Maybe Tomorrow (part 5)
Danny prodded the button and watched the hotel lobby disappear behind the lift doors. As the floor pressed against his feet, he turned, leaned back against the wall, and snuck a glance at his companion. With the faintest hint of a smile, he grunted quietly and muttered, “Oop.”
Doug's nose wrinkled. “Aw, Danny.” He grimaced. “You stinking...!” He pulled up the collar of his shirt and buried his nose behind it, glaring daggers across the tiny space.
Danny grinned back and belched. “All them onion bhajis. Good, though, weren't it?”
“Yeah. Your mum...” Doug shook his head. He turned back to Danny, uncovered his face and took a cautious breath. “Did you mean it?”
Danny blinked. “What?”
“Before dinner. What you said.”
The older boy frowned and scratched his ear. “Oh.” He smiled. “Course I did.”
The lights showed 9, 10, and ticked over to 11 as the lift slowed and stopped. As the doors opened, Doug took a step forward.
“Why?” He carried on into the corridor, turned, and waited.
Danny stood and stared open-mouthed past Doug's head until the lift pinged and began to close. “Oops.” He thrust an arm into the gap. The doors bounced open again and he stumbled out, recovering his balance by catching the smaller boy and spinning round him in a lopsided hug as the lift doors closed.
“Dunno.” Danny released Doug and followed him through the fire doors towards their rooms. Halfway down the corridor, he stopped. “I always wanted a little brother. You ask Mum, used to drive her crazy, Christmas time, my birthday. Vicky said I were stupid, said little brothers are pains.” He smiled and started walking again. “When us lot got together, I heard this voice.” He waved one arm over his head, stretched the other across Doug’s shoulders and pulled him closer. “It said, OK, here he is, can’t play football, talks funny, got the world’s stinkiest feet, but-”
“Fuck off, fart breath.” Doug pulled away.
“No, weren’t really like that.” Danny chuckled. “'Cept your feet. Weren't really a voice though.”
As they arrived at his door, Doug felt in his pocket for the key card. He unlocked the door and held it open.
“It were...” Danny wandered in, head lowered as if following a faint trail on the carpet. “You know when you’ve broken a bone or summat, it hurts for ages?” He looked back over his shoulder.
Doug nodded.
“Isn't one moment when it stops, is there? Just, one day, you think, hey, it hasn't hurt for a while.” Danny reached the window and tilted his head against it. “It were a bit like that. Now it...” He stared out into the darkness.
Doug turned and disappeared into the bathroom. The sounds of splashing water broke the silence.
“Before...” Danny turned, leaving a misty oval on the glass. “Before, when you were telling me about getting stuck on them rocks?”
“Uh huh?” Doug emerged from the bathroom and leaned against the door jamb.
“I kept thinkin,” Danny said, “I should have been there, should have fetched you back to shore.” He ran his hand through his tangled hair and turned away again. “Sounds daft.”
“Yeah.” Doug smiled. “It does.”
“Eh?” Danny’s head jerked over his shoulder. “Oh, right. I were being serious…” He rolled his eyes. “Vicky were right.” He pulled the chair away from the desk and flopped onto it.
“But what…” Doug sat on the end of the bed. “What happens when you find someone? You know. The one.”
“Eh?” Danny frowned. “Oh. It’ll be different,” he said slowly. “But I won’t stop seeing my mum. Or Vicky. Or you.” He sat forward and nodded. “I’ll need you more than ever, stop me from fucking up, be my best man.” He thought for a moment. “Might not take you on honeymoon, though.” A grin spread across his face. “Think I can manage that bit.”
The bass player's mouth tightened, and he pushed himself across the duvet towards one of the bedside tables. He picked up the remote control and aimed it at the TV set, changed his mind and replaced it on the table before turning back to Danny. “Why? Why me?”
Danny pulled his feet in, sat up, and rubbed the back of his neck. “My nan says, never ask why.”
“But why?”
“Dunno.” Danny grinned. “Tried to ask, but she just kept going…” He put on a stern look and waggled his finger. “Ah-ah-ahh!”
Doug shook his head. “That's not what I meant.” He propped himself up with his arms and stared at his knees.
“Anything good on telly?” Danny stood up and picked a booklet from beside the TV, dropped himself onto the end of the bed, and began leafing through it. “Stormbreaker? Nacho Libber?” He flipped over a few more pages. “Ooh, Swedish Sauna Secrets… Hurdy burdy burdy, pork pork pork?”
Doug sat up. “Think I’ll get an early night.”
Danny raised his eyebrows and tilted his head.
“Not slept so good, last couple of nights.”
“Not starting again, is it?” Danny pushed himself up the bed, settled next to Doug, and rested a hand between his shoulders. Doug shook his head. Danny shifted closer, rubbing his hand up and down. “If I can do owt.”
“I’ll be OK.”
Danny grinned. “Obviously.”
They stared hard into each other's eyes, mouths twitching.
Doug snorted. “I've got you.”
“Don't know why.” Danny flicked his hand across the back of Doug's head.
“Ow. Thanks. Big help.”
With a chuckle, Danny circled his arm around Doug's neck and leaned back, dragging the grunting boy with him onto the pillows. A moment's struggle and they quickly settled, Danny's fingers circling idly on Doug's chest.
Doug closed his eyes. As his breathing slowed, Danny raised his head to watch. Doug huffed quietly, and a tiny smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.
“You OK?”
“Yeah.” Doug’s smile grew wider. “Your mum…”
Danny laughed. He extricated his arm and rolled off the edge of the bed onto his feet. “Yeah. She's great, isn't she?” He sauntered to the door and paused with his hand on the handle. He grinned over his shoulder. “G’night, baby brother.”
“Fuck off.”
The door cut off Danny’s laugh, and Doug flopped back on the pillow, still smiling. “Big brother.” He chuckled, then stopped as his nose wrinkled. “Danny!” he hissed, covering his face. “Fucking hell.” He slid off the bed and scurried towards the balcony door.
Danny crossed the corridor, reached out with his key card and glanced at Harry's door. On the doorknob hung a Do Not Disturb sign and a red elastic band.
He leaned sideways and put his ear close to the door. His smile turned to a leer . “Oh Harry,” he whispered, waggling his head, “oh my God, oh Harry. Oh oh oh!” He chuckled and unlocked his door.
Inside, he shed his jacket onto the bed, stooped in front of the minibar and pulled out a green bottle, opened it and downed a quarter of the contents. He set it on the desk, then lifted a guitar case onto the bed and took out his acoustic six-string, sat beside the case and ran his fingers along the length of the strings.
Suddenly, he stopped, rubbed at a spot on one of the strings and frowned. He grunted, reached into the case, pulled out a handful of small square envelopes and began leafing through them. When he found the one he wanted, he propped the guitar between his knees and loosened the dud string, threaded on the new one and began to tighten it. At each twist of the tuning peg, he plucked the string, quietly humming along with the rising twang.
Suddenly, he damped the strings with his hand, cocked his head and listened. The leer returned to his face, and he shifted a little in the seat. “Don’t mind the rest of us, Harry, you carry on. Hope there’s nobody in room on other side.” He brought the string up to pitch, then a little sharp. “Or they’re heavy sleepers.” He plucked the string some more, listened to its pitch drop, stretched it a little and turned the tuning peg a few degrees. “Or deaf…”
Satisfied for the time being with the new string, he took another mouthful from his bottle, closed his eyes and let his fingers take their own path over the frets.
At the third salvo of knocking, Danny stopped playing, opened his eyes and squinted at the door. He got up, stretched, and set his guitar on the chair. At the door, he put his eye to the peephole and chuckled, turned the handle and stepped back.
“Harry.” He laughed, turned and disappeared into the bathroom. The drummer hurried in from the corridor and stood shifting his weight from foot to foot. His hair was wet, his face shiny pink, and his shirt was buttoned crookedly. Danny reappeared and handed Harry a small box. “Only ones I’ve got, but…”
Harry stared at the box in his hand. “Mates? Bolton, what the hell am I supposed to do with these?” He tossed the box onto the dresser.
“You put them on your…” Danny looked down and mimed below his belt. When he raised his eyes, his grin disappeared, and he brought his hands up in a shrug. “Well, sounded like you might have run out, and you look like…” The grin came back. “In a hurry?”
“Huh?”
Danny pointed and mimed buttoning his shirt and doing up his flies.
“Oh, oh… No.” Harry reddened, turned away and began straightening his clothes. “She’s gone. Meeting, early flight, something. We, uh…” He turned back. “I was having a drink in the bar. We got talking, kind of got on.”
“No shit. Bet half the hotel knows. That Sally's got a good set of lungs. Can she sing?”
Harry shrugged. “I didn't ask.” He set on the end of the bed and stretched out his legs. Danny stepped over them, picked up his beer and drained it. He dropped the empty in the bin, crouched by the minibar and took another bottle from inside. He turned to Harry and watched the drummer fiddle with his bracelets.
Danny cleared his throat. “Mate?” He gestured towards the fridge.
“Oh, uh, JD? Cheers.”
Danny passed him the miniature, opened his beer and took a sip. Harry twisted off the cap, put the tiny bottle to his mouth and tilted back his head. Danny raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
Harry pulled the bottle away and leaned forward, coughing. He wiped his mouth with his hand.
“Did you get what you wanted?”
Harry swallowed and nodded. “Fucking fantastic, mate. Twice. She lost count.” He sat on the bed and raised the bottle again.
Danny sat back in his chair and watched Harry’s face screw up as the whiskey worked its way down his throat, watched him gasp for breath, watched him shiver as he put the empty on the dresser. He shook his head and took another sip of beer.
“What?” Harry glanced down at his clothes.
Danny set down his bottle. “I meant, did you…” He nodded towards the door. “Did it help?” He picked up his guitar again, tweaked the new string back into tune and started playing a blues riff, changed to fingerstyle, then suddenly launched into Pinball Wizard.
Harry got to his feet, went to the window and stood there listening, his face reflecting faint pink and yellow from the city lights below. Danny segued from Wonderwall into the chorus of Too Close for Comfort, reached the verse and began to hum.
“Shit.” Harry shook his head, then pressed his forehead against the glass. “Bastard.” He turned away.
Danny stopped playing and looked up. “Harry?” He set down the guitar and got to his feet. As he neared the window, Harry pulled away, wiping his eyes on a sleeve. Danny put a hand on his shoulder, lowering it again when the drummer shrugged it off. He retrieved his beer and sipped it as he studied the back of Harry's head.
Harry turned, pushed past Danny and bent over the minibar. He rattled through the bottles and took out another whiskey.
“That won’t help,” Danny said. Harry glared at him and twisted off the cap.
“Running away didn’t help. Getting laid didn’t help.”
Harry gulped down the straw-coloured liquid and coughed. He opened the fridge and took out another.
“That didn’t help Matt. Won’t help -”
“Oh fuck off. Like you never have a drink.” Harry slammed the minibar door and glared over his shoulder. “What the fuck do you know, anyway? Think you’re an expert?” He got to his feet, turning as he rose. “Actually, yeah. You are. Danny Jones, world expert on getting dumped. Getting dumped and getting drunk.” The bottle thudded onto the dresser. “There. All right? Keep it, and keep your…” He stormed to the door, flung it open and disappeared into the corridor. The door sighed behind him and clicked shut.
Danny sat in the chair, put an elbow on each knee and stared at the bottles, then bent forward and propped his forehead on his knuckles, rocking gently with each slow breath. He lifted his head, picked up his beer and studied the label.
He rubbed the back of a hand across his eyes and nose and set the drink down. He stood, opened the sliding door to the balcony and stepped outside.
The night air was warm and heavy with the sounds and smells of traffic. He scanned the skyline for landmarks, but saw nothing familiar except for the illuminated spire of a church - or maybe it was the cathedral - a few streets away. He rested his arms on the rail and squinted. At the peak of the spire, a white light flashed long and short, repeating some long pattern.
His fingers began to move in time with it. He started to hum.
Somewhere below, a car alarm went off. Danny jerked, leaned over the rail and peered down, but in the shadows between the spotlights far below there was nothing to see. With a sigh, he went back into the room, closed the door and curtain, then he unbuttoned his shirt and went into the bathroom.
⇐ Part 4 - Part 6 ⇒