This Could Be Rock 'N' Roll (14 page)

The phone goes. It’s a ‘Tiger phone’ so it roars rather than rings. Maybe it also tells the metre reader that he’s a blind old git and sings “you’re a load of rubbish” when the guy from the credit card company calls.

“Hullo. Hi, Nick. He’s here. Do you want to talk to him? Jake, it’s Nick for you.”

“Hi, Nick.”

“Hi, Jake.”

“How’s it going?”

“Great. I’ve just heard today that I am going to be a published author.”

“You are?”

“Yeah, for the new one - ‘Broken Dreams’.”

“That’s brilliant.”

“Innit? And how about you?”

“Not so good.”

“So I hear.”

“What do you hear?”

“Well, Cathy phoned Cathy.” Yup, Nick married a Cathy too.

“What did she say?”

“She was not pleased. Said that you had been playing around again.”

“Not strictly true.”

“What’s not strictly true?”

“The ‘again’ bit. It was the first time.”

“Oh, I see. Yeah, I know.”

“And?”

“She never, never, never wants to see or hear from you again.”

“Oh.”

“Which of course means that she does.”

“Nick, you live too much in the world of fiction.”

“Believe me.”

“Any other good news?”

“Yeah, Jade’s brothers are looking for you.”

“What Jade’s brothers? Jade hasn’t got any brothers.”

“That is who they said they were.”

“She’s never mentioned them. Jackie’s never mentioned them.”

“Well, whoever they are, even down the phone it sounded like they wanted to reach out and grab me by the throat. A bit spooky.”

“Anything else?”

“Neah, that’s it.”

“Thanks, Nick.”

“No worries, mate. Glad to scare you witless.”

I turn to Stoker. “I didn’t know that Jade had brothers.”

“They must have been the guys I met.”

“What did they look like?”

“Short, wiry, one was a bit darker than Jade, the other was milky white, both of them had tattoos. Looked like they could handle themselves and probably carry knives.”

“Oh.”

“If I was you, mate, I’d chuck out your guitar and put a sub-machine gun in your guitar case and carry it around with you at all times. Luckily, Jade doesn’t know much about me. They are probably dangling old Kevin over the hob threatening to burn his bollocks off if he doesn’t disclose your whereabouts.”

“At least he will get a different plot out of it.”

“Yeah, there is that. Not easy to write a romantic novel without bollocks, though.”

“Dunno. He’s been doing it for years. Oh, by the way, Nick’s new book is going to be published.”

“Blimey, I’m soon going to be the poorest person I know, apart from you.”

“Maybe these ‘brothers’ of Jade are A&R men tracking me down to offer me stretched limousines and all the coke I can sniff.”

“Yeah, right, Jake. I think that the key word here is ‘stretched’, in all its senses.”

And would you know it, my friend Nick Quantrill is the ‘award winning’ Nick Quantrill too. He won the 2006 HarperCollins Crime Tour award for his short story ‘Punishment’.

Chapter 15

Stoker woke me up getting up for work as I lay on his sofa in his sitting room but somehow I fell asleep again until Roger called me at 10:05.

“OK, Jake, where are you?”

I wasn’t that coherent.

“Don’t know that place. Is it anyway near Hull? And where should you be?”

Shit, oh shit.

“Mr. Samuleson is waiting for you in Leonard Street. He’s been waiting quite a while.”

“Could you tell him I’ve been caught up in traffic from seeing another client who overran? I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”

“Lot of traffic in your bed is there? Yeah, I heard about that. Hope she was worth it.”

“Who?”

“Your little road racer.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“More than likely,” he replied with a slight sneer.

I didn’t like the sound of that.

Just up Spring Bank I saw Carly, Jade’s friend. Desperate for news of Jade I pulled in.

“Hiya, Carly.”

“Hullo, shitface.”

“Have you talked to Jade?”

“Sure. Who hasn’t? You did the dirty on her, didn’t you. Right cunt.”

No answer to that.

“Wait till her mum gets you.”

“Yeah, I’m not looking forward to that.”

“And her brothers.”

“Who are these brothers exactly? Never heard of them.”

“Just out, aren’t they?”

“Just out of where?”

“Prison. What do you think?”

“Prison?”

“Yeah, Wakefield maximum security. Armed robbery.”

“Is that why she never mentioned them?”

“She’s mentioning them enough now.”

“I look forward to meeting them.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Well, thanks for that. Must go and see a client.”

“Ta, then.”

By the time I reached Leonard Street, Mr. Samuelson had gone. Mind you, the place was crappy. He did himself quite a favour.

*  *  *

I am having a quick pint in the Mainbrace at lunchtime and Brian comes up.

“Hullo, Jake. There are a couple of men looking for you.”

“So I’ve heard. Jade’s brothers fresh from GBH. Tough-looking, tattoos ……”

“Not that I noticed. More hip briefcase types without briefcases.”

“Oh.”

“They were here about ten minutes ago. I pointed them towards your work.”

“Oh, great. Thanks, Brian.”

“I hope I did the right thing.”

“Yeah, so do I.”

“Been keeping up payments on your credit cards?”

“Think so.”

“In that case it can only be good news, eh?”

Today. I doubt it.

*  *  *

George phoned to say that Roger has called me into his office for four o’clock. As I walk in through the glass ‘business transparency - no barriers to entry’ door, the air gets colder by about fifteen degrees. Maureen glances up at me. “Hi, Jake.”

“Hi, Maureen.”

“Roger’s looking for you.”

“He said four.”

“He’s obviously keen to see you. Maybe you’re in for a promotion.”

Not good. Maureen, dear duck, always gets everything arse about tit.

Roger steps out of his office. “Jake. I’m ready now.” Carnivorous.

I sit down.

“So what was this morning all about, Jake?”

“I overslept. Sorry.”

“For any particular reason?”

“Got kicked out by the girlfriend.”

“Jade? She’s pregnant, isn’t she?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s probably the hormones. Pregnant women are a bit funny.”

“Yeah, but more mine than hers. Pregnant men get a bit funny too.”

Roger cracks me a smile of overstated appreciation. “So you’ve cracked that one then, have you, Jake. Nice one. You’ll be rich.”

No comment.

“Well, Jake, whatever your personal situation, we really cannot have it interfering with your work, can we? There are tough times ahead, if the Sun’s staff economist has got it right, and he’s usually more accurate than the rest of those daft buggers. You’ve been doing really well recently. Don’t mess it up. I know you’re a singer and artistic and all that, but leave all the mess at home or wherever, OK?”

“OK.”

“Do you have anywhere to live?”

“Yeah. I’m dossing down with a friend.”

“Get him to buy you a decent alarm clock and to make you tea in the morning.”

“OK.”

Roger winks at me. “No more mistakes, eh?”

I wink back which throws him a bit. Totally, actually. “OK.”

“And don’t call in with morning sickness. Your apology will not be accepted.”

No promotion then.

*  *  *

I get back to Stoker’s. “I’ve just got to play,” I say.

“Well, go on then.”

“See you later.”

I cut through up Victoria Ave, past my last place of residence, via Princes Avenue and on to Newland Avenue until I reach Zest.

Zest, if you don’t know it, is a very trendy bar which is also a patron of Hull arts. They host many events there, including a weekly poetry evening on behalf of the Hull University Philip Larkin Centre, or something.

I know the people there. I’m a residual customer.

“I’ve just got to play,” I announce. “Is anybody else on tonight?”

“No, Jake. You just go ahead.”

“Do you mind?”

“Not in the least. You just go ahead. I saw you at the Galtres. I’ve never seen you better.”

That’s weird. There I was in total confusion and I was blowing people away. That’s art for you. The more fucked-up you are, the better you get.

I grab a chair and start strangling my six-string with my angst. I’m not pandering to commercialism. Great lyrics, though:

When I first met that old man I was broke and I was beat.

But he picked me up and brushed me down and set me on my feet.

He said: “It’s all there in your eyes, Jake. And I can read you at a glance,

It’s you and me against the world kid, and they don’t stand a chance.”

When I got my first six-string he’d but these few words to say.

“Always play it from the heart Jake, don’t let doubt get in your way.

And never play for fame or fortune, they’re just luck and circumstance.

It’s you and me against the world, kid. And they don’t stand a chance.”

He said: “It seems to me the enemy’s in every human heart.

Yeah, and what glues us together can be what tears us apart.

If opportunity comes knocking, it won’t call you in advance.

It’s you and me against the world, kid. And they don’t stand a chance.”

Years went by I guess I must have stayed away too long.

Cos when I flew into The Lion Bri the barman said he’d gone.

“But he sent some postcard for you Jake, now was it Prague or Budapest…

Said you and me against the world kid….” I said: “Bri, I know the rest.”

Y’see I knew him off by heart by then

I’d learned my lessons well.

A good friend’s a friend forever,

And the rest can go to hell.

You never lean on anybody

Cos they’ll only let you down

So I raised one last glass to my friend

Then got out of that town.

That old man died and left behind a shotgun and a note.

And when I tried to read his words out loud they got stuck in my throat.

“I’m afraid” it said “I’ve filled your head with rubbish and romance.

Cos alone against the world, kid. I didn’t stand a chance.”

Y’see he proved to me the enemy’s in every human heart.

And no matter how bright your light shines out

Some days will be dark.

I’ve got my back to the horizon now

And I’ll warn you in advance,

It’s just me against the world now

And you don’t stand a chance.

“Blimey, Jake. You are really humming this evening.”

“I just need to get it all out.”

“Your audience is with you.”

Right. It’s me against the world night tonight.

Heaven knows I took the blows

And I’ve been down on the floor.

I dried my tears, ignored the sneers

And now I’m back for more.

Maybe they were right to write me off but I’ll take that bet,

Cos I’m back and I ain’t finished yet.

Once an old man said to me:

“Son, find what makes you tick.

If you can’t kick that whole wall down son,

Do it brick by brick”.