Maybe Tomorrow (part 7)
Somewhere in the half-lit room, a tinny piano started playing. It grew louder and a guitar joined in, along with a curiously off-beat buzzing.
Protruding from the tangle of sheets and pillows, a freckled body part shifted.
In the day, sang a faraway voice, we sweat it out on the streets of a runaway American dream.
The bedding stirred.
At night we ride through the mansions of glory in suicide machines.
It grunted, and muttered something about not hearing the bass.
Sprung from cages out on highway 9-
Danny reached towards the noise. He cracked open one eye and, screwing his face up at the brightness of the curtains, grasped his phone and put it to his ear.
“Unhhh.” He closed his eye and rolled onto his back. “Well I am now. And you lot say I'm dumb one.” He blinked, and rubbed his palm against his nose. “Time is it? … Bloody hell... All right. Give me a minute to go toilet, I'll put door on latch.”
He thumbed the phone, dropped it, then worked his way to the side of the bed and rolled onto his feet. He burped, and shuffled towards the bathroom, pushing one hand through his hair and scratching himself with the other. Beside the door, he paused, squinted at the lock and fumbled with it. The door sprang open and thwacked against his foot.
“Ow.”
Harry pushed his way in, fully dressed and carrying the guitar case. “Sorry Dan, I... Oh Jeez, Bolton, do you have to?”
Danny looked down and pulled at the front of his boxers. “Just woke up. Told you to give me a minute.” He waved a hand towards the room and staggered into the bathroom.
Harry took the guitar from its case, sat on one of the chairs and rested the instrument on his lap, lifted his hand to the frets, lowered it again and dug the other hand into his pocket. He muttered something, shifted and tried the pocket on the other side.
In the bathroom, the toilet flushed and water splashed into the sink. Danny emerged with a towel pressed to his face. He peered at Harry and pointed. “Use one of them.”
Harry followed the line of Danny's finger and grabbed a pick from a small heap on the table. He nodded, and settled himself behind the guitar again.
Danny sat on the corner of the bed and scratched his chest. “Right,” he said, “lets see what you remember, get you onto next bit.” He sniffed at his armpit and made a face. “I need a shower.”
Harry lowered his head and began to strum.
“That's good,” Danny said. “You been practisin?”
Harry nodded and started to repeat the sequence of chords. “Smoother,” he muttered, “keep it smooth.” His fingers wobbled, then slipped. “Ah, fuck!”
“It's all right, try again.”
Harry lifted his hand, shook it, and replaced it on the frets. “Ouch.”
“Let's see?” Danny leaned forward, reached for the drummer's hand and turned it palm up.
Three of his fingertips had puffed into taut mounds, while on his index finger, a triangle of white skin flapped over the rawness beneath.
Danny tutted and looked at Harry's face. “How long did...?”
Harry shook his head. He tugged his hand.
Danny held firm. “Mate, you've got blisters on blisters. You must've been, did you go to bed?”
“I've got to get it right,” Harry tried again to pull away his arm.
Danny let it go. “I know, but...” He stood. “Well, just a sec.” He padded into the bathroom and came back carrying a zippered bag. He sat down, took out a spray bottle, and tilted it towards Harry's hand. “We've got a concert tonight,” he said. “Need to get them blisters patched up. Tom'll blow a fuse.”
“Where are they?” In the middle of the table, the little pots of jam and marmalade danced on their tray as Tom’s knife and fork clattered onto his plate.
Doug looked up from the bacon butty he was assembling and rolled his eyes at Giovanna.
She smiled back. “Perhaps…” She turned to Tom and smoothed an invisible crease from his shoulder. “Perhaps they do not feel like breakfast so early.”
He huffed.
“Call them if you are worried.” Gi turned to her plate of fruit and cut a piece of melon with her spoon.
Tom shook his head and stood, dropping a napkin onto his chair. “They’ll only go back to sleep. I’m going to get them.” He stomped off towards the lifts.
Gi leaned across the table. “You would not think he slept through the alarm himself this morning, would you? I had to use from the ice bucket to wake him.”
Doug coughed. “A little too much information there.”
She shook her head and chased an orange segment with her spoon. “Innocent Dougie does not work with me.” She put the spoon to her mouth. “First to breakfast. I think you were awake early.”
He shrugged. “Went for a swim.”
“Did your aliens scare many people?”
He glanced at his right shoulder. “Nah. I had the pool to myself. Kinda cool. Helps me think.”
“And what does Dougie Poynter think about on his own in the swimming pool?” She smiled. “Or perhaps I do not want to know?”
“I was thinking...” The words trailed off into a sigh.
Giovanna nodded.
“What I’d be doing if I wasn’t here.”
“And what is that?” She set down her spoon.
“I don’t have a fu…” He glanced over her shoulder at a grey shirt and white dog collar. “…the fuggiest idea.”
“Fuggiest?” Giovanna turned her head and saw the priest. “Ah.”
Doug wiggled his eyebrows, then rubbed them with one hand and reached for his coffee with the other.
Danny took a small brown bottle from the bag and gave it a shake.
“What's that?”
“Liquid skin.” Danny twisted open the top and showed Harry the drop of clear fluid on the plastic dabber. He sniffed at it. “Better than plasters.”
“Really? How-” Harry winced as the fluid made contact with his finger. “That fucking stings, Bolton.”
“Little hurt now, stops the big hurt later.” Danny reloaded the dabber and started on the next finger.
Harry grunted. “Your nan again?”
Danny grinned. “Yup.”
“No wonder you're so- Fucking hell!”
“Come on, mate, just one more.”
Harry sucked in a breath as Danny worked on his last finger.
“Stops hurting in a minute, soon as it dries.”
“And I'll be able to play with this on?” Harry blew on his fingers.
“Drums? Yeah.”
“No, guitar...”
Danny shook his head. “Sorry, mate. Strings'll take it right off.”
“But...”
“Could use... No. Best not.”
“What?”
“Some guys use superglue. Couple of layers over their blisters, let it get hard...”
“Does it work?”
“I tried it once.” Danny burst out laughing.
“What?”
“Superglue dries really slow, you know. Takes longer than you think.”
“Oh, you didn't...”
“My door handle.” Danny rolled his eyes. “I were lucky.”
“Lucky?”
“I were going for a wee. Could've been nasty. Wouldn't do it again.” Danny tapped gently on Harry's fingertips. “Trust me, just wait. Couple of days, you'll have calluses and-”
“But it's got to be tonight.”
“Eh?”
“I need to do it tonight.”
Danny shook his head.
“I'm all right. Look...” Harry lifted the guitar and struck a chord. He slid his fingers over the frets, wincing as the steel strings dug into his skin.
“Harry.” Danny leaned forward, wrapped his hand around the neck of the guitar and killed the sound.
The drummer pulled at the guitar for a second, then let his hand fall away.
“Guitar doesn't matter. But we need you on drums. Yeah?”
“It does matter.” Harry slumped. “Did matter.”
Danny lifted the instrument away and set it down beside him on the bed. He took hold of Harry's left hand. “Sorry,” he said, turning it over. “Not what I meant. I know this is...” He brushed carefully at the pad on Harry's ring finger, tutted as Harry winced, and reached again into his first aid kit. “I'll play it.”
“You?” Harry tensed as Danny dabbed more liquid skin onto his finger. “Ow. Bloody hell.”
“Not quite the same.” Danny looked into Harry's eyes. “But it'll still mean summat.”
“You'd do that?”
“I already know it.” Danny shrugged. “Figured I'd be backing you anyway.”
Harry sighed. He let his head drop, sighed again and nodded. “Danny, you know, all this time,” he said, looking up. “You've never asked me about, me and-”
They jumped at a sharp rap on the door. A half dozen more followed before Danny got to his feet and started towards it. Another salvo, and the door burst open. Tom stomped in, gripping his key card.
“Oh, right. Mornin, Tom. How's the cold?”
“You're late for... for...” Tom sneezed, then he launched into a coughing fit.
“On the mend, then.” Danny smiled. “Harry and me, been workin on summat.”
“You're not even dressed.” Tom sniffed. “Come on, breakfast. Now.”
Danny shrugged, and reached down beside the bed. “Gonna do a song. In my solo spot.” He pulled on his jeans and a t-shirt. “Well, Harry'll sing. I'll just play.”
“That's... What? Harry?” Tom stared at the drummer. “But, you said-”
Danny sat on the bed and chased his shoes with his feet. “Need you to clear the legal stuff. I'd do it, but we need to practise for tonight.”
“Tonight?” Tom's mouth dropped open. “What are you...?”
“Come on, then,” Danny said. “Breakfast. Dunno when I'm supposed to get my shower.” He winked at Harry and headed for the door.
Giovanna set her spoon on the empty plate and slid them aside. “How is the tour going?” she said. “Really.”
“OK. Good. Yeah. They like the new songs. Nobody’s thrown any broccoli.”
“Is it better than last year?”
Doug frowned as he chewed another piece of his sandwich. “I guess. I don’t really remember that much about it.”
She nodded. “You were very sick. And the carpet burns…”
He laughed. “Carpet burns suck.” His finger pushed the butty around his plate. “To tell the truth, the whole year’s a blur. Apart from Uganda. That was…” His face clouded. “I’ll never forget that. But the rest of it… A thousand places, a million faces. It's been fun, but…” He took another bite. “It’s like I fast forwarded through sixteen and seventeen.” He sat back from the table and rubbed his eyes again.
“Do you regret it?”
He shook his head, and flashed her a grin before he turned his attention back to the long-suffering butty. He nibbled at it, and his smile faded. He spoke again, but his words were lost under the other sounds in the room.
Giovanna leaned forward. “Sorry,” she said, “I could not hear.”
On the other side of the room, a familiar voice cut through the hubbub.
“I still don't see why…” Tom glanced at the turning heads around the dining room, leaned closer to Harry and Danny and dropped his voice to a whisper the rest of the way to the table.
“Gi!” Danny bounced the last few feet, ruffled Doug's hair as he passed, dodged the answering swat and grinned sideways as he swooped Giovanna into a sloppy hug. “How you doing, love?”
Tom picked his napkin from his chair and sat, gesturing Harry toward the empty place opposite him. “So tell me again what you want to do.”
The drummer hesitated, counted the four places at the table with his eyes and nodded at Danny.
Tom stood and scanned the room for a waiter. “I'll get them to set another place.”
“It's OK, I'm done.” Doug pushed back his chair. “I'm off to make myself beautiful for my public.”
“You sure you've got time? Interview is this morning.”
Doug stuck out his tongue at Danny as he rose. “I'll be in my room. When is the car?”
“But…” Tom frowned.
Danny broke off his cuddle. “Half nine, innit?”
Tom shrugged. Doug smiled at Gi, gave a quick nod to the others, and headed for the door. Harry stared after him.
Danny rounded the end of the table and gave Harry a nudge. “Come on, mate, it's full English.”
“Well?” Tom said, “Harry?”
“Do something, you said, and soon. All right?” Harry looked at Tom's blank face, then glanced over each shoulder. “Is this self-serve, or… Bolton?” He turned and trailed after Danny.
“Will someone please tell me what's going on?” With a groan, Tom turned and buried his head against Giovanna's shoulder.
“More coffee?” she said.
⇐ Part 6 - Part 8 ⇒