This Could Be Rock 'N' Roll (13 page)

“Your situation. Mine is changed already. I would kick Harry out tomorrow.”

“It doesn’t change my situation then.”

“You love Jade that much? I’m happy for her. She’s a lucky woman, girl even.”

“I would have to hate her a lot to leave her five months pregnant.”

She didn’t answer that.

I had no answer to that either but I sorely wished I had.

Chapter 14

Extract from ‘Sheikhen & Stirred’ by Patricia Season

Lavinia awoke amid sumptuous satin sheets in the largest four-poster bed she had ever known.

Where was she?

The last thing she could remember was sitting in the departures lounge of Heathrow Terminal Four bound for Barbados.

Had she fainted? Was this Barbados?

It was certainly hot. Very hot.

She threw back the single gossamer sheet which was covering her to discover that she was wearing a night dress fashioned from the very best Egyptian cotton, draped around her long, elegant, tanned limbs.

She did not own an Egyptian cotton night dress. She normally wore men’s pyjamas or a man’s shirt depending on the temperature. The Hall at home could be very cold in winter.

The air smelt spicy. Somehow in Barbados she expected it to hint of bananas and pineapples. This offered something altogether more Eastern and exotic.

The room was enormous, draped in simple, billowing calico cloths against intricate Arabic-design ceramic tiles.

What was going on?

The door opened.

In walked a man (she assumed it was a man) dressed in Arabic robes and a full head dress which covered his face except for the eyes. He unwound his head dress to reveal an extraordinarily handsome thirty year old olive-sleek face and deep emotional eyes.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Lavinia demanded, already divining the answer to at least the second question.

The man did not answer her questions but proceeded to disrobe in silence.

He stood naked before her. Passing her startled eyes over his body, Lavinia could see that the man was capable of offering pleasure to quite extreme lengths.

“This will not hurt a bit,” he assured her although she had her doubts.

He was right. He was exquisite and sensuous and his skin was scented as if by Paradise.

“This has to be better than playing soft ball with the girls on the white sun-kissed beaches of Barbados,” Lavinia thought to herself.

Another man entered the room. He was shaven all over and fat and his stomach rolled right down over his midriff. He too was naked.

“I cannot take any more,” Lavinia said to herself.

“Your Excellency,” announced the newcomer in a surprisingly high-pitched voice. “The British Prime Minister, Mr. Gordon Brown, is here to see you and awaits your pleasure.”

“Tell him I must finish what I have started and that I will be with him presently,” replied the Lavinia’s lover in a calmly authoritative tone which made shivers weave their way down her spine.

“Very good, Your Excellency,” replied the eunuch.

The sheikh was as good as his word. At the end of another ravishing eternity, as it seemed to Lavinia, she did not have a single nerve ending throughout her body left untouched by ecstasy.

The sheikh eased himself off the bed athletically and replaced his clothes. “I shall be back presently,” he replied in his cultured Oxford English accent. “Please have the goodness to wait for me.”

Lavinia stretched out her body like a cat and luxuriated in sensations she had never experienced before. “That Mr. Brown,” she said to herself, “doesn’t know what pleasure is.”

It’s unbelievable what dross you have to write nowadays to make money. Kevin, I both admire you and hate you at the same time. One million quid for that. I can’t believe it. It’s the same in the music industry. “Show me your sexy body, boom, boom, boom” and they hurl money at you.

*  *  *

The Beverley Festival wouldn’t have us but the Galtres Festival at Crayke will. It is where we are all joining up - Jerry, Martin, Lesley, Saskia, David Ward Maclean, Holly Taymar, lots more, folk, country & western and a hog roast.

My own personal entourage is out in force too - Jade, Cathy, Josh and Sam, and Mum and Dad, then Denise, Rache, Dizzy, Sam, Paula and Chris. Worse, I can see that Bel and Nancy are here too. I have severe doubts about playing and start working up an incapacitating migraine.

“God, I feel awful,” I say.

Cathy examines me attentively. “You were fine half an hour ago.”

“It must be nerves,” I admit truthfully.

Cathy gives me a sceptical look. “Since when?”

“I always get nervous.”

“Yeah, but you don’t usually get sick. What’s up?” She grins. “Who is she then?”

“Who is what?”

“Who are you avoiding?”

“I am not avoiding anyone. I am just feeling rough.”

Cathy has got Jade’s attention. “What is Cathy on about?”

“How would I know?”

Cathy shrugs. Jade’s expression lingers on me while Mum and Dad shuffle uncomfortably hoping that the evil wind will pass.

I am just about to go off and announce to the festival officials that I have been suddenly struck down with a mysterious and violent affliction when I hear Lesley announce over the microphone “I am going to sing my next song with Jake Pembleton. Jitterbug.”

What?!

“Come on, Jake, wherever you are.”

People are looking around and soon find me. “Go on, Jake old son. You’re on.”

There is nobody for me to explain to that I am too ill to play. I have to grin and bear it. I clamber onto the stage clutching my guitar.

“The very wonderful Jake Pembleton, ladies and gentlemen. You remember ‘Jitterbug’, don’t you Jake?”

Lesley has an evil sense of humour sometimes. “Intimately,” I reply. “The main thrust of it anyway.”

Lesley turns crouching to the microphone. “Well let’s do it, then.”

Raucous real ale and scrumpy soaked roars from the crowd. “Let’s do it, Jake,” screams Rache to general amusement.

“Again, again,” scream Bel and Nancy.

“He hasn’t done anything yet,” a wag in the crowd bellows out.

“Don’t you believe it mate,” Bel comes back relentlessly. “A right stallion that one.”

Now I really want to puke. I look quickly round for Jade and Cathy but I cannot immediately spot either of them.

Lesley turns to me away from the mike. “Do you want to do ‘Burning Bridges’ instead?” she jibes acidly.

“Do it?” I reply. “I’m living it.”

“Well, I did warn you.”

I must be an old pro because I managed to get through the song without mucking it up.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the excellent Jake Pembleton.”

Now to face the music.

I cannot find Jade or Cathy and the children. Finally I bump into my mum and dad.

“Where is everybody?” I ask. “I can’t find them.”

“They’ve gone home,” says Dad. “In a bit of a huff, like.”

“Why?”

“There’s something one of those girls up at the front told them that upset them. They were chatting to them.”

“Oh.”

“Oh indeed, Jake. So we said we would hang around and tell you that they had gone. We can give you a lift home whenever you like. Jade’s taken your car. You can always stay with us if nobody else will have you.”

“Thanks, Dad. I’ve got a set to do first.”

“Oh. Your mum and I were thinking of leaving sooner rather than later. It’s not really our scene. We came to be with everyone else but we are a bit left on our own now.”

“No problems, Dad. I am sure that I can find somebody to give me a lift.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

*  *  *

Well, when you can’t go back, you have to go on, and I’m on at five-thirty.

“Hello again, everybody. Good to see you all again, well most of you anyway.” I hope Bel and Nancy got that. I haven’t been able to find them either. Weird afternoon.

[chord]

I’ve rejigged the set to say it how I feel it.

“You’ll know this one - some of you.”

[chord]

I’m veering outta here and taking the track

I’m leaving this road and I ain’t coming back

I’m heading out

I’m heading out

Been so long locked in this life

That I’ve forgotten what it’s about.

They took and took I’ve nothing left to give

It’s money in your pocket but it ain’t no way to live

I’m heading out

I’m heading out

Been so long locked in this life

That I’ve forgotten what it’s about.

I’ve seen ‘em laughing at the top of the tree

But they’ve got all they’re gonna get from me

I’m heading out

I’m heading out

Been so long locked in this life

That I’ve forgotten what it’s about.

I play a good set, though I say so myself, especially given the adverse weather conditions of a personal kind.

“Great set, Jake. Good on yer,” greets me from a line of people as I come down off the stage.

I should stay on to watch Jerry, David and Holly but I need to get home and see what I can rescue. It strikes me that I may not have a home, except with Mum and Dad. Back to square one.

I search the crowd for a possible lift and happen to overhear Cilla Wykes from ThisisUll say that she needs to get off.

“Hey, Cilla.”

“Hi Jake. Good job. I enjoyed that.”

“Thanks, Cilla. There isn’t a chance of a lift back to Hull is there?”

“Sure, Jake. Mo and I are just about to leave. We’ve got a couple of the kids with us but if you don’t mind squeezing into the back, I’m sure we can make it somehow.”

In the car, Mo comes out with it. “What was going on during Lesley’s set?”

“Oh, just the usual hacking to pieces by a couple of disappointed groupies.”

“They didn’t sound that disappointed,” chips in Cilla.

“No, I suppose not.”

“Is that why you need a lift home?” Mo continues. Ah, the journalistic eye.

“Something like that.”

Cilla nudges Mo. “Leave him alone, Mo. We could never publish it anyway unless Jake happens to have pictures.”

*  *  *

They drop me off outside the Victoria Ave flat. “Best of luck,” they all say quite cheerily.

I get inside the hall and there are my suitcases, not as neatly stacked as the last time. I think about going into the flat to see if I can reason with Jade but it’s only going to make matters worse. At least I have a car this time to put the suitcases in. I saw it parked down the road so presumably Jade is here unless she has gone out. I think again about going into the flat and decide against it again. I pick up the first suitcase and lug it down the road to the car.

I am just lifting it into the boot when Stoker comes up to me. “Hi, Stoker, what are you doing here?”

“I came to try to help you out.”

“How?”

“There are a couple of guys looking for you. They caught me on the street up there asking if I had seen you. I don’t know if they knew I knew you. They seemed to be asking everyone.”

“Who are they?”

“Dunno, but they are quite tough looking so I thought you might need help.”

“I’ve been kicked out again.”

“By Jade?”

He doesn’t have to ask why but I tell him anyway. “Same as last time.”

Stoker chuckles. “You don’t seem to be learning, mate. Are you looking for somewhere to stay a few nights?”

“Looks like it.”

“Well, you can stay with me if you like.”

“OK. Thanks.”

*  *  *

Stoker is from Stoke, thus the nickname. When I first knew him he had red and white stripes on his wall then, for a while, he adopted some neutral colours until Hull City looked like they had a chance of making it into the Premier League whereupon he coated his sitting room in black and amber stripes with replica shirts hanging on the wall. It is a disorientating effect, probably a bit like being in a real jungle.

Stoker lives by himself in a flat down Chanterlands Avenue which isn’t that tidy. He was never much with the ladies which makes him a good antidote to my current situation of having been too much with the ladies. My crash and burn seems to have cheered him up enormously. It suddenly justifies him not having tried too hard to get a girlfriend. Let’s face it, everybody can find a girl if they try hard enough and set their sights low enough. You see what should be hopeless cases everywhere you look if you are judging everything on body sculpture alone and some of them have gorgeous birds. We thought that maybe Stoker was gay, what the closets call “chaste”, but I think he may be merely pure in spirit instead. He has never tried on anything with me but there again I am sort of aggressively hetero.