Part 26 (1/2)

”It's the same. I only write well. I had a dreadful stammer 'til I was thirteen.”

”Ha. That makes two of us.”

”Really?”

”Yes. Anyway, you were saying. So, what made you think all this? My lyrics?”

”Yeah. I mean the obvious one is 'This Is What You Wanted' ... 'The animals are fighting. They race around the building site, pretending it's exciting' 'The animals are fighting. They race around the building site, pretending it's exciting'-that's the building site opposite Gloria's flat in Belsize Park. 'The candles and balloons are out, but it is not my birthday' 'The candles and balloons are out, but it is not my birthday'-that's Camden Palace decorating the venue for Gloria's birthday, but getting the wrong date. Then there's-”

”Wait, stop. How do you know know all this?” all this?”

”We were there!” there!”

”At her flat?”

”No, I mean ... Alan and I were indie fans for years, which basically meant we hung out in Camden for years. You get to know where people live eventually. I knew where you you lived ... uh, not in a stalkerish way, of course.” lived ... uh, not in a stalkerish way, of course.”

”Of course not,” he glares, tapping my letter.

”Er ... anyway. Then that line 'Another silent victory, but I'm still uninvited ... I'll fight it out another year, convince myself I like it' 'Another silent victory, but I'm still uninvited ... I'll fight it out another year, convince myself I like it'-That's Gloria, sort of lurking in the background, but never being ... um ... invited into your life, kinda thing, and fighting it out, as in, she'll keep being friends with you and the band but she's not really enjoying herself and it starts affecting her, in quite a bad way, which is what you meant in that interview when you said, 'That was the start of everything going a bit wrong.'”

He's silent. I stand and look over his gla.s.ses, just to check he's not fallen asleep.

”And there's others ... um ...” I delve into my bag and pull out Alan's sc.r.a.pbook. ”There was this one time we went to a Pearl Jam show at Brixton, and Gloria was there in the bar looking pretty ill, really ... She had one of her punk T-s.h.i.+rts on. We remember all this 'cos Alan managed to get a photo of me with her in the background. Might even still be in here ...”

I'm flicking through the sc.r.a.pbook for the particular date. Lance leans forward to look.

”Quite a piece of work,” he offers.

”Ha, yes. Alan's, not mine, I'm afraid. Here we are.”

A double-page spread devoted to the gig in question has a small colour photo glued to the right-hand side. A smiling, long-haired me in a Flaming Lips top fills most of the frame, but Gloria's impossibly skinny figure is unmistakable amid a crowd by the bar. Her white ripped T-s.h.i.+rt bears the characters ”F=W+M.” Lance sees this, then gasps and sits back, his hand in front of his mouth.

”We thought about what the letters meant for ages, after the photo was developed,” I explain, ”but the only conclusion we could make was 'f.u.c.k Webster and McBriar.' Then you wrote that 'Bells Around the Ankles' song and we knew we'd got it right.”

Webster looks shocked and I consider stopping, but h.e.l.l-he asked for it. ”Make sure you lay it on really thick,” as Billy Flus.h.i.+ng said.

”Those lyrics: 'There in your white uniform, cursing him and cursing her.' 'There in your white uniform, cursing him and cursing her.'”

”Okay, that'll do,” he snaps.

”Sorry. I told you I was a fan.”

At last, he takes his sungla.s.ses off. There are tears in his eyes.

”Remember when we were sitting in the cafe of that toy museum, and I told you I was a selfish b.a.s.t.a.r.d, or something?”

”Uh, yes. I think you said you were a stuck-up, inconsiderate w.a.n.ker.”

”Oh, even better, thank you. Well, I wasn't exaggerating. I dunno ... it took me a while, but I now realise that it's hard, when you're that young, to be famous. It ain't natural. It all goes to your head. Even if you seem to be one of those people who handle it well ... you're not really. Something's going to give somewhere, sometime. If it's not drugs, it's booze, and if it's not booze, it's ... well.”

”Well ... what?”

He exhales and looks at his watch.

”I suppose I'd better tell you the whole thing. Hadn't I.”

SUGGESTED LISTENING: deus, Worst Case Scenario Worst Case Scenario (Island, 1994) (Island, 1994) I can't reach you anymore You know how it is sometimes.

When you're headlining a festival. Not Reading or Glas...o...b..ry, like any normal band would; they'd been bagsed already by a couple of Beatles cover bands, some hairy old grungers from way back and (I mean, really) the singer from The Sugarcubes. So you're left with Aylesbury Doesn't trip off the tongue, does it? Aylesbury ”We're headlining Aylesbury,” you mention to people. ”Oh, yeah?” you half expect them to reply. ”Who's doing the other nights? Steeleye Span? Wishbone Ash? Landscape? Racey?”

But anyway. You wake to the sound of the phone ringing, climb across what you initially think is your guitar but actually turns out to be your girlfriend, and answer.

”Yeah?”

”Lance.”

”What?”

”Fancy coming for some breakfast?”

It's Martin, your unpredictable guitarist.

”What time is it?”

”Eight.”

”f.u.c.k's sake. What time are we being picked up?”

”Ten.”

You ponder the breakfast option for a moment. It's a good Dutch hotel: strong coffee, cheese, cold meats, fruit salad, maybe a bit of smoked fish, scrambled egg, crispy bacon and those crazy little frankfurters. All of which you normally enjoy ... in bed.

”Nah, I'm gonna ring for it.”

”No, but I need to talk to you.”

”Can't it wait?”

”No.”

You glumly climb into some jeans. Predictably unpredictable. But last time Martin wanted to ”talk” it was nothing more than him suddenly deciding he wanted to swap guitar parts in the bridge of ”The Cool and the Crooks”-so it comes as some surprise a few minutes later to find yourself being told, while he calmly spoons yoghurt and banana into his gob, that he wishes to leave the band.

”When?”

”Soon as this leg of the tour's over.”

Although you've often rehea.r.s.ed receiving this particular bombsh.e.l.l from one of the others, and even considered dropping it yourself once or twice, hearing it for real is a totally different barrel of ale and your stomach is instantly bombarded by a blast of the most ferocious adrenaline.