Heartbreaker (20 page)

‘For your information, the man you think I’d be better off patching things up with called me everything from a whore to a fucking grave robber this afternoon. Get back together with Dave? I’d rather stick a fork in my eye. I should have seen the writing on the wall long before I did and bailed out on the cheating, scheming, double dealing little shit years ago. I was kidding myself thinking we had a future together.’

‘No, Alex, Dave loves you—’

‘No, Carol, Johnny loves me. Dave has only ever loved himself.’ Alex turned away in disgust. Carol tried again, squeezed her arm. Alex let her. Carol turned her round and hugged her.

‘Alex, I’m sorry, mate. I didn’t think he’d be such a total twat about it.’

‘Isabel’s in hospital. I’ve just come from there.’

‘What?’ Carol stepped back to see Alex’s face. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘She’s got something called pre-eclampsia. They’re keeping her in until the baby’s bigger, then they’re going to give her a caesarean.’

‘Christ. How is she?’

Alex passed a hand over her eyes; she felt worn out. ‘Okay, I think. Stable. I’m just on my way over to see Robert now.’

Carol hugged her again. ‘Listen, forget all the shit about men. Ring me tomorrow, we’ll go and see Isabel together, yeah?’

‘Yeah, okay.’ Alex dug her car keys out of her pocket. ‘Enjoy yourself tonight.’ She managed a thin smile. Carol smiled back. ‘But Carol.’ Carol nodded. ‘If you see Dave and he asks you anything about me, tell him to fuck off.’

Chapter 49

When Alex got to Isabel and Robert’s house, Robert was on his way to being drunk. Alex didn’t blame him. In fact, she decided to stay the night and join him in a bottle or two. They ordered Chinese food and put some music on, their tastes more in tune with each other than with Isabel. They played some early Rolling Stones, then moved on through Bob Dylan and Neil Young to Lynyrd Skynyrd.

‘We want this baby so much, it’s scary,’ Robert was telling Alex. ‘But I don’t think having a kid is worth risking Isabel’s health, or life, for.’ He paused. ‘I just hope everything goes all right, and that I can persuade her that having just one kid is enough.’ Robert was an only child, but Isabel, of course, was the youngest of four.

‘She’s always talked about having a tribe,’ Alex observed. ‘Do you think you’ll be able to talk her round?’ Alex had already lost a brother; she didn’t want to lose her sister, too.

‘God, I hope so.’ Robert smiled at Alex. ‘If you help, there’s more chance of success.’

Alex nodded her assent. ‘Didn’t you miss having brothers and sisters when you were growing up?’

Robert looked thoughtful. ‘I don’t think so. In one sense, because I’d never had any, I didn’t know what I was missing, but I never had any feeling of missing out. I always had cousins and friends round, so I wasn’t lonely.’

Alex nodded. She wondered how different her life might have been without her brothers and sister, decided she didn’t want to know.

‘Of course,’ Robert was saying, ‘this little one doesn’t have any cousins.’ He grinned at Alex. ‘You or Greg will have to get a move on and boost his family for him.’

Alex laughed. ‘Best work on Greg, then, because I’m not planning on producing any sprogs in the near future.’

Robert paused, then he said; ‘I don’t want to pry, Alex, but I thought you and Dave were pretty settled.’

‘So did I, Robert, then I caught him and Molly together.’

‘Is that definitely the end for you two?’

She nodded. ‘It wasn’t the first time, he’s admitted as much.’ She ran a hand through her hair. ‘Anyway, I’ve moved on and right now I’m happy with Johnny.’

‘Yeah, but … look, I’m not being funny, and I know it’s none of my business, but don’t you want kids?’

Alex nodded. ‘Maybe someday.’

‘Well, surreal as it is that you’re in a relationship with him anyway, that’s not likely to happen with Johnny Burns, is it? I mean, his kids are grown up, he’s turned fifty; he’s not going to want to start again with all that now, is he?’

‘I don’t know. It’s early days, we’re just getting to know each other properly. Besides, it’s not the be all and end all, is it?’

‘I suppose not.’

‘It certainly won’t blight my life if I don’t have a kid.’ She paused. ‘I actually kind of like my life the way it is, you know? The idea of that kind of change, that massive responsibility, is a bit daunting, if I’m honest.’

Robert nodded. ‘I know, I feel like that, too.’

‘Well, then.’

Robert grinned. ‘Do you want to see the nursery?’

Alex grinned back, nodded. They went up to the room Robert and Isabel were busy decorating as a nursery for their child. Robert showed her the things they had bought so far, and they spent the next half hour cooing over the little toys and clothes.

Chapter 50

Late next morning, Alex headed back to her flat to shower and change, having arranged to meet Robert at the hospital at three o’clock and pick Carol up at a quarter to.

They arrived at the hospital laden down with goodies for Isabel. She was delighted to see them all, desperate for entertainment. ‘It’s like a bloody prison sentence,’ she moaned. ‘I’ve got so much I want to be getting on with, and I’m gonna be stuck in here. The next time I go home, it’ll be with the sprog.’

‘Look at it this way, at least you won’t have to wait so long to cuddle the little beggar,’ said Alex. She reckoned if Isabel was well enough to complain, she wasn’t in such bad shape — provided she took things easy, anyway, and being in hospital would make sure she did.

‘There is that. Perhaps it’s not such a bad thing after all.’

‘Robert showed me the nursery. Can you really need all that for such a little person?’

Isabel rolled her eyes. ‘All that and more. That’s just the tip of the iceberg, Alex. We’re talking about getting a bigger car to fit it all in.’

‘Get out of town.’

Robert nodded. ‘Oh yeah. One of those people carrier things, or maybe a four wheel drive.’

Carol chimed in with, ‘Get real, Isabel’ll never be able to park it.’

‘Oi, you, my parking’s not that bad.’

‘It’s not that good, either. Two words for you: Asda, Boldon.’

Isabel giggled. ‘Okay, so I reversed into a post. So what? There was no harm done.’ She rummaged through the bags that had been dumped on the bed. ‘What have you lot brought me, then?’

Two hours later, they all piled out of the hospital. Robert would be back later and Carol had promised to pop in through the week with Janice and Sharon. Alex turned down Carol’s offer of a girly night out; she was planning on an early night and an early start in the morning. She promised to phone often to keep in touch with Isabel and Robert.

Next day dawned bright and clear, and Alex was on the road by seven o’clock. She got back to Johnny’s house early afternoon, glad to be home. Once she’d phoned to check on Isabel, she relaxed and accepted a glass of wine. Alex and Johnny spent the afternoon reading and listening to music, then cooked dinner and watched a movie. Next morning, it was business as usual.

Chapter 51

Alex wanted to pull the story back to where they had left off. Johnny had been ready to talk about Andy and what had happened to him, had needed to get it out of his system, but now they had to get back to the chronology of the main narrative.

‘You didn’t tour for a couple of years after the press expose in ‘79,’ she said.

‘We went back on the road in 1981 to promote
Feet of Clay
.’

‘Tell me about how things changed.’

Johnny ran his hands through his hair, slumped back in his chair. ‘It was a very different affair in ‘81. As you know, Andy had gone cold turkey to get clean, and had stayed clean. Tom had been in rehab, which wasn’t cool in those days, and while he still dabbled occasionally, he could keep a lid on it.

‘Paul had started distancing himself from the rest of us on tour around ’77, about the time he and Siobhan got married. In ’81, Andy joined him. He didn’t want to risk relapsing into addiction, and drugs had always been a big part of touring. Poor kid, he had a tough time. People just came up and gave him stuff. He passed it on to Benny; he still had a crew to supply, even if the band weren’t behaving as badly.’

‘Benny Rutherford?’

Johnny nodded. ‘Tom’s partner in crime. He had phone numbers for women in any city you could name, and he sorted the illegal substances, too.’

‘That must have been a full time job.’

‘Not so bad as you might think. As I say, when we were touring, people would give us stuff. We never carried drugs into a country; there was no need to be so reckless. We were in more need of his services when we were back home, that’s when we had to go shopping.’

‘What did Dan Cross get up to when you toured?’

‘Once we’d made it big, Dan didn’t always come along. He always made the first and last shows, but we often didn’t see much of him in between. We tended to make an effort to be more normal when he was around. Plus he often had Brett Phillips from Crawdaddy with him, so that was a double reason to be on our best behaviour. Or our least worst, anyway.’ He laughed.

‘Our tour manager, Sid Potts, was brilliant, the best ever. He made sure everything ran like clockwork, poured oil on troubled waters, smoothed ruffled feathers. He was worth his weight in gold. He kept out of it when the madness started, wanted nothing to do with that aspect of it. He was much happier with the way we did things in ’81.

‘We played smaller venues, no stadiums. It was more personal. You could actually see the audience. We took a smaller crew and we pared everything down musically, too. Paul stripped his kit right back, we had less gear on stage, we used fewer effects and put more into it. It was more like the early days; raw, bluesy, dirty-ass rock ‘n’ roll.

‘We toured almost constantly that year to try to make up for the time we’d taken out, which was a big mistake. Nicci had found out she was pregnant in the January; God, we were both so excited. But the touring schedule meant that I missed so much of her pregnancy and that I wasn’t even there when Christabel was born. I flew home to see them, but I couldn’t stay long; I had to get back for the next gig. It wasn’t so bad in ’83. I spent more time with Nicci when she was pregnant with Rebecca, and I even managed to be there for the birth. That was fantastic.

‘I didn’t handle things too well in ‘81, though. I started drinking heavily. I mean really heavily, even by our standards. Paul tried to make me see sense and Tom did his bit, too, but I wouldn’t listen. If I couldn’t be home with my family, where I wanted to be, then I just wanted to be either on stage or out of my head. A number of times I managed both. I was just on autopilot, though. No spark. No flair or frills, very pedestrian.’

Chapter 52

Paris, 1981

‘For fuck’s sake, Johnny.’ Tom shook him awake.

Johnny struggled to get his eyes open and focused. ‘What?’ he asked. ‘What is it?’

‘The show is supposed to start in an hour. Look at the state of you.’ If Tom was trying to keep the disgust out of his voice, he had failed. ‘You’re a fucking disgrace. It’s just as well you’ve got Biggsy to sort your guitars, or you would be out of tune as well as fucking boring.’

Johnny closed his eyes against the onslaught, curled up on the bed. Tom wasn’t having any. He grabbed Johnny’s arm. ‘Get the fuck up, you wanker. Get up, get ready and get some coffee down you. We leave in half an hour.’ Tom went into the bathroom and turned the shower on, then he manhandled Johnny off the bed and dumped him in the cubicle fully clothed. ‘I’ll be back in twenty minutes with some food. Be ready.’ He slammed out of the room.

Johnny skidded around in the shower, then gave in and sat down. He felt wretched and miserable. The fact that Tom was right made it worse. He stripped his clothes off and threw them out into the bathroom, then scrambled to his feet and let the water beat on his skull for a while. It seemed to help. By the time he got out and dried off, he felt less like a zombie.

Christ, he needed a drink. The craving was intense. He remembered Tom and held off, got dressed ready for the show. When Tom returned with coffee and sandwiches, Johnny was seated on the bed looking fairly presentable and feeling very nearly human.

Tom took it in with a glance. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Now get that down you.’

‘No way, not just before a show.’

‘You need to eat, mate, you’re killing yourself.’ Tom sat down next to Johnny and put his arm around his shoulders. ‘I’m worried about you, Johnny, we all are.’ Johnny let Tom hug him. He didn’t know what to do or say. ‘You’ve got an hour and a half, anyway, I lied before. You’ll be fine. Come on.’

So Tom watched while Johnny ate some food and drank his coffee. They chatted for a while, and then Tom got up to go. ‘I’ve got to get changed. See you downstairs in ten minutes, yeah?’ Johnny nodded and Tom headed off. As soon as Tom was out of the door, Johnny dug out a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and had a good slug. Then he headed downstairs to meet the others, feeling better for the shot of alcohol.

That night, Johnny’s performance had some sparkle to it. Tom thought he’d made a breakthrough, right up until he found Johnny in exactly the same state the next day. He went ballistic, shook Johnny awake, dragged him to his feet then floored him with a sucker punch. ‘You fucking selfish tosser. What about the rest of us? What about the fans?’ Tom laid into him mercilessly. Johnny made no attempt to defend himself.

The door burst open and Colin rushed in, alerted by the noise. ‘What the fuck is going on here?’ he demanded, taking in the scene before him.

Tom looked grim. ‘I’m keeping this band alive, that’s what. We’ve got our best stuff still to do. I won’t let anyone fuck that up.’ He dropped Johnny in a heap, prodded him none too gently with his toe. ‘Not him, not anyone.’

Johnny took the stage that night with cuts on his cheek and above his eye, and a load of bruises hidden under a buttoned-up long-sleeved shirt. He cleaned up his act to a level at which he could function, though.