Twenty-four
Pete awoke the following morning with a luscious naked female body nestled on either side of the four-poster bed, the aroma of wild and uninhibited sex still lingering in the air. Willing this dream-made-real to go on just a little longer, he reached out to caress Kelly but she turned away defensively, curling up like disturbed hedgehog. On the other side, his clumsy advances brought an exaggerated shake of the head from Larissa followed by a hasty exit from the bed. The adventure was over.
Addressing the messages on his phone, Pete was brought back to reality with a bump. 'Jesus Christ! Richey's alive and Matt's been rushed to hospital.'
'Ree-chee's alive?' Larissa exclaimed, falling back upon the bed exaggeratedly and fanning her face.
Kelly roused quickly from her slumbers and they dressed, beating a hasty retreat which was just as well for all were reticent in the cold light of morning.
Arriving by taxi, the couple recognised the wearisome figure staggering from the familiar Zafira in the hospital car park. Nick issued a purse-lipped greeting and the trio headed quickly inside. An hour elapsed before a nurse imparted the news that their friend had had to undergo an emergency operation. 'The x-ray showed up something nasty on his brain,' she revealed. 'A brain tumour.'
'Matt had a brain tumour? Is he okay? Can we see him?'
'Not at the moment, I'm afraid. You might want to go and have breakfast and come back later.'
Nick looked at his watch. He'd slept poorly and had already hung around longer than intended. But he couldn't have tried driving home last night, what with the cocktail of drinks and drugs consumed backstage at the gig. 9.30 a.m. on a Wednesday morning, it was a week to day since he'd stood in the bathroom wondering where his life was heading.
Never in his wildest dreams could he have envisaged this turn of events. Almost forgotten amid the drama, today was his birthday, not just any birthday but the big fifty. It hadn't started well and he had a funny feeling things would get worse before they got better.
Having helped to sort out Richey's life, he came to a decision: it was time to work on his own. He ought to be getting home, yet it was hard walking out on Matt in his current state. Maybe a couple more hours, the caring side of his conscience suggested.
Following a half-eaten breakfast in a nearby café and, having picked up some treats for Matt, they spent the rest of the morning in the waiting room before finally their persistence was rewarded. Sat up against a pillow, heavy bandaging on his head, a drained expression dogged the ailing journalist's face. It changed to a strained smile when he caught sight of the trio.
'How are you feeling, mate?' enquired Pete, leading the way.
'I've been better,' Matt wheezed. 'And they've shaved off my hair.'
'Awww, it'll grow back.'
Pete placed the fruit in a bowl and Kelly the magazines on the pedestal.
'So what happened?' enquired Nick. 'The nurse said they found a tumour.'
Matt nodded, replying hoarsely: 'I think I have Donnelly to thank.'
'Donnelly…? How…?'
'I had the pleasure of bumping into him after the gig. He gave me a whack and I fell.'
'The bastard,' exclaimed Pete, clenching his fist.
Matt smiled thinly. 'He saved my life. But for him, the tumour would never have been discovered. A week more and I'd have been a gonner, one of the doctors said.'
They all exhaled.
'It seems that for once I got lucky.'
An hour dutifully spent with Matt, finally the time had arrived to depart Richey's World. Pete promised to return shortly and Matt thanked them for visiting. An almost silent journey all the way back, Nick dropped the youngsters at Pete's. 'We'll talk properly later, yeah?' he suggested to Kelly.
She nodded before giving him a kiss on the cheek.
Alone at last he headed home, not quite sure what to expect.
The house had been decorated in readiness for his 'surprise' party that night, but was deserted. A call to Jan established that she was still at Debra's but looking forward to seeing him soon. Nick filled her in as best as possible on the four days in Richey's World, though he tactfully omitted to mention Kelly. That needed to be done face-to-face, though already he could feel the stress rising.
Opening the four birthday cards that had arrived ahead of the guests, he placed them on the mantelpiece before noticing the solid red light on the answerphone. Instinctively he pressed play. 'Hello Mrs Silver, this is Dr Ingram's secretary. Can you ring when you've a moment? Thank you and hope everything's fine.'
Nick's eyes narrowed and he played it back again to ensure he hadn't misheard. He'd known all along that something was amiss. Jan's calculated assurances hadn't fooled him for one moment. He'd seen through the silence, the excuses and the subterfuge. Something bad had happened whilst he'd been away.
Slumping down on the sofa, Nick was too weak and tired to act. He would let an hour of gratifying sleep envelop him and then…and then what?
Disturbed by the pealing of the phone, he rose grudgingly to discover it was Ted Perry. 'Nick, I think I might have some good news about 'The Outsider'. Can you get to the Ship?'
Ted wasn't prepared to elucidate over the telephone so Nick headed off to Crossbow Hill. No one could deny he was due some good news and it would defer the potentially bad news for a few hours.
Ted was on his favourite stool at the bar, mulling over a double brandy when Nick arrived. Dispensing with the formalities, he enquired: 'Good news, you said? Has a record company come forward after all?'
Ted shook his head. 'Not a record company, better perhaps,' he disclosed, allowing himself a slug of brandy, savouring the taste and prolonging the moment. 'An offer has come in for 'The Outsider', yes.'
'Yeah, what sort of offer?'
Ted took another swig. 'A commercial.'
Nick's heart sank. 'Oh God no, anything but a bloody commercial.'
'Ford want to use it.'
'I don't care if flippin' Rolls-Royce want to use it. I'm not having my song used in some tacky advert.'
'They've got this new off-road vehicle coming out in the autumn. They're keen to use a song that emphasises the outside. In fact, they're very keen to use yours.'
'I'm sure they are, but I'd sooner die on the breadline than sell my soul to corporate big business. Sorry Ted, but they can forget it.'
'I can appreciate your principles, Nick, but think of the hard cash.'
'Thanks, but no thanks,' he said with a shake of the head, moving to the door. 'I'll see you around…'
'Nick, wait. The Stones got eight million from Microsoft for 'Start Me Up', you know?'
The words stopped Nick in his tracks.
'It's no longer a stigma being used in an advert. And often it can help get the song noticed to such an extent that it gets re-released.'
Nick rubbed his nose. 'Eight million, you say? Was that pounds or dollars?'
* * *
Taking a last look at the bachelor flat he'd shared on and off with a variety of pals, Pete loaded the various bits and pieces of his life into cardboard boxes. A fair few of his possessions and half of his wardrobe lost in the explosion in Penn, just his CD collection and a surfboard he'd probably never use again took up any significant space. Sad to see the end of his independence, at the same time he realised there'd be few better offers if he lived five lifetimes. Kelly's stunning looks were surpassed only by her wicked sense of adventure. It was the stuff of fantasy.
Six o'clock arrived in Kelly's flat, but her rapacious sexual appetite dictated that most of Pete's stuff remained boxed up. There was nothing Kelly wasn't willing to try. Still in holiday mode, the step back into harsh reality could wait.
After a long bubbly soak, Kelly modelled various outfits for the party, soliciting Pete's opinion. The first was a black, clingy number that exhibited her figure beautifully and he liked it immensely – but on someone else's girlfriend. The second was a light flowery top with flared sleeves and a kilt-like mini that came halfway up her thighs. He couldn't deny she looked great though it was very revealing. The third option was a turquoise sleeveless top with spaghetti straps, complemented by a light white jacket and trousers. The most sober of the three, it was perhaps more suitable for a wedding than a party. Nevertheless Pete selected it as the one that displayed least flesh. He didn't want all the other men at the party ogling his semi naked fiancée.
* * *
As he changed in readiness, Nick battled to introduce a positive slant to the malaise induced by the telephone message. Staying in Crossbow Hill a little longer than he'd intended, there'd been no chance to speak with Jan, not that he knew the right words. There seemed only two reasonable explanations why Jan might seek a medical consultation and whichever way he looked at it, doctors usually meant bad news. Oh well, it wouldn't be long before all was revealed. Frankly he was dreading it.
Debra was first to arrive. Alone, she deemed it inappropriate to inflict Pascal on her father just yet and so quickly after dumping Trevor. She offered her father a welcome embrace, well wishes for his birthday and the shiny wrapped gift. The gesture was followed by the assurance: 'Mum will be here soon. She's just had to…um…she's just had to go buy herself a new outfit for tonight.'
Regrettably its good intentions had the opposite effect, the worry in Nick's mind exacerbated. Another subterfuge surely, why wasn't his wife here first? Nick looked at the clock, trying not to stress and ten minutes passed before Debra announced: 'Here she is,' shooing her father through to the study.
Footsteps on the floor, the sound of heels click-clicking preceded the door opening. Jan faced her husband in a long black coat, the lines under her eyes drawn with fatigue. 'Is everything…okay?' he enquired, heart pulsing.
'Aye pet, everything's fine, though it's been a tiring few days.'
She held out her arms to greet him but he pulled up short. 'Are you sure everything's okay…?' he asked, indicating at the coat. 'Something is wrong, isn't it?'
'Nah, nothing's wrong, pet' she assured.
He swallowed. 'Look Jan…I…there was a message from a Dr Ingram's secretary on the answer phone…I naturally assumed…you know...the worst.'
