on three previous occasions but this time after twenty minutes he crept into the unlit garage avoiding tools and bits of cars that had been left around. The smell of spray paint conjured images of cars arriving in one colour with one set of registration plates and leaving with new plates and different paint job.

From a crack of light around a far door he heard shouts, stamping feet and bags or faces getting pummelled. With a lung-full of oily fumes Barry pulled the door.

Age thirteen he faced a view wholly different from any of his other sports. The door closed on the garage smells but left his nostrils with air, ripe with sweat from bare-chested men. Unlike the other martial classes which had no prejudice towards one's state of health these guys had formidable physiques. Barry figured if he could survive here he could survive anywhere.

Knowing he must look wide-eyed he consciously shut his gaping jaw. To his grateful surprise none of the fighters paid him heed.

He saw two men wearing headgear sparring in a ring. Their jabs didn't look too sharp but Barry knew the perspective would be different in the ring. Others sparred outside the ring or did bag or pad work. Some did such furious exercise steam rose from their T-shirts.

'Can I help you?' a ball-headed man in his thirties said.

'I need to lean to box,' Barry said pulling himself together.

'Oh,' he said, 'you _need_ to learn to box?'

Barry didn't respond; just stood still watching the man.

'And why d'you need to learn boxing?'

He thought for a moment. 'I need more.'

'More what exactly?'

'More than karate, kung fu and judo.'

The man did a sort of half laugh Barry couldn't interpret. 'Sounds like you have a lot already. D'you wanna get hurt?'

'No.'

'Because you get in the ring with any of these lads and there'll be pain.'

Barry looked over to the ring.

He could feel the man watching him. 'That doesn't scare yer? You don't look so scared.'

'Just standing here's scary.'

'You got a gumshield?'

Of course he didn't. 'No.'

'Never spar without one. That said I'll be gentle. Follow me.'

He followed the man to the changing area. With the others in view but out the way he handed Barry a pair of tatty sparring gloves.

'Go ahead, put them on,' the man said. 'We're just gonna do a little workout so I can get to know you. Sparring can be a real shock. You ready for a shock?'

Barry felt like he'd have to be. 'I think so.'

'Okay. Keep listening to me and remember we're sparring not fighting. We're just getting to know each other.'

The man's voice had become gentler but he squared up to him.

Barry first thought to adopt a kung fu stance but fell into karate which more closely matched the man who, with his superior reach tapped the right side of Barry's jaw.

As he did in karate Barry cried, 'Hah!' and made to punch the man's jaw but hit thin air when the man tipped his face inches to one side.

'Hah, Hah!' Barry travelled two steps forward with punches hitting nothing; the man had sidestepped him.

'Okay stop,' the man said.

Barry stopped.

'I was just trying to demonstrate there that you gotta keep that jaw protected.' They took position again. 'Now stand still, this is just a demonstration.'

The man gave a firm tap to his jaw. Barry stumbled sideways.

'You see stars my friend?'

He nodded.

Soon Barry's jaw took cover behind the sixteen ounce gloves but the man stepped around him knocking him down with punches never allowing Barry's retorts to connect. The man turned up the pressure which for Barry confirmed what he already knew: he _needed_ to learn this art.

'How you doing?' the man said.

'Err, okay.'

'You are that. Most kids your age would've run out the door by now.'

Barry didn't say anything.

'How come you're so tough?'

'I'm not.'

Nobody spoke for a moment. 'What's yer name?'

'Barry.'

'Rhymes with mine, I'm Gary. Just how old are you?'

He decided not to lie.

'Thing is Barry, as it is the guys that come here are older and heavier than you. I can't train you because putting you in the ring with any of this lot would be irresponsible of me.'

Barry's heart sank. 'What am do I supposed to do?'

Gary looked at him for the longest time. 'If you can find someone your age you can train here together.'

## Monday 24th September 1973

Barry took the weekend to consider Gary's suggestion. Though his school had its share of battle seekers the few friends he had his own age had gentle natures plus he kept his quest to toughen up private.

On Saturday he'd cleaned the kitchen and vacuumed the downstairs before his dad woke from a drunken lie in.

Later Les made a pot of tea and eyed the tidy kitchen with suspicion. 'Are you after something?'

'Yes, I need to learn to box.'

He kept his eyes fixed on his dad should the boiling teapot suddenly come his way.

Les put it down and said in a low voice, 'Aye son. How much will it cost me?'

'Not much, I'll drop judo if you like.'

'Nah, keep it up it'll do ya good. I'll stretch to the rest.'

Barry rubbed the fresh bruise on his hip and watched the sorrowful man now sitting at the table.

With courage he'd never find after his dad's first beer he ventured, 'You know why I need this don't you?'

'Aye,' he said in a whisper. 'Owt I can do to help, I'll do.'

'You can help me by helping yourself.'

His dad looked up from the table locking eyes with him. 'Don't get cocky.'

When nothing else followed Barry sighed and on request passed his dad his jacket and accepted the money he gave him.

* * *

First thing Monday Barry had PE. His class would team up with another third-year class: girls hockey, lads rugby.

Having a comparatively lanky stature Barry generally found himself placed on the wing; a frustrating place as generally the ball would get passed down the line but swap directions travelling back the way it had come right before reaching him. He often managed an entire match without ever receiving the ball. That he didn't get to show his metal probably contributed to his absence on the _'Who's hardest?'_ league table.

His scrapes in the first and second years had been forgotten and Barry never spoke of the incidents with the older lads he hung out with win or lose.

On the school fields Barry watched Flood _._ Ever since the first year of secondary school Flood, who lived on the other side of Barry's council estate, had held the _Who's hardest?_ crown.

With more body hair than a fifth year, Flood had towered above the other kids with solid bulk that matched his height. Since the first year Barry and some other kids had narrowed the gap in terms of size but none came close to taking his crown.

Never one for the easy option Barry reckoned Flood would be an ideal sparring partner.

But wherever the guy went an entourage of disciples would trail after him in rank order like a comet's tail. So towards the end of Monday he hadn't managed to catch Flood on his own.

Instead he sat in Miss Wilkinson's music class kicking himself for not speaking to the great Flood in PE. Inevitably that thought gave way to one of his predictable fantasies.

This time he imagined the school aflame. Everyone would manage to escape except Miss Wilkinson who'd be trapped too weak from smoke inhalation to move. He'd storm past collapsing ceilings and burning tables to her side, scoop her off her feet and save the life she'd spend the rest of grateful to him for.

After the final bell Barry saw Flood waiting three bus stands away. Unable to face breaking through his fans Barry let him go.

Usually six or seven people got off the bus at Barry's stop but today only one other person did.

Barry didn't normally talk to Greeny. The fourteen year old had the slightest height advantage but to Barry's mind no history of fighting. Greeny listened and said he'd think about his proposal.

## Friday 28th September 1973

By Friday Barry still had nobody to go to Gary's gym with. He sat in his bedroom after school practicing the finger picking exercises Mr Evans had taught him.

Greeny had declined his offer and hadn't even been on the bus home to try again to persuade. He had found courage to talk to Flood but had been laughed at.

Sometime later he heard a knock at the door. Not expecting anyone he let Frank answer it.

'Barry,' Frank shouted upstairs. 'Greeny's here for you.'

## Monday 04th June 1984

Given that Linda had saved The USed Wonz' second album Johnny pondered not confessing his poker table blunder to Stu.

Unfortunately he needed to know whether anyone outside band and management knew that their English label, GMD had already given them the money for the next album's recording sessions.

On Monday morning acting on instruction Johnny reached the motel's reception and picked up a message from the bad guys telling him where to meet with the cash.

He stuck a Kansas City street map in his back pocket just as Stu appeared from their bus dragging the yellow bag of sporting equipment that came out each day.

'I'm heading into the city,' Johnny said deciding to hold off his confession.

'Now, we're moving out soon?' Stu pointed at the bag. 'What about training?'

'I know, I'm sorry I'll explain everything. I'll be back around midday.'

* * *

Before 10am Johnny stood in the sunshine on the roof of Truman Road's multi-storey car park. Commuters having parked and left for work made it a suitably private location.

Johnny's teeth clenched as a gleaming Lincoln Continental approached. He didn't move out its way and sure enough it halted twenty feet from him.

He noted the Kansas number plate. Through the glass he recognised the two heavies both wearing the same black woollen hats despite the heat. The silver-haired guy who'd cheated him sat motionless in the back.

The passenger door opened and one of the heavies got out and laid his black gloved hands on the door frame. 'You got it?'

'I'm not talking to you fat boy – only the guy,' Johnny said.

The heavy looked flummoxed but Silver's window came down. 'Well?'

'Turns out our lousy manager's dipped into the next record's advance. I'm waiting for me mam to wire the deficit from her life savings in England.'

The guy's eyes narrowed. 'How much you got now?'

'I've not been to the bank yet,' Johnny said. 'Why – would you take what I can get now?'

The heavy leaning on the door seemed restless whilst Silver gave it some thought.

Suddenly Silver's nostrils flared. 'Get the lot. You got sixty minutes.'

'Ninety minutes,' Johnny said knowing Linda's bank in LA wouldn't be open yet.

'Don't push it.'

'I can't fly. I need ninety.'

Silver's window buzzed shut. The heavy got in and seconds later Johnny stood alone.

He wrote the Lincoln's licence details on his street map and set off for Citibank.

Arriving thirty minutes later but with time to spare he found a diner and tried relaxing with a cup of tea.

At 11am he went into Citibank and presented his passport and Linda's letter of entitlement. Ten minutes later he jogged back to the multi-storey.

Beating the Lincoln by three minutes he used the time to both calm down and limber up. Standing where he had earlier he draped his jacket on the nearest car. He'd started forming opinions about his enemy from their earlier meeting; enough to try a few things on for size.

_Here we go,_ he thought as the Lincoln purred up to him halting as it had last time.

The first heavy jumped out the passenger seat. 'Hand it over.'

Johnny walked smoothly towards the car's offside back door. 'I told you last time I'm only talking to Silver.'

Predictably the heavy rounded the car towards him. Johnny watched him in his peripheral vision counting down the microseconds until impact.

Oafishly the heavy raised his arms to grab him.

In one movement Johnny sprang from his right leg. His left hand sliced over his attacker's arms karate chopping his foe's trachea. Such a crashing blow would put most people out of action but the heavy tried bearing down on Johnny who, again springing from his right leg left punched with pointed knuckles to the solar plexus. As the heavy folded Johnny, still with the left, cracked his elbow upwards into the oncoming jaw. He let the concrete further debilitate the goon who groaned as consciousness came and left him.

Dropping his knee hard on the heavy's chest Johnny yelled, 'Are you deaf? I only talk to Silver.'

Inevitably the second heavy leapt from the driver's seat.

Without time to get to his feet Johnny predicted a kick. In it came. He deflected it with the heel of his hand. That upset the attacker's balance. He'd probably go for an awkward but powerful right punch. In it came. Johnny parried it turning his face as next a hopeless left punch whistled by.

To avoid the now desperate heavy Johnny dived away in a Starsky and Hutch style roll which brought him back to his feet. Would the heavy come for more? If so Johnny would put him down.

But, stepping backwards the heavy reached behind him. Johnny raised his hands as a gun trained on him.

The Lincoln's back door opened and Silver stood up; his hair and suit shining in the morning's high sun.

'Get in the car you look ridiculous.'

The second heavy stayed put before realising the guy had been talking to him. He kept the gun on Johnny and backed towards the driver's door.

'You gonna give me the money or d'you want my friend here to take it from you after he shoots you?'

Johnny slowly lowered one hand and showed the guy the roll of hundred dollar bills. He stepped passed the second heavy who still pointed the gun and handed it to Silver.

As the guy flicked through counting, Johnny said, 'Guess you didn't want another USed Wonz album.'

The guy put the money in a briefcase and glared at him. 'Maybe, but don't take it personally. Now get outta here kid.'

Doors slammed and the car moved off before halting as the first heavy banged on its side.

The moment the car vanished the cool-guy act gave up on Johnny. He'd never had a gun pointed at him before. Shaking he knew he'd sleep the next leg of the tour for sure.

He carried his jacket and jogged from the multi-storey. On Truman Road he asked the first pedestrian for directions to the library.

Ten minutes later he had a Yellow Pages and with the assistance of a local librarian three private investigators' details.

Starting with the nearest Johnny struck lucky. Preferring to take the stairs he climbed to a fifth floor office above a department store where he discovered the firm had two investigators.

Zora Hayley invited him into a room that smelt fresh; not of nicotine as he'd expected. From her side of the desk she smiled as Johnny sat down. He reckoned she'd be mid-forties but she looked fit. He couldn't have guessed her racial makeup; perhaps North African.

'How may I help?' she asked in a local Midwestern accent.

'I've been robbed of almost ten-thousand dollars.' He watched Zora Hayley purse her lips. 'I'll make it back somehow but ideally I'll be getting it back from the guys that took it.'

'You been to the police?'

'There's no point.'

'There usually isn't. Guess the police aren't much better in England.'

Johnny smiled and recounted the story including what the bad guys knew and what they didn't. They hadn't known his mam had died or the condition of the band's accounts.

He told her about Linda's assistance. 'Of course I didn't mention that to the bad guys.'

At the end Zora Haley said, 'I'm pleased your group can record another album, but you're insane son. Why attempt to beat up guys with forty pound weight advantages?'

'A few reasons. Partly to see what they were made of. I learned they were cumbersome and unprofessional but that they carry guns. Until that moment I was hoping not to hand over the money.'

'What did these guys looks like?'

'The main guy in the backseat looked like the actor Yul Bryner – but with silver hair; had that same bad-tempered look about him. The other two wore hats, shades and gloves. I'd say they were in their forties and could have been brothers from what I saw.'

'Accents?'

'Couldn't tell from the few grunts they made.'

'Okay we've got descriptions and a Lawrence address which is forty minutes away in another state. Not much.'

'There's this.' Johnny gave her the licence registration of the Lincoln.

'Finally, something concrete,' she said making a note. 'Now, you're a young musician; you got anything left to pay me with?'

'Yeah, the main reason for my insane attack on someone so big was this.' Johnny passed her a wallet. 'Got his driver's licence in it.'

Johnny allowed himself a moment of smugness as Zora Haley looked it over. 'This name mean anything to you?'

'Benedict Beatty? Nah, I don't know any Benedicts.'

'There's quite a bit here. Date of birth would put him mid-forties. Photo too. Black hair. Can I keep this?'

'Sure.'

She pushed it to one side with the notes she'd made. 'Sorry to harp on and all but how would you like to pay for my services?'

'I'll use the cash that was in his wallet if it's all the same.'

This time Zora Haley smiled. 'You know son, most people in your situation would be deeply depressed.'

'I'm shaken but my main concern is getting the money back to Linda but I'm baffled by these guys' motivation. We're not proper rock stars yet. Why pick on us?'

'Maybe I'll find out for you. Can't promise though.'

'Anyway if I'm to get the money back off these guys I need to know what I'm up against. If you can answer that I can decided whether to go after them or cook up some other hair-brained money-making scheme.'

'I'll do my best. You're moving on today right? Best you take a card. Ring me in forty-eight hours.'

'I'll ring you from Oklahoma,' he said standing up. 'Thank you Mrs Hayley.'

Shaking his hand she said, 'It's Ms but call me Zora.'

* * *

Back at the motel Stu watched Dane's face bursting but not daring to yell at Johnny.

Dane eventually said, 'Okay let's load up. It's three hours to Joplin we can still make soundcheck.'

On the bus Stu sat next to Johnny but he leaned against the window as if ready for sleep.

Getting on last Dane addressed everyone. 'Good news, we've been getting played all over college and AOR stations so the seven-hundred capacity venue's sold out. We're doing well guys let's keep it up.'

He sat straight down facing the front.

With him out the way Stu asked Johnny, 'So how's your day so far?'

Johnny shut his eyes. 'All in good time.'

'You might be saying little with your mouth but you sing with your heart; heard a lot of metaphors and emotion in rehearsal yesterday.'

## Friday 26th April 1974

The day Greeny had come round there'd been a fight after school. Barry had noticed the crowding kids but had caught the bus home and practiced his guitar.

Unknown to him Greeny had been at the centre of action, getting bashed by a fifth year who celebrated his victory afterwards despite Greeny's apparent resistance.

Having missed the bus, Greeny walked home via the building society where he drew his savings and bought gloves and gumshield before seeking Barry.

* * *

In the seven months that followed, the bass player and drummer left the band Barry had been playing for. Sonja found a better bassist but a worse drummer.

The older Barry also left claiming he wanted to concentrate on his upcoming CSEs but Sonja said he had a none-too-attractive girlfriend draining his time. The new line up managed a couple of support gigs in the city.

As the only guitarist in the band Barry redoubled his efforts on the instrument which became an obsession closely matched by martial arts and Miss Wilkinson.

For her, his fantasies grew ever raunchier. Though his sixteenth birthday still lay two years away he'd visualised the occasion so frequently he actually believed he'd make it happen on the day in question. Having checked he knew his birthday would fall on a Wednesday.

He'd approach Miss Wilkinson after her Wednesday afterhours guitar class.

'Barry, this is a nice surprise,' she'd say.

'I'm pleased you think so. Do you know why I'm here?'

'No,' she'd say with interest.

'I'm sixteen today.'

She'd brighten telling him congratulations. He'd admire her beauty. She'd be wearing her floaty dress with the broad navy elasticated clip-belt accentuating her slim waist.

'Are you celebrating?' she'd ask.

'I am. Right now. It's high time I thanked you properly for being my favourite teacher.'

'Oh,' she'd say sounding unsure but flick her hair behind her.

He'd put her at ease by picking up one of the school guitars. 'These are easier to play now my hands have grown.'

'Have you a song for me?'

'I do and I wrote this especially for you.'

He'd fingerpick romantic sounding jazz chord progressions. She'd listen wondering when the singing would begin but he'd wait letting each changing chord elevate the mood. Only at their plateau would he sing just the two lines designed to flatter his cherished teacher.

Even then he'd make her wait. The first word, _you,_ would be stretched weaving through four bars of arpeggios before he'd complete the line, _are perfection to my senses._ He'd check her response but repeat the line before allowing her to react.

'Barry,' she'd say once he'd finished.

He'd return the guitar not listen to whatever else she'd say. Surely she'd complement his playing but object to the lyric.

Regardless he'd approach with passion and purpose.

She'd back away but her desk would stop her. 'Barry–'

'As part of my celebration I'd be honoured if you'd accept the pleasure of my kiss, my embrace and what follows as a token of my appreciation of your kindness and my love of your beauty.'

His face would be close to hers.

Despite her protest her lips would remained gently parted. 'That's kind but Barry, there are rules about this kind of thing.'

'You told me to break rules Miss.'

'The rules of song writing but... well you were just a little boy.'

'But see me as I am now. I'm taller than you and I have everything necessary to bring you pleasure. You told me to break the rules of song writing and now I write songs. Don't let rules get in the way of your pleasure Miss.'

He'd feel her swoon. Her perfume would fill his mind.

She'd ask, 'Have you even done this before?'

'Why don't you ask me after I do this?'

He'd kiss her she'd melt.

Afterwards she'd ask again.

'Do you still need an answer?'

'No, you were wonderful.'

'Thank you but Miss, part of my gift to you was my virginity. I wouldn't have wanted to share that with anyone else.'

At first she'd look shocked as if considering the consequence of her actions but then she'd smile and hold him as tightly as she had done years earlier.

* * *

Of course that would never happen. Not now. Alone in his bedroom Barry's world had collapsed.

Earlier that day he'd been visited in a metalwork lesson by Mrs Rankin, his head teacher. He'd left his project in the vice and tools on the bench but collected the Lord Anthony Parka coat his aunt had bought him that Christmas. Forgetting his bag he followed the overweight Mrs Rankin.

In her office Barry hadn't thought of any misbehaving that she could have learned of. She motioned him to sit and when she pulled up a chair next to him rather than across the desk he knew it must be something else.

'I'm not here for a telling off am I?'

'Not this time.'

In the silence that followed he prayed it'd be his dad and not Frank. The previous night Barry had stepped in to separate the pair of them as their drunken father attempted to murder his eldest son. Though not an uncommon practice in their house that episode had been particularly vicious leaving Frank uncharacteristically venomous.

Frank had been seeing a girl called Holly. Though Frank clearly loved her they'd broken up. After that Barry had seen the fabric of Frank's patience with Les tearing presumably along with his heart.

That morning Barry had woken happy. After the previous night's violence he reckoned that fabric had finally torn in two. Maybe this would force their dad to stop his ways.

Having left school at sixteen Frank had started work in the Cumberland Infirmary as a porter. He contributed to the housekeeping and spent the rest of his earnings on his motorbike and recently a new girlfriend who'd not been round to the house or even named.

In Mrs Rankin's office two possibilities filled Barry's mind. Mrs Rankin confirmed the one he didn't want.

'Two hours ago your brother came off his motorbike at speed.'

Barry nodded.

'He's breathing but his condition is critical.'

Barry nodded but a voice in his head said, _he won't make it._

'When you're ready I'll drive you to the hospital.'

'Can't Miss Wilkinson take me?'

Mrs Rankin stuttered a moment then said, 'Miss Wilkinson's taking lessons.'

Barry nodded. 'Then I'm ready.'

* * *

Pulling into the hospital Barry stayed put whilst Mrs Rankin parked the Morris Marina.

Getting out his fingers traced the exterior door handle whilst he waited a frustrating age for the teacher to heave herself from the driver's seat.

Moments later he wanted to push the fat lump up the path to A&E. Couldn't she just leave him to find his own way?

Once inside, a nurse behind reception looked puzzled when his head teacher announced their arrival. But—

'I got it,' a doctor said sweeping in having overheard.

'How is he?' Mrs Rankin asked.

He didn't reply but led them to a quiet room that reminded Barry of Mrs Rankin's office. There the doctor sat opposite them. He introduced himself and explained in soft tones that Frank hadn't shown up for work that morning. It seems he'd hit a wet bend and come off his bike. Though he'd slid across the road avoiding oncoming traffic his leg had broken when he'd collided with the wheel of a parked car. Worse though, his head had also suffered an immense impact.

'Nobody else was involved. It wasn't anyone's fault,' the doctor said.

_But it was someone's fault,_ Barry thought. If his dad hadn't been fighting, Frank would have slept better and ridden better.

The doctor described how Frank had arrived in theatre unconscious but breathing unaided.

Without drama or words like _unfortunately_ he said, 'The impact jarred the top of his spine causing a bleed in the brain. I accessed it but we had to stop to ventilate him when his breathing ceased, and about fifteen minutes ago he died before we could stem the bleed.'

Barry ignored the annoyingly distracting breath of shock Mrs Rankin took. 'Did he suffer?'

The doctor looked between the pair of them but proceeded in the same kind manner. 'I don't believe so. He'd have become unconscious straight away and he looked peaceful the whole time.'

With irritation Barry chanced a look at Mrs Rankin who looked ready to burst into tears.

'Please don't Miss,' he said unable to face the prospect of losing the strand of self-control he'd somehow maintained.

He knew she must have been stunned to see him behaving so matter-of-factly but what would be the point of breaking down now? When Frank died, Barry died too.

When his dad arrived Mrs Rankin left and headed back to school. Les sat with the same doctor and listened to the same story. Though he didn't cry he looked like a man destroyed. What remained of Barry seethed hating him without sympathy.

'You're welcome to see the body,' the doctor said. 'But I must advise against it. Most prefer to remember loved ones as they were.'

Leaving the hospital, man and boy took the bus towards the house that would never again be home.

They sat in silence until the boy's words wouldn't be silenced any longer.

'You killed Frank,' he blurted. 'You killed mam and now you've killed Frank. Life without mam and Frank is no life at all so do what you like. I don't care.'

The boy kept looking forwards but Les reacted. He stood up and pressed the bell; leaving the bus at the next stop. The boy knew he'd head straight for the nearest pub.

Three stops later the boy left the bus and made for the same front door he'd been seeing for fourteen years.

The door seemed alien to him now but as if on automatic pilot he unlocked it and went upstairs. He paused looking across the landing at Frank's room but went straight ahead to the room he'd thought of as his own.

Nothing looked real. His possessions had no soul and seemed to have turned their back on him. Nothing meant anything and everything meant nothing; or so he thought until his eyes rested on the borrowed electric guitar.

He wondered about playing it but it didn't say, _play me._ It simply seemed to be an ember of hope.

But right then he didn't want hope. He sat straight backed on the unwelcoming bed and looked away from the instrument.

He didn't know what time he'd arrived back but that didn't matter now. _Now,_ now meant nothing along with everything else. He sat waiting for nothing. The sun moved round the house. The doorbell rang. He didn't respond.

Sometime later he heard the doorbell a second time.

This time a voice called through the letterbox. 'It's Greeny. We going boxing?'

He ignored it.

Later still the doorbell went yet again.

He didn't react. His eyes had closed some time ago. Again the bloody bell sounded.

Then came the sound of the backdoor being knocked on.

He heard a woman's voice muffled by its journey upstairs saying, 'Are you in there? It's Linda – Miss Wilkinson.'

He didn't respond but heard footsteps rounding the house.

She spoke though the front door's letterbox. 'If you can hear me Barry, I know what happened. I'm here for you love. I've cooked for you, and your dad. Shepherd's pie.'

He didn't respond.

'I'll leave it on the step.'

He'd been emotionally numb for hours. His body too had become like dry clay. He'd imagined his skin as a hardening crust. Now his core threatened to dry out but still his beating heart refused to silence.

With a deadened mind his heart remained as if the only conscious part of him and there, as if for the first time, he discovered his mother.

Too far gone to cry, he let her sing through his despair with familiar love and kindness. As numbness closed evermore around his heart he hoped her voice would eventually lead him from Earth so he could join her forever. Surely that would be better than carrying on.

But the singing seemed protected. He wondered instead if he could stay in this stupefied state forever but with that thought his mother's voice forbade him to do so.

Wake up now my love. Wake up. Be strong, with my love.

His thoughts floated towards his head. He inhaled reflexively.

As much as he fought to remain out of reality his circulation restarted. No longer like drying clay his organs came back to life like flowers soaking the soil's summer rain.

Still the voice in his heart sang. _After the rain everything grows_.

And so with everything else, despair returned and grew.

But it wouldn't defeat him.

He slid from the bed onto his knees and rolled onto the floor. He cried out. The sound blew his mind. Tears poured as he bawled.

* * *

Finally his mind cleared. His eyes focused; he looked around the room. Everything still seemed as alien.

Getting up he stepped into the landing and to the bathroom. After peeing he stood at the sink and splashed cold water over his face. In the mirror his eyes looked as puffy and red as if he'd been sparring. He drank from the tap for ages.

Returning to the bedroom he switched the light on but straight back off. The darkness muted the room's non-invitation.

He neither understood nor questioned why he felt like an intruder. He simply sat on the floor facing the one object that made a difference. Illuminated by the moon, the guitar seemed to smile.

He stripped off his school uniform guessing the drunken troll, the ogre, would be back soon. He had no idea what horrors that would bring. But, whatever happened he knew he wouldn't sleep until the devil did. For reasons he couldn't explain he redressed in jeans, T-shirt and sweater.

Shortly, from the back bedroom where he waited, he heard the menace battling with the front door key. The door thumped open. A crash followed. The shoe rack must have gone over.

Expletives and roars caused the waiting boy's veins to pulse with instant adrenalin as the splintering shoe rack fell behind the advancing horror.

'Where are ya?' the voice growled from downstairs. 'You who tells me I killed my wife and son.'

The boy had lived years with terror but never like this. Behind the closed door he maintained a karate attack stance knowing it might be the last thing he ever did.

Fear gripped tighter with each approaching step. The door flew open.

'Hah!' the boy shrieked.

His lightening fist speared an apparition silhouetted by street lighting.

The blackness before him then stumbled under the force of a side kick to the stomach. Still the advancing boy had more.

Each repeated kick sent the blackness back the way it'd come.

Now bathed in street lighting the boy acted before the ogre could reappear as an image of the father it'd once been.

A flying jump-kick collided with the enemy's chest. The mighty push propelled the boy backwards into the awful room. But, though engulfed in darkness he still saw the enemy driven two critical steps away from him.

Retreating towards the top of the stairs the ogre's left foot expected but found no floor. Its tumble began. A desperate hand grabbed but missed the banister.

The eyes shot back and locked on the boy's.

All the way to the bottom the ogre clattered.

Enough light found its way from the street for the boy to see, smashed into the wall a heap of tragic alcohol and hate poisoned cells. The ogre's eyes; open but not seeing. The chest; neither rising nor falling though vomit leached down its overalls.

With no love for what lay at the foot of the stairs the boy felt no remorse. Nevertheless his heart pounded.

He sensed his mother with each mighty beat, _Out Out Out OUT._

He spun round and grabbed his parka coat. He looked at the guitar; a symbol of hope.

_Leave it_.

Unable to face the mess at the bottom of the stairs he opened the landing window. The night's chill welcomed him as he disappeared into it.

On the ground he'd no notion except to walk but felt snared. Something, made him turn. He saw a bag beneath the back door.

Take it.

He took Miss Wilkinson's bag and walked.

* * *

One aimless direction followed another. Only his mother's presence stopped him feeling so utterly alone in the world. He'd confide in no one because murderers had no one to confide in.

He trudged to Crown Street's tunnel above which eight or so railway tracks lay. Climbing the verge he overlooked the rail yard south of the station's platforms.

At that late hour he saw just one passenger train. Diesels shunted coal wagons and box carriages. He zipped his coat up and squatted beside trees watching where the working men wouldn't see him.

With no place to go or deeper trouble to get into, instinct drove him to action. Standing, he leapt over the bridge's wide rail.

He marched directly towards a southbound goods train. In the distance the rolling stock's diesel locomotive fierce shout suggested the empty flatbed waggons would be leaving the station rather than merely being shunted to one side.

He didn't try to hide. He simply marched; then ran alongside the accelerating wagons.

Once securely aboard a flatbed wagon he looked out at the workmen. None had seen him. Looking back he spied the guard's van and ducked his head low.

The tracks split in four directions. Wherever they led he guessed he'd deal with the consequences when he got there.

But the train kept rolling and soon he looked over Cumbria's mountains. Their remaining snow luminesced in the moonlight.

He drew his coat tight and thought of Miss Wilkinson. Finally checking the bag she'd left earlier, he discovered Tupperware pots of food.

Emotionally too exhausted for food he pulled his fur lined hood up using it for comfort as he curled tighter into the foetal position against the plunging temperature.

## Monday 04th June 1984

As she'd promised Johnny, Linda had been at Montana Avenue's Citibank before 9am. Everything had gone smoothly and five minutes later a clerk handed her a receipt showing her newly recalculated bank balance – a dismal paltry number.

She'd arrived at her rented office as her assistant Fiona passed Johnny's call to her. She listened to him explain that he'd tried to avoid handing the money over but wondered why she believed anything he said; especially the bit about him pickpocketing one of the trio's wallets.

'No, Johnny I haven't heard of Benedict Beatty,' she said. 'Let's just hope this PI of yours finds he's a criminal then we'll get the police on it. My god, what were you thinking, you could've been killed?'

'I had to try something,' Johnny said.

* * *

Unfortunately Linda had needed to talk her assistant, Fiona into reducing her hours from the start of the following week. Fiona had been fine with it but Linda had hated having to do it.

Later that day Linda drove home to her empty apartment. She waved to her neighbour Joan and watered her potted trees an action that always relaxed her.

After showering she wrapped herself in a towel and left the steam and candle scented bathroom.

Stepping glumly towards the bedroom she became aware of a fishy smell in the corridor. Puzzled having not noticed it earlier she turned towards the living area.

Without warning a mighty hand flashed before her.

Before she could react it twisted her face, pressing it against the wall. Her arm vanished, bent painfully behind her. A hefty man's weight pressed her body against the wall. Her thoughts raced, she hadn't heard a sound.

'Don't scream, don't even move,' the man's voice rasped into her ear with his chin bristling her neck.

Crushed against the wall Linda felt her feet leaving the floor.

'What d'you want?' she said into the plasterboard.

'You Sexy,' the man said releasing and turning her round.

'Dwight,' she seethed rubbing her wrist.

'Who else?' He grinned. 'Had you going huh?'

'What have I told you about being rough with me?'

Making to walk off he caught her arm.

'Hey.'

'Leave me alone.' Memories of ex-boyfriend Earl swept back.

'I'm sorry. Look I got flowers,' he said waving a bunch he'd concealed under one arm.

When she stormed to her room Dwight caught the slamming door.

'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come around unannounced. I'm sorry I scared you and... I'm sorry I was such an idiot last weekend.'

The still unresolved argument.

'That's your apology?' she said still with her back to him.

'I was an idiot, I realise that now.'

'You upset me. When I didn't see you afterwards I almost hoped you'd left.'

'Jeez Linda. I figured you'd be okay if I came round here with flowers and...'

His voice trailed off as he stepped towards her releasing the knot that held her towel around her.

Snatching it back she clutched it tighter. 'I'm still mad about this. You stink of fish what have you been doing?'

'Working, I left you an answering machine message,' he said defensively.

'You've spent the day on a trawler?'

'All weekend actually. I showered before coming round.'

'Well you need another one.'

'Fine, I'll shower.'

Though a hopeless cook, Linda dressed and went through the living area to the apartment's kitchen.

She took a pan from the cupboard but left it on the side. Unable to carry on she sighed. Dwight's rough play had come too soon after Earl's violence. He had loved making things right in the bedroom following his losses of control.

After Earl, she'd vowed never to fall into such a pattern again. Yet, she so nearly just had.

Getting her head together she went to the fridge cursing when she realised she also stank of fish.

_Always the same isn't it?_ she thought whilst chopping vegetables. _This one, the last one, the one before that._ She would have believed all men the same but Trudie had been seeing a lovely guy. _Yes but he was as strong as a cup of water._ Her assistant Fiona had a decent boyfriend. _They're just kids; not even Johnny's age._

Then she realised she'd never had a decent boyfriend since she'd been fifteen. _It's you. You either keep choosing the wrong man or you're bringing the worst out of them. Which?_

'You alright Sexy?' Dwight said approaching the dining area.

She didn't want to talk.

They ate in silence.

Linda picked his plate up when they'd finished.

'I'm sorry,' Dwight said.

Linda sat back down tired of hearing him apologise. 'What exactly are you sorry for?'

'I'm not sure,' he sighed.

She studied his face. 'This isn't love.'

'Maybe it's still too new.'

'You remind me of Earl,' she said in a whisper.

'Oh come on—'

'Sometimes.'

Dwight stared.

Eventually he said, 'Well if that's the case I guess we're through.'

'Would you like that?'

She watched him thinking. After Earl she thought she'd have a new start; use the money from the sale of her office to buy a new apartment. But now her business seemed to be slipping; she'd given thousands to The USed Wonz. And Dwight?

She didn't wish to discuss such things with the man who'd created an argument from nothing and disappeared to sea only to come back playing a violent joke.

'Okay. No more rough play,' he said as if reading her mind. 'Only sweet love.'

Linda nodded.

'And,' he said. 'I won't stay the night. I'll see you at the weekend if you want me and I won't smell of fish.'

She laughed. Maybe she'd been too harsh.

He took the plates to the sink.

He didn't wash up but made to leave. 'I'm sorry about the flowers too. It's stupid of me to think they'd make up for my dumbass behaviour last week.'

'The flowers are lovely,' she said.

Soon she watched Dwight's Dodge disappear into the evening.

* * *

At their next venue, a soon to be stuffed-full ballroom, Johnny stood on stage facing his band. 'Let's run through that new song we were doing in rehearsal. Everyone remember it?'

Everyone did and though they played as they previously had, Stu made a face at Johnny.

Johnny knew since Linda had saved The USed Wonz' second album that his better feelings had changed the song's emotional drive. Stu's expression had confirmed he knew that too.

Thinking of his agent miles away Johnny smiled. When he'd spoken to her earlier she'd sounded worried for him and without him ever mentioning the violence or that a gun had been pointed at him.

'Sounding good enough to drop into the set,' Dane said.

'Maybe, soon,' Johnny said not that he welcomed Dane's opinion one way or another.

Back in the dressing room Mazz handed Johnny his acoustic guitar. 'I liked those other chords you were playing.'

'Cheers,' Johnny said taking the guitar and repeated the pattern.

Soon another new song began pouring from the song-smith and Stu tried underpinning the man behind the emotion.

' _After the rain everything grows,'_ he sang.

## Saturday 27th April 1974

The train of flatbeds rattled on. Freezing and dozing Barry had reached a point where he couldn't have grown colder. Still, hour after hour the train beat out its rhythms and Barry wondered when it would run out of rails.

Eventually the dozing stowaway came to with the sun and a sense of the train slowing.

He peered backwards towards the guard's van.

Nobody watching.

But, he looked forwards with alarm seeing rows upon rows of railway tracks. The decelerating train clattered over the points heading for a terrace of sheds and bypassing platforms lying to one side.

He'd have to jump, but beneath the train gravel whizzed by still faster than he could run. Gripping Miss Wilkinson's bag he chose the side away from the station seeing nearby forested area.

When the brakes screeched again he leapt from the wagon.

The landing's momentum forced his cold-stiffened legs to sprint. Pumping them impossibly hard he kept from tumbling. Maintaining pace he ran for the trees. Nobody shouted after him. He thought he'd make it but a moment before breaching the treeline he careered into a wire fence.

Stopped dead, he looked back. Someone must have seen him. Surely someone would be chasing him down. But, as he scanned the yard he realised the train would've so far blocked anyone else's view.

Now that it had passed, he felt hideously exposed despite his parka's deep blue. He jogged tracing the fence away from the station until he spotted an unmaintained section, loose enough for him to scramble under. Safely in the woods he collapsed and fell asleep.

* * *

He woke some time later. Cold, stiff and ravenous he realised he'd not eaten since the previous morning.

In Miss Wilkinson's bag he found three Tupperware containers. The smallest tub had cold-congealed gravy, the next contained generous amounts of peas and carrots and the biggest held enough shepherd's pie for four people.

He looked at his travel-blackened hands and decided he needed cutlery. Despite his stomach's painful objections he replaced the lids.

This far from Carlisle he assumed nobody would recognise him so headed out the woods and to the roads leading to the station.

After reaching the ticket office he saw the station's café. Saturday's early hour meant spare tables. Though taught by his mother the rights and wrongs of stealing he swept past an unoccupied but cluttered table and borrowed a porridge-sticky spoon.

In the station's toilets he washed his hands and the spoon before dropping it in the bag. Then he noticed something tucked under the shepherd's pie tub. He pulled out a note.

It read: _Barry, I'm extremely concerned about you. Telephone me if you need or want anything, Miss Wilkinson._

She'd written a telephone number which he committed to memory before flushing the note down the toilet.

Sitting on a bench overlooking the platforms he gorged himself even managing the gravy. When he'd had enough he put the remaining half of the shepherd's pie away and sat wondering where he might be. He neither saw Carlisle nor any other destination he recognised on the departures. He needed to know.

Back in the toilets he used the rinsed gravy pot for drinking before returning to the café. He approached the waitress who leant again the doorway to the kitchen.

'I borrowed this.' He handed her the spoon despite knowing he'd need it again.

'Thanks darling,' she said. When he didn't move on she asked, 'Can I help you?'

He stared at the counter's confectionery stand. Running a fingertip over a Mars bar's paper wrapper he said, 'I want one of these.'

'You got twelve pence?' When he shook his head she said, 'Sorry darling.'

He sighed and looked away. 'Where are we?'

'Where are we?' the lady went from laughing to serious in one breath. 'We're in Stonebridge Park.'

He'd seen the sign on the way in and on the platforms. 'But where's Stonebridge Park?'

'Where is... kid, are you on drugs?'

'No,' he said looking at her with indignation.

'Sorry darling, it's just... look, this is London.'

He might have guessed. Even though he'd seen nothing recognisable he'd suspected as much.

'Where should you be? Are you in trouble?'

'Where's the famous stuff?'

'Wembley's round the corner. Everything else is about seven miles away,' she huffed. 'You are in trouble aren't you – what's your name darling?'

Again he ignored her. 'I need to ring someone in Carlisle but don't know the area code.'

The lady shook her head. 'Don't look at me I've no idea about that.'

He looked down thinking he might never speak to Miss Wilkinson again.

Suddenly the lady said, 'If you dial 100 from a phone box the operator will tell you for free.'

With that bit of good news he thanked her and made to leave. He'd almost reached the door when she called, 'If you tell me your name I'll give you a Mars bar.'

His eyes narrowed as he considered the deal. 'Johnny, I'm called Johnny.'

'Well Johnny, you have a nice day. Catch.'

He caught the chocolate bar which he devoured before reaching a phone box. He dialled 100 but unfortunately he hadn't even two pence to call Miss Wilkinson. The operator offered to reverse the charges for him.

'It's okay thanks, I'll find some money.'

He spent three hours wandering around the area with his face to the ground before finally finding one, two pence piece outside an amusement arcade.

Walking into the sun he soon found a phone box but decided to wait. Miss Wilkinson would probably be out at that time on a Saturday – maybe with a boyfriend.

With nothing else to do he asked the first friendly face the way to London's city centre.

The elderly man pointed to the station.

'No no,' Johnny said. 'I'll walk it.'

'Oh,' the man said without questioning why someone Johnny's age would do something like that alone. 'Basically you keep heading down this road. If you go on long enough you'll reach the Thames.'

Johnny thanked the man and periodically checked his route with other pedestrians. By mid-afternoon he passed through Soho and Covent Garden. If he survived another night he thought he'd come back to give them a proper look. For now though he kept walking and, as the old man had said, he found the Thames. He followed its banks until a familiar and reviving image came into view. A tower, it had to be Big Ben.

Jogging towards it the sun brightened; he almost smiled. Searching for the best view he crossed a bridge to the south bank where he sat on a vacant bench and settled his eyes on the building he'd seen so many times on bottles of brown sauce.

When he could sit no more he stood on weary legs and wandered away from the view further into south London away from the Thames.

From a roundabout he entered Walworth Road and saw a café. Having grown hungry again he put his read round the door and asked the lady if he could borrow a spoon.

The lady looked outraged. 'No you bleeding well can't. What d'you think this is? Clear off.'

He retreated and walked on. He came to a chippy. The divine smell of freshly battered fish made him dreamy. He wondered if he'd ever taste fish and chips again. He knew they'd have disposable forks but without three pence to buy one and the dressing down he'd just received he didn't go in.

Across the road Johnny saw an unusual restaurant and plucking up courage crossed over. Appearing empty of customers Johnny wondered if the, _Taste of Bengal_ might still be closed at the evening's early hour. Seeing movement behind the door he knocked and entered and came face-to-face with a brown man.

Carlisle's near entire white population meant Johnny had never seen Asian people.

Finding his voice he said, 'I don't wish to cause you a problem but I'd be grateful if I could borrow a spoon just for the shortest time.'

He told him about the rest of his shepherd's pie.

'Will you bring the spoon back?' the man asked.

'Of course,' Johnny said. 'I'll just be over there.' He pointed to seats on the other side of the road. 'You'll be able to see me the whole time. I'll even wash it up if you like.'

'Very well,' the man said. A minute later he came back from the kitchen and handing him a spoon said, 'Enjoy your shepherd's pie.'

Barely full Johnny went back to the cafe. The Indian man asked him, 'Do you like curry?'

'I don't know.'

'You've never tried it?'

'No.'

'You must try some then.'

Johnny sat as instructed in the reception area overlooking the tables. The man appeared a few minutes later with a small portion of what looked like chicken stew with rice on a tea plate.

'Is this for me?'

'Of course. Try it and tell me what you think?'

'Okay, but why are you being nice to me – giving me food?'

'You've won it by being polite.'

'Will it burn me – I've heard it's hot?'

'This one's mild you'll see.'

Johnny accepted the plate and skewered a piece of chicken.

'It's delicious,' he said as brand new flavours filled his mouth.

'You like it, that's excellent,' the man seemed delighted.

When Johnny cleaned the plate up the man said, 'I am Iftekhar.'

'If-te-kar,' Johnny repeated.

'That's right. This is my restaurant and whilst I appreciate you might not have money now I see you are a bright young man with _bag-ro reedoy_ – the heart of a tiger. One day you'll have money and I hope you'll come back to visit with your friends.'

Johnny left feeling buoyed and thought of trying Miss Wilkinson's phone number.

He past two vandalised telephone boxes before, inside the third urine-stinking box he picked up the receiver, rubbed it clean on his knee and dialled.

It rang and rang. He pressed the two pence coin against the slot and imagined the sound of his teacher's voice but gave up after several more rings.

_I might have won a curry and the money to speak to you but I didn't win the sound of your voice,_ he thought replacing the receiver.

He found a place to watch a brilliant sunset and wondered about Frank's funeral. He imagined Miss Wilkinson would be there. He feared that the man he'd kicked down the stairs might be dead; still crumpled and covered in vomit. But, with equal measure he feared the man at the bottom of the stairs had got up and would see his son's funeral.

## Sunday 28th April 1974

At first light the next morning, having crawled into bushes off Albany Road the previous night, Johnny woke cold, hungry, grubby and with no idea what to do next.

He'd been lucky when the lady gave him the Mars bar and when Iftekhar had fed him curry but knew from having seen dirtier kids at school that people's kindness stopped when smells started. He hoped he didn't smell but knew he soon would if he didn't keep properly clean. He needed food but the only way he could think to get it meant going against the specific teachings of his mother.

Within hours those teachings had come under significant counter reasoning.

Having found his way to Waterloo station Johnny stood by the sinks in the toilets to wash as best he could. He then poured water down his throat from his gravy tub but his belly craved nutrition and wouldn't be put off no matter how much he drank.

Before long he watched a lady shop assistant sell snacks to travellers. His stomach continued grumbling.

He called up the feelings in his heart but couldn't connect to his mother's guidance. But with no objection and no other means to fed himself he reframed, stealing as winning.

Being Sunday the shop essentially had few customers and the lady assistant worked alone. Johnny observed her looking bored with nothing to do unless, as happened every few minutes, she'd be overwhelmed by swarms calling in before catching one of the day's trains.

In a quiet moment he watched her read and wondered if he could run in and out without being seen. Sometimes she'd even disappear to a storeroom for a minute or so.

He rejected the notion of dashing and grabbing. Instead he watched singles, couples or parents with children visit the shop in its busier moments and that gave an idea.

On the next busy surge he saw a woman around his mother's age faffing with her purse.

Guessing she'd go into the shop Johnny rounded and fell in step behind her. Sure enough she crossed the shop's threshold. The shopkeeper concentrated on her till. Whilst the woman had her back to him Johnny slid two pasties down one sleeve of his parka where they stopped at its elasticated cuff. A packet of Custard Creams went down the other sleeve. When the woman reached the till Johnny moved outside and stood as if waiting for her. When she left the shop he followed her towards the waiting train before changing course.

Half an hour later he sat admiring views of London with a satisfied belly. Only then could he reason what he'd done. He told himself he'd won the food as Iftekhar had told him he'd won the curry. From his heart a message came with his mother's voice telling him he had to survive but things would have to change. He couldn't imagine change; couldn't imagine returning to Iftekhar's with friends and money.

Later that evening he found a clean functioning telephone. He rang Miss Wilkinson.

She picked up after five rings. 'Hello.'

The sound of her familiar voice caused a blast of emotion. He forced the coin through the slot with the pips and steadied himself against the phone box.

'Miss,' he croaked.

'Barry, is that you?' Her voice sounded shrill.

'Not Barry. It's Johnny now.' He leant against the phone wishing he could see her. Wishing she could hold him as she had done after his mother had died.

'What's happening – where are you?'

She sounded as desperate as he felt.

'I'm surviving. Thank you for the shepherd's pie it saved me.'

'My god. Where are you the whole city's looking for you?'

'They won't find Barry and Johnny's elsewhere.'

'Bar... I mean... love I'm so worried about you.'

'I'll survive.'

'Come home.'

'There is no home.'

Miss Wilkinson stammered. 'Your dad...'

The pips interrupted her.

Too afraid to hear anything about his once-upon-a-time father he said, 'You're my favourite person.'

She couldn't respond. Out of time and money the line died.

He walked the streets back to Albany Road in tears. He missed Frank and his mam. He missed Miss Wilkinson and playing guitar. He could have written songs about how he felt but with no instrument and nobody to sing them to he simply flopped over the fence into the bushes and fell asleep as he had done the night before.

## Monday 04th June 1984

Mazz had finished recording Johnny's chords and the bandmates gathered in the dressing room.

'Are you guys coming for something to eat?' Christine asked getting up.

Stu rested his feet on the coffee table and told her they'd catch her up.

'Alright mate,' Johnny said once she'd left with Mazz, 'I've kept you waiting long enough.'

He told him about Vanquar's top management reshuffle and what that could mean for the band. 'The followers we have are dedicated for sure but if Vanquar-USA decide they don't want us here it'll take more than a second album to stay. Dane says they'd probably stop the tour budget.'

Disheartened as he imagined Johnny had felt the previous few days, Stu listened to Johnny. 'Just when we thought we were doing so well we find out we're in danger of disappearing into obscurity.'

'Or England,' Johnny said. 'I'm sorry mate, I know how much America means to you. Since arriving here it means everything to me too. We'll just have to see who gets the senior post at Vanquar.'

'So would they cut our entire touring budget or just the USA gigs?' Stu asked.

'There's a point, I don't know. Dane's only contracted to manage us in America. It figures that's all he's interested in.'

'Well given Trudie's selling Little Spirit so well and given we come from the same production team maybe Vanquar think it's time we went back to England.'

'Meaning Dane would be out of a job.' Johnny vanished into thought for a moment. 'Richard only signed the USA management rights away...'

'Richard was a far better manager than Dane but he'll be up to his neck with Little Spirit.'

'That's exactly what I was thinking. So if Richard hasn't time for us it'd make sense for Vanquar to keep Dane on as manager.'

'Retreat to England _and_ have Dane as manager?'

'It's getting worse by the second isn't it?' Johnny said knowing he'd yet still more beans to spill.

Stu, neither happy at the thought of leaving nor working long term with Dane said, 'So, we go to England to record the next album?'

'That we do,' Johnny said ever grateful of Linda's loan.

'Do we even know if Vanquar will want to market and distribute it?'

'My guess is they'll decide when they hear it. We have to record a phenomenally good album.'

'I hear that. No chance of resting on our laurels. No wonder you've been so weird lately.'

'I haven't felt so helpless in years.'

'So what's changed, you seem more relaxed; you got good news?'

'Well,' Johnny started, 'given what I've just told you if I said I had a way of making us a bit of extra cash you'd be okay with that right, you know, generate extra security?'

'Of course, what's the idea?'

'Poker.'

'Poker?'

'Every little helps.' He shot Stu a weak smile.

When Johnny explained what had happened at the table after the previous Saturday's Lawrence gig Stu's temper erupted.

'It's okay,' Johnny started.

'What d'you mean it's _okay_?' Stu shot to his feet.

'It's—'

'It's okay we get to record a second album? We were doing that anyway! But it's not _okay_ that we might get dropped by Vanquar and it's way off okay that, whether that happens or not, the band owes Linda a fortune.'

'Put like that I agree but—'

'Right, so we agree: as things are, they're definitely not okay?'

Johnny had heard enough. He too leapt to his feet. 'Do you want to record a second album or not?'

'Want? We're musicians it's what we do. Never mind _want,_ how about need?'

'Whichever. We're still getting to record a second album so agree with me that's _okay_.'

Stu stared at him speechless then sat down. 'We've gotta get that money back.'

Johnny slumped and told him about Zora the PI and what had happened on the multi-storey roof in Kansas.

'I don't understand, if you were going to beat up one of the bouncers why didn't you just beat them all up on the night?'

Johnny laughed. 'It could've been six against one. No, this way I made them think I was compliant; then hit them with surprise.'

'Okay,' Stu said. He looked at his friend as anger abated. 'I can't believe you didn't tell me earlier.'

'Mate, I wasn't about to tell you or anyone else anything until I knew we had the means to record the second album. You can't imagine my surprise when Linda offered the readies.'

'We're in her pocket for sure.' Stu looked cross again but said, 'So Dane knows nothing about this?'

'He could be part of it. I mean, nobody else knew that amount of money was in the accounts. Jack and Quinn don't know, do they?'

'Definitely not,' Stu said. 'But Dane knew and if he's out of a job he'd welcome the money.'

'Part of it or not I don't want him knowing what a wazock I've been.'

Stu stood up again. 'Roll on Wednesday when the PI tells us who these guys are.'

## Friday 03rd May 1974

Almost a week after arriving in London Johnny's shoulders sagged; hauled down by the pointlessness of his existence.

Twilight faded as he milled around deserted warehouses off Old Kent Road. During the week he'd woken in the night under pouring rain. The next day he'd walked the length of Oxford Street. By its end he had a new set of clothes, bar his parka which still looked new.

He'd also stolen toothpaste, toothbrush and a comb. The thrill of stealing suffered under the weight of guilt. Convincing himself he'd won the items helped. Still owning nothing but clothes, plastic cup and plectrum he longed for friends. For a week nobody had spoken to him, pinched his cheek or fluffed his hair.

He wondered what Miss Wilkinson knew about the man at the bottom of the stairs. Again the thought of him living or dying terrified him. But could facing the music should he be found guilty of murder be that bad? At least he'd have a bed, meals and company. But, Miss Wilkinson hadn't mentioned him being in trouble, did that mean the ogre still had breath?

Such a dreadful notion could not be entertained. He couldn't ever be Barry again, the ogre could never be his dad and Johnny wouldn't consider sharing even the same city so long as he lived.

He'd pass long hours shadow sparring in public parks imagining Greeny holding pads for him.

Once his muscles had warmed he'd practice judo footwork. Next would come karate. Unlike some students impatient to learn new skills, Johnny liked to master each move before moving on. The repetition helped time pass. Finally practicing kung fu, he'd loop meditative sequences and on fine days as hours passed, he'd almost feel normal.

But now, ambling alongside a warehouse, he looked for a place to sleep feeling far from normal.

With low spirits he hardly saw beyond his feet. Despite the clear night he didn't want to risk another soaking; neither did he want to sleep on concrete and so far it seemed he could only have one or the other.

A figure approach from him left. He hadn't seen that.

'Aright mate?' a chirpy voice said. 'Where you headed looking so glum?'

Johnny whirled round seeing an older lad smiling.

'Nice coat.' The lad's expression intensified.

Warning bells sounded as Johnny saw the lad's right fist clench.

Before he could react a weight crashed into his right hand side. Buckling, he stumbled. His judo experience kept him on his feet.

Amidst a downpour of thundering punches and kicks he saw not two but three pairs of legs dancing around him. Such a surprised state left him without capacity to process pain as instinct drove his hands to protect his head.

But the kicks flying to his legs caved his knees; the ground accepted his collapsing body.

Incredibly, under the deafening storm of impacts Johnny found himself giving in to the situation and as his coat got pulled, vanishing over his head, he relaxed.

As quickly as it started, the storm passed with one farewell boot to stomach and the recession of his attackers' meaningless yells.

Alone again, Johnny let out a deep groan; rich in maturity. He rolled onto his back and to his own amazement started laughing. His arms, legs and head ached but the beating had roused something inside him. _Bag-ro reedoy,_ he thought remembering Iftekhar saying he had the heart of a tiger.

His relaxed state connected him to his mother voice, _You're alive_.

For a moment he wondered why he'd not heard Frank's voice too. He wriggled; everything worked so he concluded this beating ranked well below many he'd suffered in the past.

Pushing onto his side he watched the three attackers striding the length of the warehouse. He guessed the lad now wearing his coat must be the leader.

He had to move quickly. On already stiffening muscles he first hobbled then broke through the pain as he sprinted around the warehouse's perimeter.

At its far corner he put his back to the wall and peered around it. Nobody there yet.

Seconds later the three appeared, the tallest wearing his coat.

The cheerful lad who'd greeted him flanked the tall guy's right hand side. Perhaps he'd be second in command especially as the third guy looked like nothing.

That said, the third guy pulled at the tall one's shoulder and pointed. Johnny had been spotted.

'Who's there?' the tall guy called over.

'It's me.' Johnny strode out to face the lads some twenty feet away. 'I was just thinking, you're too lanky for that coat. It looks crap on you.'

Their strides faltered and Johnny saw two faces blanch. _Be as freaked as you like but don't you dare run._

'Who are you calling lanky?' the tall guy said advancing.

Johnny stood his ground watching as the other two hung back a beat; the third only moving after the second had covered four feet.

The tall one continued. 'You mope around here at night you deserve to get robbed mate—'

'Don't be calling me _mate,_ ' Johnny said pulling his sleeves up. Euphoria swept his body high on a cocktail of overactive hormones.

He'd have to be fast to ensure the tall guy paid for his indignation and mis-confidence in his two backup friends.

He calculated risks as the tall guy telegraphed his intentions via a clenched right fist. The moment it raised Johnny turned to his right preparing for secondary shots from his attacker's left. Protecting his jaw he moved such that the predicted right fist whooshed by like a derailed train. Johnny launched closing their proximity and before his aggressor could respond he slipped his protective left behind his enemy's head pulling it into his oncoming right elbow.

Solid bone collided with the guy's jaw below the ear sending him to sleep where he stood.

Feigning interest Johnny strode past the number two guy. Terrified number three offered quivering fists. A second before contact though Johnny wielded round taking care of number two.

'You don't sound so friendly now,' he said practicing some showy moves for number three's benefit.

With number two's defence gone Johnny piled him with a right roundhouse and finished him with a spinning left hook kick.

Number three turned to run but Johnny grabbed the back of his shirt within four paces.

Pulling him to the ground he yelled, 'Get my coat back.' He jabbed the guy's ear with the heel of his hand.

Number three complied and came back with his coat and an apology.

'How old you?' Johnny asked him.

'Fifteen.'.

'And this guy?'

'We're all fifteen.'

'I'm extremely unimpressed; you especially. You've no shred of courage have you?'

Number three shook his head.

Johnny felt the pockets for his possessions and pulled out Miss Wilkinson's gravy tub.

'You've no idea how important this is,' he said considering how it had prevented him stealing a single drink. 'Come with me.'

Johnny marched the older lad the width of the warehouse and pointed to where they'd attacked him.

'Look,' he said. 'I'm guessing you must have landed five or six punches on me.'

Number three tried to protest.

'Five or six at least. Every bit of me aches,' Johnny said. When number three didn't argue Johnny said, 'If I kick and punch you five or six times you'll die—'

He stopped short, recalling having kicked and punched the ogre down the stairs.

'You owe me – mate,' he said but doubted he deserved better than to sleep in factory doorway.

Number three looked worried. 'Okay.'

Johnny looked at him. Three stood silently, waiting.

Johnny said, 'I need a bed for the night.'

'What?' Three panicked. 'You can't come to mine.'

Johnny suddenly imagined if he did the police might be waiting for him in the morning. 'Let's walk before those two wake up.'

They walked Old Kent Road. Johnny could only guess what thoughts the other lad must be having. 'What's your name?'

'Shaun.'

'Johnny.'

Neither said more.

At the point when Johnny thought he should just let him go, Shaun said, 'My sister's got a mate who lives at some woman's house.'

'What d'you mean?'

'She looks after kids who've nowhere else. Maybe you could stay there.'

'We could try,' he said absently, thinking again of the police. 'Where is it?'

'Charlton.'

'Isn't that miles away?' he said. He'd heard of Charlton Athletic but imagined it'd be in the midlands.

'Not really.' Shaun gave him an odd look.

'Hmm, I'm not sure, sounds dodgy.'

'I don't think so.'

Weighing the alternatives Johnny agreed to give it a go. 'You know Shaun, you're okay when you're not making an idiot of yourself.'

From a phone box Shaun rang his sister, who in turn rang her friend at the house.

'You've got a weird accent,' Shaun said whilst they waited for his sister to call the phone box back. 'Are you Scottish?'

Johnny had thought everyone else spoke strangely. 'It's fake. I like people to think I'm Scottish.'

The phone rang.

Shaun soon came out the box. 'There's a spare bed. We'll need a bus. You got any money?'

'I'll have to owe you.'

Shaun checked his pockets. 'It's alright. Just take it off my debt.'

Twenty-five minutes later the two lads walked Charlton Road. They asked three people before anyone could direct them to Rannerdale Drive.

Standing on the doorstep Shaun looked at his watch. 'Half nine. I'll introduce you to the owner and get going if that's alright.'

Johnny nodded looking the semi-detached council house over. 'Is this a rough neighbourhood?'

'Fairly. You'll fit right in.'

The door opened and a blonde haired lady in her late thirties wearing tight leather trousers stood before them. She blinked eyes heavy with dark eye shadow. Johnny liked her immediately. She looked like she could be Marc Bolan's mother or maybe older girlfriend.

She introduced herself as Liz.

'So, which one of you's is Johnny?' she asked.

'He is,' Shaun said.

She looked Johnny up and down. 'You been fighting?'

Shaun started but Johnny spoke over him. 'Two lads tried stealing my coat; Shaun helped see them off.'

'I see and where was you gonna sleep?'

Johnny felt uncomfortable but Shaun cut in. 'If it's okay, I should get going.'

Liz waited while Johnny walked Shaun to the end of the path.

'Listen,' Johnny said, 'we met under bad circumstances but if this works out, even for one night, then I'm pleased we met.'

'I'm sorry, I feel horrible about earlier.'

'Forget it,' Johnny said. 'Will you be alright getting back?'

'Yeah.'

'Keep your head up and chest out.'

'Exactly what you were doing,' Shaun joked before moving off.

Back on the doorstep Johnny reverted to his normal self.

Liz invited him in and offered him tea.

He took his shoes off and looked around the living room.

'Cap of tea?' Liz said again.

He tired copying her accent. 'That be lavely if it's not too much trabble.'

'Have a seat,' she said smiling. 'Take your coat off.'

From the settee he spotted an upright piano. The head of a guitar poked from behind an armchair.

Liz came back with teas and biscuits. He sipped and closed his eyes tasting for the first time in a week something other than water.

Liz sat opposite him. 'So Johnny, if that's your real name—'

'It is,' he said believing it to be true.

'Really? Is it short for Jonathon or long for John?'

'Jonathon,' he said picturing the lie all over his face. 'I'm Johnny now.'

'Johnny what?'

He hadn't thought of a surname.

He couldn't say his birth surname. He looked around the room again and at the tea. Despondency fogged his mind. The settee's cushions felt warm and comfy; so much nicer than concrete or bushes. He didn't want to go outside again but seeing his coat beside him he wondered whether he should pick it up.

When he looked back he saw Liz leaning forwards resting her elbows on her knees her face full of concern.

'Okay, I'll call you Johnny,' she said, her gravelly voice sounding softer. 'You've been through a lot haven't you?'

He shut his eyes thinking of Frank.

'Where's your mum?'

He tapped his chest. 'In here,' he said still with closed eyes.

'She died?'

'Two years ago. My brother too; last week.' He cautioned himself to stop giving away details.

'What about your dad?'

He shook his head.

'And where did you live with your brother?'

Johnny opened his eyes and stared at her. He felt his eyebrows pulling together. How many more of these questions did she have?

Liz looked him square on. 'Are you on drugs?'

'No.' Why did everyone ask him that?

'How old are you?'

'Fourteen.'

'You ever been drunk?'

His nostrils flared. 'Never.'

Liz narrowed her eyes. 'Your dad drink?'

Johnny said nothing.

'I see,' she said and after a moment said, 'I don't do this for free you know. The authorities pay me. But they can only do that if they know exactly who's staying her. Full name details, you understand?'

He nodded.

'But, assuming you behave, I'm not going to turf you out. It's the weekend. You've got till Monday to decide what you want to tell me. If you can't trust me by then we'll have to arrange something else. Now drink your tea and I'll show you the room. It's still full of stuff from one of the last kids. She done a bunk you know a few days ago.'

'Thanks Liz,' he said half listening.

He rested his head on the settee's arm.

## Saturday 04th May 1974

Johnny became aware of sunlight dazzling his eyes. Turning away he surveyed his surroundings finding himself on Liz's settee with a pillow and blanket over him. A crack in the curtains beaming sunlight waking him before 6am according to the clock on the mantelpiece.

Fetching his gravy tub from his parka he went to the kitchen and drank tap water whilst overlooking Liz's back garden.

After washing his tub and last night's teacups he needed to pee. Not wanting to disturb anyone upstairs he found the backdoor key.

The bright morning had evaporated most of the dew from a lawn overdue for mowing. After watering the privet hedge he spotted a rusty manual mower and he figured he'd make himself useful.

The contraption felt like it hadn't moved in ages. He put his weight behind it and cut a line down the middle of the lawn. Turning at the privet he looked at what he'd done and wondered if he shouldn't have started. He and Frank would take turns to cut the lawn with their manual cylinder mower so he knew to cut straight parallel lines.

After two more stripes the gearing loosened and before long he needed a rake. The garden had a locked shed so he guessed he'd have to wait for Liz.

He stood in the middle of the lawn and began practicing martial arts routines.

Two hours later a man's voice said, 'Good morning.'

Maintaining his kung fu posture Johnny spun round seeing a man in T-shirt and leather pants at the backdoor. 'Who are you?'

'Liz's fella, Graham. You Johnny?'

He nodded and copied his accent. 'Were you here last night?'

The man nodded. 'Turned up after you went sparko on the settee.'

They shook hands.

'I need a rake,' Johnny said.

'Have you done all this with that old thing?' he said laughing and pointing to the mower Johnny had leant against the wall.

'Yeah.'

'There's an electric one in the shed – with a grass box. Still you done me a favour. Liz's been asking me to do this for a fortnight.'

Liz appeared at the backdoor in a new blouse but same leather pants. 'You had breakfast Johnny?'

He shook his head and followed Graham inside. He guessed Graham would be a few years Liz's junior though his black ponytailed hair had some grey.

The three sat at the kitchen table and Graham poured him a bowl of Corn Flakes. 'I'll let you pour your own milk.'

Reaching for the milk jug Johnny stopped unable to go on.

Liz watched, teapot at her hand. 'What's wrong?'

He looked at her and Graham. 'Are you sure about this?'

She put the teapot down and gave him the warmest smile he'd seen in ages. 'Eat your breakfast.'

He learnt that as a registered foster carer Liz only housed girls. After he'd fallen asleep she'd phoned to let Social Services know that she had an un-vetted anonymous boy staying with her and wary of this she'd called Graham over.

After breakfast she made Graham rake the lawn whilst Johnny helped her wash up. She told him that she still had a divorce to settle with another man.

'Wasn't your husband a nice man?' Johnny enquired.

'He was actually but he ran away to Spain with another man.'

'Oh.'

'He wasn't gay. He just didn't like coming home to me anymore.'

Johnny looked at her with astonishment. 'Was he mad?'

'Doesn't matter I got Graham now. He watched you doing kung fu stuff. You might have to teach him.'

'There's a lot of moves to learn.'

'Well, we'll see.'

'So who else lives here?'

'Samantha. She doesn't get up till late. She's sixteen; in her last year of school. I take it you were attending a school?'

'Yeah.'

'Where would that have been?' When Johnny looked at her with pleading Bambi eyes she said, 'Oh dear, this is going to be difficult.'

'I'm sorry.'

'It's alright. Take it easy. We'll sort it out on Monday.'

'Thanks Liz.'

Liz left Johnny downstairs but soon returned with Samantha.

'I saw you on the settee last night,' she said.

Johnny felt embarrassed and suddenly aware how his hair might look.

Samantha reminded him of Sonja: gorgeous, stacked, out of his age range and too cool for him.

She turned away and switched the kettle on and he sighed inwardly. He stopped gawping the moment he noticed Liz watching him.

'And that's why I don't foster boys.'

Johnny blushed again.

'So you're Diana's brother's mate?' Samantha said absently throwing teabags in a pot.

'Shaun – not really. We only met last night.'

'What are your plans for today?' Liz asked her.

'None.'

'You not going into town?'

'Wasn't reckoning to.'

'May I sit down?' Johnny asked.

'Go ahead,' Liz said.

He left the kitchen hearing Samantha scoff, 'He's polite isn't he?'

A second after he sat on the settee Graham appeared. 'D'you want the tele on?'

He stared at Graham. TV, the very idea seemed almost decadent. He would have loved to have watched TV but for one thing.

Though stammering he asked Graham about the guitar next to the piano.

'You play?' Graham said reaching behind the armchair.

'I can do some stuff.'

'Was that kung fu you were doing on the lawn before breakfast?'

'Yeah, I'll show you some moves if you like,' he said not able to concentrate on anything other than the emerging guitar.

'I would like. I've always fancied learning.'

'Wow, what is that?'

'A copy of a Gibson ES-335.'

Graham said checking the tuning. He lifted the piano lid and played a E.

Johnny forgot himself, almost licking his lips with the anticipation of holding the guitar.

'You're keen aren't you?' Graham said handing it over.

Johnny took it and held its body at arms' length. As if a switch had been pressed the room appeared to fade; his attention fixed on the guitar. _A symbol of hope._

'It's beautiful. Is it yours?' he said not wanting to lose himself completely.

'Yeah, it's one of two I own. I leave it here for Liz to learn on. Go ahead, play it. You don't need an amp; it's hollow bodied.'

He pulled it into a playing position and traced a finger around the f holes.

'Let's hear you,' Graham urged.

Johnny considered the request. 'Before I... last week I had been practicing this.'

He fished in the otherwise empty jeans pockets and found his plectrum. Learning to fingerpick whilst holding a plectrum had been challenging but with diligence he'd managed it.

He performed a sequence of lush chords Mr Evans had shown him describing it as a _get the girl_ piece on account of its romantic mood. He'd intended playing it for Miss Wilkinson.

'Hey that sounded great,' Graham said. 'What else you got?'

Johnny played and Graham complimented him on being so good for his age. 'Where d'you learn to play like that?'

Johnny nearly spoke but as if his tongue had frozen he said nothing.

'Oh,' Graham said. 'Liz mentioned you wasn't very forthcoming.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't worry.'

After an hour of passing the guitar back and forth Johnny reckoned Graham must be almost as experienced as Mr Evans and had an unrivalled passion for rock music. Johnny learned new guitar techniques and of new bands. Eventually Liz appeared breaking their laughter.

'Upstairs Johnny. I've run you a bath.'

'Oh.'

'Use the blue towel.'

He handed the guitar back. 'Thanks Graham.'

'Any time.'

'Be back here dressed in thirty minutes.'

Thirty minutes later having left the bathroom the way he found it Johnny stood in the lounge.

Liz said, 'Put your shoes on. It's a warm day so you won't need your coat.'

'Where we going?'

'Clothes shopping.'

'These are brand new.'

'Yeah, you need more than one set.'

'I haven't any money.'

'It's okay. I'll claim it back.' She asked Graham, 'You coming?'

'Nah, I'll stay and practice guitar.' Suddenly his face lit up. 'Hey Johnny, I thought of a really good name for when you join a band: _Johnny and the Used Ones_.'

'Oh Graham, that's horrible.' Liz said.

'It's brilliant,' he said.

'I'll grant you it's ingenious.' She looked at Johnny. 'If you start a band promise me you'll think of another name.'

Johnny nodded but couldn't help but say, 'I like it.'

'Exactly,' Graham said.

Liz tugged her boots on. 'It's rude.'

'Only rude people would think that,' Graham said. 'You must be one of them.'

* * *

In the city of London Johnny and Liz got on well. Though she didn't spend much cash she made sure he looked good with essentials and a sports bag to put his stuff in.

They went round record shops and together chose Queen's, _Queen II_ album. Liz said Graham and he could work out the guitar parts.

* * *

They returned to the house to find Shaun's sister Diana had called round to visit Samantha. She'd grown curious about Johnny from her brother. Liz invited her to stay for tea.

A year older than Samantha, Diana looked even more the young lady and Johnny had to concentrate not to stare at either of them.

With the five sitting round the kitchen table Diana mentioned the previous night's escapade. Though Johnny had attempted to save Shaun embarrassment it seemed he'd told his sister the night's particulars with shameless accuracy.

'Liz told me it was two against two,' Graham said.

Diana speared her cabbage. 'Three against one.'

'So, after getting duffed in by three older lads, you picked yourself up and confronted them head on?' Liz asked.

'Well—'

'One against three,' Diana chipped in. 'Shaun said they didn't stand a chance. That lad who took his coat's one of the hardest in his year and Johnny knocked him clean out.'

Sensing Liz's astonishment Johnny hid his face losing his appetite mid roast potato. He glanced to his left and through his fingers and saw Graham's giant grin.

'So that stuff you were practicing on the lawn really works?'

'Graham,' Liz admonished.

Johnny explained how much his coat and plastic cup meant to him.

Liz raised an eyebrow. 'I can't believe that lad who showed up with you would've joined in though.'

'He's a divvy,' Diana said. 'He'll think twice in future.'

'Well that's something at least.'

Graham came back from the fridge.

Johnny had been saying something but stopped hearing the pssst of Graham's beer can being pulled open.

Gradually he became aware of everyone silently watching him watching the beer can.

'Something wrong?' Graham asked.

Johnny didn't know what to say.

Liz touched his hand. 'Beer's only a problem for a small number of people Johnny.'

He nodded saddened that his new friend would drink at all. He looked at Graham who looked the most serious he'd seen him.

'You know what Johnny,' he said, 'you're right. This stuff doesn't even taste nice. I don't know why so many of us do it.'

He walked to the sink and tipped it away before binning the crushed can. 'Who's for coffee?'

'Lethal hands and a pathological hatred of beer,' Liz commented.

After tea Johnny insisted on washing up. The girls went out and he and Graham played more guitar.

When Liz reappeared she showed him the room he'd sleep in for the next two nights. 'D'you think you'll manage to make it up the stairs tonight?'

## Monday 06th May 1974

Johnny had spent Sunday with Graham and Liz singing and playing guitar and showing Graham the principles of his four martial art disciplines. He slept later on Monday but still got up before Liz.

Soon Samantha left for school and Graham for work. Johnny found himself alone with Liz. Instead of leather pants she wore a skirt and blouse like an office worker. Time for the dreaded conversation.

Sitting him down with a cup of tea Liz told him how much she'd enjoyed his company and thanked him for the work he'd done helping around the house.

'Would you like to stay here – if it could be arranged?'

Johnny nodded but knew that wouldn't be possible.

She explained that she worked for Social Services.

Though Liz spoke to him about trust he kept saying, 'I'm Johnny now.'

He knew Liz could only guess what had happened as she talked about extenuating circumstances. But for Johnny trust or not, Liz could neither guarantee the ogre would never see him again nor that he'd get to keep his new name.

'I'm Johnny now,' he said shaking his head.

'Okay love. Try not to get worked up. We'll come up with something. Just try and help me understand.'

He told her what he could in general terms. 'Can you understand why I would rather sleep under bushes or in shop doorways than live or even see that monster again?'

She nodded. 'Okay. I understand. I can't make you say anything you don't want.'

'I'm Johnny now.' What more could he say?

Given his determination to protect his original identity their options came to a head. Either, he went back to sleeping in doorways and stealing food or he could go with her, trusting that would lead somewhere else – hopefully somewhere better than the streets.

They agreed to keep his secret safe and she'd help find him a bed somewhere. He'd have to go back to school but she'd invite him each week for Sunday lunch with her and Graham.

For the first time that morning he smiled. He thanked her and they set off for the bus stop.

On the bus he considered his weekend. He'd won a fight. He thought he'd won a guitarist friend won a bed for a couple of nights and won meals, won new clothes. He'd won a lot.

Stealing himself against what lay ahead he reiterated, _I'm Johnny now._ The word _now_ turned backwards. _I'm Johnny Won._

* * *

After the bus journey and an eternity in a Social Service waiting room he found himself in an interview with a serious lady called Audrey.

'We're here to help,' she said. 'It's no longer Victorian times for orphans. This is the 1970's, we're civilised.'

Johnny listened through the false friendliness.

Audrey continued. 'We don't play games around here but, as Liz has mentioned, we can't force you to talk so we'll have to yield to a certain degree – for now at least.'

Johnny tried but couldn't get comfortable. He stared at Audrey's name plaque on her desk.

She explained what she had in mind. Johnny imagined it'd be like a police cell. But he'd already considered that a better option than the streets. Things seemed to be looking up especially as he had Sundays with Liz and Graham to look forward to.

'So,' Audrey said pulling the top off a pen and shuffling papers, 'until we find out your real name we're creating a temporary ID for you. We'll keep the name Johnny seeing as you're so set on it; though it sounds more like a nickname. Your new surname will be Smith, okay?'

'Smith?' Johnny couldn't keep the distain out his voice.

'Yes.'

'Why Smith?'

'It's popular and solid.'

'I'm Johnny _Won_.'

' _One_ , like the number; what kind of a name is that?'

'Not like the number; like winning.'

'It's ridiculous; unheard of.'

Looking at her name plaque he said, 'Well your surname's Starns; I've never heard of that. But it's okay isn't it?'

'The Starns go back a long way and there's plenty out there if you look.' When Johnny said nothing she said, 'I suppose you're right. It doesn't really matter but don't complain to me when people tease you about it. It might be okay if a judge approves it. Now then, date of birth?'

'Twenty-first of April 1960,' he said without thinking.'

'Is that real or made up?'

'Made up,' he said lying.

'That would make you fourteen. That is your real age isn't it?'

'Yes.'

'What's your real date of birth?'

'Fourteenth,' he said thinking of anything.

'Of?'

'Of April.'

'Wasn't so difficult was it?' She wrote it down. 'Did you pass your eleven plus?'

He shook his head.

'Favourite subjects?'

'Music.'

'And?'

He had to think. 'I like English but I'm rubbish at it. I'm good at metalwork though.'

'Right that'll do.' She sent him back to the waiting room.

Ages later she appeared. 'Have you got everything?'

He patted his coat and the bag Liz had bought him.

'Can I have a second Audrey?' Liz said appearing from another door.

'Yes.'

'I meant with Johnny,' she said when Audrey didn't move.

She rolled her eyes. 'I'll be outside.'

With her gone Liz said, 'D'you even know where you're going?' When he shook his head she said. 'She's taking you to a house in Hither Green.'

'Where's that?'

'Not far from here or my house. You'll be okay there if you take care and watch your back. Be nice to everyone; don't get in any fights d'you hear me?'

He nodded.

'Okay. Don't keep Audrey waiting. Give me a hug.'

When he headed for the door she called after him. 'Promise me you'll come for Sunday lunch at noon.'

He promised.

Out in the sunshine away from the building's gloom he found Audrey, predictably impatient.

They rode in her Austin 1100 and, as Liz had described soon arrived at Wasdale Street, Hither Green.

He dawdled after Audrey who marched up a long path to the front door of a large Victorian house.

_So much for the Victorian times,_ Johnny thought.

Audrey knocked and a man who couldn't have been older than thirty opened the door.

'Come on,' Audrey said rushing Johnny along, 'meet your carer. This is Michael Heth.'

Johnny shook hands with the lanky brown haired man.

'This is Johnny Won, Audrey said rolling her eyes.

'Johnny Won,' Michael said, 'that's a good name; not come across any Wons before.'

He seemed nice. 'Thank you Mr Heth. I've never met any Heth's either.'

'Call me Mike. Is that everything?'

He nodded.

Mike turned to Audrey. 'Have you got his documents?'

Audrey handed over some paper and said she'd better get going.

Once inside Mike said, 'Bet you're glad to see that back of her?'

Johnny smiled.

'You had lunch?'

'No.'

'Let's have some soup, then I'll show you round.'

Mike showed him a dining room with two eight-seater tables. Whilst Johnny spooned soup, Mike read the notes Audrey had written.

'History unknown. Fair enough.' He raised an eyebrow. 'Highly practiced in martial arts.'

'I won't be if I don't get back to clubs soon.'

Mike explained he'd be able to train on grants.

'I must warm you though Johnny. Don't upset people in here. If they think they can't beat you in a fair fight they'll get you in your sleep. We receive funding for all sorts of characters. We strive for harmony but given some people's history we don't always get it.'

Johnny nodded. He guessed as much.

'Good lad. There are four dorms upstairs two for boys, two for girls. Each dorm sleeps four and we're almost always full.'

A woman around Mike's age wearing jeans and a tight T-shirt joined them. Seeing her smile and soft blonde hair Johnny knew he'd be okay.

Mike chuckled. 'This is my wife Helga.'

'You're the new boy?' she asked in a foreign accent.

'Johnny Won,' Mike said.

## Oklahoma, OK: Wednesday 06th June 1984

When the USed bus pulled into Oklahoma, Johnny couldn't believe Dane had arranged simultaneous radio interviews.

But Dane had done a good job and Stu realised that over the past two days Dane had been doing well.

'Christine you go with Stu,' Dane said. 'Johnny you take Mazz.'

That made sense but it gave the lads a problem.

Stu and Johnny looked at each other understanding the logic of boy/girl combinations. But the plan to ring Zora in Kansas before she left the office without the girls knowing had now been thwarted.

'There's no way round it,' Johnny said privately to Stu.

'What about Mazz?'

'I'll just have to tell her.'

'Before you speak to the PI?'

'After, if I can.'

Just before 4:30pm Mazz led the way into Northeast 23rd Street's baking sunshine. The radio interview had gone well.

She mopped her brow. 'Why d'you tell them to wait twenty minutes before sending us a taxi; isn't it time for soundcheck?'

Johnny shielded his eyes straining to spot a payphone in either direction. He asked a pedestrian who pointed into the sun.

'Three hundred yards sir.'

'Come on Mazz I'll explain on the way.'

Three hundred yards later and to Mazz's frustration Johnny had explained virtually nothing.

Told to wait out of earshot she hoped for everyone's sake that Johnny's call would be whatever he needed to hear.

A few minutes later he stood by her side.

'What's up?' she asked linking his arm.

'Bad, bad news I'm afraid.'

When Johnny filled her in on what had happened the previous weekend she felt the blood drain from her face. She shivered despite Oklahoma's dry heat.

Johnny explained how Linda had helped and his rumble with Benedict Beatty. 'I'm sorry so sorry babe.'

'Don't be. I'm not mad. I know you were trying to do the best thing for us all like you always do.'

'I know but—'

'It's okay.' They'd stopped walking. She looked him in the face. 'As long as we're together gigging and recording that's enough. If we have to pay Linda back bit by bit that's fine by me.'

Johnny's heart went out to the eighteen year old bass player. He couldn't have wished for a better reaction but that just made him want to put the situation right all the more. He didn't dare tell her about the uncertainty Vanquar hung over them.

'So what happened, on the call?' Mazz asked eventually.

'Zora couldn't tell me who the bastards are. The ID in the wallet was forged. Zora had apparently guessed but checked anyway. My pocket rubbed the wallet clean of all but my fingerprints.'

'What about the registration plate?'

'Fake too. It was for a Plymouth that got scrapped months ago.'

'I'm sorry Johnny. Did she check for stolen cars?'

'Yep. Apparently a Lincoln Continental was hoisted that morning from an office car park in Lawrence. Believe it or not it was returned at some point the same day. Some poor sap came back to find his car had a smashed steering column.'

'Could it be the same car?'

'Possibly, but the cops don't know who took it.'

* * *

Johnny waited until after the night's show before separating the band members from crew and management. Whilst crew and management hit bars the musicians sat aboard their tour bus in near darkness.

Johnny explained how he'd lost the money before telling them his motivation for gambling such a large amount.

Christine reacted differently from anyone else. She had no problem believing that Johnny had been victimised.

She wanted blood. 'I'll be dammed if I'm gonna let these parasites get away with this.'

But nobody could think how to catch the unknown thieves and the group soon found itself in a dead-end given how few people who knew about the money in the account

'What's this PI of yours doing with the guy's wallet?' Christine asked.

'She's posting it to Linda,' Johnny said.

Of all the news Mazz had heard that day the idea that Vanquar might potentially drop them after, and in spite of all their hard work, took her most by surprise.

As Johnny talked she clung to Stu's arm struggling to swallow. The news that Linda's business might be in trouble made her feel worse still as her mind struggled to believe Dane could be responsible.

## Sunday 12th May – Sunday 09th June 1974

Though the bunk bed he'd been shown would be his for the foreseeable future Johnny didn't take it for granted and nicknamed the house _the cover,_ never imagining it'd feel like any more than somewhere to shelter him from the elements _._

On day two Mike and Helga took him to the local comprehensive school after which Helga blew the measly budget they'd been provided on school uniform and against her judgement a martial arts Gi.

By the next weekend he'd found a youth club where he could train in judo and Wado-Ryu, a variation of karate similar to the Shotokan he'd studied previously. He soon found another club that trained his practiced kung fu: Wing Chung.

The following weekend he approached, with only slightly less trepidation, what he'd thought must be a boxing club.

This time above a vehicle repair shop it, like Gary's, had a ring, exercise area and bags hanging from the ceiling. He watched two older lads in the ring approach one another but instead of throwing jabs both engaged in attacking kicks.

Amazed Johnny looked round the club expecting someone to call them on rule breaking.

Instead a tall black man approached him and with a broad grin said, 'Welcome to Meuxng Ti newcomer. My name is Keith.'

Feeling small Johnny introduced himself mirroring the athlete's bow.

'Johnny, would you like to learn this honourable art?'

The violence of the sport made him think twice but told him he would.

'Do you even know what you see?'

He shook his head.

'Muay Thai, Thai boxing,' he said in a European accent but velvet in tones. 'Do you have what it takes?'

'I've boxing experience.'

'Ah, Queensberry.'

Johnny shrugged.

'For Muay Thai you must rewire your brain. Allow me to demonstrate.'

He squared up and Johnny pulled together preparing for the worst. Keith stepped like a boxer. Johnny kept his guard high countering his movements.

'Good. Your feet work well. But what when I do this?' Keith said throwing a fast but feather-light kick to Johnny's left thigh.

Defensive instinct caused his left hand to drop, protecting the leg.

'Boom!' Keith bellowed. 'In this gym you're dead.'

Johnny cursed himself. He's defence had exposed his jaw.

The pair relaxed and Keith said, 'Come to my gym three times a week and I'll teach you all you need to defend against all manner of demons.'

Johnny agreed at once but with no budget worried how he'd get the gloves and shin guards he'd need.

* * *

On _free_ school meals and with no pocket money Johnny deliberated before deciding to take the only available action that could lead to him acquiring the necessary training gear. A tour of two separate sports shops landed him all he needed.

If anyone at the cover should ask how he'd come about the stuff, he'd be ready with the previous Saturday's football scores and a story of how he'd won enough money by predicting results in a bet.

* * *

In a matter of weeks he'd gone from nothing to almost all he could hope for.

Now he wanted for just one thing.

Unlike boxing gloves he couldn't conceal a guitar in his bag; not that he wanted to steal one anyway.

Under the cover Johnny liked Mike and Helga but had little in common with the home's kids. Just like his previous life martial arts happily kept him out the house. He spent minimal time on homework and maximum in youth centres and at Keith's _Meuxng Ti_ gym.

By the time his Muay Thai lessons started Johnny had often done forty-five minutes of bag work and over the weeks ended up telling Keith as much about his day as Liz and Graham about his week.

But no amount of martial arts practice would distract his yearning for a guitar. He spent Sunday afternoons with Graham who'd show him new riffs. He'd learn them but without a guitar couldn't master them or bring Graham anything new. Worse still he could sense his fingers progressively falling further out of practice.

* * *

On the second Sunday in June he visited Liz and Graham. Before anyone could object he mowed the lawn not wishing their kindness to go unreciprocated.

Before lunch he stood on the cut grass taking Graham through kung fu sequences.

Graham said, 'I've got something for you. I don't want any thanks because it's maybe as much a curse as a blessing.'

Frustratingly, Liz made them wait until after lunch before Johnny could find out what Graham might have for him.

Diana called round for Samantha and the pair left claiming they didn't wish to hear Graham and Johnny's awful progressive rock.

'I've tried educating her but she's too struck by Leo Sayer,' Graham said.

'He's got some okay songs,' Johnny said.

'Easy now, don't make me take your gift back. If you give Liz a quick hand at the sink I'll sort it out.'

Soon Johnny arrived in the lounge.

Graham reached behind the settee and pulled out an awful looking electric guitar. 'Okay mate, if you want it, it's yours.'

'Wow,' Johnny said taking it from him. He strummed a barred D chord which sounded barely in tune. 'This is great.'

'I wouldn't bother,' Graham said when he took it to the piano. 'That's as in tune as I could get it.'

'Oh,' Johnny said plucking each open string hearing their strained relationships.

'Told you it might be a curse.'

'Does it work through an amp?'

'Afraid not.'

Still Johnny couldn't believe his luck. 'It's just great to have something to practice on. Can we try fixing it?'

With tools they tightened the instrument's truss rod and lowered the action.

'I see the problem,' Johnny said looking down the neck of the instrument. 'It's slightly warped.'

Graham had a look. 'And then some, it's very warped.'

The pair tightened and slackened screws in the bridge's saddles lengthening or shortening strings and, using the piano for reference, punished the ailing instrument towards acceptability.

'I don't think I'd stand on any stage and play this,' Graham said.

'No, but I can get some serious practice done now.' He held the instrument before him and felt hope radiating from its dirty wood-brown body. 'Fancy a peek at the electrics?'

'Okay.'

Flipping the guitar over they unscrewed the back plate and examined every wire until with a magnifying glass Johnny identified that the instrument's solitary pickup had broken.

'Well that's that I guess,' Graham said.

'I'm still delighted with it.'

'Are you sure?'

'Graham, you've no idea.'

## Friday 28th June 1974

Complete with the soft case Graham had given him, Johnny had taken his guitar back to the cover where at bedtime he kept it close at hand. Next morning he readied himself for school but not wanting to risk leaving the instrument scooped it up with his school bag.

As the new boy, fitting in with the crowd would never have been easy. But, since Frank's demise school seemed even less relevant and Johnny deliberately distanced himself from other kids.

He'd sneak off at break and lunchtimes to practice away from the triviality of childish conversations.

In corridors and lessons the same faces cropped up. Johnny became as aware as anyone of the hushed insults his social abstinence attracted.

Still, he didn't want to change for their sake. He liked Liz and Graham because they talked about music. He got on with people his own age at the youth clubs because they engaged in martial arts. He enjoyed the wisdom of Keith's calming dialogue when he arrived early at Meuxng Ti and he would have enjoyed talking to Helga at the cover if he could ever think of anything to say to her.

He found school and especially his music teacher, Mrs Brown who conducted music lessons in the most old-fashioned method, uninspiring. Unlike his old school this one didn't cater for rock bands or anything musical more contemporary than Glen Miller.

He recognised how odd he must look carrying a guitar nobody got to hear. That didn't stop him loathing the looks other kids gave him.

Their dislike of him caused him to dislike them also and his alienation caused him to withdraw even more.

When teachers asked pupils to pair up, kids would tut or complain loudly if left with Johnny. Anyone who considered talking to him wouldn't risk their own reputations.

On Fridays, Johnny had PE. When he'd first arrived at the school they'd played football. After two weeks Johnny found himself last to be picked and less involved than he had been in rugby at his previous school.

But on this early summer week the PE teacher had taken them to the track where Johnny caused disdainful but flabbergasted raised eyebrows when he ended up being the second fastest sprinter.

Back in the changing rooms the well-developed hard-knocks dropped their shorts and brazenly headed for the showers.

Despite being sufficiently developed Johnny always hung back. He'd rush into the showers, arms around his body, and scrub leaning his right side against the tiles before hurrying back to drag a shirt over un-towelled skin.

Break followed PE. On this fine day most of the bigger lads disappeared after the mandatory, wet-towel-bare-backside-whip-cracking of wimpier boys had past. But for Johnny the day's torment hadn't yet begun.

The joker and reputed third toughest in Johnny's class, a lad known as Tooly on account of his surname Toulson, decided to stick around and find out what Johnny's guitar bag hid.

Tooly grabbed the guitar bag and ran out the door before Johnny had his trousers past his knees.

Yelling, Johnny fastened his trousers and stamping his feet into his shoes ran out the door after him. Looking around he had to guess which way to turn.

Heading for the upper yard he found Tooly clambering onto a chest-high wall.

Johnny held his breath. The other side towered over the lower yard.

The now un-bagged instrument bumped as Tooly stood pretending to play it whilst singing Elvis' _Hound Dog._

Johnny crept forwards to avoid alarming him. Nevertheless Tooly rushed his performance clearly loving the attention from the gathered few. He finished by pulling an Elvis pose and spinning round.

Wobbling he lost his footing and jumped, not into the upper yard, but all the way down into the lower one.

Johnny dashed forwards. Over the wall he saw his guitar clatter as Tooly landed and summersaulted. Tooly found his feet, whooped and leaving the guitar ran to safety.

Frantic, Johnny leapt over the wall and landed by his guitar having already seen the neck snap from the body. Squatting he touched the splintered wood where the body's shoulder had consequently torn. Through teary eyes he couldn't see Tooly but that didn't matter.

Bereft, he carried the crippled instrument to the top yard and placed it in its discarded bag.

After collecting his things from the changing rooms he went directly to the cover. He held the terminally damaged instrument to his body and let his body close down.

Like the day Frank had died his body felt again like clay drying under a cold sun.

By lunch time he hadn't moved. Daring himself to die where he lay, his heart once again refused. He searched for wisdom but could only sense his mother repeating, _Go to Meuxng Ti._

He didn't want to go anywhere but eventually succumbed to the instruction. Swinging his feet off the bed his numb body revitalised.

'What are you doing home?'

Johnny opened his eyes and saw Helga. He told her what had happened. She gave him lunch before dragging him to the school's headmaster who listened and said he'd discipline Toulson. But, he said he wouldn't be able to force the issue as Johnny had no reason to have the guitar on site and therefore bringing it had been at his own risk. Try as she might Helga saw no way of arguing around the resolute headmaster.

Johnny arrived for the science lesson ten minutes before the end annoying the teacher who demanded to know the reason for his lateness.

Staring, Johnny pictured kicking the bald-headed teacher's kneecaps off. Without breaking stare he said, 'Tooly, the headmaster wants to see you, right now.'

He kept his eyes on the teacher whilst the sound of metal legs scraping on a wooden floor killed the silence that had befallen the class. He could almost feel the heat from Tooly's glower as the joker left the classroom.

* * *

Johnny hadn't said another word but headed to Meuxng Ti so early he found it locked.

Twenty minutes passed before Keith turned up, bag on shoulder and broad smile.

'I never imagined you to be this keen when we first met,' the black Dutchman said.

Johnny felt better for seeing him but couldn't pretend to be happy.

'You had a bad day Johnny Won?'

He nodded.

'I'll listen if you help clean.'

Inside Keith prepared a bucket of soapy water and sat down leaving Johnny to do the hard work. 'So, what's up?'

Johnny sloshed water onto the rubber exercise flooring. 'Bullies.'

Keith nodded as if he'd predicted as much. 'You're in the right place.'

Johnny shook his head. 'Beating them up won't get my guitar back.'

'Guitar?'

Johnny told him everything.

'This is only the end if you decide it's the end. Half the people in this gym seek to become tough; something they know they're currently not. Being bullied gives them motivation.'

Johnny considered how the bullying he'd endured growing up had been both ignition and fuel to keep training.

'But Muay Thai won't change people's respect for me,' he said. 'Even if I fight, more fights will follow. I saw it at my last school; people queuing to prove who's hardest.'

Keith waved a dismissive hand. 'First understand bullies have societal purpose. Humans are not so different from dogs; pack animals living and hunting in teams. All teams require leadership. All dogs instinctively strive for dominance.'

Johnny stopped mopping and flashed a quizzical look.

'It's how the pack survives. All dogs fight finding rank until the strongest, best suited wins the leadership position.'

'Whether they want it or not?' Johnny said scrubbing the floor.

'Correct. Most of them probably don't want it. Lesser dogs give up after defeat but enjoy happier less stressful lives ironically.'

'So how's this meant to help me?'

'Like dogs, we too have an innate desire for greatness. We usually call it ambition.'

'Smashing someone's guitar doesn't strike me as ambition.'

'That he broke it was an accident. But humans are complex. Our leaders assign roles with responsibilities according to the skills and strengths of individual members.'

'Okay.'

'But what if the leader makes a mistake and hands the job of guarding the camp to someone incompetent?'

Johnny thought. 'They might foul it up.'

'Which could put everyone in jeopardy.'

'So society needs to know who's strong.'

'Correct, and for that we have bullies. Young dogs challenge the top dog's position in order to step forward should it no longer be the strongest. Does this Tooly lad like aggravating teachers?'

'Kinda, I suppose.'

Keith nodded thoughtfully. 'Unlike dogs, human society doesn't only challenge leaders. It has members who instinctively seek to expose weakness in others. Mostly unconsciously they'll try bullying everyone they meet. Stronger group members won't yield so the bully moves on. But, when they spot weakness in others they focus their attention highlighting it to the whole group. That way the weak won't be given roles of responsibility. Does this make sense?'

'I think so,' Johnny said now sweeping the ring. 'You're suggesting Tooly thinks I'm weak and he's got the whole class believing him.'

'He's only following his instinct.'

'But I'm not weak.'

'He wouldn't last five seconds in that ring with you would he?'

'True, but I don't feel battering him's the answer.'

'You show maturity Johnny Won. But you must do something because if you accept this lad's appraisal, your self-image changes; a hard task to reverse. At your impressionable age you mustn't let people like him define you.'

Johnny's mind turned cogs.

What Keith said seemed right. 'Ranking low doesn't make for a happier life like with dogs.'

'No, and worse still the humiliation causes victims' libidos to drop which affects their body language and stature.'

'What?' Johnny turned and wrinkled his nose in disbelief.

'I mean, members of the opposite sex won't fancy them. The likelihood of victims reproducing reduces so their genes get phased out. That way the strong genes develop and the species thrives.'

'Crikey.'

'Indeed. Bullied teenagers become ineffective adults and may as well be infertile to boot.'

'So, are you suggesting I am weak?'

'This lad must have identified an area of weakness. I know you're a strong fighter and your guitar playing may be strong too but you have been made an example of.'

'What should I do?'

'Specifically, I don't know. Figuratively you do the same thing as weightlifters recognising weak muscle groups. In addition to training the strong muscles they aim to power up the weaker ones.'

'Kinda scary.'

'That's the whole point. Facing fears or weaknesses is always scary. Getting through that fear is what makes us strong; makes bullies think twice.'

'What you're saying goes against what the teachers say.'

'You mean when a teacher tells you to just ignore bullies?'

'Yeah.'

'Ignoring bullies is unbelievably bad advice given by fools. Don't listen to fool's advice. Bullies won't give up unless they can be convinced that what they thought was weakness wasn't. And never believe fools who say bullies are just cowards. Face them but don't underestimate them; they might be the younger dogs wanting to take over the pack.'

'I believe that,' Johnny said thinking of the thugs at his previous school.

'Most fools who advise ignoring bullies have either never had to face them or are too afraid to get involved.

'Sounds like you don't have much time for teachers.'

Keith laughed. 'You forget. I am a teacher, here at least. I don't have time for foolish teaching is all.'

'I'm still not sure what to do.'

'You'll think of something but you must do this yourself. There's no point complaining to the teachers because at best they'll discipline the bullies. But that just sooths the symptoms. Only you can cure yourself of bullying.'

Again Johnny said, 'I hear what you're saying I just wish I knew what to do.'

'The answer will come by visualising your desired outcome. Keep asking yourself what needs to happen for that outcome to be realised. Whatever you think of will most certainly be a challenge. You have to recognise your own truth, ask, can you see the challenge through?'

After a few minutes remembering his upbringing Johnny put the broom away. 'I'm confused, I see now how important bullies can be but I can't see that it's right to be cruel to young kids who haven't developed or husbands who beat up their wives.'

'Don't for a minute confuse social bullying with sickness. A man who promises to love his wife until death but then causes her deliberate pain needs to recognise his sickness and get help. If you know anyone like that bring them down here and we'll help them.'

* * *

After the session Johnny went back to the cover and lay in bed thinking. As per Keith's advice he took stock searching for rightful outcomes. Though he hated his social standing he could tolerate it.

But not having a guitar tortured him and the very idea of visiting Liz and Graham without his guitar tortured him more. He couldn't bear to imagine admitting he'd lost the guitar after Liz and Graham's kindness. Equally he had no idea how he'd get through the summer holidays without a guitar. Though he'd been told by the school his guitar wouldn't be replaced he knew the desired outcome.

Relaxing in the darkness he connected with his mother's guidance. She reiterated Iftekhar's words. He had a tiger's heart; it thumped as the rest of his body dried like clay. He knew what must be done.

## Friday 08th June 1984

Five hours after leaving Amarillo the band pulled into Santa Fe with singed nerves and sweaty dust-ruined hair. Only Dane rose above the heat and zeitgeist of irritation. His chubby body peeled out his seat, his tightly curled hair looking no worse given its natural frizziness.

'I really don't know what's got into you guys lately,' he said addressing the grumpy faces.

Christine exchanged glances with Johnny still clueless as to whether Dane could be involved or not.

Apart from possibly Dane, Christine considered, the notion of tracing who'd ripped them off had evaporated like everything else in New Mexico's arid climate. Of course, if Dane had been party to the scam he'd be the key to recovering the money.

But as she listened to the day's schedule, which initially proposed checking into the motel for cold showers, she discovered she wished Dane innocent.

Unlike the lads she'd noticed he seemed to be finding his feet and making better decisions. She figured he surely wouldn't work so hard for a doomed band. Surely he'd aim to wrap things up and get off the road.

* * *

First to shower Christine and Mazz dressed in cut-off jeans and T-shirts crossed the road to wait for the lads in a quite diner.

They sat at a table away from the few truckers lazing around.

'I don't think Dane's part of the scam,' Christine said.

Mazz sipped her first lemonade having also noticed the manager's improvement. 'I never thought he was. The lads are making too big a deal of uncertain details.'

'They're not inconsequential. Whoever ripped Johnny off knew our tour schedule,' Christine said.

'So?'

'You can understand his thinking.'

'But anyone could get our schedule. They wouldn't need Dane.'

'And that they ripped him for the same amount as our GMD advance?'

'I know,' Mazz sighed. 'But I just think we owe Linda a mountain of cash and if we don't find a way to get it back, she might go bust and then where will we be?'

Downing her first, Christine ordered a second lemonade. 'Maybe we should leave the conspiracy to the lads and we'll concentrate on raising ten-thousand dollars.'

'That's what I'm thinking.'

'Any ideas?'

Mazz looked around. 'There's a guy over there. You reckon you could charge him ten K?'

Looking round Christine saw a sleepy trucker in a Broncos cap. 'He doesn't look good for ten dollars let alone ten-thousand.'

'Okay, so I haven't thought of anything yet.'

'But I agree Mazz, Johnny's wasting energy hating Dane.'

'It would help if we knew he was innocent.'

'Maybe we should interrogate him,' Christine said.

'And then convince Johnny to give him the benefit of the doubt?'

'Exactly.'

Mazz raised an eyebrow. 'How?'

'D'you remember the guitar Johnny had when we me the boys?'

'Yeah, it was like the one he's got now only it wasn't awesome.'

'Right. D'you hear the story of how he got it?'

## Monday 01st July 1974

Johnny had almost cancelled his Sunday visit to Liz's but decided seeing Graham would shame him into facing his bully.

Despite attending school on Monday with no guitar or sympathy from classmates Johnny, ironically found Tooly complaining about having being sent to the headmaster.

Ignoring him and his hard-knock friends, Max and Marbles, Johnny waited until after school where he disappeared into the exodus of kids but followed Tooly right to his front door.

Rather than confront him at that moment Johnny retreated to the cover for a meal he had little appetite for.

After that he packed for judo and headed back out via Tooly's house. Countering his fear he jogged directly past a parked work van baring the family name and hammered on the front door.

'Go away we're having tea,' a man's muffled voice said from inside.

A firmer knock caused a grumble before the door opened.

A tubby man dressed in work overalls filled the gap. 'He's having his tea.'

'I'm very sorry to disturb you Mr Toulson,' Johnny said despite his intention of causing as much inconvenience as necessary, 'there's a problem that needs sorting.'

'Is that right?' the man's voice slowed.

'Afraid so. Your son has done irreparable damage to my guitar. It needs replacing.'

'Come here a sec Kenneth.'

Already positioned in the corridor Tooly said, 'He's lying.'

'D'you hear that?' the man said glaring. 'You're lying. Now clear off before I call the police.'

The door slammed in Johnny's face. Having expected as much Johnny knocked again. And again.

The door swung open revealing Mr Toulson's now purpling complexion. 'D'you want me to call the police?'

'Yes,' Johnny lied. 'Kenneth's already been to the headmaster.'

The angry father turned to face the seething Tooly.

'Alight,' he said. 'It was an accident. Honest. It probably didn't work anyway; it was a rubbish brown thing. '

'I agree it didn't look much but it worked well enough.' A minor lie.

'Well you've come to the wrong place. My son says it was an accident and the headmaster's dealt with it. Case closed.'

The door slammed in Johnny's face again.

This time he left them to it. He looked at the front window but didn't acknowledge the lady or little girl looking on.

He headed off to Judo. That he'd upset the family would do for starters.

## Tuesday 2nd July 1974

The next day at school Tooly's contempt grew. Johnny neither saw this as good or bad. He guessed Tooly hadn't told Max or Marbles about his visit. But, if the Toulson's thought they achieved an easy victory they'd be in for surprise when he turned up at their house that night.

That evening Johnny packed his bag for Thai boxing along with broken guitar. Leaving the cover he made the detour and banged on the Toulson's door. Waiting he took his broken guitar from its bag.

Nobody answered.

He knocked again.

And every minute until finally the door opened and Mr Toulson stood dabbing his mouth with a napkin. 'I didn't think you'd mind waiting whilst I finished my meal.'

'Not as long as you don't mind my knocking on your door all night,' Johnny said watching the smugness vanish from his expression. 'I thought seeing the damage to the guitar might help. Pointing he said, 'See how the body's split from the impact?' he said before Mr Toulson could speak.

'Why don't you just let me batter him?' Tooly said from behind.

'Let's have no fighting,' the mother called from somewhere.

'Well said Mrs Toulson,' Johnny shouted into the house.

No response.

Mr Toulson said, 'Kenneth tells me your just some orphan kid living in a hostel.'

'So what?' Johnny said startled.

'So, what's a kid like you doing with a guitar anyway?'

'Practicing,' Johnny felt his temper awakening. 'That guitar's virtually the only thing I own. Now you can see it's just a cheap old thing you can see it won't cost much to replace. Do that, and I'll leave you alone.'

'You're so dead at school,' Tooly said.

'I doubt it,' Johnny said. 'The teachers have seen you bullying me.'

Mr Toulson said, 'Look, I'm not paying for the repair of that piece of crap nor its replacement. I'm closing the door and if you knock on it I'm calling the police and they won't make me pay either.'

The door closed and Johnny headed off for the gym. Glancing back he saw two female faces in the front room window.

## Wednesday 03rd July 1974

The next day Tooly got physical, shoulder barging Johnny after registration.

Johnny guessed things must be getting serious at home. Keith had told Johnny the previous night to exercise persistence. If they called the police he'd just have to think of something else.

At the front of his double maths lesson Johnny could feel hatred emanating from Tooly, Max and Marbles.

Whilst Mrs Millican chalked the blackboard Pamela, the poor soul who'd been left sitting next to Johnny, turned in her seat accepting something. She handed him a folded note with his name on it. He opened it to see the words, _You're dead._

He showed it to Pam who didn't respond. Then, he closed his books, put them in his bag and stood.

'Excuse me,' Mrs Millican said when he opened the door.

He stopped, handed her the note and wordlessly left her classroom. The moment he crossed the threshold he sprinted down the corridor and into the yard. He kept running until he'd ducked into a street beyond the school's perimeter.

Zigzagging through streets he wandered deciding what to do next. He sat on a garden wall. When he'd received the note he'd first thought to challenge Tooly right there.

Something had stopped him and he realised if he'd fought he'd have lost all chance of getting anything from the Toulsons. Suddenly Johnny knew what to do.

* * *

At the Toulson's front door by their empty drive he took a deep breath hearing the sound of vacuuming inside. When it stopped he knocked a gentle rhythm.

The door opened and Johnny looked Mrs Toulson up and down. She had shower-wet hair and a pink dressing gown on looking more portly than he would have guessed having only seen her face in the window previously.

'Oh my days,' she cried. 'Didn't you hear what my husband said about the police?'

'My apologies but I really don't care whether you call the police. That guitar was all I had.'

Mrs Toulson stood routed to the spot in her slippers. 'Why aren't you in school?'

'Your son threatened to kill me. I didn't fancy hanging around for that.'

She rolled her eyes and said, 'Right, stay there.'

She turned away.

'Where are you going?'

'I'll be right back,' she said slamming the door.

He sat but after time passed he rose wondering whether to knock again. He held his hand to the door but heard her approaching.

Mrs Toulson opened the door. 'Come in. And don't touch anything.'

Johnny followed the woman who'd dressed in blouse and denim skirt too tight for her thighs. In the hall she flicked through the Yellow Pages.

'Mrs Toulson I really don't mean to cause you any trouble.'

'But you are. And I want this ended. Understand?'

'I'm sure that's what we all want.'

She looked in her purse. 'I'm not giving you money just to see you back a week later wanting more.'

'I wouldn't—'

'We'll do this properly. Once and for all.' She flicked through the Yellow Pages and dialled a number. 'Hello, can you tell me, how much your cheapest guitar—'

'Electric,' Johnny cut in.

'... Electric guitar is?' _Pause,_ 'You've nothing cheaper?' _Pause,_ 'Okay, I might see you soon.'

She huffed and Johnny waited whilst she repeated the phone call to different shops.

'Come on,' she said grabbing her purse and slipping her shoes on. He followed her to a street parked Mini.

She unlocked the passenger side first. Getting in Johnny reached across unlocking the door for her.

Tapping his knee he moved so she could search under his seat for the A-Z street map.

She started the car and drove none too slowly saying, 'I hope you appreciate this. We're not made of money.'

Johnny knew as much having seen the inside of their house. 'I don't care how it looks. Just the cheapest working electric will do. Just something to practice with.'

She glanced at him. 'Good lad.'

After parking Mrs Toulson barged into a customer-less music shop; Johnny on her heels.

'I phoned a few minutes ago,' she said.

Johnny felt weak at the knees seeing rows of acoustic and electric guitars. He smelt the smell of... he didn't know what; many guitars he guessed.

'There's a couple that might be of interest to you,' the man said in an American accent.

'Whichever's cheapest,' Mrs Toulson said.

Johnny starred up at a wall mounted blue Fender Stratocaster with brass fittings.

'Oh she's a beauty,' the man said. 'Maybe next time. Come and see these two.'

Johnny went to the man who invited him to sit at a stool where he handed him a sparsely styled instrument. 'You been playing long?'

'About three years,' Johnny said feeling the neck and checking the intonation at the twelfth fret.

'It shouldn't be too bad. The action's a little high though.'

Johnny nodded enjoying the friendly accent and strummed a clean sounding chord. The American asked, 'Is this your first electric?'

'Third.'

'Third?' the American said shooting Mrs Toulson a look. Johnny played the, _get the girl piece,_ Mr Evans had taught him and before he knew it his fingers had warmed and he played half his repertoire.

'Your son's technique is impressive.' The American faced Mrs Toulson, 'I can't remember the last time I saw someone his age play so well.'

Mrs Toulson rolled her eyes. 'Can we get on with it please?'

'I appreciate money's tight but if you could just stretch a little further—'

'Well I can't, he's not my son, he's a bloody nuisance.'

The American looked at Johnny looking back with big eyes.

'I don't mean to be,' he said. 'Her son broke my old one. I just want something to practice on.'

The American turned away.

Johnny looked at the instrument he'd been playing. He didn't get the familiar feeling of hope he'd expected.

'Try this one,' the American said returning with a blue Squire Stratocaster. 'The neck pickup needs replacing but it should feel better. If you agree you can have it...' he faced Mrs Toulson, '... at no extra cost. Just remember me when you're buying strings. The name's Nate by the way.'

Johnny tried the guitar's middle and bridge pickups and could have cried. It looked as good as a Fender, felt lovely in his hands and sounded, to him right then, perfect. 'It's better than I could have hoped.'

'There you are young man,' the American said. 'If you scrape some pennies together we'll have a look at fixing that neck pickup too.'

When they left Mrs Toulson drove Johnny to the cover. 'I enjoyed listening to you play. It's good to know I've not wasted my husband's money.'

'Thank you.'

'But this is the end right? No more pestering.'

'I'll never let it out my sight. I'm extremely grateful to you.'

'Then we're even?'

Johnny opened the passenger door and lifted his Strat from the Mini's back seat. 'We're even. But, Kenneth thinks I'm weak.'

'I'm sure that's not true.'

'Well, like you, I just want to be left alone. If he can do that great; if not, I don't know but you should know I fight better than I play guitar.'

'I'll speak to him right after my husband.'

'Good luck with that Mrs Toulson,' Johnny said wishing her well.

He headed for the cover's door. Mrs Toulson called, 'Promise me you'll get back to school after lunch.'

'No deal. I'm playing guitar all day. I'll go back once you've spoken to Kenneth.'

Inside he slipped passed Helga and sat on his bunk to look at the instrument he'd won.

## Saturday 09th June 1984

The band reached Albuquerque.

Dane milled around Jefferson Starship's stage unaware of Johnny staring him down as a cobra would its prey.

Johnny's mind, a desert of ideas concluded nothing; nothing other than Dane knowing something about who'd stitched him up.

Putting his guitar on its stand he jogged over to where Dane stood alone.

'Hey, any news on Vanquar's reshuffle yet?'

Dane's head darted side to side as he held up silencing hands. 'Johnny, please moral's low enough.'

'Well?'

'Well what?'

'Have you heard anything?'

'No, shush. We won't know until the start of July.'

Johnny nodded searching his face for signs of nervousness but Dane looked no more so than usual. 'There's no gossip then?'

'Gossip? I'm not privy to the whispers that go on in Vanquar's corridors.'

Johnny couldn't believe it. 'You knew about the reshuffle.'

'That was common knowledge.'

'So you've not heard anything else?'

Dane's shoulders dropped. 'Nothing, I wish I'd never told you.'

Johnny let him go and returning to his corner of the stage picked his guitar off the stand.

Sitting on the edge of the stage he looked to it hoping for guidance but only finding feelings of loneliness as deep as he'd felt since secondary school. He glanced at the technicians.

Jack laughed at something Quinn said. Still feeling sure they couldn't know a thing his mind came back to Dane.

Quietly focusing on his guitar he reminded himself of the next album's money. He'd been ripped off at poker – struck by lightning. That had shaken his confidence but poker had been his first plan should Vanquar wish to drop them.

Blotting everything but the guitar from his mind he dared himself to return to the tables.

## Thursday 04th July 1974

Johnny weighed the risk of taking his new guitar to school. Not trusting the cover's inhabitants he decided to keep the instrument with him.

He stopped at the school gate observing his nervousness. Pressing his hand to his chest he felt his tiger heart beating and marched on.

But, if Mrs Millican had discovered who'd written the note in her class it hadn't dissuaded Tooly who, even before registration lashed him with barbed insults.

Wide-eyed Johnny gripped the guitar Tooly threatened to wrap round his head.

He struggled through the day feeling the class's scorn building like thunderclouds.

At the day's end Tooly mercifully vanished.

Joining the kids trekking towards the school gate, Johnny sensed crowds gathering by a nearby side street. He would have walked on but Max and Marbles found him.

'Alright Johnny,' Max said ushering him off the main street,' Tooly wants a quick word.'

'It's punching time,' Marbles shouted as Johnny saw Tooly standing on someone's garden wall.

Spinning, Johnny searched faces. He spied two female classmates in the front row.

'Take these,' he said thrusting guitar and bag towards the first girl.

'Get that scabby stuff away from me,' she said.

The next girl held her hands up. 'Don't look at me.'

His heart sank until...

'Hey Johnny.'

He wheeled round seeking the voice shouting over the swelling noise. His spirits soared. 'Shaun?'

'Of course. Your stuff's safe with me.'

'I've never seen you round here.'

'You either, but it's a big school,' Shaun said grinning. 'Aw, I can't wait to see you clobber this pillock.'

'Not this time sorry, I'm afraid.'

'What, why?'

'Don't want a reputation.'

'So what, you're gonna let him win?'

'We'll see. Back in a minute,' Johnny said turning.

'Hurry up,' Tooly shouted, 'some of us have homes to go to.'

'Right, and I know where yours is.'

Tooly's expression faltered but he redirected the doubt and charged. Not wanting to get hurt Johnny deflected the attack with judo realising his internalised combat experience would make losing somewhat difficult.

After instinctively dodging uncountable face shots he soon heard Tooly's breath, unaccustomed to adrenal overdose labouring.

Catching body blows Johnny fooled Tooly's supporters until another ragged assault saw Tooly tripped and clatter into the tarmac.

Pretending Tooly's attack hadn't been totally wasted Johnny staggered backwards but trampled someone's toe.

'Touch me again and I'll tear your head off.'

With Tooly still on the ground Johnny faced Marbles, the reputed second-hardest lad in his class. He looked into the curiously patterned eyes.

Unlike Tooly, Johnny buzzed on his adrenalin and ignoring Max and stepped so close to Marbles their noses brushed.

Clearly Marbles itched for an excuse to join the fight but an un-seeable uppercut rocketed between the two lads blitzing Marbles' jaw, crushing his tongue and throat.

'Not your fight, okay?'

'Okay,' Marbles gurgled plaintively.

Johnny retuned his attention to Tooly but heard Max ask what had happened and Marbles say he didn't know but would sit down.

Soon, back on the floor Johnny slowed his attacker's wearying kicks with defensive techniques before Tooly yelled, 'You had enough?'

'Like I asked for any of this.'

Tooly went to stamp Johnny's stomach having given up aiming for the head. Catching it Johnny let Tooly leave with his friends before getting to his feet.

Shaun arrived at his side. 'You alright?'

'Fine. Cheers for guarding my stuff.'

'I still don't get why you didn't batter him.'

Johnny straightened but didn't answer.

Shaun handed the guitar over. 'So, you're a guitarist?'

'Why, are you a musician?'

'Bass guitar.'

'You in a band?' Johnny asked feeling for non-existent injuries.

'Yeah, we rehearse at school after lessons.'

'I didn't know the school allowed anything like that?'

'There's a few amps in storage. They just let you get on with it. I'll keep an eye open for bands needing guitarists if you like.'

* * *

That evening Johnny left his guitar and bag next to the Toulson van and stood knocking on their door knowing they'd be sitting to eat.

Mrs Toulson came to the door. 'Oh my days what are you doing here? I thought we agreed—'

'The guitar's great. It's Kenneth I'm after.'

'Why?'

'You know why. He thinks I'm weak and now he's—'

'Get over it.'

Johnny shook his head. 'That was your agreement, not mine. He ambushed me in front of half the school. I let him save face and that I'm here instead of trouncing him in front of his crowd is more than he deserves.'

She turned to her son standing behind her, 'Is this true?'

'He needed a hiding. He stole from us,' Tooly said in protest.

'Didn't I tell you to leave him alone?'

'Well I would've if you hadn't allowed him to rob us.'

'He's right,' Mr Toulson said accusingly. 'I got this. Sit down love.'

'I'll do no such thing.' Jabbing a finger she said, 'I won't allow fighting.'

'Leave it.' Mr Toulson glared stunning his wife who marched towards the stairs.

'Better it happens now than school,' Johnny called after her.

Mr Toulson turned to his son. 'I'm not proud of you for fighting.'

'Sorry Dad.'

Johnny sighed and looked up seeing Tooly's mum and sister at a bedroom window. He waved.

'Doesn't matter now,' Mr Toulson continued. 'Did you beat this lad fair and square?'

'Yeah.'

'You sure, because he seems to think differently?'

'Well, I think so, everyone saw me.'

'Then you better get out there and properly convince him.'

Hearing this Johnny positioned himself at the lawn's far corner where he could keep an eye on the dad should he be unable to allow his son's fate to unravel naturally.

Tooly stepped onto the front lawn.

'Go get him son. His overconfidence is his weaknesses.'

When Tooly squared up with sulky shoulders Johnny repositioned himself should Tooly try running back indoors.

'Give me everything you've got and remember there's no shame in tapping out.'

'What d'you mean?' Tooly's voice quivered.

'Just tap the floor when you've had enough.'

'Would you shut up?' Mr Toulson bellowed.

'Yeah,' Tooly said lunging with flailing fists.

Johnny used kung fu; the defensive strike causing as much pain as his simultaneous attacking one.

Tooly rubbed both chest and bicep.

When Tooly charged again Johnny performed a judo throw and pinned him to the lawn. Locking Tooly's arm Johnny pressed his face into the grass and said, 'Just so as you know, it's not an accident.'

'What's not?' Tooly said getting to his feet when Johnny released him.

He didn't answer. If he didn't act fast Tooly would run. He adopted a Thai stance.

'You're doing fine,' came Mr Toulson's mis-assessment. 'Stick with it son.'

Once more Tooly brought the fight.

Johnny unleashed a rapid five piece combination of punches and knees to the midriff knocking the wind and confidence out his opponent.

Tooly started falling. He'd surely tap out but not before Johnny's right fist chased the falling head and connected with its left eye socket.

' _That,_ that's not an accident,' he said as Tooly clutched his head.

'Enough.' Mr Toulson yelled.

'How do you know? He hasn't tapped out.'

'I'm tapping,' Tooly said despite his proud father's proximity. 'You win.'

'No more trouble at school?' Johnny said.

'None.'

Johnny bowed to the unhappy parents and picked his guitar and bag up and headed to Meuxng Ti to let Keith know he'd conquered bullying.

## Saturday 09th June 1984

From behind the curtains at the back of the stage Christine had watched Dane leave and Johnny settle into reverie with his guitar. Though she felt for Johnny she also felt for Dane.

Chasing after him she tugged his sleeve.

'Christine,' he said.

'Can me and Mazz have a quiet word?' When he huffed and looked at his watch she added, 'It won't take long.'

She found Mazz in the dressing room. 'You alone?'

'Yup, no sign of Stu,' she said.

Christine lead them to the venue's front of house foyer.

'What can I do for you ladies?' Dane said sitting opposite them.

Christine took a deep breath. 'How's the USed bank account?'

'Bruised since I hit it with a T-shirt order,' Dane chuckled.

Christine searched his face for lies. 'Otherwise it's fine?'

'Yeah, why?'

'You've not noticed any unusual transactions?'

His eyebrows knotted. 'No, what sort of transactions? D'you wanna check? Everything I've authorised can be accounted for.'

The girls looked at each other.

Christine faced Dane again and asked, 'Have you been expecting a large amount to leave the account without your authorisation?'

'What sort of large amount?'

Looking nervous but clueless he pulled out the band's chequebook and flicked through the stubs.

Christine looked away and asked Mazz, 'You believe him?'

She pulled a face and nodded.

'Dane,' Christine said facing him again, 'is there any chance you might have the slightest idea what's going on here?'

'I'm totally lost. No one's written a cheque that's for sure.'

'Alright.'

'Alright what?'

Mazz leaned forwards. 'We know managing us has been difficult.'

'Wait a minute,' he said, 'you're not firing me – are you – I'm not sure you can, Vanquar wouldn't allow it?'

'We're complimenting you,' Christine said. 'You're doing an alright job.'

'Really?' He looked between the two girls.

'Really,' Mazz said. 'But we've got a problem and we need to know you're not part of it.'

'Problem – you mean the reason you've all looked so miserable recently?'

'Johnny told us about Vanquar,' Christine said.

Dane looked down shaking his head.

'Don't blame Johnny,' Mazz pleaded.

'If you knew him better you'd know he'd tell us sooner than later,' Christine said.

'Okay.' Dane rubbed his forehead. 'I gotta tell you girls it's good to know I'm finally appreciated. And, this Vanquar stuff, it probably won't affect us.'

'Even if someone gets the job and wants us gone?'

'It's true, someone in the running has a chip on his shoulder about British bands in America but plenty of bands will be on tenterhooks. When someone retires someone else fills the position and over time things change.'

'What's the chances this guy will get the job?'

'I don't know. I don't know who else is being considered.'

'Well, Johnny ain't a guy to sit waiting for something to happen.'

Nobody spoke until Mazz said, 'We've been robbed.'

'Robbed?'

When he didn't get an answer Dane asked, 'Is that why you were asking about the USed account?'

## Friday 05th July 1974

Johnny wondered whether Tooly would show up at school the next day. But before registration Tooly stood less bold than brass with his black eye.

When their teacher let the class in he hung back and offered Johnny his hand.

Johnny took it and said, 'I'm sorry – about everything.'

'Nah, I'm sorry I dropped your guitar. It was stupid of me to take it.'

As no school kids saw Johnny give him the black eye Tooly could have made up any story about how he got it. But at the start of break Johnny wandered out the classroom and felt a hand on his shoulder.

'Max,' he said turning round.

'Johnny, Tooly told me what happened.'

'Did he now?'

'Yeah, and Marbles isn't off with tonsillitis. His tongue's the size of a corky. Look, I need to know who's hardest in our class.'

'D'you actually want a fight or is this just something you feel you have to do?'

Max thought a moment. 'I just have to know.'

'Forget it; I ain't into playground brawls.'

Max didn't move.

Johnny said, 'But if you really can't let it go...' He went into his bag and tore a page from an exercise book and wrote the cover's address, '... don't bring a crowd.'

* * *

That evening Johnny sat in the cover's dining room amongst housemates.

Before he'd managed two forkfuls of potato Mike appeared at his side. 'There's a couple of lads waiting in the common room for you.'

'I'll deal with it now. It'll only take a sec,' he said putting his cutlery down.

In the common room he found Max with Tooly.

'I tried talking him out of it,' Tooly said.

Johnny turned to Max. 'Get your fists up then. Tap out when you're ready.'

'Shouldn't we take this outside?'

'Nah, let's just get on with it.' He read Max's determined but defeated expression.

Johnny matched his opponent's boxing stance correctly predicting Max's left jab which he parried and retaliated with a cutting round kick to his left thigh.

Predictably Max's guard vanished from a face crumpled with pain. Not wishing to waste time or protect any parents' feelings Johnny re-struck the same thigh which then struggled to support his weight.

'Tap out,' Johnny said.

Max's fists reappeared but Johnny struck with the same kick to the same leg. Down came Max's guard. This time Johnny's right fist filled the hole in Max's defence. The punch contained plenty of hook.

It slammed Max's jaw and sent his eyes rolling out of sight. The tatty carpet caught him before Johnny or Tooly could reach him.

'Mate?' Tooly asked getting on his knees.

Groaning Max tapped the floor. 'I'm out. You're a great fighter...'

'Let's get him on the settee,' Johnny said.

Together they heaved him into a lying position. Johnny fetched Helga.

After his tea he asked, 'How you feeling?'

'Like I'm not here,' Max said sipping water.

'Lightheaded, it'll take a while to wear off.'

'You ever been lightheaded?'

'Me?' he said, 'many, many times.'

Max gave him a pitiful look.

'You should spend tonight by the tele with your folks. You up to walking?'

'I guess.'

With Tooly, Johnny helped Max hobble home.

'You know I didn't want this,' Johnny said before reaching Max's garden gate.

'I know,' Max said. 'I guess I should thank you.'

'How about keeping this a secret?'

With their agreement Johnny felt peculiarly at ease.

At his gatepost Max said, 'We know we've been horrible to you Johnny.'

'It's okay, I know you all think I'm a weirdo.'

'Only because you keep yourself to yourself.'

'Nobody in the class'll talk to me.'

'So you think the whole class's horrible?'

'Maybe, I don't know.'

Max put a hand on his shoulder. 'It's time things changed. Come in for a cuppa.'

Johnny laughed. 'You know that's nice of you. Maybe you're not so bad after all.'

'So, how about it?'

'Cheers but, I'm off to Meuxng Ti.' He patted his bag.

'Meuxng, what?' Tooly asked.

When Johnny explained the two lads laughed unable to believe how naive they'd been.

'What?' Johnny laughed with them. 'Your acting like you were duped. I tried warning you.'

'You didn't warn me,' Tooly said.

'I warned your mam.'

'She could've done a better job passing it on.'

## Saturday 09th June 1984

All four USed Wonz waved at Jefferson Starship's fans who'd been fantastic.

Off stage Stu grabbed a towel. 'Great gig. Listen, I kinda feel like having a bit of time away tonight.'

'Have you pulled?' Mazz asked.

'Something like that.'

'Actually can you hang on, we need to talk?' Christine asked.

Stu looked agitated. 'Not really.'

'Let him go,' Johnny said having planned his own escape to a poker table.

'Fine,' Christine snapped ruining the post-show's afterglow. 'If some girl's more important than us then just go.'

In the dressing room nobody spoke until Stu left. Mazz kissed his cheek and closed the door after him and the sound of Jefferson Starship's _Jane_ booming from the stage.

Freshened and smartly dressed Johnny asked, 'Where's Dane?'

'Busy elsewhere,' Christine said. 'I told him to leave us a while.'

'You know we love you Johnny?' Mazz said leaning on the door she'd just closed.

'Of course, I love you girls too.'

Christine waited for him to sit down. 'Mazz and I think we all need to pull together to raise Linda's money. Let's forget about blaming Dane—'

'Stop there babe,' Johnny said his voice sounding harsh. 'Firstly Linda is my problem and secondly Dane—'

'Dane...' Christine stopped before her emotions bubbled over. 'Linda's money is everyone's problem. Stop trying to shoulder it by yourself. It'll take all of us to recover it. And...'

'And?' Johnny asked.

'And that means Dane too. He's innocent.'

Johnny hit the roof. Kicking the chair he yelled, 'He can't be. We've known him all of five minutes...'

As his tirade continued, the door banged next to Mazz. She opened it enough to see through. 'Jack?'

'What's going on in there?' the technician asked.

'Nothing, just preparing for the next album; think some shouting will sound good with synths behind it.'

Jack stepped back. 'Well with anger like that no American radio station will play it.'

'We'll work on that. See ya soon yeah?'

She closed the door. Johnny shouted, 'He's guilty, he must be.'

'Why?' Christine's voice matched Johnny's intensity, 'because there's nobody else to blame?'

'That's right.' Johnny stopped in his tracks.

In the silence his expression changed. He sat down.

'We can't keep changing managers,' Christine said.

'Howie—'

Christine touched his lips to silence him. 'We all understood when Richard and Grace went back to England. I know we had Howie—'

'He was a good manager. He wouldn't have done this to us. But Dane—'

'You don't know that. Howie wasn't with us five minutes either. I'm sorry I was nasty to him but he was a... sex pest. Wasn't he Mazz?'

Mazz nodded and Johnny didn't argue.

Christine's heart raced. _First stage complete,_ she thought. But she'd never convince him of Dane's innocence without reframing his mind first.

'You Johnny Won, you're a bully,' she said.

'What? No I'm not. I hate bullies.'

'You're a bully, and by your own definition.' She jabbed a finger at him.

'Come off it.'

She illustrated how Johnny had spotted weakness in Dane and persecuted him rather than supported him.

'He's not done this job before,' she continued. 'He was an office pleb but he's getting good.'

Johnny disagreed but she bowled examples and batted objections until he saw that Dane had improved.

'With our help he could be a really good, loyal manager and that's what we need now more than ever.'

## July 1974 – July 1975

Johnny's social tide changed. Though Liz disapproved, Graham loved hearing of Johnny's martial arts tale which had led to his new guitar. He played the Strat through his amp and told him it would see him through plenty of gigs.

Over the summer holidays Johnny played guitar from waking until leaving for martial arts lessons.

He still carried his guitar during the new school term but his _weirdo_ reputation waned, replaced by a waxing curiosity amongst his classmates. The cool lads respected him and even defended him from unjust remarks.

One music lesson Tooly gained some strange looks when he shouted up that his mum rated Johnny as a talented guitarist.

Mrs Brown invited Johnny to the front of the class.

As he played one of the school's classical guitars, he lifted his head seeing once previously hateful classmates look on with appreciation. Some of the girls even seemed moved by one piece. Already aware of martial arts as a source of protection rather than a career Johnny let his fingers skilfully find the frets feeling warmth radiate to and from the class and decided if he could make ends meet playing guitar that's what he'd do.

When he finished he received a round of applause. Mrs Brown congratulated him and asked whether he wrote songs. He said he hadn't for a while but called to mind one song influenced by Miss Wilkinson.

* * *

Weeks on and Johnny heard rumours of girls fancying him; not that he believed them at first. Though he didn't act on them they became substantiated. His singing apparently lay at the heart of girls' interest. The knowledge of one song he'd sung spread through other classes and with his guitar Johnny became easily identifiable.

Shaun, now in his last school year found Johnny and told him of a mediocre band needing a rhythm guitarist. Johnny auditioned and got the job. Soon the band's lead guitarist left, clearly intimidated by Johnny's ability. The band didn't audition for another guitarist given Johnny's broad playing styles.

The school bands organised a Christmas concert in the assembly hall. The school even agreed to fund the hire of further equipment.

As nervous as Johnny may have felt on the night the band's sixteen year old female singer, whose hairstyle had gone badly wrong, felt worse.

When they took the stage Johnny stood by his mic ready to sing backing vocals as their first song set off. He looked into the packed hall and saw Helga with Liz and Graham.

Whilst Johnny engaged with his bandmates and audience their singer stood rigidly by her mic.

Approaching his mic he relaxed her, supporting her voice with his. But, by the second verse she forgot the words of their thoroughly rehearsed song. She looked to Johnny.

He took over where she'd dropped out. From then on their subsequent songs became disjointed duets with Johnny acting as her prompt.

At the end of their set she waved and left the stage. Johnny however felt the sound of applause wrap round him like his mother's arms. Exhilarated the sound of her voice carried from his heart, _There you are; feel the love._

Leaving the stage he passed Shaun waiting in the wings with his band.

When Johnny wished him luck Shaun said, 'We need to talk.'

Johnny found his way to Helga, Liz and Graham and after receiving praise for his performance faced the stage now occupied by Shaun's band.

Musically Shaun did little more than thumb root notes but, unlike the quivering coward Johnny had met months earlier, the older boy had style in his performance. Johnny felt disheartened at the sense of togetherness Shaun's band exuded.

The band he'd been stuck with and their dizzy singer couldn't compare to what he saw and heard in that moment.

The freshness of his applause tarnished when Shaun's band received greater rapture. Johnny made up his mind to experience applause again and soon.

After the show helping carry the gear back to the music room's cupboards Shaun collared him. 'I imagined you'd be good, and you were. You carried that band.'

'Yeah, well you and your band were great.'

'Not that great.'

'What d'you mean?'

'I mean my band, which is actually the guitarist's, was fairly good. Your band sucked.'

'Cheers.'

'Don't take it the wrong way; I'm saying you were excellent. You need a better band.'

'You were the one who found me it.'

'Okay, but how about you and me? I fancy having a bash at singing and clearly you can sing so we could share. If we're any good I reckon Kev'll be up for joining us on drums.'

* * *

Over the Christmas holidays Johnny and Shaun jammed and wrote songs. Only then did they invite Kev to join them.

They played him their songs one January lunchtime. Though impressed, Kev voiced reluctance at having to leave his current band.

'Look,' Shaun said, 'this is an opportunity to be a proper band, one that could make a difference.'

'Ours could if we practiced more.'

' _If,_ ' Shaun said. 'But it'll never happen. _This_ is the band.'

Eventually Kev agreed to come aboard provided he could keep playing with the other band.

Three weeks later Shaun dropped his first band who, without bassist folded leaving Kev no choice but to commit to Shaun and Johnny.

In February Shaun said they needed a quirky name.

By March they had a name and gimmick. Having rejected many ideas, including _Johnny and the Used Ones,_ they almost thought they'd never land a name until, following one particular train of ideas, arrived at Scarf Ace.

'Brilliant,' Shaun said. 'We could wear West Ham scarves. Johnny you could wear yours like a martial arts headband. I could tie mine round the head of my bass and Kev you could wear yours like a highwayman's mask that way we wouldn't have to look at your ugly boat.'

'Cheers Shaun.'

'Or,' Johnny said, 'We could not wear West Ham scarves because anyone who doesn't support them will hate us.'

'Good point,' Kev said.'

By April they had their first gig; again at the school. They set up the school's equipment on the hall's stage and awaited their turn amongst the other kids' bands.

With three songs to perform Scarf Ace took the stage determined to decimate the competition. Johnny prayed for applause.

He took turns singing with Shaun or joining in unison lines whilst Kev thumped beats for Shaun's bass to lock to.

Playing well, the applause came.

Whilst Shaun punched the air and threw victory salutes at pupils and parents, Johnny closed his eyes feeling their sound shower him filling him with vivacity like rain on the clay of a dry riverbed. He remembered Frank who'd died almost a year previously and again his mam's voice spoke lifting him above despair. _There you are; feel the love._

Liz and Graham agreed Scarf Ace had been the best band that night.

Shaun couldn't wait to do it again. 'I'll be failing CSEs soon so I'll need to have something to go on to. We need to get into London.'

'D'you mean, play in bars?' Johnny asked.

'Well, yeah.'

'But I'm not even fifteen.'

'No, but you'd pass for sixteen. We all would.'

'We'd need to be eighteen at least and I'll need an amp.'

Shaun thought these problems could be surmounted with careful thought.

* * *

Remembering his birthday Liz and Graham took Johnny to Iftekhar's restaurant. Graham bought him new strings from the American music shop and a new neck pickup which they skilfully fitted one Sunday.

Though Scarf Ace didn't initially play London pubs they got involved with everything locally that supported youths. Shaun's Wem amp did the trick as did Kev's drum kit which held together on account of his dad's welding. Johnny managed to borrow amps but yearned for one of his own.

* * *

Weeks later Shaun and Kev broke for exams after which Johnny visited Shaun's house during the holidays.

Together they'd dial London venues and soon secured a Hope and Anchor gig.

Needing to look older they wore suits, Johnny having paid pennies for one from Oxfam.

On the night Kev twirled house keys on his fingers disguising the fact his mum had driven them to the gig. As the biggest Kev did the talking. Johnny wore sunglasses until they got on stage.

The sound guy probably stopped wondering about Johnny's age hearing his fingers talk. But even during soundchecks Johnny could tell the older bands had musical maturity that they lacked. Even the name Scarf Ace seemed puerile. They nevertheless got away with it as friends and family, including Liz and Graham, contributed to the pub's hundred and fifty capacity. Armed with six songs their energy made up for what they lacked in experience. Scarf Ace rocked the stage if not the room. Singing with unapologetic aggression they ended their set in triumph.

Loving it Graham himself decided to join another band.

For Johnny the venue seemed otherworldly. Physically sober he ignored men supping pints but became emotionally intoxicated as one miniskirted lady pushing past him followed another.

'We got to get another gig here,' Johnny said to Shaun.

Tasking Kev with that job, he reported back that the venue's stuffed diary hadn't a slot until the end of August.

'Right,' Shaun and Johnny agreed, 'we need another pub like this to play.'

## Saturday 09th June 1984

Mazz had come away from the dressing room door. She looked at Johnny with kind wide eyes and said, 'Ten thousand dollars, seven thousand pounds; it's more than any of us have earned in a year, but it's manageable.'

'That's true,' Johnny agreed grateful of Linda's open-ended timescale. It had to be manageable.

As individuals only Stu had family to return to. For the rest, the band's success came down to personal survival. _To be or not to be._

Christine shook her head. 'Let's maintain perspective. Johnny, I know you want the money back and quick but LA's only three weeks away. We need to quit ideas of getting all Linda's money back before then.'

'We'll get some,' Mazz said.

When Johnny nodded Christine said. 'I can't get over Stu leaving like he did. We need to get together tomorrow and see what we come up with.'

Johnny wanted to start earning right there and then.

'Okay,' he said thinking of his poker match. 'We'll leave it until tomorrow.'

'Where you off?' Christine asked.

'I just want to give Linda a quick ring; keep her up to date.'

'She won't be there now,' Christine said haughtily.

'She might. Don't give me a hard time babe.'

## Wednesday 21st April 1976 – February 1978

One Wednesday evening, nine months and nine city gigs after Scarf Ace's first pub gig, Johnny left Shaun's house earlier than he might normally.

At 5pm he stopped by a telephone box before karate.

Unsteadily he aimed the first of a stack two pence coins at the slot and dialled a number from memory. Though he'd celebrated his now legal birthday a week earlier with Liz and Graham, he'd yearned for this day too long to ignore it.

'Hello,' a female voice said. The pips sounded. In clattered the first coin.

'Miss Wilkinson?' His voice quavered.

'Yes?'

'It's Johnny.'

'Johnny,' she said, 'as in B—'

'Yeah.'

'It's been two years.' Her voice sounded full of emotion. 'I gave up trying to find you.'

'You did the right thing.' The pips went and Johnny forced another coin in.

'Where are you?' she asked.

'Nowhere near,' he said picturing her having just arrived from the guitar lesson he'd pictured so many times. 'How are you Miss?'

'Great. I'll be Mrs soon.'

'Married? Congratulations. Looks like I caught you in time.'

'Oh?'

His throat tightened. 'Yeah, before disappearing I fantasised about this significant day.'

'Did you?' she ventured.

'I hoped to be big, strong and handsome enough so that on my sixteenth birthday you'd accept my virginity.'

'Goodness me,' she said with a laugh.

Johnny laughed too. He couldn't imagine what she'd be thinking.

'After all this time, that's how you start a conversation?'

'What better way to let you know I'm doing okay?' he said growing bolder.

'True, you sound well enough. I'm ever so flattered.'

After some further exchanges his ex-teacher said, 'So, how did it go down?'

'What d'you mean?'

'Your fantasy.'

'Seriously?'

'Why not? It's your birthday. Apparently you're miles away so it can't hurt.'

He illustrated his fantasy from visiting her after her guitar lesson to its passionate and sensitive end.

After several coins, some embarrassment and nervous laughs from both ends they progressed to other subjects; his upcoming second dan karate assessment and music. Before the coins ran out she told him to be careful with his heart and virginity.

Though he knew she'd surely said it to keep him on the line, perhaps to gain insight into his whereabouts, she'd suggested his fantasy would have been exquisite.

What a lovely person he thought replacing the receiver and sighing.

* * *

Having turned sixteen he'd soon sit his CSEs and then have to consider his next step. As predicted Shaun had failed his exams.

Rather than do an apprenticeship he'd landed a job in Greenwich Markets selling fruit and veg and had got Johnny a Saturday job there so he could save for an amp.

He rearranged karate lessons and though initially saving money he loved the freedom cash afforded him.

Graham's new band played covers regularly. If Johnny couldn't catch a lift he'd spend wages on transport to his gigs.

Some nights Graham would invite him to the stage to play a solo. These honouree invitations elevated his status more than full sets with Scarf Ace. Stepping from the stage he found he could chat to girls with ease.

* * *

After failing his CSEs Johnny began working full time on the markets. At the cover Mike needed to know what Johnny intended to do with his future as Social Services always had children queuing for beds.

With disposable income and growing confidence Johnny found himself staying over with female students who generally swallowed the lies he fed them about his being eighteen.

Shaun too found a love of spending though Johnny didn't like how much went on beer. Shaun's drunken hangovers softened his ambition and when Kev began an apprenticeship Johnny sensed Scarf Ace coming off the boil.

Again Graham suggested he start his own band but facing potential homelessness he decided to hold off.

Instead he bought an acoustic guitar which he took to the markets where, though paid to look after stalls, he'd strum and sing to shoppers who eventually accepted and enjoyed his performances.

In September the next wave of Woolwich Polytechnic students arrived in search of groceries. Johnny's singing led to greater sales; the new students enjoying his quirky charm.

One day a market landowner heard him and offered him a job in Camden Markets.

'What's the difference?' Johnny asked.

'The difference is you'd be in Camden.' Geoff Tavisock said.

Not swayed by such presupposition Jonny asked, 'How far's Camden?'

'About ten miles.'

He shook his head. 'I live about ten minutes' walk from here.'

'I own property. You could live ten minutes' from Camden.'

With Mike breathing down his neck Johnny's interest snapped to attention. 'Tell me more.'

A week later Johnny bought a large cheap holdall from the market and, with guitars, arrived in Eskdale Street; not less than twenty minutes' walk from Camden Markets.

Geoff let him through the Edwardian townhouse's solid front door. Though Geoff said it needed work, it looked better than the cover. Most excitingly Johnny had his own room in the attic. The dormer windows didn't offer much view of the nearby council estate but for the first time since Frank's death, Johnny had a place to call home.

He didn't mind having to cook and share the communal kitchen. The house even had a pay phone on the stairs. He met and liked the other housemates, all at least eight years his senior.

'What d'you do for a living?' a short dumpy man asked him.

'He's a professional musician in my employ,' Geoff said.

Assessing his housemate's build Johnny secretly nicknamed him Smurf.

* * *

Settling into his new home he correctly guessed he'd played his last gig with Scarf Ace so began forming Johnny and the Used Ones; a task he found easy given the nature of his new job and Geoff's introductions.

The problem he faced lay with anchoring decent musicians. Largely built from enthusiastic stall holders only the drummer, an assistant pharmacist called Steve who knew Russell the bassist, came from outside the markets.

Johnny, with his new amp and first recruits rehearsed locally. The band would jam and the backup guitarist raved about The New York Dolls and Ramones.

One band outing they saw The Sex Pistols who had energy and stood for something. Johnny suddenly found his whole band wanted to be punks.

On the upside that gave him the opportunity to belt out some of his own angst in songs they wrote during rehearsals. But he loathed punk's slating of instrumentalists who had practiced their instruments in order to be expressive.

He particularly didn't like the affect The Pistols had on his band and particularly Steve, the drummer, who seemed to confuse inability with strength. Grumpily, Johnny could have sacked him when _Anarchy in the UK_ went Top-40 towards the end of 1976.

* * *

Twelve months later, Johnny met someone who sold fruit and veg like nobody else. He learned that Marlon, a big boned lad of twenty-two played guitar and seemed to have a good attitude to the instrument.

Inviting him to rehearsal, the first rhythm guitarist got the message and didn't return. That said Marlon's playing didn't live up to much. Nevertheless Johnny and the Used Ones finally started mixing their own songs with punk covers.

* * *

One Thursday mid-February, Johnny visited Liz and Graham.

In the lounge after dinner, everyone fell silent for Top of the Pops. Because punk had turned pop, tearing through Britain knocking wishy-washy songs aside Johnny couldn't believe progressive gems could find the Number1 spot.

Though he'd heard _Wuthering Heights_ on the radio he hadn't seen the performer herself. As the camera moved in, Johnny's gaze fixed on the eccentric and peculiarly beautiful Kate Bush. Memories of Miss Wilkinson sparkled as this new woman imprinted his mind.

## Saturday 09th June 1984

Alone and working late on Saturday Linda still couldn't fathom why she continued losing business. She shut the books wishing Trudie would come back to the States. Trudie could send her more business than she could handle.

Her money concerns grew spawning regrets of having helped The USed Wonz financially. She grabbed her keys and made to stand when her desk phone rang.

'Dwight,' she said not managing to hide her despondency but feeling better when he said he'd be out and not to wait up.

She decided to visit her mom instead.

She had one foot out the door when the phone rang again. Faffing with keys and assuming it'd be Dwight she scooped the handset as the machine kicked in.

A man's English accent said, 'For a minute there I thought you'd turned normal and were out enjoying your Saturday night.'

'Johnny,' she said.

She sat on her desk and smiled.

Her regrets of helping him withered at once as he talked about his chat with Christine. Though Linda hadn't given him a timescale she told him how badly she needed the money. He said he'd have some money for her for their next meeting but ended the call without flirting with her.

* * *

A smartly dressed Johnny checked the address he'd been given by the venue's stage manager.

Soon he took a seat at a card table and looked at his first hand: a pair of threes. No good. With the dealer directly to his right he considered his token compulsory bet but matched the big blind to his left. What the hell.

A hostess caught his eye. _Nice try,_ he thought. With these cards he'd need all his concentration. He hadn't always been so immune to feminine smiles though.

## Saturday 07th April 1979

After a year of fantasising about Kate Bush, Johnny stood on a stage jabbering a frenetic message he didn't quite believe into a mic whilst scrubbing away at his guitar strings.

Johnny and the Used Ones had followed a band called, I'd Sooner Nut You.

Johnny looked around the stage and caught Marlon's eye and mouthed, _what's their problem?_

Marlon shrugged.

I'd Sooner Nut You stood at the back of the venue jeering Johnny's band and shouting things he couldn't work out.

Johnny couldn't understand why they'd be under attack. He'd not said anything disparaging about the previous band and had been out getting food so hadn't even seen their set.

Their animosity would have ruined the gig for him but he ignored them and soon they left. And, looking down he saw a girl who looked just like Kate Bush.

He stared and she smiled.

After playing, the girl hung around and Johnny introduced himself making no secret of his looking her slender body over.

Like Kate Bush she wore what might have been a leotard with a long skirt. Like Miss Wilkinson she had knee-high heeled boots. She refused his invitation to come back to his place and wouldn't even part with her telephone number.

Experience counselled him, no number, no interest.

Nevertheless her kiss didn't lack interest. Slightly baffled Johnny compromised on the phone number situation by, upon her request giving her the house number.

'I don't even know your name,' he said having lamely told her his.

'Veronica.'

During the following week Veronica didn't ring. He only hoped she'd show at another gig.

After karate the following Thursday Johnny made himself a meal with the fresh food he'd got from the market and sat down to watch Top of the Pops.

The second it finished the phone on the stairs rang. He ignored it but Smurf shouted to him that he had a call.

He picked up the receiver.

'So, where you taking me tomorrow?'

'Veronica?'

'Of course. You haven't other girlfriends have you?'

'Plenty, I'm surprised I recognised your voice.'

'Well?'

'Well what?'

'Where you taking me gorgeous?'

Though he liked what he saw in the mirror his past hadn't done much to support his self-image. He loved being called gorgeous.

'It'll be Good Friday. There'll be a lot happening. Lots of people about.'

'Will you take me clubbing?'

'Can do. Will you stay over?'

'No.'

'Would you like me to cook for you?'

'I said you were gorgeous, not show me your room.'

## Thursday 28th June 1979

Twelve weeks later Stu had a gig in Fine Art College, where he studied. He knew the turnout would be good given he'd been studying at the college a year with bandmates.

But despite his band, I'd Sooner Nut You, gaining the headline spot he didn't feel excited. His girlfriend would be there but she'd wavered telling him it'd be poorly organised.

Stu had arrived to find the lecture theatre already converted to a concert hall and the corridor a bar. After soundchecks the seats filled with students and parents. The likelihood of being noticed by anyone who could further his musical ambitions almost negated the need to spruce up. But liking to look good, Stu excused himself and returned from the gents spiky-haired; ready for action.

When his turn eventually arrived he sat behind his drums and saw his girlfriend standing near the front of the stage amongst a tight hoard of students.

When his lecturer introduced his band Stu laid down his rhythms with accurate ease. His bandmates leapt around fooling themselves more than the audience that their songs offered anything of merit.

He lost slight his girlfriend until she reappeared looking agitated from behind the speakers. Soon he saw why.

She'd attracted a nuisance.

As best he could he forced himself to remain behind his kit watching her shake him off, something she managed only after he planted a kiss on her lips.

Seeing her determinedly make it past the pogoing students to the right-hand speakers Stu relaxed re-concentrating his emotions into his performance which worked to great effect.

His band might have been terrible but he played stupendously; right up until he saw his girlfriend's nuisance again.

This time she put him in his place but Stu's blood boiled. Of course his girlfriend would attract unwanted attention; all pretty girls did but Stu particularly hated drug pushers and there hassling his girlfriend stood the singer of Johnny and the Used Ones.

From the audience the rejected singer looked right at him. Stu glared back knowing what had to be done.

However, the moment Stu came off stage something so unexpected happened his emotions transformed.

A well-dressed man approached him claiming to be from EMI. He told Stu to go directly to room 122 for a private meeting; something to do with a potentially better band that had better prospects.

Emotions turned to excitement as Stu hardly believed he'd been spotted by someone that mattered. He'd played well of course and guessed his anger had given his performance necessary spice.

The now apparently absent Johnny would have to wait. Hugging his girlfriend he told her he'd be right back before bounding the stairs to room 122.

Knocking and entering Stu looked ahead as once again his emotions u-turned and rage roared back, turbo charged with disappointment as he figured the man downstairs had hoodwinked him.

He faced Johnny.

## Sunday 10th June 1984

As per each morning throughout both their first and second US tours, bandmates and technicians found a private area and prepared the combat gear.

Following Christine and Mazz's talk, Johnny had lain awake contemplating his treatment of Dane. He didn't much feel like training.

He held the pads ready for Stu who finished stretching and watched Christine moving her pads rounds as Mazz chased them with featherweight but rapid kicks, punches and knees.

'Brace,' Stu said before blasting Johnny's padded left hand sideways causing a delicious stretch across his pectoral.

He barely found time to pull the pad back ready for Stu's knee strike.

'I need more sparring practice,' Stu said.

'Pick on someone your own size. You've been crazy lately. I don't know what's got into you these past few days.'

'Gorra stay sharp,' he said pummelling the pads with lefts and rights.

When they swapped Johnny took over the attack but his fists couldn't find Stu's determination to destroy the pads.

'You're right,' Stu said, 'I do need a more challenging sparring partner; Maybe Mazz.'

Johnny responded with tremendous left and right punches but knew it still lacked what Stu had delivered.

'That's more like it,' Stu said. 'By the way I told Jack and Quinn about the money we owe Linda.'

'What the hell?' Forgetting the pads Johnny wanted to aim for his face. 'What d'you tell them for?'

'Because we got to think about getting some cash together. Quinn's helping me.'

'So everyone knows now – even Dane,' Johnny said on the cusp of exploding.

'Dane?'

'Christine told him. She's sure he's innocent. That was the talk you missed last night and why she was cross when you left for your date.'

'Interesting,' Stu said moving the pads around. 'She doesn't rush to judge character – especially men's.'

'Took her weeks to warm to us.' Johnny focused his frustration into the pads. 'Like you she reckons we should forget the crims and start making Linda some money.'

'Well, guess what, I made a bit last night.'

'Yeah – on your date?'

'Wasn't that sort of date. It was an anti-date. Made two hundred bucks. I gave Quinn a bit for his trouble but it's more than I've ever earned in a day.'

Johnny kept attacking the pads with only one idea as to how Stu could have come by extra cash. 'Don't tell me you entered some unofficial boxing tournament?'

'Yup. Freestyle actually. I won my category.'

'God almighty mate. Now I know why you've been giving these sessions everything you've got. Didn't you get hurt?'

'No broken bones or teeth. But mate, two hundred dollars.'

Johnny stopped. 'Stu, don't think I don't appreciate what you're doing but have you heard yourself; or seen yourself for that matter? You're way too pretty to be risking fractured cheekbones and this band needs you handsome.'

'We gotta have something to give Linda when we see her.'

'I know and I'm on it. Plus Christine wants us all to get together to discuss ideas before we move off today. Mind you I'll have to have a private word with Dane first.'

## Thursday 28th June 1979

One-night stands suited Johnny's independent nature. Veronica however had captivated his interest and almost his heart. He'd surely have fallen for her if he didn't still find her a little odd. And, after three months he experienced the oddest night with her.

Geoff, his boss and landlord, had told him about an upcoming gig at an art college featuring his daughter's band. Knowing Johnny always kept an eye out for talented musicians he'd told Johnny the headline act featured some hotshot drummer called Stu; not to be missed.

Johnny invited Veronica but she said it'd be rubbish and asked what did Geoff know about drumming anyway?

That seemed valid enough until on the night he found Veronica at the very gig. Not only that but, after an initial snog behind the speakers, she became determined to avoid him.

His heart fell further when he recognised the hotshot drummer as Stu, from I'd Sooner Nut You; the band who'd jeered his band months earlier.

Having popped out for something to eat that night he'd missed their performance so had no idea Stu's degree of percussive talent.

But at Fine Art College, Johnny realised he had a problem when within a few bars he heard and saw Stu's talent. He so outshone his bandmates Johnny felt he had to introduce himself and sway him towards Johnny and the Used Ones.

After Veronica had repeatedly told him to back off Johnny faced the stage only to find the drummer glaring with venom. Keen to get to bottom of Stu's problem he confided in Geoff who pretended to be from EMI.

* * *

Sitting in the only room he'd found unlocked, Johnny's mind swerved anticipating meeting Stu and pondering the reason for Veronica's nastiness. Of course she had kissed him but he'd emerged from behind the speakers feeling like he'd never kiss her again.

The door of room 122 burst open and though Stu appeared alone Johnny knew he'd brought trouble with him.

A left hook came from nowhere.

Instinctively blocking, Johnny retaliated. But unlike any other street fight he'd experienced Stu's combative answer awaited the strike. In the next beat Johnny defended a round kick.

'Stu I—'

He couldn't finish as Stu came with high-speed complex combinations mixed with painful blocks to Johnny's counter attacks.

Chairs and tables toppled or became missiles. Johnny quit protesting as the fight whored his concentration.

Through Stu's raged expression Johnny glimpsed elements of equally surprised concentration.

Eventually Johnny darted using a table to separate them.

'Stop,' he shouted rediscovering his voice. 'We're gonna kill each other.'

If Stu considered this it didn't last as the table vanished and down came the next attacking rain.

Knowing one mistake would give Stu sufficiency; Johnny didn't dare guess what he'd do to ensure the fight's end.

Imagining he'd be fading too, Johnny pressed ever harder seeking advantage through Stu's response managing to get a knee through his defences sending him back two feet.

Stu tried reengaging but stepped on the back of a fallen chair. His foot slipped beneath him and Johnny wrestled him to the floor intent on trapping him in an unshakable grip.

Just when he thought he had him pinned Stu's spare hand approached Johnny's eye.

Retreating Johnny's head met the skirting board's resistance. With no escape Stu's thumb located and pressed into the eye's socket.

Johnny gripped harder hoping he'd constrict Stu's carotid pulse enough to supress the flow of blood to his brain.

If Stu didn't weaken in seconds Johnny reckoned he'd lose his eye.

On the verge of tapping out, the sound of shrieking pierced his mind. Given the mounting pain he wondered if he'd screamed. Whatever, the pressure on his eyeball subsided. The hand moved off his face.

Johnny tried raising his head.

Through fuzzy vision he could only make out a female figure dressed in black.

'Veronica?' Stu said.

'What are you two doing?'

'This scumbag was coming onto you,' Stu said in a voice Johnny found reassuringly exhausted.

Confused Johnny rested his head still holding Stu such that he could re-grip should he need to. As the vision returned he lifted his head again only then realising what Stu had said.

'Veronica?' Johnny said to his girlfriend when she turned to leave. 'What's he on about?'

She held a hand to her face but Stu said, 'She's my girl.'

'Yours? Since when?'

'Since three months.'

When Johnny said she'd been his girlfriend for three months Stu reacted badly so Johnny dug deep finding strength to retightened his grip.

'Let go,' Stu croaked.

'Explain yourself.'

'What's to explain? She's my girlfriend and has been for months.'

Johnny let go hearing the door slam. The two lads looked up to find themselves alone. Veronica had gone.

'Brilliant,' he said pushing Stu away and rolling on his back. 'You might as well kill me.'

Stu rolled away gasping. 'I've seen her almost every night since we started.'

'She's been seeing me almost every night too.' But Johnny got the picture. 'So you saw red thinking I was chasing her.'

Stu didn't respond. He sat but gave up trying to stand.

Johnny continued. 'How embarrassing. I guess I can stop wondering why she was shaking me off all night.'

'From where I was it didn't look like she wanted you at all.'

'I don't see her digging you either.'

'Shut up,' Stu said trying again to stand.

'What's your problem with me and my band?'

'You're all idiots.'

Johnny tried rolling onto his side but it hurt. 'What?'

'You're a band of scummy junkies. I shouldn't even be wasting conversation on you.'

'Watch your mouth, I'm no junky.'

'Save it. _Johnny and the Used Ones_ , says it all.'

'It's about rubbers not needles you moron. And your band's... a reflection of your over eager tempers; like that's anything to be proud of.'

Stu wobbled to his feet. 'I'm leaving.'

'Where you going?'

'To find Veronica.'

'Brilliant. Good luck.' Through the door he shouted, 'You know she's a junkie too?'

Lying there thinking of Veronica, who looked like Kate Bush, who looked like Miss Wilkinson, Johnny decided whether his next girlfriend looked like Miss Wilkinson or not he'd concentrate on finding someone with maturity.

## Friday 06th July 1979

For Johnny a lonely week pining for Veronica followed. She didn't ring. Obstinately Johnny pictured her number, repeating the image with incorrect digits until he couldn't recall it accurately.

The following Friday he sat backstage before soundcheck in Camden's Electric Ballroom. He'd been lucky to get the opening spot for the night at this their biggest gig to date.

With no sign of Marlon, the bandmates drank beer whilst waiting to soundcheck. When it got late they soundchecked without him.

Johnny left bandmates Russell and Steve in the dressing room and headed back to the stage for his guitar.

Finally Marlon appeared. 'Sorry about being late an' all.'

'Yeah, alright,' Johnny muttered.

Marlon had been Johnny's favourite before lateness interrupted the band's development. He shared little with Marlon these days. He watched him leave for the dressing room where he'd doubtlessly neck pints with the others.

Johnny took his Squire from its stand. Sitting alone on the stage he held it at arms' length. Despite feeling despondent about the band's future the guitar still offered hope.

'What?' Johnny said as if sensing the instrument smile.

Resting the body on his knees he relaxed unable to imagine its source of optimism as only he and it mattered. His bandmates could do and drink what they liked; Johnny knew what he had to do.

When the time to play arrived Johnny led his band to the stage. Into the first song they played. Johnny closed his eyes; the strings feeling wonderful under his fingers.

Instead of leaping around the stage as he had on previous gigs he visualised the undersized audience as one body and breathed their wonderful energy.

On his left he could hear crazy bass notes and knew Russell the bassist had lost his way again.

Focusing on his own playing he didn't allow that to throw his singing.

## Monday 09th July 1979

By 4pm Monday Johnny sang to market shoppers in a voice not over stretched by weekend gigging.

Only during a final chorus did he notice from a nearby stall, Stu watching him. Battling to stop his voice faltering he wrapped the song up.

Several shoppers joined Stu in applause.

'Thank you, all, very much.'

'Nice,' Stu said approaching.

Johnny hadn't felt as awkward since being at school. 'Did you catch up with Veronica?'

'Eventually.' Stu pulled a face. 'About that, I was wondering if we could have a chat; when you're ready?'

'I don't want another fight.'

'That's a relief.'

'I've got a karate lesson.'

'Karate? I'd have guessed kung fu, muay thai and maybe judo?'

'Karate too. What about you?'

'I gave up karate after first dan. Mostly kung fu and muay thai.'

'I didn't know anywhere round here did Thai.'

'There's a place.'

Neither lad knew what to say. Johnny didn't recognise the civilised Stu.

'I understand if you don't want to talk,' Stu said eventually. 'I just got a bit curious, afterwards.'

'Well,' Johnny said thinking, 'seeing as you're here I guess I could spare a few minutes.'

They headed to a street café. Only when they sat down with drinks did Johnny ask, 'You said you got curious?'

'Curious to know what you're curious about. You arranged a meeting; room 122?'

'Oh yeah.'

'Who was that bloke who said he was from EMI?'

'Geoff, he's a businessman and my landlord.'

'Anything to do with the music business?'

'Afraid not; just a ruse.'

'Guessed as much. So, why did you trick me into meeting you?'

'Not to fight that's for sure. Like you said I was curious – about your drumming. Obviously I didn't know about you and Veronica. But you called me a junkie? I don't even drink – ever. Or smoke.'

'I know.'

'Do you?'

'How old are you?' Stu asked evasively.

'Nineteen. You?'

'Eighteen. I thought you'd be older than nineteen. Most of your band look it.'

'What's your point – about the drugs I mean?'

'Our bands gigged a while back, remember?'

'Yeah, by the time I'd got something to eat I'd missed your set. Sorry.'

'Don't be. But, that night your drummer was selling drugs.'

'Get outta here. Steve?'

'I don't know his name. We all figured the lot of you was scum.'

'You've got it wrong. I have never seen or even heard him mention dealing.'

'I'm not making this up,' Stu said defensively.

'Did you see drugs?'

'Nah.'

'Right,' Johnny said sceptically. 'Steve just came right out and asked you if you wanted some?'

'Not really. He asked if I liked to feel good.'

'Go on.'

'Well I said yes. Then I cottoned on and told him to get lost.' When Johnny said nothing Stu just looked at him. 'Our guitarist reckons he keeps them in his snare drum case.'

'Does he now?' Johnny chuckled and said, 'Sorry, I'm having difficulty believing this.'

'Check his damn case then,' Stu retorted.

'Okay, keep your drumsticks quivered. I'll check.'

'Good. Anyway after we fought I chased Veronica, like an idiot. She'd gone but I found her friends. They said she'd come back downstairs looking upset and, you're not going to believe this, left with some other lad.'

'Bloody hell.'

'Horrible night. Anyway, a couple of days later I tracked her down. She freaked but eventually I managed to get her talking. It seems she met us both the night our bands played. She didn't mean to hurt either of us and is very sorry.'

'You've not forgiven her?'

'I'm not seeing her if that's what you mean; not if she thinks nothing to slipping off with someone else when she was already two timing.'

'Right.'

'Anyway, we talked a bit about you.'

'Oh?'

'She reckons Steve's a bit odd but you're clean; in fact she thinks you're scared of drink and drugs.'

'I don't know about that,' he said. 'But I can't believe Steve's a dealer.'

Stu rolled his eyes. 'So check the guy's snare case.'

'I said I will.' Johnny held his hands up.

'Anyway despite the industry's druggy nature, music's my main interest.'

'You don't wanna be in kung fu films?'

'That'd be good but, music's the real thing. And, Veronica said of our two bands you and me are the most talented.'

'She's right.'

'I know. I saw you at the Electric Ballroom the other night. I thought you were, well, excellent. Better than when I'd Sooner Nut You played with you.'

'Thanks,' Johnny said finding compliments from someone he'd fought so viciously with strange.

'Veronica said you came to the college gig the other night to try and poach one of the drummers from another band.'

'Ha, she must have been hoping I'd not show up.'

'Too right. But which drummer?'

Johnny said, 'Look I want the best possible band and that requires the right team.'

'You ain't got it if the Electric Ballroom gig's anything to go by.'

'I might say the same of your band but I'll level with you Stu, you're a terrifying fighter but a tremendous musician.'

'So your point is what exactly?'

'I'm not sure,' he said toying with Stu. 'After the fight—'

'I thought you were some pusher nicking my girlfriend.'

'And you were wrong on both counts.'

'But we understand each other now. Wouldn't you rather have me on side?'

'You keen to join Johnny and the Used Ones?'

Having leaned forwards Stu relaxed. 'Not necessarily.'

'No?'

'I don't like drug addicts. But there's something else – and for me it's a deal breaker.'

'What?'

'America.'

'America?'

'I want a fantastic band and to live in America.'

Stu talked about lifestyle, Californian weather and its music scene.

Johnny thought of the man crumpled at the bottom of the stairs in Carlisle. Did he live or die?

'Sounds perfect,' he said.

Stu's eyes narrowed. 'You can't mean it, you need time to consider something like that. I'd Sooner Nut You ended up changing their minds.'

'Why, family commitments?'

'Mostly.'

'Fine. I don't have family.'

'No mum or dad?'

He shook his head.

'No brothers or sisters?'

'Not anymore.'

'Crikey I'm sorry to hear that.'

'It's old news. The important ones are here,' Johnny said tapping his chest. 'Where I go they go; even America.'

Swerving any too personal questions Johnny recognised compassion in Stu and liked him more. He thought of Frank and decided having someone like Stu on board would be good.

Though he hadn't thought specifically of America, Johnny knew that being a properly successful musician could lead to exposure; someone from his previous life might recognise him. The ogre, if he had got up from the bottom of the stairs, wouldn't have any legal right to Johnny's future but if he hadn't, if he'd died – he didn't want to think about that ever. America would be the perfect place; the sky would be the limit. Surely nobody would recognise him from his old life there.

Johnny learned that Stu came from a large family which, following divorce and remarriages, had grown bigger still. Stu reckoned they'd be fine without him.

After talking in terms of being a new member Stu had to ask, 'What are you saying, that I'm in, just like that?'

'Yeah.'

'What about the drummer you've got now?'

'If you're right about Steve dealing drugs he's out anyway. You're a better drummer, younger and better looking.'

'But the rest of the band haven't even met me?'

'Leave them to me.'

'And if an even better drummer comes along?'

'You're ideal. My current drummer isn't even competent. Besides myself, you'll be the first proper musician Johnny and the Used Ones has seen. Anyway, you can stick with your band till you decide you want to make the change permanent.'

Stu leaned back seeming to mull the offer over. 'You haven't asked me whether I like Johnny and the Used Ones.'

'Do you?'

'I wouldn't buy your records.'

'We'll create new songs. There's more to life than punk and I'm sick of pretending.'

'I'll drink to that.' Stu nodded at his Coke glass.

## Sunday10th June 1984

'Sorry Stu, I gotta find Dane,' Johnny said wrapping up the training session early.

Getting ahead of the others, he bypassed the band's room, skipping a shower and banged on the door of the second room they'd booked.

Dane appeared. 'Johnny?'

'What you up to?' Johnny asked.

'What d'you mean?'

'Have you got a minute?'

Dane opened the door and pushed his glasses up his nose.

Stepping inside Johnny saw pages of scribbled calculations. 'What's all this?'

Ignoring him Dane asked, 'What can I do for you?'

Johnny began apologising for his failure to welcome him to the team and for not noticing his recently improved efforts.

Hoping Dane would understand he explained his motivation surrounding what had happened at the card table in Lawrence and later on the car park roof in Kansas.

'I presume you know about the private investigator too?'

Dane stopped shaking his head at the craziness of Johnny's story and nodded.

'I'd no right to treat you badly given I've behaved so incredibly stupidly,' Johnny said. 'But the worst of it is, just because Christine thinks you're innocent and everyone, including the techs, want to earn the money back it doesn't mean I've stopped being suspicious of you. I'm sorry Dane.'

'It's alright. What's done is done and it's understandable you'd want someone to blame. You've given us all a shock. I don't know what else to say in my defence other than I had no idea about any of this until Christine told me yesterday.'

'I want to believe that; I suppose I do.'

Dane straightened the papers he'd been working on. 'It's a start. Perhaps I should apologise for telling you about the Vanquar reshuffle. None of this might have happened otherwise.'

'I can't swear to it,' Johnny said. 'But, I'm prepared to fall in with the general consensus to earn as much money for Linda as soon as possible.'

'That's good, especially as I've no idea who stiffed you or where to look given your PI's not provided any leads.'

'You thought of any moneymaking schemes?'

'Just one.' Dane tapped his papers. 'I doubt it'll fetch much but at least we'll have something to pay Linda.'

'What's the idea?'

'I'll tell you when we're all together if that's okay. But, if everyone agrees to it we'll have to work as a team. I just wish you and me could get on better.'

Johnny laughed. 'Most of my friendships started out as fights or arguments so I guess there's hope yet.'

'I heard about how you and Stu met. Funnily enough I don't know how the rest of you guys came together. Surely the girls wouldn't have been trouble?'

## Thursday 12th July 1979

At 7pm the following Thursday Johnny watched Steve and the others set up their instruments. Steve, the eldest band member took his snare drum from its case.

'Where you going with that?' he asked when Johnny snatched it.

Ignoring him, Johnny peered inside but found nothing untoward.

Only an old school jumper and Hendrix T-shirt used for packing tumbled out when he flipped it over.

The case may have looked normal but Steve's expression looked sickly. Johnny knowing there must be something incriminating in there said nothing.

Just then his fingers touched a thumbnail sized loop of fabric. Tugging it revealed the case had a false floor clinging to Velcro. That only fresh air filled the space hardly mattered.

Steve flustered. 'I—'

'Shut it.' Johnny turned to the other bandmates. 'Who knew about this?'

Marlon didn't but bassist Russell who'd introduced Steve to the band knew something.

Johnny kicked the case across the floor crashing it into Steve's bass drum. 'Put your snare in it and clear off. You're not in this band anymore.'

Nobody spoke.

Only Russell helped and when Steve picked up the last of his items he nodded to Russell and left forever.

Marlon said, 'Would someone likes to explain what's going on?'

'Yeah, Russell would.' Johnny faced him.

Reluctantly Russell explained that Steve had been stealing from the pharmacy where he worked which led him to dealers and his involvement with drugs.

Marlon commented he'd never heard of half the chemicals Russell mentioned; neither had Johnny despite his time at the cover.

Russell said, 'Steve kept schtum 'cause he knew yous lads was clean.'

'Well, now we know. What time is it?' Johnny asked Marlon.

'Quarter to eight.'

'Anybody know what we should do now?' Johnny said.

'With no bleedin' drummer?' Russell said.

'Well which would you prefer a drummer ruining kids' lives and our reputation as individuals and a band or the job of finding another one?'

Russell shrugged.

Marlon said nothing.

'What did you think of him as a drummer?' Johnny asked Russell.

'He was alright.'

'He wasn't. He was rubbish. Hang on.'

Johnny left his remaining bandmates to wonder where he'd gone.

When he returned he said, 'Alright, this is Stu. He's the latest recruit to Johnny and the Used Ones. And, he's so good if any of us don't shape up fast our lack of ability will stand out all the more. So, the time to get good, very good, is now. Any questions?'

'Yeah,' Marlon said. 'Ain't he from that dickhead band what—'

'Wrecked our show,' Johnny finished for him. 'Russell, why d'you think they wrecked our show?'

'Dunno.'

'I bet you do. It was because of that creep we just sacked—'

'You sacked,' Marlon said.

'Justifiably,' Johnny barked. 'Because of him Stu's band thought the lot of us were smack-heads.'

* * *

After setting up the rehearsal room's drums they set to playing.

'Can you hear that?' Johnny soon shouted up to a dumb looking Marlon and Russell. 'Guys, that's groove.'

Stu cracked into the next song guessing at rhythms, aware he'd have to groove like James Brown's drummer given Johnny's commentary.

'It's not your fault,' Johnny said to Russell. 'Stu here's a proper drummer. That last idiot was so all over the place nobody noticed you were too.'

'But the Pistols—'

'Nobody gives a damn about the bloody Sex Pistols anymore. They're eighteen months gone. Proper bands groove to the drums.'

Though fraught, Stu loved the discipline his other band suffered without.

* * *

Two weeks after the initial rehearsal Stu gave I'd Sooner Nut You four weeks' notice. Johnny had cancelled gigs until Stu could get to speed. America had been discussed and as the band's dynamic changed Johnny sensed Russell not embracing its new spirit.

Pushing him to breaking point every rehearsal, Johnny figured Russell would either start grooving like a pro or crack and leave.

Johnny gave him credit. He tried hard and stuck with it another few weeks but he eventually confessed he couldn't be what Johnny and Stu wanted.

'Now what we gonna do?' Marlon said after Russell's last rehearsal.

With no better suggestions Johnny said he'd ring his old band mate Shaun.

Shaun turned out to have a renewed interest in bands since the girl he'd been seeing, who apparently had the kind of beauty a guy would ruin his life for, dumped him.

He showed up at rehearsal with bass guitar and enough natural groove to highlight where they'd been going wrong with Russell. He understood the basics of the instrument and brought flare to the best gigs the band had ever played.

Even sleeping on Johnny's floor after gigs, Shaun appeared to be enjoying life on stage. Even Marlon stopped turning up late for events.

But, over time as Johnny and Stu's dreams of America deepened, the other two's became more ambivalence.

After gigging over Christmas the band pooled their resources in order to record in the new year of 1980. Everyone had saved including Stu who'd started working on the markets having left college.

The recordings led to better gigs though the band had ignored the studio engineer's advice of recording three songs well. Instead they'd recorded eight songs averagely.

Stu turned nineteen and more handsome. Johnny used him as his fashion inspiration whilst the other two band members kept gigging in whatever clothes they'd found that morning.

In March Shaun found a new girlfriend who didn't want to go to America.

One day in April he took off and didn't come back. Johnny rang his home for a week before catching him in. Shaun confessed he'd left the band.

After the annoyance passed Johnny phoned Stu who, having learned the importance of finding the right people, suggested Shaun's disinterest in America probably meant he'd not been right anyway despite being a decent player.

Back in his room Johnny wondered when Shaun would come back for the bass he'd left behind after their last gig.

When Shaun didn't collect it Johnny took it along to the next rehearsal and tried to persuade Marlon to take over the role of bassist.

'I don't want to,' he said folding his arms.

'Come on Marlon. We need something at the bottom end and your groove's pretty okay.'

'Why don't you play it?'

'Can you play this?' Johnny fingerpicked a beautiful chord progression.

'No,' Marlon admitted.

'Can you play this?' Johnny pedalled away on his lowest string.

'Yeah.'

'Then you can play bass. Give it a go at least for tonight. You might enjoy it.'

Marlon huffed putting his guitar in its case. But, when they played Johnny nodded at Stu. Marlon didn't look or sound too bad and Johnny soon found ways to fill the gaps the second guitar's absence created.

After a thorough rehearsal everyone agreed Johnny and the Used Ones sounded decent as a three piece and within a few more rehearsals they hit the bars gigging again.

Things seemed fine until the band's growth reached a plateau and new songs stopped appearing.

Marlon seemed happy having lapsed into lateness again but Johnny worried about Stu who had chosen working musically with him over further education. When questioned, Stu indeed had concerns.

By this time they'd known each other almost a year yet professionally they'd hardly progressed. Most importantly, something fundamental seemed wrong.

'Is it Marlon?' Johnny asked.

'I think it might be.'

Stu had observed his timekeeping, image and stunted improvement. But stated his lack of ambition determined his lack of "rightness" which affected the band's freshness and progression.

Johnny agreed knowing Marlon didn't live and breathe the band like he should. Though they'd talked about hunting down record companies they decided they should focus on getting the right team together first.

'A keyboard player mightn't be a bad idea,' Stu said.

'Okay,' Johnny said, 'let's do whatever it takes to get a quality bass player and maybe find someone to play boards along the way.'

'They'll have to look good too.'

Johnny agreed.

* * *

A week after that conversation Johnny went home to discover one of his housemates had moved out. Johnny talked to Geoff and Stu moved in.

Johnny talked to his landlord about the band. Geoff said they should be aiming for greater successes.

Johnny and Stu spent the summer working by day, attending martial arts classes by evening and rehearing.

Living under the same roof made song writing easier. They'd spend any other free time pubbing and clubbing, seeing other bands and meeting girls. Though neither mentioned Veronica, Stu found it amusing that every girl he thought pretty Johnny would disagree; that is until he found himself doing the same. Either way, Stu fancied girls his age or younger but Johnny seemed always to eye more adult ladies.

They tried poaching notable musicians in vain. Perhaps their mediocre demo let them down but though their songs had moved on in truth nobody inspired them to try too hard.

Wanting management they collected business cards, but not sufficient interest to secure a manager.

That didn't surprise either Johnny or Stu; the band seemed to be getting worse not better. Disagreeing on most issues including fashion, Marlon resisted, painting himself evermore as the black sheep of the band.

## Sunday 10th June 1984

Johnny hadn't shaken Dane's hand. They'd both looked at one another but Johnny had backed out the motel's room to Dane's clear relief.

'You see him then?' Stu asked when Johnny found him by the bus with Jack and Quinn somewhere nearby.

'I did.'

'What did he say?'

'Nothing much, 'Johnny said remembering the paper all over the bed. 'He's got an idea of how we can generate some cash for Linda before we hit LA.'

'Cool, what is it?'

'He'll tell us when we're all together on the bus.'

'So what about you – you ready to believe he's innocent?'

Johnny thought for a moment. 'Not sure. If I'm honest Dane seems a bit...'

'What, too thick to be part of a plan to rip us off?'

'No.' Johnny laughed. 'I mean, he can obviously think. He's got some plan of how we can make some cash.'

'And he's had other good ideas for us,' Stu agreed.

'What I mean is, he seems too nice to rip anyone off.'

'I've been thinking the same,' Stu said turning for the motel. 'But he's not so charmingly nice he'd pull one over on us.'

'That's it. I suppose he's just a genuine guy who's managing us because he was told to.'

'Right. But, could someone that sort of a nice guy be so subservient that they'd fall into a plan to rip us off because someone more important told him to – someone like this silver-haired Yul Bryner fella?'

'Hmm, I hadn't thought of that.'

'Well I had and it kinda bothers me,' Stu said as they neared the motel's reception. 'I need a shower. Christine will be pleased you spoke to Dane though.'

'I guess. I'll give Linda a ring.'

'Christine won't be pleased with that.'

Johnny laughed but said, 'You don't know what her problem there is do you?'

'No idea, but I'll tell you yours.'

'Mate, don't remind me.'

'Nar, I wasn't gonna give you a hard time about being obsessed with her. I was just gonna say it's Sunday.' He stopped in his tracks. 'Mate, she hasn't given you her home number has she?'

'No, nothing like that. I'll leave a message on her answer machine; though actually I wouldn't be surprised if she's there anyway knowing her.'

'Well, I'll see you at the bus soon,' Stu said turning and leaving Johnny at the reception's payphone.

'Oh,' Johnny said shouting after him, 'I must mention one funny thing that Dane said.'

'Go on.'

'He knew about us scrapping when we met but he said he couldn't believe Christine and Mazz would give us any trouble.'

## Monday 25th August 1980

Thankfully Graham and Liz secured Johnny a gig which injected the band with new life.

Through her work, Liz had heard of an open air event in Regent's Park scheduled for August's bank holiday. Le-Clash would headline supported by bands comprised of kids in Social Service shelter schemes.

She recommended Johnny and the Used Ones. Johnny's upbringing barely qualified the band but armed with extensive gig experience they landed the principle support slot.

Though scheduled to take the stage right before Le-Clash, Johnny and Stu nevertheless spruced up and arrived before the first band performed from the park's erected stage. Fully enthused the lads took flyers from the girls distributing them.

'What's this?' Stu said startling Johnny.

Looking at his flyer Johnny saw what Stu had. 'We've been bumped. Our slot's gone.'

'By Wayward Wenches?'

'Who the hell are Wayward Wenches?'

Aggrieved they showed their artist passes and tracked the organiser backstage.

'Sorry lads,' the man, called Big Al said, 'it was a last minute decision.'

'Can they play?' Stu asked.

'Who cares? They're five sexy girls and, no disrespect, but that's something you guys aren't.'

'Neither are Le-Clash.'

'No but, they are Le-Clash.'

'But—'

'Look, I'm sorry lads, the flyers are printed; running order can't change now.'

Big Al excused himself in order to announce the first act.

'We're stuffed if Marlon's late,' Johnny said.

Rather than languish, the lads spent the afternoon watching bands and observing audience fashions and responses.

By the time Marlon arrived they'd collected business cards from managers and record companies. Unfortunately most had vanished by the time they came to play.

Ready for their 8pm slot Johnny and the Used Ones took the stage ready to rock the growing Le-Clash-hungry crowd.

On the drum riser Stu failed to manipulate the toms obscuring his view of the audience. He despaired seeing Marlon pulling saggy jeans over exposed flesh. Johnny however, well-dressed and lean from martial arts training, looked terrific.

Big Al approached the mic and said about the previous band, 'Ladies and gentlemen weren't they fab?'

_No,_ Stu thought.

'We've got a treat for you now. Ladies and gentlemen please put your hands together for, Johnny, And, His, Used, One.'

Stu counted in the first songs with his sticks, rather than throwing them at Big Al. Hidden and feeling excluded he watched Marlon, as usual, standing stock still staring at his instrument neither engaging the crowd nor seeming to enjoy himself. Between toms he saw Johnny singlehandedly win the crowd.

* * *

Disappointed the show's potential didn't register on his expectations, Stu stepped from the drums not bothering to take his usual bow.

Away from the stage the three found a private area where Johnny leapt up and down saying, 'Did you hear that crowd?'

Obviously Stu had but couldn't feel Johnny's excitement, or Marlon's.

'That stage was huge,' Marlon enthused.

'So why d'you just stand in one spot then?' Stu said.

'What?'

'You had all that space yet you left all the rocking and crowd pleasing to Johnny.'

'Did I? I don't think so. I fairly rocked it tonight.'

Stu said no more.

Within ten minutes, in typical style, Marlon excused himself.

When the next band started Johnny said, 'Let's go see if these wenches are wayward sexy enough to justify bumping us down the bill.'

'They don't sound it but okay,' Stu said over the racket they'd just started.

Out front Johnny thought they must be seeing things. 'Blimey, is that really five sexy girls I see?'

'Image is definitely their strong suit,' Stu said as stage lights illuminated swishing hair and inviting curves. Listening closely he dissected Wayward Wenches' cacophony. The drummer looked like she might be tossing salad as the drums sloshed along leaving nothing for the bass to latch to. Not that the bassist would have noticed. Her lumbering sound set the band up for outrageous chords as one erroneous note followed another.

The guitar twined possibly thrown by misleading bass notes whilst the singer's glissando shrieks skidded everywhere but in key.

'Terrible,' Stu said.

'Maybe, but we shouldn't underestimate image. 'Marlon better get it together.'

Stu told him he'd had enough of Marlon. 'If he was going to sharpen he would have by now.'

Johnny agreed but Stu couldn't determine whether he'd grasped the depth of his implication. He said, 'He's not actually bad looking though is he?'

Johnny laughed. 'He's not and look at these girls, not all of them are beautiful.'

'Maybe we just got wowed by the lights and outfits,' Stu said considering how the Wayward Wenches had created a stimulating look he knew he'd remember.

From the waist up they looked like eighteenth century serving girls; each wearing champagne-coloured corsets and whorish makeup. Whilst below the waist they wore tight fitting jeans and high heels. They united the juxtaposed styles with punky jewellery made from chains and safety pins.

Johnny, analysing sound and image noted the singer's corset not doing her any favours. Layers of flesh poured over when she turned her back.

That she didn't have much bust meant the corset highlighted the figure she didn't have rather than exaggerating one he wanted her to have. He reckoned a producer might be able to hammer the band into shape but would have to go to the drawing board with the singer. Given the terrible sound he guessed there must be better singers within the band.

The guitarist had a lean figure but, like the singer had no bust and her stocky midriff meant she didn't suit her corset either. He couldn't see much of the drummer but heard enough to know it didn't matter how she looked.

He found the bassist most appealing. Her slender body had a tiny waist yet, where her sleek black hair fell, the corset strained accommodating her impressive bosom. Despite the makeup disguising her elfin face Johnny knew she must be the youngest.

Watching her delicate inexperienced fingers he felt for the girl as she guessed at notes on a bass that looked enormous.

Never straying from her position she acknowledged the audience less than Marlon; yet Johnny found her adorable. If her gaze ever lifted from her instrument's fingerboard she'd look past the singer to the keyboard player who, when Johnny saw her, wondered how he could possibly have missed her.

Perhaps the mousy bobbed hair or pallid skin had given her less immediacy than the others. But now he'd found her, he had a favourite Wayward Wench.

Her body curved in ways that made him forget the rest of the band's musical shortcomings. Lost in the moment Johnny yearned to put his hands on the silk and bone of her corset as she played two keyboards comparatively well. Sitting sideways to the crowd she appeared to keep an eye on the young bassist.

After shaking himself Johnny spoke to Stu who agreed though young, the bass player had something about her and given her age perhaps could be moulded into excellence.

Although Stu found her most attractive he guessed the keyboard player's womanly exuberance would appeal more to his pal. He also observed the communication between bass and keys sensing a matriarchal quality from the keyboard player.

Jostled by the massing crowd Stu said, 'Le-Clash are only minutes away.'

'Yeah,' Johnny said despondently, 'are you thinking what I'm thinking?'

'What, stuff Le-Clash, let's meet that bass player?'

'Yeah, but for the band or yourself?'

'The band of course.'

'She looks pretty young,' Johnny stated.

'Perhaps. You want the girl on boards don't you?'

'For the band?'

'You tell me.'

Again Johnny looked towards the keyboards. 'She mightn't be that good-looking up close.'

Stu laughed. 'At least we know they both look tremendous on stage.'

'Even talking to them might be a long shot. We've waited a long time to see Le-Clash. Are these girls worth losing our places for?'

Stu thought about it. 'Maybe. With a plan – something to really motivate them, it'll be worth it.'

'I know what might motivate them,' Johnny said.

'Yeah, what?'

'Same thing as motivated you.'

They conjured a scheme and pushed through the crowd. The guard at first refused to let them backstage despite their passes but, given they'd still to collect their instruments he told them to hurry.

Intent on being there as long as necessary the night's air warmed Johnny's excitement despite knowing he might miss Le-Clash.

'Keep your eyes open for jealous boyfriends,' Stu said as they headed over flattened grass towards the stage.

They watched the Wayward Wenches round up their set.

Johnny readied himself for Stu's execution of the plan. 'What record company cards you got?'

Stu fanned the business cards he'd collected. 'None very suitable. I've got one for a management company in Finsbury.'

'That'll work,' Johnny said. Taking the card he read, 'Reginald Caldwell?'

'Is that who I'm supposed to be?' Stu said. 'Do I look like a Reginald?'

'It's just a name.'

Stu took the card back off Johnny. 'I don't know about this. I'm too young to be a manager or to be called Reginald.'

'Same here but at least they'll not recognise you.' Johnny thought for a moment. 'Okay, tell them you're the company's junior. Use your real name.'

'Alright,' he said cursing the drums that had hidden him.

'You know what to say – roughly?'

'Maybe. Got to put them at ease about their playing ability too.'

'Right, but it's about making things easy for them. Don't mention America yet.'

'But if I make things sound too good they won't believe me.'

'So be authoritative. Tell them under no circumstances to be late. That'll make you seem more believable.'

'I should be in a suit.'

'They mightn't know that; the industry types buggered off before the Wenches turned up. Plus you're a junior, remember?'

'And I'm to direct them to this Finsbury office address?'

'Correct.'

'An office we don't work in?'

'That's your ace. You must be genuine; you've got a real card with real company name and details. We'll get down well before ten and I'll wait in the nearest café; you wait outside the office then bring them to the café.'

'There's just one problem.'

'What?'

'We're both working tomorrow at ten.'

'Damn. Bank holidays mess with my head.' Johnny thought for a moment. 'We'll finish early and do it at half four. It'll work better anyway; nothing in the music biz starts before lunchtime anyway.'

'Look out; they're here,' Stu said getting nervous.

Standing in the wings the lads let them pass with guitars but without keyboards.

'That could a problem,' Stu said. 'How much do keyboards cost?'

'She might have keyboards elsewhere. But mate, you haven't talked to them yet.'

'What if it comes up in conversation?'

'Tell them we'll sort it. We'll worry about that later.'

They watched, surprised the girls didn't receive more hounding. Though the group separated the keyboard player and bassist stuck to each other like the pages of a top shelf magazine.

Then, with a stroke of luck, they saw the pair head together towards the portaloos.

'Alright mate, time to move,' Johnny said.

'I can't just grab them right out the bogs.'

'No, but get them before they regroup.'

Whilst Johnny collected his guitar Stu ran along the grass positioning himself between the girls and their band. Soon the girls reappeared striding his way.

Trying to seem less obvious he kept his back to them. In the last moment he spun round. 'Hi girls.'

'Hi yourself,' the keyboard player said smiling but not slowing.

'Great show,' he said as they swept by.

'Cheers.' Neither looked back.

Feeling desperate and idiotic Stu jogged after them. 'Can I get your autographs?'

The keyboard player stopped. So did the bassist. 'Really? Well, I suppose we might be famous someday.'

'Not with that band,' Stu blurted.

'What did you just say?' Her eyes narrowed.

Stu clamped a hand to his mouth. 'I mean, why be famous _someday,_ when you can be famous _this day?_ '

'This day?'

'Well, tomorrow, actually. I'd like to make you an offer; both of you.' Stu motioned to the silent bassist. 'I work for Phoenix Entertainment Management.'

The older girl took the offered card and glancing at her friend said, 'Wow, we're impressed aren't we Mazz?'

'You should be, we represented The Sex Pistols.' Stu's mouth seemed to be doing its own thing.

'Malcolm McLaren managed them. Everyone knows that,' she said turning away. 'Come on Mazz.'

'Of course. We seconded him to The Pistols.'

'The Sex Pistols were rubbish.'

Stu figured all keyboard players would've said that. To the back of her head he said, 'We agree.'

'Good for you.'

'We're creating a new band of star quality characters.'

The keyboard player stopped again. Shifting her weight on her heels she eyed him suspiciously. 'You're too young to be a manager.'

'I'm the firm's junior.'

'Who has star quality, me or Mazz?'

'Both, potentially, believe it or not?'

'Why wouldn't we believe it?'

'I mean, well, you're scaring me a little. We need a keyboard and bass player.'

'So?'

'All I know is what I saw. What I heard doesn't matter so much. The interplay between you, the chemistry, that's what we need to complete the line-up. I don't know how old you are or what goes on in your lives but I urge you to come to the office tomorrow at half four.'

'Half four tomorrow?' She studied the card. 'Reginald?'

'Reginald's my boss. Don't be late,' he said remembering Johnny's advice.

She still looked suspicious. 'Where will Malcolm McLaren be?'

'He doesn't work from the office anymore.'

'Hmm. What about instruments?'

'We can source them if need be.'

'So it's not an audition?'

'Not as such. Like I say, we're initially after characters. We can fix things in the studio; Top of the Pops and Swap Shop can be mimed and the rest we'll leave to the promo videos.'

'Videos?'

'Yeah,' he said sensing her perking up. 'Video's essential. If we film a good-looking enough band people will watch the video all day, and buy records. It may even chart in America.'

'Half four you say?'

'Sixteen-thirty.'

'What's your name?'

'Stu.'

'Okay. We'll see you then.' She turned to leave. 'Come on Mazz.'

'Don't be late. My boss won't tolerate lateness given this opportunity,' he called after them. 'You can tell me your name tomorrow.'

'Christine,' she said without a backward glance. 'Till tomorrow cutie-pie.'

## Tuesday 26th August 1980

At 2pm the lads dashed home from the markets and groomed. An hour later they set off on foot; Johnny carrying his guitar.

'Where is it we're headed?'

'Finsbury.'

'Specifically?'

Stu stopped in his tracks. 'You know the address don't you?'

'It was on the business card. You had it last.'

'Yeah; I gave it to the girls.'

'But... you made a note of the address right?'

'I thought you knew it.'

'My god,' Johnny yelled, 'Are we making history here?'

Stu appeared to have no idea what he meant but looked furious.

Johnny yelled again. 'We're two idiots standing up two super-hot babes.'

'Argggh, I thought you knew the address.'

Johnny couldn't contain his laughter longer.

'You think this is funny?' Stu said.

'Maybe we've another business card,' Johnny said.

'Have we?'

'No. I don't suppose there's any point asking whether you remembered the phone number?'

'No there isn't.' Stu said grabbing the railings beside the pavement.

'Ah, don't worry,' Johnny laughed again. 'It's Phoenix Entertainment Management, remember? I just checked the Yellow Pages.'

Stu hardly knew how to react. 'Crikey mate, don't joke like that.'

* * *

Soon they peered through Phoenix's glass door. Carpeted stairs led to the first floor office.

Looking at his watch Stu said, 'We're early.'

'Good, let's find a café.'

Heading up the street they settled for the first eatery they found. Overpriced but comfy they bought drinks and waited.

Stu checked his watch every few seconds. 'I better get positioned.'

'It's still early.'

'But we can't risk them going into the office.'

'True.'

* * *

After ages of loitering outside the office Stu wondered where the girls might be. Could they have stood him up? Could they have slipped into Phoenix's office without his noticing? He doubted that. Nobody had passed in or out its door.

Well after the agreed time he started doubting everything. He'd specifically told them not to be late, how many times? He couldn't have been clearer about the time and date, or could he?

Christine had herself said she'd see him tomorrow right before she called him cutie-pie.

Could Johnny have brought them to the wrong address – another Phoenix? Two Phoenix Entertainment Management companies in Finsbury? Impossible.

Two things came to mind, either the girls had turned up well before he had or they'd been held up. The first idea seemed plausible given Christine's suspicions the day before.

Whether that, or a genuine hold up, the result would be the same. Christine would have spoken to someone in the office either in person or by telephone. Either way they'd know they'd been scammed and be long gone. Just before 5pm Stu decided he had nothing to lose so headed into the office.

Climbing rickety stairs he heard clacking and beyond a door found a lady in her forties typing.

'Can I help you?' she asked.

'I hope so,' he said recognising and acknowledging a man at another desk.

'I remember you from yesterday,' the man said.

'Reginald. That's right. Sorry for disturbing you,' Stu said. 'My mate took a card, which I gave to a couple of babes.'

Stu explained the situation. 'I'd hoped to catch them outside but they haven't shown up.'

Reginald laughed. 'I admire your ingenuity, but I'm afraid nobody's been in or phoned that matches your description.' He checked with the typing lady.

'They must have changed their minds,' Stu said.

Thanking him Stu turned to leave but reaching for the door it burst open. Christine fell through it with Mazz on her heels carrying her bass.

'Stuart,' she said. 'We're really sorry I know you said not to be late but the Hammersmith line's down.'

Stu looked at Reginald who winked.

'Couldn't you have phoned?' Stu said snapping into character.

'We couldn't risk missing the first available tube. It was jam-packed.'

Ushering them back out the door Stu said, 'Okay, everyone calm down. You're here now. Let's get a drink.'

* * *

Johnny had moved to booth seating ideal for four people. He'd propped his guitar against the wall, got another drink and then, with no sign of Stu and the girls, started worrying, then got bored, then worried again until that became boring.

Running fingers through the hair he'd so carefully spiked he debated chancing a look down the street when finally Stu appeared with a subtle nod. As he held the door Christine and Mazz followed.

'Hammersmith's down,' Stu said.

Not knowing what to do Johnny half stood but let Stu lead the way.

'Girls, over here is someone I'd like you to meet.'

The girls had blank expressions.

'You don't know who this is?' Stu asked.

'No idea,' Christine said.

'This, is Johnny Won.'

'Not ringing any bells.' Though spoken with attitude Johnny detected some nervousness in Christine, who to his relief, yet also discomposure, looked as gorgeous close up as she had on stage; though she did keep a finger close to her lips.

Following introductions Stu vanished to buy everyone drinks.

When Johnny sat, Mazz slid next to him and Christine shuffled opposite. In his stomach butterflies sprang to action as he yearned to take Christine's hand from her lips and just hold it in his. Her smooth skin and soft pink of her painted nails seemed at odds with her sharp personality. However, a glance at her eyes brought his doe-eyed wishes to an end; her harsh expression unmistakable.

Back with drinks Stu said, 'I thought you might've recognised Johnny from Johnny and the Used Ones. They played yesterday before Wayward Wenches.'

'We'd have been getting ready at that time,' Christine said, a finger's movement momentarily revealing her top lip.

Johnny glimpsed a single enormous, foundation-encrusted spot. The finger returned at once. He stifled a smile until Stu looked at him.

They both knew the time to be honest had arrived.

Stu spoke up. 'Johnny and the Used Ones is the band I was talking about yesterday.' He waited for a reaction but the girls only listened. 'They're currently operating as a three piece. Johnny here on guitar and vocals, there's a bass player who's leaving and me on drums.'

'You're in the band?' Christine asked.

'Yeah,' he said sheepishly.

'So it's your band you're pushing?'

'Yeah.'

Christine's eyes narrowed.

'You any good?' Mazz asked surprising the lads.

'Sure,' Stu said.

'Let's see,' Christine chimed.

Stu wondered what she meant but Johnny slid two forks towards him. Catching on Stu ignored the café's groove-less Gershwin and demonstrated several rhythms on the table's surface, including rolls and paradiddles off Coke bottles and ashtrays.

'Anyway,' he said slapping the cutlery down, 'the proposed band is the four people sat right here.'

'And you think us four sat right here have star potential?' Christine asked.

'Potentially,' Johnny said.

Christine didn't argue. But she looked at Stu with chilling solemnity. 'Yesterday you said a lot of stuff about management and singles – and videos?'

'And,' Stu started, 'I implied we wouldn't need to be any good live but there's no avoiding it. We'd have to be exceptional.'

'Don't sidestep the question. That stuff you promised?'

'Well—'

'I mean, you work for Phoenix right?'

'Err, no.'

'But you're managed by them?'

'Yeah.'

'Yeah?'

'No, actually.'

'So you lied. All that stuff about The Pistols and McLaren and the office where we just met was just a scheme to get us here.'

'Yeah, but—'

'It's not a question.' She stood up and shoved past Stu grabbing the bass. 'Come on Mazz.'

Johnny's mouth dropped open but no words came. Mazz stood up and gave him an apologetic look but followed Christine who already stood holding the door.

As it closed Stu banged his elbows on the table and put his face in his hands. 'That didn't go well.'

Johnny could've screamed. He'd been sizing the girls up and felt sure he liked them. This couldn't be happening. He sat straight beating his fingers on the table. 'I'm going after them.'

'Mate, that's not cool.'

'I don't care,' he said already on his feet.

'What will you say?'

'I don't know.'

On the street he looked left. Nothing. He looked right. The girls had already covered some distance.

'Girls.' He caught them up. 'Please.' Christine wouldn't face him. 'I'm sorry.'

No longer hiding the spot Christine's vexation worsened.

'Mazz, please,' Johnny said.

She looked at him and slowed.

'I'm sorry, we didn't know how else to get you to meet us?' Neither girl spoke so Johnny continued. 'You've come all this way. At least come back and finish your drinks. No more lies.'

Still neither girl spoke. Johnny understood Christine's agitation.

'Fine,' he said jamming a hand in his pocket. He thrust a fiver into Mazz' hand. 'Go home then. But take a cab, Hammersmith will be murder after the delays.'

He faced the café with slumped shoulders.

Resigned to fate he started walking but Christine called after him. 'Hang on Johnny.'

He looked to see the girls whispering. He waited.

'Alright we'll talk,' she said.

* * *

Back in the café everyone took their places in the booth. Stu made to speak but Johnny cut in.

'I'm sorry we lied. It served a purpose but it was at the expense of building your hopes up.'

'We were suspicious anyway,' Christine said. 'Not that I'm any less annoyed.'

'Understandable,' Johnny managed but could help wondering if they'd suspected a scam why they'd turned up at all.

Christine said, 'What gets me edgy is why you're choosing us. You've heard us play; we're not great. Either you're even less talented than us – and if you're too dumb to recognise that, then we're not interested, or it's about sex. If that's the case you're way off base, Mazz isn't even—'

'It's not,' Johnny said. 'Well, other than to say the sexier a band, the better its chances. We want this band to succeed so yes, we want to be damned sexy. If you two were in the band we'd be well on the way. Plus me and Stu could use some female opinion to maximise our appeal.'

Christine looked bashful. 'I understand a band could do worse than have sexy girls to help its image, not that I feel it with this stupid spot.'

'Even Debbie Harry must get spots occasionally,' Johnny said relaxing when Christine chuckled.

'Neither of us is Blondie. But what about basic musicianship?

Stu said, 'Me and Johnny, we've something real; a desire that'll take us all the way. But our current bass player is distracted. He's just not – _right.'_

'Again, what makes you think me and Mazz are?'

'A feeling,' Johnny said. 'We've been hunting musicians for ages. You two are the first that have excited us.'

'Despite hearing us play? You must have seen miles better musicians out there.'

'Firstly, Christine, don't sell yourself short. You're alright.' Johnny turned to the younger girl. 'Mazz, truthfully if you're to join this band we're going to have to work closely; really take things back to basics; build up slowly.'

She nodded. 'I know I don't always get the right notes.'

'It's more than that. Stu here is the best drummer I ever heard. He deserves a bass player who plants the right notes perfectly with his groove.'

She pursed her lips but returned his gaze with wide eyes, 'Okay.'

'Like an apprenticeship; learning a trade. It won't happen overnight.'

'You know she's only fifteen,' Christine said.

'So you've another year of school,' Johnny said still facing her.

Christine said, 'She's not old enough to play pubs.'

'I was fifteen when I started gigging.'

'Me too,' Stu said.

Christine leant back in her seat. 'Okay. I'm still peeved that you had us believe we'd be shooting videos.'

'We will,' Johnny said.

'You don't know that. I'm not convinced you can offer us more than we have with Wayward Wenches.'

'We can play,' Stu said. 'Granted, Wayward Wenches wear corsets but you're the only two who look good in them. I'm a properly decent drummer and Johnny can really sing.'

'Our singer can sing.'

Waiting a beat Stu said, 'If that's your honest opinion then we've serious problems.'

For a second Christine looked shocked but then said, 'Yeah alright, she's rubbish but she might get better.'

'Heard that before,' Johnny said. 'It'll never happen. The Wenches come across as a toy band lacking commitment.'

Christine said nothing.

'Mazz, if you join this band it'll require commitment. Note by note you'll improve until you're a beautifully solid player; musically worthy of any band. And that goes for us all. With persistence and devotion we'll get signed, recorded, video'd and wealthy.'

Nobody spoke for a moment. Christine sucked the last of her Coke through a straw. 'So what's next?'

The lads looked at one another. Johnny said, 'We rehearse.'

'When?'

'Now.'

'D'you see a keyboard?'

'Rehearsal rooms have keyboards.'

'Who's paying?'

Johnny smiled. 'You're our guests.'

'We should think about this.'

'Think about waiting ages in a stuffy tube station, cramming yourselves onto a dirty train with stinking commuters?'

'Or getting a cab. We've still got your fiver.'

'The streets will be heaving by now. Anyway what's to think about – whether me and Stu are nice guys?'

'Something like that.'

'What you really need to think about is whether we can work musically as a band. Then you'll have plenty to discuss when you take the cab home.'

'What d'you think Mazz?' Christine asked. 'You wanna rehearse?'

'Yeah,' she said immediately.

'Let's go,' Stu said.

* * *

After readying the equipment Johnny led the way. But, after too many false starts, despair skulked in. Another jam session crumbled.

Stu's grave expression suggested hopelessness and Mazz looked like she feared being blamed for the lack of progression.

But, seated behind the borrowed Rhodes, Christine appeared confidently resigned to the situation. At her suggestion, Johnny and Stu played through one of their own songs. Without bass Johnny rocked with the drums; it sounded great.

'Not bad,' Christine said but Johnny noted her expression betraying her truth. When they ran through it again, Christine added some keys and helped Mazz get started. Before the song finished Johnny detected Christine's lips moving along.

'Why didn't you sing with Wayward Wenches?' he asked.

'It's not possible with her making up noises as she goes along.'

Setting up a mic for her, he saw Christine looking worried.

'If you don't want to sing you can direct us,' Johnny said.

A third attempt tightened the song further with Christine's singing peeping through intermittently. Towards the last chorus and she requested a guitar solo.

Eager to impress Johnny upped his amp's gain and tore into expeditious picking, winning satisfied looks from Stu. Though Mazz looked amazed, Christine looked thoroughly unconvinced. Spotting this Johnny stopped soloing ending the song.

'Okay,' Christine said dryly. 'After decades of guitarists trying to outpace each other let's do it again but give us a solo worth getting excited about.'

Johnny knew what she meant. When the solo came round on their next attempt he leant into the strings and closing his eyes let the guitar do the talking. Without seeking praise the solo breathed, building to its pinnacle where Johnny came back to the mic for the final chorus.

When they finished nobody spoke until Christine did. 'Better.'

The session developed with Johnny and the Used Ones' songs earning compliments but not Christine's heart.

'These songs we're doing now... we know might differ from your tastes,' Johnny said. 'With your input we know future songs would sound different.'

Christine nodded not letting the lads know what she thought.

In the rehearsal's fading minutes Johnny wondered what it would take to impress her. A thought surfaced. He started strumming chords.

'I wrote this after arriving in London with nothing but the clothes I wore and the memory of my mother's voice.'

Alone with his guitar he performed more to himself than anyone else. Reaching the chorus he sang, ' _How can we be so happy, when we have nothing at all?'_

Though he didn't look up he knew something had happened.

* * *

The four stood on the street afterwards. As Christine had earlier Mazz asked, 'So what's next?'

'I'm starving,' Christine said. 'Are you hungry babe?'

Mazz nodded.

'It's nearly eight,' Stu said.

'We've missed our meal,' Mazz said.

Stu picked up her bass. 'Let's grab something together.'

They headed to another café where over unhealthy chip butties Mazz asked Christine, 'What d'you think?'

Shooting a silencing look Christine fished in her handbag for pen and Phoenix's business card. 'There's a lot to consider. What's you guys _real_ number?'

She wrote the number on the card and returning it snapped her purse shut.

'What's to consider?' Johnny asked.

'A few things; amongst which I have a confession to make.'

'You?' Stu asked.

'You should know I don't own any keyboards.'

Stu looked like he didn't know what to say.

Johnny ignored him. 'How d'you get so good?'

'I'm not. It's like what you said about bass playing. I just get the basics right; keep things simple. There's a piano at the home. I play around on that.'

'How've you managed?' Stu asked.

'We rehearse in a youth club. They've got two keyboards. Then if we gig we make sure we're on with a band that can lend us stuff.'

'We'll get you one,' Johnny said.

'What?' Stu and Christine both asked.

'We'll think of something. We'll hire stuff from rehearsal rooms. If this band's right, it'll get sorted. You sounded fine with the Rhodes. We'll start there see what happens.'

'If,' Christine paused, 'we join your band maybe we could rehearse at our youth group with their gear.' She recovered Johnny's fiver. 'We should get going. Would've been nice to get a cab but we'll manage by tube.'

'Keep it,' Johnny said. 'Take the cab.'

* * *

Minutes later Johnny held the door of a Hackney carriage. When Mazz looked at him he hugged her and thanked her for coming. Neither he nor Stu tried hugging Christine.

'Let us know,' Johnny said when she slipped past joining Mazz.

'Will do,' she said leaving the lads to wonder if she'd call.

* * *

In the taxi Christine studied her nails pretending not to think about their afternoon.

'What d'you think?' Mazz asked.

'Yeah, it was good,' she said nonchalantly.

'I liked them.'

'I knew you'd say that. They lied to us don't forget.'

'That doesn't make them liars Christine. I happen to think they're honest people. If they hadn't lied, we wouldn't have given them the chance to be honest.'

Christine stopped looking at her nails. 'Aren't you disappointed what they promised wasn't true?'

Mazz turned her up her button nose. 'Sort of.'

'Doesn't it bother you that they're just two lads wanting us to join their crappy band?'

'It's not crappy.'

'I suppose.' Christine put her arm round her. 'You've got a good musical ear.'

'I thought Johnny's voice was fab. I'd listen to him all day.'

'Oh God.'

'What?'

'I don't know. Don't be so... into them. We haven't said yes yet.'

'Well we should.'

'I don't know. What about school – there mightn't be time?'

'We'll make time. They said they'd turn me into a good bass player, that's a chance most orphans don't get.'

'Whatever you get, you've always got me.'

'I know.' Mazz wriggled from under her arm. 'You fancy Johnny?'

'Knock that right off young lady. I don't fancy Johnny.'

'I saw you looking at him. You couldn't have either him or Stu if we joined. Maybe that's why you're reluctant.'

'I don't like your tone.'

'Why? I'd have Stu after you'd finished with him.'

'For God's sake, if you must talk like that at least do it with someone your own age.'

'Maybe I have.'

'You haven't and I don't think we should join.'

## Sunday 10th June 1984

Whilst Mazz showered, Christine stood by the motel room's sink rinsing her old grey tracksuit following that day's combat session. New Mexico's heat would dry it during the torrid bus journey that lay ahead.

'You still in there?' Stu called through the bathroom door.

Christine hurried into cut-off jeans and fresh T-shirt.

'Mazz won't be long,' she said stepping from the shower room.

Stu wolf-whistled as she passed.

She tugged at the cut-offs that had frayed shorter than ever. 'Has Johnny talked to Dane?'

'Yeah, but he's on the phone to Linda again.'

'Well I'll see you in reception,' she said heaving her bag outside. She didn't want to show her vexation of Johnny phoning Linda again.

But, in the corridor she bumped into the man himself.

'Johnny, how d'you get on?' she asked ignoring him blatantly look her up and down. She felt flattered.

Reaching her he stopped, still looking anywhere but her face.

'Johnny?' she said.

'Either those cut-offs get better with every wash or your legs are getting longer.'

'At least your sense of humour's coming back,' she said straight faced.

'Maybe, but I don't feel great with everyone knowing what an idiot I've been.'

'So, how did you get on with Dane?'

'I don't know babe.' He smiled. 'I hope he's innocent.'

'Even if it means there's nobody else to blame?'

'Other than me for being stupid, someone's to blame, we just don't know who it is.'

'But d'you think it's Dane?'

He stopped ogling her thighs and looked her in the eye. 'Who knows, but thanks Christine, for making me see sense.'

'Anytime,' she said but broke away. 'Stu's next in the shower. See you in reception yeah?

## Friday 29th August 1980

It had been touch and go but the lads felt Christine and Mazz had something about them and for that they couldn't wait to give Marlon his marching orders. Even if the girls called with bad news, the very idea of continuing with him seemed laughable.

Striking before the iron had cooled Stu had called Marlon the moment they got back from rehearsal with the girls. He hopped Marlon would understand and perhaps be relieved; free to ditch the bass and join another band as a guitarist.

But, Stu underestimated Marlon's reaction. Such an ego blow turned him crazy.

The phone slammed down. Stu felt he hadn't heard the last. Sure enough minutes later Marlon stood at their door kicking its frame and threatening both him and Johnny with violence.

When neither lad reacted with the fear Marlon expected he eventually left cursing the band and its members.

'Well, that's that,' Johnny said. 'There's no possible way he'll ever be part of this band now.'

Stu agreed but two days later, they'd heard nothing from the girls and Marlon had created feelings so bad in the markets Geoff even visited the house to smooth things over.

Marlon had been describing them as treacherous and recommend they be sacked. Geoff seemed not to understand why they'd cut Marlon from the band until after listening to their side of the story told them he'd see them at work the next day as usual.

Having followed Johnny and the Used Ones' progression Geoff said he thought they'd taken a major backwards step when they should be ploughing forwards. He believed they had stardom awaiting but his kind statement offered little comfort given the girls' lack of contact.

* * *

The next day the phone still hadn't rung. Marlon ceased being angry; probably too busy laughing behind their backs. Johnny and Stu decided the chances of Christine calling had fallen to hopeless.

* * *

Over in West Ham Christine had gone to bed after meeting the lads with mixed ideas about Johnny and the Used Ones. She'd been furious with the lads. Stu had promised the world and lied.

Four years earlier she'd been living in the same Social Services house she still shared with Mazz and sixteen other girls. As a fifteen year old she fell for a boy her own age, who despite being careful, landed her pregnant.

The boy's _respectable_ family took over, moving so fast they didn't waste a moment on her feelings. The father did the talking and the driving to hospital.

By the time she returned Christine had no baby, no lover and would have had no self-respect if she hadn't exploded in rage. The father implied orphans had no rights to success and happiness and no business with his son and certainly none with his grandson or daughter.

Filled with desire to kick everything within reach she despised both father and his useless son who'd neither stopped the insults nor shared the blame.

The following day the rage vanished when Christine met a girl with a pair of big frightened eyes.

Mazz, then eleven, had been recently orphaned having lost both parents in a fatal car accident. Just the focus Christine needed, she took Mazz under her wing and never again did anything for herself without first considering Mazz.

Four years later Christine still harboured mistrust of boys and her own desires to achieve anything beyond the mediocre. She considered Stu and Johnny.

Even after they'd come clean they still promised the earth; they'd just have to work damn hard to get it.

That unbelievable promise had nevertheless touched her with rare and faint hope. Her mistrust of boys faltered. Perhaps if she knew Stu and Johnny, she could in time trust. Their passion for making it big here or America had unnerved her but that fear soon passed.

Given how upset Mazz had been when told they'd not be joining the band Christine had quickly backpedalled saying she'd think about it. Wanting more than mediocrity for Mazz, she wondered whether the band really could provide the route to better things. Giving Mazz a cooling off period she held off phoning the lads.

By Friday Mazz still bugged her so she decided to call them. She hoped they wouldn't have changed their minds. But that evening she discovered to her horror: no Phoenix card. Thinking of the café she recalled writing the lads' home telephone number on the card and specifically placing it in her purse.

She emptied both purse and handbag's contents onto her bunk and sifted through diary, condoms and keys. No card.

After silently rebuking herself she went downstairs and called Mazz away from the TV and other girls.

'What's up?' Mazz asked.

Christine hung her head and began a slow apology. 'Thing is after a lot of thought I feel the band could've been good for us both. It's just that, oh God would you believe it, I've lost their number.'

'What?' Mazz asked without freaking out.

'I've lost their phone number.'

'Are you certain you wanted to join Johnny and the Used Ones?'

'Yes. Why, don't you?' she asked almost hopefully.

'Of course I do. But do you?'

'I just said so didn't I?'

'Okay, if you're sure. I took the card.'

'Why?'

Mazz put her hand in her back pocket. 'I didn't want you sneaking off and telling them we weren't joining.'

## Saturday 30st August 1980

The next day the lads followed Christine's directions to West Ham where she'd arranged for them to use their local youth club's rehearsal space and equipment free of charge.

Both lads had dressed up for the occasion but when they entered the freshly decorated building they found neither girl had made the same effort. Christine wore no makeup, though thankfully her spot had lessened. She wore jeans like Marlon's and a washed out shirt; not that either lad complained about the missing button.

'Don't worry,' she said catching Stu's eye, 'I won't go on stage like this.'

Regarding the better dressed Mazz, Johnny said, 'I got you a present.'

'Really?'

'Don't get too excited,' he said handing her an item from his guitar case.

'What is it?' she said looking it over.

'A metronome; to help you develop rock-solid timing.'

Johnny showed her finger exercises and how to practice with it. Watching her dainty hands he wondered how she'd develop strength and a decent stretch until she explained being left-handed her strongest hand covered the frets.

Cracking into rehearsal Johnny and the Used Ones soon morphed into something wholly modern sounding. Christine had resuscitated the outmoded Fender Rhodes sound by plugging it through guitar effect pedals she'd picked up cheaply. In addition to the Rhodes she used a second keyboard called a string machine from which she drew an ethereal density leaving Johnny in no doubt that they'd have to get their hands on one of their own.

When the time to wrap up arrived Johnny proposed they book a gig for six weeks' time. 'It'll give us focus and something to work towards.'

With that agreed the guys packed up and headed to the local pub on Christine's suggestion. Christine told Mazz to look as grown up as possible.

Trading stories they learned that despite being twenty Christine still hadn't been turfed out the home.'

'They love her,' Mazz said.

Christine smiled. 'I'm registered as staff and do a lot round the place. But it's like free labour for the guys running it, given I'm signing on.'

'She gets called Mother Hen,' Mazz said.

## Sunday 10th June 1984

Johnny sat on the coach surrounded by band and crew.

'Is everyone comfortable?' Dane asked standing in the aisle.

'Yes,' came the reply.

'Everyone had enough exercise?'

'Except you Dane,' Johnny said.

'Ah, well I've been exercising my brain.'

On this occasion Johnny thought better of making more jokes.

Dane continued. 'Now then, tonight we're supporting Jefferson Starship again. We've got a three hour drive to Las Cruces.'

'Where's that?' Stu shouted.

'South of here. Now, I believe everyone is aware of a few serious things stirring up the waters. Most importantly we have the task of repaying Linda Lake ten thousand dollars. And, because it affects us all, I propose pulling together to generate as much money as possible to repay Linda when we arrive in LA, as has already been suggested to me by Christine and Mazz. So, has anyone any practical suggestions?'

'Stu has,' Quinn said from behind the bus's steering wheel.

'Okay, what's your idea Stu?' Dane asked.

Stu explained his club fight and Johnny watched the girls' and Dane's expressions turn to horror.

When he'd finished Mazz surprised everyone by speaking first. 'Why the hell would you do something so stupid?'

'He did great,' Quinn said but catching Mazz's glare in the driving mirror concentrated back on the road.

Stu faltered knocked by Mazz's uncharacteristic bluntness. 'I made us two hundred dollars,'

'And what's two hundred compared to the ten thousand we owe?'

'A bloody start.' Stu banged his hand on the headrest of the seat in front of him.

'Well it's a crap one. What if you'd been hurt? We'd have no drummer and no income from the rest of the tour. You weren't being smart.'

Johnny would have spoken up but hadn't thought of it in quite such grim terms.

Instead Dane clapped his hands together. 'Enough. Stu's right. We've got to have something to give Linda. But Stu, Mazz is also right. Risking the rest of the tour isn't any way to help Linda or ourselves.'

The silence darkened the mood further. 'Does everyone agree – no more club fights?'

Nobody spoke, not to the contrary anyway.

'Okay. Any other ideas?'

Johnny almost kept quiet about his previous night. But felt sorry that Stu had been berated for trying so hard to help.

He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a bundle of bills.

'Here,' he said, 'one hundred and eighty-three dollars. Add that to the pot.'

Dane's face lit up. 'Well done, how d'ya manage that?'

'Poker,' he said.

This time Christine blew up. 'Poker – the same thing that got us in this mess in the first place?'

'I was robbed,' Johnny yelled back as if she'd forgotten that detail.

'Enough,' Dane shouted again. 'Thank you Johnny and Stu. That's great.'

He took an elastic band from a cash box before banding the two lads' earnings and handing the total to Johnny. 'You alright minding the pot?'

Johnny looked at the bills but considering the task. 'Nah. You're the manager.'

He put the roll back in Dane's hands. The two looked at each other a moment. Then Dane nodded and resumed his place at the top of the coach.

'That's almost the first half grand of the first of ten. Earned by two people in one night.'

Mazz had gone quiet but Johnny saw Christine still shake her head.

'Now then,' Dane said. 'I've got an idea. It's low risk and nobody should get hurt.' He smiled alone. 'T-shirts.'

Dane explained their merchandise typically netted five dollars per item. On a good night they'd been selling around thirty though poor nights only between five and ten.

With seventeen gigs to play before LA he suggested they all actively push T-shirts even mentioning them at radio stations. They could put the entire proceeds towards the debt.

'Aren't we low on T-shirts?' Christine asked.

'The next batch should be with us tomorrow and we'll order more if need be.'

'How many T-shirts d'you expect us to sell?' Stu asked.

'Nowhere near enough to clear the debt but—'

'How many would clear it?' Stu asked.

'A hundred and twenty every night.'

'Quadruple what we're selling now,' Johnny said.

'Quadruple what you're selling on a good night,' Dane corrected. 'But, selling sixty a night would mean we'd something significant to give Linda. What does everyone say?'

'I like it,' Johnny said.

'Sure beats poker,' Christine said.

Finding the comment unfair Johnny said, 'I'll remind you poker is what afforded you your keyboards and allowed me to keep my guitar. We wouldn't have got far without it.'

## October 1980 – January 1981

They played their first gig with Christine and Mazz at the Hope and Anchor; home of all firsts Johnny thought remembering Scarf Ace and his first gig with Stu. But, unlike those times not even the unmistakable nervous energy could save them from disaster.

Having persuaded the youth club to lend them their Rhodes and the Roland string machine they'd turned up amongst a bunch of bands who still believed in punk's ethos; ready to take the stage and pretend to be angry. Stu had recently passed his driving test and borrowed a van from Edward, one of the market's stallholders.

Following a discussion about image they settled on tight black jeans and white T-shirts. Like the Fonz from Happy Days, the lads styled their hair in 1950's quiffs. The girls titivated with sharp makeup and sharper stilettos. Mazz's sunglasses disguised her innocent eyes though she still looked younger than her fifteen years. For weeks, having only seen Christine looking dowdy, her swan-like transformation gave the lads extra faith in the band... until they played.

After their first song they lost cohesion. Doing his best Stu thought they sounded like four musicians playing four different songs. He watched Christine sitting behind her keys seeming introvert. Mazz looked isolated, never lifting her gaze from her fretboard which left Johnny overcompensating for their lack.

Stu felt any established hold on the audience vanish as one dreadful performance followed another. He itched to get off stage as the rumblings from the audience grew.

Afterwards, leaning against the pub's back wall, he wondered where it'd gone wrong.

Christine approached him through the mass of people. He didn't dare guess what she'd be thinking. He only hoped she wouldn't leave the band.

'Stuart,' she said wearing a little-girl smile he'd not seen before.

'Are you alright, after that?' he asked.

She wrinkled her nose. 'Rubbish gig.'

Stu nodded preparing himself for bad news.

'But we're okay aren't we?'

Until that moment Christine had given him and Johnny the impression that despite the hard work she'd put into the band she didn't need it and they'd do well to remember the fact. Detecting a new and different vibe he hesitantly he put an arm around her.

* * *

After dropping the girls home Johnny and Stu sat at their kitchen table. 'Well that was a disaster,' Johnny said.

'Was it?' Stu said.

'Wasn't it?'

'Musically it was so bad I thought Christine might leave.'

'Don't say that mate.'

'It's okay. I reckon she's all front – she needs us as much as we need her.'

* * *

The girls had just enough time to make last orders in their local. Christine bought Mazz a Coke. 'How did you find that babe?'

'Thought we'd be better,' Mazz admitted. 'What did Stu say?'

'We're not fired.'

Mazz relaxed.

'Remember in the taxi after we met the lads?' Christine said. 'I asked whether it bothered you that they were just two lads wanting us to join their crappy band?'

'I said they weren't crappy.'

'You were right. But it didn't bother you that all that management and instant stardom stuff was a hoax. Why?'

Mazz took her time to answer. 'I guess it was just a feeling. I felt their genuine invitation meant we'd be joining, _something_.'

'And you didn't feel that with the Wenches?'

'Hardly. I was there to make up the numbers.'

* * *

In the next rehearsal they decided to limit their practice to five songs; enough to support other bands.

'We'll rehearse them until we can play them in our sleep,' Johnny said. 'I'll book us another gig for a fortnight's time.'

A fortnight later they borrowed the keyboards and Edward's van and opened for a night of four bands at another London pub.

* * *

In the rehearsal following the gig Johnny said, 'Obviously we've had another terrible performance. I'm concerned more might be damaging.'

They decided no more gigging until they'd sussed their problem.

'I propose,' Johnny said, 'we get gigging after Christmas and if we're still not performing as we know we should we try intensive gigging instead; see if that irons things out.'

Everyone agreed but minutes into the rehearsal Johnny noticed each player's position within the room and thought he'd grasped the problem.

He stepped forwards two feet and at once felt the band confidence quail. Two steps back and it righted itself again.

'Hang on,' he said into his mic mid song. 'Let's arrange ourselves like we would on stage.'

The girls' reluctance spoke volumes and before the first song's chorus the arrangement fell apart.

'Think about the two gigs we did; the poky stages,' Johnny said. 'That's where we're going wrong. In here we can communicate on all levels. On stage, with our backs to Stu, and me in the way of bass and keyboards we lose it.'

'So we need to set up differently?' Mazz asked.

'We need to be aware of each other. Mazz, I need to make sure I'm not blocking.your view of Christine.'

* * *

Leading into winter they focused the majority of their attention on their chosen performance songs. Mazz would step backwards. From beside the drums she could communicate with Stu whilst seeing past Johnny to Christine who sat sideways to where the audience would be.

Then, one rehearsal Stu suggested they attempt a song with the lights off. 'It'll help train us to play on darker stages and perform to the audience rather than stare at our instruments and each other all night.'

Nearest the door Mazz hit the switch. The room fell into darkness.

Christine's fingers felt their way onto the keys aided by traces of light from the street. Not able to see anyone's faces though she heard from somewhere in the darkness Stu counting them in. With fingers positioned she closed her eyes.

The music sounded different. It felt different. It penetrated her more honestly than it did with the lights on. She heard new mistakes but they didn't matter; the song and its sound had greater purpose.

Stu's drums made her want to dance, Mazz's bass to copulate and, if Johnny's guitar made her want to sing the sound of his voice filled her head dizzying her like a prayer; not just words spoken but a connection with something truly spiritual. She didn't want to sully his voice with hers but when the time came to sing her voice with his flowed like rivers into confluent beauty.

When Mazz flicked the lights back on everyone blinked avoiding eye contact until their eyes had readjusted.

'Wow,' Johnny said. 'Did anyone else feel that?'

'It felt brilliant,' Mazz said.

But Christine sensed that the darkness having evoked such passion had also generated twinges of embarrassment. Nevertheless its value won out and future rehearsals made time for darkness training.

In one session Christine heard Mazz's voice too.

Johnny set up a mic for her and soon she sang along to Christine's voice. Once she'd got it Christine developed new parts for herself.

## Saturday 10th January 1981

Stu celebrated Christmas with his family. Getting more presents than his bandmates he argued they'd all benefit from the cymbals he'd received.

Johnny spent his Christmas with Liz and Graham who gave him strings and plectrums. Graham's band had started writing songs of their own and the pair discussed ways to save money on studio recording by booking one session for both bands.

Christine booked Johnny and the Used Ones' into a West Ham pub's rock night; their first gig since October. Once again, the youth club generously facilitated the keyboards.

* * *

Faced with the pub's tiny makeshift stage, Johnny rested his amp on the headline band's Marshall.

'Get that thing off my amp,' a voice said behind him.

'Sorry,' Johnny said turning to see a lad Marlon's age with blond office-neat hair. 'There's hardly room anywhere else.'

'Not my problem son.'

Johnny flashed with temper. Dumping his amp he left himself no room to perform.

'That's better,' the office worker said.

'Not for me.'

'Well, when you're top of the bill you can have more space.'

'I'll look forward to that.'

Bitter, having played larger more prestigious venues just months earlier, Johnny suddenly wondered how he came to be bottom of the bill in an insignificant pub amongst idiots like this above him.

'I'm Hal by the way.'

'Congratulations,' Johnny said walking away.

But later, on stage wedged between amp and mic Johnny felt great. The gig went well with Christine and Mazz's housemates giving them the support they needed.

Afterwards the band stood at the back smirking as the singer from Hal's band, Raging Reprieve, grabbed his mic and said to the guitarist, 'You ready to rock this place?'

'Hell yes,' Hal said in a faux rock voice from his extra few feet of space.

'What a sad case,' Stu said to Johnny.

Raging Reprieve certainly didn't rock as their name suggested. To Johnny they sounding lamer than a pre-1976 Top of the Pops act.

But suddenly caught, Johnny phased everything out including his dislike of Hal as the guitar's sound gripped his imagination.

Essentially happy with the Squire, Tooly's mum had bought him Johnny never wasted time lusting after unaffordable guitars; believing as Mr Evans and Graham had suggested that guitar sounds lie principally with the guitarist playing them.

Here though, in the hands of someone whose playing couldn't have bettered Mazz's much improved bass playing, Hal's sunburst Fender Stratocaster sounded better than anything he'd ever heard.

At the end of the night Raging Reprieve's singer who seemed not to share Hal's unfounded arrogance suggested the two bands play future gigs together.

Stu agreed they should. At first Johnny baulked not liking to support such an unworthy band. But considering the other hand he wanted to hear Hal's guitar again, plus he figured supporting Raging Reprieve would be harmless practice.

Closing his eyes he imagined a day they'd support a major artist or headline their own tour.

## Sunday 10th June 1984

The bus pulled into Las Cruces. As per Dane's wishes, the band visited radio stations before heading to the venue and soundchecking.

But, instead of hiding in the dressing room as they normally did, leaving Dane to man their T-shirt stand, they dressed in stage outfits and joined him in the foyer.

Before long the first music fans arrived. Neither Johnny nor Stu knew Mazz could behave so flirtatiously. Man and boy after man and boy followed her swaying hips or girly giggles to the merchandise stand where Johnny noted Christine, who'd at first seemed uncomfortable in her ludicrously short dress stood behind the table and got into character.

T-shirts began selling rapidly.

Dane looked at the diminishing stock and told the lads, 'I'll have to place a new order tomorrow at this rate.'

'I can't believe we've been leaving you alone to this,' Stu said autographing a T-shirt for someone called Joanne.

'Females,' Johnny said seeing a gaggle arrive. 'Go get 'em Stewie.'

A high percentage of first arrivals had bought tickets principally to see The USed Wonz and happily bought T-shirts.

Eventually time passed and the rate slowed with the arrival of firm Jefferson Starship fans the band left Dane and prepared to play.

## Friday 23rd January 1981

In a room above a Camden pub Johnny and the Used Ones showed up to support Raging Reprieve. Nodding to Hal Johnny placed his amp on stage next to Hal's.

Two hours later Johnny and the Used Ones completed their five song set. Off stage Christine hugged Mazz saying she'd been brilliant. Johnny and Stu agreed; it had been their tightest gig to date with an audience reaction to confirm it.

Johnny hoped they'd done enough to impress one particular guest he'd invited but before finding out he helped Christine move the keyboards the youth club had apparently leant them for the last time.

'Play well,' Johnny said when Hal came to the stage with silent smugness.

Hal shook his head. 'Don't I always?'

_You didn't last time,_ Johnny thought.

Given that he'd spent his lunch breaks in musical instrument shops searching for Strats that sounded as good as Hal's, Johnny had begun wondering whether he'd imagined the sound quality of Hal's Stratocaster. But minutes later standing amongst the audience sipping tap water he at once heard the truth.

It sounded tremendous. He scrutinised Hal's fingering technique but finding it sloppy knew that couldn't be key to the sound. Its greatness therefore lay in the instrument if not the Marshall amp.

He thought of Nate's music shop where Mrs Toulson had taken him. Still buying strings from the American, Johnny decided to drop in on his next day off.

When Raging Reprieve inevitably lost the crowd's attention Johnny slunk off to find his guest.

He'd invited his boss along to witness the new line up but had an ulterior motive.

Seeing the barmaid pulling Geoff a pint Johnny stepped in. 'I'll get this.'

'Are you sure?' Geoff asked.

'Yeah, makes asking a favour of you easier.'

Geoff laughed. 'Ah, well cheers anyway.'

They clinked glasses.

'So,' Johnny said, 'what d'you think, was letting Marlon go the right thing?'

'Those girls you've pulled are gorgeous. Plus I think Marlon's over it now.'

'Apart from that, what d'you think of the band as a whole?'

'Different; more ambitious than before.'

'More honest too. We know there's a long way to go but the girls are perfect for me and Stu. It's the right team; everyone needs this.'

Geoff seemed to mull thoughts over. 'Yeah, I see there's something about the four of you.'

'We've got a problem though. The keyboards we used aren't ours and we can't borrow them anymore.'

'Is this where I come in?'

'I guess.'

'A loan?'

'I can't think where else to turn. I've been saving but was hoping to buy studio sessions.'

'How much are we talking?'

Johnny couldn't be sure.

Before he could answer a blonde who he'd spotted hovering around finally spoke. 'I'm sorry to bother you.'

'Yes?' Johnny said.

'My friend fancies you and wants to know if you're going out with either of those girls in your band.'

Smiling, Johnny said he'd join them in a minute.

Geoff said, 'Lending money isn't normally my thing. But come and see me tomorrow after work I'm considering a proposition for you.'

Having worried the band would have to stop gigging Johnny excitedly entered the thick of the crowd where he found the blonde and her friend. But, deciding he didn't fancy either girl explained he'd been seeing his keyboard player for weeks.

Right then, when he needed an excuse to leave, Hal's guitar started spluttering on stage.

Raging Reprieve hobbled to the end of the song. Hal tried spare leads whilst the singer told the audience bad jokes.

Johnny didn't move; Hal hardly deserved favours.

'We've got a couple more songs,' the singer said. 'Can anyone help our man here with a guitar?'

Excusing himself Johnny headed towards them.

'What's up?' he said to Hal.

'What does it look like? The guitar's packed in.'

'Sure it's not the amp?'

'The amp's only a month old. You gonna lend me your guitar or what?'

'You'd lower yourself to my Squire Strat?'

'No, but what choice have I got?'

Johnny had been joking but Hal's response appalled him. 'You mightn't have a choice but I do.'

'Now then you two,' the singer said amiably. 'Johnny, we're in the crapper here. Could we get a lend of your fine guitar?'

'Okay, but I reckon it's yer amp.'

'It's the guitar,' Hal barked. 'Hurry up will you we're losing the crowd?'

Johnny acquiesced and whilst Hal wired the Squire into his Marshall, Johnny felt the lush neck of the sunburst Strat before laying it in his case. Behind him Hal struck a chord. The amp spluttered, clearly incapable of producing proper sound.

Johnny dumped his own amp on top of the Marshall before Hal could object.

'Your valves have gone.'

'That's ridiculous,' Hal said. 'I turn it off and on twenty times before I use it.'

'Yup, that'll knack 'em.'

'No, that's what stops them _knacking_.'

Johnny smiled before positioning himself in the audience ready to listen. When the band started he felt pleased with the look and sound of his guitar and amp but after one song Hal swapped back to his own guitar.

Though the real Fender's sunburst finish looked great Johnny preferred the blue and white of his Squire.

But, within one chord the Fender's sound crucified Johnny's guitar.

'That Hal's an idiot,' Stu said when Johnny joined him.

'Guitar's heaven-sent though.'

'Yours sounded good but Mazz agrees his is awesome.'

## Saturday 24th January 1981

Given the girls had no means of repaying a loan Johnny didn't see the point in inviting them to meet Geoff and preferred to find out Geoff's proposition before telling Stu.

After work he found his boss talking to some of his stall holders.

'Ah, just the man,' Geoff said excusing himself and turning his attention to Johnny. 'Let's take this to my private office.'

He'd visited Geoff's office on occasion but the _private_ one turned out to be his car. It might have been 'N' reg but once inside Johnny recognised quality as he got comfortable in the passenger seat.

'Alright,' Geoff said, 'Firstly, how much do you need?'

'String machines vary but second-hand Rhodes are cheap enough. Four hundred should probably do it.'

'Perfect. Not too much. How do you intend paying me back?'

'Bit by bit I suppose. Could you take it out my wages?'

Geoff nodded. 'I'm happy to help you with your band. You've been a tenant three years and never been late with the rent.'

'You've been my employer that long and never paid me late.'

'That's true,' Geoff said. 'I'll give you the cash – interest free if, I can call the favour in now.'

'Hmm, is that why we're having this conversation in the car?'

Geoff laughed. 'It's legal enough; bit flimsy on the ethical side though.'

'Oh?'

'I've been tricked out of some money and I'm seeking revenge.' He flashed a wicked smile.

'Understandable. More than four hundred I take it.'

'Considerably. I bought some land figuring I could put a few extra stalls on it. Stupidly, I followed some bad advice and didn't employ a solicitor; pretty much unheard of in this country I know. Nevertheless I paid and waited for the deeds which appeared in the hands of someone else's solicitor who told me I didn't own them.'

'You lost the land?'

'Well, I fought back with a lawyer. We won the battle but it cost time and money. Plus I'd been looking forward to profiting from the stalls so in all I was pretty peeved.'

'I'm interested to hear your proposition as long as you're not wanting me and Stu to snap someone's neck.'

'Good heavens no,' Geoff said. 'I'm thinking of something far more subtle. I reckon you're smart. You ever play poker?'

'Poker?'

'I guessed not.' Geoff reached to the back seat for a briefcase, its black leather contrasting with the seats' beige. 'Read this.'

Johnny took the offered book. 'The Education of a Poker Player by Herbert O. Yardley.'

'Right. Understand it as best you can. We'll meet secretly and I'll teach poker's strategies.'

'Okay,' Johnny said feeling confused, 'why poker?'

'I play with a bunch of guys and Leonard.'

'Leonard?'

'The guy that set me up. When you're good enough I'll position you so someone invites you along. We'll appear not to know each another. But we'll have our own language; a set of visual cues I'll feed you.'

'You've given this some thought. I take it you can't just win the money back off him yourself?'

'You'll come to learn that poker is much more than a game of chance. It's a dark art. People can expose or hide themselves within the cards but Leonard and I have been playing so long we know each other's game inside out. He won't bet heavily against me. He knows when to be cautious. But he'll want to teach the new boy a lesson.'

Geoff talked on but looked out the windscreen as if lost in contemplation. 'I'll provide you with enough cash to enter the game. He'll want to take that off you and we'll let him have some. But when he goes for the kill; that's when I'll signal you to take his legs from under him,' he faced Johnny again, 'assuming we have a deal.'

'Sounds exciting,' Johnny said already considering the usefulness of the new skill.

'Okay, read the book.'

Outside with a pocket full of cash Johnny noticed the long bonneted car's bulging air intake and _Aston Martin_ badge; not a name he'd come across before.

## Thursday 29th January 1981

On their next day off the lads took the tube south of the Thames. At Nate's shop, the same door chime and smell of guitars greeted Johnny as had done when he'd first visited with Mrs Toulson.

'How you doing Johnny Won?' Nate said across his empty shop.

Following introductions Johnny asked, 'How business?'

'Good.'

Johnny cast an eye around but saw no one but Stu.

'It's early man,' Nate said. 'Anyway, how's the Squire?'

'Actually we're after keyboards but I've heard a sunburst Strat that sounds amazing.'

'Sunbursts usually do,' Nate said.

'Why, it's just a colour isn't it?'

'Kind of. But its transparent finish means any knots in the grain are visible.'

Johnny looked at the sunburst Strats hanging up. 'I don't see any knots in these.'

'That's because they don't have any,' Nate said. 'The best pieces of wood get reserved for sunburst. The knottiest bits get coated in dark colours.'

'And flawless pieces resonate better?'

'Generally.'

'Can he try that one?' Stu asked pointing at one.

'Sure.' Nate lifted an outrageously priced Stratocaster from the wall and plugged it into an amp.

Johnny strummed. 'It's nice but it doesn't have what I heard.'

'Try this one,' Nate said passing him a similar instrument.

'Different character,' Johnny admitted.

'They're all a bit different but you know, if you're happy enough with your Squire stick with it. The one you want will arrive when it's time.'

Sighing, Johnny agreed and turned from the walls of guitars to Nate's diminutive keyboard collection.

'What's your budget?' Nate asked.

'Small, I've borrowed the cash.'

'We're replacing a Rhodes and Roland RS202,' Stu said.

Nate stroked his chin. 'You sure you want Rhodes, they're right out of vogue?'

'Why, they're great?' Johnny said.

'Yeah, but synths have massive sonic possibilities. With Rhodes you get – Rhodes.'

'Not Christine, she bangs hers through guitar pedals,' Stu said.

'Well, I've a couple of abused items that might interest you,' Nate said leading them past the amps to a pair of sorry looking items. 'They're a private sale. Been heavily toured as you see. They work perfectly but these deep scratches mean they won't fetch much. I told the owners I'd get what I could for them.'

'Cool,' Johnny said.

'What's this one?' Stu asked looking at the other one stacked on top of it.

'Logan String Melody,' Nate said. 'Italian; only four octaves but impressive breadth of sound.'

After a demonstration they discussed price.

'You want them?' Nate asked.

'Why not?'

'Okay, just don't bring them back here if they conk out. At this price there's no warranty.'

Johnny paid cash and promised to have them removed from his shop the next day.

They made to leave but Nate said, 'Hey Johnny, remember this?'

He held up a guitar and to Stu said, 'Johnny came here, crikey, five years ago with some bad-tempered woman who wanted him to have it.'

Remembering, Johnny took the old instrument and strummed a few chords. 'It's not so bad. I can't believe it's still here.'

'I've sold it twice; keeps coming back to haunt me.'

'People trading for something better?'

He held the instrument at arm's length.

Unlike five years ago the instrument radiated hope. 'Can I plug it in?'

'If you must.'

Johnny played. The sound meant both nothing and something.

'What's up?' Stu asked.

'Not sure,' he said pulling the lead out.

## Friday 30th January 1981

Much to Hal's annoyance it had been decided Raving Reprieve would support Johnny and the Used Ones for their last arranged gig.

'Giz a hand,' Johnny said to Christine when he arrived at the dingy but vibrant club having picked up the two keyboards from Nate's shop with Stu.

'They look miles better than I expected,' Christine said ignoring their scratches and surprising Johnny by throwing her arms around him.

After setting up and soundchecking she said the Rhodes sounded better than the youth club's and the Logan had a clearer sound than the Roland.

Later, standing amongst punters drinking their first paycheques since Christmas, Johnny listened to Ranging Reprieve's set. Hal had borrowed a cheap solid state amp and yet still the sunburst Strat sounded great.

Making his way to the stage Johnny tuned his guitar as Raging Reprieve wrapped up. His band enjoyed a huddle and Johnny dashed to the bar for a glass of water.

Jumping onto the now vacant stage he didn't worry when Mazz asked whether he'd checked his guitar's tuning.

Instead he turned to the mic and shouted, 'Good evening, we're Johnny and the Used Ones.'

Behind him Stu's drums began their crescendo. With rehearsed timing Johnny drove his plectrum into the guitar's strings. He knew what to expect but didn't get it.

Instead a horrendous sound screeched unpardonably from his amp destroying the moment forcing Johnny's eyes and teeth to clench shut.

'What the hell,' he shouted off mic before spinning to silence the band.

As their sound fell away he composed himself. Each string he plucked had less harmonic relation to the previous.

'Sorry ladies and gentlemen; seems someone's been tinkering,' he said into the mic. He turned to Mazz. She pulled an E-octave for him to retune to. Moving onto the A and D strings he said, 'You've got to wonder who would do such a thing.' When the guitar sounded right he played a few chords and flashy licks. 'What d'ya think; we ready?'

Johnny grinned. The event had broken the ice and established rapport with the audience.

* * *

'It was Hal,' Mazz said after their performance.

Johnny nodded. 'Did you see him?'

'I think so. I asked him what he was doing.'

'And?'

'He looked worried.'

'Was he rude to you?'

'A bit.'

'Right, let's keep an eye out for him.'

He accompanied her to the bar.

'He's there,' Mazz said before long.

Johnny looked towards the stage. 'Okay, come with me.'

Mazz followed seeing Johnny sweep up a discarded lighter from a table they passed.

'Nice stunt you pulled there Hal.'

'What d'you want?' Hal said sneering down from the two foot high stage.

'You borrow my gear without a word of thanks; then, you pull a stunt like that.'

'Like what?' he started turning away.

'Tell him what you saw Mazz.'

She swallowed. 'I saw you with Johnny's stuff. Yours was nowhere near.'

'Get lost.'

Mazz gasped as Johnny slipped the lighter between Hal's fingers and squeezed. Hal's knees crumpled like he could escape the pain that way.

'You detuned my guitar.'

Raging Reprieve's singer ran towards them. 'What's going on?'

'Tell him,' Johnny said to Hal.

Mazz looked at Hal's face. When he couldn't hold back longer he said, 'Okay, I messed with your guitar. I'm sorry.'

Johnny let go. Hal went to speak but he beat him. 'Go on I dare you. Say what's really on your mind.'

Hal's furious look didn't suggest remorse.

'I won't ask you to apologise to Mazz, you wouldn't mean it.'

Turning to the singer Johnny apologised. Restoring the peace he asked, 'Got many gigs booked?'

'We're at The Water Rats tomorrow with about a hundred other bands.'

'Cool, well good luck with that. We're playing round the corner from the West Ham pub where we met.'

* * *

Only in the van on the way back did Mazz face the cargo area where Johnny sat on the keyboard cases and enquire, 'Why did you lie and tell them we were gigging in West Ham tomorrow?'

'I didn't lie. I didn't say we were gigging; only that we'd be playing there. And we're rehearsing in the youth centre. Can't have him thinking his crappy band's got more gigs than us.'

## Saturday 31st January 1981

'I might get back from lunch late,' Johnny said to Stu on their way to work the next morning.

'I'll cover for you,' Stu said. Noticing Johnny had his guitar with him he asked, 'Something up with your guitar?'

'It's fine. The case has a hole that needs sorting.'

That afternoon Stu gave Johnny a nod and watched him sneak off before his allotted lunch time.

Johnny arrived back to the market's busiest Saturday since Christmas.

'Sorted?' Stu asked.

'Absolutely,' Johnny said bagging apples for a customer.

* * *

That night in West Ham halfway through rehearsal they put the lights out and played through the tracks they'd discussed taking to studio.

Whilst performing Stu considered how the darkness seemed to clean the sound; crystallising it so everything found its place. He wondered how they'd get the sound and feel onto tape when the time came.

'When we going in the studio?' Mazz asked after the lights came back on.

'In a few weeks Just as soon as I've paid Geoff back,' Johnny said.

'I'm getting a job,' Christine said smoothing the roughened surface of her Logan keyboard.

'Are you?' Mazz asked. 'Since when?'

'Since now.' She looked at Johnny. 'I know I was a right cow when we met but you've contributed enough getting me these keyboards. It's unthinkable that you and Stu would part with savings without input from me and Mazz.'

'What sort of a job?' Stu asked.

'Anything going on the fruit veg stalls?'

Johnny walked over and inspected her hands. 'No chance, your skin's too lovely for that.'

'I'll keep an eye out for something,' Stu said, 'if you're sure.'

'Please.'

To Christine, Johnny seemed distracted as they struggled to get back to rehearsing.

Eventually they decided to wrap up early so she suggested they go to the pub. But when they arrived Johnny made excuses and left a perplexed Stu alone with Christine and Mazz.

* * *

Several hours later Johnny arrived home, dumped his guitar case in the deserted kitchen, flicked the kettle on and excitedly waited for Stu who thankfully arrived before it had cooled.

'How d'you get on?' Johnny said standing and slapping his back.

'How did I get on?' Stu asked barely recognising his friend in a suit he'd never seen. 'Never mind that, what's up with you; why're you acting weird?'

'Me?'

'Yeah.' Stu poured himself a mug of tea.

'This is my old Scarf Ace suit. Check out my wig.' Johnny said pulling a blond wig from under the kitchen table.

'Where d'you get that?'

'The markets.'

'Why?'

'Guitar case,' Johnny said knowingly.

'What about it?'

Johnny nodded towards it.

Stu saw it leaning against the wall. Resting his mug he popped the clasps and saw what his eyes couldn't believe. Behind him Johnny started laughing.

'Is this what I think it is?' Stu said laughing too.

'Yup.'

Stu handed Johnny the sunburst Stratocaster. 'How?'

'Nate said the guitar would arrive when it's time.'

'And now's the time?'

'Now's always the time. After I heard it through three amps I knew it was the only guitar for me.'

'What about Hal?'

'Mate, he had no clue what he was holding. He doesn't deserve it – being rude to Mazz.'

'Agreed. So, when d'you get it?'

'I flew to Nate's at lunchtime. I told you my case had a hole that needed filling. I bought that crappy guitar he showed us the other day; gave him twenty quid for it.'

'Right, but what about Hal's Strat?'

'After rehearsal I came back here, grabbed the crappy guitar and went to Raging Reprieve's gig,' Johnny said and then pointing to the blond wig added, 'in this disguise.'

'The Water Rats?'

'Yeah.'

'How d'you find it?'

'Good, we should play there.'

'Cool. Actually I meant how d'you know where it was?'

'Yellow Pages. Anyway the singer was right; there was loads of bands. And chaos. Nobody noticed me pretending to tune the cheap guitar. Hal's case has the band's name all over it so I pretended to tune his guitar too but his case ended up with the cheap guitar, some cash and a note.'

'Cash and note?'

'I couldn't just nick his guitar.'

'You didn't, you gave the pillock an instrument more suited to his ability.'

'Maybe, but I left him the change from Geoff's loan.'

'Blimey Johnny, we could've put that towards recording.'

'It would've jarred my conscience.'

'You should've got me to do it.'

Johnny laughed. 'Thanks, but that would've jarred too. It had to be me. That's maybe why I didn't tell you sooner.'

'Well you've done it now; too late to ask for the money back,' Stu said seeing Johnny stare at the guitar doe-eyed like a Labrador with a bone.

'She's a beauty,' Stu said. 'What did the note say?'

Johnny put the guitar down. 'It said, _Sorry, but I've bigger plans for the Strat than you_.'

'Cheeky. You don't think the other guitar could get traced back to Nate?'

'Nah, he's miles away. Plus I gave Nate an idea what I was up to. He said he'd already forgotten about it.'

'Have you played it yet?'

'Yeah,' Johnny said half-heartedly.

'And?

'It sounds good – really good.'

'That's great isn't it?'

'Actually it sounded better in Hal's hands.'

'No way.'

'We'll see. It's better than my Squire anyway.'

'And it's not wasted on Hal. D'you think they'll suspect you?'

'Doubt it. They think we're gigging in West Ham. Plus Hal's got other enemies.'

'Yeah?'

'Someone told him repeatedly switching valve amps on and off is good for them,' he said gazing through the transparent finish to the wood beneath. 'But I can't take this public without a paint job.'

'Very true,' Stu said. 'What d'ya reckon?'

'Dunno, sand it down and spray it?'

Stu nearly choked on his tea. 'I meant what colour. There's no way you're spraying a guitar that'd cost you four months wages with car paint. It needs lacquering, properly. I'll do it. I did it loads on my art course.'

* * *

In his room Johnny looked into the wood for ages.

'What makes you so special?'

The guitar seemed to emanate calm. Propping it in the corner he watched it from his bed recalling emotions from years earlier on the day his brother had died.

## Monday 11th June 1984

A little before 9am, more than twelve-hundred miles east of Kansas City a silver-haired man swept onto the thirteenth floor of the office where he worked.

'Oh, he's just arrived,' his pretty assistant said into a phone. Looking up at him she said, 'Call for you sir.'

'I'll take it in my office, thanks Stacey.'

His heart quickened knowing who'd be calling. Stepping into his office he closed the door, nodded through the blinds to Stacey and picked up when he saw the light flash on his phone.

'What can you tell me?' he said.

'It's Kyle.'

'I know,' he said exasperated. 'What can you tell me?'

'Nothing yet,' Kyle said.

'Well I guess that's better than bad news.'

'She's not said anything; I don't know what she knows. But I've had an idea. Hopefully I'll get you concrete info in the next couple of days.'

'Couple of days? Time's running out for me here,' he huffed. 'Must I remind you, whilst you might have gotten what you want out of this I haven't and you needn't think that's my problem; I've still got your number.'

At the other end Kyle made him wait before saying, 'Just give me a couple or so days.'

Then phone went down. The silver-haired man replaced the handset. He knew what he wanted and if Kyle would hurry up and confirm one tiny detail he'd get it.

He sat back.

Knocking, Stacey entered. 'Coffee sir?'

## Wednesday 04th February 1981

Johnny agreed with Stu in that they should lacquer the stolen Strat themselves to save money and avoid risk should Hal have put out and APB on it.

For that they'd need a workshop. And, whilst Johnny had been off learning poker with Geoff, Stu had found one. Unfortunately the owners wouldn't rent them bench space so Johnny had decided upon a more elaborate plan.

In his room one February night he took a deep respectful breath and set to dismantling the Strat.

Switching his radio off, he spoke to the instrument as a surgeon to a patient. After cutting the strings free he unbolted the neck and, admiring the joint where shoulder met body, concerned himself that whatever happened with the lacquer the joint would have to remain perfect.

With the most delicate of touches he removed knobs, screws and electrics labelling and placing everything in envelopes such that it could be reconstructed identically; right down to the last screw.

When he finished he went downstairs to knock on Stu's door. Stu appeared dressed for the February weather and with a length of rope they'd lifted from Edward's van.

'Ready?' Stu asked.

'I can't believe we're actually doing this.'

They left the house and a mile or so later checked the workshop's perimeter as they'd done the previous night.

'So far so good,' Stu said.

Handing his bag to Johnny, Stu jumped onto the bins and shinned up the drainpipe. On the roof Stu caught the rope Johnny threw and hoisted the bag containing the guitar's body.

'Okay, window,' Johnny panted when he joined Stu on the roof.

It took them long finger-freezing minutes fiddling to release the roof window's catch. Finally Johnny lifted it and Stu lowered his feet to the roof's metal frame where he fastened the rope and slid into the workshop below.

Johnny followed.

They hit the lights. Choosing the nearest bench they set to relieving the body of its sunburst finish.

'Okay,' Johnny said pulling off the borrowed goggles and holding up the completely sanded wood, 'let's put the tools back and get outta here.'

* * *

'That was an adventure,' Stu said on the walk back to the house.

'And it will be again when we go back tomorrow to lacquer it.'

'I don't know about that.' Stu shook his head.

'What d'you mean?' Johnny said stopping, almost stamping his feet.

'We can't spray it there.'

'Why not?'

'Because, it requires four coats with treatments between each. We can't keep spraying the place blue night after night.'

'So what do we do – I don't wanna leave the wood like it is?'

'Nobody will recognise it now so you could either take it to a pro; or choose option-B.'

'Which is?'

'We return tomorrow and nick a spray gun.'

'Cool.' Johnny started walking again. 'Which option d'you prefer?'

'B.'

'Thought so.'

'While you were sanding I checked the lacquers. When we go back we'll choose the colour.'

## Thursday 05th February 1981

They set off the next night to the workshop. February had been windy but that night an unusual stillness meant the lads heard nothing but their own movements and voices.

'How was poker?' Stu asked jumping onto the bins.

'Good I think,' Johnny said passing two empty bags to him. 'I get how the cards go but then Geoff beats me. There's a lot of tactics to consider.'

'What happens if you lose against this Leonard fella?'

'It doesn't bare thinking about. But Geoff won't set it up till I'm ready.'

'Then we'll hit the studio?'

'Yeah, I don't fancy risking it before then. Plus Mazz still needs more practice.'

'Scary how far she's come though,' Stu said gripping the drainpipe and climbing to the roof.

Minutes later the lads dropped to the workshop floor. 'Lights.'

Stu searched shelves throwing Johnny sanding blocks, finest grade wet and dry sandpaper a half used tub of cut and finish, solvents and buffing sponges. Everything went into their bags followed by facemasks and the essential spray gun.

'Okay,' Stu said, 'Time to choose the colour. You ready?'

Looking though the shelves none of the basic colours inspired Johnny. Though he liked the metallic dark blue of his Squire he wanted a change.

Stu didn't want to be longer than necessary but knew these things couldn't be rushed.

'Let's mix some colours and you can choose the best.'

Johnny suggested they start with royal blue.

Stu poured some into a container. 'What's right and what's wrong about this?'

'It's goodish but it's too bright – and boring.'

'Okay.'

Stu stirred some black in but Johnny didn't like it enough so he went to the shelf and picked out the navy blue and poured it into a second container. 'What about this?'

'Too dark.'

Stu stirred some white in.

Johnny liked it but less than the darkened royal blue.

Reaching for a third container Stu slopped most of the royal blue into it. Johnny stirred as he added the lightened navy by drips.

'Can you see what's happening?' Stu asked.

'I can,' Johnny said. 'It's getting better.'

'Great, stop me before it goes too far.'

Several splodges later Stu stopped and looked at Johnny. 'Thanks man. That's it.' The two lads studied the dusty looking blue. 'It's not like anything I've seen.'

'Are we going for it?'

'Yeah.'

To add even more uniqueness Stu added the tiniest amount of green before transferring the paint to a can. 'That should be plenty for three coats.'

'I thought you said it needs four coats?'

'Right. We need a can of clear finishing coat.' Securing the lid he found a tin for the final coat. 'Let's bag them and get out of here.'

'Did you hear something?' Johnny gestured Stu to silence.

'Don't mate. I'm edgy enough.'

Johnny ran for the lights.

'What you doing?'

'I think someone's out there,' Johnny hissed sliding Stu the second bag who immediately began scrambling up the rope.

Biting into the bag's handles Johnny pulled hand-over-hand through the darkness after him.

High in the roof's frame Stu said, 'Are you sure you heard something?'

'Not certain.' He slipped his arm through the handles and recovered the rope. 'But I couldn't face prison again.'

'Again?'

'Just kidding.'

'Knock it off,' Stu said shoving the window open. 'If there is someone out there they'll have seen the lights go out.'

'Sorry, I only thought about that afterwards.'

'Might be okay; maybe nobody's coming,' Stu said climbing out onto the roof.

No sooner had he spoken than the workshop's shutter door rattled open.

'Bloody hell.' Johnny threw the bags to him and scurried after him.

'Who's in there?' a voice beneath them said.

'Crap, someone's in the building,' Johnny said lowering the window gingerly.

'What do we do?' Stu said as fluorescent lights flickered on, pouring out the glass. 'If we move he'll hear us.'

Johnny cursed the same night's quietness that had allowed him to hear whoever now stalked them.

'Should we just try legging it?' Stu said.

'He's got the advantage of distance.'

'Couldn't we deck him?'

'I don't know. You don't think he's armed do you?'

'Let's not find out. What if we run away from the door – he'll have to run towards it then the full length of the building.'

'Good point.'

'Let's distract him first.'

'What d'you mean?'

'If we could get him to the far end of the workshop he'll have further to run. We might make it.'

'I like you're thinking,' Johnny said. 'What can we throw?'

Stu rifled through the bags. 'One of the sanding blocks.'

Daring a peek through the glass Stu saw a uniformed man directly beneath them.

'Lift the glass mate.'

Johnny did so and Stu leaned silently in.

'Hurry up,' Johnny urged in whispers.

Stu waited for the man to turn from the far wall then, holding his breath, hurled the block. Pulling back through the window Johnny saw the man's head wheel towards the object clattering at the workshop's far end.

'Go,' Johnny said.

The lads slid down the roof dropping onto the bins below. Stu slung his bag over his shoulder and took off away from the door.

Johnny's voice yelled.

Snatching a look over his shoulder Stu saw Johnny sprinting away from him towards the door. 'What the hell?'

With no clue why, he pounded after Johnny rounding the corner.

Stu followed seeing Johnny pulling the shutter doors closed.

'Tie them,' Johnny shouted.

Stu danced on the spot.

'The rope.'

As the doors rattled from within Stu dropped his bag spying a pile of discarded banding tape in a skip.

Within seconds he'd knotted clumps of it round the handles.

'That'll do. Let's split,' Johnny said admiring Stu's tangled handiwork before the pair sprinted back towards home.

Safely amongst the streets they ran out of energy but couldn't stop laughing.

'That definitely made it worthwhile,' Stu said. 'D'you reckon he'll be out yet?'

'It's a workshop, he'll have pushed a saw between the doors and hacked through the bands.'

Back at the house Stu suggested they suspend the guitar's body from the backyard's washing line.

'You're not doing it now are you?' Johnny asked.

'First coat; no time like the present.'

## Monday 11th June 1984

Bending at the waist Linda locked her Lotus knowing she'd attracted attention from the men in the ground floor office below hers.

Along with handbag she dragged a holdall from the passenger seat before heading up to her empty office. Fiona's new hours meant she wouldn't arrive for two hours.

Dumping the holdall on her desk she grabbed the ringing phone.

'Lake: All Stars Entertainment Agency, Linda—'

'Linda, good news.'

She recognised Johnny's voice sounding chirpier than it had done recently.

Johnny said he'd left a message the day before but wanted to explain Dane's T-shirt selling plan.

Strangely Linda found herself feeling happiest for him. He hoped to return half her money by July but that hardly mattered given how much her business needed new acts.

She thanked him but had decided over the weekend that money should be valued by fluid income not static savings.

'You don't sound so good,' he said.

'I'm happy to hear from you Johnny, it's just since we met in Wichita, Fiona drummed up several new acts all of which have bailed and gone with other agents.'

If Johnny didn't know what to say it didn't stop him talking and forty minutes passed before he rang off.

Linda smiled to herself looking forward to seeing him and the others soon despite the dourness of the history he'd just shared with her.

Standing to make for the bathroom she turned coming face to face with Fiona.

'Wow,' Fiona said stepping back. 'You look...'

'I know.' Linda looked down.

'You don't know what I was going to say.'

'Slutty?'

'Stunning.'

'But you thought slutty, I saw the look in your face.'

'Only for a second. You after a new man?'

Linda looked back at her. 'How come you're in so early?'

Fiona ignored the question. Her expression instead turned to wonderment. 'Did you have a rendezvous right here; did I miss it?'

'You missed Johnny – on the phone.'

'If he could've seen down the phone his eyes would've popped.' Fiona looked her up and down. 'So, d'you want me out the way?'

'It's fine, I'm not meeting anyone. Why are you early?'

Fiona headed to her desk. 'The office is between my boyfriend's and home. It didn't seem worth going home first. You don't have to pay me.'

'Okay you can mind the phone. I'll be right back.'

In the bathroom Linda slipped out the micro dress her ex-boyfriend Earl never allowed her to wear. Taking clothes from the holdall she dressed more conservatively and washed her face.

'So,' Fiona said when Linda returned, 'You haven't just been with someone, you've got changed so you're not planning to. I'm guessing you stayed out last night.'

Linda sighed. 'You're wrong.'

'Been stood up?'

'If you must know I was playing games with Dwight.'

'Ooh, what kind?' Fiona positioned herself to listen.

'Not fun ones. Childish power games.'

'My mom says if you want to do that you have to be prepared to lose; consider the worst case if they backfire.'

'Sounds wise. Anyway I have considered the consequences, and am prepared to lose.'

'So what was the game?'

'An experiment I suppose.'

'Go on.'

'I don't know. I've had a change of heart about Dwight recently.'

'He's not the one?'

Linda shook her head. ' _He's_ not weird but there's definitely _something_ weird going on between us.'

Linda didn't mention her anger following Dwight's fishing trip but did say she'd been feeling fearful of him.

'Sounds like you don't like him.'

'Everything about him seems right on paper but...'

'You don't like him.'

'I called him Earl yesterday.'

'You called him by your ex's name, why?'

'To see how he'd react. I've compared him to Earl before.'

'And?'

'He got cross. Said, how could I mistake him for Earl after the slagging I'd given him when we met.'

'And you deduced?'

'I claimed it was a slip of the tongue but he was clutching my shoulders so I was listening to him say one thing whilst he acted just like Earl.'

'You need to break this habit Boss. You think you know what you want but you're wrong. You keep choosing the same violent slobs every time.'

Linda didn't appreciate the slight on her choice of man despite having had similar thoughts a week earlier.

Her annoyance must have shown as Fiona apologised.

'D'you want to tell me why you got dressed up?'

'Maybe another time,' Linda said turning to her work. She knew it'd sound daft anyway.

At lunchtime they left the office together; things still seeming frosty. On their way back Linda thawed the ice, LA's sunshine couldn't melt.

'Okay, I dressed up this morning to see Dwight's reaction.'

'Oh yeah,' Fiona spoke for the first time in minutes, 'I can imagine it.'

'You reckon? You seem to think I keep choosing the same man; Earl would have freaked before letting me out his sight dressed like that.'

'There was plenty of thigh on show; much more gym toned than mine of course.'

'Well Dwight didn't react at all.'

'What? You sure he saw you?'

'He was in bed talking rubbish to me. He saw every step of the act.'

Fiona seemed thoughtful.

'What you thinking?' Linda asked.

'Not sure.'

'You think I want my cake and eat it.'

'What d'you mean?'

'Well if I was unhappy with a bully who was terrified of seeing me dressed up I should be happy now I've a man who'll let me dress any which way.'

'That's not what I was thinking.'

'Okay, what would your boyfriend do if you left the house like that?'

'That's what I'm wondering. I guess he'd tell me how good I looked.'

'He wouldn't think you were looking for attention off other men?'

'Maybe. He'd want to know why I was dressed like that if we weren't going out together but he wouldn't stop me. I'm sorry Linda but when I saw you this morning I nearly jumped you myself. Dwight must be blind not to notice.'

'He's not blind.'

'Then he doesn't care.' Fiona slapped her hand over her mouth. 'Sorry Boss.'

'It's okay. Maybe you're right.'

'Well you should know him enough by now, does he care?'

_No,_ Linda thought as they reached the office door. 'Back to work,' she said pointedly.

'Imagine how Johnny would've reacted if he'd seen you this morning.'

_I have._ 'Time to get back to work.'

'No problem,' Fiona said lifting something off her desk.

'What's that?' she said when Fiona got in her way.

'Our duplicate of the Warner invoice you just posted.'

'Okay.' Linda allowed her access to the filing cabinet and watched her slot the document correctly before returning to her own desk.

Linda thought back to her conversation with Johnny earlier in the day. Besides her rejection of him she'd never seen him seriously unhappy about anything. Even in Wichita he resigned himself to fate but kept afloat. But on his call to her earlier that day she'd learned that even he couldn't always avoid depression.

## Sunday 15th March 1981

Stirring Johnny forced himself awake one day off weeks after beginning his poker tuition.

He groaned.

Geoff had told him mastering poker might take longer than first anticipated. Johnny initially hadn't minded as he began enjoying the games. But Geoff quibbled about everything insisting Johnny practice shuffling, dealing and turning cards in order to look more natural.

Every inch they progressed Geoff would upset the cart, causing him to feel like a beginner again. Geoff would reach into his mind seeming to know the strength of his hand.

'I'll feed you what I know of Leonard's cards,' Geoff had said, 'but you need to know how I'm doing this. Can you see the signal I'm sending now?'

Johnny had looked but couldn't detect Geoff transmitting any signal.

'My left hand cups my right – the one holding the cards. That will come to mean something to us yet nothing to anyone else provided you don't look at the hand signs directly. If I suspect Leonard or any other player is on to us I'll do this.' He crossed his left thumb over his right. 'Crossed thumbs means abort.'

Rolling out of bed Johnny lifted the unfinished body of his Strat searching for signs of hope.

'I'm feeling pretty low here. Everything's taking so long I'm doubting anything will ever change – even you.'

The body now triple layered with basecoat still required its glossy topcoat. Stu had waited days between applications.

'Come alive,' Johnny said to the guitar's body. Perhaps the guitar said it would but its magnificence couldn't be imagined in its currently dismantled state.

Not just the guitar but everything seemed to be in pieces; poker hadn't come together, his repayments to Geoff had only just begun and the band had had a weekend of terrible gigs where they'd lost the audience and each other.

Despite believing in the band's ever-growing _rightness_ he couldn't understand how they could rehearse so much and still have bad gigs. Even potentially good news seemed bad.

Mazz had work experience from school at the end of March. She'd told her school she either wanted to be a professional musician or failing that, work for a record company. Reckoning she'd get a placement in a record company she planned to take a demo tape along.

Johnny and Stu had cringed. Though a great opportunity the old demo didn't even feature Christine and Mazz. The hope of sharing recording sessions in January with Graham's band had passed with one excuse following another; not least Johnny's own not wanting to invest in demos without the new Strat ready for action.

Stu had found Christine an ideal market job helping a lady called Margaret who had a second-hand record stall. But that wouldn't help the demo as she'd surely have to find a new place to live. It would take ages for her to save a decent contribution. Try as he might Johnny couldn't see how they could record anything other than a cheap rushed demo before Mazz's work experience.

That Sunday morning Johnny peered at passing grey sleet from his attic window before slumping back on his bed. Not wanting to suffer another British winter he, like Stu, still yearned for the sunshine of America's southern states.

He left the house dressed for the cold whilst begrudging poker and his arrangement with Geoff. Preferring to stay back to apply the Strat's finishing coat he blamed poker for everything wrong in his life.

At the office, Geoff reiterated that physiological responses exposed cards. Johnny knew that to be true. Weak hands caused his nose or face to itch. Strong hands triggered deeper breathing. He'd tried ignoring itches or slumping instead of breathing rapidly but somehow Geoff had always spotted the truth.

With the day's first game underway Johnny cared less about his responses as the preoccupation of the previous night's gig rankled him. His downturned mood resurrected memories of the day Frank died. Watching the triviality of his cards with one half-closed eye Johnny tuned out the room. As the blood in his arms and face drained he allowed the sensations to deepen and only saw the cards coming and going. He heard nothing but the sense of his mother's voice.

A dopey euphoria took hold. For the first time Geoff hardly spoke. Through heavy lidded eyes he saw Geoff's expression darkening and wondered whether Geoff had dropped his poker face or dreamt up another bluff. Maybe it didn't matter. Johnny kept playing his moves and smiled a smile that didn't register on his face as a thought came with the sound of his mother's voice.

'I fold,' Geoff said. 'What have you got?'

Johnny showed his modest hand.

Geoff nodded. 'Two pairs. I never could have guessed.'

Johnny blinked and stretched. Rivers of blood returned to his veins as his circulation restarted.

'You played like a machine,' Geoff said. 'What did you do, take drugs?'

'I just relaxed,' Johnny said knowing he hadn't cared less.

'Could you do it again, in a live situation?'

'I think so.'

'You free this Wednesday?'

'Can be.'

Johnny walked home in dryer weather to find Stu in a gasmask.

'Aright mate,' he said. 'I hoped you wouldn't mind but I went into your room; topcoat's done.'

## Thursday 19th March 1981

Johnny sat in his room with Stu on their day off.

'Nearly done,' Stu said examining the body's clear lacquer, 'but for one last bit of hard work.'

To Johnny the finish looked rough but shinier than he could have hoped for.

'We need to get rid of these bubbles,' Stu said taking the finest grade watered sandpaper and scrubbing the body with it.

'What you doing?' Johnny said aghast as the shine vanished into clouds of scratches. 'Are you nuts?'

'It's okay, we need it looking like this all over.'

'It looks grey?'

'So make it grey all over. Don't worry I know what I'm doing.'

Johnny relented and after they'd sanded the topcoat to an opaque but uniform finish Stu said, 'We haven't got a machine so we'll have to buff it by hand. It'll take ages and we'll ache afterwards.'

After covering the carpet with sanded dust Stu smeared Meguiar's Cut and Shine over the Strat's body. Getting his shoulder behind the stolen sponges he polished part of the body before handing over to Johnny.

'The shine's coming back,' Johnny said rubbing.

'Right, but remember we have to do this another three times.'

Sitting back Stu asked how he'd got on at poker the previous night.

'Good. Geoff wasn't there though.'

'No?'

'I had to find my own way. Geoff introduced me to one of the other Wednesday players beforehand, pretending he didn't know I played. I had to bring the subject up. Then Geoff said he couldn't play and suggested I took his place.'

'He's taking it seriously. So what about the game?'

'Miles better playing it for real. It was more relaxed after the guys round the table got over me not drinking or smoking.'

'Is that a problem?'

'Nah, they soon forgot about it.'

'Did you win anything?'

'Yeah actually. Seems the less I care the more I win; lost a bit too mind you.'

'Your own money?'

'Yup, I'm only using Geoff's money on the main night. When I saw Geoff afterwards he reckons I should take more risks.'

'Easy for him to say when it's not his money.'

'I hope it'll be okay on the night when it is.'

'And what happens if you lose; I mean in the unlikely event?'

'I've nothing to worry about as long as I follow his hand signals correctly.'

'Better be clear on them then.'

'As clear as this topcoat,' Johnny said admiring his work.

'It's coming together,' Stu said taking a turn from him.

'I've not rubbed a body still warm from your touch since Veronica.'

'Oh mate,' Johnny said laughing. 'I'd thought along the same lines.'

'Maybe you should name the guitar after her,' Stu said. 'Mind you, Veronica didn't curve like this though.'

By 11pm Johnny sat alone taking a last look at the four times polished body. Every cell in his body rejoiced as the gleaming but dusty dark blue wood communicated its readiness.

## Friday 20th March 1981

Having resisted the urge to nip back on lunch Johnny dashed home after work and began reassembling the Strat.

He removed the protective tape from the body's screw holes and shoulder. Taking a deep breath he slid the neck snugly into the body before fitting each hole with the same screw that'd originally occupied it. With gentle screw turns he reunited neck and body.

Stepping back the instrument radiated an iridescence willing him on.

In his imagination he'd rebuilt the Stratocaster so many times the pieces seemed to fall into place automatically.

Time stood still as Johnny held his breath touching dew-droplets of solder to the pickup's wires.

Then he fitted the pick-guard and pickup screws. He felt almost dizzy driving home the strap pins.

With a new strap bought from Nate's shop he wore the guitar and tuned up with fresh strings.

Once the strings had been stretched and retuned Johnny had nothing more to do than test the sound.

Not considering his housemates peace he plugged his best lead into the amp. With back and middle pickups selected Johnny's fingers numbed by petrifying anticipation played a fifth fret a chord sounding as sharp as glass. Blowing a relieving sigh he rolled the tone back to warm the sound a touch.

Stu bounded through the door but stopped dead.

'Wow, she looks incredible'

Johnny still trembling gave his mate a hug. 'Thanks Stu, for all your help. I couldn't have done it without you.'

'What d'you think of the sound?'

'I'm just relieved it works. I was just about the crank the gain and test the back pickup.'

'Go on then.'

Johnny soon had the instrument howling.

'I can't knock it – the sound's clinically perfect I just somehow remember it being somehow – more remarkable. I'm not feeling it sing to me.'

## Monday 11th June 1984

Dwight stood up and moved to the window hearing the approaching Lotus snarl. It paused on the drive waiting for the electric garage door. He considered such a low car shouldn't need the door to rise fully. He imagined lining up his Ram in four-wheel-drive and rolling straight over it.

Then he wondered how Linda could afford to keep such an expensive, impractical vehicle given how badly her business had been performing; not that she said much to him about it. He waved at her.

She flashed a wave less smiley than the one he seen her just give Joan the neighbour. It confirmed again that he couldn't take her for granted. He'd thought his bulk and charm would win her; that is until their first big argument days earlier. Still she'd accepted his flowers and hadn't ditched him.

He went to the garage to greet her not knowing what to feel. When the car door opened he expected to see the same yards of supple leg that had left that morning. But instead of sky-high heels, modest court shoes touched down above which beige linen trousers hung.

'Hi Sexy,' he said though it no longer seemed appropriate.

'Thought you'd have gone back to yours for the week,' she said.

'Not yet.' _But I guess you hoped I would._

He started thinking he'd dreamt her leaving for work that morning looking like a teenager on her way to a disco but guessed the holdall she fetched from the car would contain her tarty outfit.

He wondered whether she'd done it for fun, purely for money or whether the poor woman thought she could use her body to save her business.

The idea of her with some puny nerd filled him with revulsion, and perversely, arousal. Knowing her as he knew women, the speed she'd dropped her morals hadn't surprised him.

Despite her now uninspiring outfit part of him wanted to throw her over the Lotus and nail her to it. But, that wouldn't do; _apparently_ she didn't like it rough. Total rubbish. Okay her ex-boyfriend might have taken things a little too far but Linda clearly loved macho men and dominance comes with the territory.

'What you looking at Dwight?'

_You, you little tart._ 'Only the most beautiful woman I've seen all day.'

She rolled her eyes. 'So you haven't been out then?'

'Don't be so modest and yes, I've had a few odd jobs.'

'Why you still here?'

'I wanted to be nice to you.' He kissed her cheek not wanting to think where her lips had been.

'You can be nice after I've showered,' she said leading the way into the apartment he set the shower running.

'I'll do your back.'

'What's gotten into you?' Linda said stepping into the bathroom in just a towel.

'Like I said. I'm a nice guy.'

'Well I'll be fine thanks.'

'Okay,' Dwight said backing out.

In the bedroom he saw the pile of clothes she'd stripped off and the holdall. Inside he found the dress and the heels she'd left in but nothing much else. No lingerie. Had the tramp left it behind as a reminder to her customer? He kicked the pile of clothes on the carpet: same lingerie she'd left in. He stared towards the bathroom perplexed.

Outside in the living area he found a Chinese takeaway menu and picked up the wall phone.

Soon he looked up from dolloping noodles onto plates to see Linda fresh from the shower with no makeup in comfy cotton shorts and T-shirt.

'Wow, did you cook all this?' she asked.

He searched her face for signs of sarcasm but found only good humour.

'But of course. Madam deserves the best,' he said taking the plates to the dining table.

She thanked him and he joined her pouring the first of the evening's glasses of wine. 'How was work?'

For a change she talked so Dwight asked more questions and learned selling her silly Lotus had in fact crossed her mind.

'The only hope I've got is to keep my last remaining bands and hope The USed Wonz get straight back from England after their second album.'

'What if they record a rubbish album?'

'They won't. They know how much is at stake and have had enough ups and downs to fill a few more albums. Still, they need a hit.'

'That'd be great for you Linda.'

'Bigger venues for sure.'

'Meaning you'd make bigger profits but for no extra work.'

'Proportionately, but I was thinking of them.'

'Of course,' Dwight said. 'Are Little Spirit still doing well?'

'Tremendously. Why?'

'You said The USed Wonz are connected.'

'Did I?'

'I'm sure you said they're part of the same record label.'

'What you getting at?'

'Obviously I'm no expert but wouldn't it make more sense for this USed Wonz lot to stay in England and have hits there; on the back of Little Spirit's success?'

Linda stayed quiet for an uncomfortable moment. 'Like I say, I just have to hope they get back over here fast.'

Dwight exhaled. 'Indeed.'

She'd cleared her plate. When Dwight finished he stood taking the plates to the sink.

She looked at him. 'Are you staying the night?'

'I'll get out your hair. Unless...'

## Tuesday 12th June 1984

Linda dressed more conservatively than the previous morning. Through a fuzzy hangover she felt Dwight's eyes on her and wondered whether what she wore mattered at all to him.

'Will you be here when I get back?'

He jumped out of bed. 'I'll go back to mine tonight. I've got a few jobs on today.'

Like a typical man he showered, dressed and ate breakfast before she'd finished doing her makeup.

* * *

Linda pulled into her office car park. Getting out the summer breeze caught her hair. She tucked it behind her ear and jogged up the steps to her unit with keys at the ready. She stopped short.

The door stood open.

Fiona had the spare key but she shouldn't be in yet, plus she wouldn't have left the door open.

'Hello?' she said gingerly stepping into the corridor. No response came from either the office straight ahead or bathroom to her left. Just a creepy hush.

A shiver of fright rippled through her when to her right she saw the burglar alarm console flashing. Her fingers reset the code before she realised the alarm hadn't sounded.

Rooted to the spot she stared down the corridor as images filled her mind of the office beyond being ransacked or the perpetrator still being in there.

Forcing down rising nausea she made to walk on but heard a man's yell from down the stairs.

She turned and seconds later a slick black-haired man appeared at her office door. She recognised him from the office beneath hers but didn't know his name.

'What's going on?' he demanded.

'What?'

He thrust his hands forward gesturing her to explain.

Words stuck in her throat.

Angrily barging past her, he turned left and crashed into her bathroom.

'Arrrrrgh,' he said for the second time in sixty seconds.

Linda snapped to it and saw the disaster he had.

'Where's the mains tap; stopcock whatever you call it?' he said flapping.

Linda strode into the room, water swamping her peep-toe shoes. Squatting she reached behind the sink and twisted the tap shutting off the supply of water to her unit and the toilet currently spewing pints from its cistern onto the floor.

The tap closed suddenly. A fingernail snapped as she lost her balance.

'We need to get this water out of here,' the man shouted. 'It's peeing all over our new computers.'

Linda sat in an inch of water, devastated.

'Mops,' he said not offering his hand.

'Of course.'

Drenched from the floor she led the way to the corridor's broom cupboard.

'The carpet's soaking didn't you realise?' the man barked snatching a yard brush from her.

Linda looked down. No, she hadn't noticed.

Having swept as much of the flood out the door as possible she apologised to the man who'd relaxed and kindly checked for intruders.

'Looks like you forgot to lock up last night,' he said on his way back to his own office.

Linda thought she heard his thoughts sarcastically wishing her good luck with an insurance claim.

Alone for a couple of hours Linda kicked her shoes off positioning them in the sunlight of the back window. Dropping her trousers she hung them out hoping the linen would dry quickly.

Behind her desk she filed her broken nail whilst deciding who to ring first. She chose the alarm company who said they'd send an engineer to check why the alarm hadn't sounded. Next she rang the police but she didn't know what sort of crime to report. The office itself looked untouched and there hadn't technically been a break-in. Finally she rang Dwight at his place.

'Linda,' he laughed hearing her voice.

Given he'd told her he had jobs to go to she hadn't expected him to answer. His laughing at her nearly caused her to hang up. 'What's so funny?'

'You, you don't sound yourself.'

'That's because I don't feel myself,' she said feeling ridiculous in little more than her underwear. 'Some pipe or other needs fixing it's flooded my bathroom and the downstairs office.'

'Jeez Linda, I'm pretty booked up today.'

'Fine, the police will be here before long. I'll call a plumber—'

'Just hang on, let me grab some tools I'll be there in a sec. What's the address again?'

After the phone went down she buried her face in her hands where she stayed for ages until the phone rang.

'Lake: All Stars—'

'Linda what's up?'

'Johnny?'

'Of course. You sound sad.'

'All I said was—'

'Yeah, and you sounded – sound sad. What's wrong?'

She told him what had happened.

'I'm coming over.'

'What? You can't you're gigging tonight.'

'We're not so far away now. I can fly in and out.'

'You petrified of flying.'

'You need a friend.'

'I'll be in more than just my underwear by the time you get here.'

Linda listened to the pause on the line.

Johnny said, 'I suppose if you're making jokes I can assume you're alright.'

She sighed. 'I'm fine, it's just a shock and yet another thing to deal with.'

'I was ringing to say we had another good T-shirt night. Come and see us we could use the money to pay for a flight.'

'That's sweet but I can't leave the office right now. Listen, hang on a second.' She faced Dwight who'd appeared.

'Ha, what happened to you?' he said banging a toolbox on her desk.

'I'm not in the mood,' she said holding the receiver from her face.

'Sorry,' he grunted.

To the phone she said. 'I've got to dash... thank you... you too... I'll see you soon bye.'

'Who was that?' Dwight asked.

'Johnny.'

'Who?'

'Johnny Won, from The USed Wonz.'

'Yeah, what's with all the fluffy talk?'

'I don't know what you mean.'

'What's going on?'

'Nothing, he's just a client.'

'I meant with the flood.'

'Oh.'

Linda walked and Dwight followed her rising and falling butt cheeks into the bathroom. 'Apparently it's all over the computers downstairs.

'Doubt it. It won't have gone beyond their bathroom. Probably. Right, let's get the window open. The warm breeze with evaporate this in no time.'

Linda cursed herself for not thinking of something so obvious.

He looked her up and down. 'You got any other clothes?'

'No, why?'

'I was thinking we should pay downstairs a visit before cops show. Make sure they're not setting you up for damage that hasn't happened.'

'Thanks Dwight.' She smiled.

He reached behind the toilet. 'Pipe's come away.'

'How, why?'

'Probably just one of those things,' he said shaking his head.

Linda let him get on with the repair job. In her office she climbed back into her wet trousers.

After he'd finished the job Linda let Dwight lead the way downstairs. The double sized unit opened into a reception area with a male bathroom to the right and female one to the left where the water would have run.

'Can I help you?' a lady behind reception asked.

'Anyone in here right now?' he asked pointing to the ladies.

Not waiting for any more than a no, he shoved through the door. Linda followed him into the empty facility.

'Floor's still wet,' she said but Dwight ignored her looking at ceiling.

Backing out he ploughed on to the main office without looking at the receptionist who jumped out her seat.

'This'll only take a moment,' Linda told her.

In the office the same black haired man charged forward demanding explanation.

Dwight said nothing, just searched the ceiling for signs of water damage. Linda looked up. Certainly some water had come through but none near the computers or people who continued working at them unperturbed.

'Excuse me,' the man said again.

'Is this the extent of flooding in this room?'

'Yes, but the ladies bathroom—'

'I've seen it. Why d'you tell this lady it was pissing all over your computers?'

'Well it would've if I hadn't stopped it.'

Linda kept quiet.

'Well it's fixed now. Your computers are fine. Come on Linda.'

Linda jumped loving his dominance.

'Thanks for that,' she said following him out wanting to put her arms round him. She realised she'd never felt so fondly of him. 'Will you stay for the police?'

He pulled a face. 'Alright.'

Dwight jogged upstairs to gather his tools and soon the police arrived.

Linda greeted a solitary thirty-something woman getting out the patrol vehicle.

'Ms Lake?'

'Call me Linda.'

'Officer Deveraux.'

They shook hands and by the time they reached the upper office Dwight looked ready to leave. Officer Deveraux kept him waiting whilst Linda brought her up to speed.

'In your professional opinion,' she asked Dwight, 'could the pipe have burst because someone tampered with it?'

He looked at Linda. 'Honestly, I'd guess it was just coincidence. If Linda hadn't found the door wide open I wouldn't have given it a thought.'

'Are you saying there's no chance it's been tampered with?'

He shrugged. 'I can't say. I still think it's coincidence.'

When he couldn't help with anything else she let him go.

'I'm interested to know why the alarm failed,' she said. 'Forensics will be along to fingerprint the place which might explain that and why the pipe burst.'

Twenty minutes after Officer Deveraux left and the alarm technician arrived. He looked at the outside box after finding nothing wrong with the electrics in the office. When he came down his ladder he told Linda the wire connecting the bell with power had disconnected. He gave no explanation other than to say it should have been tested when she took over the lease. Twenty minutes after he left, forensics arrived to dust for prints.

Their guy found nothing untoward but said prints in wet bathrooms never last long. He couldn't suggest anything other than bad luck regarding the burst pipe. Dwight's repair of it had involved heaving and manipulation which would have destroyed any clues anyway.

He left and soon Fiona arrived by which time Linda's clothes and most of the bathroom had dried.

Fiona swore she hadn't returned after hours with her spare key and asked, 'Can you actually remember locking up when you left last night?'

'I think so, yes.'

'Because I can't remember locking my door when I left for work; not for certain anyway.'

'I know what you mean.'

'What's happening about the water damage?'

'The building manager's reported it to the insurance company who'll assess costs and blame, which might fall to me. I can't prove I locked up. No forced entry might mean no claim.' Linda rubbed her face. 'I'll probably be held responsible given there's no sign of break in.'

* * *

Johnny rang back later that afternoon.

'Hang on,' he said, 'the unlocked door isn't relevant.'

'It is, there was no break in.' Linda wanted to slap the desk.

'What if you'd found the door locked this morning – you said Dwight claimed the pipe would have burst anyway?'

She thought for a moment. 'I guess if the door had been locked the insurance would fix it.'

'There you go. You've got Dwight's opinion written in the police report. Nobody including forensics have reason to suspect the pipe had been sabotaged.'

## Wednesday 25th March 1981

Johnny had been invited to a second Wednesday poker night. This time Geoff would be there intent on relieving Charles, one of the regular players, of his money.

At the foot of the building Johnny mentally prepared himself and shrugged off his emotions. After climbing the stairs he looked around the room he'd visited the previous week. He couldn't see Geoff so instead made small talk with the unsuspecting Charles.

Before long the four players present sat around the table. Johnny allowed his body to relax and tried ignoring Geoff's absence. But before the room faded from Johnny's concentration Geoff swished in with time for the dealer deal him in.

Johnny barely noticed relief as he considered the red cards in his hand. Beyond them he saw Geoff settle and cover his right hand with his left. Johnny responded by covering his own right hand.

Several rounds and hand signals later he found himself fifty pounds up. Charles scratched his head and sighed.

Before long he saw Geoff's thumbs cross signalling the end of their communication.

Free to play his own game thoughts of money welled which he promptly rejected. To win without Geoff's assistance required strong cards and knowledge of who at the table had stronger ones. Ignoring money helped him concentrate as he relaxed again.

An hour later Johnny felt so stoned from his self-induced trance that he didn't know how much money he had.

A metal chair leg screeched on the wooden floor and Charles stood up.

'Not staying for another hand?' Geoff asked.

'Not tonight buddy.'

Johnny yawned and pocketed his stack of cash hoping it'd be heavier than the one he'd arrived with.

Charles left and, after an appropriate amount of chitchat with the others and pleasantries with Geoff, Johnny did too.

Back in his room he sat with his new Strat and counted a twenty-five pounds profit on top of what he'd taken from Charles. He considered at this rate he'd not miss the portion of wage Geoff withheld as loan repayments each week.

Downstairs he heard but ignored the phone ringing. Stu found him though.

'It's Geoff,' he said through the door.

On the stairs Johnny grabbed the phone.

'Congratulations,' Geoff said. 'The system worked a treat on Charles. How d'you feel about going in for the kill when Leonard shows?'

'The sooner the better as far I'm concerned.'

'Good man. But we can't rush him like we did with Charles. Breaking him too soon could jeopardise everything and he'll bail before we get chance to take him properly.'

'So we tease him a bit first?'

'Maybe even let him win a few rounds. In the meantime you need to win less.'

'What?'

'We did a number on Charles but if you consistently win, with or without my help, the guys won't invite you back.'

## Friday 27th March 1981

Christine finished work on Friday and travelled with Johnny and Stu to the youth club for rehearsal.

Mazz met them and announced she'd be reporting to Vanquar's Derry Street office after the weekend for work experience with one of the company's A&R staff.

Whilst Johnny set mics up Christine sat playing the youth club's string synth.

'You're sounding more like Tony Banks all the time,' Stu said arranging cymbals.

'I've been listening to tons of Genesis,' Christine said. 'In fact all sorts of stuff since starting on Margaret's record stall.'

She cast an eye over to Johnny who now wore a guitar she didn't recognise.

'Wow, that's never the guitar you half-inched?'

'Sure is,' Johnny said.

'It certainly looks hot,' Stu said grinning at his own joke.

'The colour's amazing.'

'How's it sound?'

'Okay,' he said plugging into the amp and giving her a quick blast.

'Sounds really good,' Mazz chipped in.

A few weeks earlier the band had returned to, _How Can We be so Happy;_ the song Johnny had impressed the girls with on their first session months earlier. The newly arranged version appeared dynamic featuring a string part so full-bodied Johnny withdrew any guitar playing until after the first chorus.

As his bandmates set the mood Johnny sang with vague metaphoric images; his voice sounding as lonely as the boy who'd made the journey to London with nothing but the memory of his mother's voice.

His guitar hung at his waist until he sang, _How can we be so happy, when we have nothing at all?_

Then, stepping from the mic he gripped the guitar and closing his eyes pressed the ninth fret ready for his solo refrain. Like an extension of himself the Stratocaster felt organic in ways he'd not noticed before.

When the plectrum struck, the string resonated with life. The overdriven lead sound licked through the music of the other instruments like nothing before.

Shocked by the instrument's authoritative sonic beauty Johnny gasped losing himself in the vibration and continued soloing after his allotted four bars.

Equally affected Christine's nod to Mazz communicated they should repeat the section allowing Johnny's indulgence.

Mazz thumbed the simple bass notes and melted into the extraordinary moment. Locked to Stu's groove she focused on Johnny's run up the guitar's neck. Higher he went until at the last fret he held the note before diving down the neck to finish.

'Oh my God,' he exclaimed as he and everyone else stopped playing. 'Did you hear that? This is an incredible instrument.'

'It must need other instruments around it to sound its best,' Mazz said.

'You're right. Let's try it again and I'll try and remember to stop for verse two this time.'

## Saturday 04th April 1981

Johnny threw himself back into muay thai classes attempting to close the gap Stu's practice would surely have created in the wake of poker lessons.

He'd attended another poker night. In Leonard's absence another player had been picked on; Johnny following Geoff's signals until seeing his crossed thumbs. Experimenting with different approaches from then on cost him the money he'd won which kept the group and Geoff happy.

Mazz spent the week away from school photocopying and making teas at Vanquar. She reported to Trudie in A&R but hardly heard any hopeful bands' demo tapes. Trudie dealt mostly with already signed artists but nobody famous visited that week.

Warming to Trudie, she talked about Johnny and the Used Ones. Unfortunately she received a lecture on the business's cutthroat nature. Trudie suggested she change tack whilst still young.

When Mazz showed no dissuasion Trudie reciprocated her warmth, taking five minutes to fast-forward through twenty minutes of their old demo. She agreed Johnny's voice had character but stated she would have thrown the tape out as would any other A&R person.

* * *

On the first Saturday in April the band arrived to gig the Electric Ballroom. The bandmates had worked hard inviting everyone they knew, attempting to affect the club's vast emptiness.

By the end of her week Mazz felt she'd made a friend of Trudie and convinced her to come along. But with no sign of her, she felt as nervous as her first gigs with the band.

'You look amazing,' Stu told her.

She knew she did. As always Christine had gone to town glamming and maturing her appearance with makeup and hairspray.

Mazz thought Johnny looked nervous too. She knew whatever the venue size performing to merely quarter-filled rooms bothered him.

Five minutes before their slot the room began filling and Johnny rallied the band together. Mazz couldn't relax though. She'd always felt like the band's weak link. Despite hours of personal practice and coaching from her bandmates she knew her ability still lagged behind theirs.

Even Stu's input shaped the songs more than hers. Since starting on the markets the boys had seen more of Christine but Mazz had seen less and missed her.

Given the band's copious line-up changes she didn't believe they rated her as highly as they claimed. Her week with Vanquar had been her opportunity to add value. The poor demo hadn't helped but getting Trudie to a gig could make the difference they yearned for. If only Trudie would show.

'If she's coming she's coming,' Johnny said. 'Let's take a minute backstage to rev up. Moping around here isn't helping.'

Johnny of course knew Trudie most likely wouldn't show. He took Mazz's hand and led her away from the stage. His fake smile faded.

But no sooner had he turned than Mazz's hand slipped from his. He spun round to see her facing a dark haired woman.

'I worried I'd missed you,' the woman said.

'You're just in time,' Mazz said to her. 'Trudie, this is the singer, Johnny.'

'Is it now?' Trudie said narrowing her eyes as if studying him.

'Thanks for coming,' Johnny said shaking her hand. 'Sorry it's not a better turnout.'

'There's plenty.'

Johnny didn't believe her. Half full always meant half empty. Record company reps needed to see venues packed to the rafters.

Trudie went to the bar and after a backstage huddle Johnny stepped onto the stage. Before donning the Stratocaster he looked at it, ready for their first gig together. He calmed down.

Facing the front he looked beyond the emptiness at the front of the stage into chattering faces. It'd take a lot to win them over and a lot more to win Trudie.

Stu counted in _Blossoming Angel,_ a new song.

Johnny crunched out a riff whilst the girls and Stu clapped time. The girls sang his lines back in unison. He sang the last line and stopped. The girls repeated the line in acapella harmony.

In the following bar of silence Johnny reckoned half the chattering had ended. The full band dived into the chorus.

Competing with drums, strings and bass the guitar sound transformed in richness sending Johnny's spirits higher.

_Blossoming Angel,_ received healthy applause but the room's atmosphere mismatched his ambitious mood.

Rather than hope that would change he addressed the audience. 'Why is this area in front of the stage empty?'

Waving his hands some people advanced a safe distance.

'Hopeless.'

Johnny took his guitar off and jumped off stage. Mazz laughed as he took a pretty girl's hands and walking her forwards shouted an invitation to the lads to dance with her.

He repeated the act with two more girls before returning to say, 'That's better. This next song's called, _Come On, Let's Dance at the Front.'_

The playfulness helped Mazz relax and she enjoyed the rest of the gig which, despite lacking snippets of magic, leant towards exhilarating rather than the more common disappointing.

When they caught up with Trudie she complimented Mazz and the band.

'Can we get your honest thoughts?' Johnny asked.

She looked him in the eye. 'I never hand out unjust compliments. But truthfully, you're not ready for Vanquar.'

'We guessed as much.'

'The window closes quickly but you're still a young band. You have time to improve as long as you don't waste it. Most people don't have what it takes but you guys have something fundamentally worthy. I'd be very keen to see you after twelve months flat-out graft.'

'Twelve months. What do we need to do?' Johnny asked.

'Stay true to yourselves and build from it. You look good but you need an _Adam and the Ants_ memorable image.' She looked at Johnny. 'You can sing which is a huge help and I heard a couple of songs that might cut it but you need more of them and for goodness sake get a new demo.'

'Will you still remember us in a year?' Mazz asked.

'Us industry types aren't that bad and it'll come round quick, so make the most of it.'

## Tuesday 12th June 1984

On the bus that morning, Johnny thought back to his days of learning poker with Geoff and the stories of business and man's desire for the achievement of wealth that often came up.

Johnny had never had much money in either his current life or the one he preferred to forget. But Geoff told him earning money awakens the desire to earn more. In America, The USed Wonz earned more than any of them ever had but T-shirt sales made them think again.

As he dwelled on Linda's non-deserved bad luck his mind turned to repaying her and to poker.

Turning in his seat he saw Christine watching him.

'Hot isn't it?' he said.

'Sure is.' She smiled and he dismissed the idea of poker.

## Wednesday 08th April 1981

At the foot of the stairs Johnny took steadying breaths.

He'd been so full of band strategies since meeting and hearing Trudie's comments he'd almost forgotten about poker. But when Geoff had interrupted him earlier that day confirming Leonard's arrival from business in Taiwan, Johnny's mind zoned to the night ahead.

Taken to one side Geoff had handed him a wad of cash and stressed the importance of following his instructions and the plan to tease Leonard before going in for the kill.

Johnny did a few stretches and climbed the stairs. Reaching the room he saw five men. He recognised all but one and might have sensed a different atmosphere.

'Hey Johnny,' Charles said blocking his scan of the room for Geoff, 'You met Leonard?'

Surrounded by the others the stranger looked nothing like he'd imagined. Despite the tan he'd brought back from Taiwan the fat doughy look suggested he might be like a friendly version of Mr Toulson; misguided and idiotic. But, with Leonard's crushing handshake Johnny reminded himself this man had purposely or otherwise got one over on Geoff. Johnny took the twinkle in his eye as a warning.

Leonard took position at the card table first and Johnny sat opposite where he could keep an eye on him. He prepared himself for the long haul with or without Geoff. Settling his racing heartbeat he resolved not to speak or move more than necessary.

The other guys took their places and Geoff finally appeared with his usual grin. Everyone but Johnny smiled back.

Geoff hung his jacket up and dragged the last chair to the table where he told a begrudging Leonard to shift up. Geoff squeezed between him and Charles who shuffled the deck preparing to deal.

From the shake of Leonard's head Johnny deduced he didn't share the same respect of Geoff most did.

Charles dealt and Leonard snapped his first card up. Geoff took his time and Johnny took longer not looking at his cards until all had been dealt. By that time he'd read a few faces.

Turning his cards he saw a pair of nines. Not bad but Herbert O. Yardley's book would advise he folded. Johnny wondered how long it'd been since Geoff had read the book he'd lent him – Geoff who'd pushed him to take risks the book never would.

At the draw Johnny watched everyone and Geoff's signal but folded.

He knew they didn't have long to whet Leonard's appetite and take him down but having begun thinking of poker like street fighting he'd have advised anyone else to play safe and run. After the chips went into the pot Johnny felt better having folded.

Geoff had bet and lost; Leonard won the deal.

After a few rounds and better hands Johnny started netting cash playing his own game not always acting on Geoff's signalled instructions. Though he'd never questioned Geoff's teaching he'd borrowed library books to further develop his own philosophy of the game.

Like Yardley but unlike music, he understood that emotion had no place in winning strategies. Winners knew and understood the odds and Johnny had memorised them all from Royal Flush down to the weakest hands.

Leonard had so far played emotionally, celebrating his wins and grouching at his losses. Johnny guessed from the way he'd stare at the money on the table that he'd be every bit the greedy businessman Geoff had described.

After more rounds Geoff started highlighting Johnny's wins by laughing and telling Leonard his game had slipped. Johnny felt others around the table join Geoff's banter until Leonard changing colour through his tan silenced them with a single glare.

Another deal and Geoff signalled Johnny to lose despite Leonard's weak hand. Johnny responded by staying and not raising; suggesting he also had weak cards. Geoff's aim presumably to trick Leonard into recklessness; winning where he should be losing.

The more Leonard's teeth clenched the more Johnny used that as a signal to relax whilst around him Charles and the others grew more uncomfortable. When Leonard won the hand the room breathed a sigh of relief.

Each round led to the point where Johnny could feel the strike time coming. He found himself with three tens; a strong hand. Holding the cards in his left hand let Geoff know the situation. Soon everyone but Leonard folded. Geoff's reply communicated Leonard also had a strong hand and not to gamble.

Johnny considered the odds. Not much beat three of a kind but when the final card turned he couldn't believe his luck.

He looked straight at Leonard. No reaction.

He looked back at the ten of clubs; four of a kind. He signalled to Geoff who replied with his blessing. Johnny saw Leonard's bet and raised.

Relaxing in the face of Leonard's clear frustration became impossible.

Eventually Leonard said, 'Alright, I'll see you and raise again.'

Johnny's heart pounded. He swallowed, his usual state of mind having deserted him. Leonard must know he'd got him on the ropes for the first time. His mind flashed forwards wanting to get this part of Geoff's arrangement behind him. He forced his thoughts back to the present.

He looked at Geoff's silent hands.

Leonard rushed him. Johnny couldn't calculate his odds until Geoff told Leonard to button it.

Looking again at the cards his mind cleared just enough. Not only did very little beat four of a kind but given the cards facing, Leonard couldn't possibly have a better hand.

'Well?' Leonard said.

'All in.' Johnny pushed his remaining chips into the centre of the table.

'I thought you'd do that; try and scare me out the game. Fine. All in.'

Leonard also pushed his remaining chips into the table. 'Showdown.'

'What's everyone got?' Geoff's voice squeaked.

Johnny turned his cards over and neither looked at Leonard's cards nor responded to the outburst that followed.

Without a glance at Geoff, Johnny stood and dragged all the chips his way his cheeks burning to smile.

'Well Leonard,' Geoff said when nobody else dared. 'I guess that's you done.'

'Are you kidding?' Leonard banged his wallet on the table.

'Come on it's getting late,' Geoff said.

'Time I headed off,' Johnny said.

'Sit down.'

Nobody moved. Johnny hadn't managed to keep the smile from his face. He'd seen the end and won the battle. He didn't want to carry on; he wanted to celebrate.

'Sit down,' Leonard said again.

Johnny stayed standing. His smile faded realising the desperation of his adversary. He tried relaxing. He remembered his mam.

Then he remembered Keith his first muay thai trainer who by way of warning had told him how historically armies would celebrate the moment they won battle. Should they then face ambush they'd be mentally unprepared and be defeated.

By contrast the samurai would tighten their helmet straps after winning battles in preparation for the next. _Stay focused until you know the battle is truly yours,_ had been Keith's advice.

'Fine,' Johnny said sitting down feeling his smile return.

The next guy to deal sat directly to his right Johnny therefore had the task of sweeping the cards up after the game, according to Yardley's book, he couldn't be safer placed to bluff.

* * *

Outside darkness had fallen. Eager to get back Johnny set off running. After a couple of streets he heard a familiar voice call out behind him. Looking behind he saw Stu.

'I followed you out,' he said jogging to catch up. 'I sat in the pub opposite you in case there was trouble.'

'You were concerned?'

'Of course,' he said. 'Guitarists are ten-a-penny but half decent singers who aren't a pain in the behind – well they're rare. Anyway, how d'you get on?'

'Mission accomplished, I hope.'

'You hope?'

'I've not counted the money yet. But if Geoff wanted to see Leonard humiliated he got his wish. I took all his chips.'

'Well done.'

'He didn't want to give up; came back emptying his wallet into the pot.'

'And?'

'He lost – again. He bet heavily and I bluffed. He crumbled.'

When they reached the house Geoff came knocking before the kettle had boiled. Judging by his serious look Johnny wondered if he knew about the samurai.

Geoff dropped his coat on the back of the nearest kitchen chair.

'Well done,' he said with a serious tone whilst shaking Johnny's hand. 'That was intense; certainly got me going.'

'I've never seen stakes like it,' Johnny said.

'Me either. Not with that group anyway.' He put his briefcase on the dining table.

Johnny piled the winnings next to it and counted saying, 'That's the five hundred you gave me to start with.'

'Good start,' Geoff said flipping open his briefcase. He wrapped a band round the money and dropped it inside. 'What's left?'

'Hopefully enough to repay that solicitor's fee Leonard took you for.'

Nodding, Geoff counted.

When he finished he clapped his hands together. 'Put it there.'

Johnny shook his hand again whilst Stu looked on.

'See this?' Geoff said to both lads taking an envelope from his briefcase. 'That's the solicitor's invoice. We cleared it.'

Finally it felt like they could celebrate.

'I've invested a lot of time training you for tonight,' Geoff said. 'I've given you skills you can use to supplement your income in the future. By rights I should get what's left.'

'Of course,' Johnny said.

'But,' Geoff said after a moment, 'you've worked hard too. You put in the same hours I did – and more. The loan might have been interest free but I know how stressful all of this has been. It'd have been easier paying the interest.'

'What are you saying?'

'You've been paying the loan for thirteen weeks now so you've bitten into it. How about we deduct the rest of tonight's winning from the outstanding amount?'

'Really?' Johnny said. 'It'd be great to get the loan behind sooner than later. In fact I could pay you the rest tonight from other poker winnings if you like.'

'Forget it.' Geoff seemed to have stopped listening whilst scribbling on a notepad.

'What?'

'Keep it. The look on Leonard's face was priceless. He couldn't believe when you beat him that second time.' Geoff finally laughed.

'What exactly are you saying Geoff?' Stu asked.

'To be honest once we got into the poker training I pretty much regretted asking you. It was a big job but well worth it. There's not that much left so let's just call the loan paid. I'm still making money out of the pair of you as long as you work and pay me rent.'

## Wednesday 13th June 1984

Linda had slept alone and soundly. Waking the next morning clearer headed but lonely she drove to the office unsure what she might find.

When she'd locked up the previous night she knew with all certainty that she simply wouldn't have set the alarm without also turning the door key. That meant someone else had opened the door afterwards. She hated her suspicions of Fiona but who else had a key?

She could only think of the building's management company. Even the cleaners came in during office hours. But Fiona had rightfully contended she wouldn't have tripped the alarm; not that it had sounded anyway.

Parking in front of her office she went to the Lotus's cramped boot and collected documents she'd taken home for safekeeping. The black-haired man arrived for work and nodded. She forced a smile back.

Arriving upstairs she found everything as it should be. Minutes later the phone rang.

'Hello,' Linda said having glanced at the clock.

'No formal greeting?'

'Hi Johnny, lovely to hear from you. How's that?'

'Informal but nice. You knew it'd be me?'

'I guessed as much.'

Cutting to the chase Johnny asked, 'What's happening with the insurance?'

'They sent someone round. There's not much damage and they're paying for it.'

'Well done Linda, that must be a relief.'

'For damn sure. I rang the management company back like you suggested.'

'And?'

'They weren't sympathetic about the alarm failing to sound. They maintained I'd been careless and forgotten to lock up and, get this, they seemed to think my business was in trouble.'

'How the hell could they know that?'

'Beats me but the implication was I mightn't be good for the rent. Anyway I may have raised my voice and forced the issue of the alarm. Eventually they caved and it's getting sorted.'

'Thank God. I don't like you being unhappy.'

'Aw, you care.'

'Don't tease, you know I do. Things will get better. As humans we work to make things better and I know how hard you work.'

'Thank you Johnny.'

'I bet there's some good news round the corner just be ready to jump on it when you see it.'

'Is that what you've found – in your life?'

'Absolutely. There've been times I felt crushed with bad luck and then when things couldn't get worse I just popped from underneath it and things started improving. And like your business there've been times the band ground to a halt back in the days when we were Johnny and the Used Ones. But things got going again and stuff started happening.'

She let him go and felt better still as she always did following his calls. She thought of him again when the phone next rang.

'It's Trudie, how's things?' the voice at the other end said.

'Oh my god where are you?'

'London.'

'Oh.'

'But, I've got a band for you.'

'Oh thank you Trudie you've no idea how much I need acts,' Linda said before explaining her situation.

Trudie said she'd do what she could starting right away. 'How d'you fancy Little Spirit?'

'What all at once?' Linda joked. 'Oh wait, they're only a three piece; yeah I fancy I can manage that. Actually now I think of it I've seen the bass player's girlfriend; she's beautiful he wouldn't fancy me after her.'

'Someone's giddy,' Trudie laughed.

'I'm just so relieved to have a new act.'

'Well you can forget the fantasy they're all loved up as it goes. Would you believe Raphael the drummer is with Grace from GMD and Danny the guitarist finally convinced Amy his feelings were true?'

Linda thought back to her trip to London a mere three months earlier with The USed Wonz.

Little Spirit had done phenomenally well since then career-wise and in their relationships. 'How boring that they've all got girlfriends.'

'I know, not a bit like The USed Wonz.'

Linda could only imagine.

Trudie said, 'We're thinking of sending Little Spirit over in October.'

'Why so soon, surely there's touring to be done in the UK?'

'There is. They're blasting it now. In the last fortnight they've been on every TV show going.'

'What about Europe?'

'What about it, they're signed to us, Vanquar, we're American.'

'Well multinational,' Linda said, 'but the sooner Little Spirit get here the better as far as I'm concerned. It's bad enough The USed Wonz are flying your way in a few weeks.'

'How are they doing?'

She didn't mention the drama with the stolen money. 'They're doing great. But they need greater exposure and we're missing festivals because of them being in the studio.'

'That's how it goes sometimes. Hopefully they'll be back soon and with Little Spirit so I'll be over too. Maybe we can sort something out – get things back on track.'

'It'd be wonderful to see you. Hey, The USed Wonz are worried about a management shuffle in Vanquar; you wouldn't know anything about that would you?'

'What like?' Trudie asked.

'Well, d'you know who's being considered for promotion?'

After a few seconds dead air Trudie whispered, 'Keep this super quiet but would you believe my name was mentioned?'

'Wow, that's brilliant.' Linda's mind shot forward.

'Shush,' Trudie laughed. 'I won't get it. They're only considering me because of Little Spirit's success. If they step out of line I'll definitely be gone.'

'Well good for you and I'm sure Little Spirit won't let you down.'

'Even though Little Spirit are doing ever better I sometimes sense love from the top wavering.'

'That doesn't add up. Who else is in the running?'

'No idea.'

'Then you might be fine. Do you want the job?'

'More than anything but there are people who've been around way longer than me. Like I say I got lucky with Little Spirit.'

'And The USed Wonz.'

'To a lesser extent. Anyway don't mention it even to them. If they're worried about someone else taking the role they'll just have to worry. We'll know in couple of weeks.'

Linda promised to keep quiet. 'Are you seeing anyone right now?'

Trudie just laughed.

Linda said, 'So if you moved to America you'll not be breaking some poor soul's heart?'

'No fear. Actually I do better in America; it's one of the reasons I'm keen to get back. That said I've had a makeover.'

'Oh yeah?'

'Katherine – the bass player's beautiful girlfriend?'

'What about her?'

'She sorted me out. She's now working freelance. My boss puts her in touch with stars and she styles them.'

'It sounds like they're leading charmed lives.'

'It's turned around quickly alright. Anyway I'm getting more attention than I used to but still, no one special. What about you, is that bastard Earl still in prison?'

'Should be. He's not been sentenced yet though. I'm with someone called Dwight now. We're taking it slow.'

'What about Johnny?'

'Ah Johnny'

'Is he still hounding you?'

'He's not hounding. He rings me most days but he's not nearly so flirty since London.'

'Does he still think it's love?'

'He never said it was love. But there's something between us.'

'You should snog him.'

'What? I didn't say it was that sort of thing.'

'Okay, but think about it. How many men have you been with?'

'Err...'

'Yeah, don't answer I haven't got all day.'

Linda huffed. 'I'll have you know it's barely double figures.'

'Really? Well anyway the point is I bet in nearly all those cases a great kiss led to great everything else and the same for lousy kisses.'

'You think lousy kisses lead to lousy bedroom time?'

'Don't you?'

'I'll have to think about that.'

'All I'm saying is if there's no magic in the kiss you generally won't find it anywhere else. Snog Johnny then you'll both know.'

'Well, I'm not sure about that.'

'Just a thought. I've got to go but think about Little Spirit, three-thousand seater venues, possibly bigger for six weeks.'

Trudie rang off and Linda visualised the ideal US tour for England's new favourite band. Then she thought of her ex-boyfriends.

By the time Fiona arrived Linda realised Trudie might have a good point.

'Is your boyfriend a good kisser?' she asked Fiona.

'Hmm, he's a good everything.'

'Did you know The USed Wonz used to be called _Johnny and the Used Ones_?'

'Ooh, that's gross.'

## Tuesday 28th April 1981

Johnny had contacted Graham virtually on a whim proposing their bands book joint studio sessions. Graham replied after speaking with his bandmates agreeing to out-of-hours sessions in a reputable Greenwich studio.

Two weeks later the sessions had gone well. Mazz surprisingly nailed most bass parts in one take. She claimed practicing with the metronome had paid off.

In late April, Johnny sat in his room recovering from a muay thai training session when Stu knocked at his door. They discussed what the weather would be like in Miami before Stu got to the point.

'There's a sensitive matter.'

'Will I like it?'

'Probably not, but it's just a suggestion.'

'Go on.' Johnny had no clue what to expect.

'Trudie – when she saw us at the Electric Ballroom she made some good points; some we've carried out.'

Johnny nodded.

'But, she made some remarks about the band's name. Mazz won't have told you.'

Johnny shook his head.

'She said it's a great name for rocking around clubs and pubs. But not so great for Radio1.'

The two lads looked at each other. Johnny raised an eyebrow inviting him to continue.

'She reckons Radio1 wouldn't play a band whose name conjured images of spunk-filled condoms.'

Johnny nodded.

Stu continued. 'It's just, getting a record deal is difficult enough without the name making it more so.'

'You think we need a new name?'

'Would you consider it? If Radio1 won't play us stations in America's Bible Belt won't either.'

'You've kinda sprung this on me mate. I'll hear your suggestions but re-calving a following with a new name's surely difficult too.'

Stu nodded but said, 'There's another teensy problem with the name.'

'I thought there might be.'

'Sorry mate, we're all in it together and everyone can see you've worked hardest with the keyboards and the poker stuff. But, Christine's put loads into the demo and Mazz wants to start work in June and contribute financially too.'

'So none of you want to be _Johnny_ and the Used Ones?'

'If we drop the _Johnny_ bit we drop the condom bit. We'd be The Used Ones.'

'And?'

'And, it's not like a total name change.'

'And?'

'It'd take less time to etch into desks when the teacher's back's turned.'

Johnny smiled. 'And?'

Stu huffed. 'And, me and the girls would feel like we were properly in, instead of just being Johnny's discarded rubbers.'

'Okay.'

'Really?'

'Yeah. The name was never supposed to be about me. It was just a clever name – more suited to punk. And I appreciate we're a band. No one's a passenger here.'

Stu laughed. 'Cheers Johnny that was easier than I thought. The girls will be stoked.'

'So you propose _The Used Ones?'_

Stu suddenly looked serious again. 'If you did want your name in the band we could substitute _One_ for _Won –_ as in your surname.'

He pulled a pen and paper out his back pocket and wrote.

Johnny took the paper and read: _The Used Wonz._

'What d'ya think?' Stu asked.

'We've not printed the demo's inlay cards yet so – yeah, why not? It's quirky.'

'D'you know what'd be quirkier?'

Johnny looked at him. 'Isn't this enough?'

'What if we all adopted the surname _Won?'_

## Friday 23rd July 1982

A year after becoming The Used Wonz the band's demo had been duplicated, reduplicated and rejected by most major record companies.

They'd done all that Trudie had asked. They'd tightened their image and extended their gig radius with the van they'd bought from Edward.

Twelve months later Mazz tried contacting Trudie.

Tragically it seemed the only person they knew who could facilitate success had done exactly what they wanted – vanished to America.

Mazz had left school and like her other bandmates started working on the markets. Extradited from their West Ham house Geoff temporarily placed the girls in a double room at another of his properties. When a room became available in Johnny and Stu's house they transferred before finally getting a room each when the next tenant vacated.

For Johnny and the others living under the same roof made for happy times. He and Stu kept up their martial arts training and Johnny played poker between driving lessons from Stu. In England they had all they needed in terms of equipment and growing fan base.

Nevertheless Trudie's American secondment sparked growing desires to throw everything in and fly stateside. Johnny felt as strongly about this as anyone. Over the years he'd learned to relax around people who drank alcohol but he still had nightmares of one alcoholic, not knowing whether the ogre had lived or died and surreptitiously thwarted bookings within fifty miles of Carlisle.

Now though, one sticky sell-out July night following their principle support slot in Camden's Electric Ballroom, Johnny handed a demo to a pretty redheaded who couldn't have been much over eighteen.

He watched her gaze momentarily at the cover featuring Christine and Mazz looking sexy in black dresses and heels framing Johnny and Stu in their leather pants, black silk shirts and smug expressions.

The redhead had left the company of her friends and introduced herself as Grace. Given she seemed too young and shy to represent anything significant Johnny instantly forgot the name of the independent label she claimed association with and at first assumed she'd be no more than a new fan conning him out of a free tape.

Blushing and avoiding eye contact she flipped the cassette's lid.

'Contact details all present,' her voice quivered.

'You okay?' he asked.

Her blush deepened. 'I'll give this a listen and call you. Will you be around on Monday?'

'Yeah, after work.'

'Oh. I finish at five.'

As all The Used Wonz attracted attention from the opposite sex especially after a show as infrequently brilliant as that night's had been, Johnny assumed Grace must be too emotional to communicate fluently though she fought to maintain professionalism.

'I'll call you after hours then.'

Without knowing why Johnny asked, 'Have you a card?'

'What?'

'A business card?'

'No. I've... no.'

'Okay, well I'll look forward to speaking to you soon.'

## Saturday 24th July 1982

The next day Johnny drove the van to The Marquee in Wardour Street for that night's gig. They'd been lucky to get a Saturday gig given the venue typically had more successful bands playing over the weekend. As the second of three bands on the bill they hoped for their virgin Marquee appearance to have a capacity audience.

They got it.

Months earlier Christine had traded her normal keyboard stands in favour of chunky ones that allowed her to perform standing rather than sitting. She'd visited Nate's music shop in Greenwich with Johnny and bought a Yamaha CS-50 – a proper synth. She'd found the more time spent adjusting her deep V-neck jersey the better the deal became and managed to offload her Logan (which never recovered from the pina colada she'd spilt into it one show) for a better string synth too.

For Christine the previous night's Electric Ballroom gig had been amongst their best to date.

Preparing for the Marquee's soundcheck she felt positive about having two big gigs in a row but knew as well as any of them that the performance would probably disappoint. Despite innumerable gigs under The Used Wonz' belts they found several bad gigs followed good ones.

An hour later Christine slid into her dress and heels. After Mazz zipped her up she called the lads into the dressing room.

'Look what Johnny's got,' Stu said getting a bottle of Jack Daniels out his bag.

'What, he doesn't drink,' Mazz said.

'I know it's tea.'

'Stu's idea,' Johnny said. 'Drinking water on stage looks a bit wimpy.'

'So you're drinking cold tea?'

'Yeah. Cool huh?'

Stu pulled his leather pants on and asked Mazz, 'What's the chances of a good gig tonight?'

'We'll do our best,' she replied hopefully.

'Right we will,' he said encouragingly.

Stu loved Mazz like a sister but hadn't let up on the quality of her playing despite its consistent improvement.

'We'll all do our best,' Christine said protectively.

From the moment they took the stage Christine felt as good about the gig as ever. Something in the sound of Johnny's voice filled her with hope. She saw him smile at the audience and at her. She felt the same contentment he showed. Looking beyond him, she and Mazz's shared telepathy bonded. Like the previous night the band had the audience in their hands. Songs came out like prayers as band and audience unified in something beyond sound.

Afterwards whilst Christine set about shifting her gear she saw Johnny dragged from the stage to a table of girls. When she'd almost finished she became aware of a girl standing before the stage staring at her.

'Christine?' the girl said.

'Hi,' she said puzzled as to how she knew her name.

'I'm Grace, from GMD.'

Christine raised an eyebrow.

'Didn't Johnny mention me?'

'No, I don't think so. What's GMD?'

'Global Music Development – a record company.'

'You represent a record company?' Christine swallowed the desire to chuckle reckoning GMD to be a school project.

Grace stood looking up at Christine. She knew her shyness betrayed her. It made it hard for others to take her seriously. But she knew sticking to her guns would see her through.

She'd left school at sixteen to help her uncle Richard's record company in Chalcot Road. Since joining she'd listened to the hundreds of hopeful bands' demos sent in each week. She hated most but had given up telling her uncle about the worthy tapes as he never cared.

He claimed the sound of buzzing industry interest around a band mattered more than their musical sound. If a band had a growing fan base he'd sign them before majors got them. Only then after paying for them to go into the studio would he get interested in the sound.

Not that Grace had seen any of this yet or the hazing Richard dished out ensuring his bands kept their feet on the ground before tying them to a management contract. Richard made money from its twenty per cent management fee and percentage earnings from the records his bands sold once he'd secured marketing and distribution with a major record company.

Grace joined GMD doubling its staff. She took care of so many of the things Richard used to that he should have had time on his hands. He should have been listening for the buzz of emerging bands but, so far as Grace could tell, he used anything as an excuse to avoid signing another act.

Grace understood the risks Richard took with every signing. She saw in GMD's books large sums of money quickly spent but only dribbling back. Worse still they currently had no bands to manage since their last two split prematurely before recording new material. Despite the risks, GMD would have to find money and invest in a new band soon or go under.

Having decided to find GMD's next band herself, Grace had spent weeks privately raking through demos compiling a shortlist. Only if she liked all of a band's demo songs sufficiently would she checkout their live show. If they didn't look, sound or play well she wouldn't even spare them another thought.

Only four times had she found bands meeting her standards. None ended up signed to GMD.

Despite being shy she'd braced herself and introduced herself to the first band after their impressive live performance. But they neither took her seriously or remembered sending GMD a demo and fobbed her off with rudeness. The second band played equally well but after they'd welcomed her into their conversation Grace observed copious conflicting ideas with no single objective.

Bands three and four fared little better. Band three Richard dismissed because he couldn't hear the industry buzzing.

Grace sought, approached and presented band four to Richard.

When he didn't sign them she knew her uncle had lost his nerve. Band four signed to Columbia a month later.

'Johnny gave me your demo last night,' Grace said a little awed in Christine's presence.

Squeezed into a tight dress she emitted a powerful eroticism with curves so soft Grace wondered if she'd retained a touch of puppy fat.

'Oh, what did you make of it?'

Feeling like a bag of bones in Christine's company Grace said, 'Well, I was hooked by last night's gig and so basically loved your demo. I can't promise success but I'd like to meet you all if I may.'

Grace's cheeks flushed when she mistook Christine's offered hand and shook it.

Christine smiled pulling her onto the stage.

Knowing how young she looked Christine's reserve hadn't surprised Grace; and Johnny hadn't taken her seriously despite being pleasant.

But, as Christine sent Mazz to rally to boys, she recalled her own reservation about The Used Wonz. They had a comfortableness that perhaps indicated a lack of bitter determination necessary for greater success. She feared The Used Wonz may have already achieved all they wanted from music.

'Hi Grace,' Johnny said appearing from nowhere and putting his arm around her. 'Back so soon?'

'Well, I've listened to your demo.'

'I hope you've not come to tell us you didn't like it?'

* * *

Grace imagined they'd find somewhere quieter; perhaps another bar. But the band didn't want to risk letting their gear out of their sight.

Instead she helped pack their van and jumped in the back with the girls.

'Where d'you live?' Johnny asked her.

'With my mum in Cheshunt.'

'Where?'

'Just north of the M25.'

'And your mum lets you out alone?'

'I was with friends but I'll find my own way back.'

'No you won't,' Christine said. 'One of the lads will take you and I'll keep you company.'

Put at ease Grace ended up round the kitchen table of the house the band shared. Out came wine and beers but Johnny shared a pot of tea with her.

Having to start somewhere she asked them how they'd met and learnt that the ease Christine now had amongst her bandmates had required considerable work. Questioning their ambition Grace recognised The Used Wonz had plenty though she didn't know what to make of their desire for America.

It seemed the comfortableness she'd wondered about came from the fact that together they lived, worked, ate, played and Rock 'n' Rolled without ever tiring of each other.

She explained how GMD worked and queried why they'd not been picked up by another label. Stu confessed that they sometimes didn't play such good gigs.

'Well the two I've seen were fantastic,' she said.

'What about the demo?' Stu said.

She winced. 'Great.'

'But?'

'I saw you guys last night on impulse. The gig was exciting – spiritually moving.'

'Wow,' Stu said.

'I'll say,' Mazz agreed.

'The thing I'm wondering is whether I'd have come to see you on the strength of your demo alone.'

'Given you've witnessed both, is that now so important?' Johnny asked.

'Yes, my uncle Richard will have to hear the demo before he agrees to see you.'

'Oh, okay.'

'If, I can get Richard to a gig you'll have to look, sound and excite us as much as you did the last two nights. Most importantly we'll have to pack the venue right out.'

'But only if he likes the demo,' Stu said.

'And if I convince him there's industry buzz around you.'

'You got some ideas?' Christine said.

'I'll have to think about the buzz but I'll play the demo a few times in the background and as he leaves for lunch so it'll go round his head whilst he's out. By the time he hears it properly he'll be familiar with it, subconsciously at least.'

'You know we've got a sort of friend called Trudie who's quite high up in Vanquar's A&R department,' Mazz said.

'That's brilliant,' Grace said.

'Not really. She's gone to America and we can't get a demo to her.'

'D'you know when she's back?'

'No, but I've got her UK office number so I'll see if there's any new news.'

## Wednesday 13th June 1984

The silver-haired man wanted a simple yes or no answer to his simple question. Sitting at his desk with phone pressed to his ear his listened to Kyle explain how he'd bypassed an alarm system, gained access to an office unit riffled through drawers and filing cabinet. None of that gave him more than part of the answer.

The silver-haired man neither cared about the rumours Kyle spread nor the papers he'd moved nor the flood he'd caused. In fact he hated Kyle's behaviour.

He just wanted confirmation to his question one way or another. Surely Kyle's other agenda would arouse suspicion. He wanted none of this to come back on him.

'It's okay,' Kyle said. 'I'll get the information soon.'

'Just get on with it. Right now this whole elaborate stunt looks to have been for nothing.'

## Friday 06th August 1982

Grace approached her uncle having seen him glance at the clock. The red-hot weather had caused her blouse to stick to her back.

She tugged her shirttails and asked, 'Before you take lunch, will you listen to this band?'

She dropped a cassette into the main music system.

'Who's this?' Richard asked as Christine's synths swirled amidst the humidity.

'The Used Wonz. Their demo arrived a few days ago.'

She didn't let on that she'd been feeding him song snippets from her desk's cassette player or humming their basslines for the fortnight since meeting the band.

Grace watched his face relax as he entered his musical frame of mind.

As the first song reached its play-out he said, 'They're good.'

'Good enough?'

He mopped his brow with a handkerchief. 'There're plenty of demos this good.'

Grace read points from the letter Christine had produced trying not to rush. 'They're aged eighteen to twenty-two; been together years. They've done several interviews with local music press and had interest from Vanquar. Their fan-base is ever growing.'

' _Ever growing_ – what does that mean?'

'Well, they do plenty of five hundred plus venues. In fact they're playing Dingwalls – tonight.'

At this she stopped to watch his reaction before saying, 'I'm taking you out for dinner and then we're going to see them.'

'You're kidding?'

'You've nothing to rush home for and these guys are worth checking out. There's no point my doing that without you.'

Richard tugged his top button. 'Is it getting hotter in here?'

'It'll have cooled by evening. They're second band on so if you don't like them you'll still be home in good time.'

'I guess it wouldn't hurt to see if the singer's up to it live,' he sighed.

An hour later, after Richard's lunch, Grace filled him with more Used music then made a note of where their demo stopped.

'See you after lunch,' she said swapping shoes for trainers. She crossed the office exiting via the door that opened outwards onto a fire escape.

A breeze gently swept her hair relieving her of the office's stuffy oppression.

Hiking the route she'd take with Richard she headed for Camden Lock checking The Used Wonz had enough posters displayed. By the time she reached Camden High Street she'd seen how busy the band had been with available space.

To her right lay the Electric Ballroom. She crossed her fingers hoping they'd pull a decent crowd after so recently filling the comparatively large venue. Dingwalls lay feet from Camden's famous markets.

She passed through the market's gates and after asking a stallholder soon found Johnny strumming his acoustic guitar. Beside him Stu, looking ever trendy, served a young lady and after mentioning the night's gig added a flyer to her bag of carrots.

'Richard's heard the demo,' Grace said when they had a moment. 'He's agreed to come along tonight.'

'That's great, well done,' Johnny said putting his guitar down.

'I've seen your posters. D'you think you'll get a decent crowd?'

'The stallholders would prefer it was a Saturday but we're mentioning it to all the customers,' Stu said.

'Cool, I've invited my friends and told them to make lots of noise and a fuss of Richard.'

'Pray they snap his funk,' Stu said.

'I don't know if they'll be that friendly. I could do with a couple more posters for nearer the office.'

'Christine's got them. I'll take you over,' Stu said.

Stu led the way to Margaret's stall where Christine worked in disguise it seemed. Grace wouldn't have believed the drab looking frump hunched over boxes of second-hand records could transform into such imposing glamour.

* * *

After work Grace changed into T-shirt and skin-tight jeans and redid her makeup.

Richard had been unnervingly quiet since lunch.

Grace asked, 'Are you ready?'

'I rang the bank earlier.'

'We need to make money?' she said phrasing the inevitable positively.

'We do.'

'Well I'm paying for dinner so tell me whilst we eat.'

'I don't know if this is a good idea.'

'Oh God, don't back out now.'

She'd never spoken authoritatively with anyone least of all her uncle. Grateful for the potential dream job she couldn't anymore sit doing everything he asked whilst the company slipped away.

Richard's expression changed. Perhaps he read something in hers or her tone of voice.

'Come on love. I know somewhere cheap,' he said picking up his jacket.

* * *

They ambled along the towpath in now breezeless stuffy heat.

'I could just jump right in,' she said looking at the water.

'You'd get tangled in weeds and that'd be your end.'

'You wouldn't save me?'

'I suppose I'd give it a bash. I'd have to have something to tell your mother.'

Richard didn't often crack jokes so Grace found his attempt at humour encouraging.

Ahead she could see the first Used poster. 'Oh look,' she said casually.

Richard approached it and squinted studying it. 'Good.'

A couple of hundred metres later he spotted the second one.

'The gig's down there,' she said once they met Camden High Street.

'Dingwalls. I know it well.'

'How long since you've been?'

'A while,' Richard said with a sigh.

Grace didn't enquire further as he led her to The Hawley Arms.

'You ready to eat?' she asked.

'Pretty much.'

She'd only ever seen the pub from the outside. Inside it seemed friendly enough and asked for a shandy and lager. The barman looked sceptical.

'It's okay,' Richard said, 'she's eighteen.'

After they'd selected meals from the menu she asked what the bank had said.

Settled at a table she learned as she'd suspected the business account had hit a low now sales of GMD's previous signings had inevitably slowed.

But she discovered encouragingly that Richard had far less money when he started GMD. Grace deduced things could be worse as Richard prattled on about his bands of yesteryear.

'Money,' Grace said dragging him into the present.

'If bands don't stay together they can't make any,' he said.

'Forgive me for speaking out of turn but those last two bands you signed were awful.'

'Grace, I take your point, but you're missing the most important one.'

'Uncle, I know what you're going to say.'

'Do you?'

'That they were the talk of the town.'

'Exactly they—'

'And, I get it. They were the talk – but because they were unique not because they wrote appealing songs. You recorded them and a few enthusiasts, hearing something the rest of us couldn't, bought their records. Plus both bands looked like boxers who'd spent their lives throwing potatoes at each other.'

Richard laughed. 'They weren't pretty.'

'So why sign them?'

'Because ugly sometimes has its own appeal.'

'But it's incredibly limited. Wouldn't it be better to sign an act that's quirkily beautiful?'

'Ah, most beautiful people use it as licence to be poor quality musicians.'

'Aren't you listening?' Grace said bracing a table leg wondering how far she dare push it. 'The last two bands you signed were ugly _and_ poor musicians.'

Her toes curled in her trainers.

Richard drained his pint glass

Setting it down, he looked at it and nodded. 'Maybe you're right. But, they did have something about them.'

' _Did have,'_ Grace paraphrased. 'They've gone now leaving space for the next band.' She tried reverse psychology. 'If The Used Wonz aren't all gorgeous I won't let you sign them.'

'What exactly are we talking about here?'

'What d'you mean?'

'I appreciate you're a fan of this band—'

'I never said I was a fan,' she lied, 'it's just that in business you have to speculate to accumulate.'

Richard groaned. 'I speculated.'

'I know.' She stopped and stared. 'Hold on, what are you saying, that there's no more GMD? It needs money. It makes it by managing bands and producing records.'

Richard didn't speak.

Grace said, 'I'm truly passionate about this job. We need to get back in the game. I've been checking bands and demos for months and this is only the third time I've found anything worthy of your attention.'

Unbelievably Richard showed a wry smile. He invited her to continue.

'If even one of The Used Wonz is ugly, imageless, can't perform or simply doesn't cut it I won't mention them again.'

Richard rubbed his eyes. 'You're right.'

'About what?'

'Most everything. GMD needs money. I've been a fool paying you to do menial things never noticing you've got the same passion I had twenty-or-so years ago; never noticed I was losing it.'

After they'd eaten Richard put his knife and fork together and took two tenners from his wallet.

'Take them,' he said.

'This was supposed to be my treat.'

'Getting dressed down by an eighteen year old ain't no treat; it's work. And you're right, we need to get back in the game so what happens next is also work. This,' he pointed at the plates, 'is a business expense. The rest of what I've given you is overtime.'

'Thanks Uncle,' Grace beamed.

They stood to leave.

'Oh,' Richard added, 'best you remember, I am the boss. If these Used Ones don't blow Dingwall's roof off you're right; you won't mention them again understood?'

Grace expressed her understanding but linked his arm as he led the way to the venue.

When they arrived she asked the lady at the till, 'How many for The Used Wonz so far?'

The lady looked at the five-bar gates she'd been making. 'Loads.'

Grace looked at Richard. 'Good start.'

In the main room her friends having arrived first greeted them along with a hot summery waft of five hundred youthful bodies.

One friend remembering her instructions to make a fuss flirted and loosened Richard's tie whilst another got a round of drinks.

Soon the first band arrived on the cluttered stage.

Ten minutes after the first band exited Grace held her breath seeing Johnny and Stu position Christine's keyboards. Though they wore long pullovers and kept their backs to the audience, people in the crowd started shouting to them.

'That's them isn't it?' one of her friends asked her.

'Is it?' Grace said pretending not to notice and shooting silencing looks her way.

'We need to get to the front,' she said heading off.

'D'you fancy getting closer?' Grace asked Richard.

'Nah, I can see enough from here.'

'A bit closer,' she said taking his left hand. Following her lead the other friend took his right. They managed to get within four rows of the front before the crowd retightened.

* * *

Backstage in the dressing room Mazz's fingers trembled with nerves.

'Hold still,' Christine said supporting her head whilst plying her with plum-coloured lipstick.

The lads pulled their jumpers off.

'It's boiling out there,' Stu said seeing sweat soaking through his black silk shirt.

'Tell me about it,' Christine said. 'How many's out there?'

'Never seen it so full.'

'You alright Mazz?' Stu asked.

Mazz took his hand. 'Fine. How old do I look?'

'At least thirty.' They hadn't yet told Grace it'd be another twelve months before she turned eighteen.

'Ready to look post new romantic?' Christine asked the lads.

'Ready,' Stu said sitting down.

Johnny seemed more reluctant.

'Don't worry, you'll still look manly,' Christine told him whilst darkening Stu's eyes.

Soon she went to work on Johnny's eyes. He breathed her perfume and reopening his eyes looked at her face freshly made up just inches from his. She didn't comment as she dusted his face.

'Hmm,' he said, his gaze tracing her neck and making no secret of his looking down her dress.

She kept working as his hands touched her waist and swept the curve of her hips.

'Hmm,' he said again. 'If we weren't in the same band...'

He looked in her eyes. Not a flicker as she admired her handiwork. Johnny couldn't believe he hadn't got a rise out of her and didn't breathe another word.

Just when he considered apologising she stood straight and said, 'Thanks, what a nice complement.'

Needing a subject change Johnny said, 'Guys, we're starting with _How Can We Be So Happy_ right?'

'We are,' Stu said.

He slapped Stu's thigh to help shake his lingering embarrassment having flirted with Christine. 'It's a quiet song.'

'It's a bold opener,' Christine said.

'And people yack all the way through it. This time as we're playing it I'll open my arms.' His arms raised them like Jesus. 'Keep an eye on me and if I drop my hands – stop playing.'

'And you think that'll shut them up?' Mazz asked.

'It better.' Stu slapped the back of one hand into the palm of his other.

'Do we really want to be trying stunts with Grace's uncle in the audience?' Christine asked.

'Grace said he likes quirkiness.'

'I don't know,' Christine said.

'Neither do I but let's do it anyway.'

* * *

Four rows from the front Grace wondered where The Used Wonz had got to when the jukebox faded and from her left four figures emerged.

First she saw the brunette bass player wrapped in a back mini dress teetering on spiky high heels behind the enormous looking bass. She pirouetted locating her guitar lead and received a couple of wolf whistles.

Next came Stu looking sexy with his hedgehog-spiny hair and even some makeup. He took his place behind the drums and unbuttoned his shirt. Half the audience cheered. Somewhere behind her Grace heard shouts of, T _its out Stewie._

More wolf whistles came as, unrecognisable from the record stall frump, Christine crossed the stage in a dress barely covering her bottom. Grace imagined vapour trails of oestrogen dancing in her wake as she waved from her keyboards, turned and wiggled her hips.

Glancing at her uncle, Richard simply stated, 'Blimey.'

'Guess the singer must be the ugly one,' she said a second before the redoubtable Johnny stepped forwards also in makeup but ever godlike.

His guitar slung across broad shoulders remained un-played as he opened his arms.

'We're The Used Wonz.'

Half the room cheered as synthy chords, bass guitar notes and cymbals swelled. Grace tried ignoring the incessant chattering until without warning Johnny's arms flopped to his side.

The music died like a power cut. On stage she saw no movement save Christine's oscillating jaw chewing gum.

One conversation after another dissipated as people faced forwards. When only a few voices remained someone to Grace's left shouted for them to shut up.

The band remained frozen in the night's heat until only the clink of glasses behind the bar remained. Looking to the stage Johnny's arms rose resurrecting rich synthesised pad sounds swirling back into life.

* * *

On stage Johnny felt like a king. Stepping forwards his lips brushed the mic.

As he sang, ' _I looked out over mountains... '_ he wanted the moment to last forever feeling his voice reach five hundred never-more-respectful listeners. He kept his eyes closed throughout verse and bridge crescendo until the sound dropped away as rehearsed.

Nothing could be heard but his voice and Christine's strings.

He sang, _'How can we be so happy, when we have nothing at all.'_

Spinning his guitar's volume knob he set sail the sound he'd never tired of hearing. Against the temptation to float off on a Dave Gilmour-esque cadenza he reigned his playing in for verse2.

* * *

In the audience after the first song, spellbound like everyone else, Grace forgot she'd primed Johnny about Richard's character until he addressed the room and yet perhaps only Richard.

'I wrote that song at a time of personal uncertainty,' Johnny told his audience. 'I know we all feel uncertain sometimes. Some will feel it right now. But its message is optimistic because even when we think we have nothing every one of us has plenty.'

Christine had dialled up a sharp edged string sound and began a riff familiar to Grace.

Johnny went on. 'Just know what you are. If you're a businessman then be a businessman. Take those risks. If you're a lover or love music then _get to the heart of it_.'

Hoping Johnny hadn't been too obvious Grace couldn't face her uncle.

Stu's drum rhythm beat aggressively.

Grace swayed with Richard and everyone else in the throng of youths now jumping to the beat.

'Better than the demo?' she yelled to Richard.

He nodded fighting for balance.

On stage the bandmates leaned off their mics and chanted, ' _Let's get to the heart of this right now, you with us, we are go, go, go!'_

The audience soon caught on and at the second chorus Johnny signalled the band to stop before the middle-8.

'On your own,' he said clapping time. The audience chanted their chorus line with hands over heads clapping with the band.

Grace watched Johnny spin around mouthing to his bandmates _._ Facing front he thanked the audience as the band ploughed into the middle-8.

Two songs later Johnny harped about multinational companies. 'D'you ever feel little and invisible? Well we reckon independent companies have better clout than bullying multies. If anyone here has their own independent company then celebrate that.' Hitting a chord he sang, ' _We are the little ones but we have a voice.'_

* * *

On stage Mazz's nerves had passed the moment they'd silenced the audience. She stepped away from Johnny's right to groove with Stu who'd whipped his shirt off moments earlier; his marital arts trained body looked impressive.

Johnny had unfastened his shirt. Though she'd seen Stu, she'd never seen Johnny shirtless. At the end of the song the crowd's females bayed for Johnny's shirt too.

'Go on Johnny,' Mazz said into her mic, 'let's see ya.'

'I'll show you mine if you show me yours,' he said.

She replied, 'I'll show you later if you show us now.'

Hooked and overexcited by the repartee Christine thought to attack his blindside.

Leaving her keyboards she snatched his Jack Daniels bottle before whipping the shirt from his shoulders as best she could. The crowd whooped and Mazz appeared assisting her.

Crouching Johnny fought to remind himself the girls meant well as the nightmare of his past surfaced. Screwing his eyes he knew fighting or shouting would seem peevish so being a good sport he capitulated holding his guitar clear as the delicate silk vanished.

As Mazz ran to her corner spinning his shirt overhead Christine saw her mistake in Johnny's forlorn expression.

Like Stu, Johnny possessed a classic triangle frame to be proud of but facing the audience with her arm around his shoulders she realised why he kept it hidden.

Her fingertips slid into a trench of scar tissue. Tilting her head she saw a foot long gouge along with decade-old cigarette burns and a hand sized patch of matted skin.

She forced herself to meet Johnny's eyes before pressing a cheek to his.

She kissed him and said, 'I'm sorry. I'll get you your shirt.'

She made to move but Johnny caught her wrist.

'It's okay. Let's just finish the set.'

Returning to her instruments she guessed the jubilant audience had missed her wrongdoing.

Everything but her anguish seemed normal and at end of the set she watched Johnny thank the audience and crab to the side of the stage retrieving his shirt.

Christine shifted her gear so the final band could then take then stage. But instead of going to the dressing room she headed outside in search of fresh air.

Condensation dripped from the beams as she passed through the venue. She felt men and women's desiring or envying eyes following her body cooked and supple from baking stage lights; something she didn't appreciate offstage.

On the street she took deep cooling breaths. She'd always suspected Johnny had suffered but never to the extent that his spoiled body suggested.

Soon she went back inside. The last band had yet to play but the crowd seemed to have diminished creating room to breathe.

Grace collared her en route backstage.

'Christine,' she said out of her uncle's earshot. 'I wondered where you'd gone.'

'I needed air,' Christine said fanning her face by way of excuse having forgotten about GMD.

'Well that gig was brilliant and Richard's prepared to meet you.' She made a triumphant gesture with her fists.

'Where is he?'

Grace led the way to the bar and following introductions Christine observed her uncle's changing state. She could only guess how many rock stars and moguls he'd have met since the sixties but to her, he seemed as if star-struck.

They went with Richard and Grace to the dressing room to face Johnny and the others.

The craggy uncle then showed his no nonsense side, speaking directly with dry seriousness.

Christine reckoned his deeply lined face must have seen plenty of Rock 'n' Roll's gritty side. He showed little emotion until Grace asked if she could take a bunch more demos.

'Just for feedback,' she said soothingly.

* * *

Furnished with cassettes the uncle/niece team left and two hours later the band arrived home. The four gathered in the kitchen and after a short celebratory chat Johnny left for his room.

'I'm off to bed too,' Mazz said departing after giving her remaining bandmates a kiss on the cheek.

The moment the kitchen door closed Christine asked Stu, 'How long have you known about Johnny's scars.'

'A couple of years. Discovered them by accident like you did.'

'I feel awful about it.'

'He'll know you meant well but don't expect him to talk about it,' he said flicking the kettle on.

When it boiled Christine made teas and the pair bade one another goodnight.

Instead of bed Christine headed to the top floor. Putting two mugs down she straightened her clothes, fluffed her hair and knocked on Johnny's door.

When called she entered seeing him in bed propped up against pillows with his old Squire beside him.

'Thanks Darling,' he said taking a mug.

She smiled.

'You wouldn't call me that if you didn't like me would you?'

'I do like you and I know why you're here. I got my shirt back so you don't have to be sorry.'

Christine didn't know whether to believe him.

'You've been through hell haven't you?'

'It's all in the past. I've never told anyone but the _How Can We Be So Happy_ lyrics are inspired by the train journey that ended the old me and was the start of the guy you know now.'

She touched his arm. 'I can't believe I've seen you change a hundred shirts in a hundred dressing rooms and never noticed you always turning your scars away.'

'I can change shirts pretty quick when I need.'

'What about all the girls you've had up here?' She patted the mattress.

'Not that many.'

'Plenty.'

He pulled a face. 'I try and keep all that hidden. Some see, some don't. I meant what I said earlier though.'

'About what?'

'If we weren't in the same band.'

That changed the mood. In that moment Christine knew Johnny really had forgiven her.

She slapped his shoulder playfully. 'I love the band and you too much to risk it.'

Johnny nodded.

But when Christine stood to leave he caught her wrist for the second time that night. This time he pulled her into him. Holding her she squeezed back, her fingertips found their way under his T-shirt's neckline and onto ripped skin.

Johnny let her go. She picked up her mug not looking at him but made for the door.

'See you tomorrow,' he said admiring her buttock's as she crossed the room.

Just before closing the door behind her she said, 'Me too.'

'Me too, what?'

'If we weren't in the same band.'

## Monday 18th June 1984

After a weekend of big gigs and impressive T-shirt sales the band awoke intent on shipping off to the next city. First came the usual pounding of pads. Band and crew gathered round the yellow bag whilst Stu pulled sparring equipment from it.

'You got any spare gloves?' Johnny asked him.

Stu handed him an extra pair without question.

Regarding Dane, Johnny had taken and digested his humble pie. Though he hadn't enjoyed the first few bites, he'd found the aftertaste sweet enough.

Dane's T-shirt selling drive had drawn the whole team closer helping the manager's confidence.

Johnny took the gloves to Dane who leant against the bus alone where he insisted Dane join their training session.

Marshmallow-soft and prissy Dane didn't want to put his hands in the sweaty old gloves or join the others in roughhousing. Johnny wouldn't give up though.

When Dane clearly didn't enjoy holding the pads for Stu, Johnny had him team with the girls and watched Christine dressed in her oldest flea-bitten tracksuit set him up with the pads. Despite her promise not to hurt him he still flinched when her left roundhouse blasted his pad.

Johnny figured screwing The USed Wonz over would take some balls. The man now holding the pads for Mazz blinking with every contact surely didn't have what it took to rob them.

Regarding balls, the guy who'd engineered the robbery either didn't care, didn't know or didn't lack balls himself.

After the session Jack, Quinn, the band and Dane brought pads and gloves back so Stu and Johnny could re-stow them in the bag. Johnny, grabbing a pair of gloves glanced up to see Christine smiling at him.

'Thanks,' he said but she didn't reply nor move off. He smiled back but had to break eye contact when the moment became uncomfortable. Busy packing Stu didn't seem to have noticed the exchange. Peeping a moment later he saw Christine had almost reached the motel.

'All done,' Stu said hoisting the bag on his shoulder.

After dumping the equipment in the bus the pair waited in reception for the girls where Johnny thought about Linda wishing she could feel the same optimism The USed Wonz felt about their tour, making money and the anticipation of returning to the studio for the second album in a fortnight.

'Room's yours boys,' Mazz said when they appeared minutes later.

'You want first shower?' Stu asked.

'Nah, you go ahead. I'll give Linda a quick ring,' Johnny said.

Stu may have rolled his eyes, Mazz didn't react but Johnny didn't fail to notice Christine's expression fall.

Avoiding her gaze he marched to the payphone wondering once again what her problem with Linda could be. If Johnny had forgotten that The USed Wonz success hinged on having the right team, Christine had reminded him convincing him he should get over blaming Dane for the stolen money. But reaching the phone he dialled Linda's office never doubting her importance in the team.

As the phone rang he cast his mind back two years when he'd learned the importance of team extensions beyond the musicians within the band.

## Saturday 28th August 1982

On the Saturday three weeks after the Dingwalls gig Grace sat biting her fingernails in a pub round the corner from The Marquee. She'd arrived with friends expecting to find Richard waiting and ready to view The Used Wonz a second time. She looked at her watch again wondering where he could be.

Following the Dingwalls gig, Grace had posted The Used Wonz demos to all studios previously commissioned by GMD. Though Richard never raised the subject, Grace did drop The Used Wonz into conversations over the days waiting for studio producers to come back to her.

One rainy afternoon she returned from lunch to find Richard listening to a rock demo he claimed had the industry talking. Grace reckoned he must've had his ear to the wrong places and offered cynical best wishes to whichever label got lumbered with them.

Richard claimed the band in question, Iron Oxide, possessed timeless classic values. Grace scoffed claiming they'd sell mere handfuls of records and split like his previous signings. Nevertheless she agreed to review her opinion if they proved entertaining enough on stage.

Partly out of irony but mostly to maintain contact with The Used Wonz she invited Mazz along to a local Iron Oxide gig. When Grace and Richard showed up at The Water Rats, they met Mazz who'd brought Christine along. Richard did well to hide his surprise.

Iron Oxide appeared to a tepid response and failed to tear up the stage. Halfway through, Grace stated the ridiculousness of the situation to the Used girls telling them they had vastly better songs and presence. Though Richard hadn't heard her comments he suggested they'd seen enough of Iron Oxide and should leave.

Afterwards Richard had asked Christine about her band's intention to move to America. Unruffled she simply stated that they all wished to experience the country as musicians but had no problem working their own country first.

Satisfied with Richard's response Christine then said they'd been working hard and she'd love him to see The Used Wonz at The Marquee to showcase their rapid development.

Richard had agreed but now on the night in question, Grace's friends shrugged. With no sign of her uncle she'd phoned his house and GMD office on the off chance but he hadn't answered.

A week after posting the Used demos she'd taken after the Dingwall's gig, Grace received three studio's responses. Disappointingly the first two said they didn't feel The Used Wonz would benefit from their production without taking them in a different direction. When the third studio said they'd recorded Richard's last bands Grace put the phone down after advising them they'd already made other arrangements.

When she answered her office phone the next day however, a man asked for Richard but seeing her uncle already tied to his phone she kept him on the line.

The man, realising he must be talking to Grace, introduced himself as Austin from The Production Annex studios in Leeds; further north than Grace had ever ventured. When expressing his appreciation of the Used demo Grace suggested she call him back after hours in order to speak privately.

By the time she'd caught a moment with the busy producer she'd studied, liked and come to admire other Production Annex recordings. During a conversation she made from her mum's house phone she discovered Austin's interest in The Used Wonz had been deepening the more times he listened to their demo.

Perhaps in his northern accent or his certainty that he could develop The Used Wonz' sound and create an album of excellence, Grace found herself speaking frankly about GMD's current state.

She learned and respected Austin for having declined to record their previous two bands. But, his incredulity at GMD for not yet signing The Used Wonz left her wondering if she'd blown it. However Austin appeared fond of Richard; understanding his low confidence.

He expressed his intention to witness a Used Wonz show for himself and after Grace talked about their casting their hypnotic spiritual charms he warned if GMD didn't bag them soon some other label would.

* * *

In the pub Grace approached the end of her patience. The Used Wonz had been lucky to get a Marquee gig on Saturday night and following her proposal they'd gone to extreme lengths selling enough advanced tickets to fill the venue's five hundred and fifty capacity despite them not even taking the headline spot.

Used Wonz posters adorned bare walls from Camden's markets past Oxford Street and down to Leicester Square; not to mention the innumerable flyers accompanying every sale the band members made from their market stalls.

For Grace The Marquee meant more than the Dingwalls gig as unbeknownst to Richard, Austin had booked a train journey from Leeds.

Having listened to Production Annex recordings repeatedly she'd convinced herself Austin and his studio would be perfect for The Used Wonz. She didn't dare imagine Austin's disappointment if Richard didn't show. The Used Wonz would also be devastated given their hard work and the significance of the step they'd be making.

She'd checked with Richard repeatedly; he said he'd be there. But Grace always feared he'd make excuses and wished she'd told him about Austin coming from Leeds.

She put her face in her hands as her red-headed feistiness blew aside her tolerance.

'I've had it with him,' she said to her friends' shocked faces. 'What's the point of a record company if it doesn't record?'

Grace mistook her friends' head shakes as indication they couldn't fathom the point of such a record company either.

'Monday – and I'm looking for another job...' Grace continued, ignoring both friends now shaking their heads in alarm, '... and the minute I find one I'm out...' One friend grabbed her hands but she ploughed on, '... Never mind a month's notice-Richard! How long've you been there?'

'Sorry I'm late Love,' he said looking casual in jeans and short sleeve shirt. He held his hands up. 'I thought I'd pick you up but just missed you.'

'We left ages ago,' Grace said shooting an expression at her friends.

'I know. You're mum made me a cuppa.'

'Oh.'

'I didn't mean to keep you waiting.'

Grace sighed. 'It's okay you're here now.'

'Are you looking for a new job?'

'Who me?' she said snatching her brain's first thought. 'I'm not looking; a friend of ours fell out with her boss. She's walked out yesterday.'

* * *

She couldn't be sure Richard had believed her but he maintained comparatively high spirits. At the door of The Marquee her friends distracted him so she could check the guest list. Austin had already arrived. She hoped her proximity to Richard would be enough for him to recognise her.

No sooner had Richard ventured to the bar than a stranger collared her.

'Grace?'

She turned seeing a tall man with a face younger than she could've imagined.

'I saw you with Richard,' he said in a northern accent.

Austin appeared as friendly in the flesh as he had done over the phone.

She'd become concerned that the pair's conspiring might leave Richard feeling undermined. Fortunately Austin said he'd show face after the band played making out he'd come along off his own bat. Relieved Grace watched Austin recede alone into the crowd.

She returned to the company of her uncle and friends before heading backstage where a doorman who'd been told to expect her permitted her access.

At first Grace could only stand within the dressing room's palpable energy. Whilst Christine blacked up the boys' eyes they debated whether rock stars should keep their shirts on during performances. Against the majority's view Johnny said his would stay on.

Mazz comically ranted about Christine's insistence of provocative dressing.

'So I dress provocatively,' Mazz said. 'But then she complains.'

'You've got to retain some elegance,' Christine retorted.

'I retain more than you,' she said pointing out Christine's near non-existent dress. 'Where's your dignity? How many inches did you chop off that hemline?'

'Alright,' Johnny said laughing and bringing order to the group.

Grace had to butt in. 'Austin; I've just met him.'

'He's here?' Stu asked.

Grace had lent The Used Wonz the best Production Annex recordings earlier in the month; another excuse to maintain connection and the band's interest.

'He's here and wants to meet you afterwards.'

That stopped the banter.

Through the door they heard the first band begin its set.

'So,' Grace said, 'all being well with Richard and Austin, we'll meet afterwards for a chat.'

The band nodded nervously.

'I'd better get back they'll be wondering where I am,' Grace said wishing them the best of luck for their set.

Passing through the capacity crowd Grace saw Austin and gave a nod before taking her place with Richard and friends.

After a while the first band announced their final song and soon left.

Sensing the crowd's prickling anticipation, she guessed The Used Wonz must have succeeded in endeavouring to dominate ticket sales. Unable to see through outpointing stage lighting she wondered when they'd appear. As minutes dragged the crowd grew restless but Grace thought Richard looked fed-up.

Finally she caught a glimpse of an outline on stage and then from out of the darkness Johnny's voice came.

'People of London...'

The crowd noise went exponential. _Please be good tonight,_ Grace thought thinking of Austin.

'... this town – just gets better and better!'

From the back of the stage four rapid hi hat beats preceded a supernova of light and sound.

The band appeared in hyper-real incandescence as instead of warming into their set they burned from beat one, all voices in harmony singing, _'This town, just gets better and better and better.'_

The never-before-heard song felt as familiar as any Grace had ever heard.

Following the intro chorus Johnny stood by Mazz grinding out a melodic riff before, spinning like a dancer, he crossed the stage to Christine. He leaned over her keyboards and she, leaning too, touched her forehead to his.

The audience volume dropped with the band's allowing Johnny to sing the verse. His voice penetrated Grace as surely as it would everyone else.

Zeroed on his performance the subtlest of expression changes, a smile or tightening of eyebrows deepened her emotions diminishing their spiritual proximity. Though it felt the band played solely for her, she felt Richard and Austin must surely be experiencing similar enrapture.

Following verse1 Johnny addressed the crowd. 'You know how it goes...'

Grace and the entire venue joined the chorus which until moments earlier had been virgin to their ears.

' _This town, just gets better and better and better.'_

Following that powerhouse of a song The Used Wonz sustained their verve with seasoned songs but Grace couldn't believe it when they introduced a second brand new song.

Maintaining their grip of the audience the band drew everyone deeper still. The song's arrangement broke down leaving Johnny singing, ' _Tonight, there's no you and no me, there's just us, just us.'_

He repeated the line and then kept singing the second part of the line, _just us,_ over and over until the room joined in. The band harmonised and kept on whilst Johnny chanted the importance of being _us._

Tribal drums and instrumental stabs lifted the song to a play out chorus. Grace jumped up and down with the crowd. Snatching a look she saw Richard still appeared dignified amongst the craziness surrounding him. His expression gave little away as to his feelings until she realised The Used Wonz had transfixed him. She guessed he'd be beaming internally.

At the apex of the play-out's excitement Austin came out from hiding. He couldn't have picked a better moment. Surprised and delighted Richard shook his hand before they returned their attention to the stage as Johnny announced their final song.

Fifteen minutes and two encores later Grace's two friends left with a mass of others.

* * *

At the back with her uncle and the producer Grace spared the briefest of sympathy for the last band left with a smattering of spent individuals to play to.

'That was quite a show,' Austin said.

'They played two new songs,' Grace said before stepping away when Richard frowned. She left them to it but couldn't pretend not to listen.

Richard said to Austin, 'Grace's right, the keyboard player said they'd be worth checking out again.'

Austin explained he'd received the demo and felt they'd make a good project. 'But they're not signed?'

'Not yet,' Richard said. 'Perhaps we should have a chat.'

'We're chatting now. I'd like to meet them. I mean, you're not going to tell me you don't want to sign them after that show are you?'

Richard sighed. 'GMD isn't so flush at the moment.'

'I guessed as much. When Grace mentioned your hesitancy I looked into your last two signings.'

'I don't wanna think about them,' Richard grumbled. 'This lot though, they're very different from anything GMD's had on its books.'

'Fair enough, but the industry's changing.'

Richard didn't speak.

Austin said, 'Let me ask you outright, is GMD going out of business?'

Richard laughed. 'No. No but, it's pointing in that direction.'

'I have a couple of ideas. Let's get to know the band properly and see if we both like them and think they're good for the long haul.'

'If you've got ideas, I'm all ears.'

'Okay well you've seen The Production Annex, you know it's nothing much to brag about?'

'I guess. I hear the spectacular recordings though.'

'Cheers, but the point is it's a small enterprise that's doing okay. I can't believe The Used Wonz aren't signed. Someone's gonna pick them up and that'll mean me missing out on recording them.'

'So if I don't sign them this'll have been a wasted trip. You know, yours isn't the only studio we use?'

'None of the others are available or as good,' Grace said chipping back into the conversation. 'Sorry.'

Austin thanked her. 'I could use a break from recording the tat record companies send me so, I'm prepared to either record two Used Wonz tracks for free—'

'You'd do that?'

'Or,' Austin said nodding, 'you sign them and instead of paying fully up front, pay only half in advance and the rest from future record sales.'

Richard stroked his chin for a moment. He gave Grace a serious look then turned to Austin. 'You must really like this band.'

'Well I haven't met them yet so I reserve the right to withdraw the offers.'

'You know what, you'll probably get on fine, Grace thinks the world of them. And, one of those offers is too good to refuse.'

Grace offered to fetch someone from the band and hurried through the noise of the last band and its remaining supporters. The doorman nodded and allowed her to access backstage.

'Brilliant gig, well done,' she said to the four bandmates. 'Austin's out there singing your praises to Richard by the bar.'

'Is Geoff still there?' Johnny asked.

'There's someone who might be him, yes.'

Soon Mazz left the dressing room with Grace and Johnny.

Johnny saw Geoff standing with a couple of mates by the bar and on cue reciprocated his poker signal for _game on._

'Hi,' Johnny said first to Richard, positioning himself so he and Austin would get a good view of Geoff intercepting Mazz and blatantly handing her a business card.

Richard congratulated Johnny on the show and suggested they meet up at an all-night café.

'Can you give us a few minutes, we've not loaded the van yet?'

'Tell you what,' Richard said, 'we'll go on ahead. But let's meet an hour from now. That'll give you time to get your gear back safely.'

Grace hung back after the two men left. Climbing into the backseats after Stu slammed the doors of the loaded van Mazz asked, 'D'you think Richard's gonna sign us?'

Grace followed her. 'Well not tonight, obviously. But I've never seen him this close to a deal. I watched his face when Geoff handed Mazz the business card; reckon it might worry him into action.'

Before long the gear had been stowed and the band changed. Johnny drove soon pulling them into a space by the door of a large glass-fronted café.

Looking past Johnny, Stu saw several customers. Richard and Austin had found a table by the window.

Once inside all seven took over two tables. None of the bandmates had eaten in ages. The excitement of their biggest most prestigious gig had quashed their appetites. Stu looked at the menu's all-day breakfasts with a rumble from his stomach decided to order.

'You eating?' he asked Mazz.

'I'm fine,' she said. That didn't surprise him. She'd still be excited, keen to sign anything to anyone; Johnny too for that matter. Unlike them Stu didn't feel the same wanton desire to sign just anything and, in contrast to Grace's enthusiasm, he found Richard's apparent ambivalence discomposing.

He wanted to sign a deal that would get them Stateside and knew a UK independent label couldn't facilitate that. He himself had written the first of the two new songs they'd played that night. He'd called it _New York (just gets better and better)_ but his bandmates vetoed the name arguing the compromised, _This Town (just gets better and better)_ would more effectively win a London crowd and Richard's confidence.

Stu would have preferred to expose his true passion for America and the hell with Richard if he didn't want to sign a band destined for the US.

That said he noted Austin's eager character. Though Austin didn't dominate the group's conversation, when he spoke everyone listened. Stu focused on the young Yorkshireman's vibe. Clearly he wanted to record the band and from what Stu had heard of the records Grace had given him that had to be a good thing.

Whilst tucking into eggs, beans and fried bread Stu stayed quiet but as he listened his feelings began changing. Several thoughts began forming.

He'd thought Richard didn't like The Used Wonz and would only sign them if it made intellectual sense. But as both Austin and Grace ironed out his reserve Richard's appreciation became evident. Then Stu began figuring if GMD took them on, The Used Wonz would be the only active band on its books and would therefore receive its full attention.

Austin spoke with passion and reckoned if he recorded The Used Wonz album it'd be his best work to date. Stu believed him.

Another element that endeared Stu to GMD transpired when he learned the record company aspect of GMD didn't actually do anything other than record.

It seemed a band's success, outside of its own efforts, existed largely in the hands of marketing and distribution. Christine understood this and now Stu realised that if the impassioned team in the café created a fantastic musical product it would then be pedalled elsewhere, a major record company, and that might reopen the possibility of America.

Stu's sausages suddenly tasted heavenly. Looking around the table the other six faces appeared angelically luminous.

Most of the bandmates had no family outside each other. Stu thought back over their time together; the deepening of bonds superior to anything he had with his own family members. Seeing Grace sandwiched between Mazz and Johnny, occasionally resting her head on his shoulder he realised the family had recruited at least one other member.

Though their hope of Trudie at Vanquar Records making their dreams come true had passed, GMD's passion couldn't be rivalled.

Eventually money came into conversation. Stu felt little surprise when Richard became the arbiter of bad news.

The music business required money and everybody wanted a share. Bands, always the last to be paid, would get the remnants assuming profits had even been made. Nevertheless as far as Stu could tell after GMD had its percentage and paid for The Production Annex the rest of the money once stripped by some major or other, taxed, battered every which way and as long as the band stayed together, toured and kept writing sensational songs recorded by Austin they could still earn more than they did on the markets.

Stu pushed his cutlery together. Whether America happened or not he knew he'd be a Used Won till he died. And he'd never known such positively since he joined.

'Okay,' Richard said suddenly. 'Will you excuse Austin and myself a moment?'

The two men left the table and stood by the café's entrance.

'What's going on?' Mazz asked.

'One of three possible things,' Grace said. 'Two very good, one bad.'

'Favourable odds,' Johnny said who, like Stu, sensed the family coming together.

Through the window he watched the two men on the street shake hands and return with big smiles.

## Wednesday 20th June 1984

After leaving the office Linda drove from work to the gym and called in to see her mom who didn't look well and didn't get up to greet her.

Speaking through bluish lips despite her mixed race skin tone she asked, 'How's that young man of yours?'

'He's ten years older than me,' Linda said plumping cushions to make her more comfortable.

'That's still young.'

'Compared to you maybe. How are you today?'

'Not feeling so young today Linda.'

The response didn't surprise her. In the kitchenette Linda started cooking and fortunately her mother perked up when presented with one of two plates of sausage and mash on a tray. Sitting with the other, Linda ignored the TV and looking at her mom considered how strong she'd been until recently. Women, her mom had taught her, had to be strong.

Before America's civil war her maternal grandmother's family arrived in South Carolina from Sierra Leone. Losing their freedom as catchers of fish they became slaves of Scottish immigrants. If abuse of young black girls had happened it'd remained secret. But when Linda's grandmother had controversially accepted the honourable advances of an Outer Hebridean farmer, volcanos erupted on both sides of the family. Incredibly they married and Linda's mom arrived soon after.

Her grandfather's family history would have been a chronicle of desperately hard work. Even after slavery's abolition several next-generation Scottish settlers adapted to laziness having been the first born into wealth beyond poverty. And so Linda's maternal grandparent's comprised of an apparently lazy white man and overworked black lady; a pattern which imprinted on their daughter – Linda's mother.

On the other side of the family, Linda's paternal grandparents also arrived in the Carolinas, this time from West Scotland's borderlands. The border folk generally kept themselves to themselves but her grandparents' son (Linda's father to be) broke from the MacAlasdair clan and married Linda's mixed race mom after getting her pregnant with Linda's brother.

Years later after many unsuccessful attempts they produced Linda who remembered helping her mother clear up after her lazy father and equally lacklustre older brother. Whilst still an infant Linda listened to her mother complain with mantra-like frequency that men are different animals – necessary but idle. She compared families to prides of lion. The big strong dominant male would protect the pride with superior strength but leave all the general work to the females.

Later, whilst clearing the trays and washing up, Linda thought back to Fiona's observation days earlier. Fiona had actually accused her of being wrong about men and what she wanted from relationships.

Back in the living room, as her mom fought for breath against premature emphysema, Linda wondered how much her mother's opinion had conditioned her own. For Linda comparing families to prides of lion sparked images of men being as scarce as flowers in the desert. And, just like prides where male cubs are shunned as soon as their manes appear, her brother had taken off before Linda had learned to pronounce _binoculars_.

But if Linda's black grandmother marrying a white man caused uproar, it must have seemed even more astounding when it happened again two decades later, especially as Linda's mother's marriage to a white man happened during an era of societal hypocrisy and segregation.

For Linda it hardly mattered that in her society men truly existed in plentiful numbers and without racial segregation; the conditioned lie – ironed onto her soul stated: _men are rare and shouldn't be upset for fear they leave._

Somehow, the lie even held fast when her mother remarried another white man. Two years after her father's whisky-pickled organs ground to a halt and three years before Martin Luther King's famous speech, Linda had yet to start high school when her mother married Bob Lake.

Though Bob had been a wonderful man sharing his name and home with both his wife and Linda he, just like her father before him, never lifted a finger around the house. He worked during the day but expected to be waited on hand and foot afterwards despite his wife also holding a day job.

Unlike her father Bob didn't drink excessively. But he did eat. Within a few years his broad shoulders gave up competing with his broadening waist. Tragically he dropped dead of a heart attack the moment Linda's mom showed signs of her own ill health.

Linda's mom's philosophy about men might have ground its way shaping the woman she'd become but it didn't mean she'd be happy. Maybe Fiona had a point. At the time Earl arrived on the scene, Linda had been happy to spend Bob's inheritance on the first office and keep his name for her business. But, though Earl appeared ideal on paper she feared upsetting him she and still didn't feel happy. Upset hadn't just followed it'd got well out of hand.

## Thursday 14th July 1983

Grace sat silently in the GMD office waiting for Richard to take his lunch break. On the dot of noon he nodded her way and pushed his way out onto the fire escape.

Grace pulled open her desk draw, took out her college prospectus and spent the next five minutes leafing through looking for suitable fulltime courses. Nothing took her fancy. The booklet's pages blurred as drowsily she closed it along with her eyes. She rested her face on it. Safe in her loneliness her mind recalled a time months earlier when The Used Wonz' energy reflected the promise of a brighter future. She never would have imagined having to leave GMD.

The Used Wonz hadn't appeared in the office together since February when they'd proudly unveiled their album. Having signed the GMD's contracts in August they'd waited until late November before Austin could facilitate serious uninterrupted sessions after which they returned to London brimming with stories of their recording experiences.

Christine had been most animated. Having listened to three decades of recorded vinyl borrowed from the stall where she worked she claimed to have developed a keen ear for quality and maintained Austin deserved national recognition. She described how the studio in contrast to its tidy sonic brilliance had been a mess of scrappy furniture unwashed coffee cups and tangles of leads.

On their first day she'd sat on Johnny's knee so Austin could take the captain's chair by his state-of-the-art mixing desk which lay amongst mountains of ancient studio equipment some of which look homemade. Austin discussed with them the magic of their live performance and how it'd failed to appear on the demo which he'd subjected them to again.

In the GMD office Christine had yacked through the first track pointing out the Jupiter-8 and Memorymoog synths Austin had brought in to add verve to the project.

Whilst Grace had listened to the triumphant album Johnny had said many of the recorded parts had been performed with the studio lights out, and capturing the abundant magic had required extremes of patience.

The project had run over several weeks. Austin, present at the unveiling, said it would go down as the best thing to come from The Production Annex. Richard agreed saying GMD had never had a finer product to peddle.

Still with her face resting on her desk Grace recalled the reservations she'd had about the album. To her its emotional maturity existed at the expense of pop sensibility. Though she loved Johnny's melodic outpourings she felt they'd have better suited a future record.

GMD needed something that'd ruthlessly grab the public. Though she'd anticipated Richard would struggle securing marketing and distribution she never guessed it'd take so long as to jeopardise the company's existence. But that's what had happened.

She didn't want to leave for college; she wanted GMD to succeed and for Austin to receive the balance of his payment.

The Used Wonz had kept the rooms in their house during the recording of the album and had since returned to the markets and local gigs which Grace occasionally attended. One band member or other would call into the office for intermittent and embarrassingly scant updates.

Wondering when she'd last seen any band members Grace didn't hear approaching footsteps on the fire escape. If she heard the handle or the door pull open she didn't have time to react.

'Mazz?' she said bolting upright as if electrocuted. The prospectus, having adhered to her cheek, dropped into her lap.

Mazz strode in. 'Are you alright, I thought you were dead?'

Grace felt her blush rising mumbled an apology, rubbed her eyes and seeing her visitor in full makeup said, 'You look great.'

'Thanks. No Richard?'

'He's on lunch,' she said fanning her face. 'I've not much news I'm afraid.'

'That's okay.' Mazz grabbed one of the office's plastic chairs. 'I got news. Trudie from Vanquar; she's back in town.'

'Trudie.' The name rang a bell. 'The lady you did work experience with ages ago?'

'The very same. She was seconded to the US division.'

'Oh.' Grace's mind sprang to action. 'How did you know she was back?'

'I ring Vanquar periodically; this time they said she was in.'

'Brilliant, I'll get Richard to take her an album this afternoon.'

'No need, I've just been there.'

Grace stared a second then grabbed her calendar. 'Today's Thursday. We'll give her the weekend and see what she thinks on Monday. Would that be too soon?'

'Too late more like.'

'Too late, how come?'

'Calm down,' Mazz said. 'The situation is she's not found her feet back here yet. So she didn't mind me visiting in person.'

'With the album – which she listened to there and then?'

'Actually, we had a chat. I told her what we'd been up to with you guys and Austin then I left.'

'But you said—'

'I know, I'd said bye and was on my way out the building. I'd got the lift to the ground floor and one of the receptionists on the phone collared me; sent me back upstairs.'

'How come?'

'Seems Trudie'd heard enough of the first song before I got out the lift.'

'And liked it?'

'Loved it.'

'And the rest of the album?'

'Loved that too.'

'It doesn't make sense,' Grace said rubbing her brow.

'What, that she'd like our album?'

'Well obviously it doesn't make sense that everyone's been slapping us with rejection – including Vanquar for that matter. But with that I don't get why she'd be any different. Did you say what you've been up to since recording?'

'I told her not much,' Mazz admitted.

'Eh, that makes even less sense then. Richard would be first to tell you, in this business being interested in something nobody else wants is mighty odd.'

'But it makes sense,' Mazz said unruffled. 'Trudie said we're just not right for this country.'

'Really?'

'She reckons America would eat us up.'

'I see,' Grace said considering the validity of Mazz's statement. She'd considered presenting The Used Wonz to other countries but Richard had said Britain couldn't be beaten as a place to break bands, and to approach other countries would appear as an admission of defeat.

Before she could spare another thought Richard came back from lunch.

Grace shoved her college prospectus back in her desk. Together they went back over Mazz's story and to Grace's surprise he didn't object to the suggestion that the band would be better suited to America.

Instead he looked at Grace and asked, 'When can we meet her?'

Grace hadn't a clue. She opened her mouth then looked at Mazz. Then the phones started ringing.

'I'll just get this,' she said and headed for her desk. She scooped up the receiver. 'GMD, Grace speaking.' _Pause._ 'Trudie? _Pause._ 'Mazz is here now, we were just talking about you.'

## Thursday 21st June 1984

Behind her Linda heard the inner office door open.

'Morning Boss.'

She turned from the filing cabinet to see Fiona. 'I can't find the copy of the Warner invoice.'

Fiona's brow furrowed as Linda watched her put her bag down.

'I filed it in the _W_ section.'

'Are you sure?' Linda couldn't keep the impatience from her voice.

'Yes, you saw me. It was after lunch the day I came in early and you were dressed up.'

Linda sat at her down behind her desk.

She remembered. 'There's no chance you moved it?'

'Why would I do that Boss?'

'I can't imagine but it's not there now.'

Fiona sat uneasily behind her own desk. 'What's brought this on?'

'Warner haven't paid.' She knew Fiona didn't like to see her angry but she couldn't help it.

'Oh.'

Holding up the last two months bank statements she said, 'Nothing from Warner. I distinctly remember producing the invoice. When I couldn't find the copy I rang them but apparently they didn't receive the front sheet.'

'Well I know you did produce it because I definitely filed the back sheet.'

'I remember you doing it now,' Linda said more calmly. 'Do you remember posting the top copy by any chance?'

'Not specifically. I couldn't be certain.'

'Hmm, that's what I thought.'

'Didn't you post it?'

'Can't be certain.'

'What will you do?'

'It's not the end of the world. I'll have to check the records and produce another one. But, from now on I'll take everything to the mail.'

'Boss?' Fiona looked taken aback.

'This isn't the first time it's happened.'

'I know but you can trust me to put things in the mail properly.'

Linda considered her point and relented but secretly planned to log every important item entering the mail and whether she or Fiona had put it there.

A few hours later Linda posted the recreated invoice on her way to lunch.

Back behind her desk she recorded in a new notebook that, she herself, had posted the invoice.

'You don't seem yourself,' Fiona said.

'Sorry.' Maybe she had more on her mind than she realised.

'Did Johnny ring this morning?'

'No,' she said too quickly to sound nonchalant.

Pretending to be absorbed in the letter she typed, she again answered too quickly when Fiona suggested he might ring later. 'They'll be on the road until after we finish.'

'Oh yeah.'

Chancing a quick look she caught Fiona smiling and asked, 'What are you up to?'

'Nothing.'

'Nothing?'

'Not nothing obviously, I'm just about to start ringing venues for Little Spirit.'

* * *

Later that night Linda called in to see her mom.

'You look much better today,' she said on her way to put the groceries she'd bought her away.

'Thank you Linda,' her mom called from the living room. 'How's that young man of yours?'

Linda clenched her teeth. 'I haven't seen him since you last asked.'

She couldn't understand why her mom always asked after Dwight.

'So he's still not moved in?'

'No Mom and as long as Earl's in prison he won't be.'

'That business with Earl was most unfortunate but I worry about you in that apartment all alone. Dwight looks like he'd protect you well enough.'

'You said the same about Earl.'

'Well he would have made a good protector Darling.'

Linda's jaw dropped. 'What?'

'Well, I mean, until he—'

'Until he what? Stopped protecting and started beating me? I don't need protecting from anybody more than him. I curse the day I ever met that jealous insecure scumbag.'

'Alright, steady on you'll do yourself a mischief.'

Linda needed to get off the subject.

'Have you eaten?' she said without calming down.

'Yes.' Her mom indicated to her empty plate by her chair. 'Help yourself if you're hungry.'

Too annoyed to eat Linda nevertheless excused herself and made for the kitchen where her cat now in her mother's care met her.

How could her own mom be so obtuse? The very mention of Earl's name following his viciously grievous behaviour should have had her mom foaming at the mouth but instead she seemed to think Earl had one day merely acted out character. And Dwight, never had Linda expressed any indication she loved him or planned anything long-term. It incensed her that her mom kept pushing just because he looked like a quarterback, albeit a retired one.

Returning to the living room with a salad, Linda said pointedly, 'It doesn't feel right to have Dwight move in – so that's that okay?'

'Is that all you're having?' her mom nodded to her salad avoiding the issue. 'You'll waste away?'

Linda didn't respond having already decided what she'd have from her own freezer when she got back.

'He'd have been twenty-one this week,' she said. If her mom wanted to anger her then Linda had a few curves to throw back.

'Who'd have been twenty-one?'

'Who d'you think?'

Pretending to watch TV, Linda saw her mom from the corner of her eye fathoming what Linda meant.

'Oh for goodness sake,' she said when it dawned. 'I do wish you'd grow up. It wasn't a _he,_ it wasn't even a foetus – just a four week old embryo. You couldn't possibly have known it was a boy.'

That may have been the case but for Linda, when the first love of her life got her pregnant before her sixteenth birthday, she had been bizarrely certain a boy grew within her.

Both women faced the TV neither speaking. Putting her salad to one side Linda's hand fell to her tummy knowing it'd never be pregnant again. Of course she knew her mom couldn't be blamed for her blocked fallopian tubes. But her mother, so intuitive at the time, had guessed young Linda's condition and dealt with the _travesty_ her way. And, of course, she couldn't have known she'd just ended her daughter's future hope of motherhood whilst drumming the message home that financial security through a decent career must come before babies; a responsible message for sure, but wholly redundant now.

Whatever, the news that she'd never conceive again came around the same time she heard of The USed Wonz existence and somehow her mind connected the two things.

## Friday 19th August 1983

Conservatively dressed despite the summery Friday, Linda sat in the office she'd bought years earlier checking the bank statements she'd redirected from the apartment after Earl's jealously turned vicious. Though the festival season had almost run its course money would continue gushing her way for some time.

When the couple started out, Earl had wanted to buy a house. But having so recently purchased her office Linda suggested they rent. Initially their apartment's monthly payments stretched them both and Earl complained they should've bought somewhere instead of wasting money on rental payments. But enjoying her work Linda soon produced her share more easily.

After that she began helping Earl with his share, and as that habit developed Earl's complaining soured to resentment. Whilst in America, Trudie suggested her comparative wealth emasculated Earl.

Linda hoped he'd get over it; he didn't. Now she hid her bank statements in the office along with the better part of her wardrobe which he seemed appalled to see her leaving his side in.

At her desk, Fiona then new to the company, dressed in sleeveless blouse and smart shorts, signed for a delivery and asked her, 'Is this of interest?'

Linda accepted the package and saw it had come from Vanquar in New York.

'You can keep it for the weekend. Let me know what you think and I'll have a listen on Monday,' she said handing it back.

'Ooh, The USed Wonz; T-shirt, video and album,' Fiona said peering inside.

'You're welcome to the T-shirt.'

'It's long,' she said holding it up. 'You could put a belt round it and wear it as a dress.'

'I don't want to have to hang anything else in the bathroom thanks.'

'So who are The USed Wonz?' Fiona asked.

'They're British. They knew Trudie and jumped on her the minute she arrived in London. They're a mixed sex four piece – most of them orphans.'

'Orphans?'

'Apparently.'

'And we're doing a tour for them?'

'We are.'

'So Trudie's coming back?'

'In a fortnight, yes.'

'Have you ever heard of The USed Wonz?'

'No.' She filed the statements and checking the notes she'd made from Trudie's phone calls said, 'They've released a single, _Blossoming Angel,_ it's had some AOR and student radio interest over here and,' she said turning the pad over, 'they've just released another single, _We are the Little Ones._ '

'What have they done in England?'

Linda had just read the last note. 'Nothing.'

'Nothing?'

'No single releases. They're just gearing up for America. They've been interviewed plenty and done the live concert video you've got there.'

Fiona studied the album's gatefold cover. 'Any idea why they've spelt USed with a capital 'S'?'

'Trudie told me she's so used to capitalising US, as in United States, that she mistyped USed but figured it'd help their appeal over here.'

## Friday 22nd June 1984

Knowing Fiona wouldn't arrive until 11am, Linda didn't rush to her office until, with the key in the lock, she heard the ringing phone. She snatched the receiver as the answer machine began its introduction.

'Lake All Stars—'

'Morning,' the familiar voice interrupted her.

'Johnny?'

'As ever. You sound happy to hear from me.'

'I...' She stopped herself from sounding too keen. 'Not _as ever_ , you didn't ring yesterday.'

'No? Well, I never said I'd ring every day.'

'No, but I've been getting used to you calling. I thought maybe I'd said something to upset you.'

'I was upset after London but that didn't stop me phoning did it?'

'The trip to London was just what I needed. I'm sorry it wasn't what you wanted. Anyway I don't want you upset; at least until you've paid back the money you owe.'

'True, I wouldn't want to begrudge paying it you. Not that you'll need it now you're Little Spirit's agent.'

'Don't joke, they're not enough to get me out of trouble. Anyway how come you didn't ring yesterday?'

'I told you, I never said I'd ring every day; it wouldn't be a treat would it?'

She laughed at his comic arrogance. 'If you say so.'

'Actually I was busy. Dane got us in a studio for next to nothing would you believe? We used the studio's gear and knocked up a six song live demo.'

'Wow, how does it sound?'

'Fine, for a demo. Mazz has got loads of bits and bobs recorded but it's great to hear them sounding like songs finally.'

'Will you send the demo to GMD?'

'It's just about good enough. One'll definitely be getting sent to the Production Annex so our producer can have a listen.'

'I'd like to have a sneak preview,' Linda said sheepishly.

'I'm not sending you one.'

'Why?' she pretended to sound hurt.

'Because.'

'Because what?'

'Zora, my private investigator, sent you that guy's wallet I snatched and you haven't got it yet.'

'That's true.' Changing the subject she said jokingly, 'Well, you should know that someone here would love to hear your demo and given I'm essentially funding the album that entitles me to a listen.'

'Well, we're only a few days away from you but I guess you're right. I'll get Mazz to post you–

'Oh crap,' Johnny interrupted himself.

'What's up?'

'What's your new office address?'

Linda told him not knowing whether Johnny had a pen.

'Right,' Johnny said, 'thinking about it, I'll have given Zora your old office details.'

'So that's where the guy's wallet's gone?'

'Yeah.'

She heard him sigh.

'Well, the mail's been getting redirected but come to think of it I've not had anything for a few days. I'd better send Fiona round to check.'

She wrapped the call up reminding him to send the demo. She hoped she'd enjoy it as much as the album and thought back to the first time she heard it; not that she'd enjoyed much else about that time.

## Monday 22nd August 1983

On Monday Fiona returned The USed package which Linda had casually chucked into her car on a return trip to see her gynaecologist.

Though the darkening uneasiness between her and Earl spoiled their family plans, Linda couldn't understand how after a year of letting nature take its course, nature hadn't rewarded them.

Earl, too proud for check-ups, didn't wish to discuss the matter so Linda had privately sought a hysterosalpingogram.

Having allowed herself to be x-rayed she sat waiting for the results confident the problem would lie with Earl. After all she'd previously conceived; to her knowledge he hadn't fertilised anyone.

After the results Linda threw herself into a manic gym session. An untreatable case of tubal factor infertility had not been what she'd expected. It seemed her aborted teenage pregnancy had ostensibly been a phenomenon.

The memory came back to haunt her. Little did she know what effect the singer-guitarist, from The USed Wonz, would have on her.

She drove home only after thoroughly exhausting her body and waved to her neighbour, Joan who merrily waved back unaware of Linda's disappointment.

Leaving Earl on the drive hosing his truck she calmed down watering her patio's potted Japanese Boxwood and Rainier cherry trees before returning to the living area.

She felt it her professional duty to know about the musical works of her acts. Not to be swayed by anyone's opinions she took Trudie's raving about The USed Wonz and how they'd improved since she'd first seen them nearly two years earlier with a pinch of salt.

Without second glancing the cover she set the record on the Hitachi turntable Earl had chosen but she'd paid for. As USed music filled the room she heard at once why Trudie thought the band would fare better in the States. America would love their robust sound but The USed Wonz lacked the sugar necessary for British chart success. But, and in spite of, Trudie's passion Linda felt more in line with Fiona's opinion of being able to take or leave the band. Unable to hear the beauty Trudie insisted couldn't be missed she didn't bother with the second side and forgot about their sound; or so she thought.

## Tuesday 23rd August 1983

The next morning Linda woke before her alarm. Taking most of the bed Earl slept on. Rolling onto her side she tried to get back to sleep but The USed Wonz wouldn't let her. Though unable to recall their melodies consciously she sensed the band's songs had been working on her subconscious overnight.

She tried ignoring it but eventually had to hear the record again. In one movement she rolled out of bed, grabbed her robe and bypassing the bathroom headed to the living area where she found the record waiting on the turntable as she'd left it.

As the needle crackled on the vinyl she turned the volume down so as not to disturb Earl. But the moment the instruments burst into life so did her heart and she grabbed the headphones. Reclined and alone inside the phones she cranked the volume.

Affected at such a personal level Linda didn't consider on how she could've missed the band's beauty the previous night nor did she waste thoughts questioning why Fiona had failed to hear this gift. She simply lay back surrendering to the musical force that led her emotionally where it wanted.

When the first side ended she wondered whether to play the second or replay the first. In the end she looked for the first time at the record's gatefold sleeve rich in her favourite colour – burgundy.

To her surprise she discovered the band looked tremendous. Their impoverished upbringings had spawned in Linda's mind images of bedraggled Cockney street urchins with rickets, half-mast pants and battered caps. She couldn't have been more wrong.

The girls had glamour and sass. Equally well styled the boys looked athletic – no hint of rickets. Only the guitarist appeared with his instrument. Unlike the others who eyeballed the camera he appeared watching over them like a pack leader. Impressed Linda felt they had a real chance in America.

After reading the sleeve notes and revising the musicians' names she finally turned to the back cover.

Unprepared for what she saw her face flushed and insides quivered as for the first time she saw the singer-guitarist's face.

Disorientated and locked on the photo something about Johnny's face, that gaze, the relaxed scrutiny seemed unshakable. Adrift in thought she studied his eyes and jawline but couldn't link his traits to anyone she'd known. Unwittingly her mind regressed two decades to her first boyfriend. She pressed her hand to her stomach cursing her insides.

'Any coffee yet?'

Linda jumped, startled to see Earl.

'Hang on,' she said getting up and padding to the kitchen.

* * *

She left the album at home but thought of nothing but Johnny Won during work. Quizzed about the band Fiona admitted she'd temporarily fallen out with her boyfriend before listening and hadn't given the album its best chance. She probably sensed Linda's reluctance when she asked to borrow it again.

After work she cut short her gym session preferring to rush home to either watch The USed Wonz live video or hear the album's second side. Unfortunately when she arrived, Earl wanted feeding and wouldn't be dissuaded from watching the NFL, steadfastly arguing if he didn't bring work home neither should she.

In the end Linda carted the record player to the bedroom where she spent the night alone with album and its images of Johnny that still perplexed her. Before sleep she set her alarm so she could checkout the video before work. With The USed Wonz on her mind she wondered whether they ever felt as uncomfortable around each other as she did around Earl.

## Friday 22nd June 1984

Christine watched the phone go down and pitied Johnny. She wished she could quash the anguish Linda caused him so regularly.

'Hey there,' she said. 'You okay?'

'Not entirely.'

'What's she said this time?'

'She hasn't said anything,' his voice sounded acrimonious.

'Sorry, I just wanted to help.'

He headed for the bus. She'd have loved to walk the other way but with no choice she followed him up the steps.

'All aboard,' Dane said.

The door closed and Jack crunched first gear.

Christine sat and watched Johnny head to the back where Mazz waited with his acoustic guitar and a tape machine. She wondered about apologising. Instead she busied herself. Taking an old pair of jeans and scissors she chopped the legs down making cut-offs. She spent the next hour idly fraying the newly cut bottoms and gazing out the bus window.

'Sorry about earlier.'

Christine turned as Johnny squeezed into the seat next to her. She didn't respond.

'I was mad at myself,' he said. 'You won't believe what I've done.'

'Go on, what have you done?'

'Only went and sent that thug's wallet to Linda's old office address.'

Grateful of the company she said, 'You div. D'you think it'll make a difference?'

'Probably not. Linda said she'll send Fiona round for the post in the next few days.'

'So the mail's not getting forwarded on?'

'Not sure. Apparently there's nobody in the unit yet.'

'She'll get it eventually.' Changing the subject she held up the greatly reduced skin-tight jeans and asked, 'You like these?'

'Are they for me?'

'No,' Christine said laughing, 'for me.'

'Then I love 'em. Not sure where your bum will go though.'

Happy talking nonsense for a while Johnny took it easy but soon his mind wandered. He couldn't imagine why Christine had a problem with Linda but didn't want ask; not right then anyway.

He'd had almost three weeks to consider who'd want to sabotage the band's success. Still he couldn't think who, but felt sure there must be more to it than a straight forward theft. Whoever had stiffed them probably wouldn't have counted on Linda's remarkable kindness. He still couldn't get over that. His mind wound back to their first meeting. If first impressions mattered, then those impressions matter more than any.

## Monday 05th September 1983

Less than a fortnight after first hearing The USed Wonz album Linda, casually dressed, drove to work in the afternoon sun.

The previous night Earl had slammed doors and disappeared to bed in a sulk which had carried on into the next day. Maybe he had a point about her working on Labor Day but when she asked him how he'd like to spend the national holiday he had no answer. And, he'd been damn wrong about nobody working it.

All the LA gig venues she'd rang answered and helped her. A couple of hours later, and with a change of clothes, she headed for the gym and found that open too. Most importantly she'd seen planes coming into LAX and thought of The USed Wonz arriving in their hotel earlier now under strict orders to rest.

At the gym Linda worked out thoroughly until ditching the spandex she stepped into the shower. Conditioner followed shampoo which she dragged through her hair; coarse from her quarter African parentage and regular peroxide treatments.

Whenever she met a new band she wanted to create the right impression. Though Vanquar's head office lay many states away in New York, they had a major presence in Los Angeles. Working _with_ Vanquar rather than _for_ them (along with other record companies requiring her services) she didn't like to look overly corporate. On the other hand her small company needed to look strong in the face of the multinational giants.

Knowing Trudie so well she guessed she'd be wearing her usual trouser suit and flat slip-on shoes. Linda didn't need or want to copy her.

Towelling herself she knew for a woman of thirty-seven her hard worked and diligently exercised body still cut a fine figure. With that she knew what outfits she liked and, even though it'd be as predictable to Trudie as Trudie's trouser suit would be to her, she stepped into and pulled the zip up on one of the knee-length burgundy dresses she'd picked up from the office earlier. She touched up her burgundy finger and toe nails and did her makeup with extra care despite the passing time.

With heels, car keys and handbag she swept from the gym sensing heads turning her way. She headed for her Lotus knowing Earl would spit feathers if he could see her.

* * *

Several miles across town Johnny had woken with a start in an unfamiliar hotel bed. He hadn't expected to sleep and rubbing his eyes saw Stu sleeping on a second twin bed.

Hours earlier, they'd left Camden in dismal weather with no more than clothes and, having sold or donated everything else, two guitars and a keyboard. But by the time they'd checked the instruments into outsized baggage, Johnny's anxiety about flying had risen to inebriating levels.

Flopping back down on the bed he vaguely recollected Stu all but dragging him around Heathrow and Richard who himself hadn't left the whiskeys entirely untouched convincing the flight crew that the guitarist's paralytic stupor had nothing to do with alcohol. Grace had fastened his seatbelt and stroked his hand whilst he blotted out the hostesses who, for reasons unknown, demonstrated where the exits could be located in the unlikely event that the pilots lost consciousness and crashed the double-decker death tube back to Earth at hundreds of miles per hour.

Under the stationary wings, the engines had blasted the grass flat. Johnny hadn't been able to believe they could roar louder but in finally reaching his most scared he imagined the possibility of reuniting with his mother.

He enjoyed the calm that followed despite the seemingly ludicrous increase of power as the plane raced along a runway which because he couldn't see its end felt sure would run out.

Fortunately Grace had nursed him all the way through take-off and, eleven hours later, soothed saving him from the panic of landing. He had relaxed for some of the flight and even given Stu a poker lesson. But during the decent Johnny only once cracked an eye open when Grace had asked him what he could see.

'That's the Pacific Ocean,' she'd told him when he didn't answer.

Johnny hadn't cared. He couldn't feel the plane banking. The sea just appeared at a hideous angle it looked like it should slosh away.

Grace told him about the big American cars and trucks she could see merrily trundling along on the 'wrong' side of the road. He wanted to be down there too and promised never to stop appreciating the safety of being on the ground if he made it.

With seatbelt pelvis-crushingly tight the relief he experienced when the wheels touched down rivalled anything he'd ever felt.

Turning as far as possible he hugged Grace. He wanted to hug everyone. Reaching across the aisle he slapped Stu's thigh.

The pilot's voice without trace of panic came over the speakers calmly welcoming them to Los Angeles. He advised them of the local time and the high temperature before inviting the passengers to fly Pan Am again soon. Safely down, Johnny had no desire to fly with Pan Am or anyone anytime soon.

His delirium continued through immigration and baggage collection where he wanted to carry everyone's bags. Even at the hotel Johnny still felt like bouncing off the walls. Trudie had prescribed sleep for everyone to ensure they had energy for the evening and after settling down Johnny had been surprised how quickly he'd nodded off.

Minutes later and ready to eat, Johnny and Stu stood in the hotel's foyer with Richard and Trudie who'd arranged to meet their tour agent in a nearby diner in Downtown LA's West 9th Street. Whilst waiting for the girls, the joy at being alive and in America rushed back to Johnny making him agitated. When the girls arrived he laughed seeing Christine without makeup sleepwalking towards them. She didn't respond.

Frustratingly for Johnny, the group merely plodded into the late afternoon's sun after Trudie. They arrived at the diner before he'd run his energy off and before the agent, Linda had arrived.

Linda – the very mention of the name sent Johnny's mind back almost a decade to the night his former life ended. Still, his memory of Miss Wilkinson lived on along with the sound of her calling through the letterbox, _It's Linda, Miss Wilkinson..._ He shook his head recalling the shepherd's pie that had saved his life.

Optimistically he'd hoped the agent would be like Miss Wilkinson but knew how unlikely that'd be given the fat, balding booking agent Richard had scored them before they'd left England.

Inside, the group took over two adjacent four-seater tables. Johnny sat and Christine slumped opposite him. Their previous meal had been hours earlier on the plane. Faces vanished behind menus but unable to concentrate Johnny fidgeted.

'Are you alright?' Stu asked him.

'I got to stretch my legs,' he said standing.

'What if we need to order?' Christine asked.

'I'll have whatever you're having,' Johnny said excusing himself.

Outside amongst West 9th Street's sights and smells he jogged against the four-lane stream of giant cars, taxis and trucks

A block later he stopped to see, further up in the traffic an uncharacteristically low James-Bond-style car darting lane to lane, weaving through traffic. As the Lotus hollered by, Johnny's head spun as he watched it cut across four lanes raising an ensemble of blaring horns before arresting with a screech of Goodyear tyres outside the diner he'd just jogged from.

Despite the distance Johnny saw, not Roger Moore, but a striking blonde in a dress matching the car's colour levitate from the driver's seat.

* * *

Linda hated being late. Oblivious of the younger man watching her up the street she jabbed the key into the car's lock, before straightening her dress and hair.

Having left the gym she'd been aghast to discover police tape cordoning off the roads she needed. A glance at her watch showed she'd clawed back some lost time but she could already see a trouser-suited Trudie through the glass door.

Preparing for a hug she approached Trudie who she liked more than enough but schoolgirl nervousness took over her as she vainly scanned two tables for signs of Johnny Won.

With hug and compliments out the way, Trudie began introducing the somewhat jetlagged band and management. Linda generally enjoyed socialising though physically she knew she could be a cold fish around unfamiliar people. Appreciating the British reserve and their noninterest in air kisses she shook hands formally with everyone, none of whom mentioned Johnny.

Apprehensively she remained standing looking everyone over again, like she'd suddenly find he'd been there all along. From the album cover she recognised Mazz and Stu but wouldn't have looked twice at the weary Christine.

* * *

Heading back Johnny's senses became saturated with details differentiating this American street from those of England which, least of all included dry heat.

He glanced at the British sports car before pulling the diner's door and stepping into the welcoming embrace of air-conditioning. Ahead he saw Christine laughing and looking up at what must be the same lady he'd seen dashing from Lotus.

Regarding her from head to toe the mass of layered shoulder length blonde hair didn't put him in mind of Linda Wilkinson's full-length waving brunette locks; nor did the curves tightly wrapped in burgundy linen remind him of his ex-teacher's excessively Kate-Bush-thin frame.

Hovering, Johnny didn't know whether to tap her shoulder and introduce himself or to push past and take his seat opposite Christine.

Stu solved that problem with a simple, 'Alright Mate.'

In one second the lady turned round and looked up into his face.

As well as knowing beautiful women when he saw them, Johnny thought he could tell the good ones from the bad. This time though, he thought he'd identified the _right_ one. He couldn't hope to rationalise it; she had something beyond unquestionable beauty. The way she looked at him blew his mind.

Staring at one another neither spoke. And neither seemed aware of their silence.

'Say hello to Linda,' Mazz said.

'Hello,' Johnny said automatically sounding nothing like the rock star Vanquar-UK had promised America.

The lady smiled accepting the hand he offered.

'I'm Linda.'

_Of course you are,_ Johnny thought dumbly loving her accent. 'I'm Johnny.'

'Johnny Won,' she said, 'singer-guitarist.'

Aware of everyone looking on he couldn't think how best to respond. Just as he made to sit, Linda turned and took the place he'd been occupying opposite Christine.

He nearly spoke but instead plonked next to a grinning Mazz who he tried ignoring.

Tiredness suddenly caught up on him. Remembering all the girly doe-eyed expressions he'd seen from the stage he pondered how different Linda's had been. She didn't look at him again; too engaged with Christine who'd woken up.

After the food arrived he chanced a surreptitious glance Linda's way. Straining from the corner of his eye he guessed if Linda could be twelve to fifteen years his senior she'd been looking after herself. All the maturity and beauty a man could ask for. After the meal they agreed to go back to the hotel to freshen up for the evening.

On the street, Stu whistled seeing Linda's car.

'See you at Al's Bar,' Trudie said to Linda who'd announced she'd pop home to change.

Johnny looked on as, with a swish of blonde hair but without a glance his way, Linda disappeared into car and traffic with a only touch less haste than she'd arrived.

* * *

Not that any of them would think to care but Linda checked her rear-view mirror to make sure the party wouldn't see her taking a right turn. Instead of heading to her apartment as she'd implied she made for the office where she phoned Earl and told him she'd visit her mom for a few hours.

Days earlier when Fiona had queried her motivation for personally introducing The USed Wonz to LA, she'd stretched the truth saying she wanted professional time with Trudie.

Now sitting at her desk she pondered what had just happened between her and Johnny Won. Being surprised shouldn't have surprised her; but when Johnny had appeared behind her it; well it had surprised her as did the feel of her hand in his.

Other than seeming taller in the flesh he'd been just like the album's photos and that surprised her too because she'd guessed, perhaps, that certain something existed only because of the camera.

* * *

'Linda's nice,' Christine said sitting next to Johnny on the short taxi ride to Al's Bar on South Hewitt Street.

'Isn't she?' Trudie called from the front

Johnny knew Christine's comment had been for his benefit and as if to prove it: 'You think so don't you Johnny?'

Catching on to the insinuation before Johnny could answer Trudie said, 'Isn't she a bit old for you; she's got a couple of years on me?'

'He likes d'em old,' Christine said. 'I dare say she's why he's all dressed up now.'

That may have been partly true, but when it came to style Johnny still took his lead from Stu who'd dressed in a soft charcoal grey suit; more pop than rock.

Clearly uninterested in fashion, Trudie said, 'You should know Linda lives with a right nasty bugger, can't say I rate her taste in men.'

'I reckon she fancied a taste of Johnny.'

'Christine,' Johnny snapped.

Knowing better, she dropped the subject and squeezed his knee.

'Bad Religion are playing the Whisky a Go Go tonight,' Trudie said changing the conversation to the venues.

'Are we going?'

'Not tonight but Linda's booked you to support a local band in a couple of days.'

'Modest start then,' Johnny muttered.

'They're not unsigned,' Trudie said.

'What's its capacity?'

'It's recently been expanded to a thousand. But most importantly it's like The Marquee in London, everyone's played there.'

'That's cool.'

'You'll see, Linda's an impressive agent alright. She knows what she's doing and with her onside you can't go wrong.'

Right on cue the taxi pulled outside what Johnny guessed must be the destined Al's Bar.

Linda stood by the curb greeting Stu and the rest from the other taxi. Dressed in jeans and black T-shirt she might have looked a little younger especially with a burgundy bow in her hair but she still looked gorgeous and all woman.

'Hi,' she said to Christine who got out first.

All _American_ woman, Johnny thought hearing the accent again.

* * *

As Linda's tour of LA venues unfolded, taxi ride followed taxi ride. Johnny stood close to her as she introduced the band to venue owners and other people of note. But despite his proximity to her, he began feeling ignored. Desperately wanting to talk to her he couldn't believe she never took the same taxi as him or even looked at him; and after such an extraordinary exchange when they met.

As Christine connected effortlessly with her, Johnny realised their group had split into one of grownups and one with him. Shaking his head he wondered how that'd happened.

After another hour of venue hopping Johnny started feeling fed-up. Linda introduced them to one person after another who, initially charmed by their English accents, soon lost interest or so Johnny thought.

'These people are great aren't they?' Stu said.

'Maybe,' he said realising he just wished the strangers would leave Linda alone so he could have two words with her.

'We've not seen you in ages,' the next guy said to Linda when they reached Santa Monica.

'Probably since she started seeing her possessive jerk boyfriend,' Trudie whispered in Johnny's ear. He didn't want to think about him.

'Listen,' the guy continued now lowering his voice, 'I was just about to get outta here. There's a barbeque on the beach; Labor Day and all that. Come along, folk down there will love to meet you guys.'

Everyone seemed agreeable if not hungry and soon in the evening's twilight Johnny's shoes filled with dry sand as he traipsed after the barefooted girls towards a beach bonfire. Accepting a burger and rejecting a beer, Johnny started relaxing for the first time as he and Stu checked out the female populous checking them out.

'This is heaven,' Stu said necking a Budweiser.

Grace and Mazz sat by the fire with guys playing guitars and singing. One of their group, a pretty girl, burst into Johnny's attention.

'Hey hansom, Mazz says you play guitar.'

Getting up she handed him an acoustic and no choice but to play it as she dragged Stu by the hand to the group.

Sitting feet from where Linda stood, Johnny corrected the guitar's tuning and glanced up to see for the first time she had nobody talking to her.

Finally she faced his way her skin aglow by the fire's light. Neither broke eye contact. When she smiled at him, his tired fed-up-ness lifted like exorcised demons. Even when the next person chivvied for her attention her smile lingered on him an extra second as he mirrored her.

Inspired he passed the guitar to a lad next to him whose hand had been resting on Mazz's thigh and said, 'Tell you what, give me a while and I'll see if I can come up with something unique to tonight.'

Even though years younger than her, Linda sensed Johnny hadn't been a kid for an unforgivably long time. But that didn't stop him being above foolish. When she returned to the office earlier it'd occurred that she should be nothing more than some silly older woman to him. Her unexplainable reaction to him in the diner and in general shouldn't and wouldn't have affected him if she'd hidden her feelings instead of expressing them all over her face; possibly confusing him into thinking things that couldn't be so. Of course now she realised she'd also been foolish. When she turned from Johnny her face fell and she knew she'd been grinning like an infant on holiday.

Ending another conversation she faced Johnny when he took a guitar. More unusual feelings swelled as she listened to him sing topically of being next to breaking waves and the nearby Santa Monica pier.

Though he had plenty of girls rapt his song's next bit explained that despite those girls he only saw one particular woman's beauty. Christine's sly nod, along with the way he looked at her now, confirmed that he had, as she feared, gotten the wrong end of the stick. Nevertheless, impressed he could write a song that good, that quickly only affected her feelings for him further as she also became rapt.

* * *

Johnny, focusing on the other gathered Californians, sang another few songs until Stu interrupted him.

'What's up?' Johnny responded.

'Something's going on with the grownups.'

Joining the group it seemed the man now rabbiting to Linda knew someone at the Anti-Club.

'What's the Anti-Club?' Stu asked.

'A venue,' Christine said. 'Some band's dropped out so I said we'd play.'

'Tonight?'

'Why not?'

Johnny turned to face the waves letting everyone else argue points such as their not having any gear. Behind him Linda said she'd booked them an Anti-Club gig for a few days' time anyway.

'It must be twenty miles from here,' he heard Linda say making him wonder as to LA's enormity.

Eventually people ran out of the things to say.

'What does Johnny think?' Grace asked.

He itched to play. He hadn't come to LA just to trawl pub to pub.

'You wanna play don't you Johnny?' Mazz asked.

He turned round. 'Of course.'

* * *

Feeling every inch of the twenty-plus mile journey Christine couldn't believe when the two cabs pulled up outside what seemed to be a hut with a tin roof.

'This is never it,' she said to Trudie wondering if she'd been right to suggest they played.

'Don't be put off,' she said. 'Everyone's done this place.'

'That's what you said about the Whisky, but I don't see this holding a thousand.'

'You're here now,' Linda offered though she'd voted against doing the gig.

When the team crowded into the packed sweatbox yet another man who knew Linda introduced himself and yet again Johnny saw her tense when he tried to hug her. All night he'd seen people greeting her the same way and her stiffen every time.

The man thanked her before disappearing only to reappear on the stage at the end of the room.

'Good evening,' he shouted and waited for the packed room's response. 'My apologies for the late start but we've had a band drop out tonight. Don't worry we've found a replacement. They'll be along shortly. In the meantime put your hands together for a band all the way from Seattle; give it up for Poriton Molly.'

From the back Johnny watched three guys assume guitar, bass and drums. They cracked into a dryer-than-newspaper rock riff before a scruffy wild-haired girl bounced into view then stood perfectly still other than to move her mouth enough to scream into the mic.

'You fancy a top up?' a voice spoke next to his ear.

'Linda?' he said turning almost amazed she decided to talk to him. He motioned his near-full lemonade but on her invitation followed her outside.

'Not the venue you were expecting I bet,' she said making small talk as they both faced into Melrose Avenue.

'I can't think of anywhere like it in England,' he said trying to sound cool.

'You've never gigged in a scout hut?'

'No.' He laughed and glanced her way.

'You're playing here again Thursday. It'll be packed which I know doesn't take much but it's an important gig to have on your résumé. New York and other states will need to know you've played these places.'

She turned to face Johnny but looked away laughing.

Puzzled Johnny asked, 'You okay?'

'You're a strange man Johnny. Show me your passport.'

With a questioning raised eyebrow he reached into his back pocket and watched as she flicked through it.

Chuckling she said, 'You really are called Johnny _Won_?'

Smiling he snapped his passport back. 'Who else would I be?'

She didn't answer.

Johnny looked to find her deadpan treacle-brown eyes studied his face. 'I don't know what you're looking at but I hope you like it.'

'You've got a young face; not one crease, and yet, your eyes might have seen a century of life.'

It sounded like booze talk, not that he'd seen her drink much.

Losing himself in the moment he let words rising from his heart come. 'You have a beautiful face and I can't remember fancying anyone as much as you.'

'Johnny.'

'What?' he said and looked away as she did.

'Don't.'

'What?'

'You don't mean that. You're young.'

'I'm twenty-three; old enough to know who I fancy.'

Linda thought of all the time she'd spent looking at photos of him and understood the confusion.

When she looked back at him he asked, 'What's going on here?'

She started to say, nothing, but caught the look he gave her. Settling her thoughts she said, 'I don't know. Something, but not that. I've got a boyfriend.'

'I don't care about that; on this occasion.'

'I do,' she said with the heat of the night. 'So might you if you saw him.'

If she expected an apology or a mournful look she got neither.

He just held her gaze leaving her not knowing what to say.

In the next moment Grace dashed out and looked at Johnny. 'You're up.'

* * *

Inside Linda saw the shirtless band minus female singer, dripping in sweat whilst clearing away their equipment.

'It's like a boiler room in here,' Richard said to her.

Over by the stage Linda watched Johnny talking to the compere. He waved Christine over. Shrugs, head shaking, laughing. Someone, presumably from the headline band, joined them. Nodding, handshakes. Things looked to be getting sorted.

Poriton Molly vacated and Johnny stepped onto the knee high stage. 'Good evening.'

Out in the rabble a few people took notice. The rest didn't.

Linda watched him step from the mic and roll his neck and shoulders. Back at the mic for a second try he said, 'Good evening Anti-Club.'

This time plenty of voices fell away.

_Not bad,_ Linda thought.

'That's more like it. Everybody having a good time tonight?'

'Yeah,' came a cheer.

'Some of you. I asked is, _everybody,_ having a good time?'

Realising that included her Linda shouted back along with everyone else.

This time Johnny said, 'That's fantastic.'

Someone appeared next to him and handed him a Gibson to climb into. The guitar sat beneath his chin.

'That's a little high,' he said as much to the audience as the guy lengthened the strap.

Johnny took the mic from its stand. 'Does anyone in the audience have a plectrum I might borrow?'

Someone held up a hand and Johnny leant into the audience to see. 'That's not a pick, it's Bigfoot's toenail. Are you a bass player?'

Two plectrums later Linda saw he'd found what he needed and Stu getting comfy behind the last band's kit.

'Okay, I'm Johnny Won. You can call me Mr Won until such time as we become friends. We've got a little time to do a few songs because one band didn't see fit to turn up tonight. Unbelievable huh? Out of respect for you I'd be grateful if you'd welcome to the stage Mr Won.'

Johnny indicated behind him where Stu sat waving. 'And, Miss Won and Miss Won.' A few wolf whistles could be heard.

Looking stage right Linda saw Mazz looked flustered with a borrowed bass hanging round her knees and someone doing their best to hike up the strap.

'This Miss Won,' Johnny said pointing stage left, 'doesn't have an instrument tonight so she'll just do some backing vocals. But if you come back here on Thursday you can see this lovely creature in full glory on the keys when we do our usual set.'

That got the odd cheer. Continuing Johnny said, 'You can probably tell we're from England.'

'Bastards,' someone shouted from the audience.

'You don't know the half of it,' Johnny replied. 'Anyway for months we've been keeping an eye on this city and dying to be here because as far as we can tell this city's getting better and better.'

With the instrumented band ready to go Johnny said, 'When we sing this song we mean every word of it.'

Behind and to the side Stu and Mazz joined in as Johnny attacked the Gibson's strings.

Linda tensed. Johnny had talked enough; not that the crowd had minded but now the music had started, its unremarkable sound did nothing to relax her. Without keyboards The USed Wonz sounded as puerile as any of the other bands that came to play the Anti-Club. Around her some of the conversations Johnny had managed to stamp out reignited.

As if sensing her discomfort Grace said, 'It'll be alright.'

Johnny stopped playing, leaving bass and drums to provide the backing. Linda gave Grace a questioning look but she nodded to the stage where Johnny held his hands up.

Somehow the crowd noise petered away. Linda couldn't understand it or why the audience would respond but they did and with that Johnny started singing.

Unlike the other bands and most small venues Johnny's voice came through with clarity and despite his not driving it hard Linda could sense an honesty that embodied the essence of Rock 'n' Roll and in that moment the emotions she'd so far had about their performance U-turned.

Towards the end of the verse Johnny said, 'I just know you'll want to sing along.'

By the end of a chorus of, _LA, just gets better and better and better,_ plenty of people had joined in.

'Told you it'd be okay,' Grace said to her.

Linda nodded. Even with borrowed instruments the band clearly had everything they needed. She'd booked their first tour's gigs all over the States and felt relief knowing she'd not have to worry.

With only time for three songs Linda wondered how they could win the audience with such minimal effort. Christine especially did little more than wiggle her hips and add backing vocals. Mazz laid her groove to Stu's drum parts and neither deviated.

During their last song Linda heard someone shout that Johnny hadn't come all the way from England not to solo.

'When we came to this country we expected everything to be big,' Johnny said seeming not to rise to the challenge. 'So far that's pretty much been the case until we came here. But despite being little this club is awesome. You guys are awesome. Let me hear you Anti-Club.'

Linda followed the cheering giving him with the rest of the club what he'd asked for.

Johnny sang, _We Are the Little Ones,_ making it as relevant to the virgin crowd as the other songs and uniting everyone until, whilst the other USed Wonz chanted the chorus Johnny crouched fumbling with the guitar's effects pedals on the floor.

He stood up adopting the obligatory foot on the monitor stance.

From the back Linda watched him wrap his arms around the borrowed Gibson and for a second considered she'd like to be the guitar. As if reading her mind Johnny's eyes looked over the audience to her. Not able to help it she beamed back.

When at last Johnny broke their connection a girl a few feet in front of her turned to face her and with a sneer looked her up and down before turning back.

Linda shook it off and refocusing on stage expected a rip-roaring solo but instead Johnny kept everyone waiting by playing sixteen bars of clever-sounding finger picked guitar. The Hollywood punters loved it. On the last bar he strummed a chord but with a flick of the wrist knocked the guitar onto the back pickup and ramped its volume up.

Having crossed the stage the guitar's amp howled with feedback before he turned to the front, his fingers racing from the bottom to the top of the neck. Following more rapid picking he tore the plectrum down the strings to complete the solo.

The band sang one last chorus and ended the song and their mini set with thanks to the audience, the club and to the final band for lending their instruments.

* * *

At the back Grace boiled under the room's tin roof but felt smug. If The USed Wonz could affect every American audience like that they'd be made.

Behind her she heard Linda congratulate Richard on his band. Grace's heart bounced like a basketball. She'd discovered The USed Wonz. Not daring to turn round she glared forwards; not budging even when Richard's hand rested on her shoulder.

Her uncle's voice said, 'All I did was put them in the studio. Without Grace's ear and persistence I'd still be panicking over balance sheets.'

'Trudie might have to get you a position in Vanquar's A&R department,' Linda said to her.

'Not likely,' Richard interrupted. 'She's too valuable to GMD.'

A man approached Richard and flashing a press badge introduced himself as a journalist from BAM, a biweekly rock magazine. With consent he later photographed the band. Linda agreed she'd get him on the Whisky's guest list.

As a courtesy to the final band everyone stayed for the set before arranging cabs back.

Linda took her own cab to the office. After changing into the clothes she'd left home in she drove back to face Earl.

## Friday 22nd June 1984

Since acquiring her Jupiter-8 synth Christine's interest in sound design had taken off. Jack always assembled her keyboards before setting up Johnny's guitar equipment and pedals.

On another stage before the soundcheck Christine pressed the keys of her Jupiter-8 whilst twisting filters. The generated square wave sounded hollow and lonely; tragically sad as she dive-bombed the pitch. The synth's tortured sound made her think of Johnny.

She'd never know him pine for anyone but Linda. His obvious first impression of her had been vaguely comical. But, though his attraction for her remained evident throughout the band's first US tour, Johnny had behaved as had the rest of the band feasting on fast love whenever the mood struck.

Christine hadn't been swayed by Johnny's initial interest in Linda believing it wouldn't last. But now, and especially after London, she'd come to hate seeing him funnel so much energy towards Linda's affections. He may have stopped flirting with her but Christine knew his game.

He wouldn't let anyone forget that Linda had been their financial saviour and a tremendous agent working harder for them than anyone at either Vanquar or GMD.

Christine got on tremendously with Linda but despite this she wanted to shake Johnny out of his idiot attraction for her. So many times she'd suggested the woman had no romantic interest in him yet he wouldn't listen. The more resolute Linda became on this point the more tragically besotted Johnny became. Christine didn't know how to save him from wasting so much precious energy.

With the turn of another knob the synth's despair worsened and Christine felt a stab in her own lonely heart.

'Guys,' Dane's voice said sparing her own pain, 'can I get everyone together a moment?'

She saved the Jupiter's settings and turned from her bank of keyboards to join the others.

'We've got a few minutes before people start arriving,' he said looking at Christine more than anyone else.

'I'll be ready,' she said but knew she already looked good. She'd generally been making more effort during the day. She wondered about wearing the cut-offs she'd made during the journey. They'd turned out so short she reckoned T-shirt sales would reach record highs if she focused on male T-shirt buyers.

'What's the crack?' Johnny asked Dane.

'I've just spoken with Vanquar headquarters.'

'New York?' Mazz asked.

'Yup.' Dane looked pleased. 'Album sales are doing really well in every town we're playing. I don't know if it's linked to the T-shirt drive or anything else but Vanquar are really pleased with your progress.'

'That's great,' Stu said and to Johnny, 'Maybe we've been worrying for nothing.'

'Well if that demo's anything to go by you'll surely keep winning their interest with a new album no matter what.'

'We gonna see some royalties?' Stu said beaming.

'Absolutely,' Dane said. 'But first let's get some T-shirts sold. We'll be back on track in no time.'

## Tuesday 06th September 1983

On their second day in LA, forced into Pacific Time regardless of jetlag, The USed Wonz got up and lunged into Trudie's gruelling schedule which involved interviews with the legendary Pete the Panther at one of LA's coolest AOR radio stations KROQ. Christine, who Stu kept nipping every time she slipped into a faux Californian accent, invited Pete to the Whisky where they'd be playing the next night.

'We're only supporting some local band but they are signed so it should be good,' Christine said.

At first Pete stared at her in astonishment, then he roared with laughter.

'I don't know if these guys are being modest,' he told listeners before saying to the band, 'Guys, you do realise you're supporting Toto, don't you?'

Fortunately Trudie had informed the rest of them but Christine still felt embarrassed if not surprised that such a notable band who'd recently had worldwide hits with _Rosanna_ and _Africa_ would be playing such a comparatively small venue in their home city. She guessed the Whisky a Go Go must have every bit as much kudos as Trudie had implied.

From KROQ the band then visited Aron's Records on Melrose Avenue where they signed records and had photos taken.

Without time to ponder where the crowd had come from they left Aron's Records for KXLU the city's biggest college radio station. Matt, who interviewed them, had no hope of hiding that he fancied Mazz. When she called him 'hot stuff', stunned Matt had to pull himself together and apologise to his listeners for the seconds of dead air.

After he finished going on about Mazz being a female bass player the band informed the listeners of their other upcoming gigs.

'We're doing two gigs per night sometimes,' Stu said before listing the Anti-Club, Troubadour and McCabe's Guitar Shop in addition to the Whisky.

They told him they'd then be getting a bus to tour the rest of the states. But first they needed instruments. Matt wished them well and The USed Wonz left for West L.A. Music on Santa Monica Boulevard where much to Johnny's delight Linda showed up.

Both Stu and Mazz had secured merchandising deals before leaving the UK. When they arrived at the music store they had their pictures taken by musical instrument manufactures, Mazz with a Fender Jazz bass and Stu with a Yamaha drum kit and Paiste cymbals.

Trudie, present with a Vanquar chequebook, signed for a Fender Twin amp for Johnny and for Christine an inexpensive Rhodes and string machine as well as a way more expensive Roland Jupiter-8 synth which everyone but Richard agreed she had to have after she spent forty minutes filling the shop with its peculiarly wonderful sounds.

With no van, Trudie said they'd be back the next day to collect the instruments, when they'd have one.

## Wednesday 07th September 1983

After a forty-five minute journey the following morning Richard said, 'I'll be glad to get the van; it'll save a fortune in taxi fares.'

The girls had been given a few hours to window shop on Olympic Boulevard whilst Johnny and Stu had travelled with Richard to Habor Boulevard in Costa Mesa where, on another arrow-straight dual carriageway lined with car and van dealerships, they'd found _Steve's Truck Rental_.

A tall man shielding his eyes from the midday sun came out to greet them. Grinning through a massive jaw he introduced himself as Steve.

'Linda tells me you require a van for shifting musical equipment,' he said. 'Come see what I got lined up for you.'

'Is there nobody she doesn't know?' Johnny whispered to Stu.

Out in the rear courtyard other members of staff showed customers to larger vehicles. Steve showed them a van everyone thought would be perfect until price came into the conversation.

Price, opened negotiations and closed opportunities.

Steve adjusted the Stetson he'd picked up on his way through the office.

'Your budget only really leaves you with this,' he said leading them towards a lorry-sized truck which Johnny though would be too big.

Of course Steve hadn't meant the lorry; he'd meant the battered unloved white minibus behind it.

'Does it work?' Richard asked without a shred of disappointment in his voice.

'Sure,' Steve said, 'if you keep her under fifty. She's a twelve year old Chevy G-Series. Five litre engine. V8. I wouldn't recommend taking her too far from home though. I'll have a mechanic remove the back rows of seats if you can hang on half an hour or so.'

Looking at his watch Richard gave the go-ahead.

'If you like fancy cars why don't you boys pop over the road to my brother's shop, _Casper's Customs?_ Tell him I sent you and I'll give you a ring when we're ready here.'

The lads left Richard settling paperwork and organising the bus they'd need once they started touring outside LA and headed off dodging traffic for Casper's Customs yards up the road.

'Wow,' Stu said when the last building ceased obscuring the garage's forecourt.

'Agreed,' Johnny said.

Other than Geoff's Aston Martin and Linda looking sexy with her Lotus he'd never given much thought to cars.

'What's this one?'

'G'day USed Wonz,' another large jawed man said. 'I'm Steve's brother Casper. He just phoned to say you might need educating in American muscle but don't tell me you don't recognise this car.'

'Looks like the Dukes of Hazzard's General Lee,' Johnny said.

'Correct. 1969 Dodge Charger,' Casper announced proudly. 'Superseded by this.' He indicated a similar resplendently customised restoration. '1971 Challenger. You seen the film Vanishing Point?'

Stu had.

The lads asked questions as Casper showed them car types that had popularised films and TV shows like Bullet, Smokey and the Bandit and Starsky and Hutch.

'We either buy old cars and customise them or restore classics to their original beauty. But most of these cars are customised to order.'

'This one doesn't look like much,' Johnny said pointing to an unrecognisable rust bucket.

'No,' Casper said. 'But, let me show you how it'll look when we've finished with it.'

Casper led them to his showroom and a car so darkly metallic blue it might have been black.

'No way,' Johnny said.

'Yup. Chevrolet Camaro, _S,S_ ,' he emphasised its letters. 'It's sold of course. Buyer's coming from Las Vegas next week sometime.'

'Pity. If I had the money I've taken it off you right now,' Johnny said.

Other than the Stratocaster he'd stolen from Hal, he had no obsessive desire for material belongings.

But admiring the oversized hot-rod-style bulbous back tyres with emblazoned _Goodyear_ logos he said, 'Here's a car I could really dream about.'

'Indeed,' Casper said. 'No rock star should be without one. And don't even start me about its sound; you like music? These V8s are symphonies unto themselves.'

'What d'you think, Stu?'

He held his hands up. 'I'm sold. Any one of these cars would do me. I love that Oldsmobile though.'

They looked towards another corner.

'Excellent choice. 1969, 442. She's a beauty. Excuse me,' Casper said when the phone rang, 'I dare say this'll be my brother calling you back.'

* * *

Volunteering to drive the minibus Stu did okay despite repeatedly stamping the floor where the clutch should be.

'We need to earn some money,' Johnny said to Richard who sat up front struggling with the map. 'We've seen the cars we want.'

'You know until now, you guys have been a breath of fresh air. Most bands crap on about cars and stuff before the ink's dried on the contract,' Richard grumbled.

'Relax, we don't mind waiting,' Stu said.

'I'd love to hear what Linda would say if I drove up in one of those Camaros,' Johnny said.

Stu pulled a face. 'Why would it matter what she thought?'

'I'm just saying, her Lotus would look pretty small.'

'She's a nice lady, but I really don't think she's for you.'

'I thought we were talking about cars; what are you on about?'

Slowing as they joined the downtown gridlock Stu said, 'We were talking about cars; then you brought her into the conversation.'

'So what if I did? It's not like you fancy her – do you?'

'Mate, given the millions of girls my own age in this city and throughout this amazing country, no I don't fancy her.'

'So we're okay then; not that there's any reason to be rude about her.'

'So you're admitting you fancy her?'

'I'm...' Johnny decided not to lie to his best friend. 'Yeah, I do.'

'Flaming heck,' Richard muttered. 'Why? She's a tidy piece alright but—'

'I don't know why,' Johnny interjected sounding surly. 'Maybe I'll get over it.'

'Mate,' Stu said. 'I don't mean to be rude. I agree with Richard she's very tidy but don't forget there are fifty states crawling with girls our own age who'll love us and our English accents.'

'Can't you both just leave me to fancy who I want?'

'No,' Richard said. 'If you start chasing women twice your age you leave guys like me with nothing.'

* * *

Though The USed Wonz had done well in their impromptu Anti-Club gig Linda knew a full set at the Whisky in front a demonically impassioned thousand-strong Toto audience would be a very different experience.

Backstage she'd directed Pete the Panther and the young man from BAM to The USed Wonz dressing room knowing they'd already dressed for their performance. Fancying a rare cigarette she turned from the dressing room when—

'Jeff,' she said startled to see the Toto drummer milling around.

The bespectacled drummer looked her over and grinned. 'Linda.'

'My god, any chance I could get a photo of you with your support act?'

After photos and interviews, Richard cleared the dressing room so his musicians could have a few moments of composure.

Leaving Richard to view the performance from the wings, Linda and Grace joined the loosely gathering crowd in front of the Whisky's stage. Suddenly the house lights dimmed and a voice from the speakers said, 'Would you please welcome to the stage, The USed Wonz.'

Nervous for them and the tour she'd booked, Linda joined Grace in cheering the band.

Perfectly costumed, Linda thought the whole band looked good enough to eat. It seemed Christine really could turn up the beauty volume when she chose. She remembered herself, fifteen or perhaps twenty years earlier, when she'd thought Rock 'n' Roll had just been invented.

With maturity she'd outgrown the desire to date rock singers but as Christine's synthy sounds lapped around bass and drums she felt the band's fresh sound washing away rock's cobwebs rejuvenating it.

The uniquely blue guitar Linda had heard so much about hung around Johnny's crotch; lower than the Gibson he'd borrowed. His open shirt appeared to reveal a ripped body hard enough to stop bullets; surely an effect exaggerated by the stage lights.

Stu's drums dropped to hi-hat counts.

Alone with Christine's overtures Johnny, still without plucking a string, began singing in a prayer-soft voice that dissolved conversations out front the softer he crooned.

His voice rose with the addition of Mazz's bass and Stu's drum crescendo. As suddenly as it had risen, the music dropped leaving the line Linda and Grace had been waiting for: _How can we be so happy when we have nothing at all?_

If Linda could hear ripples of appreciation throughout the room she certainly felt them as Johnny struck his first guitar notes of the night. Like a stone in a millpond The USed Wonz broke the ambivalent surface of Toto's audience.

The band's full live sound with keyboards and Johnny's incredible guitar blew away the last of Linda's doubts hanging over from the Anti-Club.

When the song ended The USed Wonz gained no shortage of cheers. On stage Johnny said, 'Let's hear you Toto fans.'

_Way to suck in someone else's audience,_ Linda thought proudly joining the room's uproarious response.

'Toto will be along shortly. In the meantime we're The...,' Johnny stopped. 'Actually does anyone out there know who we are?'

To Linda's surprise no small portion of the room cheered wholeheartedly. She and Grace beamed at one another. From then on in Linda stopped analysing and started enjoying the show.

* * *

Christine laughed. 'Me and Johnny?'

'What?' Linda chuckled too. The successful Whisky show had put everyone in a celebratory mood. In a bar nearby Santa Monica Boulevard, Linda knew Earl would be waiting at home like a bad-tempered bear but she couldn't leave just yet. Her interest in Johnny kept growing and, though she knew she shouldn't, she relished the way he looked at her.

But she'd also seen the way he and Christine looked at one another and wouldn't have blamed either of them for breaking the most pertinent of band rules; especially as, now alone with the stunning young keyboard player, Linda could appreciate the effect Christine had on most men.

'Not a chance,' Christine said dismissing the notion of them as an item. 'I was pretty defensive when we met.' She glanced over at him sipping lemonade whilst Stu supped a beer. 'Maybe if we'd met in different circumstances. He's certainly got the hots for you though.'

'I've no idea why,' Linda said.

'Be modest if you must, but you can't deny there's something between the pair of you.'

'There's something,' Linda agreed, 'but as I told him it's not _that._ Seriously, I live with my boyfriend.'

Christine raised an eyebrow.

'I'm not interested in Johnny that way,' she implored, 'not even for a quickie. As you guys' agent it would be unacceptably unprofessional. And, even aside from that I'd hate to send him across the States for weeks amongst thousands of women of all ages wanting to have it off with him; and it'd be ridiculous asking him to behave. I know how boring life on the road can get.'

'Okay,' Christine laughed patting her knee. 'I get it. You don't fancy him.'

'Thank you,' Linda said but looked across the bar to him. 'I don't know what it is about him. He's a mysterious one.'

'Well as long as I've known him he's hankered for girls at least his own age. I figured it might be because his mum died when he was young.'

'That might explain it.'

'You realise nobody knows his real name?'

'What?' Linda faced Christine. 'It's Johnny Won, I saw his passport.'

Christine shook her head. 'According to Stu, half his life ago he got tied into the Social Services system. When he refused to give up his real name they appointed his chosen one on his insistence. It was supposed to be temporary but he just got lost in the system so he's stuck with it now.'

'A criminal record would rekindle interest.'

'He's no angel but he's managed to keep himself out of trouble.'

'So what happened to make him want to forget his birth name?'

'Never talks about it; not even with Stu.'

'Jeez.'

'Stu reckons he might have witnessed a murder or something. Whatever happened it frightened him off booze for life.'

'What d'you mean?'

'D'you see him drinking?'

'I saw your live video, he necked an entire bottle of JD.'

Christine laughed. 'Tea, not JD and don't even ask about his scars.'

'Scars?' Linda nevertheless asked.

'Looks like he's been run over by a combine harvester.'

Linda shook her head. Not only had her interest in Johnny deepened but now so had her curiosity and sympathy.

## Saturday 23rd June 1984

The temperature had already reached near unbearable heights before band and crew had finished pummelling pads.

Christine helped Stu repack the bag with sparring gear. The previous night they'd headlined the town hall in Nevada's St. George. To save cash the bus had pulled into a campsite. The band had slept on the bus and used the site's washing machines. Mazz handed Christine her pads and went to retrieve the washing. Dane too handed her the gloves he'd been forced to wear again.

'Thanks,' Johnny said before making off towards the shower block.

Stu clocked Christine's joyless look. 'Rushing to ring Linda no doubt.'

'Waste of time and quarters,' Christine said helping him zip the bag shut..

'Whatever makes him happy.'

'You wouldn't say that if they got together. Any girlfriend of Johnny's would be crazy to let him go on tour for weeks on end.'

Stu lumped the bag on his shoulder and grinned. 'True, if you were my girlfriend I wouldn't trust you to behave on tour.'

'Exactly,' she said not seeming offended. She kept step with him towards the bus where Quinn had the boot lid open in readiness for the bag.

She said, 'What worries me is if they did hook up Johnny mightn't want to tour.'

Stu laughed. 'I can't see that happening.'

'Don't take this so lightly.'

'Cheers Quinn,' Stu said relieved of the bag.

He faced north seeing past green but parched trees to the red rock Snow Canyon State Park. The heat seemed uncanny given the city's altitude. He knew he'd never tire of touring America providing they had fresh songs. He didn't believe Johnny would either.

Looking at Christine he said, 'I'm not delighted about the way he chases Linda either but, firstly, any of us could meet someone we'd want more than a night with at any gig. We'll have to cross that bridge when it happens. Secondly, just because he seems keen on Linda doesn't mean he likes her more than us. He loves this band and the touring. Why else would he risk the next album's advance? Thirdly, it's just as well he's so close to Linda otherwise we'd have no hope of a second album irrespective of royalty cheques and T-shirt sales and fourthly, it's Linda just isn't into Johnny. Even if we get back to LA and he pours a bottle of white down her neck, which isn't his style, she either still wouldn't go with him or even if she did she wouldn't want a relationship with him.'

Christine linked his arm as they headed to the shower block and remembered Linda categorically stating she didn't fancy Johnny. She also remembered saying the same thing herself. 'Maybe you're right. Maybe one night with her would be enough for him.'

'Jump her, then dump her?'

'Something like that,' she said but doubted it'd go down like that.

'Would probably be ideal if it did.'

They both knew romantic relationships could last no longer than a few hours and though most people wouldn't choose that, the band had adapted well. Every time Stu met a nice girl he yearned to see her again until the next night when he'd meet another one.

But Howie their previous tour manager, of course hadn't been so adaptive and it'd cost him his job.

* * *

Soon, dewy with fresh sweat, Christine thanked God for the bus's air conditioning. Jack pulled the bus out the campsite. Though nobody needed to ask Dane where they'd be heading that morning he stood beside the driver and announced they'd be leaving Utah and heading into Nevada and onto Las Vegas. They'd be there for two nights. The first they'd be far from the razzmatazz headlining their own show. The following night they'd support Van Halen not far from the Hilton where Elvis had played so many shows leading up to his death; in the centre of the razzmatazz.

Before Vegas they'd call into Mesquite, a town inside the Nevada border, and pick up another batch of T-shirts. From there they'd head to west Vegas and KOMP, the city's most notable AOR radio station.

* * *

Just two hours later the band sat answering typical questions from Lance, KOMP's DJ. Relaxed everyone laughed at the jokes that kept cropping up in radio interviews.

Even when Lance invited his listeners to telephone in, the bandmates handled the usual predictable, _what's your favourite colour?_ type questions good humouredly until the DJ said, 'We've just got time for one more. Who's on line three?'

'Hi Lance,' a voice said in everyone's headphones, 'I'm Perry.'

'Great, Perry what's your question for The USed Wonz?'

'Yeah, it's for all the band. I hear you talk about a second album but I heard you lost the entire next album's advance in a poker game.'

As Christine's blood chilled, Stu's boiled as must have Johnny's who barked, 'What the—'

Mazz jumped out her seat and held her hands up silencing him.

'Perry,' she said facing the mic, 'this is Mazz. That's a shocking rumour.' Her wafting hands stopped her bandmates piping up. 'I'd love to know where you heard that.'

On the other side of the glass Lance looked flummoxed. He tapped his watch and shrugged.

Mazz said, 'But, unfortunately it seems there isn't time, so I'll just say for the record: that rumour is completely unfounded. We'll be recording a new album next month and be back to tour it real soon.'

'That's great news,' Lance said. 'We've got to cut to a commercial break. Perry I hope that answers your question. Incidentally, have you tickets to a USed Wonz' show?'

'Err,' Perry flustered, 'yeah tomorrow's.'

'Well stay on the line we'll get a few more details. Maybe you could meet the guys backstage and perhaps shed some light on where you heard that rumour.'

'Sure.' Perry sounded unsure.

Lance continued. 'Thanks to my very special guests The USed Wonz, who will be recording and touring a new album very soon.'

The bandmates thanked Lance with fake cheerfulness.

Cueing the commercials Lance tore his headphones off and bounded the other side of the glass where his guests shook with a mix of emotions.

'Guys, I'm sorry about that,' he said.

A door swung open and his assistant Jess put her head round the frame.

Before she could speak Lance said, 'Did you get that guy's details?'

'No, sorry, he put the phone down.'

'You rang him back though?'

'Yeah, but...'

'But?' Lance pressed.

'He'd called from a phone booth.'

'A payphone? Jess, you know we should be ringing these guys back to their homes.'

'I know but I was rushing to get the last call in. Wherever he was it was quiet. I guessed he was home. Plus his question was about Stu's drums. It sounded innocent enough. I was as surprised as anyone when he said what he did.'

'Okay,' Lance said. 'The commercials are nearly over. I need to get back.' To The USed Wonz he said, 'I can't apologise enough.'

'I'll take it from here,' Jess said.

Lance turned and the band followed Jess to reception where the show played live. Dane however had come in from the bus where he'd heard the show. The receptionist had heard everything too but didn't stop filing her nails.

'I know it seems bad,' Dane said, 'but I've had an idea.'

## September 1983 – January 1984

Seeing The USed Wonz do so well at the Whisky, Linda had seen all she needed of the band, its management and marketing.

Nevertheless the performances she kept attending served as pure enjoyment and as breaks from Earl's bad tempers.

The next night she crammed for the second time into the Anti-Club. Given the room's furnace-hot conditions she expected a withering USed Wonz' performance.

The Whisky show had been an exercise in self-control and professionalism compared to the first impromptu nerve-fuelled Anti-Club gig. But from the moment the band stepped into the stage's humidity the hormones raged infecting every soul in the room.

* * *

When eventually every journal had written reviews and articles about them, management deemed that LA had been exhausted.

Johnny knew Linda should probably have said goodbye earlier but it seemed she wanted to see the band off. After Trudie had flown to New York, Linda met with the band at Steve's Truck Rental where they returned the modified minibus in favour of the tour coach he'd readied for them.

'Hey Linda,' Johnny said as the paperwork and checks dragged on, 'come and see the car I'm getting when we're rich.'

'Okay,' she said, perhaps a little coy.

At the curb she didn't object when he took her hand and led her through traffic to Casper's Customs.

Johnny might have expected the cars to look less impressive on second viewing but they looked better.

Busy with a customer, Casper simply shot a wave.

'This is my favourite,' Johnny said pleased to see it hadn't yet left for Vegas.

'Camaro SS,' Linda said. 'It's lovely. It'd suit you.'

He watched her admiring it. 'If it was mine would you let me take you for a ride?'

Her reproachful expression said enough but made him smile.

'Come on,' she said, 'I love your car but you've a bus to catch.'

Johnny looked away. 'Thanks Casper. We'll be back.'

'No problem,' he said excusing himself from his customer. 'Good luck with the tour.'

Leaving Casper's forecourt Johnny strode ahead of Linda's clicking heels feeling mischievous.

'What's the rush?' Linda said behind him.

Stopping dead he spun around with open arms. As expected Linda stepped into his embrace. Fighting the urge to lift her off her feet he expected her to wriggle free. Instead she yielded looking up at him with a compassionate countenance.

He guessed what she'd say but couldn't help saying, 'I want to kiss you so much.'

'Don't.'

'I won't.'

'Thank you. I feel something too but, how many times, you've got this wrong. Anyway we don't know each other. I couldn't give you what you want even if I wanted to.'

'I don't know what you mean.'

'That's kind of the point, Johnny.'

'You're guessing what I want.'

'Again that's my point. We don't know each other.'

'Forget about me, what do you want and don't kid me you've got it with that gorilla you keep locked away?'

'Stop it.' Linda broke free and started walking.

Johnny walked with her. He caught her hand and she didn't pull away.

'I can't have what I really want; not with you, or anyone else.'

He took a moment to consider a response. 'Well I want your fine body in the backseat of the Chevy we just looked at. If you can sort that, I'll do my best to get what you want.'

'We haven't time for this. And for the last time what I feel for you isn't the same as what you feel for me.'

He believed her and yet couldn't believe it. It seemed unfair that he could desire someone who liked him so much without offering the slightest hope for him.

'Sorry.' He couldn't think what else to say.

They crossed the road.

'I love that you like me,' Linda said releasing his hand before joining the others, 'but I'm sorry you think you want me. I'm gonna miss you. Promise you'll stay in contact?'

He knew he'd be out of LA for months. He'd no idea what she felt for him but knew he'd be phoning her office regularly. Maybe he'd get to the bottom of it over time.

A minute after joining the others a cab pulled up and two men they'd been expecting jumped out.

'Hi Linda,' the first one said.

Linda introduced them to the band as Jack and Quinn.

'Sorry if we're cutting it fine,' Jack said hauling his bag out the taxi. 'We've just arrived from Chicago.'

'We were still teching for AC/DC two days ago,' Quinn said shaking everyone's hands.

Mazz ran forward. 'Who's my bass tech then?'

'That'll be my pleasure,' Quinn said. 'Bass and drums.'

'What you got there?' Jack said spotting Stu dragging a giant yellow sports bag towards the tour bus. 'Surely not your drums?'

'Combat gear, target mitts and pads, that sort of thing.' Stu unzipped the bag to show them.

'Are we sparring?' Quinn asked?

'We don't want to get flabby.'

'No chance of that on the road. Look at us,' Jack said flexing a bicep.

Looking on, Linda wanted to laugh aloud, she couldn't believe Richard would've budgeted so ridiculously for sports stuff that would obviously never get used.

After the rest of the equipment had been transferred she eventually had to let them go. She stood by her Lotus and waved at the team of eight who waved back.

* * *

For the next few months the band travelled the states in their rented coach with either Jack or Quinn at the wheel. When the budget permitted they stayed in motels. As often as not they slept on the bus if members of band or crew didn't sneak off to the home of a fan; a practice Richard begrudgingly condoned.

By November the team prepared its assault on New York. The band spent intense nights gigging, zigzagging outside the city perimeter.

Approaching from Boston having headlined the Paradise Theatre and supporting at the Orpheum they backed out to JB Scott's in Albany. From there down to Philadelphia's Bijou Cafe and back to both New Jersey's Hitsville South and Hitsville North venues.

Richard on the bus and Trudie in Vanquar's head office made sure every AOR and college radio station in NYC knew about the approaching band; ensuring all music journals interviewed the band. Any potentially influential figure who'd listen received copies of the album and live recordings. All venues received posters and copies of the singles for their jukeboxes.

When the band neither complained nor requested breaks Linda slotted extra gigs in for good measure and, twisting the New York's Palladium management's arm, convinced them to book The USed Wonz as a headline act.

The three thousand capacity venue would be the band's most ambitious strike to date. By the time they drove into the city the buzz had roused Vanquar staff, radio stations and finally rock and pop music fans' curiosity.

Richard insisted the band had two days rest from gigging. They used some of the time for site seeing but mostly they toured radio stations to big up the tour and sell records.

After two nights they played their first NYC gig: a sell-out at The Ritz. The three hundred tickets sold quickly. They used the gig to promote the next night at the Palladium where ticket sales had unfortunately been comparatively slow, much to everyone's concern. Everyone prayed for a last rush of ticket sales.

As expected they didn't sell-out. However, they sold enough tickets to satisfy the venue, most of the Vanquar top dogs and most importantly, the fans.

That New York had been a success meant everyone could relax – a little.

Linda had booked the band in to progressively larger venues for the return journey to LA.

Before moving on Richard and Grace spent time at Vanquar's headquarters drawing a further contract for The USed Wonz.

GMD wanted to retain their rights to the band but as a record label also wanted to return to the UK and sign their next band. Understandably a tour manager needed to be appointed to see out the rest of the tour.

Howie came in from Chicago looking like a cowboy in his tight Levis and Stetson.

Stu didn't much care for his dress sense but Johnny liking the America-ness broke from Stu's fashion guidance and bought himself a Stetson and cowboy boots.

Heading south through the eastern states lacking Richard's mature social discipline around Grace the tone aboard the bus inevitably lowered as dirty jokes and swearing fuelled the laughter for their journeys.

From LA Linda kept squeezing gigs into their nights off telling them she'd stop when they started complaining. They didn't complain. Most of the additional gigs happened in smaller towns and venues where they slept on the bus.

Howie filled the gaps in his management experience with a charm both girls fell foul of.

First Mazz slept with him, then Christine, Christine again, then back to Mazz and, on one rare night in a motel, Stu saw both girls disappear into the same room with him.

Johnny phoned Linda professionally when he could and socially when he couldn't. She came to know the band's needs and, perhaps because Earl made her feel guilty for taking such considerable percentages of her bands' earnings, she found herself picking up Howie's managerial slack.

One night when Johnny phoned from Alabama, Linda enquired as to Johnny's sex life.

'Fine,' he said.

'Well, be safe.'

'For you of course, why d'you think they call me Johnny?'

'You sound like you're saving yourself for me.'

'I am.'

'Don't.'

'I will.'

'I've got a boyfriend.'

'I wasn't asking.'

'But it's a fact.'

'He's wrong for you. That's a fact too.'

'You don't know that.'

'Yes I do.'

'I wish I hadn't started this now,' Linda said knowing he had a point about Earl.

As the coach fled winter heading to Florida and Miami things grew uncomfortable between the girls and Howie.

Johnny liked him and the job he basically did but everyone, including Howie who said he'd head straight back to Chicago, knew he'd not be tour managing the band when or even if they got a second US tour.

* * *

As their first American tour drew closer to LA and its close, life on the road became routine but far from boring especially as none of the band had any clue what would happen next.

For Stu, America had lived up to his hopes as it had for the others. For Johnny, LA meant seeing Linda again. Whatever their future he knew she'd be a part of it initially at least especially as much communication from England reached them through her.

They learnt that GMD had signed a three-piece band called Little Spirit. The Production Annex had recorded a spectacular album. Naturally, Richard had wanted to sign them to the best possible deal but it seemed Little Spirit wouldn't be following the same path as The USed Wonz. Trudie appeared to have dropped off the radar in Australia. It seemed Richard didn't know where to turn with Little Spirit having received rejections from Vanquar and every other major financier.

## Saturday 23rd June 1984

The bus left KOMP and its DJ, Lance who'd no doubt ring around other radio stations to see if they'd heard speculation about The USed Wonz losing their advance. Quinn pulled off the road where the band could discuss what had happened.

Johnny's fists clenched. 'Whoever tricked me and robbed us wasn't just after money; they're after ruining us.'

'But we're safe,' Dane said. Johnny noted Dane's, _we're_ safe, rather than, _you're_ safe. 'There's Linda's money, so you'll be recording an album no matter what.'

'Yeah, and how well it turns out and its success is down to us,' Mazz said.

Johnny's fists relaxed.

Leaning forwards he cupped Mazz's cherubim face. 'You were brilliant. You kept a lid on things. Well done.'

He kissed her forehead. Seeing Christine looking wide-eyed he reached for her hand. She put her other on his.

'Thanks everyone,' Johnny said. 'I hate myself for bringing this garbage into our lives.'

'We don't know that it is garbage,' Dane said before adding, 'aside from having to repay Linda of course.'

'You said you had an idea,' Stu said.

'I do. No publicity is bad publicity. So what if there's malicious gossip about there being no second album? Use it to promote the second album. I'm thinking let's get the demo duplicated and sell it with the T-shirts.'

'But it's naff,' Stu said.

'It's a demo. It's not supposed to blow minds.' Dane took a moment to think. 'The recording isn't great, but the songs are. It won't detract from future album sales it'll boost them. People will want the album once they hear those songs.'

'We've only got a few days left.'

'We'll sell them. I'll find a Vegas studio and get a load duplicated. The rumour will sell the demos and prove the next album's on its way. They'll become collectors' items and deepen your bond with your fans.'

Everyone stayed quiet a moment.

'What d'you think?' Johnny asked Stu.

Stu nodded.

'Everyone else agree?'

The girls both nodded.

'Okay Dane, good idea. Let's get on it.'

* * *

Quinn drove the bus to a roadside diner. Bustling with truckers and reps on their way in or out of Vegas the team had to wait to be served.

Dane used the time to ring up and order demo tapes from the studio.

Eventually, broken into three groups, a spotty hostess placed everyone at tables. Seeming to cling to him Johnny sat with Christine. Away from the others they looked at the menu and ordered. He tried thinking of something to say. Christine sat smiling at him. Johnny looked across the room to the others and wishing the food would hurry up realised he'd never been so uncomfortable in Christine's presence.

The jabbering room made their silence even more painful.

'Are you okay?' he asked eventually.

'Hmm,' she nodded. 'You?'

_No,_ he thought but said, 'I'm sorry for the mess I've caused us.'

'Like Dane says it's not a mess. He's good at turning things to positives.'

'It's hard not to like the guy,' Johnny said whilst trying to read Christine's mind.

The food arrived as Johnny finally twigged what messages Christine could be sending him.

'So,' Christine said cutting her burger bun into neat quarters, 'who's out to wreck us?'

'That's what I've been wondering.'

'You reckon Howie's behind it?'

'If he is it'd make me feel better. You were pretty mean to him.'

'But not that bad, was I?'

Johnny shrugged. 'He couldn't know about the money. He vanished before even we knew about it.'

'Dane's a better tour manager.'

'Maybe.' Had he really just said that? 'He's not sexy though.'

Christine giggled. 'Doesn't matter; I've got you to fantasise about.'

Damn. Johnny found it hard to swallow.

'Who else could we have peed off?' he asked keeping the conversation on track.

'We've been to so many venues, met so many promoters, concert chairman, fans on this tour and the first one, yet I don't remember us peeing anyone off.'

'Except Howie.'

'Howie's fine,' Christine said. 'Me and Mazz'll just be blips on his radar by now.'

They ordered coffee and dessert; calories that'd be incinerated shortly.

Afterwards Johnny stood. 'Linda should know about this. I'll ring her.'

Christine leant over the table and touched his forearms. 'Oh Johnny don't.'

He looked at her pleading face. Frowning he sat back down. Christine looked away.

'What wrong?' he asked.

'It's not time of the month if that's what you're thinking.'

'I wasn't, Jeez.'

'Sorry. Can't you just leave her alone for one day?' she asked.

Johnny sat back. 'Look, on the first US tour I phoned Linda occasionally. You didn't gripe. Now, since London in fact, you do. What's your problem with her?'

'I don't have any problem with her. I really like her and am grateful for everything she's done for us.'

'So why the remarks about her being old enough to be my mam?'

'Well, she's too old for you.'

'Says who, I've seen you slope off with men that age.'

'Only briefly and, I don't get all weird about it. Plus it doesn't seem so bad a girl being with an older man.

Still with comparative good humour Johnny said, 'That's ridiculous. I tell you what, I won't phone Linda again today but I don't want you being all sourpuss when I phone her Monday.'

## Monday 16th January 1984

An hour before sunrise, Linda more than half asleep recoiled at Earl's coarse perfunctory kiss. In a bid to keep up with Linda's _easy_ earning, he'd accepted early-morning backbreaking work on a construction site.

An hour later, Linda slapped her alarm into silence. Tired but without suspicion of ill health she rolled over, touching her feet to the floor. But when she stood panic shivered with pain from her lower abdomen. Her heart pounded and spots appeared before her eyes.

Back on the bed two minutes passed before, feeling herself again, she wondered if she'd imagined the episode. Again she slid her feet to the floor and rose into a sitting position.

Unquestionably she had something wrong with her.

Using the walls as support she tiptoed to the bathroom; each feathered step shooting darts through her abdomen. Approaching the toilet with trepidation fearing urinal infection she braced herself but experienced no extra discomfort whilst sitting with her head below her knees.

Back in the bedroom she picked one of Earl's colossal T-shirts managing a pained smile in the wardrobe's mirror.

Crawling on hands and knees through the living area she flopped in front of the TV and waited dozing until she found strength to make some coffee.

Though Fiona hadn't long been working for the agency fulltime she had keys. Linda decided to entrust the office to her for the day. From the red wall mounted phone Linda dialled.

Fiona answered on second ring. 'Lake: All States Entertainment Agency.'

_Good, she's in already,_ Linda thought halfway through Fiona's lengthy greeting.

'It's a bit of a mouthful,' she said breathlessly.

'It's the company's name,' Fiona said with dry professionalism. 'How may I help you?'

'It's Linda.'

'Oh God, sorry Boss. I didn't recognise you. You sound—'

'It's okay. I'm okay, but not well enough to come in.'

Fiona understood saying she'd manage the office before insisting Linda ring her at lunchtime.

'That's great,' Linda croaked. 'I'm fine if I lie still. If I'm no better later I'll get Earl to take me to the doc's.'

'Well you just let me know if you need anything or start worrying.'

Ringing off Linda watched TV all morning between intermittent sleeps. At lunchtime she crawled back to the phone. Fiona asked whether she had any appetite.

Having assumed she'd contracted a virus Linda hadn't expected hunger. Managing to stay upright she fixed a plate of food but couldn't wait to lie down and be still again. When she did, the relief kept her there all afternoon.

A little before 5pm Earl staggered through the door. Offering no flicker of pleasure to see her, he looked as exhausted as she felt.

Grumbling, he threw his bag down. 'What you doing back so soon?'

He went straight to the fridge without kissing her.

'I'm not well,' Linda said.

Her voice found strength sensing Earl's temper lurking close to the surface.

'Unbelievable,' he said taking two beers from the fridge without getting her anything.

Looking around he gestured to the empty plate and mugs. 'Illness hasn't affected your appetite.'

'No, it's—'

'You look fine.'

As he flopped into a chair Linda watched the first beer vanish down his throat.

'Dallas,' he said at the TV.

Linda glanced and saw JR glower at Sue Ellen the way Earl glowered at her. Their bickering switched to baseball with Earl's click of the TV's remote.

Tired, Linda didn't object, but said, 'I think I need a doctor.'

'You _think_ you need a doctor?' Earl put the remote down. 'Listen, I'm starving. I've spent all day shifting concrete whilst getting shouted at by an idiot foreman and you've laid here watching crap like Dallas, pigging out leaving some birdbrained girl in your office doing your so called work. Fix me something to eat and I might _think_ about running you to surgery.'

Wishing she'd called a cab earlier Linda, too astonished to speak remained wordless.

Snatching his second beer Earl switched the TV off. 'I'm going for a shower.'

Linda looked, but didn't dare touch the remote.

All day she'd willed the stabbing pains to ease but as they worsened she tried distracting her mind by thinking of her mom, alone and unwell. She remembered Christine telling her after the Whisky show of Johnny's scars. Someone always had it worse she reasoned deciding she should cook Earl something then get straight to a doctor.

Looking to the kitchen's island just feet away she tried standing.

Like a geyser erupting, pain ripped through her abdomen shocking and boiling her body.

Falling back to the settee she panted; sweat appearing from nowhere. She couldn't move. Earl would simply have to understand.

Minutes later she heard footsteps appear as Earl came into the living area. But, Linda's eyes opened – the footsteps stopped. She couldn't see him but knew he must be seeing the untouched kitchen.

Linda tried thinking of something suitable to say but the attack came with a lion's stealth and rapidity.

A huge hand wrapped around her tiny wrist.

The couch diminished as, beneath Earl's strength, Linda flew accelerated by a second hand smashed into a buttock. With abdominal pain lagging behind Linda focused on the upcoming parquet flooring.

Though her feet clattered, buckling, her body's momentum collided with the kitchen's island.

Fighting to stay upright she grabbed, still spinning, and wielded a saucepan guessing Earl's proximity.

She missed.

Earl swatted the weapon away. But as her legs weakened she hardly cared given her concentrated will to douse the now raging abdominal flames.

Earl clapped a vicious supporting hand to her jaw.

Roaring in her face, Linda's fear overwhelmed her ability to comprehend what Earl might be saying.

His grip ground one jaw into the other.

Failing to answer anything Earl might be asking she prayed for the nightmare's end.

The nightmare ended.

Violently.

As one hand released her face another swept past her eyes. Faster than her folding legs the flattened palm swung low slapping into her stomach.

The tearing shockwave forced the air from her lungs. Linda's ears rattled as her own deathly cry shrieked by cut short as her knees thundered into the unforgiving parquet.

Her hands sagged helplessly as she freefell unhindered by Earl's sudden absence into the floor.

Each out breath carrying an involuntary wail, Linda sensed death looming as outside Earl's V8 started and disappeared.

Summoning survival's instinctive reserves, she twisted and saw the crimson phone appeared miles above her. Her own hand appeared reaching for it.

The crimson drained.

Everything faded as circumstance relieved her of fight.

* * *

Time, like everything except the darkness, stopped mattering. Too comfortable on the wrong side of consciousness, Linda phased out the sound of footsteps and strange frightened voices descending once again to blissful blackness.

* * *

Perhaps she'd later forgotten the darkness.

Back with it again, Linda floated through it aware of softness, a bed beneath her and something in her nose.

'Nurse,' a woman's voice said.

Linda's curiosity dawned as the darkness separated like oil on glass. With focus she saw a woman's face. Not her mother's.

'Hi Linda, welcome back.'

'Joan?' she said finally recognising her neighbour. 'Where?'

'Hospital. I'll get a doctor.'

'I'll go,' a nurse from elsewhere said.

'What's going on?' Linda asked touching her nose feeling tubes. 'How come you're here?'

'You've been unwell and I wasn't busy so thought I'd save your life.'

Linda chuckled. The pain bit her humour.

The nurse reappeared and smoothed her face to relax her. 'Take it easy. I'm afraid your friend's right. You've been extremely unwell.'

'Not that bad, surely?'

'The doctor will explain.'

Reclined on plumped pillows, Linda let Joan take her hand and tried taking stock of events.

Shifting awkwardly Joan said, 'I heard the ruckus and thought I should check when Earl drove off.'

'Thank God you did.'

'You know, it's not the first time I've heard you two fighting.'

'Oh God. Really?'

'But, normally I hear you...' she paused for thought, '... making it up afterwards.'

Linda frowned embarrassed her neighbours could have heard, but more angry in herself for developing a pattern of forgiving Earl's temper in the bedroom.

'It's not the first time he's expressed himself violently is it?'

Unsure quite what Joan might know Linda faced her neighbour and said, 'What makes you think he was this time?'

'I've been lying to myself,' Joan said. 'Telling myself you're okay; relieved when I hear you afterwards. Not that that's any of my business.'

With nothing more to say Linda wondered where Earl might be and what had actually happened to her. The doctor would tell her soon enough.

A question came to mind.

'How?' she asked, 'How did you get into the apartment?'

'Oh yes,' Joan said, 'I've a bit of a confession. After Earl drove off I ran to your locked front door. I called through the letterbox. When you didn't respond I ran round the back and saw you through the patio doors. I thought you were dead, or dying.'

Linda didn't want to think about that. 'But how did you actually get in?'

'You know that lovely potted Japanese Boxwood plant?'

'Yeah.'

Joan looked uncomfortable on the seat next to the bed. 'I slung it through the patio window.'

'Oh no.' Linda tried to stop herself laughing. The pain shocked her. Suddenly she wanted to cry. She'd loved the plant. On top of everything else it seemed too much.

Joan took her hand. 'You've been through a lot today Linda but everything's going to be okay now.' She squeezed her hand and added, 'Not the plant; that's a write-off I'm afraid.'

Linda dried up a little. 'But my Rainier cherry tree's still okay?'

'Oh yes. I couldn't have lifted that without help.'

'That's good. I'll need a glazier.'

'It's okay. One's coming round tomorrow. My husband's boarding it up for now.'

'Ms Lake?'

Linda looked to see a man dressed in scrubs at the foot of the bed.

Joan gave her hand another squeeze. 'I really should be getting back. I'll come and see you again tomorrow.'

Once she'd left, the doctor introduced himself. Linda found his plain features oddly reassuring knowing she'd remember his sandy hair but not his name. She'd not forget what he told her next.

'That's impossible,' she said too amazed to ask how; how she'd come to be pregnant.

'Not, entirely impossible.'

She shook her head. 'I was told I couldn't conceive.'

'So you knew about the tubal blockages?' he ventured.

'That's right. I had a recent examination.'

'Well it seems your right hand tube wasn't completely blocked. Sperm met ova in that tube which in itself would be quite normal. However, a fertilised egg generally travels into the uterus. Unfortunately in your case the fertilised egg was trapped in the constricted tube.'

'Ectopic pregnancy,' she said bewildered. She knew how dangerous they could be. 'Will I have to have an operation?'

'No, we've already performed emergency surgery.'

Linda dropped her head back to the pillow. 'Am I still pregnant?'

'I'm afraid not. In cases like these there's no possibility of saving the embryo. And,' his expression turned more serious, 'I must inform you, the likelihood of your conceiving in the future, especially after today's trauma, is beyond slim.'

Linda nodded.

The doctor explained that generally affected fallopian tubes require removal. He'd managed to save her left hand tube though it still remained blocked. After telling her not to rush her recovery he became more serious still.

'During surgery I witnessed traumatic evidence that would suggest you've been the victim of violence; a belief your neighbour supports.'

'A slap,' Linda said. 'That's all.'

'A slap delivered with significant force I'd say.'

Linda thought and nodded. 'Maybe. But, he didn't know...'

She couldn't bring herself to admit she'd been pregnant.

He sat where Joan had sat earlier. 'I have to mention your neighbour called for the police as well as the ambulance that brought you here.'

Her face fell. 'Did she?'

'She saved your life. Your husband—'

'Partner,' she interrupted.

'Well, he could have killed you and you'd surely have died if your friend hadn't called emergency services when she did.'

Linda kept quiet.

'I'm afraid the police will want to speak to you.'

* * *

Linda used the time after the doctor had left to reflect. The first time Earl had hit her he'd used the heel of his hand and struck her in the breastbone blasting her into the fridge.

The pair of them reacted with astonishment. In the days that followed Earl slept in the spare room apparently too ashamed to look at her. Linda would sit by his bedside stroking his hair telling him she understood it had been a mistake and not to worry.

The second time, he struck her shoulder. He apologised immediately. But his emotional recover didn't take a heartbeat and in the moments following the attack Linda kidded herself it wouldn't happen again.

And without time to consider forgiveness she found herself swept into the bedroom. As Earl's explosive energy transformed, Linda yielded to his dominance.

The third time had been physically less bad but no less scary. He'd grabbed her shoulders. Lifting her off her feet she'd been thrown backwards. Fortunately she'd landed unharmed on the settee.

Apparently that didn't warrant an apology.

Linda had sat with hands pressed into the cushions as if to push up and run. Too terrified she watched Earl roaring; pacing rapid figure of eights before her. His passion upheld but again the mood switched; Linda wide-eyed with relief acquiesced to his hate-fuelled lust.

She indeed hated the pattern that had emerged including the sex that marked the end of each episode's unpleasantness.

Lying alone in the hospital bed she shivered. This episode had ended differently though. Maybe that would make a difference. Maybe this time he'd be more careful with his anger and with her. Closing her eyes she wanted to laugh at the very unfunny realisation that she wouldn't press charges against Earl.

* * *

Linda spent five weeks getting back to health. Only after a fortnight could she visit the office for more than a couple of hours at a time. Fiona did her best and between them the agency performed as well as could be expected.

Johnny, unsurprisingly, had expressed concern but Linda played down the event to the point where he stopped worrying.

Earl visited her in hospital and they talked through what had happened. He did not break down and repent as Linda thought he might, given the seriousness of her injuries but listened to her and promised he'd never be violent to her again.

## Sunday 24th June 1984

Dane appeared in the dressing room. 'Who's coming for something to eat?'

'Sure,' Stu said standing and patting his back pocket for his wallet. 'Guys?'

'Yeah,' Christine said as Mazz grabbed her handbag.

'Actually,' Johnny said, 'me and Christine will catch you up.'

Mazz gave him a puzzled look but Dane mentioned they'd be at the diner across the road.

Johnny didn't look at Christine but waited for the door to close. He didn't like what he had to do. True to his word Dane had found a studio to run a batch of tape-to-tape copies of the demo; enough to last three nights he guessed. Every last one had sold. Earlier that day he'd gone back and asked for an even larger batch. Amongst the lights and electricity of Las Vegas, feelings ran high, or at least they had done until Johnny had clapped his hands together and mentioned Linda. Christine's iridescent smile had faded as if struck by a power cut.

Johnny, determined to get to the heart of the matter now had her alone and cornered. When he turned she tensed.

'You look angry. What have I done?' she asked gently.

Hating being angry he had to stop himself being too nice. In newly frayed cut-offs and off-the-shoulder T-shirt she looked hot, alluring almost to the point of impossible to shout at.

He maintained his derision.

Christine stiffened and stood up defensively; her back to the counter in front of the mirrors.

'Yesterday I asked you what your problem with Linda is,' Johnny began.

'So?'

'So, you said _nothing,_ but when I mentioned her just now you looked wild.'

He waited but she didn't speak. Instead her face softened into a sadness he'd been glimpsing regularly lately; a sadness supporting his fears.

Exasperated, he looked away.

'What's wrong?' she asked, her tone sympathetic.

Facing her again his shoulders slumped. 'I thought I was asking the questions.'

'So ask me what you really want to know.'

'I feel like a moron.'

'Just say what's on your mind.'

He looked her in the eye. 'Are you in love with me?'

Her face showed no surprise, no humour, just the same compassion. 'Yeah.'

Too stunned words stuck in his throat. 'I'm...'

Christine's eyebrows rose.

He ploughed ahead. '... I mean, we've known each other years; been through so much. You're as important to me as anyone I know, and for that reason I love you. But that's not what I asked. I crazily asked you whether you're _in_ love with me?'

'And I'm glad you did. Because...'

The mood flipped. She might have blinked back tears.

Johnny drew closer, his frustration gone. 'Yes?'

'I glad you asked because without you asking I'd never get to say, I love you – much more than friends or bandmates.'

'Christine.'

His heart went out to her. This truth meant of course she'd detest him obsessing about Linda.

She let him touch her face.

His mind raced back to when he'd seen her as a Wayward Wench; how he'd crushed his attraction to her. For the first time in so long he looked at her with the emotional intelligence any red-blooded man would. Closing his eyes he put his face to hers and breathed the scent from her neck.

Her hand touched his face.

'Don't be so surprised – about all this,' she whispered in his ear.

'How long?'`

'I'm not sure. I was so angry with you when we met, I thought I hated you. But even then I was attracted. I guess I started falling the more you sang; the more I heard your lyrics. Watching you perform fills me with proud pleasure every night.'

His arms enveloped her. She reciprocated.

'You've never spoken like this before,' he said, his lips close to her ear.

She shook her head. 'I'd love you to ask me to marry you. I'd make love to you every day, forever until we had no strength left.'

The very idea of making love to Christine had been banished every time it threatened to arise. Now, though, his hands slid down the small of her back as the idea roused.

He backed her into the counter's surface. 'Christine.'

'Shush.'

Her arms tightened around him. His hands slid lower. Before he knew it his fingers ducked under her frayed cut-offs gripping the curves that had determined her recruitment into the band years earlier. He lifted her, sitting her on the counter. Her legs wrapped round him squeezing him closer.

'But...' she said breathlessly.

'What?'

'Despite all I've just told you, I've no designs on you.'

Heartbreakingly, the mood shook. Johnny tried pulling away.

'Don't,' she said; her arms ever ensnaring him. 'Let me enjoy this moment.'

He stayed blissfully put. 'What do you mean; designs?'

The breath of each word caressed his ear. 'Any doubts I loved you died when I discovered your scars.'

'I remember that night.'

'Yeah? Before the show; you touched me and implied if we weren't in the same band we'd be together. D'you remember?'

'I do.'

'And later, when I found you in your room, I told you the same.'

'You were by the door, on your way out.'

'I wanted you to stop me leaving so much I nearly flashed you.'

'That would've done it,' he said still gripping the backside he'd have so loved to have seen.

'Well, that was the time for something to happen.'

'But you didn't – flash me.'

'Exactly.'

'And yet, here we are.'

'And with everything you and Stu promised me and Mazz all along.'

'And yet still in each other's arms.'

'And though it feels lovely we both know it's not real. You're not about to forget Linda are you?'

In that moment he couldn't know.

He truthfully said, 'You mean the world to me.'

'I know.'

'There's someone out there for you babe.'

'I don't want anyone. I'm happy being single. As much as I want you, I'm managing without you.'

'Could you ever be happy seeing me with Linda?'

Christine took her arms away. The moment had passed.

'You asked me what my problem with Linda is; I don't have one, I think she's wonderful. But, unfortunately, like you for me, I don't believe she's for you.'

Despondently, released from the embrace of her thighs Johnny asked, 'Why?'

'In London; we had a bit of time together. She's blown away by you; not that she can qualify it logically.' Christine smiled; then frowned. 'But, she told me some stuff.'

'What stuff?'

'It's not for me to say.'

'Help me out babe,' he urged.

She shook her head. 'You wouldn't understand. You'd think it sounded weird and dumb.'

'Try me.'

Christine looked at him for the longest time. 'In London, you spent an entire night with her and nothing happened.'

'So?' Johnny said feeling frustrated as he had minutes earlier. 'She'd just been through hell. We discussed terrible things. I wasn't going to try it on, right after she told me about Earl getting locked-up.'

'Yeah alright,' Christine snapped. 'I don't believe this. I tell you I love you and now I'm helping your aching heart?'

Straight away Johnny pulled her into his arms.

She pushed him away. 'Don't. I want to go to the diner.'

'Babe, I'm sorry.' He hated himself.

'Come on, Johnny. You pay. That'll do as an apology.'

* * *

They found the others chatting merrily. They'd know not to interfere; things always came out eventually. But by the time the burgers arrived the others had cracked into apple pie and ice-cream.

Halfway through their food Christine stopped chewing.

Johnny saw it. He pushed his plate aside and took her hand.

Dane looked on. 'T minus ninety minutes. Will you two be alright for the show?'

'Of course,' Johnny said reassuringly.

Christine nodded.

Last to finish, Mazz scrapped her bowl clean.

'Guess we'll see you back there,' she said getting up to leave.

Johnny watched her go; then looked at Christine. 'You okay?'

## Friday 24th February 1984

Throughout January and February Linda rested and recovered. Despite greeting her daily with kisses, Earl withdrew emotionally and Linda wondered whether he felt ashamed.

Thinking he might be repenting inwardly time passed before she suspected his usual bad temper might be bubbling under the surface. With little to say to him and concerned the lid might blow off his suppressed rage, Linda spent more time at the office, visiting her mom and exercising at the gym.

Towards the end of their first US tour The USed Wonz' cruised towards California with Howie still at the helm. Having heard about the problems with Howie, Linda guessed they'd be anxious about their future.

GMD hadn't discussed with them a second album and they wouldn't know that Trudie, back in London after her Australian stint, had ideas for them.

To help them, Linda had planned an LA assault with Howie similar to the one they'd made on New York with Richard and Grace. And, whilst the band played gigs in Las Vegas, Phoenix and Tucson, she became Trudie and GMD's first contact.

* * *

Warming up LA, the band headed back north via Phoenix, hit I-10 going west and kept on, gigging at Indio and Palm Springs until finally they came to the great city via Long Beach. Christine who couldn't stand sharing the same space as Howie had made her feelings so obvious that he fled to Chicago before the band set foot in the first of LA's venues.

Linda who'd thankfully been remotely managing them booked them into a cheap hotel.

'The woman's our saviour,' Christine said about Linda as they checked in.

'Hmm,' Johnny said. Though he agreed he didn't want to argue with Christine for scaring Howie off.

Stu had said California's winter never got colder than mild. A fact Johnny and the rest of the bandmates discovered as they headed for a meeting in Linda's office.

Just as Stu had told him, Johnny had indeed met a world of American girls since he'd last seen Linda at Casper's Customs two seasons earlier. He remembered thinking she could be _the one_ ; the idea seemed extraordinary now as he with the band exited a cab.

'Having this meeting; it's like Linda's our manager,' Christine said before adding, 'now we've not got one.'

'Yeah, thanks for that,' Stu said.

'Guys,' Johnny snapped before Christine could respond. He suddenly felt nervous about seeing Linda again and pulled his Stetson low. Hurrying he reached the door and held it for everyone to enter before him.

Inside and from behind the others, he saw a girl behind a desk and suspected she must be Fiona. But ahead of him he saw Christine enjoying a welcoming hug with Linda.

Johnny stared.

Whilst touring he'd thought his memory of Linda must have been wrong. As one groupie followed another he'd convinced himself that Linda couldn't have been so beautiful. But as Mazz and then Stu hugged her he realised Linda's beauty exceeded any memory.

Never mind thinking she could be _the one,_ Johnny figured if she didn't want him, he didn't want anyone. He found the thought depressing.

When the others moved aside he stood before her knowing if he hugged her he mightn't let her go.

Linda stood in a long skirt and boots with fitted jacket

She smiled looked him up and down too and, glancing at his Stetson said, 'Well, howdy cowboy.'

He couldn't imagine her thoughts. Dithering, the moment to hug passed. Needing to do something, he removed his hat and placed it on the back of her head.

'Howdy cowgirl,' he said.

Soon all band members sat on Linda's reception seating with drinks Fiona had fixed. Standing before them Linda called order.

A sheet of notes she'd taken from overseas calls had been marking her place in a Jeffrey Archer's _Prodigal Daughter,_ which Trudie had left her to read.

'Firstly,' she said straightening the notes, 'I know how unsure you must feel regarding Vanquar and even GMD.'

The band's mumbles confirmed as much.

'Don't worry. I know Howie's vanished, but Vanquar and GMD are delighted with your performances based on the feedback I've received from every venue you've played. I take it you've enjoyed your first tour?'

The band's mood brightened. Stu told her he hadn't slept on the bus for fear he'd miss the scenery.

'That's great,' Linda said, 'because there's no doubt that touring is selling records and that's keeping everyone happy.'

'What about a second album?' Mazz asked.

'Are you ready?' Linda asked back.

The band's gabbled noise congealed to a, _not really._

'Well don't worry,' Linda said. 'Cracking America isn't easy. It's much bigger than the UK and the feeling is that your first album hasn't yet reached as many people as it could.'

Stu guffawed. 'That's Richard alright. He won't splash out on another album till he's rung as much out the first.'

Linda smiled. 'Maybe, but I've prepared a second tour for you. Visas have been taken care of and Vanquar have a tour manager in mind; someone called Dane.'

'Fine by us,' Mazz said. 'Johnny reckons we're nomads anyway.'

Linda gave her a questioning look.

Looking bashful Johnny said, 'We're like travelling salesmen roaming in search not of wealth so much as emotional sustenance from souls eager to be entertained; people who pay not only with cash but cheering and applause.'

'Okay,' Linda said with a smile, 'a romantic ideal that'll surely stand you in good stead. But there's more to this than touring. You'll all remember Trudie. She's been keeping an eye on you and can't wait to see you again – in a few days.'

'Wow, is she here?' Mazz asked.

Linda shook her head. 'London.'

'London?' Johnny said.

'Yes, with Little Spirit.'

'The band GMD were struggling with?'

'Yup. Trudie wants them signed to Vanquar and to conquer England under GMD's management.'

'That must be a relief for Richard,' Christine said.

'It's not a done deal yet. The Vanquar-UK boss has reservations about Little Spirit. But clever Trudie's swung a really unusual deal where Little Spirit will get signed for a single and video—'

'A video?' Stu's moaning interrupted.

'Stay with it,' Linda said. 'Vanquar-UK are delighted you've been gigging so hard and have said they hope to distribute a second USed Wonz album.'

'Hopefully we'll use the second tour to cement the ideas into songs,' Johnny said.

'And where will we record?' Christine asked.

Linda checked her notes. 'GMD have you for another two albums and have already booked you into The Production Annex for July.'

'Cool,' Christine said but then looked concerned. 'Has Richard paid Austin for our last album, do you know?'

'I do,' Linda said. 'And yes, it has been paid. Plus Richard told me he'll give you the next album's advance when he sees you next week.'

'What, why would he do that?' Johnny said.

'To show he trusts you. He's grateful for the money you guys have made GMD and doesn't want you thinking you've been forgotten. Just look after it is all.'

'We won't spend it if that's what you mean.'

'How much are we getting?' Christine asked.

Linda checked her notes again. 'Seven-thousand sterling.'

Mazz whistled.

'That's a lot of dollars,' Linda said.

Stu shook his head. 'But we knew we'd get a second album. I'm still peeved this Little Spirit lot get a video.'

'It's because of your good work, Little Spirit are getting a video at all. Trudie has convinced Vanquar-UK you deserve a promo-video by tying it into the unusual Little Spirit deal. As it goes, Britain shoots better videos than America; an opinion I'm loathed I agree with.'

'Apparently Britain produces them at half the cost too,' Christine said.

'Exactly,' Linda said. 'So, Trudie's convinced Vanquar she'll save them thousands by flying you guys to London and shooting a video back-to-back with Little Spirit.'

'Alright,' Stu said. 'That's more like it.'

'This is really happening?' Mazz asked.

Linda nodded folding her notes and putting them back in _The Prodigal Daughter_.

'When do we leave?' Johnny asked already picturing LAX without Grace to hold his hand.

'Wednesday after next; the day after you play the Whisky. You're not shooting until Sunday so you'll have time to adjust but you'll be measured for suits and Richard's booked you to headline The Marquee with Little Spirit as support on the Friday.'

'Did you say measured for outfits?' Mazz said excitedly.

'Correct. Antony Price, I believe.'

Even Stu who'd hoped never to leave America except to record another album seemed impressed.

'What song are we doing for the video?' he asked.

'Good question. Trudie's suggested _Million Memories.'_

The band discussed it. Only Stu felt the song truly worthy, probably due to his heavily featured tom-tom shuffle. Nevertheless it seemed the most obvious choice unless they rereleased _Blossoming Angel_.

Finally the meeting wrapped up. The band advised they'd use their time in LA to further rehearse ideas for the next album.

Shaking off his flight apprehension, Johnny stood with the rest of his band but didn't want to leave Linda. Not knowing when he'd see her again he desperately wanted to ask her out but couldn't think of the words or what premise he'd use. Eventually he picked up his Stetson and followed the others.

* * *

Left alone in the company of Fiona, Linda tried vainly to take stock of her feelings. She'd been looking forward to seeing Johnny and now she had. She wanted to spend more time with him but like Johnny, couldn't think of an excuse as to why. In the end she sighed and pressed on with her work.

## Sunday 24th June 1984

Band and crew stood in the wings and watched the first few Van Halen songs before Mazz pointed out _Jump_ would likely be saved for the encore. One advantage of being the support act meant finishing early; a good thing amidst Vegas' beguilement. To Johnny's amusement the girls lead the way into dessert city's gaudy chaos.

They found Caesars Palace, yards from where they'd played.

Everyone except Johnny got drunk. Everyone except Johnny gambled.

He found it hard watching his bandmates streaming dimes into bandits with no clue as to odds of seeing them again.

Christine looked to be enjoying herself with Mazz and that gave him peace. Since his episode with her earlier he'd felt something akin to guilt; like he'd led her on. Christine saw him. He gave her a wave and wandered over to a roulette table where Stu and Dane sat placing chips. He watched the ball orbit the track anticlockwise before hitting a metal pin and clatter into clockwise spinning wheel.

'Zero,' the croupier called. Nobody had bet on zero or double zero. 'House wins.'

As the croupier gathered Stu and Dane's chips along with the rest of the table's Johnny said, 'Neither of you are Charles Wells or Joseph Jagger.'

'Just a bit of fun,' Stu said.

'Yeah, we're not risking...' Dane held his tongue.

Johnny found Jack and Quinn at a blackjack table.

'You joining us?' Quinn asked.

Approaching he asked out of earshot of the dealer, 'If you're card counting.'

'How you supposed to count cards with the likes of that strutting around?'

Johnny laughed seeing another leggy blond in bunny ears distracting gamblers. He sighed.

Apart from poker which if you knew enough about you could stand to net money, gambling did as little to inspire him as drink or drugs. If any of The USed team had taken a moment to consider the odds they surely wouldn't even be in the casino.

The next day they'd be heading to Reno, eight hours away. Johnny headed back alone to think and play his guitar.

* * *

Back in Caesars Palace Mazz decided she'd rather see her quarters behind the bar than in the slot machines. Christine arriving at the same conclusion pulled the lever. Coins rained into the machine's tray.

'Quit whilst we're ahead?' she said scooping up the money.

The girls headed to the bar and started on cocktails.

With such a long drive ahead Jack and Quinn soon left followed by Stu and Dane. The girls said they'd catch them up but Christine in particular having shared her feelings with Johnny earlier decided she'd need a few more drinks first.

Before long Van Halen's fans poured into the casino and much to the girls' delight plenty of good-looking American guys recognised them and started chatting them up. Both girls enjoyed the thrill of the chase and the free drinks that came with it.

As more blue liquid vanished Christine knew she'd have an astonishing hangover the next morning but at least they'd be able to sleep most of the journey to Reno.

Eventually the girls identified two suitable candidates to share a hotel room.

Minutes later in a hotel across the road a cork popped.

Champaign flutes bubbled over and Christine and Mazz both said, 'Bottoms up.'

## Tuesday 06th March 1984

On the evening before The USed Wonz' return to England, Linda parked her car on her empty drive and headed into the apartment to freshen up in readiness for The USed Wonz' Whisky gig.

Kicking her shoes off, she bent to pick up the day's mail. In an instant her heart stopped seeing a letter from her bank.

Tearing the envelope open she cursed seeing they'd sent her statement to the apartment – not her office address.

'Earl?' she shouted.

No answer.

She thanked God she'd arrived home first.

She stuffed the statement in her handbag. She'd call into the bank tomorrow.

Dropping the bag next to the settee she went outside to water her patio plants. The evening's sun warmed her face.

Indoors she left The USed Wonz' meeting notes with her bag but returned to the sun with glasses and Jeffrey Archer novel.

Soon, too absorbed in the pages, she failed to hear Earl's truck on the other side of the building.

With her back to the glass doors she didn't see him enter the living area either. Eventually with the sinking sun she went back inside.

'Oh,' she said coming face-to-stony-face with Earl.

Wordlessly he disappeared towards the bedroom leaving Linda somewhat bewildered until with a slam of the door her stomach knotted.

There, on the coffee table by the settee where he'd been sitting, lay the bank statement she'd put in her handbag. Her heart sank.

Flopping down she decided right then to switch her accounts to Citibank. Examining the figures and knowing Earl as she did, she imagined how he'd feel. Unable to see The USed Wonz' meeting notes, she folded the _Prodigal Daughter_ page to mark it.

Sadly her mind cleared. Leaving the statement on the table she got up.

In the bedroom she found Earl on the bed facing the wall, his body stiff with palpable disdain. Wasting no time she pulled a suitcase from the closet. Dropping it next to where he lay she emptied her T-shirt draw into it.

'What you doing?' he said.

Linda swept her jewellery into the case. 'D'you realise that's the first thing you've said to me?'

He rolled over facing her.

Linda carried on throwing things into the case with abandon.

'What are you doing?' he repeated with urgency. 'Stop it.'

'You stop it.'

She winced at her childish retort. Sparing him a glance from her side of the bed to his she added, 'Stop hating me.'

'What? I—'

'I know how hard you work Earl, and how much you earn. I understand you sweat and toil. But, I know you looked at my bank statement.'

'Well—'

'Well nothing. I get how that makes you feel. Why did you open my mail?'

'I...'

Earl's words stalled as Linda continued packing. He seemed afraid.

Acting quickly before his fear turned to rage she said, 'D'you know what, I don't care. I created that business from nothing and I've been doing it longer than you've been doing me.'

'The world needs labourers.'

'I know, but _you_ hate being one.'

'So?'

'So, I can't win. I love my work and its rewards. I can't just stop being a businesswoman so you can be the main breadwinner. And beating me up doesn't redress karmic balance.'

She gestured flamboyantly.

'I didn't know you'd gotten pregnant you silly cow.'

Close to tears she looked Earl in the face. 'You knew I was sick though. You floored me and left me to die. And what about all the other times?'

At once she saw the change. A switch clicked in Earl's mind; the air thickened.

Zipping the case shut she knew she'd be lucky to get out the apartment in one piece.

With a case full of what, she had no idea, she dashed for the door slamming it behind her.

'Get back here,' Earl roared.

At once from the apartment above three thumps came through the ceiling. Joan had heard them.

From the living area Linda guessed Earl must have hesitated. If he had an ounce of sense he'd stay put.

She saw the phone seeming to throb crimson. Knowing how long it'd take her to grab shoes and keys before reaching the safety of her car she dropped the case and ran towards the red pulse and managed to dial three numbers before Earl appeared.

'Who you ringing?'

'My mother,' she said facing him.

'Put it down.'

Not daring to turn her back she put the receiver on the counter top and resignedly approached him correctly guessing she'd not make The USed Wonz' Whisky gig.

Grabbing her, he saw the phone's receiver hadn't been cradled. He threw her sideways and lunged for the receiver. Barefoot, Linda staggered avoiding collision with the coffee table. There, before her eyes, her bank statement appeared as perfect as an angel feather. Seeing the apartment's address she screamed it out loud.

Earl had the receiver in his hand.

Glaring at her with an expression darker than she'd ever seen he lifted the receiver to his ear and said, 'Who's there?'

Linda straightened. Running would be hopeless. She could almost hear the operator speaking into Earl's ear, _Emergency Services._ Would the operator have heard her scream the address?

Earl's expression remained fixed. As he replaced the handset, Linda promised herself this would be the last time he'd ever belt her.

She steeled herself for the worst then sighed as the big open right hand swung back high and offensively.

Bang-bang-bang.

'I see you, you psycho bastard.'

Linda wobbled. Earl's hand hung, suspended. He snapped round looking over his shoulder.

Linda looked too and saw Joan, face and palms pressed into the nearest patio window; a demonic look in her eye.

'I'll see you go to prison,' she said.

Everyone froze until the single pane of glass in the door next to Joan exploded.

Linda's accelerated mind slowed the fragments of glass rushing her kitchen. Thunder boomed within the sparkling blizzard where bushy leaves led by Linda's ten gallon pot descended fiercely. Her beloved Rainier cherry tree smashed into the teak parquet floor in an avalanche of soil.

Linda swayed focusing on the area destroyed for the second time in as many months. Joan's husband, a little man in his fifties and no match for Earl, floundered through the jagged doorframe his face gripped with fear but a shovel gripped in his hands.

Earl fled.

* * *

During a radio interview earlier that day Pete the Panther had congratulated The USed Wonz confirming they'd just sold-out the Whisky.

In the venue's backstage though everyone including Fiona wondered where Linda could be.

'She couldn't wait to see you guys,' Fiona said.

'So nothing seemed wrong?' Johnny asked.

'No, she seemed happier than usual.'

Christine wanted to check the guest list.

'You can't go out there in full band dress, you'll get mobbed,' Fiona said. 'I'll go.'

Christine waited but when Fiona returned she told them she'd seen Linda's name without a tick next to it. She'd also rung her apartment and the office but nobody had answered.

'Maybe her mum's taken ill again?' Stu said.

'That's about the only thing I can think of,' Christine said.

'We'll just have to do the gig without her,' Mazz said.

Stu smiled. It sounded cute coming from her. Hearing everyone harp on about Linda anyone would have thought she'd be joining them on stage.

Since being back in LA Johnny had wittered on about Linda but they'd seen less of her than they had in September. The situation seemed to make Johnny's skin itch.

'She'll come,' Stu said seeing his mate's agitation. 'If she's with her mum she'll leave in time for the first song.'

He could see Johnny hadn't believed him.

* * *

With Joan in the passenger seat, Linda drove from the police station miles from Sunset Boulevard and the Whisky. Time had flown. The USed Wonz would be rocking nine hundred and ninety-nine fans; too late for her to be the thousandth.

A policeman had arrived ages after Earl's departure from the apartment. It seemed another patrol car had been in the area and would have been there at once if a speeding truck hadn't hit it.

Earl had been driving the truck and apprehended.

Later, acting as witness, Joan insisted Linda press charges against Earl. This time she didn't argue. How else could she guarantee safety from him?

Joan's husband boarded up her patio door again whilst Joan accompanied Linda downtown.

By the time the statements had been taken Linda felt cold, scruffy and lonely. Not wanting to go back to the apartment she thought of everyone at the Whisky, warm and hopefully cheerful. She wondered if she'd been missed. She hoped so, a bit.

Though Earl would spend the night in a cell she didn't want to be alone so after dropping Joan off she collected the suitcase and headed to her mom's.

By midnight she wished she'd stayed home instead.

Thankfully, her mother agreed charges should be pressed against Earl, but Linda suffered another lecture about the importance of having the right man to protect her.

Apparently she'd just have to find another, better man, God help her.

She got into bed late before thinking she probably should have contacted the hotel to pass an apology to The USed Wonz.

## Monday 25th June 1984

A few minutes before 11am the silver-haired man put his office phone down.

Talk about being kept on edge. Kyle, the voice on the end of the phone, had once again failed again to confirm what he needed to hear and had in fact, finally admitted defeat as far as gaining confirmation via his current efforts. But he claimed to have been inspired.

Silver's dwindling hope meant he would have told Kyle not to pursue the case further but for one other cheery breakthrough. Silver had finally managed to stir waters in a different way.

He'd been tracking The USed Wonz' progress. He knew they'd want to keep their devastating financial loss to themselves but Silver had other ideas. He'd been telephoning the radio stations due to interview the band.

In a practiced Southern States accent, he'd attempted to incite gossip about the band's loss. Unfortunately for him, until recently stations had dismissed him particularly if he couldn't give them a telephone number to call back on.

Two days earlier however, he'd struck lucky. Ringing from a quiet public phone a lady at KOMP in Las Vegas dashed him through to the band live on air.

So far as Silver could tell from his end he'd certainly rattled the band. Though one of the girls handled the situation, Silver had pictured the DJ seeing the band's honest reaction.

That morning, calling previously visited radio stations, Silver discovered, as he'd hoped and suspected that Lance, KOMP's DJ, had been investigating whether there could be truth behind the rumour all the while spreading it further.

Sitting back in his leather chair Silver's greedy mind once again hoped Kyle would come through with the news he longed to hear.

## Wednesday 07th March 1984

Waking with a headache Linda cursed her mother for letting her sleep in. After showering she dressed in casual nonmatching clothes from her panic-packed suitcase.

Soon Linda arrived at her office and saw Fiona on the phone.

'Gotta dash, the boss just walked in,' Fiona said wrapping up the call.

Now at her desk, Linda asked with a bitter edge, 'Was that a personal call?'

'No,' Fiona said jumping to attention. 'It was Gerry from the Whisky. He waffles on so I cut him short.'

Softening she looked up. 'Sorry Fiona, I wasn't thinking.'

'It's okay. I'm just relieved to see you,' she hesitated, 'looking so...'

'Randomly dressed?' Linda suggested.

'Yeah, but alive. We've been worried sick. Johnny's phoned twice already. I figured I'd give you till eleven, before phoning the cops.'

'Just as well I'm here then, I've seen enough of the police.'

Fiona gave an enquiring look.

Deciding she deserved an explanation, Linda told her about Earl's violence and its link to her time in hospital.

After recounting the previous night's events and Joan's intervention, Fiona asked, 'So Earl's going to prison?'

Linda nodded. 'Certainly. When he left he crashed into a patrol car which won't help him.'

Having talked enough she changed the subject and asked after The USed Wonz' Whisky gig.

'They were really good,' Fiona said smiling again. 'Well, I thought so anyway. The crowd loved them but Stu told me he thought Johnny hadn't been his best.'

'Really?'

'He was sensational, but Stu reckons he was worried about you.'

'Oh God,' Linda said feeling guilty.

'He was definitely out of sorts beforehand.'

Fiona suggested she go home to freshen up but the thought of returning to the apartment made her nauseous.

'It's okay, I've got things to wear here,' she said checking the time.

She guessed The USed Wonz wouldn't yet have returned to their hotel following their final radio interview. She hoped to catch them before they flew to London.

In the bathroom she looked at the rail of seldom exhibited outfits. Spying her favourite burgundy dress, she stripped, trying it on for the first time since meeting The USed Wonz half a year earlier. Despite being respectably knee-length, its lines too closely matched her own for Earl's comfort so it'd been relegated along with items of shorter hemline or plunging Vs.

Her reflection showed its still perfect fit. Selecting the right shoes, Linda imagined giving Earl the finger feeling more like the person she used to be.

Back in the office Fiona whistled her appreciation.

Thanking her Linda said, 'I heard the phone, anyone important?'

'Johnny, he rang again.'

'Was he cross I missed the Whisky?'

'Not after I explained why.'

Linda raised an eyebrow. 'You told Johnny, me and Earl had trouble?

Fiona looked concerned. 'Is that a problem?'

'Not now you've said it.' She bit her lip.

'I'm sorry. He's was worried.'

Linda got back to work but thought of her apartment.

Ringing the same glazier Joan had used weeks' earlier she found him not only remembering the apartment but he had a record of the necessary glass.

'I'm on top of everything, if you need to get back for the glazier,' Fiona said.

That seemed true and Linda found her mind wandering once more.

She'd loved the apartment but thought it might be time to look for another one. Suddenly it dawned on her; she could sell her office – unit prices had soared. Without Earl she could buy her own apartment and start afresh.

The phone rang interrupting Linda's contemplation but Fiona picked it up. Linda half listened.

'Lake: All–' _Pause,_ 'Yes, she's here,' _Pause,_ 'Oh, okay,' _Pause,_ 'See you soon.'

'Someone for me?' Linda asked pretending to read a contract.

'Johnny. He's coming in.'

'What, when?' Linda took her glasses off and began fussing with her hair.

'He's just around the corner.'

'What the hell's he playing at? He's got a plane to catch.'

Fiona watched as Linda rummaged her handbag for nail polish. 'Can I ask you something Boss?'

'As long as I don't have to answer.'

'You know Johnny's got a thing for you?'

'So he says.'

'It's pretty obvious he does.'

'If you're asking why it matters how I look for him, then the answer is, I don't know.'

Before Linda's nail polish dried Johnny and his Stetson came through the door.

Tied on a call Fiona waved.

He nodded back but focusing on Linda said, 'You should come to England with us.'

Johnny, appalled that anyone lucky enough to share Linda's bed could behave so idiotically, couldn't have been more sincere.

Behind him Fiona's phone went down.

'That's a great idea,' she said. Linda gave her a stern look. 'Sorry boss.'

'Johnny, you need to be at the airport,' Linda looked at the clock, 'in no time at all.'

Johnny had time.

He approached Fiona's desk. 'D'you mind if I use your phone?'

When Linda rolled her eyes, Fiona told him to be quick.

From his wallet he found the hotel details. He phoned reception and told them Christine should just have arrived in the bar.

A minute later she came to the phone.

'Babe, I need the flight details,' _Pause,_ 'I just do,' _Pause,_ 'Yeah, Linda. Can you tell Stu to look after my bag and guitar. I'll see you at the airport.' _Pause, '_ I won't be late.' _Pause,_ 'You're best. See you soon.'

He put the phone down.

Over his shoulder Linda said, 'Johnny, will you just stop.'

He ignored her. 'This thing got the number for LAX?'

Also ignoring Linda, Fiona spun her Rolodex. 'Right here.'

She handed Johnny the receiver.

Learning the plane still had empty seats, he booked the nearest one to the row The USed Wonz had.

'All done,' he said triumphantly but in turning saw Linda had hidden her face in her hands.

He glanced back at Fiona.

'Boss?' she said.

No response.

Johnny laid his hat on Fiona's desk.

'I'll wait outside,' Fiona said making to leave.

With Fiona out the door regret hit Johnny as he realised his selfish desire to be with Linda had blinded him of her feelings. He couldn't possibly know how she felt.

Shamefully he went to her side and stroked her wrists wanting to pull them away from her face.

'I'm sorry,' he said but she didn't move. 'I'm such a div.' He waited wondering if she might be crying. 'D'you want me to cancel the flight? I'll cancel it.'

But, as he moved she at last lifted her face to his.

He looked at her dry but suddenly exhausted eyes.

'Can you get Fiona please?'

He fetched her.

To his relief, Fiona confirmed she could manage the office for the few days.

'I'll find the hotel from the schedule and book you a room,' she said now back at her desk.

'Thanks,' Linda said getting to her feet. 'We better get going.'

'We're alright,' Johnny said.

'I need my passport.'

'What?'

'Come on my place isn't far.'

She grabbed her suitcase and Johnny followed.

Outside he said, 'D'you want me to drive?'

'It's one thing leaving my business in someone else's hands it'd be quite another letting anyone else drive my car. Can you even drive stick?'

'I'm English all we do is drive stick.'

'Okay, get in will you?'

'Cool,' Johnny said before realising he'd opened the passenger door. Suddenly Linda shoved the suitcase in with him.

'Doesn't fit in the trunk I'm afraid.'

'Just as well I forgot my hat,' he winced as his view vanished.

Beside him Linda appeared. Behind him, her still warm engine snarled – turbo at the ready.

A tyre-burning journey brought them to her apartment. Johnny realised if he'd driven they'd still be two miles back. The engine idled.

'I wouldn't care if I never saw this place again,' Linda said, her tone dour.

'It'll be fine,' Johnny said to keep her moving.

Inside the open plan space struck a chord with him. 'I could live like this.'

'Even with the mess?' Linda nodded towards the patio where the door stood awaiting repair.

She disappeared with her suitcase leaving him to imagine the previous night's horror; the smashed tree pot, soil and damaged floor. He understood how alien and un-homely the place must feel to her; knowing Earl would never be back.

As if it would help, Johnny started the answering machines. Fiona's enquiring messages did nothing to cheer the place up.

'Let's go,' Linda said two minutes later.

'Passport?'

'Right here. Just got to leave the keys for Joan to let the glazier in.'

The Lotus swept through LA until Linda swung them into the airport's car park.

'The change will be as good as a rest,' Johnny said getting out hoping Linda would be okay.

Her sardonic laugh didn't settle his concern.

Lumping her suitcase into the airport Johnny asked anyone in uniform where they should check in. He had no idea how he'd find Christine and his passport and tickets.

Fortunately Mazz spotted them.

Johnny looked and felt relief seeing Mazz approach with the biggest of smiles. She flung her arms round him.

'You know how to worry us,' she said.

'Sorry,' he said. Breaking the hug he motioned to Linda.

'Hi Linda,' Mazz said, 'you coming too?'

'If that's okay?'

'Of course. Christine's over here.' She took Johnny's free hand and led the way.

Together again Christine handed everyone their passports and tickets. Stu, sick of being the workhorse, handed Johnny his guitar and case.

'Lost your hat?' he asked.

Linda collected her tickets and checked in with the rest of them.

Soon she took her seat on the British Airways 747. On her right a couple spoke, possibly in Italian. On her left a young man smiled but said nothing.

With the band someway behind her, she felt agonisingly alone. She wondered whether they'd be giving Johnny a hard time for dragging her along.

The captain's voice interrupted her thoughts and cabin-soft music with an apology. It seemed a plane somewhere ahead of theirs needed towing off the runway following engine failure. Linda having already pictured the eleven hour flight could only guess how much longer they'd have to stay seated.

Just as the idea of going to England reached its most unbearable Christine came to her aid.

'You alright up here? Johnny won't tell us a thing about what's happened.'

Christine squeezed into the man on Linda's left as the crew member Linda had planned to collar to ask about leaving the plane passed.

'Are you sure you're okay with me coming along?'

Christine pulled a face. 'Linda, everyone's delighted.'

'Thanks, because I really don't want to be on my own right now and certainly not for days in London.'

The young man having looked back down the aisle said, 'I'm travelling alone. I don't mind changing seats.'

'You just want sit next to Mazz don't you?' Christine said.

The man laughed but for the next hour Christine sat chatting with Linda. The pilot announced they'd be receiving permission to take off soon.

'Ooh, Johnny won't be enjoying this,' Christine said. 'Typical a plane broke down after we spent so much time convincing him flying's safe.'

Linda felt sorry for him, imagining how trapped he might feel. 'Send him up I'll look after him.'

'You trying to get rid of me?'

'Hardly, you've stopped me wanting to get off.'

Twisting to face behind her, Christine called to Johnny. When he didn't show she went to get him.

'Oh dear,' Linda said when he appeared on Christine's arm, a ghost of his former self. She helped him fasten his seatbelt as the plane finally started taxiing.

'I don't like flying,' he said simply.

'I know.' She cupped his face never having experienced such desire to care for anyone as she did then.

He cradled her arm and rested his cheek on her shoulder. The Italian couple ignored them as she spoke soothingly.

'Think of what's ahead. Imagine the video shoot and how that'll help the band.'

'Hmm.'

Linda smiled feeling like she'd been some use. Kicking her shoes off, she wiggled her toes and rested her head on his, welcoming the break from her feelings of despair.

Stroking his hair she realised her feelings for Johnny ran counter to her learned understanding of Earl and other men she'd known. In this unique case she didn't want to be protected but to protect.

## Monday 25th June 1984

Under an already high sun, Stu dumped the yellow bag in the bus' boot. Jack and Quinn had favoured sleep over exercise, a wise decision given the eight hour drive to Reno lying ahead. Of the band Johnny had been first back to the motel and to bed having taken the family room's pull-out mattress. Stu had later stepped over him before crashing on the couch.

The next morning the lads woke to find the double bed untouched. Only Dane joined them for pad-work; his pudgy body perhaps indicating it'd tone up in its pursuit of martial technique.

Turning away from the bus Stu said, 'Still no sign of the girls?'

'Not yet,' Johnny said thinking if he went now he could phone Linda without upsetting Christine.

* * *

Linda picked up on second ring. Not having spoken to her since Friday, Johnny told her about the incident at KOMP and how Dane now had them selling demos.

When Linda spoke Johnny thought back to the previous night with Christine. What did she know about Linda? What _weird_ thing prevented Linda considering him romantically?

* * *

With his bag and acoustic guitar he'd a foot on board the bus before he glanced left and saw Christine and Mazz staggering home shielding their eyes from the morning's glare.

'Blimey, girls,' he exclaimed.

'H've we time to shower?' Mazz slurred.

'Afraid not, Stu's checking out now. Your bags are with him.'

Ignoring his insinuation to collect their bags, Mazz squeezed past him boarding the coach. Christine followed.

'You okay, babe?' he asked.

Stopping she looked at him with glassy eyes. 'Hmm.'

Her tone suggested she'd had a great night.

Johnny followed her up the steps. He'd never been jealous of her lovers; the previous day's revelation hadn't altered that.

He'd never fancied women still drunk from the night before; that hadn't changed either.

The girls collapsed in their usual seats. Johnny fetched their bags and headed to the backseat where he could play guitar with plenty of room but without disturbing the others.

* * *

With Jack at the wheel and Las Vegas behind them they travelled northwest along Veterans Memorial Highway, Route-95.

Other than thickets of course dry grasses signs of life vanished; the only indication of civilisation: Route-95's un-altering tarmac carriageway. Occasionally massive KW trucks would rattle by putting Johnny in mind of the movie Smokey and the Bandit. That reminded him of Bandit's Trans Am which reminded him of the Camaro he'd seen in Casper's Customs. If he had a Camaro SS he'd surely get the eight hour journey down to six. He'd even give Linda's car a run for its money given the road's lack of bends.

Two hours later everyone but Jack at the wheel and Johnny at the back appeared to be sleeping. Even Stu who loved America's scenery rested.

Johnny put his guitar away. It clonked against the seat before him. He muted the strings but saw he'd woken Christine.

Standing she approached him clutching her pillow. 'I'm tired and uncomfortable.'

'You want a drink?' he asked.

They shared a Pepsi and she leant her pillow on him getting comfortable.

He stroked her hair wondering if he should say anything but she beat him to it.

'It's okay,' she murmured, 'what I told you yesterday doesn't have to change anything. I can handle you pestering Linda as long as you don't mind me grouching about it from time to time.'

'Well at least now I know why you're grouching.'

Another truck whistled by.

Johnny said, 'I don't pester anyway. She misses me if I don't call.'

Christine sighed. 'I guessed as much.'

Johnny reckoned she'd still be woozy. Figuring this would be his best chance to find out more he asked again what she and Linda had discussed in London.

'I suppose you may as well know,' Christine started, 'Linda told me she only ever goes for beefy sized men. I wasn't surprised when she hooked up with that Dwight fella.'

'Well I'm hardly Kenneth Williams.'

'No.'

'What's her attraction to gorillas?'

'She thinks men should be protectors. I didn't tell her about martial arts; I'm hardly going to help you into another woman's heart.'

'Fair enough,' Johnny said.

'I thought she'd pee her pants laughing when she saw our sparring stuff getting loaded onto the bus.'

'I remember that too. So she doesn't see me as a defender?'

'Quite the opposite. With you _she_ wants to play guardian; says she's never felt that about anyone. Either way, you don't fit the mould for romantic interest.'

'Sounds dumb,' he said looking down at her.

He guessed there must be more.

Christine must have sensed his thoughts.

She huffed. 'Years ago I had an abortion. I got over it; sort of. Anyway Linda had one too.'

'An abortion?'

'When she was fifteen. She thought she'd gotten over it too. Then you came along.'

Johnny gave her a questioning look but her eyes had closed.

Christine continued. 'She was certain she was having a boy. He'd have been younger than you – but not by much. Anyway you bizarrely got her thinking about it again. She reckons her son would've looked like you; and now she wants to protect you.'

'You were right,' Johnny said taking a deep breath.

'How?'

'I am finding this weird.'

'Well I kind of get it. Anyway the whole thing voids your suitability as a lover. It does explain her dishing out the seven grand though. You can see how that'd fulfil a need in her.'

'I can't think of a thing to say about it.' Johnny sighed wanted a change of topic. 'D'you think we'll ever discover who nicked the cash?'

As if sleep talking Christine said, 'The way I see it, it depends how determined they are to bring us down. You said, when you handed the money over the guy told you not to take it personally.'

'True, he did.'

'So maybe the rumour's nothing to do with the guy. Like Dane says if they're trying to bring us down they'll have to try harder because we've switched their last effort to our advantage.'

'If it was their effort.'

'Right. If it wasn't theirs' we can probably forget finding this silver-haired villain and his thugs; it'll blow over. But if they're still after us, whether they succeed or not, they'll surely stick their necks out too far at some point.'

'I don't know which is worse,' Johnny said.

'I know you want that money. I want justice too but I've been thinking lately it might be best just putting this down to experience. Linda will get her money back.'

Johnny considered her points.

Seconds later she'd fallen asleep.

Resting his head Johnny speculated which of Christine's predictions would emerge. He didn't believe the caller to KOMP had been so random. Surely the bad guys wouldn't be blowing their own trumpets. His mind drew blank as he followed Christine to sleep.

## Thursday 08th March 1984

Leaving GMD's office Grace headed to London's Heathrow airport to meet the delayed USed Wonz' flight.

Now short of time she'd already dressed for the night ahead. Self-consciously she travelled the crowded train with suited commuters or casually dressed tourists.

She first spotted Johnny at Heathrow's arrivals before 6pm.

Despite the cowboy image, his post flight endorphin rush made him impossible to miss.

Stu looked cool as always but both USed girls looked comfy to the point of drab in old jeans and sweatshirts.

'She needed to get away,' Johnny said excitedly when Grace, to her surprise, saw Linda who looked exactly as she had when they'd first met.

'How are we getting to the hotel – taxi?' Johnny enthused.

'No,' Grace said now following his lead into England's fading daylight. 'Richard says train is—'

'Taxi,' Johnny shouted clearly not listening.

Grace shook her head.

Johnny offered Linda the door of the first available black cab. 'She's not seen one before.'

'Train Johnny,' Grace said after him, cursing Richard's parsimony.

Linda stayed put so Stu stepped in redirecting Johnny towards the station.

* * *

Once aboard Johnny asked, 'What's the plan?'

'We're meeting Richard and Little Spirit at The Borderline as soon as we get into the city.'

'A gig?' Johnny asked excitedly.

'Just as well he doesn't drink,' Stu said wryly.

'No rest for the wicked,' Linda said.

'Sorry, Trudie's coming down with Vanquar staff so The USed Wonz have to be there. Plus she's taking us to The Ivy afterwards. But,' Grace said brightly, 'your hotel's right by The Borderline.'

* * *

Nobody did more than dump their bags in Piccadilly's Regent Palace Hotel.

As one of London's largest hotels it had an expansive circular lobby with several restaurants and shops. At reception Linda found Fiona had booked her a surprisingly cheap double room on the seventh floor alongside the band's rooms. The lift ascended from the reception's finery to where Linda found her clean but shabby room; reflective of its modest price.

Keen to leave, she followed Johnny's still buzzing energy along the trail of Little Spirit posters to the nearby Borderline where they met Richard who suggested they go backstage to meet his latest band.

Leaping to it, Johnny decided to lead the way fuelled by the last of his _safe-landing_ euphoria. Backstage he pushed through the dressing room door.

'Now then, now then,' he said coming face to face with three equally good-looking-in-their-own-way lads.

'Johnny,' the thinnest one said.

'Who else?' he said wondering who on earth this rake might be. 'Great to meet you guys.'

As the others crowded in behind, Johnny suddenly found himself stuck, unsure how to proceed. Little Spirit, grinning madly looked expectant.

Maintaining his performance he missed the skinny kid's offered hand favouring bear-hugs instead.

After repeating for the other two Little Spiriters, Richard introduced everyone formally: skinny kid – Raphael – drummer. Blond, stocky lad – Calvin – bassist. Tall, dark, athletic one – Danny – guitarist.

Finally settling, Johnny observed them and their uncontrollable grins. Because he'd gigged and toured with countless other bands, he clocked Little Spirit's enviable togetherness.

The USed Wonz had beaten them into GMD and Vanquar's hearts and to an American agent (he smiled at Linda standing by the door) but he sensed Little Spirit had somehow one-upped his band. It seemed unfair that without these newcomers his band might otherwise wait ages before shooting a first video. The thought made him consider again the importance of recording a sublime second album.

With time ticking they left Little Spirit to change into their stage wear. But they saw them again before show time.

Stu gave Johnny an appreciative look. Little Spirit's self-styled black, white and blue image had galvanised the lads even further.

Calvin led everyone into the venue itself where his girlfriend awaited.

Approaching the bar Calvin announced, 'Everyone this is my girlfriend Katherine and our flatmate Amy.'

Johnny looked at the two mentioned girls. In front of the bar stood a gorgeous blonde in a pink dress – Amy. But, next to her stood a taller, slimmer, brunette – Katherine.

'Holly crap,' he muttered under his breath so only Stu could hear.

'I know what you mean,' he replied.

Katherine must have been the most beautiful thing Johnny had ever seen. For the first time in days Linda evaporated from his thoughts. He marvelled at the enchantress wrapped in strapless green satin. Then, he saw an exchange between her and Calvin. Love. No doubt about it; not something to be messed with.

Remembering Linda, he turned and faced her.

Wondrously everything condensed as his desire took its rightful place.

Christine saw the exchange. Dressed in her oldest jeans next to Katherine's supernova brilliance she felt invisible until Johnny noticed her albeit after he'd smiled at Linda.

Indifferently she tugged the neck of her washed-out sweatshirt and shrugged. Johnny laughed. Christine smiled. She'd turn it back on for The Marquee gig the next night.

* * *

When Little Spirit appeared on stage Linda found they looked highly professional.

They had walk-on music and named backdrops behind them and in front of the drums. Their black, white and blue outfits had been creatively customised to superb effect.

They'd pulled a capacity crowd; regulars who knew what to expect and who demanded plenty of it.

Musically, Little Spirit did not disappoint either. Johnny noted their making up for none-too-strong voices and lack of second guitar or keyboards by singing imaginative harmonies. Unlike The USed Wonz, Little Spirit really tore up the stage, swapping mics or jumping from the drum riser or a springboard.

'That's original,' Stu shouted through the mix to Johnny.

'They'll give us a run for our money tomorrow night.'

## Friday 09th March 1984

The next morning Johnny responded to the wakeup call Richard had insisted on. 11am – 3am in LA. Little Spirit would already have been on set hours.

Having missed breakfast the band met in one of the hotel's restaurants for pasta brunches. Linda had opted for room service so didn't join them.

'So I take it you know where we're going?' Stu asked Christine.

She waved a street map. 'I've circled Savile Row.'

It seemed Vanquar liked The USed Wonz basic image but wanted to make it more 'right' for the video. Trudie had arranged for the band to be fitted for Antony Price outfits, something Stu had felt most excited about since returning to England, but he wondered how they'd tailor them before their video shoot.

All became apparent when they arrived at the shop to introduce themselves. Rather than have clothes made from scratch, off the rail items would be altered.

A man and lady ran round each musician with tape measures scribbling notes and wittering as if in code.

To Stu's delight clothes appeared in the vein of pop retro-futurism. Christine and Mazz received black crepe chiffon dresses to try. The lads tried any number of different items starting with suits.

Johnny got out of his Levis and into loose high waist trousers. His plaid shirt lay on the floor in favour of black or white high-style shirts and jackets.

Price tags ignored, everyone selected only what looked best. Stu loved everything and wanted it all. With Johnny's cowboy look long forgotten the lads aspired to beat Little Spirit's killer homemade image.

'Don't worry,' the man said when a shirt which had looked tremendous on the hanger hung disappointing on Johnny. 'If we pull this in...' The man stood behind him pinning the fabric. '... you'd look this good.'

'Looking good,' Stu said approving the result.

'Slick, without compromising your fine physique,' the man said pleased with the effect. Shielding his scars, Johnny removed the shirt for the tailors to adjust.

Elsewhere Mazz learned she had classic lines, like the dresses had been designed for mannequins of her proportions. Christine's exaggerated hourglass figure meant garments needed taking in at the waist. And hemlines, she insisted, required reduction to the dismay of the lady measuring her.

Two hours later the pinned outfits went upstairs for alteration with instruction to deliver them to the band's hotel by 5pm the following day.

Leaving the staff to invoice Vanquar the band left with the accessories they'd spent the last part of the session choosing.

Back at the hotel they met a relaxed but melancholy Linda. The band showed her pieces of costume jewellery, Thai-style sweatbands and fingerless gloves.

'My god,' Linda exclaimed seeing Christine's fabulous thigh-high stiletto boots.

* * *

After visiting the video shoot to support Little Spirit, The USed Wonz joined Linda and dined early at Iftekhar's Bengal restaurant with Liz and Graham.

From there The USed Wonz arrived at The Marquee to find Little Spirit's equipment on stage.

Keyboards had been hired from a Denmark Street music shop for the gig and video shoot. Stu's dad arrived with the snare drum and cymbals he'd been storing in his garage.

Last to play The USed Wonz of course soundchecked first. Johnny approached Danny's vintage looking Vox amp with respect. Clearly reluctant to share it Johnny turned the volume down a notch to put the big guy's mind at ease.

Richard advised, Vanquar had promoted the gig well and with Little Spirit's growing popularity the venue would have no problem selling out.

The venue indeed sold out. The USed girls went to get ready backstage whilst Stu and Johnny watched Little Spirit's set with Linda.

'They're great aren't they?' Johnny said to Linda.

'Nothing for you to worry about Darling,' she said with an assured wink.

Still, Johnny doubted it. He and Stu tried gauging the audience's composition. Plenty of old faces had come along from the markets. Trudie had suggested the audience belonged to The USed Wonz but Little Spirit had them in their clutches and at the end of their set the audience wouldn't relieve them without an encore.

'Got our work cut for us here,' Stu said.

Hearing that Linda said, 'Don't try competing, especially you Stu, their drummer is talented but no more than you. Just do your thing and you'll be fine. Now get backstage and congratulate them.'

After doing so the lads joined the girls in the band's dressing room with barely enough time to change.

'They just played another blinder,' Stu said to the girls.

Admiring her reflection in her new boots Christine said, 'I'm not worried, are you Mazz?'

'No point. Every band we play with has bass players better than me.'

'No they don't,' Stu said. 'You sound great and play what you play really well. And, you look hot.'

Mazz shrugged smiling. 'In that case, there's still nothing to worry about.'

* * *

Linda had spent a bit of time with Trudie but, happy in her own company, didn't interrupt her talking with colleagues.

Pleased to be making up for having missed the Whisky show she waited for The USed Wonz performance, alone; until Raphael approached her.

'Hi,' he said nudging her.

Laughing internally at the notion she'd had of pretending not to see him she said hello, thinking, _They keep getting younger._

'You were very good tonight, and last night for that matter,' she said honestly. If they came to the States she'd happily work with them.

'Better than Ze USed Wonz?' he asked in his French accent.

'No, not better than The USed Wonz.'

Though Linda hadn't seen them for months she knew every venue they'd played, every band they'd played with and their audiences. And, unlike The USed Wonz themselves, she knew they couldn't have survived the demands of such tour-intensity without transcending to the sublime. She expected a sublime show.

Raphael shook his head, 'Really? But we were cracking; energised by ze video shoot and all that.'

'I know, that's why I said you were very good and you were, very good.'

'But not better than Ze USed Wonz?'

'You'll see what I mean,' Linda said pointing to the stage where lights erupted introducing the band.

Linda watched Raphael's cockiness crumble with Christine's every step towards the keyboards in her new thigh-highs; her swan-like metamorphosis a sure warning to anyone thinking to underestimate The USed Wonz. Linda could tell Raphael's attention had been snared until he became enwrapped by Mazz; her allure equally bewitching.

Linda looked at Johnny standing motionless at his mic; hands beside his guitar. She suddenly realised his interest in her hadn't been swayed by any females – even Little Spirit's bassist's stunning girlfriend. She smiled.

If The USed Wonz had anxieties about following Little Spirit, she couldn't see a trace. Their sound rose then fell in waves as irritatingly, Johnny's mellifluous lyrical first verse drowned in crowd chatter.

Seeming obliviously carefree The USed Wonz breezed towards the chorus line Linda hoped wouldn't be ruined.

_Here it comes,_ she thought battling the urge to scream the ill-mannered Londoners into silence. Forgetting her exchange with Raphael her heart flew to Johnny's side.

She held her breath. The band dropped to silence. Linda's mind distilled the sound until she only heard Johnny's voice:

' _How can we be so happy, when we have nothing at all.'_

Did her ears deceive her?

No. A hush truly had befallen the audience.

On stage Johnny wound the darkly blue Stratocaster's volume up. The hairs on the back of Linda's neck rose with a tightness in her throat as the guitar cut clean to the hearts of his penitent audience.

There followed one of the best performances Linda had ever seen of any band. Partway through Johnny had struck another emotive high. Linda had glanced at Calvin and seen his girlfriend's exquisitely beautiful face contorted with salacity.

Raphael approached her again. 'You're right, Ze USed Wonz are better than us.'

Linda afforded him a few thoughts then asked him which of the USed girls he fancied.

'Both of zem, difficult to choose a favourite,' he said.

* * *

The venue emptied quickly. Still in stage attire Christine and Mazz hit the bar before it closed.

'The Little Spirit drummer's cute,' Mazz said draining another glass of blue liquid.

'Raphael, he's alright,' Christine agreed. 'Bet he'd say at least that of either of us.'

Interrupting them Stu said, 'We're off with the gear.'

He made for the exit with Johnny and Linda.

'Fancy one more?' Mazz asked putting her emptied glass on the side.

Christine considered the offer; she'd caught Raphael looking their way again.

She pouted then turned to Mazz. 'No thanks. I'll check nothing's been left backstage.'

Getting up from the barstool she allowed plenty of hip-sway into her stride. Backstage she found their dressing room had, as she expected, been cleared.

Also, as she expected, Raphael appeared behind her.

'Where's our stuff?' she asked him.

'Oh, I think it's all gone back to ze hotel.'

'Oh,' she said suddenly doubting she or Mazz had enough cash for a taxi.

The clock on the wall said midnight. 4pm in LA. Too early for bed. Raphael would have to come back with them. He could pay for the taxi.

When she heard the clickerty sound of Mazz's approaching stilettos she decided they could both thank him.

* * *

Back at the hotel Johnny took first shower leaving Stu with Linda in the bar.

When he arrived back though, he found no Linda and Stu laughing with a redhead who'd seen the show.

'Where is she?' Johnny asked.

'Shower mate.'

'She coming back?'

'I guess. Sit down.' Stu gestured to the lemonade he'd bought him. 'Meet Mary.'

Johnny couldn't have cared less, he wanted to see Linda. He sat in silence.

Before finishing his drink he stood leaving Stu to his bloody Mary.

With sleep a distant notion he asked an obliging night porter behind reception to call Linda's room.

She picked up.

'Still awake?' he asked.

'Of course.'

'Stu's pulled and there's no sign of the girls. I could use some company.'

A moment later, Johnny ran back to Stu and gave him the room key with a brief explanation.

Despite Stu's caution to not expect too much, Johnny sprinted across the lobby, his outstretched hand missing the lift doors by seconds. Turning he saw another door.

He bounded the stairs to floor seven but upon reaching the landing stopped dead.

Ahead of him, and to his amusement, he saw Raphael shirtless and struggling to keep his jeans up being dragged from the lift he'd just missed by Christine and Mazz.

He stepped into the shadows but seconds later knocked on Linda's door.

'I would've met you downstairs,' she said.

'Would you?' he asked unsure.

'Maybe.' Linda looked sad.

'Well it was boring down there. Stu's busy with some redhead.

'I wonder where the girls are.'

He stepped into her room. 'Just seen them, you don't want to know.'

## Wednesday 27th June 1984

Linda came home to her empty apartment. She'd exchanged glad greetings with Joan and her husband. She didn't mind being on her own especially outside on a pleasant evening like this, with a good book and the views of palm trees and the ocean. She detested the apartment though.

Three months earlier she'd returned to it from London. It had felt unnatural and creepy. Though she knew Earl would never again set foot in it, his presence at times seemed palpable and left her yet feeling ruthlessly abandoned.

Linda sat on her veranda reading the last chapter of Harriette Arnow's _The Dollmaker_.

She'd missed ABC's TV adaptation the previous month when she'd celebrated the completed sale of her first office unit.

The unit's sale had been quick. She received the funds in her bank on Friday 11th May and gone out with Fiona and a number of her LA contacts and friends. But by that time she'd known and been dating Dwight almost a month and on the Sunday she took him out for a meal forgetting to set the video for _The Dollmaker_.

Finishing the final page she closed the book and took in her surroundings. The veranda looked bare without her Rainier cherry tree and Japanese Boxwood framing the French window.

Damn Earl, and damn Dwight for that matter. With Earl gone happy memories fogged. Thoughts of Earl only brought up images of his face, spewing with rage.

After London she'd been determined to get out the apartment. If the office sold she knew she could afford her own apartment, a fresh start without a partner's income. Up for sale the office went; selling at a decent price.

But she didn't buy an apartment. She'd barely looked at apartments. Dwight had appeared out of the blue and her plans went up in smoke.

Though she wanted to see how things went she didn't know him. She didn't want to invite him into her life and very own apartment without trust. If she'd fallen for him she might have considered getting somewhere together.

She knew the love boat had sailed.

Off to her right the sun dipped. So close to midsummer's day it would be ages before it sank completely.

As much as she'd changed her plans for Dwight she couldn't find it in her to be as happy about him as the elation she felt knowing she'd see Johnny the next day; the elation that would come with doubt.

She'd not seen much of Johnny since London. When he came to her hotel room she'd not wanted to let him go. He'd clearly not wanted to go either but the fact they had different agendas had made things difficult for them both.

The more time she spent with him the happier she became but knew the more time he spent with her the more unfulfilled he became. When the time to fly back to America arrived he could hardly stand to be in her presence.

Only when Linda arrived back to the apartment did she begin to feel unfulfilled too. Fortunately Dwight had arrived soon after.

## Thursday 28th June 1984

Linda noted as The USed Wonz travelled west, Johnny's calls getting later with the changing time zones.

She doubted he'd ring until they arrived in LA given the band faced another long drive; all the way from San Francisco.

However, she'd only just stepped into her office when her phone rang.

'You'd better get a move on if you're to make those radio interviews,' Linda said guessing they'd not begun the day's journey.

She looked across to Fiona's still empty desk where Johnny's Stetson, brought from her previous office along with her own stuff, lay next to a pile of unopened mail.

'We should be pulling into LA around 1pm,' Johnny said.

'What? D'you fill the bus with rocket fuel?'

'Nah, Quinn drove us part way after last night's gig. We're already a hundred miles south of San Jose.'

'Well done.' Outside she heard a sound. 'Hold the line the postman's here.'

She ran to collect the mail and tore an envelope open. 'Thought as much, I've got your plane tickets for tomorrow.'

'Urgh, I'm trying not to think about that.'

'You'll be fine, the girls will look after you.'

'We'll see. Anyway, on the subject of post, did you get the stuff from your old office?'

'Yeah, there's a pile of stuff on Fiona's desk. Seems the redirection I paid for failed.'

'You've a case to complain,' Johnny said. 'Have you seen the guy's wallet I sent?'

'I've not had chance to sift through anything yet. I'll get there soon.'

Johnny rang off with Linda promising to bring the band's plane tickets to the Whisky gig that night.'

Linda got herself a water and tried starting the air conditioning unit. It had been noisy all week. It gurgled, rattled then blew warm air into the room.

When banging a hand on it failed to change the unit's mind she phoned Dwight catching him before he left for his first job.

'I'm booked solid for the next two days,' he said when she asked if he could fix it. 'What about the management company, can't they send someone?'

'Not until Monday.'

He sighed. 'What make is it?'

'Carrier, Weathermaker.'

'Okay, how about I stay over with you tonight. First thing tomorrow give me the keys and I'll have it fixed before you start at nine?'

'That'd be brilliant.'

After he rang off Linda pondered whether having him over might be a bad idea given the evening she'd planned with The USed Wonz.

## Friday 29th June 1984

The next day, Dwight woke before the 6am alarm next to Linda.

He didn't want to be there. Aside from her breath stinking of wine and hair of cigarettes from the previous night, things had started getting tedious. He knew he could be gracious with Linda but the energy had become progressively more difficult to find.

He touched her face wishing he could read her mind. Did she really want him there? She didn't seem to want to deepen the relationship; thank heaven for small mercies. But didn't that negate their relationship; being bored but not wanting to progress?

After the initial excitement he'd come to know Linda and liked her as a person but inevitably the excitement had passed and he no longer felt being with her benefitted either of them.

He recalled the first drink he'd bought her. He'd seen her in the supermarket; beautiful but in low spirits. Sidling up to her, he made sure she spied the biceps he'd been working so hard on before asking her opinion about the frozen veg in the section where they stood.

He timed the rest of his shop such that they bumped into each other in every aisle until after checkout he met her in the car park.

When he'd first arrived at the store he'd spotted, from his Dodge Ram's high driving position, a burgundy Lotus. Interested, he'd parked next to it. When the woman he'd been in the store with turned up at the same car he persuaded her to join him for a drink promising to let her home before her frozen goods thawed.

In a nearby pub she'd drank a glass of white wine and told him all about her bullying ex-boyfriend. He'd supped Bud knowing he couldn't have picked a better time to approach her.

Vulnerable and lonely, he felt he could have swept her off her feet there and then. He plied her with more wine then drove her home. After helping her put her shopping away he left, promising to come back the next morning and lift her to her car.

That had only been twelve weeks earlier. He'd probably caught her on the rebound. But should rebounds last twelve weeks?

The answer to that question would have to wait. Dwight got up, dressed in jeans and T-shirt for work and went to the kitchen area to get breakfast.

Minutes later he returned to the stirring woman.

'See you at the office,' he said shaking the office keys to show he had them.

'Thank you again Dwight.'

At that early hour LA's roads had yet to wake up. Dwight drove with haste to Linda's office. When he arrived he let himself in. The alarm didn't beep; it still hadn't been fixed.

In the main office he wondered what to do first. Locating the AC unit he put his toolbox down and pulled the unit's case open. Everything inside had been poorly maintained. Checking the usual suspects he discovered a dirty condenser coil and blocked filter, plus the refrigerant pressure appeared to be down; not the quick job he'd hoped for. He wondered how the machine had managed this long.

* * *

Some miles away Johnny and Stu met Dane in their hotel's lobby. The previous night had been a success. They'd performed well and the team had celebrated the end of their second US tour with Linda and Fiona.

Unfortunately, Linda had forgotten to bring their plane tickets from the office; an oversight that had caused her much embarrassment when The USed Wonz presented her with a hefty cheque towards what they owed her.

Johnny explained they'd netted money from T-shirt and demo sales, but he didn't mention Stu's one-off competition fight and kept quiet his initial poker win and the subsequent secret games where he'd managed to gather a few extra dollars.

Linda arranged to meet Johnny in her office before 9am to hand over the tickets. Perhaps not trusting Johnny to be left alone with Linda before an important flight, Stu decided he'd keep him company. Dane had a similarly early flight to New York so said he'd come along too.

'Cab's arriving,' Dane said leading the way out.

'The girls will be up shortly,' Stu said grabbing a 7up before throwing his bag in the taxi's trunk. 'I trust them to check out on time but will Jack and Quinn?'

'They'd better,' Dane said.

'They're in no hurry,' Johnny said.

'Not so, they're expected at Steve's Truck Rental before noon to return the bus.'

Once in the taxi the driver looked at Stu and pointed to sign forbidding food or drink.

'I'm gasping.'

'No drink,' the cabbie said in a Mexican accent. 'If it spray, I have to clean. Not good for customer or schedule.'

* * *

As the cab pulled into Linda's office car park Johnny glanced at his watch. It hadn't quite turned 8am. They stopped two spaces from an unoccupied Dodge Ram; the only other vehicle around at that time.

'Damn, she's not here yet,' Dane said.

'It's okay, it's not yet...' Johnny started but stopped with the sound of the Lotus. '... She's here.'

Her car vanished the other side of the Ram.

'You two waiting here?' Johnny asked.

'As long as we can trust you to be quick,' Stu said.

Outside Johnny approached Linda but, opening his arms she stopped him. 'That's Dwight's truck. Sorry, I thought he'd be done fixing the air-con by now.'

Johnny's heart sank. He stifled his derision.

You coming?' she asked leading the way.

Linda felt less bright than she'd sounded; her sixth sense nagging her to keep Johnny and Dwight separate.

Unhappily the first thing she saw in the office turned out not to be Dwight knee-deep in air conditions parts but him leaning on Fiona's desk, back to them, chuntering away on her phone.

Johnny avoided looking at the big bastard.

As Linda went to her filing cabinet for the tickets Johnny asked, 'Where's the mail from your old office?'

She pointed.

Johnny sneered.

Next to a heap on Fiona's desk he saw his Stetson now pulled low on Dwight's thick head. Grabbing the letters he turned away.

Behind him the man hung up saying, 'Gotta dash love.'

He made for the door.

'No kiss?' Linda asked.

Johnny concentrated on the mail but heard Linda follow the man into the corridor where she asked why he'd taken the hat. The man grunted then said he'd fixed the air-con but had been phoning to order a new filter for it. Linda said it hadn't sounded like that sort of phone call.

Johnny found the package Zora the Kansas PI had sent. Ripping the envelope open he retrieved the wallet.

Back in the room Linda held his hat in one hand and flight tickets in the other. Johnny didn't want his hat.

He took the tickets and showed her the wallet. 'You know this guy?'

Her eyes focused on the fake driving licence photo. She knew. At once Johnny saw her knees weaken.

The cabinet supported her as she slid into a squatting position. 'Dwight.'

'What?'

'The guy in the picture. It's Dwight.'

'That little sap just leaving?' Johnny said shrilly.

Linda almost laughed. How incredible anyone should describe such a slab of a man as, a _little sap_.

She responded with a quavering voice.

Caring for her feelings Johnny crouched before her. 'Oh Linda, how do you find these guys?'

She lifted her face to his but didn't answer.

He leapt to his feet. 'I gotta stop him.'

He disregarded Linda's plea not to. Yanking the window open he saw Stu leaning against the taxi drinking his 7up.

'Stu! Don't let that truck move!' he called jabbing a finger towards Dwight's Ram. 'Look out!'

As Johnny sprinted for the door Linda pulled herself together and clambered to her feet.

'Run,' she screamed seeing through the window Dwight and another man advancing on Stu.

She kicked her shoes off and ran after Johnny. Padding barefoot down the stairs she burst into the morning's sunshine.

Before her eyes adjusted she saw Dwight by the open back of his pickup truck. Something flew from his grip and the chaos.

Johnny ducked and Linda darted in front of the downstairs office window as a wrench clattered where her feet had just been.

She screamed, terrified as Johnny foolhardily ploughed towards Dwight, fists held high.

Dwight pulled another wrench from his tool box and slung it.

Again Johnny ducked.

Again it hurtled towards Linda. She ducked too as it collided with the glass of the office inches behind her.

The glass plate exploded. Huge shards fell like daggers inside and out. Instinctively curled into a ball, Linda felt with great fortune a piece of glass strike her back flatly so as not to cause harm.

Johnny had seen enough. So it seemed had the taxi. Wheels screeched as it reversed pulling into a J-turn. More smoke and spinning wheels preceded a jerky halt as Dane jumped out, ran towards the action but stopped short clearly helpless.

Linda watched as Dwight, with no tools left to throw, brought haymakers to Johnny. Heavyweight fists swung but Johnny parried and stepped dodging them.

Stu too, incredibly looked to be playing with the other attacker.

'What we doing? he called to Johnny. 'Are we finishing this?'

'Yeah,' Johnny shouted back.

As Dane danced on the spot Linda watched Stu drop two feet under his attacker's deadly but pointless jabs and crosses. Stu re-emerged with a blaze of knee and elbow strikes.

As his attacker spun Linda felt, in addition to her panic, nausea welling as she recognised the man facing her.

He pitched sideways as Stu kicked, sideswiping his left kneecap.

Stu's foe's eyes met Linda's with unmistakable hatred.

She gasped but before she turned, Stu crossed in front with a high spinning hook kick. The lightning action put his lights out.

Like the aftermath of a thunderstorm, calm befell the area.

Dwight too, lay sleeping by Johnny's feet.

'You alright mate?' Johnny called to Stu.

'Brilliant, you wanna tell me who these two nuggets are?'

'In a minute,' Johnny said. 'Are you okay Linda?'

'I can't move. There's glass everywhere.'

'With you in a sec.'

The taxi, which had driven to safety purred back.

'You not paid me,' the driver said.

'Just as well,' Dane said. 'You've still got our luggage.'

'Keep your meter running, we'll pay you when you take us to the airport,' said Stu. 'We've just got a couple of things to sort out.'

'Gaffer tape,' Johnny said holding up a roll he'd pinched from the back of Dwight's truck.

Dane helped drag the two dozing men to the Ram where Stu taped them securely to the wheels.

'Still okay?' Johnny shouted over to Linda.

'Not really, no.'

Remembering how Linda abhorred violence, Johnny realised what he'd done.

Approaching her palms forward he said, 'It's okay. Everyone's calm. No anger here, see?'

'I'm not on about you,' Linda said. 'That's Earl. What's he doing here?'

'He was hiding in the truck,' Stu said. 'He jumped out as soon as the action started.'

Johnny said, 'Those guys are the heavies that were with the silver-haired bloke in Kansas. I'm sorry Linda.'

'No, I'm sorry. Whatever this is, it's about me not you.'

She tried looking but couldn't see past Johnny who approached obscuring her view.

Looking at him instead her anger drifted. His face showed compassion. His feet crunched over glass. When she opened her arms he stepped forwards and lifted her.

He didn't put her down until they reached the stairs. 'You're stronger than I realised.'

'I know,' he said. 'You love to underestimate me.'

'You're tougher to.'

'You've seen the pads and gloves that tour with us. You think we use them as pillows?'

She laughed. 'Surely they've been forgotten like everyone else's exercise equipment.'

'Hardly, how d'you think the girls keep such figures on cheeseburger diets?'

'I'd assumed it was the benefit of youth.'

He told her of his training history and how it'd started with karate as a means of controlling his temper.

'Police?' Johnny asked.

Linda slipped her shoes on but stared at Fiona's desk. 'Hang on.'

She studied a piece of paper then showed it to Johnny who said, 'These are the notes from the meeting; when you told us about the video and the London video shoot.'

'And, most importantly, that you'd be getting seven-thousand pounds advanced to you.'

'What's on your mind babe?'

'God this really is my fault. I was using these notes as a bookmark but I lost them – the night Earl went to prison. I never gave it a thought. He must have taken them. He's the one who knew about the money in your account.'

Johnny rubbed his brow. 'Why isn't he in prison and who's the other guy, Dwight?'

'I don't know anymore.' Linda felt close to tears. 'I guess he might be Dwight, if he's not Benedict Beatty.'

'Look at the time. I don't mind missing the plane if you want.'

'No Johnny. I've told you this isn't your fault. God knows what else those two have been doing to scupper my business.' Linda grabbed her phone and dialled 911.

Since London, Johnny had been trying to act cool with Linda, romantically uninterested, hard to get. But when Linda got off the phone to the police he pulled her into his arms.

She felt small. 'I'll miss you.'

'I miss you already,' she said reciprocating the hug.

Releasing her slightly he looked into the face he'd never tire of, savouring the moment. He stared at her lips, fighting the desire to kiss her. He thought he recognised an equal longing flicker in her eyes. He must have been wrong.

Abruptly she pulled away. 'Johnny.'

'What?' he said. 'I don't believe this.'

'Well neither do I.' She sounded more pained than ever.

He turned her round and tried to hug her again.

'Don't. Don't you realise I had a boyfriend ten minutes ago?'

'An idiot. Another one.' He stepped backwards. 'When you gonna realise someone right here wants to do the right thing by you?'

From outside they heard the cab's horn hurrying him.

'Forget it.' Johnny made for the door. 'I'll get you the rest of your money soon.'

Linda started to say something but he felt too disappointed to listen. He looked back at her but saw no trace of what he thought he'd seen before.

'You know what, I'm the idiot here. I'm not qualified to insult anyone.'

'Johnny—'

'I'll call you from England. I'm sure you'll have found a new boyfriend by then; another beefcake. Just let me know when it goes wrong and I'll be back to knock him out too.'

He stormed off and down the stairs. Crossing the tarmac he grabbed the cab's door handle nearly removing it with frustration.

'Johnny.'

He looked up seeing Linda at her window.

'It's all in a kiss,' she shrieked.

He stared back without comprehension. 'I'm delighted for you.'

He hadn't meant to be so angry and regretted leaving her with the heavies. At least they seemed securely bound. Fortuitously a police patrol car passed them at the entrance to the car park.

* * *

In her office Linda took a deep breath and tried not to cry. The taxi disappeared.

A patrol car's siren peeped with a flash of blue and red announcing its arrival.

'Here we go,' Linda said aloud on her way downstairs.

'Ms Lake,' the lady police officer said getting out her car.

'Officer Deveraux.' Linda recognised her as the same lady who called round when she'd found her office flooded.

She motioned to the gaffered men. 'These the guys that burst your pipe?'

'Maybe.' Linda ushered her out of earshot. 'One of them's a parole violator.'

Officer Deveraux listened then radioed the station for backup.

After both exes had been taken away Officer Deveraux took full details from Linda. 'So, these USed Wonz are getting on a plane to London right now?'

'Yes.'

'They're the guys who sing, _Million Memories_?'

'That's right, they played the Whisky last night.'

'Damn, I should've been there. Anyway,' she refocused, 'we'll need to speak to them.'

Linda said that might be a problem.

'See if I've got this right,' Officer Deveraux said, 'you were dating both those guys whose asses we just hauled away and you've just fallen out with the band's awesomely handsome singer because he was coming on to you?'

'Correct,' Linda said.

'I gotta get me one of them Lotuses. Let's have the details of where they're staying in London. Don't worry, we'll get to the bottom of this.'

Officer Deveraux left with the wallet of fake ID after Linda promised to get her backstage passes should The USed Wonz return to gig America.

Back on the phone Linda rang her glazier. 'I've got another job for you – urgent; the people in the office below mine hate me as it is.'

* * *

Linda had been in the office over two hours. Fretting, she worried anything her two ex-goons had done wouldn't be provable. Would the fake ID be enough to link Dwight to Kansas? Would they be released without charge? She realised how badly the police needed Johnny's statement. She wished she'd asked him to stay.

Her reverie broke with the sound of the phone. She glanced at the clock Johnny wouldn't have boarded the plane yet. Poor boy he'd be terrified. Her hand hovered over the receiver; he might still be angry with her. Oh well.

'Linda?' a female voice snapped.

'Who is this?'

'Trudie, what's going on with The USed Wonz?'

On her feet Linda wanted to smash the receiver back down having never heard Trudie angry. 'What's with the tone? After the morning I've had with that band I don't need this.' Silence. She wondered if Trudie had hung up on her. 'Trudie?'

'So it's true.' She'd softened.

'What?'

'The USed Wonz are finished.'

'What?' Linda sat back down. 'I really don't need this.'

'So this is news to you?'

'What are you saying?'

'We're expecting them to fly in tonight.'

'Yes, they've not long left for the airport.'

'Well that's something. At least I can personally throttle them.'

Given what she'd seen of Johnny and Stu in combat she doubted it. It had been like watching Popeyes clonking Blutos whist she stood helpless like Olive Oyl.

'Trudie, what do you mean saying they're finished?'

'D'you remember last time we spoke, I told you very quietly that I was being considered for that senior management position?'

'Yes, I haven't breathed a word to anyone.'

'Okay, but one of my staff has basically told me I can forget it. Patrick Phillips is getting it.'

'Who, why?'

'Because apparently The USed Wonz lost their next album's advance. There's a rumour all over Southern States AOR and it checks out. I mean what were they doing with the advance anyway? I thought Richard at GMD never released penny one until the last minute.'

'Trudie, calm down. Let me think a second.' Linda took a moment. 'The band's advance is safe.'

'Are you sure?'

'Certain. The rumour can't check out, it's unsubstantiated.'

'So why are their Production Annex studio sessions cancelled?'

'What?' Linda's head spun.

She explained what she could to Trudie and how she'd reimbursed the band what had been lost at the poker table. Perhaps the attack on her business hadn't been Dwight and Earl's only intentions after all.

Trudie said, 'I tried ringing GMD but got no answer.'

'Good. If they don't know about the lost money, that's fine. It's between me and the band now.'

'Fair enough, but they need to know about the cancelled studio sessions.'

Thoughts whizzed around Linda's mind. She caught a most unlikely one. 'Just out of interest have you met this guy who's getting your promotion?'

'Patrick Phillips, yeah I've met him in New York.'

'He doesn't have prematurely silver hair does he?'

'Yeah, why?'

'Because if he's who I think he is, he'll have a difficult time filling that new position from jail.'

## Saturday 30th June 1984

Johnny spotted a public phone and checked his watch. Heathrow still flourished with activity at 2am.

He considered it'd still be Friday in LA – 6pm. Would Linda have left the office? After her early start and the day she'd had, he doubted it. Dane had sorted English currency out for them but not enough change to phone her, even to apologise for shouting.

Mazz kissed his cheek. 'Come on lover boy.'

Having been on a plane four times, Johnny had less euphoria about having landed safely than previous flights especially following his fallout with Linda.

Minus the few items they'd left in storage, The USed Wonz loaded trollies with their worldly belongings and made for arrivals guessing nobody would greet them. They knew to head for the Regent Palace Hotel; their schedule would begin on Monday with a meeting at the GMD office.

But when the bandmates rounded the corner Johnny eyed an attractive and strangely familiar woman looking round like a meerkat sentry.

'Is that . . ?' Mazz said tugging Christine's sleeve. 'It is, it's Trudie.'

Johnny and Stu looked at one another raising appreciative eyebrows.

Mazz dashed ahead to greet her. 'Wow, what happened you look incredible?'

'Katherine happened,' Trudie said proudly.

'Katherine?'

'You remember her, she's Calvin's girlfriend; you know – from Little Spirit. She's a style consultant now.'

The band found Trudie of all people meeting them perplexing.

She said, 'Look guys, I spoke to Linda as I was wrapping up for the day.'

'How is she?' Johnny asked, 'I kinda yelled at her before we left.'

Trudie shook her head. 'Yeah so did I. She's okay though.'

'Why would you shout at her?' Mazz asked.

'Because a little bird told me you'd lost the recording advance GMD gave you.'

Johnny's brow knotted. 'Who told you that – Linda?'

'Not Linda. No she calmed me down. I know you've only just landed but I've got to know something Johnny.' She unfolded a piece of paper. 'It's a really bad Xerox but is this the guy you met in Kansas?'

Johnny took the offered sheet. He guessed she'd photocopied a Vanquar mug shot.

'Thanks Johnny,' she said.

'I haven't said anything yet.'

'Your expression says it all. You're sure it's him right?'

'Sure; bad tempered Yul Bryner face and silver hair. Who is he?'

## Monday 02nd July 1984

The intercom buzzed on Patrick Phillips' desk before he'd even sat down that morning.

Thanking Stacey, he smoothed his trendiest suit and combed his silver hair one last time.

Outside his office; head held high on pride he glanced at his secretary.

'Good luck sir,' Stacey said.

He winked knowing how smug his smile must have looked.

Upstairs he floated past walls adorned with platinum discs and knocked on the rose wood door. A chirpy voice told him to enter. He took a deep breath and entered the boardroom's morning brilliance.

'There he is,' Marcel said.

Patrick surveyed the room. He'd expected Marcel, the self-satisfied Italian-American with his thick mop of shiny black hair. But he'd expected to see Buff Vickers too.

Instead, Chase, Marcel's equally self-satisfied impossibly long-legged blonde assistant, sat beside him.

Patrick approached the boardroom table.

Opposite Marcel and Chase, he reached one of fourteen leather chairs but Marcel's expression told him not to sit.

'I bet you can guess what this is about,' Marcel said but didn't wait for a response. 'Obviously Buff Vickers is retiring; we're sorry to see him go. But that creates space a little nearer the top.'

Patrick smiled.

'Now you shouldn't know this; of course rumours do travel,' Marcel said without detectable irony, 'but the shortlist of candidates ended up, very short.'

Chase grinned at him; a damned sexy smile Patrick unexpectedly noted.

'In truth,' Marcel continued, 'the list might have been a tad longer but Dave Whitaker, head of A&R Vanquar-UK, didn't himself want to relocate.'

_Yup, thanks for sharing that useless piece of news Marcel,_ Patrick thought.

'But, Dave did bring Trudie Hudson to our attention.'

Like Patrick didn't know already. But if the list had come down to just him and her surely Buff should be here to shake his hand and welcome him.

'With Buff leaving we've the chance to explore new ideas and directions,' Marcel said.'

Patrick liked the sound of this.

'And you and Trudie brought some very interesting ideas. Whilst Trudie suggested bettering the name of Vanquar by involving independent companies home and abroad, your ideas are at odds but still with Vanquar's best interest. You've suggested ridding Vanquar-USA of overseas bands in order to invest in home-grown talent; a noble idea that should bring hope to US bands and attract them to us.'

Marcel sat back.

'We don't like making rash decisions. But, Buff starts his retirement tomorrow; a holiday in Miami.'

Patrick wondered how long it'd take Marcel to reach the point.

'I've invited Chase to take notes.'

That seemed irregular but on the other hand Patrick had never accepted such a senior position.

Marcel suddenly didn't seem so smiley. 'Unfortunately it seems Trudie has egg on her face.'

Patrick forced himself not to grin; unfortunate for some maybe.

'It's come to our attention that a band in her portfolio has been careless.'

Marcel checked the notes in the report before him. Patrick didn't like how official it looked.

'An independent signing to a UK label, this band somehow ended up with their next album's recording advance soon enough to lose it.' Marcel looked up. 'And, that's exactly what they did.'

Bingo.

'It sort of reflects badly on Trudie's philosophy of outsourcing to independent companies wouldn't you say Patrick?'

'I guess so,' he said speaking for the first time in ages.

'You don't think a similar fate could have befallen one of your own acts?'

'Well, I wouldn't have forwarded an advance so soon.'

'Would it surprise you to know said band are back in London?'

He shrugged. Why would it?

'You know of which band I'm referring to?'

'I heard something, I guess.'

'You guess.' Marcel studied Patrick's face. 'You'd be forgiven for thinking after losing their advance The USed Wonz would be ruined. And, if anyone checked, they'd know their Production Annex studio sessions have been cancelled.'

Now what's he getting at?

'Did you know the band's _independent_ agent Linda Lake reimbursed the band their lost money?'

'No.' Patrick ground his teeth. Still, their studio sessions are cancelled.

'Would it surprise you to know The USed Wonz start recording their second album tomorrow?'

Yes, that damn well would surprise him. Confused, elation switched as Patrick tried to keep the anger beneath his expression. How could this be? He noticed Chase's smile. Not so sexy now.

He stepped forwards resting his weight on the back of the chair in front of him and forced himself to say, 'I wouldn't know anything about that.'

Marcel faced his notes. 'You heard of Little Spirit?'

'UK band, another of Trudie's.'

'That's right. They recorded at the same place The USed Wonz did but since becoming an overnight success their producer's been overrun with bands sent by record companies wanting him to replicate the "Little Spirit sound". As I understand said producer, some hotshot called Austin Blake of said Production Annex, wants a break from his own studio.'

Patrick didn't dare speak.

'Little Spirit, it may interest you to know, have already made us and their label a small fortune.' Marcel looked at his watch. 'The USed Wonz will be finished their meeting now.'

Patrick rolled his eyes.

'Their advance has been added to and they'll be joining Austin Blake in Virgin's Town House tomorrow; Studio-2 I believe – the one that gets that massive drum sound.'

'Impressive,' Patrick said.

Chase wrote that down along with everything else he'd uttered.

'Apparently their demo warrants it. I wonder if we'll be distributing the results.'

Patrick hoped Marcel couldn't hear his thoughts.

'Is there anything you'd like to say about all of this Patrick?'

'No.'

Marcel rubbed his chin. 'I received a call to my house on Saturday. Dave Whitaker on behalf of Trudie. It's Monday and I've not checked with accounts yet.'

_And now what's he on about now?_ Patrick wondered.

'I'm hoping I won't find an erroneous payment of several thousand dollars to the state of California?'

'Not sanctioned by me if that's what you're implying,' Patrick said as Marcel's insinuation dawned. He leant more weight on the chair's leather back.

'Good. Someone posted bail for Earl Atherton. You know him?'

'No.'

'Just as well, it'd have been a waste of money.'

'Why's that?' he asked wishing he hadn't.

'Because he and his brother Kyle, who was on parole, were arrested on Friday.'

_J.H. Ker-riste._ As casually as possible Patrick pulled the chair out and sat down.

Marcel pursed his lips. 'I didn't invite you to sit.'

_Screw you._ Patrick didn't move.

Marcel said, 'I'm led to believe the egg on Trudie's face has been deliberately put there. Worse still, I'm told that Johnny Won of The USed Wonz has identified you in connection with these two rearrested brothers.'

Patrick felt his kneecaps tremble.

'Of course Patrick, the whole thing could be a conspiracy against your application for this higher position...' Marcel let the words hang before continuing, '... and not the other way round, which is how it looks.'

Patrick willed himself to keep it together.

'You see Trudie, The USed Wonz and Linda Lake in California are of the opinion that Earl (angry for having to do time following repeated violent attacks against Linda Lake) had convinced his brother to help him put Linda's company out of business. And it seems as Earl went into prison Kyle was on his way out but said he'd do what he could to free his brother and bring Lake: All Starts Entertainment down.'

_And now I'm coming down._ Patrick's mouth went dry.

'Kyle knew someone who knew somebody in Vanquar interested to help and who indeed posted Earl's bail. Linda moved offices but Kyle also knew someone who removed Linda's postal redirection service so she missed the letter from her lawyer saying Earl was out of prison.'

Marcel checked his notes again. 'Who else did they know? Ah, someone to sort out fake ID.' He looked at Patrick. 'After Earl was freed the brothers violated parole by flying to Kansas where, with the help of someone matching your description, ripped off The USed Wonz and paid back the bail the guy had so kindly posted before returning to LA where they continued eroding Linda Lake's business. Nasty men, though Kyle, who's been using the name Dwight, is most repentant apparently.'

What could Patrick do but listen?

'Johnny pick-pocketed Kyle's wallet. The fake ID kept him off the sent until he ran face-to-face into both goons outside Linda's office on Friday.'

Patrick felt sick. He couldn't tell at what moment his supposed inauguration had become a disciplinary hearing and couldn't tell if he had a chance of escaping this mess.

'Patrick, if you have anything to do with this we'll find out, even if it means bringing Johnny Won here to meet you personally or the brothers pointing at you in court. And, though it'll be hard to prove whether Johnny was cheated in a game of poker as he's suggesting, I should also warn you that the Lincoln that took these criminals into Kansas City was stolen and the Atherton brothers have been charged with its theft.'

Patrick nodded.

'I can see how cheating The USed Wonz out of their advance would strengthen your application for this position.'

'You don't need to check the accounts,' Patrick's voice croaked.

'No?'

'I paid Earl's bail from my own money.'

Chase scribbled away.

## Wednesday 15th August 1984

One morning weeks later, in a three bed semidetached house near Carlisle's Morton Park, Mrs Linah Clarke nearing the end of her patience yelled at her two daughters to go and play in the garden.

Teachers' six week summer holiday may have been the envy of the rest of the working population but for Linah it meant more hard work.

Tired of telling the girls to clean their rooms she set to the task herself. Upstairs in Sharon's room she tossed toys into boxes and rubbish into the rapidly filling bin.

From Tracey's room she threw rubbish behind her. A magazine fluttered towards the ceiling landing spread-eagle in the hall with the other rubbish.

Soon, stuffing a bin-bag, Linah snatched the magazine and huffed.

Why would her six-year-old girl have such a magazine? She shut it. Smash Hits.

Little Spirit's three faces grinned at her. She guessed the babysitter must have left it. But, just as she moved to bin it she stopped. Could her mind be playing tricks? An echo from years ago? What had she seen before she looked at the cover?

Linah pulled her Marigolds off. What page? She willed her unfounded hope to cool down.

Flicking through the pages she rejected photos and articles. Past Madonna's double-page spread she went. Then, her eyes landed on the picture she'd seen.

Four youths. Two girls and two men looked out from a full length shot, their faces smaller than her thumbnail. Ignoring three she focused on one as her mind rewound the image estimating how the young man might have looked a decade earlier.

Her internal dialogue went crazy. _It can't be, no but it might be, it won't be, it could, it isn't, you don't know that, forget it._

I have to check.

She read the article praising The USed Wonz first album. Back from a second American tour to record their next album they'd return to the States as soon as they'd completed a series of dates on Little Spirit's UK tour.

The cover suggested the magazine must have been lying around a month. She flicked through it again looking for tour dates but couldn't find anything useful.

She put the magazine in her bedroom and looked at the sunny blue sky.

Through the backdoor she shouted, 'Come on kids. We're going shopping, Mummy has to check something.'

* * *

Linah strode through Carlisle's streets as fast as her four-year-old could manage. In WHSmiths she found The USed Wonz' album.

'Stay right by Mummy's side,' she said staring at the photos as her disbelieving mind wrangled possibilities.

Finally she said, 'Right, let's buy this record.'

She also picked up Melody Maker and found Little Spirit's tour dates.

'Where now?' Tracey asked.

'The library.'

* * *

That evening Linah sat at the dining table with her husband.

'You really think this could be him?' Brian said running a hand over his greying temples. 'We mightn't have changed much in ten years but he'd be nearly twice the age he was last time you saw him.'

'I know. It probably isn't him. But they're playing Newcastle's City Hall.'

'You think we should go?'

Linah bit her lip.

'You want to do this alone don't you?'

'I'm sorry Brian it's for the best. The things I need to tell him are too sensitive.'

'About his dad?'

'Of course. He probably won't know if he's alive or dead.'

'Okay, you go. I'll stay and look after the kids. I've always known how important this is to you.'

'Thanks Brian.'

Her husband studied the album's cover again. 'I could almost be jealous of this guy.'

Linah held his hand. 'He was eleven when I first saw him and fourteen when I last saw him.'

'He don't look fourteen now though.'

'As I've said, it probably isn't even him, and if it is he might not want to see me.'

'Okay well book a hotel and let me know how it goes. I'll bring you right back if necessary.'

'I'll book one tomorrow. Thanks,' she said not letting on she'd already done it.

## Thursday 30th August 1984

A fortnight after discovering the Smash Hits magazine Linah got up and readied her husband for work.

'Good luck tonight love,' he said as she handed him his packed lunch.

'I'll be back before you finish work tomorrow.' She kissed him and told him she loved him.

After preparing the girls' breakfasts she picked up her suitcase ready to face what had consumed her thoughts for days.

If Johnny Won turned out to be Barry Peters then her approach would have to be conducted with extraordinary sympathy. His band might not know of his former identity.

Given how well he'd hidden himself he certainly wouldn't want to discuss history in front of present life companions. And how do you reach rock stars? The staff of the City Hall wouldn't be doing their jobs if they let her straight through to see him.

Since marrying, she and Brian hadn't spent a night away from one another. She could tell how uncomfortable he felt about that. To ease his mind she'd packed her case the previous night with her oldest, comfiest underwear. But appearance mattered. She wanted to look professional yet nonthreatening – familiar.

She hoped what she'd chosen would help the young man recognise and remember the woman who'd cared for his schooling when most other teachers had written him off.

With her bedraggled hair tied back she left the house with two daughters and no makeup.

By 11am she'd dropped the kids off with Brian's parents, caught a train and visited the Tourist Information in Newcastle's Central Station where she studied the streets and learned that Simon Alden managed the City Hall venue.

She hotfooted along Grainger Street and checked into the Posthouse Hotel pleased to discover they had her room ready. She showered and changed into a striped blouse and long navy skirt. In the mirror she thought she looked like a tired school teacher.

Makeup and nails helped. She then thought she looked like a nice school teacher.

Before leaving she pulled on tall heeled boots. That made a difference. Now she thought she looked like a nice teacher but with a bit of attitude; maybe the touch of sass she'd had ten years earlier.

With an almost completed image she checked her map, swished her still wrong hair and left for the salon she'd booked herself into days earlier.

Before 2pm the salon's mirror reflected shining hair that looked to be waving by design rather than accident.

Next she arrived at Newcastle's City Hall where she discovered not to her surprise, groups of kids milling around the back doors. She might have expected a lorry of sorts but couldn't see anything.

Round the front she found the doors open. Clearly the kids knew better than a frontal assault if they wanted to see their rock idols.

Linah walked through the main entrance and saw a middle-aged woman sweeping the stairs.

'Excuse me. Sorry to interrupt,' Linah said.

'Don't worry about it like,' the woman said in an accent that sounded more like, _divarnt worry boot it leek._

'I need to speak urgently with Mr Alden.'

Linah stayed put whilst the woman vanished to the offices.

'Afternoon,' a ginger haired man said approaching a minute later. He held out his hand for her to shake.

'Mr Alden,' she said relieved.

'Call me Simon. My staff didn't tell me what this is regarding, just that it's urgent?'

'Well yes,' Linah said noting that he hadn't asked her name, 'as you can see I'm a thirty-eight year professional woman.'

'A fine one too.'

'Thank you,' she said noticing his wedding ring. 'The point is I'm not some lovesick teenager. But it is critically important I get a message to one of tonight's performers and I must do that face to face.'

'I see,' he said in a darkened tone. 'Which band?'

'The USed Wonz.'

'Okay, at least they're the support act,' he said. He looked at his watch. 'They haven't arrived yet. Come back in an hour or two. I'll see what I can do.'

'I'll wait, if you don't mind,' she said taking a Dick Francis novel from her handbag.

* * *

An hour later the bands arrived, together. Linah heard vehicles and commotion. Kids started appearing in the foyer shouting both band names. Simon Alden appeared with a security guard. As they shooed the fans outside Alden closed the doors on them.

'I'm afraid I must ask you to leave,' he said turning to Linah.

'I beg your pardon. I've waited here an hour,' she said.

'Yes, but I can't turf some out but not others. Please don't make this difficult for me.'

'Difficult, you can't imagine the years I've waited or what I've been through to get this chance.'

'With all due respect—'

'All due respect, what did I just say?' Linah stood as the security guard stepped forwards.

Alden said, 'Come back when the doors open at show time, we'll try again then.'

The guard made to take her arm.

'Wait,' she protested. 'I can't afford to miss this opportunity. I hoped it wouldn't come to this.' From her handbag she produced a sheet of paper. 'Please will you at least pass this to the singer?'

Alden kept his hand by his sides. 'What is it?'

'Something he made for me twelve years ago.'

'You're not his mother; you're too young.'

'No, but she died twelve years ago. Please.'

Alden glanced at her hand but waved the page away. He stood for a full ten seconds then pulled a radio from his belt. 'Theatre, come in, over.'

A moment later the radio cracked. 'Theatre.'

'Send someone from The USed Wonz management to the foyer, over.'

'Will do, over and out.'

Linah shook as anger subsided to relief before souring to anxiety.

'Thank you,' she whispered.

She folded the paper in the pages of her book.

A moment later a door to the main hall opened. A pretty redheaded youth appeared and introduced herself to Alden as Grace.

'This lady has a request,' he said.

Alden left them shaking hands. Linah gave her married name and explained nothing more than necessary.

Grace led her through the doors into the concert hall.

'Take a seat,' she said motioning to the back row. 'I'll get him or be back myself in a sec.'

* * *

The USed Wonz had dumped their gear in the larger of the two dressing rooms but joined Little Spirit in theirs.

Johnny hadn't given much thought when a stagehand summoned Grace from Raphael's knee. He'd been too busy laughing along to Danny's tail of winning Amy's heart.

Admiring his persistence Johnny figured he'd give it one last try with Linda when they hit America again. Next, Calvin had them all howling with laughter but soon stopped when, in came Grace asking for a private word.

* * *

Linah stood up. Squinting towards the stage she could see Grace with a tall handsome man. Staying put she watched the redhead point her way. With a hug Grace patted his back then retreating backstage.

The man straightened and approached.

_Oh my god it's him,_ Linah thought before doubting herself. Could it be possible her mind would make her believe something not true? She searched his face for signs that he recognised her.

Then it happened. His stride slowed.

With a virtually unreadable expression Linah sensed the cogs of his mind whirring; old synapses re-firing. He recognised her. They recognised each other.

'Miss Wilkinson,' he said.

She nodded fearing she might speak his birth name. Her hand rose on its own.

Reaching forwards the man took the piece of paper it offered.

He read silently but Linah's mind sang the words: _How can he say there's no faith, when you give me faith with your words? How can he say there's no hope, when you give me hope with your thoughts? How can he say there's no love, when you give me love with your touch . . ?_

'Hmm,' he said, 'pretty good, for a first go.'

She nodded. 'You're album's pretty good too.'

'Yeah? You should hear the one we're working on now.'

She didn't speak.

He said. 'I always knew this day would come.'

She nodded.

'There's been so much interest in us since we came back from America.'

Again she didn't speak.

'I'm so glad it's you and not the press or police.'

'Only my husband knows I'm here and he won't breath a word,' she said. 'If you prefer, I'll tell him you turned out not to be...' She stopped herself saying his old name.

'I can't go back.'

'That's fine.'

'Do you understand why?'

'Sort of. Not really. But seeing you, I don't doubt how desperately serious you are about that.' She sat down. 'And that you don't trust me.'

Johnny looked at his ex-teacher. He sat across the aisle from her.

'I found you in Smash Hits,' she said.

'I feared someone might.'

'I had to see you.' She gave him a hard look, but continued. 'What a relief you're so well and doing something you love.'

'We've worked hard. There's always something threatening to ruin it; be that management, record company changes or our agent's company suffering.'

Linah understood the implication. 'I won't interfere with that.'

After a moment Johnny crossed the aisle and sat beside her. He took her hand and examined it. Like Linda Lake she had burgundy nails but of course, wedding and engagement rings.

She smiled.

'D'you even know my name?' she asked him.

'I guess you'll always be Miss Wilkinson too me. But I remember you calling through the letterbox that awful night, when you brought the shepherd's pie. _Linda_ , you said _it's Linda, Miss Wilkinson_.'

'You were in the house that night?'

'Upstairs, alone.'

'You wouldn't see me?'

He shook his head. How different and terrible things might have been if he had let her in. But how different and terrible things might yet be now he had let her in.

'I'm Linah, not Linda.'

He smiled. He'd never been sure he'd heard correctly. 'Then we've both got names to get used to.'

She took her hand away. 'We need to talk.'

'Do we?' he said; his tone derisory.

'There are things you should know.'

'I prefer not knowing some things;' _like whether the drunk ever got up from the bottom of the stairs_ , he thought.

On stage men appeared with crates, flight cases and drums.

'It's getting busy. I'll have to go to work soon,' he said.

'Johnny, I appreciate you don't want to remember certain things, but I can't leave without talking to you properly – without saying what has to be said.'

He studied the woman's face. At least she'd used his proper name. 'Okay. I guess if I have to hear anything about the past then I want to hear it from you, Linah.'

'Thank you,' she said. 'I thought I'd have to get all school teachery for a minute.'

Smiling he knew he'd not kept the mischief from his eyes.

She might have floundered but said, 'I'm staying at the Posthouse.'

He rolled his eyes. 'Of all the gin joints...'

'You're staying there?'

'Guess I couldn't avoid you even if tried. You got a ticket for the show?'

'Are you kidding, they sold out ages ago.'

'That's Little Spirit not us.'

Linah stayed put when requested. He disappeared down the venue and backstage.

'You're my guest of honour,' he said when he returned with a laminate. 'You can come and go as you please and see the show from the wings. And just so as you know you are the only living person from my past worth remembering. It's lovely to see you.'

She thanked him. 'What will you tell the band?'

'Nothing just yet.'

'What do they know?'

'Nothing. They know Johnny Won isn't my birth name; that's it.'

'I'm sorry to do this to you.'

'Don't be. What will you do till show time?'

She looked at her watch. 'Maybe potter round town.'

'Stay for the soundchecks. Little Spirit will be up soon, that'll give you something to talk about in your music lessons.'

He took her arm and walked her to the seats nearer the stage.

* * *

Backstage Johnny indeed found Little Spirit ready to soundcheck. Joining his own bandmates still occupying Little Spirit's room he spied Danny's acoustic guitar in the corner.

'You alright mate?' Stu asked.

'I've not the faintest idea,' he said. 'I'll know by the end of the night.'

When Grace left with Little Spirit, Johnny looked at the three most important souls in his life.

He had their attention. 'I feel ashamed to love you guys as I do knowing I've kept so much of myself from you.'

'It's okay,' Christine said. 'We understand.'

'Well, the lady out there knows a lot about the me I used to be; more than I do. Seems she's determined I know the stuff too.'

Mazz went to his side.

'What stuff?' Stu ventured.

Johnny's head hung. 'She knows my birth name; a name I never want to hear again.'

Again Christine said, 'It's okay. We understand you'd want to move on from whatever caused your scars.'

'Thanks babe, that means a lot to me. I feel such a fraud. I'm sorry I didn't tell you right away about losing the money and why I gambled it.'

Christine nodded. Reaching over Johnny gave Stu's shoulder a squeeze.

'Anyway,' Johnny said trying to focus on one thing at a time, 'the lady out there was a teacher of mine. I've given her a backstage pass and agreed to see her later at the Posthouse.'

'D'you fancy her?' Stu asked out of leftfield.

'What makes you ask that?' Johnny said.

'I had a peek, she's alright. But she looks more your type.'

'Old, you mean?' Christine said; an edge to her voice which Johnny ignored.

Johnny said, 'She's married now but she was the subject of a healthy schoolboy crush. Well spotted Stu.'

He reached for Danny's guitar and straightened the sheet of paper Linah had given him. He recalled the melody but only one chord – C with a high F.

* * *

Front of house, following the nauseatingly repetitive bashing of one drum after another, Linah finally enjoyed Little Spirit's soundcheck. Performing two songs she recognised off the radio, the band displayed not little but great big spirit.

That said, when The USed Wonz stepped out she sensed a spiritual shift; greater depth to the four souls.

After instrument checks they also performed two songs which Linah recognised from her daily listens of their album. In contrast to Little Spirit, she felt enlivened by The USed Wonz' gutsy anthems.

Too soon they finished. All but Johnny left the stage.

Standing further from his mic he wound the guitar's volume back and looked her in the eye.

'Hey, Linah,' he said. 'Name this tune.'

She listened to Johnny's effortlessly finger-picked chords and didn't know what to think when his raised eyebrow questioned her.

She smiled and shook her head, _I don't know._

His eyebrows dropped and Linah's smile relaxed with another mood change.

Her throat tightened when closing his eyes he sang, ' _How can he say there's no faith...'_

Finally she saw him as Johnny Won. Whilst he might always think of her as Miss Wilkinson she, remembering the little boy singing those words years earlier, now heard the same melody from the deeply passionate musician on stage. She knew on the one hand digging up his past would be pointless and yet, on the other hand, essential.

His ending the song broke the emotion. Linah clapped and walked to the stage. Johnny crouched in close.

'I understand how difficult me being here must be,' she said, 'but hearing you sing your songs, particularly the last one has made the whole trip worthwhile.'

She told him she'd back soon and not to worry about a thing. Leaving the building she realised she didn't have long. Fortunately Marks and Sparks and the hotel both lay nearby.

* * *

Linah arrived back at the venue dressed for a rock concert as best she could with the clothes she'd brought.

She found Johnny backstage. He looked her up and down with a smile.

'Don't worry I'll try again for the restaurant,' she said self-consciously.

'I didn't say anything,' Johnny said holding his hands up. His shirt fell open revealing abs her husband would kill for.

'Anyway,' she said not knowing where to look, 'you can talk, is that makeup?'

'Part of the job,' he said un-phased.

'Well I realise I don't look the part.'

'You look lovely. Anyway, it's time I went to work. I'll be back soon.'

Linah stood clear as Johnny and Mazz accepted their instruments from their technicians and strolled into the lights.

They may have been the support band but they received warmth, cheers and wolf whistles from the audience.

Everything they'd been in soundcheck got turned up for the show: Johnny's splayed-leg rock stance, Mazz's stiletto pirouettes and work with the drums where she and Stu locked eyes and rhythms, Stu's stick twirls and Christine's swaying hips, delicate keyboard touch and dramatic synth sweeps.

In the wings Linah felt enveloped by the hormones emanating from band and audience.

Closing her eyes she paradoxically heard Johnny's guitar as molten gold pouring coolly to her. His voice resonated in her sinuses as if massaging her brain with sincerity.

The heat progressed to hot and red-hot as their set proceeded.

Finally Johnny asked if the crowed wanted to see Little Spirit. Of course they did but their screams had almost reached apex in appreciation of The USed Wonz.

'If you want Little Spirit raise your voices. They won't appear if they can't hear you.' The crowd went nuts. 'Last one to sing along to. If Little Spirit can hear you singing back there they'll be out real soon.'

The crowd sang along to The USed Wonz' last song.

In a pre-playout section Johnny said, 'I'm Johnny Won. On my left Christine Won. On drums, Stewie Won and to my right Mazz Won. We're The USed Wonz.'

_You certainly are,_ Linah thought as Johnny broke concentration from the audience and looked at her the first time.

* * *

Linah waited in the wings watching the first part of Little Spirit's set whilst Johnny went to cool off with his band.

Soon Johnny slipped with her unnoticed through the backdoor and headed for the Posthouse where they separated for their respective rooms to change for the meal. Linah couldn't guess how nervous Johnny might be but guessed he'd not reckon on the extent of her nerves either.

Other than the outfit she'd worn to meet Simon Alden, the clothes in her suitcase had been chosen largely to settle her husband's uneasiness about their spending a night apart. But she hadn't budgeted for soundchecks and she'd left herself little time to choose something suitable to wear when dinner with Johnny became the plan.

Knowing whatever Marks and Spencer had wouldn't make it back to Carlisle, price had been her main concern and she'd bought hastily. With her boots failing to compliment the garment she'd added suede heels to her purchase with equal hast.

* * *

One floor up from Linah, Johnny paced the room, shadow sparring to rid his fear and the insane curiosity that had welled in him. He gave up when the sweat he'd just showered reappeared. He left a note for Stu next to the mini kettle and headed to Room-411.

He knocked on his ex-teacher's door. 'You ready?'

'Hang on.'

He tapped his foot and drummed his fingers picturing police on the other side.

The door swung wide.

'Wow,' Johnny said. She looked stunning but seemed to misunderstand his glance around and behind her.

'Wrong again, I know I'm sorry,' she said indicating her attire.

'No, you look amazing.'

'It's tacky and OTT.'

Johnny barely heard her. Happier seeing no cops he enjoyed the sight of the woman turned out in floor-length dress slashed to the mid-thigh.

She told him to behave when he kept staring. 'We've got serious matters to discuss remember. Lead on.'

At the restaurant a waiter asked Johnny whether they'd like to be seated or go to the bar first.

Johnny looked at Linah respectfully.

'Let's sit,' Linah said.

Despite the short walk her shoes, one size too small, caused her eyes to water.

Once seated, Johnny showed her a mixed smile. Linah noted he didn't look cocky as he had on stage. That he didn't want to discuss the past couldn't have been clearer.

'Relax,' she said. 'Let's eat then we can say what needs to be said.'

The food came. They talked causally; him about the band and his Linda Lake, she about herself and daughters. Then she stopped.

She sensed him becoming distant.

They skipped desert favouring coffee at the table. He lumped spoonfuls of sugar into the cup and pushed the spoon round and round for ages.

Linah lowered her head to look up into his face. He seemed not to be there.

'Your dad—'

'I've spent half my life forgetting him,' he said with eyes piercing her like steel. 'I don't know or care about him. If you're here to tell me he's suffering; well, he deserves to. If he's dying then you can tell him to hurry up.'

'Well—'

'No. I don't want to hear another word.' He threw himself backwards in the chair.

Linah's eyebrows knotted with horrified concern.

Her school teacher persona stepped up. 'I've not come this way to discuss guitar chords with you.' Johnny didn't respond. 'I know whether that terrible man lived or died.'

Johnny's eyes narrowed. Linah saw curiosity.

'And it's high time you knew,' she said.

Johnny leaned forwards but faced the table.

When his face finally lifted Linah said, 'Oh my god, you're terrified.'

'You've no idea what I've put myself through to get here; how lucky I am to have this band and my friends. If you think I'm going anywhere near that city again—'

'He's dead.'

Again Johnny threw himself backwards into the chair and rolled his head.

His hands went to his face then fell away. 'Don't you understand . .?'

'Understand?' Linah did not understand. His reaction baffled her. He looked as though he wanted to scream, or cry, or maybe even laugh.

She reached across the table.

His hands moved away so she picked up a teaspoon, like that'd been her intention. 'Help me out. Johnny. Help me understand.'

He swallowed hard. 'When did he die?'

'The night you vanished.'

'Oh God almighty.' His elbows hit the table. His hands covered his face.

'Is everything alright here?'

Linah looked up at the waiter. 'I... don't know.' She looked across the table. 'Johnny?'

His hands came down. He looked at the waiter. 'It depends how long of a prison sentence I'll get.'

'Prison?' Linah said incredulously. 'We'll be okay from here,' she said dismissing the waiter.

Dropping the teaspoon she took Johnny's hands. 'Is that what this is about?' She lowered her voice. 'You think you killed your dad?'

'Didn't I?' Johnny looked at her. Could he trust her?

Still holding his hands Linah looked to one side as if checking for eavesdroppers. 'He was discovered on the Saturday morning you vanished at the bottom of the stairs.'

'Sounds about right. Dead?'

'Nearly. He was taken to hospital but he'd been haemorrhaging too long to resuscitate him.'

'Haemorrhaging?'

'Yes. I read all this whilst searching for clues as to your whereabouts. His room was full of empty whisky bottles.'

'Right again.'

'He was a poorly man. He had esophageal varices.'

'Come again.'

'They're not unlike varicose veins, but in the lower oesophagus. If they burst they bleed until treated. Treatment came too late.'

Johnny closed his eyes. In the blackness he saw the devil reaching but missing the banister. He remembered kicking him in the chest and stomach.

'I'm sorry,' Linah's voice soothed.

Johnny opened his yes. 'So the cause of death?'

'The varices.' Her expression showed doubt as to whether he'd been listening.

'No mention of bruising?'

'Some, I think.'

'Did you read the police reports?'

'Yes.'

'And?'

'The bruises? They presumed he'd fallen down the stairs. I'm guessing that's not quite right.'

'Close enough. What about me?'

'A huge search. You were all over local news.'

Johnny snorted a laugh. 'Local hey?'

'More than that. News spread this far and into Scotland.'

'I see. But I actually meant didn't I appear in the police reports in connection to his death?'

'No. The pathologist's report was satisfactory. If he hadn't died that night he'd have likely passed soon enough.'

Johnny sighed and stared at his ex-music teacher, picked up his coffee and drank it in one. 'Fancy another?'

More coffees arrived. Johnny stirred plenty of sugar then looked at Linah. She stared at him with compassion but with something else too.

'What did he do to make you hate him so badly?'

'You've no idea have you?'

'No. If it was that bad...' Linah couldn't think how to end the sentence.

'It was bearable with Frank.'

Linah nodded and added cream to her coffee.

Looking him in the eye she asked, 'What happened at the top of the stairs?'

Johnny said nothing. The air thickened.

Finally he relaxed and sat back with his coffee. 'You might be wearing a wire.'

She raised an eyebrow. 'In this dress?'

He shrugged and sipped his coffee.

'Sleep with me?' she said.

Johnny nearly choked.

Putting his cup down, he looked for signs of amusement on the teacher's face. 'You're married.'

'And you're besotted with another woman.'

'True.'

They looked at each other.

'It's the only way to be sure I'm not wearing a wire.'

'D'you love your husband?'

She nodded. He believed her.

'Have you ever... you know, been unfaithful, before?'

She shook her head, not taking her eyes of his. 'I didn't come here to seduce you,' she said.

'No, I don't think you did,' he said thoughtfully.

'I mean, I thought about it this afternoon but even after seeing you play I didn't know I'd say what I just did.'

'Then you can't be certain you want to sleep with me.'

'But I am. Very.'

He took her hand.

Same touch as earlier – wholly different meaning. 'Okay.'

'I've spent the last ten years wondering about you; about the young man who rang me on his sixteenth birthday and told me his fantasy. That was quite a surprise.'

Johnny nodded remembering it well. 'I've seen some action since then I'm afraid.'

'Don't be. Leave the being afraid to me.'

'Are you, afraid?'

'As a woman, fourteen years older than you and ten years older than the woman you used to know; yes a little.'

'You are every bit as beautiful today as the day I first saw you.'

'Okay,' she said. 'That's a good start.'

'Besides I've had women twice your age.' He smiled.

She grimaced. 'Have you?'

He thought about it. 'I've had women twice the age you were when we met.'

'I see. That's better then. Shall we?'

He took her arm unaware of the pain her too small shoes caused.

* * *

Johnny stood back watching Linah's trembling hands fumble with the key. She opened her bedroom door; Johnny followed.

Inside, he leaned her against the closed door and brought his face as slowly as he could bear to hers.

She didn't back out. Her breathing came raggedly. Her wide eyes only closed when his lips closed around hers.

Spinning her, the pair stood where the room's mirror caught their reflection.

Standing behind her he wrapped his arms round her waist. 'You see that. That's you with another man. Are you sure you want this?'

'Hmmm,' she said with desire but tugged at the rings on her finger.

'A-ah. Leave them. You don't stop being married just because you're with me. You do this because you want to.'

She looked at him for a moment, nodded and pushed the rings back on.

## Friday 31th August 1984

Linah opened her eyes recalling the hotel bedroom and the previous night. The enigma slept on beside her. She could still hardly believe she'd found him. He really existed.

They'd gone through two of the three-pack of condoms Johnny _just happened_ to have.

After the first one she saw his back. She could have cried seeing the damaged skin; feeling angry at herself and everyone else for not knowing what had been going on. She'd told him she hoped he'd brought a painful premature death to the evil that had failed to protect and raise his own kids responsibly. How could such a helpless soul have tolerated so much cruelty?

But Barry Peters hadn't been helpless. He'd become Johnny Won.

Linah hadn't for a moment stopped loving her husband or daughters. Somehow, yet simply, she'd found extra love for Johnny. She'd fallen asleep cuddled into him and willing as much love as possible upon him.

Slipping out of bed she crept to the bathroom, showered and brushed her teeth.

She came back to find Johnny sitting with his feet off the bed recovering Tic Tacs from his jeans. His smile drew her to him.

She stood before him cradling his head to her stomach now knotting with the worry of what still remained unsaid. But in sensing Johnny's next wave of arousal coming on strong her body responded sympathetically and too quickly.

Johnny, with his face tucked into her abdomen felt her breathing match his as an unstoppable desire took hold. Tightening his hold around her he stood lifting her high off the ground. He felt her fingers gripping his shoulders. Turning round he threw her to the bed and looked down on a woman as passionate and wanting as any he'd ever seen.

Moments later the pair exploded and collapsed breathless.

Linah released him, too amazed to speak. They'd have to wait for the euphoria to pass before she could broach the subject of the past again.

Eventually the haze receded and Linah's worry returned. Seconds after that she knew she must speak up.

'Get dressed,' she said.

The sharpness in her voice pierced their bliss like a pin through the skin of a balloon.

'What?' Johnny said puzzled.

Linah had, the previous night, freed him from a worry that had bitten into him since that fateful night years previously. He'd never felt so relaxed or slept as soundly as he had done in her arms.

'Get dressed. I'm sorry,' she said again. 'Last night I said I hadn't come all this way to seduce you.'

'No but—'

'I have a more important message.'

'More important than . . ?' he nodded at the bed.

'Get dressed then I'll tell you.'

Johnny went to the bathroom with armfuls of clothes not knowing what to think. What could be more important than what they'd just done?

When he came out he found Linah straight backed and dressed.

She patted the mattress for him to sit. 'What I'm about to say isn't easy.'

He sat next to her. 'You're scaring me.'

'I'm sorry. Firstly forgive me for failing you.'

'Failing me?'

'When you disappeared I tried finding you.'

'Forget it. I was in London using a different name before your shepherd's pie was properly cold.'

'Right, so I should have searched London.'

'No offense but I'm glad you didn't. No way I was risking coming back to the same city as that evil bastard; not without Frank.'

'But Les Peters was already dead.'

'So I'd have ended up in Social Services; that's what happened anyway.'

She sighed. 'Well anyway. I felt I'd exhausted all possibilities.'

'I'm sure you did. Social Services were new ten years ago. I was lost in the system no doubt about it. With a name you didn't know, hundreds of miles away in the nation's biggest city...'

'Thank you but I still feel guilty.'

'Honestly, you didn't lose me; I vanished.'

'It helps me to hear you say that. But then two years later you phoned again and on a significant day.'

'My sixteenth birthday?'

'Yes. Significant in so much as you ceased being a boy so far as Social Services was concerned. Your being sixteen meant my job got way harder.'

'You were still looking for me?'

'I started again.'

'Because you wanted to live out my fantasy?'

'Please Johnny, this is important. No, I told a few people that you'd phoned and were okay.'

'You didn't share my fantasy?'

This time she laughed. 'No. Just said you sounded well.'

'So what happened?'

'People were interested. It was a huge deal at the time as was your first call to me. But there was a lot going on at that time. Your call two years later was an isolated event. People wanted to know if you were coming back.'

'Who?'

'Busy-bodies mostly.'

'So where's this leading?'

'The gossip stretched a long way. I had a phone call from a woman.'

'What woman?'

'To this day I don't know. Like with your calls I had no way of tracing the number. The woman told me her daughter had been pregnant two years previously. The daughter hadn't been married but loved the father very much and together they had a son.'

'Are you sure this links to me?'

'Before Frank died did he tell you about a girlfriend?'

'He banged on about some girl but never invited her to the house.'

'Did he tell you her name?'

Johnny looked at her. 'When I asked him...' His voice trailed.

For reasons unknown his mind and its thoughts stopped mattering.

He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and his scalp prickle. 'He told me I'd find out soon enough.'

Linah didn't speak. The pair just looked at one another. Johnny saw her as the ten year younger Miss Wilkinson. His body felt like clay drying out. The light drained from the hotel room as it turned into his bedroom of ten years ago. Though he didn't know the reason for his mind's profoundly altered state he felt he already knew and had always known whatever Miss Wilkinson would say. Ironically though he tried to predict what she'd say next he couldn't.

'Did you ever go on holiday abroad?'

Her voice sounded like it had been pitched down an octave. It echoed round his head.

His head shook its response.

'Did Frank ever go abroad?'

His head shook.

She said, 'I won't be able to answer the questions formulating in your mind.'

Johnny knew that already somehow.

'Your brother Frank is alive.'

'Yes.' That made sense. That's why he only ever heard his mother's voice.

Johnny's mind swooned. Had he always known this? Somewhere he heard banging, perhaps in his mind. He slipped further into reverie.

* * *

Three USed bandmates had gathered at reception and checked out.

'Johnny not with you?' Christine asked Stu.

'He didn't come back. I've got his bags though.'

'So where is he?' Christine said.

Stu held up the napkin Johnny had left. 'Room-411 I imagine.'

'For God's sake, Little Spirit will already be on the coach.'

She stormed off towards the bedrooms and finding Room-411 banged on the door.

The moment the door opened Christine saw Johnny on the bed, grey and rocking back and forth. She barged past the teacher.

'Johnny,' she said kneeling and taking his shoulders. 'What's the matter with him?'

'He's in shock.'

'What have you done?'

'Told him some shocking news.'

* * *

Johnny had descended to the point where his mother's voice found him. Though he'd never heard Frank's voice he'd somehow known his mother had not been alone. Her angelic advice told him Frank would be out there waiting for him but he should maintain focus on his dreams. _Do what you are and Frank will find space within your destiny_. When he asked, his mother said she had connection with everything in ways he could not yet possibly image.

Satisfied, he felt loving hands on his shoulders.

'I'm okay,' he said out loud.

Linah looked on as Christine cupped Johnny's face in her hands. She recognised the connection and realised Johnny Won's life didn't lack the love Barry Peter's had.

'It's checking out time,' Christine said over her shoulder.

Linah grabbed her watch. As a mother she'd been waking before eight each morning and hadn't guessed it could be so late.

* * *

At reception Linah took Johnny to one side. 'I'm sorry this has turned into such a rush.'

'How come he's alive?'

'That's the big one. I don't know. As I said I'm not sure I can answer anything usefully.'

'Okay, but how d'you know?' Questions popped into his mind like bubbles to the surface of lemonade.

'The woman who phoned—'

'The girl he supposedly got pregnant, you don't know who she was?' Johnny interrupted.

'No—'

'What about his last known girlfriend?'

'Ah, she was called—'

'Holly Morgan.'

'Yes.' Linah said.

'You checked her out?'

'Yes.'

'And?'

'Her and Frank split up.'

'How d'you know?'

'I checked with people that knew them. They fell out. Nobody saw them together again.'

'The woman who phoned, why did she tell you about Frank as opposed to simply asking my whereabouts?'

'I couldn't have told her anything. We've had to win each other's trust. That wasn't easy considering she wouldn't even tell me her name. Remember, I told plenty of people you'd phoned but nobody else had heard from you.'

'You know you're the only person I contacted?'

'There you are, she probably guessed as much.'

'Why didn't you tell everyone, the police, that Frank was alive?'

'Firstly the woman told me, like you, the pair adopted different identities. Doing that and cheating the system meant they'd broken the law. They had their reasons but just wanted to get on and raise their family. Secondly I couldn't bring myself to believe her. She told me she'd prove it once we'd earned each other's trust.'

'So did Frank come off his motorbike?'

'I don't know. The woman hasn't confirmed any details.'

'Something doesn't add up here.'

'Oh?'

'I get why he did what he did, but that he'd reject me or leave me with dad...'

'Johnny,' she said touching his face. 'The woman told me they never planned to leave you with that monster. It seems you were to go with them but you disappeared before they could rescue you.'

'This is like a dream. I can't work out whether it's good or not.'

'It's a lot to take in.'

'What will you do?' he asked.

'Nothing without your say so.'

'I don't know what to do.'

'Again it's a lot to take in.'

'So this woman doesn't know about this meeting?'

'No,' Linah said. Johnny didn't say anything to that. 'Do you want me to let her know I've seen you?'

'How?' he asked.

'I'm not sure. Eight years ago she gave me a Darlington PO box address. I don't know if it still exists.'

'It'll have been a long time without mail if it was set up for this eventuality.'

'It might never have had mail. But I assume she would have contacted me before closing it.'

'So you could write to the woman and say you've seen me.'

'I could and I will if you want me to or I could give you the address.'

'I don't know. How d'you know any of this is for real?'

Linah went into her handbag and withdrew an envelope.

She held it to her chest and said, 'The reason I asked you if you or if Frank had ever been abroad was because the woman eventually sent me this.'

Johnny looked at a photo she handed him. In it Frank stood looking more tanned than he'd ever seen him. In his arms he held a baby.'

'What else do you see?'

He sighed. 'Palm trees. Where is it?'

'I don't know,' she said. 'Nowhere in England.'

'And nowhere I've ever been with Frank. First palm trees I saw were in LA. Any chance it's fake?'

'I showed it to a photographer. I didn't tell him who was in it of course but he confirmed its authenticity. I guess that's Frank's son he's holding. I don't know his name. What d'you think – about any of this?'

'I think I stopped thinking ages ago,' Johnny said.

'Now's as good a time as any to show you this then.'

She handed him a second photo. 'I checked this one with a different photographer. He reckons it's real too.'

This time Johnny saw his brother bare-chested drinking Orangina in shorts as blue as the sky and Pumas as white as the yachts behind him. Next to him a blond boy held ice cream grinning at the camera.

'That came almost two years ago; a little reminder to keep looking for you.'

Johnny studied the pair of photos. 'It's Frank alright. And, he never had chest hair.'

'I thought it was him but I've not shown them to anyone else who knew him. I can't imagine how you feel right now.'

'Neither can I,' Johnny said. Obviously the news should have delighted him. It did – but for the shock. And the idea that his brother had been living, loving and raising a family for ten years without his knowledge rankled him. How come Linah had discovered him? Frank should have found him. Had Frank not wanted to find him as much as Linah?

'Would you like to keep them?' Linah tapped the photos.

'No.' He handed them back to her. She looked surprised.

She looked him in the eye.

'Take them,' she said handing them back.

When he thanked her with a smile that reached his eyes Linah threw her arms around him. 'Thank you for last night.'

Johnny held her. 'No regrets?'

'Not a trace. It'll have done me and my husband good.'

'Me too. What happens now?'

Still hugging him Linah said, 'It's up to you.'

'You're the adult here,' Johnny said.

'No I'm not. You and your band are plenty adult.'

He knew what she meant. He recalled that he'd sensed his mother talking to him: _Do what you are._

When the hug broke Linah handed him a postcard of the hotel they hadn't yet left. Pointing to the back she said, 'My new telephone number and the PO box address. What happened last night...'

'A wonderful one-time experience?'

She nodded. 'But keep in touch. Don't make me feel like I've lost you again.'

'I promise that won't happen. I guess I've no reason to hide anymore.'

'That's right. That man can't hurt you now and the only way you could be implicated in his passing is if his body gets exhumed.'

Johnny hadn't thought of that.

'Don't worry,' Linah said seeing his doubt.

'Why not, anything's possible.'

'Not this time Johnny Won. He was cremated.'

He told her he'd think for a couple of days and let her know when he'd decided what to do.

'So you're in Leeds tonight,' Linah said.

'Last gig. We're back in the Production Annex with Austin from tomorrow to mix all the stuff we recorded in London.'

* * *

Linah left and the bandmates regrouped. They walked to the coach they shared with Little Spirit. Nobody spoke until they arrived.

'It's empty,' Mazz said.

Stu pulled the flap next to the door and pressed the button behind. 'But not locked.'

The doors hissed open.

'You wanna tell us anything Johnny?' Stu said when everyone settled, 'or should we just sit and stare at each other in silence?'

'What do you think Christine?' Johnny said.

'She was alright that teacher of yours. She gave me these shoes, said they were too small for her.'

'But you've no idea what we'd been talking about when you came into her room earlier?'

'Something shocking.' Sitting opposite him, she leaned forwards and squeezed his knees. 'But it's up to you if you want to share.'

'I do.'

He told them his dad had been cremated and what that meant to him.

Then he told them about Frank. 'It's so good to be able to tell you guys these things.'

'D'you feel less of a fraud?' Mazz asked. 'You said yesterday you did.'

Johnny smiled. 'I do because I'm still not telling you my birth name.'

Given how much the mood had lightened Stu said, 'So, did you bang the teacher?'

'Can't tell you that I'm afraid.'

'Eh? You've told us this much and you stop now?'

'Part of the deal I'm afraid. She doesn't blab about what Johnny Won's birth name was and I won't blab about what may have happened or not last night.'

It seemed everyone had run out of things to say until Johnny piped up again. 'There is one other thing I feel I should share.'

Everyone looked expectantly.

'I know you all know I've got a thing for Linda and I know you think I'm daft and maybe I am but if I'm being honest with myself it's more than a thing.'

He saw Christine's face fall to the floor.

'I can't help it,' he said, 'but I love her.'

'Well I think we'd all guessed that,' Stu said.

Johnny looked and sure enough Christine nodded.

'So I'm the last to know?' he said.

'Looks that way mate.'

'Where've you guys been?' Calvin said jumping aboard the coach.

'Same to you,' Stu said.

Johnny and Christine looked at each other. She smiled.

'We got sick of waiting, we went to the paper shop and had a coffee,' Calvin said.
Epilogue

## Wednesday 03rd October 1984

Linda picked up her phone.

'New York calling,' a woman's voice said.

'Trudie?'

'It's me. Can you manage another band?'

'No problem,' Linda said. 'Fiona's back fulltime and a new girl started on Monday.'

'Good stuff, I'll fax the details. You ready for Little Spirit and The USed Wonz?'

'Professionally – yes, personally – I'm not so sure.'

'Oh dear; you nervous about seeing Johnny again?'

'A bit. He says he wants to take me out to make up for shouting at me when he left.'

'Tell me you said, yes?'

'I said I'd think about it.'

'Linda, don't leave the poor lad wondering. Either go out with him or cut him off, socially at least. I can find them another agent if it helps.'

'No,' Linda said impulsively. 'I mean... I don't know what I mean.'

Though she'd missed him insanely she'd always known he'd return. The notion of cutting him out her life seemed unthinkable. Whatever happened she wanted him in her life.

'Linda,' Trudie said interrupting her thoughts, 'meet the guy halfway. Go out with him and when he drops you home, snog him. He's not stupid if there's nothing in it he'll get the message.'

Since becoming single again she'd given that some thought, with mixed feelings. 'And what if there is – something in the kiss?'

'Then in the next year or two you'll be the envy every woman in LA.'

* * *

High above Arizona, Johnny checked his seatbelt. The pilot had announced they'd begin their final decent soon.

Across the aisle Dane sat reading a magazine. From his T-shirt his arms looked toned and tanned. Seeing him with one foot slung over a knee Johnny, despite his waking nerves spared an ironic chuckle thinking how cool he looked. He couldn't credit the change that had come over Dane.

Not that Johnny would ever mention it, but he'd heard Dane's office manager had originally appointed him to The USed Wonz because the now sacked Patrick Phillips wanted the band to suffer someone inept.

Dane had beaten that though and after the band had left the Production Annex they'd hit the road again, this time venturing into France, Holland and Germany and for that they required a decent tour manager. The band hadn't hesitated to ask Trudie for Dane, should he want the task.

Repositioned behind his desk in New York, Dane hadn't realised how much he hated his old job and couldn't believe his luck when The USed Wonz requested he took the next flight from JFK Airport.

The band's personal summons gave him new confidence. And he'd re-immersed himself into the role and the band's daily workouts where he'd toughened up.

'You alright mate?' Dane said glancing up from his magazine.

Even his tone of voice resonated impressively, Johnny thought. 'Will be, so long as the pilot gets us down safely.'

Dane smiled and, as if dismissing such an unlikely event, returned to his reading.

Johnny would be fine. He had Mazz to his left and Grace to his right.

Before Johnny faced front, Dane turned the page of his magazine. Johnny glimpsed something that distracted his advancing apprehension. A feminine hand lay on his thigh.

Privately Johnny said to Mazz, 'Dane and Christine?'

'Who'd have thought eh?'

'How did that happen?'

'I'm not sure it has yet.'

'She won't chase him off like she did with Howie will she?' he asked remembering their previous tour manager.

'I doubt it. Dane's not Howie and they're taking it slow. Plus I won't be joining in; no thank you.'

Facing forwards Johnny felt sorry for himself. To his right Grace held hands with Raphael. Further forward Stu had found comradeship with the other two Little Spiriters.

Mazz soon helped his funk and tended his feelings through the decent.

* * *

Twenty minutes later at 2pm Pacific Time, Johnny held Mazz's hand and his breath as the wheels touched down.

'LA, we're home safe,' Mazz said.

* * *

By the time they reached their hotel Johnny felt something akin to rejection and missed his usual endorphin rush. Standing in line with the others he checked in.

'Ah, Mr Won,' the lady at reception said. 'A message for you, from a Linda Lake?'

'What message?'

'It just says to call her.' She raised an eyebrow. 'In the city five minutes and you have a date?'

'It won't be a date. I'm lucky we're talking.'

'Well there's a phone you can use over there.' She changed a dollar for him and pointed towards the foyer.

He dialled. A voice he didn't recognise picked up and stumbled through the greeting.

'Who's that?' Johnny asked trying to appear nonchalant when Linda took over.

'New girl, Steph,' Linda said.

Johnny detected slight disappointment in her tone. 'You okay?'

'I wanted to say, welcome home, but I kinda missed it now you've asked about the new girl.'

He thought how nice it'd have if she'd said it face-to-face at LAX.

'Johnny, I'm sorry I wasn't able to meet you at the airport, Fiona was running errands. But I'd like to make it up to you.'

'Oh?'

'Have you made plans for tonight; first night back?'

'Well—'

'It's just that, it'd be lovely to see you.'

'We were planning to show Little Spirit LA.'

'Oh, of course.' She didn't say more.

'Linda,' he said, 'I can't wait to see you.'

'Really?'

'Really, I've thought of nothing but you since leaving LA.'

She laughed. 'I know that's not true.'

Though Johnny hadn't mentioned anything about Frank he nevertheless toned it down. 'Well, how about you pick me up and I'll treat you to dinner?'

'No.'

'No?'

'Dinner's my treat. Then you, or perhaps we, can meet the others.'

'Okay deal.'

* * *

Three hours later the bandmates had ventured into LA leaving Johnny standing in the hotel's lobby. He would have sat but felt he looked better, more prepared, standing. Eventually he tired of looking at the entrance and guests appearing to check in and so read the leaflets on reception.

'Johnny?'

He turned round. His jaw dropped and mouth salivated.

There she stood.

'Linda.'

She moved towards him but he held a hand up.

'I'm not done looking at you.'

Somehow he always managed to forget the extent of her beauty whenever they spent time apart. But on this occasion she'd made a supreme effort. The dress looked almost the same as Linah's, his ex-teacher's; only Linda's looked classier.

Everything about her looked perfect, especially the legs that the dress showed off and especially her hair, pinned up with a few dangly bits and especially the sultry makeup and especially the high heels and especially her lips and especially...

'How the hell d'you expect me to get through tonight with you looking like that?'

'Why, thank you,' she said accepting his compliment.

But, his question had been serious.

Once in her car she explained she knew of two restaurants she wanted to try; one Italian, one Lebanese. Johnny suggested Italian.

'I was hoping you'd say Lebanese,' she said starting the car.

'Okay, let's do that.'

'You've said Italian now.'

She put the Lotus into first and into the traffic. Johnny watched her leg raise then press the clutch for second gear. He groaned.

'What's up?'

'Honestly Linda, you know how badly I fancy you. What were you thinking choosing a slashed dress?'

She gave him a brief look.

'Were you thinking of me at all?'

She patted his new leather pants. 'I was actually.'

Johnny looked at her but, negotiating traffic, Linda didn't say more.

* * *

In the Italian, Linda order a glass of white wine; Johnny a sparkling water.

They both sat back in their chairs eyeing each other over the table. A single candle illuminated their faces.

'I want you,' Johnny said.

Linda held his gaze.

'But,' he said, 'so does every man in here.'

Linda didn't move or speak.

'So, what am I supposed to do about that?' he asked.

She broke eye-contact and took a long sip of wine. 'You could kiss me.'

Johnny's eyes narrowed. 'You don't want me to; you've made that clear.'

'You could do it anyway.'

'Not my style.'

'Maybe you should review your style.'

Johnny considered his position. 'What the hell are you on about – would you like me to kiss you?'

'Honestly?'

He narrowed his eyes. 'Of course, honestly.'

'I don't know.'

'That's what I thought.' He grabbed his water. The slightest shake of her head had spoken volumes.

'But I think I love you; in other ways.'

'What ways?' Johnny felt frustration building. The waiter took their order. Neither had looked at the menu so Linda asked for whatever the chef recommended.

'What ways?' Johnny repeated.

'I don't know. I want you in my life. I miss you when you're not around. But your feelings for me are lust driven and—'

'I like you as a person too. I've got more respect than those other creeps you were with.'

'Let's not mention them.'

He nodded. Linda sounded clear on that point; like he wanted to talk about them anyway.

'Trudie,' Linda said.

'Where would either of us be without her?'

'I know,' Linda said getting off the point. 'My business has U-turned since she got that promotion.'

'That's great,' Johnny said leaning forward to touch her hand.

Back on track Linda explained Trudie's theory that all they needed to know about each other's true feelings could be found in a kiss.

Johnny thought back to the last time he'd seen Linda. 'You shouted that from the office window didn't you?'

'Yes.'

'So you thought I'd come back and kiss you?'

'I don't know. I didn't want you to leave.' She looked down.

Johnny wondered whether she could have been serious when she said she loved him, if only in _other_ ways.

He stood up from his chair and approached her.

Touching her chin he lifted her face to his. Her lips parted and his heart thumped. Moving closer he reached the familiar point – where desire takes hold of the motor system; where kissing becomes inevitable.

But, right on the cusp he pulled away.

He sat down.

'You moved?' she said.

He glanced at her. His back had been bent. He'd felt awkward; not like a man worthy of Linda Lake.

'We've come this far,' he said. 'You owe me one kiss.'

'I'm paying for dinner.'

'You owe me. You know how I feel about you. You put that dress on and those heels. You knew what effect that would have on me. You owe me a kiss.'

Her expression looked suitably rebuked.

'Okay,' she said. 'One kiss. When?'

'I decide.'

Neither spoke.

Linda had been ready – for the kiss. Unbeknownst to Johnny she did want to kiss him. Being single again had opened her mind to kissing him and she'd been thinking about it more and more. She just didn't know how she'd feel when it happened and the idea frightened her.

Did he really love her? Could he love her as she loved him?

The moment, letting him as close as she had, had been powerful but now she worried they had nothing else to say. Johnny seemed happy enough staring at her.

She realised they'd never spent time together since London.

Johnny's determined stare penetrated her. She found her resistance wavering; intimidated and excited by the clarity of his prevailing want of her.

Thankfully their meals arrived forcing them to choose who had what. Johnny took the steak, leaving her the carbonara.

Lack of conversation ceased being a problem when Johnny mentioned his brother and the history he'd kept swallowed so long.

Linda lost count how many times she said, 'Dear God.'

Johnny watched her reaction. Though he'd never admit what had happened at the top of the stairs that terrible night, the details he shared appeared suitably affective. But he wondered how.

Though his story endeared him to her he needed to appeal to Linda's animalistic nature not her desire to mother him as Christine had disclosed.

'Dear God,' Linda said again when he told her how he'd reclaimed his coat after Shaun and his two mates had stolen it years previously.'

'I'm not going on if you keep saying that.'

He expected her to laugh. She pushed her plate to one side.

'You haven't finished,' he said.

'It was delicious but it's cold now.'

'Sorry, I should have kept conversation light; told you about the two videos we shot.'

'Trudie's flying in tomorrow, she said she'd bring them with her.'

'They're edited?'

'Yes, but Johnny listen to me. I never want you to feel like you've nowhere to come home to.'

She took his fork from him and held his hand. He looked at her face and though he tried not to, he burst into a smile.

She snatched her hand back and turned her face.

He stopped laughing and gave her a second. 'Yeah, I still fancy you from the side.'

Twisting from the table she crossed her legs away from him.

'I can see your legs.'

Sighing she turned back, shuffled forwards and banged her elbows on the table. 'I've just said something really important.'

'I get that, but what you gonna do; tell me I'm always welcome to lie in your spare room?' He touched her cheek, 'While you're lying next door?'

She covered his hand with hers, holding it to her cheek.

He said, 'Maybe I shouldn't tell you sad stories.'

'Maybe we should try that kiss,' she said looking in his eyes.

Sitting back again he said, 'I decide when.'

Her expression floundered. 'You ready to go?'

'Not without pudding.'

* * *

They headed onto the street after coffee and shared crostata di fichi e pere, or pear tart as Johnny had called it.

'You wanna find your friends?' Linda asked.

'Do you?'

'Yeah,' she said. 'But, not tonight.'

_Good answer,_ Johnny thought. 'A bar?'

'You?'

'Not sure. Could you take us somewhere with a view?'

'Car's this way. We could drive up to the hills.'

'Where you've been cooped up in the backseat with hundreds of other boyfriends? No ta.'

'Missed all that I'm afraid. Raised in South Carolina remember? I'd grown up by the time I arrived here,' she smiled.

Johnny smiled too. She hadn't objected to the suggestion of him being her boyfriend. Subtle, but a step closer. 'You're grown up but you'd take me there?'

'It's getting chilly.'

'I'll warm you up.'

They arrived at her car. She popped the trunk and retrieved a fake fur jacket. Johnny made his way to the passenger side.

'Go on then,' she said.

'What, me warm you up?'

'Catch.'

He caught the keys she threw and realised he'd come to the driver's side. 'You sure?'

He didn't wait for the answer but rounded the car, unlocked and held the passenger door for her.

Grabbing a handful of skirt she said, 'No peeking.'

'Nope, ogling all the way,' he said as she slide into the low seat.

* * *

Behind the wheel, he could have driven the Lotus forever as Linda directed him through the traffic's flow.

Shortly Johnny sped along Hollywood Freeway beneath Griffiths Park and beyond the Hollywood sign.

Too soon the pair turned onto Mulholland Drive, amongst the hills' trees and began looking for vantage points.

'This'll do,' Linda said indicating a dusty area to pull over.

'Looks like a good place to practice handbrake turns.'

'Not in my car mister.'

With exaggerated slowness, he brought the car to a standstill.

Outside Johnny looked over miles of city. 'Now that's a view.'

Linda joined him by his side.

'Correction,' he said looking her up and down, ' _that's_ a view.' He glanced at her heels. 'You fancy a slow walk?'

She linked an arm through his and they set off along a path searching the best views.

'I meant it earlier,' she said, 'about wanting you to always feel like you've a home.'

This time he didn't laugh. 'I'm sorry I upset you.'

'It's fine, you made a good point. But, I've done one thing about it.'

'Oh?'

'I've got you a present.'

He stopped walking. 'You got me a present?'

'Yeah, it's a bit silly really but you're sure to like it. There's just one problem.'

'Oh?'

'You can't take it on tour with you so it'll have to stay at my apartment for now,' she said.

Johnny's expression grew inquisitive.

Linda laughed. 'I'm so excited about it but it means you'll always have to come back to me to see it.'

'What is it?'

'Not telling. I'm looking forward to seeing your face when you see it.'

'I don't know what to say.'

'You can thank me when you see it,' she said then looked across the vista, adding, 'if we're still talking.'

'You think we're heading for a fallout?'

She pulled her jacket tighter. 'I hope not. I suppose it's up to you.'

'Takes two to tango.'

'What if I'm waltzing?'

'What are we talking about exactly?'

'The kiss Johnny. When it happens I'm asking you to respect how I feel about it. If your kiss is tango and mine's waltz I want you to realise that, just as I'll be sensitive to your feelings.'

He looked away. They'd stopped having rounded a corner where the view had become more expansive. Out of sight of streetlights the stars shone brighter.

'I get that. And I know that I can't force your feelings to change.'

'But that scares me, I don't want to lose you.'

_Because you want to look after me; you want to feel needed,_ he thought not realising she feared feeling too much for him. 'You look cold, wanna head back?'

An idea had popped into his mind. Finally he had something to work with – the same thing he thought might be working against him.

Before they reached the car Johnny stepped out.

'What you up to?' Linda said.

He sat on her car's bonnet and, loosening a few shirt buttons. He shut his eyes and rubbed his shoulder.

'What's wrong?'

'Left shoulder aches when it gets cold.'

Through closed eyes he could hear Linda's approaching footsteps. He held out a hand. She touched it.

He guided her to the shoulder that suffered an inconsequential ache in the night's chill.

Pushing her fingers over muscle, he correctly guessed her reaction as her fingertips connected with gnarled scar tissue.

'Your warmth feels lovely,' he said pulling his shirt from his waistband. He could hear her breathing.

_If she wants to love you, let her love you,_ he told himself fighting the urge to open his eyes.

He took her left hand and guided it under his shirt and round his back. Her fingertips walked the topography of ripped skin.

'Let me see,' she said.

He didn't say anything but a heartbeat later her fingers finished unbuttoning him.

'Turn around,' she told him.

Rising to full height he turned. She pulled the shirt from his shoulders. Linda's hands found their way over his back.

To his surprise so did her lips.

She kissed between his shoulder blades. Her arms wrapped around him. He opened his eyes and cursed Mazz for suggesting the leather pants; he should've listened to Stu.

Linda wanted him to turn back around. He reclosed his eyes. Again, he sat on the bonnet.

Linda said, 'I don't suppose you'll ever get over the trauma that caused scars like that.'

'Maybe, but you'd better understand what someone has to go through if I stood between you and them wanting to hurt you.' Finally he opened his eyes.

Linda nodded. She wanted to be kissed, he knew that now.

Putting his face beside hers he inhaled the scent on her neck. At last she responded the way he dreamed she would.

Reaching for her hair Linda pulled a pin and a second later her blonde locks tumbled around her shoulders only to be swept into Johnny's hands. His fist held her head fast.

Linda's hands gripped his arms. She couldn't pull away if she wanted.

Johnny knew what she wanted and moved his mouth to hers. As her lips received his the relief surpassed his first successful transatlantic landing.

Linda seemed to be experiencing the same elation. The kiss broke.

Nose-to-nose neither could stop smiling. They tried kissing again but their teeth clashed. Johnny couldn't pull his lips into action.

'Don't ever leave me, Johnny.'

'No fear.'

'Can you wait?' she asked. He didn't know what she meant but she said, 'Give me the keys.'

## Thursday 04th October 1984

'Oh God, look at the time.'

Johnny stirred. 'Linda?'

'We must have slept through the alarm.'

'What time is it?'

'After eleven.'

Johnny watched his naked agent head out the bedroom.

The previous night Linda had taken the car keys from him and screeched the Lotus to a halt in the entrance of a drive he hadn't recognised.

Johnny had leapt out and sweeping her off her feet carried her up the path to a door he hadn't recognised either.

He woke again an hour later feeling his eyelids being kissed and saw Linda; fresh makeup but wet hair.

'Thank you for still being here,' she said, 'for not running off after the deed?'

'Which deed d'you mean?'

'After the first the second surprised me, the third amazed me.'

'Well the pleasure's all mine.'

Stroking his face she said, 'Mine too.'

'Can't have been, you don't fancy me.'

'Did you ever believe that?'

'I believed you believed it.'

'You've been shaking those beliefs for some time now.'

'I'll never give you reason to doubt me.'

'That's been my biggest worry, you seem too good to be true.'

'Just because I'm better than what you've had doesn't make me too good to be true.'

'And you'll be on tour.'

'Absence makes the heart grow fonder. I can vouch for that.'

'I can't have kids.'

Johnny frowned. He'd never given much thought to starting his own family. The sadness of Linda's expression left him in no doubt how much she wanted kids though.

'Lie down with me,' he said.

She cuddled into him. 'The doctors say the likelihood of me conceiving is beyond remote.'

Johnny's touring habits left his suitability as a father figure lacking but in Linda he knew not to underestimate the power of maternal instinct.

Linda said, 'Thinking about you and me together; it doesn't make much sense but not thinking. Just feeling feels better.'

'So go with that then.'

'I worried that if we kissed I'd enjoy it too much.'

'Are you telling me you didn't?'

'Not at all. I just mean...'

'What?'

'I was scared I'd never want to let you go.'

'And now?'

'I don't ever want to let you go.'

Johnny pulled her tighter into his arms.

Linda said, 'Anyway, how d'you like my new apartment?'

* * *

After a shower Johnny decided he liked her apartment very much. He rang the hotel and spoke to Christine, then sat on Linda's new balcony surrounded by potted trees admiring the view which rivalled Mulholland Drive's from the previous night.

Linda joined him bringing a tray of fresh orange juices and bacon sandwiches.

'Just spoken to Fiona again. I should pop in but everything's under control. She says hi by the way.'

With a stomach full of food and heart full of love Johnny didn't want to move. He didn't know what had happened to Linda but the seal had been broken and she'd become for him the woman he knew deep down must have been there all along.

'Come and see your present,' she said excitedly.

He'd been wondering about that. He stood up and gathered the breakfast things.

'Leave them, I can't wait any longer.'

She handed him a folder but forbade him to look in it.

Led by the hand he followed her through the front door he'd carried her through the previous night.

'Okay,' she said, 'I want you not to look until I say so. In fact face the other way.'

He did as instructed. Facing the trees on the other side of the road he heard the garage open, then a car door. For a moment he wondered if she'd bought him a car but dismissed the idea as ludicrous. His present must be in the car – but Linda's car lay in front of him.

Then he heard a starter motor. Four turns of an engine and Johnny heard a V8 fire into action and reverberate around the double garage.

As Casper had described to him and Stu, Johnny witnessed the symphony of sound; each cylinder a member of the orchestra. No way could he keep from looking now.

Turning he saw a black Chevy Camaro reversing onto the drive. As it emerged into the light it changed from black to blue.

Linda got out.

'You looked,' she said her face beaming with mock surprise.

'How could I not?'

'Camaro SS 1967.'

'Can't be for me?'

'It is.'

'It's on lease, right?' His knees quivered.

She shook her head. 'You can look in your folder now.'

He opened it and found documents and a spare key. By his side, Linda pointed to his name confirming his ownership of the vehicle.

'Nobody's ever done anything this kind before.' His voice had turned to a course whisper.

'I guessed as much,' she said opening her arms.

'Don't hug me,' he said but she ignored him.

Her arms wrapped around him and she kissed his cheek. He'd never cried since leaving Carlisle.

Neither heard the phone ringing in the apartment.

'I'm sorry I looked too soon,' he said sniffing.

'That's okay. You gonna take me out for Lebanese tonight?'

'Better make sure I can drive it first.'

'Come on then.'

The couple went indoors, changed their clothes and left the apartment. Linda didn't check the answer machine and didn't hear the phone ringing again as she buckled up next to Johnny.

* * *

After driving to the coast they parked the Camaro in town and entered a photographic studio. Linda would have phoned her office but Trudie had already arrived at the studio.

Johnny headed off to makeup giving Linda just two moments to tell Trudie what had happened the previous night, before the rest of The USed Wonz and Little Spirit showed up for their publicity photos.

* * *

'Everything alright?' Linda said to Fiona when she had chance to sneak off to the phone.

'No, I mean yeah, but I've been phoning and leaving messages.'

'What's up?'

'A man's called twice today from Spain.'

'Spanish?'

'English, says his name's Rhys Rivers. At first I thought it might be a prank, you know, Linda Lake, Rhys Rivers?'

'Is it a prank?'

'I don't think so. He said he'd been given our number as best means of contacting Johnny Won, by someone called Linah Clarke and that there's a little man who wants to meet his uncle? Does that mean anything to you?'

Linda leant against the wall. 'Oh my god, it does.'

'Well, he said they're nine hours ahead in Spain. He's given three contact numbers, all Spanish but said he'll ring the office again at 5pm tonight. I told him it'd probably be tomorrow when we ring back.'

'You did the right thing. I'll let Johnny know as soon as the photographer's finished with him. We'll see you later though.'

* * *

Johnny grinned at the camera; not something he made a habit of doing but couldn't help himself.

His new girlfriend had just walked into the whitewashed room, smiled and blown him a kiss. Outside a supercool car would roar the streets back to her apartment and then to dinner.

Behind the lights Grace, Dane and his new friends Little Spirit waited with Trudie who guaranteed to turn both bands into global stars.

Christine nuzzled into the crook of his left arm; Mazz under his right. He felt Stu's hand patting his shoulder. Returning the gesture he looked over Mazz's head winked at his mate.

In front of them the cameraman said, 'Tell me again who are you incredible guys?'

All four said, 'The USed Wonz.'

'Louder,' the cameraman said.

'The USed Wonz.'

Flash.

'Awesome.'

The End

Acknowledgements and legal bits

Again I'd like to thank everyone who has read _Johnny and_ The USed Wonz. Of course I hope you've enjoyed it and if you haven't yet read Little Spirit I'd love you to enjoy some time with it too.

Need I ask you to leave a review? I'm sure you can imagine how much I'd appreciate your thoughts and feelings. I'd love to hear from you at http://www.daneoduran.com

The story of _Johnny and_ The USed Wonz is my own and is a work of fiction. All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. If you have any queries contact me at http://www.daneoduran.com

The Book Cover design was by myself DaNeo Duran but I'd like to thank http://www.dafont.com for providing the fonts used. In particular Digital Nestor Delgado for the 'Expansiva' font and TracerTong for their 'Universal Accreditation' font.

About the Author

DaNeo Duran is a novelist, Leeds University graduate musician and Carol Wilson Performance Coach. He has spent many years in amateur and professional bands and has decades of music industry experience.

During the 1980s he played drums in many bands and throughout the 1990s made a gradual switch to bass guitar. Also during the 1990s he studied Music Production and song writing.

After one too many career disappointments DaNeo turned to novel writing in order to enjoy the so-near-yet-so-far professional success that had at that time eluded him. He now enjoys touring as a musician and promoting his novels.

For plenty more information, music, photos, live appearances and a means to contact DaNeo Duran visit: http://www.daneoduran.com.
