Maybe Tomorrow (part 4)
Danny's head jerked up from the pillow He blinked, shook his head, rolled off the bed and staggered towards the pounding on his door..
“All right,” he muttered as he fumbled with the latch. “All right.”
He pulled the door open.
“Harry.” Danny groaned and side-stepped into the bathroom. “Fell asleep. Hang on a minute.”
Harry strode into the room and began pacing the length of the dresser.
The noises from the bathroom stopped, and Danny emerged with a white hand towel pressed to his face. He rubbed, tossed the towel onto the bed, and leaned against the wall.
“Mate,” he said at last, “What’s up?”
“Do you want…” Harry turned on his heel. “Let’s go out. Get away from here for a bit. Find some-”
“Can't. Sorry.” Danny pushed a hand through his hair. “Mum and Vicky'll be here in a sec. We’re going for dinner…” He checked his watch and frowned. “Uh oh. Is that the time?”
He started to tug at his shirt. “You want to come? Indian, nowt fancy, but-”
Harry sniffed in a deep breath and looked past Danny’s ear towards the door. “It’s OK. Wouldn’t be company. I’ll find something.” He stepped around Danny and reached for the doorknob. “You have a good time.”
“Hey.” A freckled hand gripped his, stopping it from turning. “What’s going on?”
The drummer hesitated. “I just need to let off steam. Find a club or a bar or something.” He forced himself upright. “Forget it, you have a good time. Your mum, Vicky - say hi for me, yeah?” He nodded, pulled the handle and shuffled out.
Danny turned back into his room, sat on his bed and began rummaging in his bag. He took out a sock, shook it out and pulled it on. As he dug in the bag for a matching one, the phone in his pocket began to ring.
“Hi Mum… yeah, be down in a minute… Fell asleep…” He rolled his eyes and nodded. “Dunno. I’ll ask him on the way down… OK, couple minutes. Ta-rah.” He put the phone away, finished dressing, pulled his leather jacket onto one arm and slipped out the door.
Across the corridor, Danny tapped baby-we-were-born-to-run on the door, shut his eyes and played the intro to a hundred thousand screaming fans. He opened his eyes and found a lone bass player staring at him.
“Doug, we’re…” Danny peered at the red edges of Doug’s eyes and the sheen on his cheeks. “Mum, Vicky and me, we’re going for an Indian. If you want.”
Doug turned away. Danny glanced over his shoulder at Harry’s door, then followed him into the room. “You two had a fight?”
Doug stopped. He shook his head.
Danny closed the gap between them and wrapped his arms around the younger boy.“I should give him a thump.”
“What?” An eyebrow in the window rose. “No. He didn’t do anything.”
Danny lifted his chin and rested it on the top of Doug’s head. He smiled at their reflections. “Maybe I should thump you, then.” He drew back an arm and knuckled Doug's shoulder.
“Ow! Danny, you-” Doug’s head twisted as he ducked under Danny's arm. “What the fuck?”
Danny took half a step forward and pulled Doug back into the hug. “Well, my best mate’s had a go at my little brother, or my little br-”
“Your what?”
“…had a go at my best mate. Pretty sure I’m supposed to beat the crap out of one of you. Both, maybe.”
“Little brother?”
Danny squeezed a grunt from the bass player. “Now, are you going to come to dinner with mummy Jones and your big sister, or do I tell them you said no…?” His phone began to ring again. He freed a hand, took the phone from his pocket and read the caller-ID. He moved the phone towards his ear, then laughed and put it beside Doug's.
“Better yet,” Danny whispered ,”you tell her.”
“Daniel Alan Jones!” shrilled the tiny handset.
Doug winced and stopped struggling. “Kathy?” he said. “Hi. It's Dougie.” His eyes narrowed. “No... he just went off with one of the cleaners, uh, maids and- Eep! Ow!”
“Hi mum... Oh, nothin... yeah, we're on our way.”
“Where are the sodding things?” Tom's hand dug deeper into the suitcase, probing the creases and corners. “I only had them a minute-“
At a sharp double rap on the door, he jumped, uprooting boxers and socks and sending them tumbling across the bed. “Now what?”
The knocking started again, and Tom whirled towards the door, his open shirt trailing behind him. He checked the peephole, tutted, and opened the door.
“Harry.” Tom darted back into the room and dove into the suitcase.
“Do you want-”
“I'm so fucking late. I'm supposed to be meeting Gi off the train, but I got, and then, and now my sodding cufflinks have gone missing, and-”
“Those cufflinks?”
“What?” Tom stopped digging through pairs of jeans and turned round. Harry pointed at the jeweller's box on the dresser. Tom sighed, clambered off the bed and grabbed it.
“Thank you.” He started fixing the cufflinks in his sleeves and sniffed. “This cold. My head's all over the fucking place.”
“I was going to ask if you wanted to go out for a meal or something,” Harry said. “Sorry, I forgot, you said Gi was coming.”
Tom nodded, and began buttoning his shirt. “Cos I've only mentioned it, like, a million times.”
“Well, you know we don't start listening before three million. Jacket and tie. Somewhere nice, obviously.”
“Oh yes.” Tom glanced up. “Well, if you go out with Danny, don't get bloody wankered this time. Interview tomorrow morning, and the gig.”
“He's meeting Kathy and Vicky, curry or something.”
“Well... hey, there's that Greek place we went to last-”
On the dresser, Tom's phone chirped.
“He-”
“That'll be Gi, she's...” Tom snatched up his phone and read the screen. “Oh... bloody trains.” He snapped it shut and turned to Harry. “Twenty minutes late. Silver cloud, I guess.”
He picked his tie from the dresser, threaded it behind his neck, left it dangling either side, and reached for the tissues. “Lining. Silver lining. Bloody cold.” He blew his nose. “Sorry. What?”
“Dougie won't even talk to me, doesn't want to know..”
“Oh.”
“OK, I broke his phone the other day. Fair enough, he was mad. But I went out and got him a new one.”
“It was more than-” Tom caught himself. Flushing a little, he checked his watch, turned to the mirror and began knotting his tie.
“What?”
“It isn't just you, you know.”
“What?”
“He won't talk to any of us. Keeps going off by himself. Haven't you noticed?”
“What?”
“I tried to ask him about it last night and he damned near bit my head off. Middle of our biggest tour and he's turning turtle again. How's that supposed to work?”
“I've really fucked up, haven't I?”
Tom shrugged. He checked his watch again and reached for his jacket. “Look, I'm in a hurry, so excuse me if I'm... Uh oh.” He drew in a deep breath and sneezed so hard his feet left the floor; he sneezed a second time, and sat heavily on the bed. He stood, alternately shaking his head and blowing his nose.
“You confuse me, Harry. You really do. You're probably the most caring, generous person I've ever met. Some of the things you do for people, your friends, are amazing. But you've got this thing, like, you can say something - even completely innocent, that's the weird part - and somehow it homes in, and it twists and it digs and it really fucks someone up inside.”
Harry nodded, his head lowered so that his chin bumped against his chest. “I never meant to hurt you. If I could find a way to take back all the...”
“I know, and it's water under the, the... Bollocks!” Tom grabbed a tissue. The sneeze morphed into a half-dozen wracking coughs.
Harry raised his head. “Can't you take something for that?”
“I have. I'm maxxed out on everything.” Tom held out the tissue box. “Here.” As he watched the drummer wipe his eyes, he shook his jacket and slipped his arms into the sleeves. “Table at the best restaurant in town,” he muttered, “and I won't be able to fucking look at a glass of wine.”
He checked his reflection in the mirror, twisting around and peering over his shoulder as he brushed his hands over his clothes, then turned back to Harry, who was again staring at the floor.
“I don't know what to tell you. Just... It's Dougie. Talking's no good. Actions. You've got to do something.”
“But I fixed his phone. He just...”
“Then maybe this isn't about his phone. Try something else.” Tom patted the seat of his trousers and his jacket pocket, turned to the dresser, and picked up his wallet and phone. “And soon. The longer this goes on...” He sniffed, and reached for the tissue box.
“Like what?”
“Oh bloody hell, how the fuck should I know?” Tom slammed his hand on the top of the dresser. Harry cringed.
Tom covered his eyes with his hand. “Oh shit,” he mumbled, and took a deep breath. “Sorry.” He pulled a tissue from the box and wiped it across his nose before absently stuffing it in a pocket. “Just do something. Anything.” He glanced at his watch. “Sorry, Harry, but I've really got to go.”
The drummer nodded and turned towards the door. Tom followed him out, and they walked together along the corridor. They stopped outside Doug's room.
“What are you going to do?”
Harry shrugged. “I don't know. Tie him up and order room service?”
“Unusual... It might work.” Tom sniffed. “Good luck.”
“Yeah. You too.”
Tom pressed the button marked G. He smiled a little and closed his eyes as the lift doors swished together. A sudden slap and clunk, and he snapped up straight, blinking as the doors opened and Harry tumbled through.
“He's not in his room.” Harry caught his breath. “Thought I'd look in the bar.”
Tom nodded and pressed the button again. “I really hope you work it out.” The doors closed.
“I know, it's screwing up the band.”
“Hell no.” Tom smiled. “I'm the one who married you two. I don't want to do a divorce as well.”
“Shut up.” Harry settled back against the wall and watched the floors count down.
Nine.
Eight.
Tom shook his head. “Sometimes, I think it would be easier if you were gay.”
Six.
Five.
Four.
“Last year,” Tom said, “when you sang Hero.”
“Mm?”
“It was for him, wasn't it?”
Harry gaped.
“Puede eres mi salvacion... Bit OTT.”
The drummer turned away.
“He doesn't know, does he? That's why... I wondered why you did it in Spanish. Danny just thought you was bein posh.”
“How did you...?”
The lift pinged; the doors opened.
“Gi.” Tom stepped out into the lobby and waited for Harry to follow. “Italian, Spanish... close enough.”
He nodded towards the bar. “Good luck.”
⇐ Part 3 - Part 5 ⇒