One suspect at least could be discounted straight away – Nick. True there had been an attraction very early on but since he and Jan got together he'd barely been allowed to look at another girl let alone touch one. So, of the other three men in Liz's life in 1982, which best fitted the profile of Kelly's father?
* * *
Kirk? Kirk had been chasing after her since the first night they met. But whilst there was little counter attraction, the alcohol and his persistence had finally worn down her weakened defences. Appearing in the doorway of Nick's spare room on that fateful night, Kirk had definitely administered a drunken embrace. That much she could remember. Yet Liz was certain as was possible that was as far as it went, the younger brother an impotent victim of the booze. Besides which she had only to look at Kelly. There was nothing of the younger Madden in her daughter's pleasant curviness, soft skin, aesthetic features and lightly curled hair.
Vaughn? Vaughn too had beaten a path to her room at some time that night or early morning. But had there been intimate contact? Sadly it was shrouded in the haze of alcohol and time? Apparently, when news of the pregnancy broke Vaughn insisted to his friends that it had been no more than a blowjob. Liz didn't think she was that type of girl but, after what she'd heard, anything was possible that night. Anything that was except for Vaughn's being Kelly's father. For as with Kirk, physically Kelly was no Madden.
That only left one person, Richey. A different proposition altogether, he was the one that made it clear from the start she couldn't have him, so much so that she'd just had to, whatever it took. An aloofness that served only to intensify his allure, Liz worshipped Richey in secret, in public hanging on his every word. There was a suggestion he'd come to her in the early hours and, despite being third choice behind Jan and Cass, Liz wouldn't have been able to resist those blue eyes and alluring smile. Yet surely she'd have remembered having sex with the man of her dreams, wouldn't she? Even now, twenty-five years on with his thinning hair and middle-aged paunch, she'd drop everything for Richey. Not of course that he would, for they moved not so much in difficult circles as different spheres.
By the time she'd realised she was pregnant, it was too late to do anything about it. Winter had arrived, she was back at university and the band was on tour. As a consequence, Liz raised Kelly alone, struggling financially during the early years, and making do with her parents' support. It was, however, a support that came at a heavy price, for sometimes they were worse than Kelly with the ceaseless interrogation. Who is he? What does he do? Why are you keeping the baby a secret from him? It was enough to drive her to drink or drugs, usually both.
* * *
The Zafira pulled up at Pete Collins' door. Catching sight, he and Matt gathered up their rucksacks, the hood of Pete's grey sweatshirt lifted against the weather. Matt climbed into the back and fell immediately to sleep whilst Kelly exchanged a pursed-lip smile with Pete. Nick's brow furrowed, his early springtime mood quickly having turned the way of the weather. Richey, Kelly and Devilicious all in close proximity, all in the same weekend – if he managed to survive the next couple of days it would be a minor miracle. He only hoped his will was up to date.
An hour out of town, with all three passengers ensconced in the land of nod and still dull and rainy outside, the journey was halted by the ringing of Nick's mobile phone. Espying a roadside café he pulled over. 'Hello, Nick Silver...Richey h-hi...yeah I'm good...We'll probably see you in the early afternoon,' Nick continued, before a long listen ensued. 'Ah, right, um, yeah, okay. See you later. Yeah, there's, um, four of us. I'll explain later. Is that okay?'
Nick's frown curled down till it almost touched the bottom of his chin. 'Another change of plan,' he sighed. 'We're no longer going to be enjoying the luxury of the twelve-bedroom mansion with swimming pool, jacuzzi, tennis court and gym...'
He observed their disappointed faces before continuing: 'Instead, we're going to be spending the weekend at Richey's pub. Apparently there was a massive party up at the manor house last week and the place got completely trashed. The builders are in and it'll be another week till it's habitable.'
Their faces quickly lit up once more. 'Must have been some party,' mused Matt as they headed inside the café.
'Knowing Richey it will have been.'
Pete smiled. 'I think we can cope with a weekend in a pub, don't you?'
'Hmm, I'm not sure,' replied Matt with an ironic rub of the chin.
Even Kelly had perked up. Each with a different quest for the weekend, a little hedonism certainly wouldn't go amiss.
Hungers satisfied by brunch, they headed back to the Zafira. 'Wow!' enthused Kelly, her spirits elevating yet higher.
During their brief time inside, it was as if a child had gone to work with a painting-by-numbers set, the early dull and rain washed away and replaced by glorious sunshine that illuminated the puddles in brilliant yellow as they headed west. Dipping and rising towards the Wiltshire village of Penn, their stomachs were left behind in the troughs.
His memory of the area hazy, the white chalk horse cut into the hillside helped to guide Nick. The Green Man stood at the bottom of Penn Hill in a raggedy line that comprised a couple of chocolate box cottages, a local store, another brace of cottages and a bicycle hire shop used by tourists. A stone walled incline stretched steeply up and out of view, bordered by acres of grass carpet, broken only by clusters of daisies that resembled discarded paper picnic plates. Opposite the pub, a church hid behind a seam of gently oscillating yews. Eerily quiet, Penn was about to be awoken.
The car park at the rear of the pub was deserted but for a red Porsche bearing the registration R1 CHY, parked in front of a flat-roofed grey concrete outhouse with barred windows that looked like it belonged in a concentration camp. In the pub garden two parasol-topped wooden tables wore long grassy socks.
Grabbing their possessions, the youngsters tagged on behind Nick as the lazy sound of music leaked out of an open upstairs window. The trio recognised the face at the back door from the press, though the beige cardigan over a faded t-shirt and burgundy cords were unfamiliar accoutrements, no evidence of the denim or leather for which the rock god Richey Osgood was renowned. In fact he looked very ordinary. Nick formalised the introductions and though all three had developed varying degrees of immunity to celebrity in their day-to-day lives, all were nonetheless a little starstruck.
The back bar was how Nick remembered it: dark and cosy with a low ceiling. Chunky black beams littered with horseshoes broke up the funnels of light that seeped through a dust-veiled window. A brown carpet was riddled with years of wear and tear, whilst two sheen-topped tables were pressed into a faded green, L-shaped velvety seat that ran around the side and back wall. Richey held open a low white door to reveal a set of narrow stairs, ushering Kelly through, followed by the men, all dipping. Leading to a tight landing with warnings of 'MIND YOUR HEAD', Pete's crown brushed the ceiling.
From the first room on the right emanated the music they'd heard from the car park. Richey tapped his knuckles, pushing the door open to reveal a pair of teenaged lads, gaunt and skinny yet strikingly handsome in an androgynous manner. These apparently were Richey's two new band members, following in a long heritage that had begun with Nick, Vaughn and Kirk. Lounging on their beds, shades were perched atop shoulder length dirty-blond locks. Introduced as Spencer and Lee, thinly forced smiles came back before Richey closed the door back on their private world.
The room opposite, with its one double and two singles was, Richey proclaimed, set aside for the Devilicious girls. Next to Spencer and Lee's room was the room Kelly was to stay in, a compact space with a double bed. As Kelly passed to head inside, Richey's eyes followed her backside. Closing the door behind her, Kelly ambled over to the window, the view beyond the car park and beer garden revealing miles and miles and miles of green field. Years since she'd spent time in the countryside, its forgotten beauty cheered her no end, a welcome distraction from the dark thoughts in her head. Having come this far she wasn't sure whether she had the courage to go through with it.
Richey's room stood opposite Kelly's, the open door revealing a sparse area with a single bed, above which a gold disc was pinned to the wall. 'Sorry about this. I'm sure you'd all much rather prefer the manor house,' apologised Richey.
'Not at all,' replied Nick, until he realised he was going to have to share.
At the end of the corridor, the final room was revealed. Containing a central double bed and a bunk by the rear window, territorially Nick tossed his case down on the double as the other pair argued over top bunk. 'Pop down for a beer when you've settled in,' Richey called back.
Matt won the right for top bunk via a hasty round of scissors-paper-stone, stretching out beneath the sloped ceiling whilst Pete hung an assortment of t-shirts on hangers. Nick kept his promise to Jan, phoning home to confirm the safe arrival. No reply, he left a simple message. The journey having taken its toll, his mind began to drift and his eyes felt heavy. In a half sleep, he heard the door open then shut and the room go silent. Too early for drinking, he figured the longer he left it, the longer it would be before Richey started to grate on him. The gestation period was normally less than two hours.
As he drifted into sleep, Nick's mind drifted back to the days immediately after his leaving the band.
Eleven
'We'll just come back bigger and stronger.' - Richey Osgood, NME, 1983.
Determined to put the whole rockstar thing behind him, Nick searched for a career he could make a go of and a living at. Yet it wouldn't be easy. 'Ex-rockstar' on his CV carried about as much of a stigma as 'ex-jailbird' to a prospective employer. It was only as he looked at what was on offer that Nick realised the depth of his love of music. Having displayed an undoubted flair for words in his fanzine days and, with a trace of celebrity from the band, rock journalism seemed to combine staying involved in music without the risk being in an aspiring band presented.
A fortuitous break arose when the proprietor of a new publication, Rock Week, who just happened to be a fan of the band, offered Nick a three-month trial. Intended as a stopgap whilst other options were canvassed, inevitably he would still be on the payroll two decades later. Ironically he found himself attending as many gigs as during the days of the band. But at least this way he got paid. Soon he was supplementing the live work with reviewing the week's new singles, adopting the Nick Silver five-star system of quality.
With the formalities in their private life to tie up, the couple were married on an arctic Saturday in Gateshead in February 1983. A low-key affair with just a few close relatives present, following a short honeymoon on the harsh east coast, it was back to Nick's flat in Crossbow Hill, the band and university traded for married life and the baby. Named after Nick's first love, Blondie's Debbie Harry, Debra Louise Silver came into the world on 18th June 1983, closely followed by Kelly Ann May, born to Liz in Macclesfield the following day. The remainder of 1983 passed in a whirlwind of milk and nappies, its end marked by the news of Jan's second pregnancy and the prospect of the son Nick craved.
Busy times for the band too following Nick's departure, the initial months of 1983 witnessed frenzied touring as Richey strove to overcome his stage fright for the future of the band. With Nick and Jan out of his life, the shackles that had constricted his ability to pen a tune seemed to relax, with 'You're So Gone', the first post-Nick release in July 1983 exorcising the demons:
'You're so gone and I'm so glad, Taken her with you, packed your bags, It's left to me to pick up the pieces, Among the ghosts and dying species.'
Reflective in tone and blatantly unsubtle, it lacked Nick's driving force on lead guitar, Richey undertaking the duty himself. Picking up a little early and late evening airplay, it came up short commercially and would be the band's last release for Rage after peaking at 63.
The rest of 1983 elapsed without further releases as Ted touted the band around, finally negotiating a deal with Stigma Records, another indie label based in New Malden. The first fruit was the more upbeat 'Sun Street', released in May 1984. Initially entering the charts at 74 on black vinyl and without a picture sleeve, it was about to sink without trace when Stigma's marketing department had a bright idea. Re-pressed on yellow vinyl and given a glossy picture cover, the following week it leapt up to 52. By the third week it had matched the 48 peak achieved by 'The Outsider' and looked to have the makings of a hit. But two more weeks of going in the wrong direction helped to ease Nick's mind.
Seeing the band play live in June for the first time since his departure, nothing Nick witnessed led him to believe the decision to leave had been a bad one. If anything, Richey was nervier than ever without a lead guitarist to soak up some of the focus. Hardly blessed with charisma, Vaughn and Kirk were little more than stooges and, were it not for his affliction Richey would surely have dumped them by now in favour of a shot at a solo career. Though largely impressed, Nick awarded the gig a charitable three out of five.
