Silver Ch. 03-05

He was able to glean that the girls were at Durham University, on a brief stay in London at Susie's parents. The connection was revealed soon after: Susie was Richey's sister. The chatter rang out randomly until the bell rang. With Cass and Liz anxious to go on somewhere, they latched onto Vaughn and Kirk, the brothers gazing at each other astounded. 'Must be a rockstar thing,' whispered Vaughn.

'Don't you two go coming back late now,' warned Susie with a grin, pushing up next to Nick as the quartet headed into the London night.

Feeling her hand on his thigh and hearing her laughs in his ear, suddenly Nick felt oddly uncomfortable. It wasn't that he didn't want the attention, on the contrary he'd been single for so many years he'd lost count, and Susie was great looking and all that...but his attention had only one focus: Jan.

As they made their out of the pub, Nick's head was in a state of turbulence. Whether it was on account of the girl or the drink, he didn't rightly know. Through the mask of misted senses, he could make out the other three chatting about the previous Christmas that had marked Jan's first visit to London. Evidently, the alcohol had flowed freely back then too, and Richey and Jan had enjoyed a liaison of some sort, the exact nature of which Jan, at least, seemed coy about.

As the outside air inflated his lungs like a balloon, Nick began to totter, the vomit rising from chest to throat. Dodging behind some bushes to unload, a thick stream the consistency of chicken soup ejected from his mouth, painting the undergrowth. Brushing a hand across his mouth, he quickly caught up with the others, to be ushered in to the backseat of Jan's 2CV beside Susie. Thankfully no one seemed to have noticed his little diversion.

Stiff and self-conscious next to Susie, Nick could feel another wave building. The fear of throwing up in Jan's car etched upon his face, he barely dared to speak. Leaning over, Susie took control, pursing her lips and moving in for the kill, the stale aroma on his breath doing little to faze her. Cornered, her prey offered little resistance. Up front, Richey took the opportunity to get close to Jan, though his roving hand was casually brushed away. 'Hey...stop,' cried Nick, breaking free from Susie's clutch, as he espied his flat. Not before Susie had stolen another kiss was he allowed to alight, waving them off with a heavy heart and a mixed-up brain.

Safely tucked up in bed that night, Nick reflected upon the experience. Female company rare in recent years, he certainly had no intention of treading the celibacy path favoured by some of the band's peers. All of a sudden Susie had awakened the dormant carnal desires that music had temporarily replaced and, whilst he savoured the backseat kisses, it was the odd sly glance from the front, reflected in the rear view mirror that made him think.

There had been an unmistakeable something in Jan's eyes, a look of jealousy perhaps, that was responsible for one hell of a hard-on. Yet, Jan was so pure and so lovely that he didn't want to sully the memory by masturbating over her image. Instead, against his better judgement, he pictured Susie naked, her black talons grinding into his back, her serpentine tongue flicking at his lips. But visions of Jan kept repeatedly forcing their way in and he had to keep stopping.

Most of the night spent thinking of the auburn haired beauty, when morning arrived he found he'd barely slept, reality intervening when two hard slices of bread but no butter greeted him from the fridge. Shaving the mould off the edges of a matchbox-sized lump of cheese and pruning off the crusts from the bread, he made Welsh rarebit, crunching gratefully. Yet when it was gone a hollow feeling enveloped him, and there were five more days of this to endure. Worse though, even if he did pluck up the courage to ask her out, there was little prospect of a proper date with what was in his pocket.

Five

The afternoon having evaporated into early evening, Pete Collins sat at the bar of the Nag's Head with the two stripper girls, not only surprised that they hadn't upped and left but that they were getting on seemingly so well. Indeed, there'd been a fair amount of flirting and he found himself torn between the sexy blonde and the oriental beauty. The decision was taken out of his hands when the blonde leaned over to whisper in his ear: 'We're going back to my place, you want to join us?'

The writer blew hard. Were they suggesting what he thought they were? The way they touched each other suggestively and giggled coquettishly seemed to confirm so. Yet he was stopped from agreeing by an external force. Pete Collins had it bad – real bad. Extracting the phone he checked out Kelly's two snaps with an even deeper sigh. 'Sorry ladies, I have to be somewhere else.'

* * *

Thursday night was Nick's favourite night, Quiz Night at the Cock and Bell, the quaint country pub a mile from home where they met on a weekly basis with future in-laws Roger and Margaret Smith. Nick prided himself on being the Music, Films and History expert, whilst Roger excelled at Sport and Geography and the women chipped in occasionally with the Food and Drink and TV answers. Consequently, 'Four-Play', as they were cheekily named, had enjoyed an unbeaten spell in the spring. Though recently the cloak of invincibility had slipped somewhat as Jan and Margaret spent more time discussing wedding plans than concentrating on the questions.

Tonight they would be 'Six-Play', with both Kelly and Liz pleased of the break. Nick wasn't convinced what they might bring to the team, but Kelly offered a welcome distraction, her attendance having prompted him to trade the usual Thursday evening attire of faded jeans and scruffy t-shirt for grey slacks and a black polo shirt. Likewise Kelly had made an effort, the lack of a change of clothing no bar to style. Indeed Debra's old bedroom was an Aladdin's Cave of fashion and, of identical size to her friend a whole wardrobe lay at Kelly's disposal. Finding the lowest cut top and the tightest skirt, Kelly bit her bottom lip as she surveyed the tease that grinned back from the mirror. As they met on the landing, Nick's eyes bulged.

Hand-in-hand, he and Jan led the way through the tunnel of trees, down the quiet lane and past the scene of Kelly's accident. The evidence remained: the scarred tree and a sprinkle of glass that resembled unseasonable frost. Nick realised he was not out of the woods yet when Liz turned to her daughter. 'Kelly, what on earth were you doing out this way?'

Nick and Kelly's eyes engaged briefly, his heart pounding faster, sweat glazing his brow. Having missed the opportunity to square a story, Kelly too was caught unawares, Nick having to improvise. 'You...you said the taxi driver got lost, didn't you?' he offered.

'Yes...yes that's right,' Kelly stuttered, 'the stupid idiot didn't have a clue where he was going.'

'And you didn't think to stop him?' Liz speculated, causing Kelly's face to redden and Nick to rub agitatedly at his neck. 'You didn't think to point out that you were five miles in the wrong direction?'

'Um...no...I was asleep at the time. It wasn't until the crash that...'

Liz sighed. 'Kelly, you need to be more careful late at night. And you shouldn't go getting into taxis on your own.'

'No, mum, sorry.'

Nick hurried the group along to the pub, inside which familiar faces from rival teams offered nods of acknowledgement. Nick headed to the bar and was in mid order when predictably Roger and Margaret showed up, the small round turning into a large one.

Introductions were made and Nick didn't much care for the lecherous look Roger issued Kelly's way. Little love lost between the two men, theirs was a relationship forged by future family ties alone: their respective offspring's involvement with each other. Otherwise, Nick would have had little time for the bloated know-all and his vacuous bimbo wife.

A year Nick's senior, Roger had crammed a lot into his time, if some of his taller stories were to be believed. His purpose in life seemed to be to outdo Nick at every turn with a bigger and better tale. When Nick told of meeting Mick Jagger, Roger trumped it with a ridiculous story about meeting Elvis. The day Nick made his eagle at the ninth, Roger boasted of the albatross he'd made that was inevitably followed by the miraculous hole-in-one tale. Though Nick had never seen the evidence at the golf club bar and wasn't likely to.

He wouldn't have minded quite so much were it not for the fact that half of Roger's stories were ones Nick himself had relayed in the past! It pained Nick that, outside the immediate family, he spent more time with a man he despised than anyone else. Without siblings, very few friends and no work colleagues, Nick's social life had become somewhat insular in the past six years.

Having barely taken his seat, the women launched into the inevitable conversation. Initiated by Liz, who Nick had expected better from, Margaret enthused in her typical whine. A woman Nick had as little time for as her husband, Roger's money had nipped, tucked, shaped and sculptured her into his own personal Barbie doll. Nick scowled her way though she was immune even to his less subtle barbs. But then salvation arrived. Delving into her bag, Margaret cooed: 'Ooh yes, before I forget, here's mine and Roger's contribution.'

Eyes raised to the heavens in a silent thank you, Nick snatched the cheque before Jan could negotiate a refusal. Avoiding her Medusa-like glance, he sneaked a peek: £6,000. A fraction of what they had shelled out, it would nonetheless offer brief relief from the penny pinching of recent months. Jan might chastise him later but little did she realise the gravity of the situation.

A smug self-satisfied grin filled his features as he felt parts of his old self gradually started returning like a jigsaw being assembled. A way to go yet, it was still the most upbeat he'd felt in a long while.

* * *

Everyone in the office knew Matt Black lived with a woman, what none of them realised was that woman was his mother. Not exactly complying with rock journalist stereotype, it was best kept to himself. That evening he sat watching television whilst she listened to her headphones. Lifting the one that covered her right ear, he enquired: 'Cup of tea, mum?'

She smiled. 'That would be nice, Matthew. Not going out tonight, love?'

'Not tonight, mum, no.'

'Is everything all right?'

'Yes, mum, why?'

'You seem a little on edge.'

Though she couldn't see the cuts and grazes that marred his handsome features, Mrs Black had perceptions beyond the ordinary. The rare condition having left her blind for the past three decades, she was in need of constant care, hence Matt had never quite gotten around to moving out. His life dogged by ill fortune, he accepted tragedy it as if it were the norm.

It all started in 1975 when his father was electrocuted at work, leaving his then perfectly sighted mother to raise two infant twin sons single-handedly. The death was bad enough until the discovery of his mother's gradual blindness a year later threw their lives into deeper turmoil. They coped of course, sticking closely together as families do and accepting only minimal assistance from outside. But more bad news was to follow when the medics diagnosed that Matt and his brother Raymond stood a 50/50 chance of developing a similar affliction.

Things then took a further turn for the worst when, five years later, tragedy struck once more, a police officer showing up at the door to break the news that Ray had suffered fatal injuries in a hit-and-run. It was subsequently discovered that, at the time of his death, Ray had only partial sight, the condition having struck without warning. The effect on Matt was devastating. Losing a family member tragic, it was worse for a twin, like losing a limb or a vital organ.

Every morning after that Matt would awaken, eyes opened tentatively, always fearing the worst and ever thankful when all was well. Apart from the occasional migraine, there had been nothing untoward in recent years. Though, as Ray discovered to his cost, it could strike at any time. The upside was a gritty determination in Matt to treat each day as if it might be his last. Quite how he made it into rock journalism he couldn't honestly attest but, like everything over the past three decades, it was one big blur.

Thus, the previous night's beating hadn't fazed him unduly. It was as if ill fate was his burden to bear.

* * *

As the quizmaster at the Cock and Bell handed over pens and paper, Nick took charge, he and Roger completing the General Knowledge round amid droning female voices that drifted idly overhead. Interminable banter about dresses and bridesmaids, the cake and the church rendered any help out of the question. Hidden behind a veil of wedding talk, the women were worse than useless, except Kelly. More attentive than he imagined, she surprised Nick by throwing in a couple of plausible answers and at halfway he was happy to learn that they were just a point behind great rivals 'Norfolk 'n' Chance' with the Music Round still to come.

Kelly too was happy, the country pub offering welcome respite from the teenaged bars and testosterone thick nightclubs she was accustomed to. Heading to the bar, she could feel the burning eyes of the assembled anoraks on her bum and legs, eliciting a contented smile. Flirting with Roger between rounds, she hadn't failed to notice the jealousy rise in Nick. At one point she even sat on Roger's knee.

Going head to head with Norfolk 'n' Chance the rest of the night, she kept them close with a couple of the modern songs in the Music Round that had escaped Nick's notice. It was dark when they departed, the two men still arguing over the points that cost them victory. 'I told you it was 1968.'

'And I told you it was Australia.'

'Lads, lads,' intervened Jan. 'It's urnly a quiz.'

'Only a quiz, she says!'

They said their goodbyes at the corner, the women pecking cheeks like chickens at a bag of grain, the men moulding manly handshakes. 'So, same time next week?'

Nick was already looking forward with anticipation. A final round of farewells and Nick let Jan and Liz lead the quartet around the periphery of the golf course, barely having noticed Kelly latch stealthily onto his side, her arm locked in his. Thankfully, the other two were so wrapped up in wedding talk, now deep into extra time, that it hardly warranted a second glance back.

Sensing the danger as his and Kelly's fingers interlocked, Nick's heart raced. Maybe this was what he needed, to live a little more dangerously. In nearly fifty years he'd barely taken a risk. As the trip light flicked on to bathe the driveway, he eased Kelly away.

Once inside, Jan brought cocoa and enquired if Kelly's neck was still hurting. The younger woman's pained nod was met with the instruction to turn over onto her front. 'Now, where's it hurt, pet?'

Kelly tapped her shoulders and lower back and it was time for the professional osteopath to do what she did best, peeling up the younger woman's top and drawing Nick's attention. Unclasping Kelly's bra and flexing her fingers, Jan began to knead the skin, eliciting a deep sigh in Kelly as Nick followed the action in a mesmerised state. Catapulted back to reality by Jan's harsh call of 'girls only', he turned sharply, dashing to the toilet to deal with a day's worth of pent-up frustration.

Climbing into bed, Nick reflected upon two days so diametrically opposed to what he'd become used to lately that he wondered just what might happen next. Maybe he would take up Richey's invitation after all. It might just be what he needed to move on with his life. The decision having been made, once more his mind wandered back to 1982 when he took the greatest risk of all.

* * *

Sighing deep and hard at his financial state, the twenty-four year old Nick had made a tough decision. Shuffling to the drawer, he removed the little orange book issued by the Prudential. With the projected bonuses, by its maturity at the age of thirty, a yield of some two grand could be expected. Yet that was over five years away, by which time he'd be rich and famous anyway, wouldn't he? He'd get around £800 for early cancellation, less than had been paid in but, for Christ's sake, he could barely afford to eat.

He penned the cancellation request and posted it before he could talk himself out of the decision, before his thoughts returned to the lovely Jan. His biggest crush since Debbie Harry first appeared on Top of the Pops, his knees were a-tremble, his mind running with impossible scenarios. The way his prospects looked, however, he had more chance with the Blondie singer than the Geordie redhead. She was Richey's girl and if it came to a straight choice Richey beat him hands down every time. To distract his mind from the girl he couldn't have, Nick sought solace in a top shelf magazine. But Jan's face kept appearing on those of the spread-eagled, pouting models, putting him off his stroke.

A far-off ring on the doorbell alerted him and hurriedly Nick righted his trousers. More than likely to be one or other or both of the Madden brothers, he was taken aback to see Jan. Ushering her inside, he rushed ahead to gather up the screwed-up tissues that littered the coffee table like the fallen heads from a rose bush. Tossing the magazine out of sight, he opened a window wide in a vain attempt to disperse the stale air. Jan issued an awkward smile and a shrug as if she wasn't quite saw what to say. 'How you feeling this morning, pet? You looked a little worse for wear las' night.'

Still struggling to look her in the eye, Nick shuffled uneasily. 'Better thanks,' he replied, regretful at not having showered.

'I guess your wondering why Ah'm here...'

Reaching into her handbag Jan pulled out a fiver. 'Forgot, didn't Ah?'

He dismissed the offer but it was a half-hearted refusal and Jan left him no choice by forcing it into his hand. 'Well Ah Herp Ah haven't disturbed you.'

She missed the wry look as he glanced down to check the magazine was out of sight. 'No, I was just...um, doing some reading.'

'Would it be all right if Ah stayed a short while?'

'No, not at all,' he replied, smiling crookedly.

An hour of strangely compelling captivated him completely. When finally she paused for breath, it was as if he knew the girl almost intimately: her family and home life in Gateshead and her friends at university in Durham, yet he had imparted the barest of information. The subject turned his way and brazenly she asked if he was seeing anyone. He shook his head, unsure what to make of it.

'You and Susie looked pretty cosy las' night like,' she observed. 'Are you going to ask her out then?'

'I don't think so. I'd had a bit too much to drink, that's all.'

'That's a shame...' Jan continued, 'cos she really likes you, you knar.'

'Does she?' he asked, a little too enthusiastically before amending to a more sombre: 'Does she?'

'Aye, she does.'

Nick battled to conceal the smug smile. Deftly turning things around, he countered: 'You and Richey seem quite, um...quite close?'

'Me and Richey!' she spluttered. 'There's nothing between us, ye knar. No wayyyyyyy.'

Nick was taken aback. 'Oh right, oh...I imagined...oh...'

There was a momentary pause, before Jan spoke, addressing the wall: 'So if you were thinking of...you knar, of asking us out...don't let that stand in the way.'

Nick exhaled. She was forward compared to most southern girls he'd met and a sense of tradition dictated that it should be him doing the running. Yet, if it were down to him, she'd be back in the northeast before he even got around to thinking about asking. 'How about doing something after you've finished your rehearsal?' she suggested.