Dead Girl Walking (14 page)

Heike was favouring skirts and dresses on stage on this tour, a change from the jeans and white denim jacket people most often associated with her. She had bought a couple of tops and a skirt, and she still seemed unsatisfied, like some deeper need had not been met.

Then suddenly she pulled us both towards the dark rear of an exclusive-looking boutique in a pedestrianised lane off Covent Garden. It was the type of shop where assistants would come up to me and ask ‘Can I help you?’ in a way that clearly meant ‘What do you think you’re doing in our shop, you extremely unhip poverton?’

But today I had cachet by the bucketload. I knew it was down to hipness by association, but I didn’t care. I noticed one of the assistants checking Heike out, nudging her colleague and alerting her to who had just walked in to their store. They were trying to act cool about it, but every time I glanced their way I could tell their eyes had been on her.

I was seriously getting off on being the one she was with. Yeah, hip-chicks, she’s in your store, but I’m in her band.

‘Oh, yes. Absolutely,’ Heike said, lifting a dress from a rail. She held it up to regard it, rather than draping it against herself, which should have been my first clue about who we were really shopping for here.

She insisted I hit the changing room, and I couldn’t argue. After dressing up like an Egyptian warrior all morning, I knew making a fuss over trying on a frock would be self-indulgent, even if it wasn’t a look I had a hope of carrying off.

As I stepped out of my jeans I noticed the price tag and almost jumped. Not as bad as when I had feared I was about to wear something of the original King Tut’s, but we were still talking the best part of six hundred quid. Then I realised that this was my free pass, as Heike would surely understand that I couldn’t spend that kind of money on anything, never mind a single garment.

Might as well enjoy dressing up one more time, I thought, and slipped it on.

It looked good.
I
looked good. Better than good, in fact: I even thought about taking a selfie in the changing-room mirror. It wasn’t me, though. I could barely bring myself to wear it outside the cubicle in front of Heike and the staff, never mind in public.

Delicately, no doubt a picture of discomfort, and feeling really self-conscious, I stepped into view.

‘Oh, Monica. That. Is. Stunning.’

‘It’s not really me,’ I said apologetically.

‘No, no, it’s absolutely you. This is what I was talking about: there’s a version of you that you don’t allow yourself to see.’

I was worried this might be where she was taking it, but it was about to get much scarier than that.

‘You should wear this on stage. You’d look amazing playing with this on.
We’d
look amazing. We’d absolutely bring the house down when we do that dance during “Smuggler’s Soul”. It’s perfect for you: you like sleeveless things when you’re playing.’

This was true: nothing to restrict the movements of my arms and shoulders. But we were talking about vests and halter tops.

‘This isn’t just sleeveless,’ I said. ‘It’s almost completely backless. It would look daft with a bra strap across my back.’

As soon as the words were out, I knew I had made a mistake. From the moment I saw the dress I understood that it wasn’t meant to be worn with a bra, which was part of the problem.

‘You don’t need a bra,’ she said, like she knew I knew this.

I did, too. I’m not completely flat-chested, but I know I wear bras more for the sense of security they give me than for support.

I had to play my get-out-of-jail card.

‘I can’t afford it anyway,’ I told her.

Another mistake, as it betrayed the fact that part of me would love to own it, even if it was only to wear in front of my bedroom mirror.

‘So it’ll be my gift,’ she said.

On the surface it was a generous gesture, but I knew it was actually a dangerous moment. I thought of Rory’s words about the price of going along with Heike’s demands. She was exercising power, and the worst thing was: I couldn’t resist her.

‘Honestly, Heike, I can’t let you do that. It’s amazingly generous, but it would be a waste. I mean, if you can find a wood nymph whose other diaphanous dress is in the dry cleaner’s, I’m sure she’d be very grateful.’

I tried to make light of it, and her grin told me I’d pulled it off, but I realised the remark had just amused her.

‘I told you,’ she said, taking the dress to the counter. ‘I’ve got the means and the intention.’

She smiled and I told myself I ought to accept with good grace, but I couldn’t help feeling that Heike wasn’t giving something to me. She was taking something from me.

Heike had a radio interview to give before the soundcheck, so I carried on to Brixton alone, stopping at the hotel to put the dress in my room. I laid it out carefully on the bed before going to the loo, then hung it up in the wardrobe as soon as I came out of the bathroom. I was already feeling stressed every time I looked at it.

I had been mulling over Heike’s words about the wee mouse being a part I played, and beginning to admit to myself that there might be some truth in there. But even if the real me was actually ready to emerge, it wasn’t going to be in that dress in front of four thousand people.

I had a nosy around the hotel lobby and bar in case anyone else was hanging about, ready to leave, but there was nobody. I remembered Damien and Rory saying they were going to the Tate Modern and convincing a sceptical Scott that he would enjoy it if he tagged along.

I checked the time as I walked to the Tube. It was a little early, but I was anxious to get to the venue and check my fiddle had been dropped off safely.

It seemed strangely quiet as I entered the venue. Instead of the usual sounds of shouted instructions, squeaking castors, the dragging of stage skids and the buzz of the PA, I could hear only quiet laughter and voices speaking at conversational volume.

Angus noticed me first, bringing me to the attention of Dean with a nod. The chief roadie turned a bit shiftily, giving a smirky look to the others there. I was pretty sure he’d been doing a line: quite possibly all of them had. They were gathered around a transport cabinet for one of the amps like it was a table: Angus, Dean, Jan the tour manager and a fourth bloke, who still had his back to me.

‘Oof, can we bribe you not to tell teacher?’ Dean said, brushing a knuckle against his nose.

He was painting me as the proper little madam, as he always did. It bothered me more than usual today, after all I had been thinking about.

‘It’s
your
septum,’ I said with a shrug. ‘Did my fiddle get dropped off safe and sound?’

‘Eh, yeah,’ replied Angus. ‘I’ll just get it for you.’

At this, the fourth bloke finally turned around, casually, to face me.

‘Ah, so you must be my replacement,’ he said.

Alistair Maxwell was taller than the impression I had got from photographs and video clips. Perhaps it was a proportion thing, as he was broad across the shoulders and looked like he worked out. (Though, to be honest, I often expect men I’ve never met to be smaller than they turn out, as I am five foot nine and used to many of them being shorter than me.) He looked younger than I was expecting too, especially after the tales of hard living I had heard. His hair was cropped shorter than in any of the photos and his beard was gone.

‘How you finding life aboard the good ship Savage?’

He sounded friendly, but also mildly amused, and I got the impression he wanted to patronise me in front of the others. Clearly he was still pals with the road crew, and with Jan. So that maybe explained why the tour manager hadn’t intervened when Maxi’s behaviour was becoming a major problem.

I wondered who else in the band he was still close to, and why I should suddenly feel so threatened by it.

‘Every day’s a school day,’ I replied. My first instinct was not to tell this guy anything, but I wasn’t sure why.

‘I saw some clips from the Glasgow shows on YouTube. Have to hand it to you, you’re playing my stuff pretty well.’

His
stuff. Fuck you.

‘She’s certainly a lot nicer to look at than you ever were,’ said Dean with a gravelly chuckle.

Stay off my side, I thought, before sussing that a remark like that didn’t mean Dean was
on
my side. It was tag-team patronising.

‘And how are you getting along with she who must be obeyed?’

‘If you mean Heike, I’m getting along just fine. We’ve just done a photoshoot together. For
Tatler
.’

I don’t know why I came out with that. I was feeling prickly and defensive and I wanted something to throw back at him, but I regretted it as soon as it was out there. My instinct to tell him nothing had been the right one.

‘Together, eh?’ His eyes sparkled with calculation. ‘And was that Heike’s idea or the record company’s? Never hurts the profile to get the girls out front and centre, but I can’t see her wearing it if it was someone else’s suggestion. And I
definitely
can’t see her sharing the lens if it was someone else’s suggestion.’

‘I don’t know whose idea it was,’ I lied. ‘Either Heike’s or the photographer’s. They wanted to advertise the fact that there’s a new dynamic to the band.’

That being one without you, you smug dick.

‘A new dynamic, that’s sure true,’ he said, like it was the understatement of the day. ‘I suppose it can’t have been easy for her, being the only girl, especially out on the road. And I know the way I conducted myself last time out certainly didn’t help. It’s no surprise Heike decided to redress the balance.’

‘I think I was brought on board for more than my gender,’ I said, giving a coldly polite smile, unsure if I should be calling him on being offensive or if this was precisely the response he was after.

‘Oh, no, that’s not what I was implying. I just meant that a tour as extensive as the one you’re on could be a pretty gruelling ordeal. It’s very important that everybody gets along. How are you finding it?’

‘It’s been fine,’ I said, determined to give nothing more away.

‘So far,’ said Dean, who had wandered around behind me with an armful of cable. ‘But she ain’t even left Blighty yet. Whole new set of rules when we hit the Continent, ain’t there?’ he said to the others, cackling.

‘Not at all,’ said Jan, smiling at me but obviously in on whatever was being hinted at. ‘We run a tight ship: no man – or woman – left behind.’

‘Nah, we’ll be gentle with this one,’ said Dean, placing his hands on my shoulders and squeezing, not for the first time. I don’t know what creeped me out more: that he did it like we were on familiar terms, even the first time; or that he did it despite us most definitely not being on familiar terms two weeks further on.

‘She’s a virgin,’ he added, in case I wasn’t quite uncomfortable enough. ‘In terms of touring Europe, that is.’

It was all I could do not to shudder after he let go, though I don’t know why I wanted to hide it.

Angus approached with my fiddle, so I hurried over to grab it, a pretext to scurry away to a quiet corner.

I took it out of the case and was giving it my usual borderline-OCD check (as I did any time it had been out of my keeping, or in anyone else’s possession, even for five minutes) when I became aware of Maxi looming nearby.

‘Don’t mind Dean. He’s just a bit … unreconstructed. But you’re gonna need guys like him on your side. The world you’re heading into, it’s going to feel like a long way from Shetland.’

‘I’m not some wide-eyed peasant girl just off the boat. I’ve lived in Glasgow nearly two years.’

‘I’m only trying to give you some advice, from one who’s been down the road before and not made the best job of it. Dean and his crew, those guys will look after you over there. They’re not who you need to be wary of.’

‘Well, if you mean pissed violinists puking on the stage, I think that will be less of an issue this time.’

He gave a small laugh and angled his head: touché. But it seemed what I’d said had left me open.

‘From that deft wee deflection, I think it’s clear we both know who I’m talking about. After everything I put her through, it’s small wonder Heike went out and found herself a tame violinist, someone she can control.’

I was about to object, but once again found I was walking into his next barb.

‘So I’m sure it will be plain sailing – as long as that’s what you are. But if it turns out you’re not, there could be stormy seas ahead. I’m just giving you fair warning: you don’t need to go off the rails to end up on the wrong side of her.’

The roadies were conspicuously blanking Parlabane when he emerged from backstage. Dean had evidently spread the word and his cover was blown, though the fact that they believed they had something to hide regarding the Savage Earth Heart European tour was significant in itself. There was also the substantial consolation that this probably meant he would no longer have to go through with the charade of interviewing the Four Horsemen of the Anal Prolapse.

Nonetheless, there was still one member of the crew he reckoned would talk to him. He found Angus near the wings, leaning over a trestle table upon which he had rested an effects pedalboard in its open case. He had a black box in his hand, some kind of diagnostic device that he was plugging into each of the pedals in turn.

He glanced sideways at Parlabane then back at the pedalboard, but didn’t draw the same ‘well
you
can fuck off’ look the others had been pitching him.

‘Angus, isn’t it? Angus Campbell? I believe you know a good friend of mine: big Spammy.’

He called him Spammy rather than give his real name, in order to establish that he was more than merely an acquaintance. Parlabane generally didn’t like playing the mutual friend card, as it left him hostage to whatever impression said friend might have given based on what he or she
really
thought of him. However, he was confident he’d have gotten a decent account out of Spammy – just providing his name had come up at all.

‘I’m Jack, by the way. Parlabane.’

Angus paused what he was doing, some light having switched on in a diagnostic device inside his brain.