Silver Ch. 06-09

Six

Nick was prepared to devote the whole of Friday morning to Pete Collins though, anxious to avoid a repeat of Wednesday, the venue would be the house, coffee and tea the only stimulants on offer. As Jan and Liz departed for lunch in town and Nick awaited the writer's arrival, a head popped around the door. 'Hi,' smiled Kelly, rolling her shoulders. 'Hot today, isn't it? Shame you haven't got a pool.'

Nick snorted. 'Who do you think I am, Richey Bloody Osgood?'

Kelly raised her eyebrows. 'Well you can hardly complain – it's not a bad place you have here.'

'You think so? This is a shed compared to Richey's.'

'Hmmm, still not a bad place all the same.'

Nick rubbed at his chin. Perhaps there was worse.

'Anyhow,' sighed Kelly, 'I'm off outside to soak up some sun. Seeing as you can't provide me a pool, any chance of a sponge down with some cold water later?'

Nick felt his teeth grind.

Ten minutes elapsed before Pete showed up. Keen to get on, Nick brought him up to date with the story, returning to the summer of 1982, with the Battle of the Bands a week away.

* * *

The band's rehearsal room was a garage on the front of Vaughn and Kirk's parents' house on the outskirts of Broad Arch. With a layer of soundproofing and extra power points added to accommodate the battalion of equipment, the family car had long since been expelled to the driveway. Rat-tat-tatting with his fist, Nick watched as the metal front tilted upwards to accommodate his entry, ducking inside to survey the familiar scene: Kirk plucking idle notes on the bass, Vaughn twiddling a drumstick through his fingers and Richey scribbling furiously. 'Nice of you to join us,' the singer said with a scowl.

'Sorry guys, I got a little, um, sidetracked.'

'You'll go blind,' observed Vaughn with a throaty chuckle.

Nick grinned. If only they realised what a pleasant turn his love life had taken. 'Unlike you two, huh, you pair of Casanovas, huh. So who ended up with Cass and who got Liz?'

Vaughn exhaled. 'We wish. Put it this way, Nick, you got a lift home; we got taken for a ride. Two quid each to get in, one fifty a pint and not so much as a goodnight kiss.'

As Nick offered his sympathy, Vaughn observed: 'You did all right though, I hear.'

Nick looked back perplexed, before falling in. 'Oh with Susie, you mean?'

'All over him like a rash, she was,' interjected Richey. 'For some reason she thinks he's cute.'

Nick felt his cheeks blush.

'And you too, Richey,' added Vaughn, 'with that Jan bird.'

Richey played dumb, prompting Nick to slant his eyes. 'Now that would be telling.'

Nick plugged in, trying to dismiss the hollow boast.

As if to signal the start of the session, Vaughn crashed the cymbals. 'Okay, we have to decide the running order,' announced Richey. 'We should start and end with the best songs.'

They agreed unilaterally that Nick's 'The Outsider' and Richey's 'No Place To Hide' were the best two songs but that was where the concord ended. The singer wanted to open with 'The Outsider', whilst Nick preferred it to be last, the grand finale. However, Richey was insistent. Distracted by thoughts of Jan and a newfound mellowness, after a token representation Nick finally acceded to his friend's wish. But more bad news was to follow as Richey issued a stark warning. 'We've only twenty-minutes, so easy on the solos.'

All of a sudden Nick was shot out of the infatuation coma: twenty minutes to showcase eight songs? 'Edge Of Town' alone was pushing five, whilst 'Dark Secret' and 'Brainstorm' around four minutes apiece. Something had to give and by the sound of it, his brief moments of guitar glory were for the chop. 'We can't cut the solos,' he pleaded.

'So what do you suggest then, Einstein?'

'I dunno...why don't we cut out a couple of the weaker songs? I've never liked 'Machines'.'

'We can't drop 'Machines',' snorted Richey indignantly.

The singer's take on the future, 'Machines' was the first song he'd penned as a starstruck teenager and meant as much to him as the acoustic guitar that accompanied its master everywhere. 'Why don't we just drop 'The Outsider'?' Richey retorted.

They squared up to each other like at their first meeting in Our Price, though familiarity had unearthed in Nick a previously dormant boldness. Holding his ground, Richey's stubbornness and volatile temper induced a standoff. 'Boys, boys,' called Vaughn, ever the voice of reason.

Both turned to survey the drummer as if they'd done nothing wrong. 'Not the solos,' begged Nick.

'Twenty minutes, we can't overrun or...'

Nick smiled inwardly. If they did run out of time Richey would be distraught. Not being able to play his best song would shatter him. 'Okay,' backtracked Nick, 'we agree on 'The Outsider' to start, then 'Machines'...' he continued. 'And 'Edge Of Town' third?'

'Hmmm, later, fifth or sixth maybe,' countered Richey, looking to Vaughn and Kirk for support.

Responsibility was abdicated by the brothers with noncommittal shrugs.

'We need to pick things up after 'Machines',' argued Nick.

The inherent suggestion it was a weak song did not escape Richey and despite the seemingly simplistic task, an hour of valuable rehearsal time was squandered debating the running order. Finally with a little give and take, the songs were shuffled into an order upon which they could find some degree of harmony. 'How the hell do the Stones manage?' groaned Vaughn. 'We've only got eight songs to choose from.'

'Mind if we start playing now, Nick?' glowered Richey.

They snarled at each other like rabid pit bulls until Richey stood up, taking hold of the trusty acoustic guitar and strumming, allowing music to dissipate the tension finally. Launching into 'The Outsider', swiftly followed by 'Machines', the songs ran seamlessly into each other like they imagined they would on the LP. At the Ship, they'd allow brief applause at this point and Richey would issue thanks to the crowd. 'Just over six minutes,' confirmed Kirk.

'Maybe we should throw in a cover at this point,' suggested Nick, 'you know, to win the crowd over.'

Richey's lip curled once more. 'And what will that say about us? Second rate pub band.'

Nick shut up quickly, though he was boiling inside. Richey's 'Dark Secret' and 'Brainstorm' followed, after which Kirk confirmed that eight more minutes had elapsed. Nick shuffled uneasily, though no further words were exchanged and he began the intro to 'Edge Of Town', plucking the strings as the song built. After thirty seconds, Richey waved his hands urgently, causing Nick to look up.

Possibly Nick's finest moment of the whole set, over a minute of staccato strings led to Richey's call to arms. To cut it down would kill the effect. 'The intro was your idea in the first place,' pleaded Nick. 'We might as well just scrap the song altogether.'

Richey rubbed his chin as each scanned the running order for a sacrificial lamb. If the intro were cut, Nick would walk, a threat he voiced. Immediately Vaughn jumped to his defence, the metal door lifted to swamp the garage with bitter sunlight, the pair retreating outside to hold a private conference outside. Vaughn chewed worriedly on a cigarette. 'Take it easy, Nick man.'

Nick sighed. 'He's really getting to me today.'

'He's been like that since before you arrived. I've no idea why. Please Nick...don't walk.'

Nick looked up to the sky thoughtfully as Vaughn convinced him to make the peace. Confronting the singer, he held his arms wide apart in appeal for commonsense rather than as a show of contrition. 'Look Richey, we all have our favourites and mine are 'The Outsider' and 'Edge Of Town'. We can't mess around with them – they're perfect as they are.'

'What do you suggest we do then?'

Nick's face screwed up. 'Well, 'Dark Secret' and 'Brainstorm' are long enough. Maybe if we speeded them up a bit, make them more like...like 'Forever Nineteen'?'

The second song penned by the guitarist, 'Forever Nineteen' was a hundred mile an hour rant on life, inspired by the Clash's 'White Riot'. Ideal under the time constraints at two minutes long, it nonetheless still allowed his guitar a voice. Naturally Richey was unwilling to tinker with two of his songs, until Vaughn jumped to Nick's defence, agreeing that he did have a point. Kirk digested his brother's words, adding his consent. Three against one, a smug smile took up residence on Nick's face.

Taking hold of the guitar, he strummed the familiar chords to 'Dark Secret' with an animated plectrum. Kirk soon fell in, his bass rumbling like a train whilst Vaughn's busy hammering finally reached Richey's head. Doing both songs back-to-back, at twice the usual speed, left all four breathless in the wake. The others looked to Richey for validation. He shrugged, clearly not happy albeit outnumbered, and it was left to Vaughn to soothe matters. 'Look mate, when we get our own gigs and a bit more time we can string 'em out as much as we want. You can have orchestras and choirs and great bloody long solos...'

Reluctantly Richey assented. Nick could keep his intro to 'Edge Of Town', in lieu of the solos from 'Dark Secret' and 'Brainstorm'. Running through the rest of the set at breakneck speed until 'No Place To Hide' brought an ordered disarray, Kirk's watch came up just short of twenty minutes. Little time to catch their breaths, in spite of everything they did sound good. If only they could keep from each other's throats, the Speeding Hearts might have a chance of succeeding where so many other young hopefuls had failed.

The session broke up at eight with Nick dashing off to meet Jan, his loathing for the world and, more precisely, Richey, instantly dissolving in her presence. A pair of tartan trousers and a fawn leather jacket over a newly acquired Thunder Cracks t-shirt had transformed the girl next door into a feisty rock chick. 'They didnae have any Speeding Hearts t-shirts,' she joked, handing him a bag.

'Not yet, but they soon will,' he asserted. 'Oh wow, thanks,' he beamed, taking the matching top from the bag and discarding the worn Clash top before climbing inside the car.

Thanking her properly with a stolen kiss, his hand reached for her thigh, prompted by a sudden rush of passion. Brushing it away, she sighed: 'Sheesh, you and Richey...'

Hearing her say Richey's name elicited a pang of jealousy, a mental picture of his mate getting intimate with Jan trespassing on his joy. Perhaps she hadn't brushed away his hand the next time he tried it on. Perhaps his persistence had broken down her defences. Perhaps after they'd dropped him off and they all went back to Richey's parents, they'd enjoyed some passion.

Or worse, she'd gone back to his flat. The singer had hinted as much between bickering, snippets falling Nick's way throughout the tense rehearsal, giving the impression that he and Jan were more than just friends. He hadn't actually referred to her as his girlfriend, though that was how he evidently viewed it. He'd even asked their advice on where he should take her for a nice meal and whether they thought she liked him. Nick remained tight-lipped but it didn't help that Vaughn and Kirk egged him on mercilessly like a pair of immature schoolboys. 'What about Richey?' he shot back.

Jan issued a puzzled look and Nick prompted: 'You said 'me and Richey'.'

'I thought I told you earlier, there is no 'me and Richey'.'

'That's not what he seems to believe.'

'What do you mean by that?'

Nick pondered. 'He thinks you two are together.'

'Thinks being the operative word,' she gasped. 'Ah urnly kissed him at Christmas when Ah gorra bit tipsy and knar he's declaring his undying love.'

'Maybe you need to put him straight.'

'Mebbe Ah do. Does he knar Ah'm seeing you tonight?'

With enough bad blood over something simple like the running order, Nick hadn't wanted to compound matters with this unwelcome revelation. Not one to allow something such as unrequited love to stand in his way, Richey could be stubborn at the best of times and Nick was supposed to be his best mate. This, however, went beyond friendship and, equally, if not more determined this time around, Nick wasn't prepared to let Jan go as easily as he had the Thunder Cracks' LP. The difference on this occasion was that there was no easy compromise. Jan couldn't be copied and shared like a disc.

'Jan soothed matters over by saying: 'It's you Ah wanna be with, all right?'

Nick smiled, relieved.

Heading up to the Embankment in Jan's car, the stars stretched across a Thames that resembled a floodlit oil slick. Other couples chatted, hand-in-hand on romantic walks or alfresco beside pubs and cafes. Locating the Rose and Crown, the site of several favourite gigs, Nick ushered Jan inside, immediately espying a couple of faces that made him look twice. But no, it really was who he thought it was: Joe Donnelly and Dave Bishop of the Thunder Cracks. As they stood at the bar, for some reason he and Jan became the centre of attention. Surely they wouldn't remember his face from the gigs. 'I loik it, I loik it a lot' chimed Donnelly, staring straight at the pair.

Then Nick remembered the matching Thunder Cracks t-shirts, a healthy blush warming his cheeks.

'What'll it be?' enquired the Irishman, causing Nick's eyes to bulge.

The legendary Joe Donnelly was offering him a pint! Yet it got better. 'Would you loik to join us?'

As Nick accepted the invitation a guitar was passed over, with the request: 'Give us a song, Joe.'

Donnelly protested. 'Come on lads, we're just having a quoiet beer. And Tony isn't here.'

Hellraiser lead guitarist Tony Cage was absent, doubtless up to no good in a seedier part of the capital. 'Here,' said Nick, requesting the instrument and receiving it.

The crowd bustled closer as Nick began to strum, egging on his idol. Donnelly smiled. 'Okay, okay.'

The song was 'Lovesick', Nick's favourite on the LP, a real heartfelt passion ballad. To Nick's surprisingly adept accompaniment, given that his fingers were trembling, the Irishman kept the fans happy, a rip-roaring cheer ringing out upon conclusion. Joe leaned to pat Nick's shoulder. 'You're good, man.'

Nick smiled, catching Jan's eye. She looked smitten. That made two of them.

After spending two more blissful hours chatting with his heroes and never having once to put a hand in his pocket, Nick ensured to get the t-shirts signed before they left. Jan drove back to Crossbow Hill with Nick still in a catatonic state. 'We are going on tour with that man,' he said assuredly, if a little drunkenly.

Jan was quick to ground him. 'You have to win the contest first, pet.'

'No, we are going on tour, end of story,' he asserted, never more positive.

A sweet little goodnight kiss sent him floating away up to the flat, Jan's refusal of a coffee not really seeming to matter. There'd be time. The memory of the kiss enforced another sleepless night, his mind brim full of tapestries of the Geordie lass that had stolen his heart.

As a result, all day Monday he was in grave danger of nodding off on the job, having to be constantly reminded by the shop manager to concentrate. But, at that stage in a fledgling relationship where the heart superseded the brain, just being apart from Jan left a huge void. All else around an insignificant blur, Nick found himself counting down the time to the end of the working day. Running all the way home in hopeful expectation, espying the little Citroen outside the flat, his heart turned a somersault.

Once inside the flat, the short, unfamiliar kisses of the previous night turned to fuller ones, ripe with passion. Wary of the interrogation Susie was bound to inflict, Jan could spare just an hour, her exit leaving a huge vacuum.

A night out with the girls planned for the following evening, it would be Wednesday before they could get together again. Thus Nick was grateful for the rehearsal on the Tuesday to take his mind off matters of the heart. Free from the embittered retorts of the previous Sunday, a newfound professionalism arose as they honed the set to the requisite twenty minutes. Get it wrong on Saturday and not only did they risk losing a song but the contest itself.

Yet, as the evening progressed, a sudden change in Richey threatened everything they'd aspired to. Seemingly draining of all confidence in his and the band's ability, the former brash exterior was shown up as no more than a veneer. Each of the others overawed by the impending occasion in individual ways: Nick the rash on his neck, Vaughn an outbreak of especially virulent acne and Kirk a week-long attack of the runs, for Richey it was magnified tenfold, like a trial he had to endure. So much so that by the end of the session the singer was feverish, leaving hurriedly, not even the suggestion of a pint.

Wednesday being his day off, Nick and Jan were able to steal a couple of hours on the tourist trail, befitting of a proper couple. Yet, in the pub that evening, with the rest of the octet, it was back to the charade. Either blissfully unaware or more likely in denial at the coupling, Richey squeezed in close to Jan, pawing and fawning, causing her to shy away and continually warn him off. Not the only one burdened by unrequited lust, sharing her brother's obsessive personality, Susie was forever surprising Nick with gropes under the table.

'You're enjoying this, aren't you?' accused Jan when a brief moment alone arose.

'What can I do?' he protested. 'I haven't provided any encouragement whatsoever.'

'Well, how about telling Richey we're together for starters?'

Nick's expression betrayed him, followed by Jan's perceptiveness: 'You're scared of him, aren't you?'

A small element of truth in her words, Nick rejected the accusation. Not scared of Richey per se, what really scared him was seeing his hopes and dreams evaporate if Richey kicked him out of the band. The proud frontman wasn't going to take this lying down and Nick had visions of the shit hitting the fan on a scale matched only by Kirk on a bad tummy week and a fan the size of a windmill.

The Thursday before the contest, confirmation came through that the Prudential would be sending a cheque for £769.38. That was the catalyst to hand in his notice at the bookies. Throwing away a regular wage in search of a pipe dream was a huge risk, yet for all the band's quirks, there was something solid at the base: his determination.

Seven

As writer Pete Collins looked on with starry-eyed awe, listening to Nick Silver's reminiscences on the summer of 1982, he became aware of movement out in the back garden. Ambling over to press his nose to the window as Nick disappeared momentarily for refreshments, his eyes bulged. 'Is that...is that Kelly?' he enquired as Nick conveyed the tray back to the study.

Nick raised his eyebrows. 'It's a long story.'

He was quick to change the subject back twenty-for years.

* * *

In preparation for a visit by Jan, he moved vigorously around the flat, dumping the stack of top shelf literature in a big black bin liner. As he cleaned up a tune began to form in his head, followed by a bunch of abstract words and phrases. The angst of his two previous songs having given way to a newfound mellowness took him quite by surprise. 'Jesus, I'm writing a bloody love song,' he sighed.

Jan arrived with her usual punctuality and an hour that seemed to last a minute elapsed amid music and petting. 'Herp you don't mind, but Ah told the girls Ah was visiting an old friend tonight...and that Ah'd be staying over...'

Nick swallowed.

'So off you go to band practice and I'll see you back here when you're done.'

That night's rehearsal couldn't come to an end quickly enough and Nick had no idea whether it was good, bad or indifferent. All four in a daze for varying reasons, it had to be taken as read that it would be all right on the night.