Silver Ch. 01-02

Finishing her drink, Debra suggested lunch, heading to the bar to order, her long legs bringing a nod of appreciation from Pete. This assignment was throwing up all manner of unexpected fringe benefits. Returning with another round of drinks, Debra dispersed them, causing Nick to raise his eyebrows – three beers and it was only just after one o'clock.

At that moment, the Speeding Hearts' 'Winning Smile' filled the room. Well its tinny ringtone did. Nick smiled crookedly – another few quid in Richey 'the corporate whore' Osgood's pocket.

'That was Matt Black,' Pete explained upon his return to the table. 'He's the journalist mate I mentioned earlier. He's in the area...and he'd really like to meet you. You don't mind if he joins us, do you?'

It was Nick's turn to blush.

Lunch arrived, followed by Matt and another round of drinks. Kelly surveyed the latest arrival with a keen eye. In his mid thirties with James Dean looks and hairstyle, Matt was more rockstar than the majority of the rockstars he interviewed. His arrival heralded by the reprisal of the Devilicious video, a nudge came from Pete. 'Hey-hey, here's your girls,' the writer joked.

Accepting the teasing with typically unflustered surface dignity, Matt Black was looking forward to the assignment with all the anticipation of a visit to the dentist. Taking a seat, he and Nick swapped names at Rock Week with whom they had a mutual knowledge. As another beer materialised, Nick cursed. Never a great drinker, even in his rock days, this was close to his limit. Yet he didn't want to appear uncool amongst these youngsters, especially Kelly, after whom he secretly lusted. An hour later his head was spinning like a carousel, his tales from the past put on hold. Not that Pete minded. He had other things on his mind.

Three o'clock arrived and Nick could barely stand up straight. Taking charge, Debra led her father from the bar and into her sleek open top. 'Watch the bags,' she scolded as the drunkard flopped on the back seat. Summoned from her book by the horn, shaking her head, Jan chuckled: 'Rockstar, huh? Can't even cope wi' a couple of pints at lunchtime.'

'Poor dad,' mouthed Debra.

Nick went to reply but nothing came out. Fleeing to bed, immediately he was out for the count.

Jan's eyes widened at the bounty on the back seat, half a dozen bags brimming with silken and leather delights. 'Take your pick,' smiled Debra, 'there are plenty in your size.'

A former model that had inherited her mother's personable demeanour and her father's stature, Debra had invested the accumulated earnings from the short career on the catwalk wisely. Purchasing a store that sold overpriced apparel to those with too much money and not enough time for the High Street, her typical clients were the wives and girlfriends of footballers and entertainers.

Jan availed herself of a pair of tan coloured boots, a flowery skirt and a couple of strappy tops. Jan did enjoy her daughter's occasional visits. 'How was your father, pet...before the ale wore him down?'

'He seemed on good form, laughing and joking.'

Jan smiled.

6.30 arrived and it was clear the day was over – for Nick at least. Disappointing news for Jan, she had so been looking forward to dinner with her partially revitalised husband. Looking in on him, a mumbled apology met the heartfelt enquiry as he floundered like a beached whale.

'No point letting the evening go to waste,' observed Debra at her shoulder. 'Get yourself showered and changed, mum, we'll go out instead.'