Read The Song Never Dies Online
Authors: Neil Richards
Sarah put an arm on the woman’s shoulder. Lauren turned and looked up at her.
“I didn’t mean nothing; by not saying anything, not telling you. But if I had, I’d have to say where I was,
who
I was with, and my Will — he’s put up with a lot, and, and—”
“I understand,” Jack said.
The words so simple yet — Sarah could feel — so calming to the woman.
And then finally — “So, yes. I saw who went in there after Alex.”
She looked up at Sarah again, then to Jack.
“How Alex wasn’t alone …”
And with the truth coming out, Lauren started crying, the burden falling away, and now probably layered with terrible guilt.
She popped open her handbag and dug out a tiny packet of tissues.
Amidst the sobs, Jack and Sarah merely listened.
Jack peered out the windows of The Ploughman’s second floor. Even with the bevelled glass making all outside look blurry, more like an impressionistic painting, he could still make out the amazing crowds of people.
Alan had wisely called in for support from other villages, with a half dozen police officers trying to manage the huge — and still growing — crowd.
Carlton Flame had also sprung for some rented security, burly guys with folded arms like ham hocks.
As usual — the crowd waited for the band to begin.
Jack turned back to Sarah.
“Think it’s time for the show …”
She nodded. “Look at all this — pretty over the top, Jack, hmm? Even for an opera fan.”
Jack looked at Carlton Flame.
The agent had set up a mixing board on the small upstairs bar. On either side of the bar, two giant flat screens were mounted on the wall, probably for when this room got the spill-over crowd from downstairs on a big match day.
Now, one screen showed a shot of the band members up here, all noodling with their instruments, while the other screen was locked on the centre microphone stand, awaiting the star attraction.
Who — so far — was nowhere to be seen.
He watched Nick pull out a cigarette, then talk to their agent now turned producer.
A man of many talents …
Who — outside of Alan Rivers — was one of the few that knew the real plan for the concert soon to begin.
“Carlton, bit more bloody bottom and volume, mate? This isn’t a church we’re performing in.”
Jack saw Chris Wickes grin at that, while he continued to pick out bits and pieces of melodies on his guitar.
In the back, at a full drum set, Will was doing the odd roll here and there. With his short hair and collared shirt, the drummer looked like he had walked into the wrong band.
The look was anything but rock and roll …
But his drum rolls … smooth, staccato.
Jack turned to Sarah. “Gonna be something,” he said.
“You sure? No sign of the singer,” she said.
The Ploughman’s had a backroom both here and on the ground floor. Presumably mega-star Sarinda was doing what every rock star apparently loves to do …
Make the audience wait.
Then Jack nodded in the direction of Lauren, standing off to the side, almost plastered against the wall.
She had made brief eye contact with Jack. A small smile. She had told them both that — difficult as it might be — she was ready to do her part.
To tell the truth.
But would she?
“Think Lauren’s going to be alright?” Jack asked.
Sarah looked in the other direction. “Not sure. I mean, to do what she has to do. To admit what she has to admit? I—”
Then, with the singer still not there, Nick took a step towards the microphone on the left.
It was starting.
“This one is for Alex!” His voice boomed.
He turned back to the others, head bobbing, counting …
“One, two, three …”
Then, from the back, Will started a drum roll as if driving Napoleon’s troops on their march towards Mother Russia, gathering strength, speed, cymbals crashing, bass drum kicking in, once, then again …
Whatever you might say,
Jack thought,
Will, still had –
The word?
–
his
chops
.
And then Nick started a windmill move with his right arm, not yet touching his guitar strings — a move that would do Pete Townsend proud. Until he finally slashed across the soundboard of his electric guitar and released a chord that made the Ploughman’s feel like an earthquake just hit.
*
Sarah leaned into Jack.
“I
know
this one. Big hit of theirs.”
Jack wished he had put some earplugs in. Too much of this and his hearing, already not the best, could take a hit.
“Yeah?”
“
‘Rage Against the Night
.’”
Jack nodded. But they were playing the song with no one singing.
Maybe, Jack thought, as a tribute to Alex?
Already they had the upstairs crowd’s heads bopping.
And Will’s steady, powerful drumming keeping the screaming guitars together.
Even without a singer, the band was
killing
.
Jack looked at Sarah, also nodding in time, perhaps taken back to when she was so much younger and listened to Lizard when she and they were young.
The song soared to a crescendo.
Talk about operatic, Jack thought.
And with a final roll of the snare drum and one last crashing chord left to echo … it ended.
The band stood still, grinning at each other, happy with their performance.
The sound of screams, whistles, and applause echoed from the closed streets of Cherringham below.
And when those sounds died down, more whistles started in.
But with a different message now.
As voices — in the upstairs room and downstairs and outside — started chanting …
Sarinda
.
Sarin …da!
The rhythmic chant now accompanied by claps and feet stamping.
Until it was a roar.
Then, and only then, did a small door at the back of the room open.
And dressed in skin-tight black leather pants, and sleeveless black blouse that seemed to be missing a button or two …
Out walked the star.
Slowly, looking at the band members, then the crowd …
Taking her time to walk to the centre microphone.
Until she slowly reached out, wrapped two hands around it, leaned close.
With just the quickest of looks to Nick.
Jack doubted anyone was thinking of Alex right now.
This was all about the young rock star
.
All about Sarinda.
About to perform her global hit.
The music — now familiar to Jack — began, the tempo slow, sleepy … but it wouldn’t stay that way long.
Jack looked at Carlton at the mixing board. His face picking up the board’s glow of the lights, red, blue, yellow.
The agent looked up and gave Jack the quickest glance. A breath. A nod.
He was ready.
Sarah took a step to the side, closer to the wall where Lauren stood.
If the woman got cold feet, if she couldn’t do what she said she would do … this would all go wrong.
Standing there, close by, Sarah might be able to give her some reassurance.
As she moved closer, Sarinda was about to reach the achingly beautiful chorus of the song, the first time the title is sung.
Sarah listened as Sarinda sang.
“
And we know … we know … we know
…”
The last words piercing.
No doubt. She has a voice,
Sarah thought.
“
The music will end, yes, the music will always end … but—”
Sarah had gotten close, now only feet away from Lauren.
“
But the—”
And the monitor showing the band suddenly flickered and changed.
Suddenly, it was New York, decades ago.
And with a precision that seemed near miraculous, Carlton had cued the grainy footage of the Chelsea Hotel, the wobbly camera, Alex sitting on his bed, cigarette smoke hovering over him …
Cued — perfectly synced — with Sarinda, while Alex King sang …
“
The Song Never Dies
.”
The band froze as if someone had pulled a plug, leaving Sarinda stranded on the last high note that she shared with a decades old Alex …
Who continued, singing his masterpiece of a song, rough, his voice scratchy from the smoke, the booze …
But, in some ways, even more beautiful than the anthem that Sarinda had turned it into.
The proof there on the screen for all to see, hear.
Alex King wrote the song.
Sarah took a breath.
What would happen next — despite how she and Jack had carefully planned things — would be anyone’s guess.
*
Sarinda spun around, looking first at the band members.
“Bloody
hell
. What is that old
bastid
doing on the screen?”
Her beautiful singing voice now replaced with a shriek that was frightening.
She stormed over to Carlton.
“You! You slimy pig, you set this up? You trying to embarrass me, humiliate me …?”
The voice now a full-throated scream … broadcast to all her fans outside.
“…Destroy me?”
Carlton flinched from the assault.
But he let Alex’s gentle singing go on.
Sarah turned to the other side of the room, and saw Gail King, crying.
Her dead husband, so young.
And there — the proof he always claimed to have.
Sarinda was still in the agent’s face.
“It won’t work! You hear me? Tell ’im, Nick! Tell ’im it won’t bloody matter, It’s
our
song, no matter how old this stupid tape is.”
From the sick look on Nick’s face, Sarah guessed that Nick now knew that wasn’t at all true.
Not now.
The video changed everything.
Sarinda stormed back to her mic.
“Okay come on. Shut that thing off! Let’s play the damn song!”
But the band remained frozen.
Sarah looked at Lauren. It would be so hard for her to do this.
But the woman took a step towards the band, to the side microphone near Nick, who backed away, sensing that something was up, even if he didn’t have a clue what.
As she passed, Sarah patted her shoulder.
Until Lauren was eyeball to eyeball with Sarinda, close to the mic; her words said so quietly would still be heard.
Those words amplified.
For all to hear …
“I saw you, Sarinda. That night. Going to the pool. After Alex.”
*
Sarah stood there, like everyone else, all eyes riveted on the two women.
The band had stopped, turned into mannequins, watching the scene take place — as was everyone in and near The Ploughman’s.
Then, Sarinda took a sharp step forward as if she would punch Lauren.
“You don’t know
nothing
. You didn’t see nothing. Liar!”
Sarah saw Lauren turn from Sarinda to Will and then to Chris Wickes.
“I went outside. To speak to … to be with Chris. I was there. You went in. Just before Alex drowned.”
Sarinda spun on the teetering heels of her black leather boots to look at Nick.
“Can you please get this bloody woman to shut the hell–”
But Nick’s face showed that he was immobilised as everyone else.
An ugly truth slowly becoming clear to him.
Then, as if thinking he hadn’t heard her, Sarinda screamed: “Nick!”
Which was when Sarah walked next to Lauren and with Sarinda’s back to her, tapped the singer’s shoulder …
As she dug a plastic bag out of her pocket.
*
And when Sarinda turned around, Sarah said, with as much steadiness and quiet as she could manage:
“We found this in the pool house, Sarinda.”
She held up the bag with the marijuana cigarette, lipstick stained on one end.
“Your joint, I’m sure tests will prove. Your lipstick.”
Sarinda made a quick lunge to grab it from Sarah’s hands, but Sarah moved fast, yanking it away.
And when Sarinda recovered, she could look up and see Jack standing next to Sarah and now, having come up from the crowded streets below, Alan Rivers.
“I must ask you to come along with me, miss. To the station.”
Sarinda’s head pivoted left, right, all around, the claustrophobic room only making this seem all the more like a trap.
Sarinda finally turned one more time to Nick who with a head shake, turned away.
Scratch one protégé,
Sarah thought.
And then she saw Alan lock a hand on Sarinda’s left arm.
“We’ll go through the back,” the police officer said. “The car is there.”
Good thing,
Sarah thought. No telling how the disappointed crowd might react to their fallen star.
Their killer star.
Alan guided the girl steadily towards the back stairwell.
Until the room was quiet.
Everyone standing around, as if not knowing what to do.
Sarah looked at Jack.
Who gave her a nod — signalling he had an idea.
*
She watched Jack walk closer to the band.
Will had moved from his drum set to join his wife. Then — in a moment Sarah didn’t expect at all — Will took her hand.
Yes,
Sarah thought,
forgiveness is an amazing thing.
It was Nick who asked the question.
“What are we going to bloody well do
now
?”
The bass player looked from Wickes, to Will.
But it was Jack who answered.
“Supposed to be an Alex King memorial, hmm?”
The band members nodded.
“What would Alex want you to do?”
And — first on Nick, but then the others — smiles bloomed, heads nodded.
“Right,” Nick said. “Too right! Play our hearts out for the guy.”
With a last squeeze of his wife’s hand, Will — who Sarah had to think was quite the man — went back to his drum set.