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“Right,” Mike answered absently, his mind more absorbed by the sound of Danny's V8 throbbing up Oxford Terrace. He cocked his head in the direction of the street, acknowledging the sound. “That's our cue for action,” he said. “Let's grit our teeth and do it. And don't let the bastard get you down. You look bad enough already.”

  “Thanks a lot.” Kit swallowed his coffee in two gulps and followed as Mike grabbed his guitar from where he had leant it against the kitchen cupboards and headed out the door.

  By the time they had unlocked the workshop door, turned on the sound equipment, filled and turned on the old Zip and run a quick sound check they had been joined by Danny, Kelly and Jo. Jo turned on Avi's Roland keyboard and the three guitarists checked the tuning of their instruments against its pitch. Danny ran a fancy riff on his Gibson then swung it sideways on his hip to strike one of his carefully rehearsed lead-guitarist-sex-symbol poses. He aimed his first volley of the day at Kit.

  “So where's your boyfriend then?”

  Kit looked up blankly from behind his drums.

  “What?”

  “Your minder. Livingstone. Where the hell is he?”

  Choosing to ignore the gibes, Kit shrugged, “I don't know,” returning to the conversation he had been having with Kelly. “So the stops are at the end of bars three and seven, okay?”

  “No problem. I'll watch you, so in case I forget, signal me in.”

  “Come on, you two!” Danny broke in again. “To hell with him, let's make a start. See if you've got your act together today, Simmons. We'll start with that one you ballsed up so badly yesterday.”

  Kit reached for his sticks with a sigh. Today could only get worse.

  They were on their third number when Avi finally arrived. Danny, against all his own rules, stopped dramatically in the middle of a song.

  “Well, well, well,” he drawled slowly with venom. “What took you so long. Couldn't you find a nail polish to match your shirt?”

  “Shut your face!” Avi snapped as he strode up to his keyboard.

  Mike and Jo passed a raised-eyebrowed glance between them. Avi looked as bad as Kit. His angled face was unshaven but for Avi in the mornings this was usual. His family had a formal evening meal and the band knew that Avi's father required him to shave, shower and change before they sat down to eat, so Avi never bothered to shave before five in the afternoon. But under the whiskers Avi's tawny colouring was flushed, his normally limpid brown eyes flashed and his breathing was ragged. It was obvious he was very angry, so obvious that even Danny backed off.

  “So?” Avi stood, feet braced, behind the keyboard and glared back at Danny. “You going to stand there all day or are you planning on playing something.” He swept his glare around the others. “That was 'Two Doors Down' you were playing as I came in. Hit it! From the top!”

  With Danny and Avi so obviously ready to square off, the rehearsal maintained an uneasy truce as the musicians worked laboriously through their set. The tense atmosphere meant the music was technically correct but totally lacking in any atmospheric punch. Danny didn't seem to notice and Avi, normally the first one to comment, didn't care. After two and a half hours Mike finally called a halt.

  “Come on, you guys, let's take a break. I'm starving.”

  Danny threw him a frosty glare, slung his Gibson onto its stand, flicked off his amplifier and headed for the door where he paused to turn back to the others.

  “One hour!” he ordered, then spun on his heel and left.

  The remaining band members let out a collective sigh of relief. Kelly, who as bass player stood closest to the drummer, noticed Kit's hands were shaking as he laid down his drum sticks and dragged his hands through his hair with a look of exhaustion.

  “Avrahim,” the bass player, in his pompous accent, suggested as he put down his own instrument, “if you have any of those filthy cancer sticks available, may I recommend your giving one to Kester, he seems to be in some immediate need.”

  For the first time in the day, Avi smiled.

  “He's not the only one. Come on, Kit, Rothmans on me!”

  “Smoke them on the way,” Mike joined the conversation as they trooped outside. “Let's go get some food. I wasn't kidding, I'm starving.”

  “Where does Daniel go every day?” Kelly inquired as they left the driveway and turned left down Oxford terrace towards the shops.

  “Down to the gym for a quick muscle flex,” Jo answered. “A couple of bench presses and a cup of steroids.”

  “Pity he doesn't bench press his brain,” Avi snapped sarcastically.

  “Or put his brain under a bench press,” Kit added with feeling.

  “Which reminds me,” Mike interjected, “What bench-pressed you this morning, Avi? You were somewhat testy when you arrived?”

  “Yeah, well, let's just say it was a bad-hair day before I even saw Danny Gordon.”

  “Any domestic scandal your darling cousin should know about?” Jo inquired hopefully.

  “Sort of,” Avi admitted. “Just the usual shit. Mum's only just told Dad that I'm going on tour again, so he was doing one of his get-a-haircut-and-get-a-real-job-how-will-we-make-a-man-of-you hissy fits which, of course, he automatically follows with his those-friends-of-yours-are-a-bad-influence-especially-that-no-good-Simmons-kid rant and I'm afraid I didn't wait around to let him finish his final we-paid-all-this-money-for-a-good-university-education-why-are-you-wasting-your-life tirade. Then, just to make the day complete, my bloody car broke down on the Waltham overbridge and I had to push the bloody thing all the way to Moorhouse Avenue before I could get it started again.”

  By the time Avi had run out of breath, Jo was giggling.

  “It wasn't funny,” Avi said peevishly.

  “No, of course not,” Jo tried to smother a giggle with her hand and failed. Not that she had tried very hard. Avi launched a swipe at her shoulder but he was laughing as well.

  “Heartless bitch,” he smiled.

  At the bread shop the routine repeated that of the previous day. Avi paid for Kit's food without a word said on either side although the light touch of Kit's hand on Avi's shoulder expressed profound gratitude. As they were collecting their parcels, the door's bell jangled indicating another customer. Kit ignored it at first but jumped nervously to attention at the sound of a woman's voice.

  “So you see, there is infinite potential for capital gain,” the woman, slim, middle-aged and power-dressed, was saying to her two Italian-business-suited companions. On seeing Kit she stopped right in front of him and looked him up and down with distaste.

  “Hi, Mum,” Kit said grudgingly. “Thought you were out of town.”

  “Huh!” was her only response before she turned back to the two suits and re-opened her conversation.

  “The area does have some minor inconveniences,” she began, throwing her son a look that would have frozen hell, “but on the whole it has a pleasant ambience and most of the home-owners are upwardly mobile.” She threw another sideways glance to see if Kit was responding but he had already left and was striding back towards his house. Avi and the others had to run to catch him up.

  “Slow down,” Avi begged.

  “Bitch!” Kit pulled up short and slammed his hand violently into a telegraph pole.

  “Take it easy.” Avi put a restraining hand on his friend's back. “Don't worry about it. You know what she's like when she's working.”

  Kit turned to face Avi, rubbing his reddening hand.

  “I'm sick of it, Av. I can't do a damn thing right as far as she's concerned. I don't think she's forgiven me for ballsing up that last suicide attempt.”

  “Oh, come on, Kit. She's not that heartless. She is your mother, after all. She just wants the best for you.”

  “Like hell she does. She wants the best for Gabriel. I don't matter a damn.”

  “Maybe.” Avi didn't want to get into an argument, especially when he suspected Kit was right.

  Danny prepared himself carefully for his entrance into the gym
nasium. It was a cool day but he still removed his cheap plaid shirt and rolled the sleeves of his t-shirt up to his shoulders to reveal his upper arm muscles. As usual the t-shirt was specially chosen a size too small to enhance the spread of his chest, which he puffed out as he left his car. In the foyer he acknowledged the receptionist's greeting with a rehearsed tilt of arm and profile. He was joined at his destination, the cafe in the corner of the foyer, by another man, equally powerfully built although considerably taller, who carried a tin which he placed on the table between them as he took a seat.

  “Here,” Danny's coach pushed the tin forwards. “This should keep you going while you're away on tour. It's pretty powerful stuff but it should give you the edge you've been looking for. You've certainly made a lot of progress in the last few weeks.”

  “Thanks,” Danny pulled the tin towards himself. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Quite a bit,” the coach laughed. “It's more expensive than the last stuff, but I think you'll find it's worth the extra. Don't worry just now, I'll put it on your book.”

  “Great. I'll settle that when I get paid for this damned tour.”

  “Okay.” The coach checked his watch. “Look, I can't stop. I've put some instructions in with that. Just don't overdo it. Like I said, it's powerful stuff.”

  As the coach left, another bulky young man rose from a nearby table and sauntered casually past Danny.

  “What's this?” he jeered, flicking the tin. “Don't tell me the precious champ needs some help? Too old, Gordon? Or just too weak?”

  Danny spun on his chair to face the newcomer.

  “Don't kid yourself, Junior. I'm still going to win the championships. You don't stand a chance.”

  “Oh no?” the young man retorted. “You're going to miss all that training while you're away being the big stage hero. You might be the current champ but I beat you at the regionals and I'm going to do it again. The title's mine, Gordon. You're finished!”

  Danny didn't wait to watch the young man's impressive exit, he was too busy staging one of his own, complete with slamming doors and spinning tyres.

  “So what is up with Danny,” Jo asked as the five musicians made themselves comfortable around the coffee table in the rehearsal shed. “Has he always been this much of a pillock?”

  “No,” Avi replied. “That's one of the problems. Actually to start off with he was quite a nice guy. Believe it or not, he was a quiet, shy little chap when he first auditioned.”

  “Yeah,” Kit added. “I used to like him. He only got weird when he started body-building, which was about a week after he started hassling me about being gay. I think he only pumps iron so people won't think he's queer too.”

  “Why does he go on at you about that,” Jo quizzed. “I mean, it's stupid, nobody would ever mistake you for one of those.”

  Kit let out his breath in an amused snort.

  “I'm not sure how to take that,” he replied. “What do you mean, nobody would ever take me for one of those? Why not?”

  “Well,” Jo looked over the lanky drummer critically. “You don't look queer. I mean, you're not, you know, camp or anything.”

  “Do I have to be?” Kit's queried softly, his voice edged with a tired sigh. “No, Jo, I'm not camp. I don't have a limp wrist, I don't speak with a lisp and I don't mince along wiggling my arse. But I'm still gay. Does that bother you? Because it sure as hell bothers Danny.”

  “You do so wiggle your arse,” Avi interjected before Jo could couch a suitable reply,

  “I do not,” Kit countered good humouredly. “And anyway, I didn't think you noticed my arse. I didn't think you cared.”

  “I don't.”

  The good-natured banter continued until they heard Danny return. With his arrival, the atmosphere reverted to the quiet tension of the morning's session and remained quiet until Danny called the song ‘You do well to dream’. Avi, remembering Kit's interpretation of the lyrics, lasted half a verse before dissolving into laughter behind his keyboard. Danny slammed a power chord and spun around to face him.

  “What's so damn funny?” he snarled but Avi had collapsed into a fit of uncontrollable giggles and didn't explain. Danny ignored him, attempted to start the song again and struggled through two more false starts, both thwarted by bursts of laughter from Avi. On their fourth attempt Avi finally controlled himself and the song progressed as far as the bridge before Danny once again stopped it in disgust. This time his wrath was aimed at the rhythm section.

  “What the hell do you two think you're doing?” he roared. “I told you where I wanted those bloody stops. Didn't either of you two listen?”

  “Sorry, Danny,” Kit acknowledged. “I went over this with Avi yesterday especially. That's where he said the stops went.”

  “He said wrong,” Danny snarled. “You put the stops where I want them, okay?”

  “No!” Avi snapped out of his gleeful mood. “It's not okay. Kit and Kelly are right. You're wrong.”

  “Since when have you been singing this bloody song then?” Danny squared off.

  “Yeah, well that's all you're bloody doing. Singing it. I wrote it,” Avi snapped back.

  “Why don't we...,” Kelly tried to intervene but was stopped by Danny's shout.

  “You keep out of it, Reynolds. You've got no bloody opinion worth hearing. If it was up to me you wouldn't even be in this band. Gary would be playing bass and it would be that jerk there who would have got the boot.” He indicated Kit who immediately dropped his gaze to the floor. “You're a waste of space, Simmons,” Danny continued. “A drum machine would be a damn sight more use. At least you could program it to do the stops properly.”

  Kit stared blankly at Danny for several seconds before hauling himself from behind his drums and fleeing from the room, dropping his sticks as he ran.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Shit!” Avi exclaimed to nobody in particular. He switched off his keyboard and followed his friend. By the time he reached the kitchen of the little cottage, Kit was already frantically searching the cupboards, dragging out small plastic bottles which he shook then hurled to the floor as he discovered they were empty. He was just about to unscrew the cap on one that rattled hopefully when Avi forestalled the movement by grabbing his wrist.

  “No!” Avi ordered, twisting the bottle of pills from Kit's grasp and placing them in his pocket. “Come on, man, that's not the answer. You don't need them.”

  “I bloody well do,” Kit practically sobbed. “Look at me, I'm a mess.” He held out a shaking hand. “Danny's right. I'm a waste of space. Everyone knows that.”

  “Come on,” Avi led his friend gently through to the couch and sat him down, draping his arm protectively around Kit's shoulder and talking calmly. “Don't let him get to you, Kit, he's not worth it.”

  “It's not just Danny,” Kit admitted quietly. “It's me. Danny just happens to be right. I really am a waste of space. I'd be better off dead but I can't even get that right.”

  Avi couldn't think of any words that didn't sound trite, so he settled for pulling Kit forwards and hugging him hard.

  “If it's not just Danny, what is it?” he asked gently when Kit finally pulled away.

  “Nothing.”

  “Hey, we went through his yesterday and I didn't believe you then either. Come on, I know you too well. Tell me what's up.”

  “Nothing,” Kit repeated desperately.

  “And nothing has you running back for drugs you haven't wanted since last year? Sure! And I'm Father Christmas!”

  “You'll think I'm stupid.”

  “No, I'd never do that. It doesn't matter what it is, Kit, if it's bothering you this much, then it isn't stupid, it's important.”

  “Maybe it isn't important. Maybe I am stupid.”

  “Kester! You are not stupid!” Avi leant forwards and shook Kit lightly by the shoulders. “Listen to me. You're a good guy. You're a decent bloke, you're an ace drummer and you're not stupid. Under pressure, maybe, but you're not stupid.
Just remember that, okay? Now, let's start again. What's wrong?”

  Kit sighed deeply and rested his head on his hands.

  “I think I'm going crazy,” he stated.

  Avi waited for him to continue. He didn't.

  “Danny thinks you've gone already,” Avi prompted gently.

  “Yeah, but Danny's a prize prick! No, really crazy. Full men-in-white-coats, they'll-never-let-me-out-again type crazy. And do you know what really scares me? I can see it happening and I can't do a damn thing to stop it.” Kit reached out and grabbed Avi's hand in both of his. “Avi, I'm scared stiff.”

  Avi returned the grip reassuringly.

  “What about your psychiatrist? Have you been to see her?”

  “Yeah, a couple of times, and I've done everything she said but it hasn't helped. It's not the same as the other times, that's what scares me. Well, it is and it isn't. Um... well, it's sort of like the other times but not quite. There's something really not right and I don't know what to do.”

  “How is it different, Kit? Think it through slowly. Take your time.”

  Kit rose and began to pace the room. Avi took two cigarettes from a fresh packet in his pocket, lit them and handed one to Kit who drew on it with obvious gratification. He pulled himself together in a conscious effort to be coherent.

  “Okay. I've had two nervous breakdowns, as you know only too well, and another couple of near misses. The pattern has always been the same. Normally my bio-rhythms, or whatever they're called, go all to hell and I can't sleep. But that's usually fixed by medication. This time, instead of being awake at all hours of the night, I'm dog-tired. I'm so desperate to get to sleep it's a wonder I can stay awake to drum, but as soon as I get to bed I wake up again. Sometimes two or three times a night. It's driving me nuts. It's getting to the stage where I'm afraid to go to sleep because I know I'll just get woken up again. I've tried pulling the phone out of the wall a couple of times but then I forgot to put it back and I got yelled at by Gabriel and by Danny.”

  “Woah! You've lost me.” Avi butted in. “How is pulling the phone out of the wall going to make you sleep better?”