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  “It's undoubtedly a lot healthier than all that cream and pastry you inflict on your poor body,” Kelly lectured.

  “Shut up! Who asked you anyway?” Jo gave no quarter.

  “Avrahim?” Kelly inquired, determined not to let Jo have the last say. “You eat by some sort of strict religious guidelines, don't you?”

  “Yeah, sort of.”

  “And I am right in believing that Joanna here is your cousin?”

  “Yeah.” Avi began to see where Kelly was leading.

  “So Joanna is bound by the same rules?”

  “Sorry, Kelly, you can't run any further down that track. The rules I grew up with are how my father reads the Bible, not how anybody else does. I may seem to be more staunch than Jo but that's because my father is way more scary than hers. Every time I look at something I know my father wouldn't approve of, I can imagine him preaching at me. Kind of stops me in my tracks, even now. Anyway, I don't particularly like cream cakes.”

  “Oh, ok. I must admit I did wonder if you two were Jewish and you kept kosher, I was just too polite to ask.”

  “It might be easier if we were. At least the crazy rules would have some historical sense instead of just being the weird ramblings of some hippy.”

  “What?”

  “Back in the early 70s. Some hippy dude who had been thrown out of some Hutterite community in America, discovered the good life in San Francisco then swung back the other way again and became a holy-roller born-again preacher with the worst vision of hell and damnation you've ever heard. Came out here and started a commune, wrote his own rules. My dad and Jo's mum were early converts. They were still only teenagers. They even changed their names to something biblical – Dad went from Mark to Jacob and Jo’s Mum, Miriam, used to be Sandra. Jo's parents have mellowed a bit over the years but Dad gets stricter as he gets older. Say, Kit, isn't that your mother?”

  Kit's gaze followed in the direction Avi pointed. Down a tiny side street his mother and three men stood clustered outside one of the neatly maintained cottages. One of the men was holding a real estate agent's ‘For Sale’ sign.

  “Yeah.” Kit put his head down and hurried on.

  “Aren't you going to speak?”

  “No.”

  “You could hit her up for some money.”

  “In front of her workmates? You've got to be joking. I'd never hear the end of it.”

  They hurried on their way to the shops, Kelly diverging as expected to the health food shop on the opposite side of the road.

  “Good morning, afternoon, whatever.” The owner greeted them like an old friends. “Cream donut is it, Jo?”

  "And an eclair. He’s paying." She pointed to Avi.

  “Kester?” He knew them all by name. He was very proud of that. He liked to make it known to as many people as would listen that he knew the members of ‘Charlotte Jane’ by name.

  “Um... a mince pie, please. Um... and a cheese roll... if that's okay?” The question was directed at Avi.

  “Sure.” Avi nodded. “My shout,” he explained to the shopkeeper. “Make that two pies and two cheese rolls, I'll have the same as Kit,” he added.

  “Sure thing. Mike not with you today?” Danny never ate with the rest of the group and Kelly shopped elsewhere.

  “He's back at the workshop. His wife and kid are visiting, brought lunch with them.”

  “Tell him I said hello.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Avi handed over a twenty dollar note and collected the change.

  As Avi pocketed his money and chatted with the shopkeeper, Kit turned to leave, crashing as he did so into a young woman who was just entering the shop.

  “Sorry,” said Kit quickly, putting out a hand instinctively to steady her.

  Cassandra Oakleigh looked up into her hero's concerned and embarrassed face. At such close quarters, barely two inches from his chest, she was suddenly aware just how very tall he was. She noticed, too, that his skin was pale. No healthy New Zealand tan. On the contrary, his skin was almost translucent, the encroaching five o'clock shadow of facial hair, even though it was only lunch time and even though Kit had shaved as usual that morning, adding a blue tinge. Or was that just a reflection from his eyes. They really were as vivid as the colours on the poster in her bedroom. Sometimes she had looked at the poster and thought the colours must have been enhanced. Nobody had eyes that blue. But he did, he really did.

  Cassandra tentatively, very tentatively, reached out a hand to touch Kit's bare arm. She noticed that his arms, too, were covered in a downy coating of jet black hair.

  “Sorry,” Kit said again. “Are you okay?”

  His voice was so deep. She hadn't imagined that. She hadn't heard him speak before. He didn't do interviews, they were left to Danny Gordon, who sang the songs, and Avi Livingstone, who seemed to be the ‘power behind the throne’. Kester Simmons didn't like talking to people. But he had just spoken to her. Okay? She felt weak at the knees and sick to her stomach but she had never felt better.

  “Yeah, yeah, I'm fine.” She found her voice and smiled up into those blue, blue eyes that flashed into brilliance as a matching smile - in reality of relief, but Cassandra was happy to misconstrue it as pleasure in her company - lifted Kit's concerned expression.

  Kit, who was feeling profoundly embarrassed and shy at having crashed into a complete stranger, quickly dropped his hand from her shoulder and attempted to step back out of her way. However, the young woman moved with him, maintaining their close body contact and her hold on his arm. She inclined her head slightly to include the others.

  “You’re ‘Charlotte Jane’, aren't you?” She posed coquettishly.

  “Yeah.” It was Avi who replied.

  “And you,” smiling enticingly up at Kit, she ran her index finger suggestively up and down the wiry, hardened muscle of his upper arm, “you're Kester Simmons.” A statement phrased as a question.

  “I guess,” Kit shrugged. He felt decidedly uncomfortable.

  “I'm Cassandra,” she said, still over-acting the seductress role. “I live near you. I've got all your cds.”

  “Um...” Kit was floundering.

  “You'll be coming to our concert, then.” Avi stepped in.

  “Oh, yes. I'll be right up the front, as always.”

  “I don't mean to intrude but are you three coming or are you setting up camp in here?” Kelly's arrival couldn't have been better timed.

  “Just coming.” Avi jumped at the interruption, pushed himself between Kit and the girl and propelled Kit out the door. “Bye, See you later,” he called back into the shop.

  “Yep, that's ‘Charlotte Jane’, all right,” Jo heard the shopkeeper tell the girl as the musicians departed. “They buy their lunch here all the time when they're rehearsing. They're good friends of mine.”

  Cassandra, on the other hand, heard only Kit's murmured words to Avi as the door closed behind them.

  “Neat coloured hair!”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Are you worried about the tour?”

  Mike had taken the baby from the workshop into the cottage on the pretext of cleaning the pair of them up before lunch, but really so Sarah could talk to Danny uninterrupted.

  “No,” Danny snapped an angry reply. “Why should I be worried? We've got a brand new bass player who's still learning half the songs, a backing singer who stuffs cream cakes down her throat faster than Heidi the Hippopotamus in the ‘Meet the Feebles’ movie and who never knows when to shut up, and that's just her good side, and a faggot of a drummer who's so tanked up on junk he can't string a complete sentence together... and ten days left! Why should I be worried?”

  “Indeed,” Sarah said in her calm, level, professional voice. “Why should you worry? Danny, think about it another way, none of those things are your responsibility, they're not your problem.”

  “Don't be ridiculous? How can you say that?”

  “It's obvious,” Sarah shrugged. “Let's look at this a different way.”

>   “How?”

  “Well, to begin with, don't treat it as one huge overwhelming problem. Let's break it down and take a look at the constituent bits, shall we?”

  “Okay.” Danny's agreement was grudging.

  “Fine. Let's start with Kelly. How many songs does he still have to learn?”

  “Oh,” Danny gave in with a heavy sigh. “None, I guess.” He flung his arms wide in a gesture of hopelessness. “He knows them all basically, he just does some of the riffs differently. He's just... he's just not Gary!”

  “So you would have to admit, honestly, that Kelly isn't really a problem at all. Musically he knows what he's doing, it's just that you preferred working with Gary. Right?”

  “Yeah.” Danny mumbled his assent.

  “So, you see,” Sarah continued cheerfully, “that's one problem solved already. Easy, isn't it? Now, what's next? Jo.”

  “I don't like her. She's like Livingstone, just because she's getting some fancy music letters after her name she thinks she's God's little gift to us all. I didn't want her in the group. I don't think we need her at all.”

  “But the others do.”

  “Huh!”

  “Isn't the purpose of this tour to publicise the new album?”

  “So?”

  “Well, Jo did sing the backing on the album and she did co-write a couple of the songs. The songs wouldn't sound the same if you left the backing out now.”

  “Hmmm!” Danny wasn't going to admit defeat again. “I suppose you're going to stick up for Simmons as well?”

  Sarah laughed lightly.

  “I don't think I have to, Danny. You know as well as I do that Kit comes with the territory. He's a founder member of the group. You're wrong about him still being on drugs. He's worked extremely hard to get his act cleaned up and he's doing very well. It really doesn't matter whether you agree or disagree with his lifestyle, if your only concern is with the way the band sounds when it's on stage then you've got no worries in regards to Kit - even in the days when he was using heavily he never missed a performance and he never missed a beat. Kit may be a lot of things you don't approve of, but he's first and foremost a professional musician.”

  “Musician? Garbage!” Danny spat. “He's not a musician, he's only a drummer!”

  “You ignorant bastard!” The shouted counter-attack came from Mike, who had entered unseen and placed his baby daughter quietly on the floor. Now he strode over to come between his wife and Danny. Danny took a step back, bracing himself for another physical attack but Mike's anger was cold, his voice quiet and, somehow, more deadly because of that.

  “I'm sick of you, Gordon. I've had you, right up to here,” Mike indicated the top of his head. “I dare you, say that again, to Kit, face to face, you gutless little prick!”

  “Easy.” Sarah wormed her way between them. “That's enough. Michael, don't leave Rosie on the floor, she'll get dirty. Danny, just calm down and think about what I said. Don't take on problems that aren't yours. Your only responsibility is to get up there every night, play your guitar and sing the songs. You've got four other competent musicians who all know what they're doing, and it's their responsibility if they don't, a road crew to worry about the gear and a manager to worry about anything else. Take it easy.”

  Danny walked away without saying a word. They heard his heavy stride retreat down the gravel driveway and a few moments later a strident roar as his V8 car thundered into life.

  “You're right,” Sarah nodded to Mike. “He's a bit tetchy, isn't he?”

  “A bit tetchy? Is that your professional description? Downright, bloodymindedly pig-ignorant, I would say.” Mike was still seething but that didn't stop him ripping a large chunk off the bread roll from the bag and stuffing it into his mouth.

  “Well,” Sarah giggled at Mike's reaction. “I daresay tetchy isn't a very professional term. He is certainly very strung out and if he was a client of mine I would have grave doubts as to the veracity of his story. Somehow I think there is something bothering him a lot more than just Kelly's playing, Jo's cream cakes or Kester's sex life.”

  “He has one?”

  “One what? Who?”

  “Kit. A sex life. I didn't think he had one.”

  “Oh, Michael! Honestly! Eat your lunch.”

  Danny hadn't really intended to leave, he didn't have anywhere to go, but his pent-up fury had to be directed into some kind of action and driving the huge car seemed the only obvious choice. It was a choice he took frequently when he was too angry to do anything else. He drove as far as the brewery on Kilmore Street, about half a city block, bought himself a rigger of their special beer, then drove back to Kit's house, squealing the tyres satisfyingly when he pulled up. He knew he was in training and shouldn't be drinking the beer but at that moment he didn't care. A beer would be good. As he left and locked his car he saw the other four band members walking towards the house from the other direction. He didn't wait for them, but stalked up the drive and into the workshop, pointedly ignoring the Kiesanowskis who were laughing together over a private joke. Danny would have bet money that he was the subject. He would have lost.

  The others, too, were laughing when they re-entered. Well, three were laughing while Kit twitched uncomfortably.

  “You'll never guess,” Jo couldn't keep the news to herself, “Kit has an admirer.”

  “Leave it out, Jo” pleaded Kit. He dissociated himself from the others and sloped over to the electric jug to make himself a mug of coffee.

  The plea had no effect. Jo launched into a spirited impression of Cassandra, using Kelly as a substitute Kit.

  “Oh, you must be Kester Simmons,” she over-acted in an atrociously fake Southern American accent, rubbing her body salaciously over Kelly who was grinning broadly and offering no objections. “Oh, I have aaall your cds.” Jo drawled the vowel into three syllables.

  “Leave it out, Jo!” Kit snapped angrily this time. There was an edge to his tone which Avi picked up as a warning sign but Jo failed to notice.

  “What are you lot talking about?” Mike queried from around a piece of french loaf.

  Jo, still bouncing, extricated herself from around Kelly's unresisting body and happily explained.

  “There was this bimbo down at the bakery. Skin tight clothes, flame red hair and make-up done with a palette knife. Kit, the clumsy oaf, just about knocked her over and the next thing we know she's all over him like a rash. Personally, I thought she was going to rape him over the coffee buns.” Jo wasn't about to let the truth spoil a good story.

  “It wasn't really that bad.” Avi corrected quietly. “A fan of ours, it seems, who obviously lives near here. Although I must say Jo is right on one aspect - she did seem to prefer Kit to anyone else.”

  “That's only because she hadn't met me,” Kelly smirked. “It would seem that there is only one other relevant question, then - was the attraction mutual, Kester?”

  Sarah glanced at Avi and stifled a giggle.

  “Um... well... not really... um,” Kit stammered, blushing. “Not... um... my type.”

  “So what is your type then?” Jo was curious.

  “I would have thought that was common knowledge,” Danny sneered. “Simmons likes pretty piano boys wrapped in denim.” Danny looked pointedly at Avi who glared stonily back. “And,” Danny continued, “sprinkled lightly with heroin.”

  Kit responded without warning. The half-full mug of coffee was propelled with all the force he could muster. It travelled in a straight trajectory half the distance of the workshop before meeting its intended target - Danny's forehead. For the second time in three days Daniel Gordon slumped to the ground in a trickle of his own blood. For a split second nobody reacted, then everybody reacted at once. Kit cut and ran, slamming the door shut after him. Avi followed Kit, far more concerned with his friend than with his guitarist, who had deserved all he got. Sarah picked up the baby. Kelly and Jo backed away.

  “I think I put my foot in my mouth again,” Jo said quietly.r />
  “I think we all did,” Kelly replied.

  “Danny sure as hell did.”

  “Somewhat.”

  Out of the entire group, Mike was the only one who bothered to attend to Danny. Not that he knew what to do. Still, that didn't stop him going through the motions. He knelt beside Danny, pulled an immaculately laundered handkerchief from the pocket of his camel coloured slacks and futilely dabbed at the conglomeration of blood and coffee that ran down Danny's face and soaked into the front of his erstwhile white t-shirt. Sarah approached, holding out a second handkerchief which she had wet in the tiny sink. Mike took it and cleaned around the cut which, once cleared of the smeared debris, turned out to be long but shallow. Mike folded his own handkerchief into a pad which he held against the cut, relinquishing his hold to Danny as the smaller man began to stir. Danny rose unsteadily to his feet, supported by Mike, and fell into an armchair, breathing heavily. For a while he sat back, handkerchief pressed against his forehead, moaning softly, but as Avi re-entered, leading a subdued Kit, Danny's volatile temper overrode any pain he was feeling. He leapt to his feet, strode over to Kit and, as Mike had done to him two days before, slammed Kit backwards into the wall.

  “You're fired, Simmons! As of right now! I don't want you anywhere near me! You're fired! Understand? Fired!”

  Avi stepped between them.

  “Sit down, Danny.” His tone was quiet but brooked no disagreement.

  Danny glared but Avi matched his gaze, forcing Danny to back off. He slouched back to the armchair and resumed the position of injured martyr.

  “I meant what I said,” he repeated. “I'm not working with Simmons again. He's not a gentle little depressive, he's a psychopath! A violent, unpredictable psychopath!”

  “Look who's talking,” Jo muttered in a quiet aside to Kelly. They were both still holed up a safe distance from any possible line of fire - behind the rack of amplifiers.

  “One difference,” Kelly replied pedantically. “Daniel is violent but he is not, you would agree, unpredictable. Rather, his violence is somewhat par for the course.”