Dream On (30 page)

Both women laughed.

"Yeah, stronger people than him have broken under a
threat like that from our Patrick!" said her mother. "Was it that Ritchie who
told you where he was?" She fiddled with her hair. "I quite fancy him."

"You're wasting your time there; Shane reckons he's gay. No, it was the other one. Dave. Caught him up The Romany when he was
pissed, made him feel bad about the baby; he's got a little 'un of his own, you
see."

Her mother sat up, and dusted her hands together. "Well, Jeremy Kyle will sort him out. He'll make him step up to the
plate."

"What does that mean, step up to the plate? They
always say it on Jeremy."

"Dunno. I think it means, like, pay your maintenance,
and that. So you're sure he'll actually turn up?"

Kerry laughed. "You bet. Uncle Patrick's seen to
that."

"I bet he's cacking his self!" said her mother. Then she looked over at her daughter, narrowing her eyes. "Your bump has made
your tatt look different, hasn't it?" said her mother.

Kerry peered down at the blue and green trail of
ivy across her stomach, which loomed large, smooth and round from the hem of
her cropped t-shirt. "Mm. I thought it looked quite classy before, but I'm
not quite sure, now. Think I'd better cover it up when I'm on Jeremy."   

"Poor old Shane," said her mum, and grinned.

Kerry's lips drew into a firm line. "Poor old Shane
nothing. Shouldn't have told me he loved me, should he."

Her mother narrowed her eyes.

"Did he, though? Did he actually say that?"

Kerry shrugged her shoulders.  "Well, no. Not
exactly. He said I was lovely, though, and that's sort of the same thing, isn't
it? Either way, he kept coming back for more, after I'd said I loved him, so
that gave me the impression he was, like, serious, you know what I mean? Otherwise I wouldn't have thought of having a baby to him." She crossed one
leg over the other, with some difficulty, and studied her foot. "I need to get
some new trainers before we go on Jeremy."

"Your Uncle Darren can still get those knock-offs.  Nike,
the lot."

"That's good. Tell him I want a pair. Size
five. Well, you've got to look your best if you're going on national
television, haven't you?"

In Spalding, Shane's girlfriend Cecilia was pacing up and
down the room.

"The Jeremy Kyle Show! I don't believe it! It's
the pits of the earth! Why the hell didn't you tell me about all this
before?"

Shane admired her neat white t-shirt and shorts
clad figure pacing up and down the polished floorboards of the living room, her
long golden hair lit up by the sun shining through the window. He reached up and
handed her a spliff, which she brushed away.

"Calm down, love," he said, "it'll be all right."

"All right? Are you insane? My boyfriend, in my
brother's band, being accused
in public
of getting some gormless little
chav pregnant and then abandoning her? How great do you think that's going
to make me look?"

"Don't tell anyone it's on, then," said Shane. "They'll all be at work, won't they, anyway, all your friends, when it's
televised. Anyway, I shall go out there in full Bon Jovi regalia, scared of
nothing!" He laughed, sat back on the leather couch, and blew a smoke ring,
watching it rise and disintegrate into the air, lit up by a shaft of sunlight. "Cecilia, love, even if anyone does see it, it's all publicity for the band,
isn't it? Look at bloody Melodie - she isn't doing so bad, is she? And you ought to hear the things they say about her!"

"Are you sure this baby is even yours?"

Shane sighed. "Oh, yes. She hadn't slept with anyone
else for ages, she said; I dunno, I believe her, I don't know why. She forgot
to take her pill on Christmas morning because she was hungover. She said -
well, she said she was happy about it because she fell in love with me, like,
as soon as she saw me." He grimaced, and held his hands up. "What can I
do?"

Cecilia walked over to him and curled herself onto
his lap. "Just as long as you don't suddenly decide you ought to stick by her,
or something daft like that."

Shane kissed her. "Now why would I ever want
anyone else when I've got a babe like you, eh? The show'll be a hoot,
anyway." He laughed again. "Bring it on!"

In his mind, he crossed his fingers. He thought
he'd escaped; Cecilia's offer of a new home in a new town couldn't have come at
a better time, and he hadn't wanted to jeopardise that by leading her to
believe that he'd accepted not out of a desperate need to be with her, but out
of necessity. She knew nothing of Uncle Patrick's threats.

Landing the guitarist spot in Bad Medicine had been
a double edged sword, though, for sure. On the one hand, all he'd ever wanted
to do was play in a successful Bon Jovi tribute band - they were even getting
the odd London gig - but if he hadn't been playing in the bloody pub round the
corner on that fateful night, that nut job Uncle Patrick would never have found
him. Goodness knows how he discovered he played in a band in Spalding;
anyone could have told him, he supposed. Fennington St Mary was a small
town. But someone must have opened their mouth; one of his family, Dave or
Ritchie. It only took one person to tell one other person in confidence,
who in turn told someone else -

He wasn't too worried, though. He'd do the Jeremy
Kyle show because he didn't fancy getting his face carved up, and then, as soon
as he got something sorted, he'd disappear again. Find another girl, another
town. Another Bon Jovi tribute band - after a few months, anyway. And this
time he wouldn't tell a soul, not 'til the coast was clear and Kerry had hooked
up with some other poor sap. Hell, he didn't want to have to be responsible,
for the rest of his life, for some kid he'd never wanted to have. Some kid who
would arrive in this world with an ASBO instead of a birth certificate, if
Kerry's family were anything to go by.

Well, Shane Cowley always landed on the balls of
his feet, didn't he? No reason why he shouldn't continue to do so.

He wouldn't have minded any of it, the running
around and hiding, moving away from home, if it hadn't been for one thing, though. He really, really missed Dave.

The girls, the bands, everything, it was all
replaceable - he didn't even mind not seeing his family, that much - but you
only had one best mate, didn't you?

Chris 'Boz' Boswell often thought about Dave, and
Shane, and Ritchie, and the fun days of Thor, and he missed them. Okay, they
hadn't made any money to speak of, but he hadn't expected to - they'd had some
laughs, though, and the music had been a breath of fresh air.

It was a damn sight better than what he was doing
now, anyway.

Genital Warthog's big comeback had made a damp squib look
like New Year's Eve in Times Square.

The tour had been abandoned half way through. Unfortunately,
they hadn't realised that the passing of a quarter of a century might have
marked a change in the musical tastes of their former fans. Yes, there were
the die-hards, the nostalgia trippers, but they weren't enough to support a
whole tour. Genital Warthog became just Warthog, playing local pubs, and then,
when that was not much of a success, either, they became The Warthogs, playing
stuff like 'Living next door to Alice' at wedding discos, club houses on caravan
sites.
Alice, Alice, who the fuck is Alice?
Boz thought if he had to
shout that out once more his head would fall off. He was right back where he
started, before he'd met Dave and the lads.

Waiting to go on, one evening, he started
scrolling, idly, through the contacts in his phone. He still had Dave's
number. Perhaps he'd give him a call some time, see what he was up to.

Sharing a flat in Gateshead with his dad sucked,
big style. Be good to nip back to Fennington some time, anyway, to see Dave
and Ritchie. Yeah, he might just do that.

Shane Cowley's life had changed in way he had never
thought possible.

The summer before had not been the easiest of
times.

The Jeremy Kyle show had loomed ahead, and Cecilia
fretted about it every day. It was, indeed, the pits of the earth, but, as
Shane tried to reassure her, he'd only agreed to it in order to please Kerry
and her family.

In truth, he was a lot more worried than he'd
admitted to Cecilia.  Still loath to reveal to her the real reason he'd agreed
to take part, he'd discussed the whole delicate matter with his Uncle Vic.

"Sounds like you need to get this Patrick fella off
your back, and sharpish, I agree," Vic had said, "especially now he knows where
you live. Yeah, I know of him; not the sort of character you want to
upset, I have to say. I'll tell you what he did to this bloke who - no,
I'd better not, on second thoughts. But - look, have you ever watched that
Kyle show? I have, our Gail sticks it on in the mornings when she's
bottling up. Half the little trollops who go on there have been putting it
about all over the place. What you want to do, laddie, is demand a DNA
test. That's what they all do on there. Make sure this nipper is
yours before you sign your life away, know what I mean?"

Shane consulted Uncle Vic's solicitor, and a legal
missive was despatched forthwith, to confirm that Shane Cowley refused to
attend the show until the child had come into the world, at which point he
would be happy to have the results revealed upon national television, if that
was what Kerry and her family deemed appropriate.

Thus, on a bright day in September, 2008, Shane had
bounced onto the stage, blonde curls flowing, in full Bon Jovi tribute band
regalia, a gladiator into the auditorium, to both cheers and boos from the
baying crowd.  

He sat down, in the chair placed a good distance
from Kerry, and tried not to look at her, or her trout-faced battle-axe of a
mother. He could feel them both shooting laser beam stares of hatred at him.

Shane was polite, and amenable, and when the man
himself,
Mr Kyle,
as Uncle Vic had suggested he address him, suggested
that he should have 'put something on the end of it', he replied that Kerry had
told him she was on the pill, until revealing that she'd missed one. Yes, of
course he'd heard of safe sex, but he didn't sleep around, and Kerry certainly
didn't seem like that sort of girl, either - well, did she? Hey, hadn't she
told Mr Kyle, only ten minutes ago, that she was a hundred and ten per cent
sure it was his, because she hadn't slept with anyone else for a year? He
acknowledged that he'd been irresponsible, that he shouldn't have run off, and
said that of course, yes, he would be a man, grow some, step up to the plate, and
anything else that might be required of him, should he be proven to be the
father of her child.

In order to build suspense for mums at home and
unemployed people up and down the country, however, another player had to be
brought to the stage before the test results could be revealed.

Uncle Patrick.

The heavily set, tattooed ogre of the drama marched
on, amid cheers and fanfare. Without acknowledging his niece or, indeed, his
host, he lumbered straight over to Shane, called him a *bleep* useless waste of
*bleep* space, shook his fist and turned puce in the face. He then swivelled
round to the studio audience and shouted that this long haired *bleep* was
nothing but a *bleep* fairy who thought he was some sort of *bleep* Casanova,
and if he knew what was *bleep* good for him he would *bleep* step up to the
*bleep* mark before he got his *bleep* face punched in.

Uncle Patrick was forcibly removed by the Kyle
heavies, and the audience was calmed by the ever reasonable presence of the
show's star.

"He needs telling! Look at him!" shouted Kerry's
mother, stabbing her finger in the air in Shane's general direction. "Sneaking
away like a thief in the night and abandoning my daughter, after he'd had his
fun!"

Shane ignored her and smiled at the audience; he
was sure a little redhead in the front row was trying to catch his eye.

Minutes later, Uncle Patrick was allowed back in,
grumbling and muttering.

A stage hand brought over the results.

Shane continued to smile.

Kerry's mother folded her arms, her face a picture
of anticipated triumph. Kerry just gazed straight ahead, expressionless. 

Uncle Patrick, unable to contain himself, issued a
few more sinister threats, until being given a final warning by a bald man with
shoulders the size of the small building.

The audience fell silent.

The envelope was opened.

Kerry continued to stare straight in front of her as the
result card was taken out.

The card that revealed that Shane ... was
not
the
father of little Tiana-Jade.

The audience roared.

Kerry's mother turned on her.

"Well, you stupid little slag!" she shouted. "My
one chance to get on Jeremy Kyle and you've made a fool out of us! You was
pregnant before you met him, weren't you? I said you was further on than you
reckoned, didn't I?" She turned to her host. "Do we still get a session with
Graham and the after-care team?"

"It is his!" declared Kerry. "Let us come on again and
I'll take a lie detector!"

"You sent me all the way up to *bleep* Spalding and
it's not even his kid?" raged Uncle Patrick. "Whose the *bleep* is it, then?"

The moment the star of the show had done his
summing up and given his final judgement, Shane stood up, shook his hand, and
walked off with a cheery wave to the applauding crowd, hearing Kerry's cries of
indignation fade into the distance behind him as he rounded the corner
backstage.

He walked down the corridor, hands in pockets,
feeling better than he ever had in his life.