Silver Ch. 19-20

Nineteen

'If you can replace something, it can't be that important.'
- Richey Osgood, Rock Week, 2000.

After Candice Barkin's trial in 1997 – a life sentence imposed for the murder of Will McCann and the attempted murder of Vaughn Madden – Richey left England in an attempt to clear his head. For the first time in two decades he was able to travel for pure pleasure, as opposed to being part of a tour. The yearlong trip took in most of Europe, and in Russia he met the beautiful Larissa who, after a whirlwind romance, became the second Mrs Osgood.

The new Millennium at hand, with little new material, it was deemed appropriate to put out a 'Best Of' compilation. Chronologically observed, it opened with 'No Place To Hide' (no place for 'The Outsider') and 'When The Lights Fade' from Nick's days, followed by 'You're So Gone' from the days immediately post-Nick. The non-charting coloured vinyl releases from the Stigma days omitted also due to space, the compilation picked up with the angst near misses of 1987, and each subsequent hit from 'Sweet Something' in 1988 to 'Highs And Lows' in 1997. Complemented by a brace of new songs, 'Reaching Out' and 'Slide', they would entice the diehards whilst serving as adverts for the album. It made for a tidy collection that even Nick found hard to deny five stars, though he did, on account of the omission of 'The Outsider'.

The early months of 2000 saw Nick once again on the trail, thoughts of 1996 weighing heavily. But, like the survivor of an air crash, the odds on something similar happening were phenomenal. Surely things couldn't turn out any worse, could they? Could they? It was almost as if Richey saved up these dramatic vignettes especially for Nick's visits.

Live appearances kept to a minimum, the LP more or less selling itself, just three sell-out nights at the Tollgate in Bristol had been arranged. Another line-up shuffle provoked by Candice's 'Will-ful' negligence, Richey and Spike were rejoined by Mitch Farrell, back on lead guitar, and erstwhile understudy Ryan Byrne replacing Vaughn on drums. Nick wasn't sure whether Vaughn's absence was voluntary or compulsory, though he planned to find out after the gig. He also wanted to find out from Richey why 'The Outsider' wasn't on the LP.

An hour on stage was the maximum the crowd could expect from Richey these days, the hits played back-to-back with clinical precision. Backstage, as the third and final night came to a close, every freeloader that had ever made Richey's acquaintance over two decades – and lived to tell the tale – had assembled. They bitched about him behind his back, despised his wealth and wished him dead yet they kept coming back for more, this time looking forward to varying degrees of royalty payments courtesy of the 'Best Of' LP.

Even Doug Perry and Cass, now married, were back among the inner circle. They stood chatting to 'Diamond' Dave Donnelly, issuing Nick a nod as Richey looked over the extended family. All still in the business, Doug and Cass toured as the Cassandra Crossing, whilst Donnelly and Nick wrote about what might have been had the opportunity not been swiped away. All shared one common gripe: losing out on a greater share of the wealth.

Strange as it might seem to see so many old adversaries, Richey's creed had always been live and let live, forgive if not necessarily forget. Nick suspected a hidden agenda: if Richey were to exclude them, they wouldn't get to witness just how well he'd done without them. His grudges tended to last the time it took to find a new love or a new line-up.

The happiest Nick had seen him since before fame struck like a curse, if he couldn't find joy with a twenty-something nymphet on his arm, a multi million pound bank account and a 'Best Of' LP storming the charts, there was no hope. Upon reflection, Nick decided against confronting him over the omission of 'The Outsider', not wanting to allow him the satisfaction of knowing he cared. Instead, they skirted around the tragedy of the last meeting, their lives now as diverse as the prince and the pauper, small talk exchanged until Larissa came over, bringing welcome relief. Up close, she was prettier even than in the pictures in the tabloids, statuesque like a supermodel, with golden locks and pouting lips. 'Ree-chee, you promised...' she simpered, sniffing the air loudly and Nick didn't imagine it was a cold that troubled her.

As the couple moved away, Nick nodded to other acquaintances before spotting Vaughn who issued a hollow smile and a confession: 'You were right, Nick, I should never have come back.'

Nick shook his head. 'Shut up. If you were in America now you'd be whining that you wished you were back in England with the band.'

'No man, I mean it. I can't even drum now, since...'

He rotated a shoulder emitting a pained expression. Nick shook his head. 'If Rick Allen was able to carry on, there's no good reason why you can't.'

'No man, I'm finished.'

Nick spent an hour trying to convince Vaughn he wasn't finished, following which it was back to the manor house in a fleet of people carriers. Nick was joined in the back by 'Diamond' Dave, stoned and talking gibberish, but Nick's attention was drawn to a stunning black girl at the front. Glancing over her shoulder and catching Nick's eye, quickly he looked away. A further exchange prompted Nick to raise his eyebrows.

The first MPV reached the gates of the estate and Richey, wrestling with a bottle of Jack Daniels, led the revellers inside, zigzagging at the head of a giant conga-like procession. The manor house perfectly equipped for the type of party Richey was renowned for, a barrel load of condoms stood in the hall, alongside an antique table bearing lines of coke.

Nick took a glass of champagne, making a little more small talk before heading up the wide stairs and pushing open the bathroom door to be greeted by a surprise. Donnelly grinned back, an electric blonde head fused to his groin. Apologising, Nick shut the door.

Turning, he encountered Richey, still clutching the whisky bottle, now almost drained of its contents. His other hand was around the shoulder of the black girl from the car. Nick took a deep breath, running an appreciative eye over the beauty. Wide mouthed and big eyed, her hair was tightly braided. A white clingy top held in place a pair of ample breasts, nipples straining, whilst a red pencil skirt cut off mid thigh to reveal the longest and most angular legs Nick had ever seen. Tall as well, even in flat shoes she towered over Richey, the kind of girl Nick fantasised about all too often. 'Nick,' Richey acknowledged with a sway. 'Nick thisssh isssh Estella Carr, Estella thisssh isssh Nick Silver. Nick's a journalist.'

Estella smiled sweetly and Nick felt his face redden, mustering a greeting before Richey continued: 'Estella isssh...the former Misssh...?'

'Trinidad and Tobago,' Estella confirmed in a deep, rich accent.

'She was second in Misssh World three years ago.'

'Third, darling,' Estella corrected.

Nick offered congratulations, eyes lingering on her figure. When she laughed at Richey's drunken antics, a set of ice white teeth, straight out of a toothpaste commercial, was bared.

'Ree-chee,' the familiar call rang out from the bottom of the stairs and the singer trotted off dutifully, leaving Nick and Estella alone together. Nick expected her to make an excuse to leave, but she stayed rooted to his side. Nick's palms were clammy as he asked: 'Can I...can I get you something to drink?'

'A Malibu and pineapple please, honey. I just have to go powder my nose.'

'Diamond' Dave was coming in the opposite direction, zipping up. 'Hi ho Silver!' he guffawed.

Nick drew a deep breath, ignoring his counterpart, his eyes following Estella's backside, his head taunted by lust. Though in all honesty, he never expected to see her again. However, five minutes later she'd managed to track him down to the kitchen, accepting the drink with a warm thank you whispered in his ear. As she drew away Nick turned his head and their lips brushed. 'Um, sorry,' he mouthed.

Estella held a finger to his lips. 'Come on,' she said with a wicked smile, taking hold of his hand and leading him to the stairs.

Nick sighed deep and hard, tortured by the adultery he was about to all too readily submit to.

A commotion in the hall drew Nick's attention away and their hands uncoupled. 'Room at the top of the stairs,' whispered Estella, skipping ahead, her backside bobbling seductively in the tight red skirt, before she looked back longingly over her shoulder.

Nick swallowed hard. He pictured her undressing on the bed, unveiling those beautiful dark orbs – for him. He imagined how good she'd look totally naked. He wanted her like nothing else on earth.

Suddenly he was accosted by Doug Perry and dragged in the opposite direction. Everyone magnetised to the rear of the manor house, it was bathed in a spotlight glow. The revelry having ground to a sudden halt, heads gazed skyward, hands saluting brows. Silhouetted against an upstairs window a tall, ungainly figure tottered on the brink of the parapet.

Nobody ever established what he was doing up there and no explanatory note was ever found. Theories amassed though Nick suspected he'd simply had enough of life and of sitting around idly at the back. And even that had now been denied him this time around. He wanted to be up front, he wanted recognition and he wanted to stagedive. Shouts rang out not to do it and Richey appeared at a neighbouring window. 'Vaughn!' he bawled. 'Nooooooo.'

'Dare!' was the drummer's final word as he adopted a Superman-like pose.

The crowd scattered like ninepins as Vaughn hurtled down towards them, the resultant thud like a sack of potatoes going to ground. 'Fuck!' cried Doug as Cass screamed herself hoarse. 'Call an ambulance.'

Nick was rooted to the spot, open mouthed, a single tear trickling from his right eye. As sirens filled the air, within ten minutes the place was deserted, everyone fleeing before the police arrived. With keen foresight under such extenuating circumstances, Nick darted around the house on a clean-up operation, flushing all remaining illegal substances from sight.

After they'd made statements to the police, Nick ended up spending the rest of the weekend at the manor house, just he and Richey sharing the grief for their oldest friend, reliving the old times and weeping like men really shouldn't.

When finally life finally returned to a semblance of normality, Nick looked back over the publicity with a keen eye. The newspapers played heavily upon the 'Curse of the Speeding Hearts' and for once they had a point. Membership of the club was fraught with danger.

In the obituary for Rock Week, his last ever article, Nick paid tribute to: '...the tousled headed drummer whose warmth touched many lives, and whose anonymity in a world dominated by celebrity made a refreshing change...'

In the aftermath, it went more or less unnoticed that 'Reaching Out' and 'Slide', entered the singles chart at eight and ten. Good starter positions, the fickle record buying public ensured they dropped as quickly from the Charts as Vaughn from the roof. The LP, of course, was assured a Number One slot even before Vaughn's untimely exit and it did not disappoint on that score, enjoying a fortnight's stay.

In the further wake of the dramatic events of that night, it transpired that 'Diamond' Dave and Estella ended up together. The start of a three-year affair, when she spotted him at the funeral, Nick was sure she gave him a 'could have been yours' look. Vaughn's intervention had undoubtedly spared his guilt and consequently saved his marriage. For that at least Nick was eternally thankful though he couldn't help thinking what might have been.

Post-funeral Nick took a six-month sabbatical before finally calling time on his journalistic career. The fifty grand bequeathed to him by Vaughn helped immensely to facilitate the decision, the money set aside for the proverbial rainy day, of which there would be many. The six and a half years since Vaughn's death passed slowly, yet all too quick, the Speeding Hearts exorcised from Nick's life if not his mind.

A few postscripts in between saw the band and, in particular, 'Winning Smile' featured on the BBC's 'I Love 1991' broadcast in August 2001. A year later Richey, Spike, Mitch and Ryan assembled to give a shambolic one-off performance at the Reading Festival to celebrate twenty years. The reception was nonetheless warm and the music press didn't go too hard on them. And that was that, until now.

* * *

Six years later, Nick stood with Pete at the bar in the Green Man, wondering why he'd ever come back. Just to add to his woes, the front door opened and in marched Donnelly. 'Hello campers.'

'What you still doing here, Donnelly? Why don't you go some place else you might be welcome?'

The words were harsh, rare coming from Nick but they summed up his frustration.

Donnelly baulked. 'As it happens, you moight be pleased to see me.'

'That'll be the day.'

'I thought this might belong to one of you.'

Donnelly held up the mobile phone, causing Nick's face to glow a deep shade of scarlet. 'Oh...thanks, um, yeah it's mine.'

Fortuitously in full working order, immediately Nick checked for messages. Heart-wrenchingly there were none. At the same time Donnelly ambled through the bar and to the back window, imploring them to join him. 'Now do you see, Silver?'

Nick caught up. 'See what?'

'Exactly...your car...my car...now where's Osgood's car?'

Nick shrugged.

'Oi'll tell you – it's on the back of a tow tuck heading back to Bristol. The Repo Men have been to call.'

'Repossessed? How? Why?'

'Because my friend, all of this – all of Richey's fucking World – is all a façade...it's all gone.'

'What has?'

'Everything, the whole fucking lot, twenty-five years down the drain.'

'Are you saying Richey's blown his fortune?'

'That's precisely what Oi'm saying.'

Nick rubbed his chin. 'Nah, I'm not buying it. You're talking bollocks again, you're just bitter. What about the manor house...and this pub...?'

'That Russian bird has the manor house now. That was a load of bullshit about builders. Did you see any builders around?'

The question was directed at Pete who'd strolled over. 'No, I didn't,' he concurred.

'Larissa? How? Why?' enquired a puzzled Nick.

'Word has it that Osgood got a little too handy with his fists...'

Nick could accept that Richey was many unsavoury things, but a wife-beater took some swallowing. 'Oh come on now.'

'Wakey wakey, Silver. Your friend is scum.'

'But the pub's still his, right?' interjected Pete.

'Wrong. It's in the process of being sold off to pay his debts. The man's finished. And those two losers in the band are...how can Oi put this? They're wanted by the police to help with their enquiries.'

With the rehearsal continuing uninterrupted in the outhouse, through the window Matt and the girls looked on as an invisible yet painfully audible front of bad notes drifted overhead. Turning aside, Donnelly grinned. 'What did the Pistols call it – flogging a dead horse?'

Yet things were about to get worse for Richey. From his position at the window, Donnelly rubbed his hands together with glee and announced: 'Here we go, the real action is about to commence.'

A quartet of police officers came into view and Matt became suddenly animated, scrambling to his feet, a fearful look on his face. The team rushed forward, brushing him aside easily, the two fleeing boys offering no more than token resistance as they were bundled to the ground. Richey was warned off and, despite his heightened protestations, the pair were led away into the waiting squad car.

'Game over,' proclaimed Donnelly.

Catching sight of his nemesis, Richey bounded over, crashing through the back door. 'This is your doing, Donnelly, you cunt.'

'Ooh, get you. Oi can't take the credit for everything.'

Richey was seething, spoiling for another fight. 'Taking great pleasure in my demise, huh?'

'Can Oi quote you on that?'

As Richey jinked to get at Donnelly, Nick jumped in, shepherding the singer aside. Face contorted with rage, Richey made to dodge beneath Nick's arm, the journalist holding him back, utilising his weight and height advantage to lock the singer in a full nelson. Frogmarching him to the front bar like a nightclub doorman ejecting a miscreant punter, Nick warned: 'Lump him and you'll end up in real bother. It'll be you in that police car.'

'Let me go, Nick. I don't fucking care.'

'Richey, no,' Nick warned, tightening the grip.

Richey yelped. 'Okay, okay, just let go.'

'Promise not to do anything stupid.'

'Promise.'

Nick eased off. 'He's been claiming you've blown everything.'

Richey's face dropped. 'Most of it's true. In fact probably all of it is true.'

'But hang on...how? Why?' Nick entreated.

Richey shrugged. 'Just the way it is. Money doesn't last forever.'

'Yeah, but you made a packet out of the US tour and you've sold millions upon millions of records...'

Richey took a stool at the bar. 'The States was sixteen years ago.'

'Well it's not like you've stood still since. You must have made a small fortune. Where's it all gone?'

'Small yes – fortune no.'

'Four, five, six million...that takes a hell of a lot of spending.'

'I've made some poor errors of judgement.'

'You're telling me!'

Richey bowed his head before launching into full confessional. 'Cass started it. Even though she did the dirty on me, the divorce cost me half of what I'd earned from America. A lot more disappeared with the court case against her, Doug and Dave.'

'You won that though.'

'On paper maybe...damned lawyers took a hefty cut as they always do. Then my darling little sister decided to fuck things up big time. She took another million. And thanks to her, I'd paid no taxes for five years, so I ended up getting screwed twice.'

Nick nodded slowly. 'The last time I saw you seemed so happy, so sorted, Larissa and you...'

Richey's face darkened at the mention of the name. 'It was an accident, I swear,' he protested. 'She was at the top of the stairs – I hardly touched her. You should have heard the things she was saying, Nick. And now Donnelly's going to tell the world I'm a wife-beater.'

'So it's true you gave her the manor house to keep quiet?'

'I could easily have gone down if she hadn't been persuaded not to press charges. And there was no way I was going to prison.'

Nick scratched his head, almost unable to believe this incredulous turn of events.

'You know the worse thing?' continued Richey. 'For the first ten years I scrimped and saved to scrape a living, then it all came overnight and I couldn't handle it.'

'Donnelly says the pub's all but gone too.'

'Yeah, at least I've a roof over my head for a few more weeks. And who knows, maybe the new owner will take pity and let me stay on till I get back on my feet. The thing is I've still got it in me. I know I can turn it around. One more shot is all I ask. This new single's the best thing I've written in ages. But if Donnelly shouts his mouth off, I'll be about as marketable as Garry Glitter.'

Nick brought him back to reality with a jolt. 'And even if he doesn't, you're clutching at straws. You need proper musicians for starters.'

Richey sighed. 'Proper musicians, as you call them, don't come cheap. If you know any that would be prepared to live on nothing but promises for six months, please let me know. Those two were busking in Bristol, living in and out of cardboard boxes by the bus station when I found them. They're happy with a little grub, some booze, fags and a roof over their heads...and the promises of what might come.'

'And what was it they did,' Matt asked, 'to warrant that?'