Silver Ch. 03-05

A devilish hot night, even with the windows open to capacity, fresh air was at a premium. The sheets soon discarded to the floor, Jan's naked outline was visible through the iron grey, her body inflating and deflating with the motion of snoozing. Occasionally she would mumble incoherent words, her mind filled with uncomfortable dreams. Careful not to wake her, he eased from the bed, creeping out onto the landing. The floorboards creaked painfully like an old man's bones, a noise intensified by the otherwise still of the sleeping house. Battling to regulate his breathing Nick crept closer, a heady hybrid of dread and spine-tingling excitement as he visualised Kelly in their son's bed.

Sudden movement saw him bolt back down the landing like a startled cat, the rash tightening at his neck like a garrotte. Safely ensconced in the bathroom, he filled a glass with cold water, supping gratefully as the chill tiles at the soles of his feet offered welcome relief from the oppressive heat. Reaching for the sedatives in the cabinet, he gulped a brace down hungrily, leaning back. 'Everything's going to be okay,' he reassured himself with a whispered uncertainty.

Hearing a light tap on the door, followed by a whispered female voice speaking his name, he stared back in terror. Again his name was mouthed. Easing the lock with a clammy hand his breath was held tight, the revelation of his wife, bleary eyed and half asleep, bringing both relief and a strange feeling of regret. 'It's so damned hot,' she sighed, brushing past.

Back in the bedroom, the sleeping pills went to work within minutes and he barely felt Jan get in back beside him. This time it was she that sleep eluded, her thoughts escalating. Cringing in the darkness, movement outside caused her body to tense. The bathroom light flickered on once more, a warm luminescence spreading across the bedroom ceiling.

Out on the landing, Kelly pulled up, nursing her aching neck and cursing her rank stupidity. It was exacerbated by the maternal manner in which Jan had cared for her, unaware of the complicity. Kelly had feelings for Nick she couldn't quite quantify but she knew one thing: they couldn't be allowed to flourish. In the morning she had to tell him to forget it. She'd been a lot of things in her short time, but a marriage wrecker wasn't one of them. Creeping back to bed, Kelly hid her shame beneath the covers.

Four

The first to wake on Thursday, Nick stared up at the shadows on the ceiling, deliberating the events of the previous night. He was not out of the woods by any means, with Jan and Debra having been heavily under the influence then, their usual female perceptiveness blunted. Morning and sobriety would doubtless bring inquisitiveness and awkward questions. He needed to find a moment alone with Kelly to firm up their story and avoid a stupid slip-up.

Guests in the house, particularly females ones, meant having to search out his old blue dressing gown and, safely wrapped, he crept downstairs. Scooping up the mail from the mat, he sat in the conservatory sipping orange juice. Some days he'd jog but that particular morning he felt little compulsion. The latest bank statement made for grim reading.

Retrieving six months of past statements from the drawer, Nick pieced the evidence together like a detective assembling a photofit. Quickly one suspect emerged for the haemorrhaging of funds: the wedding. A grand here, two there, a small fortune for the venue alone, and that was before the unaccounted sums loaded onto an assortment of credit cards and store cards. Not that he begrudged his daughter the wedding of her dreams; he just wished those dreams came less expensively.

The thing that irked Nick more than anything though was the antiquated tradition that dictated future in-laws Roger and Margaret Smith would be getting away virtually scot-free. Some months ago an offer to contribute had been made but, to Nick's exasperation, Jan had single-mindedly declined. With no further word since, Nick had watched the money he'd hoped would see them into old age dwindle alarmingly.

And it was not as if the other couple were short of a bob or two either, the exact opposite in fact. In addition to the house they owned on the opposite side of the golf course that overshadowed Nick and Jan's more humble abode, they had properties dotted around the globe: the villa in Spain that Nick and Jan made occasional use of, the Highland retreat set in thousands of acres, the penthouse overlooking the Thames where Roger entertained his other women, not to mention the condo in New York.

Only recently, as if to illustrate his financial clout, Roger had given Debra's betrothed Trevor a thirtieth birthday celebration borne of pure indulgence, with a huge marquee and a mini fairground erected in the grounds of the house, complemented by live music and endless food and champagne all day. In doing so, Roger had set the bar high in readiness for the forthcoming nuptials, a challenge Nick could never hope to match without going broke in the process. Uncompetitive by nature, with the exception of golf and quizzes, Nick nonetheless had no wish to be outdone by his daughter's new family.

But, with the miserable-looking balance staring back at him, something needed to be done, and done quickly. Whether or not Jan approved, he would raise the subject that evening, a question of necessity over pride. A few thousand was pin money to Roger. Not that it would be too difficult bringing the conversation around to the wedding, given that most nights it was all the women talked about.

Suddenly his precious solitude was broken and Nick glanced up to see his daughter slouching against the wood surround of the doorway. 'Penny for your thoughts?' she said hoarsely.

Nick smiled inwardly. 'I was just thinking about your wedding.'

'Oh thanks dad, I am so looking forward to it.'

You'd better be, the amount it's costing, he thought, though the control filter in his brain forced his mouth to utter the words through gritted teeth: 'The happiest day of your life.'

Nick recalled his own wedding day, clouded in the mists of time and a world away from the expectation and greed that blighted modern day nuptials. The prevailing memory was of fear, frozen digits and thrift, the whole affair conducted on a shoestring and though she'd never actually said as much, he knew Jan would have wished for something a little grander. Yet her parents were working class people with little money for extravagance, and they had to settle for the registry office and a reception in the back room of the Labour Club in Gateshead. So overwhelmed was Nick throughout the tortuous day, it could have been the North Pole as opposed to the northeast. At times it seemed just as cold, and equally as remote.

'I need aspirin bad,' grumbled Debra, stumbling off to the kitchen.

Ten minutes of silence elapsed before the phone shattered the harmony. The receiver remained at Nick's ear for three minutes, during which time Jan surfaced. Chestnut hair standing on end from a restless night, she trod carefully for fear of her head shattering.

Having turned a ghostly white, Nick put down the phone. 'You'll never guess who that was.'

Jan was in no mood for guessing games.

'That was Richey!' Nick elucidated. 'He's invited down for a few days for old time's sake.'

The revelation nudged Jan into semi-consciousness. 'And...?'

'You know how I feel on that subject,' he snapped. 'On past performances, chances are you'll never see me alive again.'

'Don't be so melodramatic, pet.'

'Melodramatic! Just think about what's happened in the past. Besides which I vowed never to again after what happened last time...'

'It might do you good to get out of Surrey for a bit.'

Nick scowled as Jan beckoned for the phone with a shaky hand to make the obligatory call to her old friend, Kelly's mother Liz. It was only right to inform her of Kelly's accident, seeing as Kelly was unlikely to. For some reason the pair had grown distant over the years, though Jan wasn't sure why, especially given that she and Debra were as close as a mother and daughter could get. With the two girls having been born just a day apart, it was almost ordained that Debra and Kelly would become friends too.

Despite assurances that Kelly was in safe hands, a not easily convinced Liz advised that she would be leaving Cheshire straight away. Jan's subsequent suggestion that she might like to stay a few days gained a favourable reaction. They'd not spent as much time together as either might have wished and with what was coming up, Jan could use a bit of female support. She could also do with Nick out of the way, the prompt his way eliciting an exasperated sigh. 'Okay, I'll think about it.'

Nick couldn't think why Richey might want to see him after all these years, particularly now he was out of the business. As ever he feared the worst, though he wasn't quite sure what the worst could be. It soon abated when Kelly surfaced at ten, awkward glances exchanged amid concern for her wellbeing. Stiff and achy but otherwise feeling better, Jan's disclosure that her mother was on the way down induced an instant relapse. As she addressed the girl, Jan searched for a sign of recognition that might place her at the scene of the previous night's crime. But if the younger woman did recall anything, it was well concealed.

* * *

With Miranda Sharp's promotional jaunt having reached London, the young starlet's 'people' were willing to accord an interview to Rock Week's Matt Black. Bearing up under the dull pain of the previous night's assault, the handsome journalist dragged himself out of bed, surveying the damage. The majority of the bruises concentrated around his ribs and back, the grazes on his face were minor blemishes.

Heading to the station and alighting at Tottenham Court Road, he found himself carried along on a human escalator, his squashed ribs inducing a sharp inhalation of air. Eventually the procession transported him to the singer, strutting atop a makeshift stage in the middle of the shopping centre. Wrestling with the acoustics, but forcing a cheery smile, live renditions of her Rock Hunt staples rang out.

Matt pushed painfully through the wall of sinew, flashing his I-D, a metal turnstile facilitating entry away from the mob. Up above, Miranda bowed and thanked the crowd, exiting backstage. Hasty introductions were made as she scribbled autographs to the most fortunate dozen or so at the front. A round of apologies to the less fortunate, she was ushered inside the waiting bus, with Matt in tow.

The journalist fired a few choice questions that elicited half-hearted responses. Almost a week of this endless circus, she was wearisome, her cheeriness past being forced. As they came to a halt at the next mall, Matt issued a parting shot: 'So Miranda, do you have any regrets about doing Rock Hunt?' 'Regrets? Why should I? Without it I'd still be a nursery nurse from Bedford.'

She had a point, he guessed. 'Good luck on Sunday. Number One, huh.'

'I don't think so, but thank you all the same,' she replied with a warm smile. 'Here,' she continued, pressing a slip of paper into Matt's hand. 'Phone me some time when the craziness has died down.'

Pouring out like a swat team on manoeuvres, the entourage led Miranda to another similar stage in another similar setting to sing another similar set. Heading off against the crowd, Matt felt a pang of hunger. It was then that he saw the text from Pete: hi mate, what you up to? i'm in the nag's head.

Not his favourite place in town, nonetheless Matt headed off in the general direction, stopping momentarily to survey the grey-washed outer walls of the dingy east end pub Pete like to frequent, especially at lunchtimes.

'Oh yeah, very much,' he replied with a smile. 'Can I buy you both a drink?'

* * *

Excited voices through the wall heralded Liz's arrival in Latham Wood, prompting Nick to abandon the sanctuary of the study momentarily. Away from the women he'd felt comfortable, if not a little reflective, disturbed only by Debra's departure at midday. As such, the opportunity of a quiet word with Kelly had never arisen. Not that he knew what to say in any event.

The years having been less kind than to Liz than to Jan, it was hard to believe they were the same age. Though customarily, of course, they said she was looking well. The pleasantries dispensed, Liz took immediate charge of Kelly's nursing, still no chance for Nick to prime Kelly, the worry just starting to cause the rash to dot his upper chest.

As afternoon turned to early evening, finally Liz and Jan left her side, wandering down the garden to catch up on the past year. Exiting the study he found Kelly alone at last, taking a deep breath. Yet it was Kelly that struck first. 'What were you thinking of last night? They were right behind me?'

He shushed her with his hands, though his mock serious face was unsustainable, quickly breaking into a chuckle. Kelly shook her head in a jocular manner, also seeing the funny side. Now the danger seemed to have passed, the remembered excitement lingered on. Forgetting the promises she'd made to herself during the early hours, Kelly held her tongue, Nick's mature masculinity in a house full of females almost overbearing. Nick felt the magnetism too, knowing he shouldn't but powerless to deny it.

At dinner Kelly sat opposite, her feet close to Nick's legs, her bare toes probing their way up his inner calf. Frightened eyes came to rest upon his blissfully ignorant wife, a scowl for Kelly who merely blew a kiss. Galloping through the meal, Nick was regretful later when indigestion took hold.

By the time he picked up Pete's message it was deep into the afternoon, so he returned it with a text: sorry...a little busy tonight...maybe tomorrow?

With an hour on his hands and hearing Jan and Liz's cheery voices in the living room, Nick found himself reminiscing on 1982, already preparing in readiness for the next time with Pete.

* * *

A week after recording the demo in Camden Town, the quartet sat in Richey's bedroom to take stock, huge stock in fact, some 217 bulky packages containing cassettes and addressed to the Ship forming a rickety set of pyramids on the floor. 'You do realise if you get caught...' said Nick to Vaughn, '...you'll get the sack.' 'Fuck it, I don't give a shit,' Vaughn responded, the quip sailing right over his head.

'Oh yeah,' interjected Richey, 'I almost forgot...I had a phonecall earlier from Ted Perry.'

The others looked back in astonishment that Richey could have held back this nugget of information for so long. 'What did he say?' rang out the chorus.

'Well, he was a bit surprised they've only had fifteen demos in.'

'Fifteen!' exclaimed Vaughn. 'The sneaky bastards must have delivered them by hand.'

'But,' continued Richey, 'he said he likes our sound and we're in.'

'Yes!' they cried in unison, palms slapped together.

Secretly Nick had been hoping for a quiet night in but, with the news of their acceptance into the Battle of the Bands, they headed straight to the Ship to celebrate. Though Nick said he really should be getting home, the other three wouldn't hear of an early finish. Besides which Richey claimed there was a pleasant surprise in store. Fingering in his pocket, Nick became instantly downcast, a run of overdue bills having hit his already stretched finances rather hard.

As a result, he hung back, hoping the others' exuberance might prompt a double round or that closing time would arrive before the round came back on him. But no hope: empty glasses were slammed on the table, expectant eyes locking on his. Rising begrudgingly to address the bar, he halted as their exclusively male preserve was broken by the arrival of a quartet of girls. Nick had to look twice.

The four females gathered around Richey, resonating about the Cure gig at the Tower they'd just been to see. Eyes glancing around slyly, they ran the rule over Richey's friends. The men did likewise, only with less subtlety, as first impressions were formed. 'Our first groupies,' whispered Vaughn as Nick crept away to sneak in the drinks before it turned into one massive round.

'Um, hold on, Nick,' cried Richey. 'Cass, Liz, Susie and Janice meet Kirk, Vaughn and Nick.'

Nick hung back, polarising those first impressions with an appreciative eye.

Of the quartet, Cass was the most instantly attractive, so much so that immediately he dismissed her as out of his league. Tall and slim with catlike features and big black Siouxsie Sioux hair, she was clad in a Cure t-shirt and faded jeans and radiated an air of group leader.

Liz was shorter, wearing a tiny leather skirt that exhibited shapely legs. A baggy, bright orange jumper failed to disguise a pair of well-rounded breasts that elicited a nod of appreciation from Nick. She too had hair in abundance, uniformly dyed black and spiked like a spider plant. Smiling at everyone as if anxious to be liked, physically she was the most like Nick's ideal woman.

Susie was slim, pretty and talkative, with long black nails and panda eyeliner. Sporting a Thunder Cracks t-shirt and black jeans, she too had masses of tall dark hair standing on end. Her eyes met Nick's for a brief moment, prompting an awkward exchange of smiles.

All three real beauties in their own ways, for some reason his eyes passed over the trio to the fourth girl. Standing slightly behind the others, her chestnut hair was sensibly styled, anti to the other three punkettes. Maybe it was because her neutrality dared her to look different that instantly she appealed to Nick. Not at all like his ideal woman – petite and slender figured – Nick found himself having to re-appraise his feelings on the subject of ideal women.

Then all of a sudden his heart was crushed as Richey placed a hand on her backside and eased her close. From his position, Nick studied the body language: a brother's touch for a sister or a girlfriend? Richey had never mentioned a girlfriend, nor for that matter a sister.

'Nick!' cried Richey, shaking him back from the meanderings, 'the drinks?'

'Oh...sorry...four lagers was it?'

'Nick!' Richey called louder 'Don't forget the girls? Jeez, what's he like?'

Nick winced as Cass ordered vodka and coke in a Lancashire accent, Liz a scotch and lemonade in a Mersey brogue and Susie a dry white wine, her tone a local one. His gaze moved to Jan. 'I'm not sure, pet,' she contemplated, pushing through to join him.

The accent, emanating from the northeast, dashed all hope. Richey would hardly have a Geordie sister, would he? More likely then that she was his girlfriend. Nick could feel her body close but couldn't bring himself to look or speak. All he could think of was how lovely she was and how much this round was going to cost. 'Just a coke for me, pet,' she requested, signalling a driving motion with her hands , as Nick looked around her, over her, anything but into her eyes. 'Here, I'll go halves,' she volunteered, holding out a fiver.

'That's all right,' he countered without conviction and continuing to avoid full eye contact.

When eventually he did sneak a peek, a girl of little over five feet met his eye. Pretty without being stunning, her petite features were speckled with freckles. Nick smiled back awkwardly, the fiver still held before him invitingly. About to take the note to placate the voices in his head reminding him how tight things were, unexpectedly she was hauled away, fiver and all, issuing a consolatory parting smile. Richey pulled her close, embarking upon the sort of playful banter Nick found it hard to summon up upon request. Twice in quick succession his heart plunged, first for the lost girl, second for the lost money.

Conveying the drinks back to the table, he noted that the conversation had gotten into full flow in his absence. Jan tried to bring him in, her eyes resting on his a little longer than he was used to. Determined to monopolise her, however, Richey displayed the same covetous nature as when they'd first chanced upon each other in Our Price.