Oisin
gone but not forgotten
Here's another long, long, looooooong one to bore you all with:
(Only "Our" Kate known the full story. ) 8)
HARD ROCK
It was Barry who first introduced Dennis to the band I played drums with. He was a replacement for Jimmy, our lead guitarist, who had died in a tragic motorcycle accident.
Both Dennis Long and Barry (Buster) Ellis were a lot younger than the original trio of Jimmy, Dave and me. At the time we were struggling - it seemed people would more readily pay some gobshite to play records they could listen to at home, than encourage a live act. Admittedly, we weren’t exceptional (more like loose gravel than Rolling Stones) but we could knock out a decent tune or three.
Dave, our front man, played a couple of chords on guitar and had a passable voice. More importantly, he had a really wild mop of (dyed) black hair that made him look the part.
Barry played bass. He too fitted his part. As in his day job as a roofer, Barry was steady and workman like to the point of being boring. The label “Buster” related to his stature. He wasn’t obese; he was more than tubby and could best be described as a “fat get”. So you can imagine how popular he was with the fairer sex.
Anyway, I digress. As I said, Jimmy Shaw, the real talent, had been killed in an RTA when his Virago collided head-on with a corporation refuse truck. So Buster introduced this Dennis, an old school mate of his. My first impression of Dennis made me wonder about Buster’s lack of success with women and whether it had finally tipped him off balance. Dennis was… well you know, a bit… well for a start, he walked like he’d got too much air in his Nikes… a bit Stoke… limp at the wrist. It was his appearance that made me consider whether he would fit the image we were trying to project of a true red-blooded macho rock band. Despite our aggressive stage act, Jimmy, Dave and me were family men – we’d all been married for years.
But it only took one session to realise that Dennis was exactly what we were looking for. Jimmy could play guitar, keyboards and a bit of piano but this Dennis was classically trained. Put in a nutshell; he was bloody great. He could turn his hand to anything from bagpipes to violin. (Not that we had either for him to try - we took his word for it.)
It was after a wedding we played at the White Hart that I thought Dennis really showed his colours. Steve Biddle, the proprietor, made no secret of his sexuality. He’d been on the tug since his partner, Nigel, left. Although he knew where we were at, it wasn’t unusual for him to invite us for a stop back – a drink or two when we’d finished our set. But that night Dennis stayed on even longer. I suspected it had turned out to be more of a stop over than a stop back for him. They were consenting adults so it was nobody else’s business.
So there we were, a happy little band of eejits and misfits: Dave and me married, Dennis kicking with the other foot and Buster… ah, poor Buster. But then things took a sudden twist. We were doing a charity gig in Perry Hall Park (the nearest we’d ever got to Shea Stadium) when Buster finally pulled.
He chatted her up when she was serving us pints in the beer tent. She was a pleasant sort - easy to talk to. Shapewise, she was a little on the skinny side but not too bad. The thing was she must have had a lie in when they handed out looks. She had, what do they call them, pixie features? A hooked conk and lugs that stuck out, indicating she’d been a difficult delivery. The less charitable could even describe her as “bloody ugly”. Anyway she and Buster hit it off from the start. I mean, for a chap who’s usual pulling was more like dragging, it must have seemed that all his Christmases had come together. We were all so pleased for the poor sod.
Things progressed at a rapid pace and it wasn’t long after they started going steady that Buster moved Carla in with him. Head over heels with each other, they seemed the ideal couple and soon marriage was on the agenda. Being over the moon in his relationship, he offered Carla her heart’s desire for a special wedding present.
Having been such a steady fella for so long, he was far from short of a few bob. Come to think about it, there are probably a lot of women who, if they’d known Buster’s bank account was nearly as fat as him, they would’ve snapped him up years before.
Carla immediately came up with her wish for perfect present - some of her physical imperfections ironed out before the big day, i.e. a nose and ears job. Buster had no hesitation in agreeing. He loved that girl more than anything in the world but even he had to admit, were she a bit prettier, he might love her even more. So the surgery went ahead. For sometime after her face looked as if she’d been hit by a Metro tram car – a right horrific mess of bruising and swelling – but it all came right well in time for the big day – a vast improvement. She looked perfect on the photos.
The function took place at the White Hart. As the rest of us were stood down for the day, Dennis supplied the entertainment on his own. The highlight of his set came near the end, sitting at the baby grand, crooning a few smoochy ballads. We hadn’t let him sing much with the band but, when he did, he had one of those voices that makes the hairs stand up on the back of your neck – bit like Clifford T Ward. The oul’ dears (and a lot of the young birds) loved it. Even my missus, Kate, was impressed.
It was then I started thinking about a lot of weird anomalies. First: Why is it that a lot of women are attracted to gays? Then, although Dave and me could give the other two a decade, we were still the wild men of the outfit, as was the late Jimmy when he was kickin’. It was a sad refection on what’s called rock ’n’ roll these days when performers of the art were more likely to tidy a hotel room than trash it.
Were we dinosaurs? Did we need to take off in a different direction? Even Rod Stewart was now doing ballads. Of course the biggest contemporary demand, besides moronic, brain-dead DJs, was boy bands. Perhaps we should promote our younger members to move their feet and smile to a backing tape? Nah, I decided, stick to your guns. We’d never make any big money anyway, so we may as well continue with something we enjoy.
That year had started badly with Jimmy’s death and I knew I’d always miss him. But now, it appeared, things were on the up again. The band had held together. If for no other reason than Jimmy’s memory, we should keep on rockin’.
* * *
That cosmetic surgery was worth all of whatever Buster shelled out on it. He now had a very pretty wife. And married life certainly agreed with him. He was more enthusiastic about everything. It showed in his performance. He was more animated and more imaginative in his playing – a bit like an early, fat Paul McCartney before he got too full of himself.
Bookings were rolling in at such a rate that I had actually mentioned to Kate (only half-joking) that I was considering jacking in the day job. She laughed and told me to get real.
‘At you age,’ she said, ‘you should be considering early retirement, not a new career in rock ‘n’ roll’.
That’s what I liked about Kate; she had always been the driving force behind me. I could always rely on her to instil me with enthusiasm and confidence. Unlike Carla who turned up for all the gigs and rehearsals, Kate was always glad to have me out the house and her hair for a while.
Being more enthusiastic about what we were doing, it was Buster who came up with an idea to capitalise on our recent success by improving the line-up.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘nearly every band has a female in it now, most singing lead.’
Seeing Dave’s jaw drop at the suggestion, I solicited his views.
‘Er…’ he replied nervously, ‘I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to use her as backing. Be better if she could play something as well. Can she?’
Buster shook his head with disappointment.
‘Tell you what,’ Dennis broke in, ‘I could teach her keyboards. That’d be a start.’
‘Yeah, and I suppose I could give her some coaching in the singing department’, Dave added unenthusiastically.
‘Okay,’ I agreed, thinking that a little glamour probably wouldn’t go amiss.
So it was all arranged that Carla would practice and rehearse at Dennis’ house, which, being a bachelor pad, was the most suitable venue. She was keen to learn and it wasn’t long before she was part of the line up.
Although Dave wasn’t that taken with it at first, we moved a keyboard up front and soon had Carla duetting with him. With her newfound confidence, Carla was moving more like Kylie! Dave began to enjoy it and I thought we’d hit on the most successful presentation ever for a part-time rock band.
Soon we’d expanded our inner city Birmingham circuit right out into the very depths of the Black Country: Old Hill, Bilston, Wolverhampton, Walsall, the world was our oyster. I really began to believe that after twenty years in the game, I was about to become a huge overnight success. It was then that the bubble burst.
A seven o’clock Wednesday night meet had been arranged to discuss several bookings for the coming month. I was first to arrive and accepted a free pint off Steve in the bar of the White Hart. One hour later, as I was still on my own, I began to think I’ve made a mistake. Steve was giving me funny looks so I decide to sling my hook.
Stepping off the bottom entrance step I was presented by the sight of Dave swinging his old, but cherished, Scorpio onto the car park. As he steered it passed me into a parking space, I noticed both nearside doors bashed in. Well that explained why he was late – a row with someone refusing to exchange insurance details no doubt.
He leapt out the car like a dosser on dole day – fit to be tied he was. ‘See that?’ He gestured angrily.
‘Bit of a mess.’ I understated the obvious. ‘What happened?’
‘That bloody mate of yours!’ Indicating my inability to comprehend by shaking my head only fuelled his anger. ‘Bloody Buster – the mad bugger! He’s right off his trolley. Came round accusing me of havin’ it off with his missus. I can tell you, I’ll kill the louse if I see him again.’
‘Hey, hey,’ I attempted to placate him, ‘Come in,’ I motioned towards the pub door, ‘and tell me exactly what happened.’
Back in the bar, he rolled up some Golden Virginia while I brought the pints over to a corner table. ‘So what’s it all about,’ I asked, slipping into the seat opposite him.
‘You tell me,’ he said, snapping the lid on his tobacco tin. ‘There I am just getting ready to come up here and that fat sod lands like a raving lunatic. He starts off about me and his missus, and all in front of Sue. You can imagine her reaction.’
I’d known Sue almost as long as Dave, so I could well imagine her reaction – far from pleasant. ‘So what put all this in his head?’
Dave blew out smoke in a sharp puff from the side of his mouth. ‘Oh something about a message on her mobile. You know me, Ed, I can be a bit of a prat but…’ He halted for a moment’s thought and took another drag on his roll up, ‘Oh, I know we mess about on stage and that, but it’s just part of the act, isn’t it?’ His brow creased with another thought. ‘I don’t even know her number.’
‘So how did you deal with it?’
‘Got the daft bugger out of the house as quick as I could. I’m not joking, Ed, he was fit to top me. I’ve never seen him like that before.’ He took a long shaky pull on his pint. ‘Then, once I’d bundled him out the front door, I got Sue throwing a right wobbly.’
‘Did you make any progress with her?’
He gave me a look of dismay. ‘What do you think? What would Kate be like if it was you?’
It only took a moment for me to agree. ‘Er… yeah - see what you mean.’
‘In the end,’ he continued, ‘I decided to get out, if only to let her calm down a bit. Then… well you see what he’s done to the car.’
I shook my head in disbelief. ‘Can’t understand it. It’s so out of character. Wonder if it’d help if I had a word.’
Dave jumped at the suggestion. ‘Yeah. And first of all tell him whoever’s shaggin’ his scraggy missus, it ain’t me.’ He paused for a moment. ‘And tell him I hope he’s broke at least ten toes kicking my soddin’ car in – the lousy sod!’
‘And what about Sue?’ I asked. ‘Can I help out there?’
Dave gave an emphatic shake of his long black locks. ‘Be no good anybody going near her at the moment. And even if she does calm down, she ain’t gonna take much notice of my best mate sticking up for me, is she?’
‘No, I suppose not,’ I shrugged. ‘So where do we go from here?’
‘Well I don’t feel much like thinking about the band so…’
‘No problem,’ I chanced a reassuring smile. ‘Bloody Dennis hasn’t turned up either.’
Dave had maintained enough of his sense of humour to shout over the bar at Steve, ‘Oi! You ain’t got little Dennis tucked away somewhere cosy, have you?’
‘No, I ain’t!’ Steve bawled back, less than amused, ‘But when you find the get tell him I want my money back for that chiller he put in. It hasn’t worked right since the night he wired it. And if he’s got anything else that fell off the back of his wagon, he can stick it up his jacksee.’
All of a sudden it seemed all the wheels were coming off together.
* * *
Besides Kate and my family, that stupid band meant everything to me and I felt the need to do anything to get it back on track.
If this was the age of instant communication then we needed to return to the jungle drums. It was so bloody frustrating; neither Buster nor Dennis was answering their mobiles or landlines. Dennis wasn’t a real emergency. He could wait. It was Buster I decided to track down first.
I couldn’t catch him at home until the Saturday morning. He finally answered the door, looking like something the cat had dragged in, after my repeated hammering all but took it off the hinges. His eyes were like AA road maps of the West Midlands, his hair looked like he’d been plugged into the mains, his chin was covered in a cross between designer stubble and a thick mould, and his breath stank of stale fags and alcohol. All in all, I think it’s fair to say I’d seen Buster looking better.
‘Wadda you want?’ he groaned, barring my entrance to the hall.
‘A word with you,’ was the best I could come up with, ‘Can I come in?’
He yawned, scratched his head, but moved aside to allow me free passage.
‘That shite-hawk, Dave, been whingeing to you, as he?’ Buster muttered as he showed me into the bombsite of a living room. ‘He’s lucky I only trashed his car and not him. I hope you ain’t come round here to try and talk me outta killin’ him.’
‘Well, of course, I would like to know exactly what’s going on,’ I said, sweeping beer cans off an easy chair to make room for my bum. ‘I’ve heard Dave’s side. Now I want to hear yours. What the hell went on, Barry?’
Buster flopped onto the cluttered settee, took out a Benson’s and lit it. ‘I rumbled lover boy and my missus,’ he said blowing a fume of smoke into the air. ‘that’s what happened – end of story.’
‘So where’s Carla now?’
Buster gave a nonchalant shrug. ‘How the hell should I know? And, what’s more, why should I care?’
‘She’s left?’
‘I threw her out.’
‘But, listen, Barry, are you absolutely sure about this? I’ve known Dave…’
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah’ Buster cut in, ‘you and him have been mates all your lives… well I would expect you to stick up for him. Honest, Ed, I don’t blame you for that. I blame myself. It was me who suggested she join the band. I shouldn’t have given way to her. I should’ve known when she was so persistent about wanting to play with us. Right bloody mug I’ve been. Gave her everything, right from the start, and this is how she repays me.’
‘Whoa!’ I slowed him down. ‘Let’s take it from square one. What made you suspect something was up between the two of them?’
‘The bloody phone – her mobile.’
‘Yeah, what about it?’
Buster sat back and sucked in a deep breath. ‘She was in the bedroom tarting herself up when her mobile started. Save disturbing her I picked it – it was a text from that louser.’
‘And what exactly did it say?’ I coaxed.
‘Can’t remember the exact wording but it was something like: I’ll never forget the beautiful music we made together last Thursday. Can you get away again this week?.. Love, D.’
‘Perhaps,’ I offered, ‘he was referring to practice – something as innocent as that?’
‘Cobblers,’ Buster grimaced, ‘I ain’t that bloody thick. We all play together now – there ain’t no more lessons. It’s him and her all right. I mean, look at the way they perform in front of a crowd. God knows what they’ve been up to behind my back.’
‘Well, I’m sorry, Barry, I just can’t have it,’ I persisted, ‘I know Dave can act the eejit but he’d never do anything like that, especially not on a mate.’
‘That’s the way it always is, ain’t it.’ Buster was just as insistent. ‘Last to know, ain’t that another pet phrase?’
He had me! He was right, it was always the people you trusted, the last one you’d suspect that turns out to be the traitor. The last you’d expect… it hit me like a ton of bricks… D!
My eyes must’ve lit. ‘You did say it was signed D, didn’t you?’
Buster sensed I was on to something and answered somewhat hesitantly, ‘Yeah.’
‘Well did you check the number?’
‘What number?’
I could hardly contain myself. ‘The bloody number it was sent from.’ Buster looked at me gone out. ‘At the end of a text, the number from which it was sent is always displayed.’ Buster cheeks reddened as he shook his head. ‘Don’t you see,’ I continued, ‘ D doesn’t have to be Dave it could be…’
‘Soddin’ Dennis!’ Buster exploded.
THE END
(Only "Our" Kate known the full story. ) 8)
HARD ROCK
It was Barry who first introduced Dennis to the band I played drums with. He was a replacement for Jimmy, our lead guitarist, who had died in a tragic motorcycle accident.
Both Dennis Long and Barry (Buster) Ellis were a lot younger than the original trio of Jimmy, Dave and me. At the time we were struggling - it seemed people would more readily pay some gobshite to play records they could listen to at home, than encourage a live act. Admittedly, we weren’t exceptional (more like loose gravel than Rolling Stones) but we could knock out a decent tune or three.
Dave, our front man, played a couple of chords on guitar and had a passable voice. More importantly, he had a really wild mop of (dyed) black hair that made him look the part.
Barry played bass. He too fitted his part. As in his day job as a roofer, Barry was steady and workman like to the point of being boring. The label “Buster” related to his stature. He wasn’t obese; he was more than tubby and could best be described as a “fat get”. So you can imagine how popular he was with the fairer sex.
Anyway, I digress. As I said, Jimmy Shaw, the real talent, had been killed in an RTA when his Virago collided head-on with a corporation refuse truck. So Buster introduced this Dennis, an old school mate of his. My first impression of Dennis made me wonder about Buster’s lack of success with women and whether it had finally tipped him off balance. Dennis was… well you know, a bit… well for a start, he walked like he’d got too much air in his Nikes… a bit Stoke… limp at the wrist. It was his appearance that made me consider whether he would fit the image we were trying to project of a true red-blooded macho rock band. Despite our aggressive stage act, Jimmy, Dave and me were family men – we’d all been married for years.
But it only took one session to realise that Dennis was exactly what we were looking for. Jimmy could play guitar, keyboards and a bit of piano but this Dennis was classically trained. Put in a nutshell; he was bloody great. He could turn his hand to anything from bagpipes to violin. (Not that we had either for him to try - we took his word for it.)
It was after a wedding we played at the White Hart that I thought Dennis really showed his colours. Steve Biddle, the proprietor, made no secret of his sexuality. He’d been on the tug since his partner, Nigel, left. Although he knew where we were at, it wasn’t unusual for him to invite us for a stop back – a drink or two when we’d finished our set. But that night Dennis stayed on even longer. I suspected it had turned out to be more of a stop over than a stop back for him. They were consenting adults so it was nobody else’s business.
So there we were, a happy little band of eejits and misfits: Dave and me married, Dennis kicking with the other foot and Buster… ah, poor Buster. But then things took a sudden twist. We were doing a charity gig in Perry Hall Park (the nearest we’d ever got to Shea Stadium) when Buster finally pulled.
He chatted her up when she was serving us pints in the beer tent. She was a pleasant sort - easy to talk to. Shapewise, she was a little on the skinny side but not too bad. The thing was she must have had a lie in when they handed out looks. She had, what do they call them, pixie features? A hooked conk and lugs that stuck out, indicating she’d been a difficult delivery. The less charitable could even describe her as “bloody ugly”. Anyway she and Buster hit it off from the start. I mean, for a chap who’s usual pulling was more like dragging, it must have seemed that all his Christmases had come together. We were all so pleased for the poor sod.
Things progressed at a rapid pace and it wasn’t long after they started going steady that Buster moved Carla in with him. Head over heels with each other, they seemed the ideal couple and soon marriage was on the agenda. Being over the moon in his relationship, he offered Carla her heart’s desire for a special wedding present.
Having been such a steady fella for so long, he was far from short of a few bob. Come to think about it, there are probably a lot of women who, if they’d known Buster’s bank account was nearly as fat as him, they would’ve snapped him up years before.
Carla immediately came up with her wish for perfect present - some of her physical imperfections ironed out before the big day, i.e. a nose and ears job. Buster had no hesitation in agreeing. He loved that girl more than anything in the world but even he had to admit, were she a bit prettier, he might love her even more. So the surgery went ahead. For sometime after her face looked as if she’d been hit by a Metro tram car – a right horrific mess of bruising and swelling – but it all came right well in time for the big day – a vast improvement. She looked perfect on the photos.
The function took place at the White Hart. As the rest of us were stood down for the day, Dennis supplied the entertainment on his own. The highlight of his set came near the end, sitting at the baby grand, crooning a few smoochy ballads. We hadn’t let him sing much with the band but, when he did, he had one of those voices that makes the hairs stand up on the back of your neck – bit like Clifford T Ward. The oul’ dears (and a lot of the young birds) loved it. Even my missus, Kate, was impressed.
It was then I started thinking about a lot of weird anomalies. First: Why is it that a lot of women are attracted to gays? Then, although Dave and me could give the other two a decade, we were still the wild men of the outfit, as was the late Jimmy when he was kickin’. It was a sad refection on what’s called rock ’n’ roll these days when performers of the art were more likely to tidy a hotel room than trash it.
Were we dinosaurs? Did we need to take off in a different direction? Even Rod Stewart was now doing ballads. Of course the biggest contemporary demand, besides moronic, brain-dead DJs, was boy bands. Perhaps we should promote our younger members to move their feet and smile to a backing tape? Nah, I decided, stick to your guns. We’d never make any big money anyway, so we may as well continue with something we enjoy.
That year had started badly with Jimmy’s death and I knew I’d always miss him. But now, it appeared, things were on the up again. The band had held together. If for no other reason than Jimmy’s memory, we should keep on rockin’.
* * *
That cosmetic surgery was worth all of whatever Buster shelled out on it. He now had a very pretty wife. And married life certainly agreed with him. He was more enthusiastic about everything. It showed in his performance. He was more animated and more imaginative in his playing – a bit like an early, fat Paul McCartney before he got too full of himself.
Bookings were rolling in at such a rate that I had actually mentioned to Kate (only half-joking) that I was considering jacking in the day job. She laughed and told me to get real.
‘At you age,’ she said, ‘you should be considering early retirement, not a new career in rock ‘n’ roll’.
That’s what I liked about Kate; she had always been the driving force behind me. I could always rely on her to instil me with enthusiasm and confidence. Unlike Carla who turned up for all the gigs and rehearsals, Kate was always glad to have me out the house and her hair for a while.
Being more enthusiastic about what we were doing, it was Buster who came up with an idea to capitalise on our recent success by improving the line-up.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘nearly every band has a female in it now, most singing lead.’
Seeing Dave’s jaw drop at the suggestion, I solicited his views.
‘Er…’ he replied nervously, ‘I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to use her as backing. Be better if she could play something as well. Can she?’
Buster shook his head with disappointment.
‘Tell you what,’ Dennis broke in, ‘I could teach her keyboards. That’d be a start.’
‘Yeah, and I suppose I could give her some coaching in the singing department’, Dave added unenthusiastically.
‘Okay,’ I agreed, thinking that a little glamour probably wouldn’t go amiss.
So it was all arranged that Carla would practice and rehearse at Dennis’ house, which, being a bachelor pad, was the most suitable venue. She was keen to learn and it wasn’t long before she was part of the line up.
Although Dave wasn’t that taken with it at first, we moved a keyboard up front and soon had Carla duetting with him. With her newfound confidence, Carla was moving more like Kylie! Dave began to enjoy it and I thought we’d hit on the most successful presentation ever for a part-time rock band.
Soon we’d expanded our inner city Birmingham circuit right out into the very depths of the Black Country: Old Hill, Bilston, Wolverhampton, Walsall, the world was our oyster. I really began to believe that after twenty years in the game, I was about to become a huge overnight success. It was then that the bubble burst.
A seven o’clock Wednesday night meet had been arranged to discuss several bookings for the coming month. I was first to arrive and accepted a free pint off Steve in the bar of the White Hart. One hour later, as I was still on my own, I began to think I’ve made a mistake. Steve was giving me funny looks so I decide to sling my hook.
Stepping off the bottom entrance step I was presented by the sight of Dave swinging his old, but cherished, Scorpio onto the car park. As he steered it passed me into a parking space, I noticed both nearside doors bashed in. Well that explained why he was late – a row with someone refusing to exchange insurance details no doubt.
He leapt out the car like a dosser on dole day – fit to be tied he was. ‘See that?’ He gestured angrily.
‘Bit of a mess.’ I understated the obvious. ‘What happened?’
‘That bloody mate of yours!’ Indicating my inability to comprehend by shaking my head only fuelled his anger. ‘Bloody Buster – the mad bugger! He’s right off his trolley. Came round accusing me of havin’ it off with his missus. I can tell you, I’ll kill the louse if I see him again.’
‘Hey, hey,’ I attempted to placate him, ‘Come in,’ I motioned towards the pub door, ‘and tell me exactly what happened.’
Back in the bar, he rolled up some Golden Virginia while I brought the pints over to a corner table. ‘So what’s it all about,’ I asked, slipping into the seat opposite him.
‘You tell me,’ he said, snapping the lid on his tobacco tin. ‘There I am just getting ready to come up here and that fat sod lands like a raving lunatic. He starts off about me and his missus, and all in front of Sue. You can imagine her reaction.’
I’d known Sue almost as long as Dave, so I could well imagine her reaction – far from pleasant. ‘So what put all this in his head?’
Dave blew out smoke in a sharp puff from the side of his mouth. ‘Oh something about a message on her mobile. You know me, Ed, I can be a bit of a prat but…’ He halted for a moment’s thought and took another drag on his roll up, ‘Oh, I know we mess about on stage and that, but it’s just part of the act, isn’t it?’ His brow creased with another thought. ‘I don’t even know her number.’
‘So how did you deal with it?’
‘Got the daft bugger out of the house as quick as I could. I’m not joking, Ed, he was fit to top me. I’ve never seen him like that before.’ He took a long shaky pull on his pint. ‘Then, once I’d bundled him out the front door, I got Sue throwing a right wobbly.’
‘Did you make any progress with her?’
He gave me a look of dismay. ‘What do you think? What would Kate be like if it was you?’
It only took a moment for me to agree. ‘Er… yeah - see what you mean.’
‘In the end,’ he continued, ‘I decided to get out, if only to let her calm down a bit. Then… well you see what he’s done to the car.’
I shook my head in disbelief. ‘Can’t understand it. It’s so out of character. Wonder if it’d help if I had a word.’
Dave jumped at the suggestion. ‘Yeah. And first of all tell him whoever’s shaggin’ his scraggy missus, it ain’t me.’ He paused for a moment. ‘And tell him I hope he’s broke at least ten toes kicking my soddin’ car in – the lousy sod!’
‘And what about Sue?’ I asked. ‘Can I help out there?’
Dave gave an emphatic shake of his long black locks. ‘Be no good anybody going near her at the moment. And even if she does calm down, she ain’t gonna take much notice of my best mate sticking up for me, is she?’
‘No, I suppose not,’ I shrugged. ‘So where do we go from here?’
‘Well I don’t feel much like thinking about the band so…’
‘No problem,’ I chanced a reassuring smile. ‘Bloody Dennis hasn’t turned up either.’
Dave had maintained enough of his sense of humour to shout over the bar at Steve, ‘Oi! You ain’t got little Dennis tucked away somewhere cosy, have you?’
‘No, I ain’t!’ Steve bawled back, less than amused, ‘But when you find the get tell him I want my money back for that chiller he put in. It hasn’t worked right since the night he wired it. And if he’s got anything else that fell off the back of his wagon, he can stick it up his jacksee.’
All of a sudden it seemed all the wheels were coming off together.
* * *
Besides Kate and my family, that stupid band meant everything to me and I felt the need to do anything to get it back on track.
If this was the age of instant communication then we needed to return to the jungle drums. It was so bloody frustrating; neither Buster nor Dennis was answering their mobiles or landlines. Dennis wasn’t a real emergency. He could wait. It was Buster I decided to track down first.
I couldn’t catch him at home until the Saturday morning. He finally answered the door, looking like something the cat had dragged in, after my repeated hammering all but took it off the hinges. His eyes were like AA road maps of the West Midlands, his hair looked like he’d been plugged into the mains, his chin was covered in a cross between designer stubble and a thick mould, and his breath stank of stale fags and alcohol. All in all, I think it’s fair to say I’d seen Buster looking better.
‘Wadda you want?’ he groaned, barring my entrance to the hall.
‘A word with you,’ was the best I could come up with, ‘Can I come in?’
He yawned, scratched his head, but moved aside to allow me free passage.
‘That shite-hawk, Dave, been whingeing to you, as he?’ Buster muttered as he showed me into the bombsite of a living room. ‘He’s lucky I only trashed his car and not him. I hope you ain’t come round here to try and talk me outta killin’ him.’
‘Well, of course, I would like to know exactly what’s going on,’ I said, sweeping beer cans off an easy chair to make room for my bum. ‘I’ve heard Dave’s side. Now I want to hear yours. What the hell went on, Barry?’
Buster flopped onto the cluttered settee, took out a Benson’s and lit it. ‘I rumbled lover boy and my missus,’ he said blowing a fume of smoke into the air. ‘that’s what happened – end of story.’
‘So where’s Carla now?’
Buster gave a nonchalant shrug. ‘How the hell should I know? And, what’s more, why should I care?’
‘She’s left?’
‘I threw her out.’
‘But, listen, Barry, are you absolutely sure about this? I’ve known Dave…’
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah’ Buster cut in, ‘you and him have been mates all your lives… well I would expect you to stick up for him. Honest, Ed, I don’t blame you for that. I blame myself. It was me who suggested she join the band. I shouldn’t have given way to her. I should’ve known when she was so persistent about wanting to play with us. Right bloody mug I’ve been. Gave her everything, right from the start, and this is how she repays me.’
‘Whoa!’ I slowed him down. ‘Let’s take it from square one. What made you suspect something was up between the two of them?’
‘The bloody phone – her mobile.’
‘Yeah, what about it?’
Buster sat back and sucked in a deep breath. ‘She was in the bedroom tarting herself up when her mobile started. Save disturbing her I picked it – it was a text from that louser.’
‘And what exactly did it say?’ I coaxed.
‘Can’t remember the exact wording but it was something like: I’ll never forget the beautiful music we made together last Thursday. Can you get away again this week?.. Love, D.’
‘Perhaps,’ I offered, ‘he was referring to practice – something as innocent as that?’
‘Cobblers,’ Buster grimaced, ‘I ain’t that bloody thick. We all play together now – there ain’t no more lessons. It’s him and her all right. I mean, look at the way they perform in front of a crowd. God knows what they’ve been up to behind my back.’
‘Well, I’m sorry, Barry, I just can’t have it,’ I persisted, ‘I know Dave can act the eejit but he’d never do anything like that, especially not on a mate.’
‘That’s the way it always is, ain’t it.’ Buster was just as insistent. ‘Last to know, ain’t that another pet phrase?’
He had me! He was right, it was always the people you trusted, the last one you’d suspect that turns out to be the traitor. The last you’d expect… it hit me like a ton of bricks… D!
My eyes must’ve lit. ‘You did say it was signed D, didn’t you?’
Buster sensed I was on to something and answered somewhat hesitantly, ‘Yeah.’
‘Well did you check the number?’
‘What number?’
I could hardly contain myself. ‘The bloody number it was sent from.’ Buster looked at me gone out. ‘At the end of a text, the number from which it was sent is always displayed.’ Buster cheeks reddened as he shook his head. ‘Don’t you see,’ I continued, ‘ D doesn’t have to be Dave it could be…’
‘Soddin’ Dennis!’ Buster exploded.
THE END
