Dream On (31 page)

One of the 'heavies' reached out to shake his hand
as he walked past.

"Are you in a band?" he asked.

"Yes," said Shane, and shook it, firmly. "I'm Jon
Bon Jovi, don't you know!" Laughing out loud, he walked out into the warm,
early autumn sunshine.

Phew!

He was free!

He was happy; he hadn't wanted to have to move on. He liked playing guitar in Bad Medicine, living in Cecilia's smart, trendy flat
- and she was a little darling, too, most of the time.

There were celebrations that night in Spalding. For some reason, though, Cecilia seemed less than exuberant.

"What's up, petal?" Shane said to her. "It's all done. We can get on with our lives, now!"

"It's just the anti-climax," she said. "I can't believe
it's really over. And - well, when I was watching you, from backstage, I
kept thinking, how could he have slept with someone like that in the first
place?"

"Oh, come on, honey, we all make mistakes," he'd
said. "It was only twice, honest, and both times I'd had a bit too much to
drink." He crossed those imaginary fingers, once more. "Anyway, that was before
I met you, wasn't it?"

"Mm," she said, looking unconvinced. "But - well, you were
keeping her sweet while you were seeing me, weren't you? You wouldn't ever
do anything like that to me, would you?"

"Of course not!" Shane said, hugging her with one
arm while accepting another pint from the band's bassist with the other hand. "Listen, pet, I didn't have any choice - I had that gorilla Uncle Patrick on my
back, and I didn't want to get my handsome face altered, did I?"

"No - no, I understand that. I wish you'd told me
about all that at the time, though."

"I didn't want to worry you.   Come on, cheer up - I
was only doing what I had to." He smoothed her hair from her forehead and kissed
her. "Between you and me, I was really scared! But you knew it was you I
wanted, surely?"

"Well, yes - only I do sometimes wonder," she said,
looking into his eyes, "if you only got together with me because of the band. And because you had to get away from that Kerry." She looked down. "I'm sorry,
Shane, I can't help thinking silly things sometimes."

He hugged Cecilia close to him and kissed her again;
as he did so, he couldn't help noticing a rather tidy little piece on the next
table. Long black hair, like Melodie's; she was definitely checking him out. "Don't be daft," he whispered into Cecilia's ear. "I love you, don't I? You
know that!" The girl on the next table was pretty fit. Whew! Legs up to her
armpits! He gave her a surreptitious wink, and she blew him a kiss back. Perhaps he'd see how the land lay later, on the way to the khazi, or something.
 Then he turned his attention back to Cecilia. "You've got nothing to worry
about, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere!" He put his finger under her chin
and tilted her face up to his. "I promise."

"That's good," she said, snuggling up to him. "I've
been a bit worried.  I had to ask, you see. I had to make sure how you felt
about me." She took a deep breath. "I didn't want to say anything until that
Kerry's DNA results were through. But I had to know for sure that you're
serious about me, because -  well, the thing is, Shane, I think I'm - pregnant."

In May, 2009, Shane Cowley became the father of a
baby girl called Chloe. To his amazement, and despite all his misgivings and
expectations that his life would be over, from the moment she was born, Shane
was in love. He looked at the little wrinkled up face of his daughter, and
suddenly the whole world made sense. Now, he understood everything. Most of all,
he understood how Dave felt about Harley.

Perhaps, now, he could get in touch with Dave
again.

As predicted by A&R man Glenn Hunter, Melodie
Joy was not the winner of Raw Talent. She came third but, as also predicted by
him, she was the real star of the show.

A year after the final, its winner, Danny Coldham,
and runner up, female vocal harmony group Athena, had all but disappeared back
into obscurity. Despite Raw Talent's mission to discover new and worthy
talent, the media decided it was Melodie Joy the public should want, and thus it
was she who was regularly to be seen in the tackier end of the popular press,
on the arm of this boy band member, of that ex-soap actor. She was a hot
favourite to appear on several reality TV shows, and was often featured on the
'best and worst dressed' pages of the celebrity gossip magazines, usually on
the page with the big red crosses on. Melodie didn't care; it was she who'd been
invited to the film premiere, not the person who rated her outfit a huge no-no.

Glenn Hunter's recording company signed her, as
promised; her first single and video came out in February, 2009. Melodie didn't
like the singing part of her new career so much, but it was okay, she told her
mother, because they did all those twiddly bits with the recording to make her
sound great, just like she'd told Ariel they would. She loved the video shoot,
though. All that writhing around in sexy gear with totally hot guys - what was
not to like? So it took three days to make a four minute video; it was hardly
work,
was it? Not like wrapping up bunches of flowers for eight bloody hours a
day, wearing an overall and flat shoes!

She argued with the record company's publicists. She wanted more exposure, she said. She wanted to make it in America.

"You haven't made it here, yet," they reasoned with
her. "Your single isn't doing as well as we'd hoped, you know."

"Oh, I don't want to make it as a singer," she said,
"that's too much hard work. I just want to make it as a celebrity!"

"Doing what?" they asked her.

She looked at them as if they were stupid. "Doing what
celebrities do, of course! Just giving it large in all the right places,
walking through airports with dark glasses on, all that caper! Why, do you
think I can't do it?"

"Oh, I'm sure you can," said Glenn Hunter, as he
walked into the room. "I'm sure you'll get exactly what you want, eventually."

Back in Fennington St Mary, local radio DJ Brendan
Shanks was busy photoshopping the pictures he'd taken of her on Christmas Eve,
2007, when she was sprawled on his bed, appallingly drunk, legs akimbo and
naked apart from her stiletto heeled boots, just as he'd instructed. Whew! What a body!

Even better than the photos, though, he'd
saved
two rather nice little videos he'd taken on his phone, one while she gave him a
blow job, and the other while she did all sorts of X rated things with her
phallic shaped body spray.

He'd been playing for time, waiting to see how big
she was going to get, before he made his move.

Properly edited together, they were going to make
him a fortune!

Ritchie had been nearly as down in the dumps as
Dave, for ages, after Shane and Boz left, and after Thor had bitten the dust. He looked at their MySpace page, now and again; the fans were all still there,
and, as he could see by the amount of 'plays' that were shown, people still
listened to their music. Well, one or two people every now and then, anyway.

Sometimes Ritchie looked through the photos, and
felt sad. However much he'd taken the piss out of Dave, Thor had been pretty
good. Dave needed the piss taken out of him, though, really, didn't he? He
was a good bloke and he didn't mind having him as a lodger, but he didn't half
talk some shit.

On the whole, Ritchie was feeling happier these
days, though. He'd started going to a regular jamming session in a backstreet
pub called The Cricketers (near the cricket ground, oddly enough), and he'd met
up with some other musicians. Paul and Kev - and Howie, who was a fucking shit
hot guitarist, even better than Shane had been. Young fella, not a rocker,
though he played like one. Even though he looked like he ought to be in a boy
band.

Ritchie looked forward to the jam sessions; they'd
become the highlight of his week. He was getting pretty matey with Howie. It
was good, talking music with him. Made Ritchie feel happy. Just lately he'd
started inviting him back to the flat, and if Dave was there (without that
drippy new bird of his, the ersatz Ariel), they talked about the possibility of
forming another band, one day.

Ritchie didn't really know if Howie was up for it,
though. He had a busy social life, Ritchie knew, though he wasn't sure what it
involved. Clubs and stuff, probably, at his age. Ah, well, he'd just have to
work on him. Meanwhile, he just liked having him around. Enjoyed his
company. Well, there was nothing wrong with that, was there?

Harley bounced up onto the bed, and pulled the
bedclothes down to Janice's waist.

"Mummy! Max says you've got to get up!"

She stirred, smiling as she woke. "Would you open the
curtains, sweetheart?"

Harley did so, and the sun streamed in. He climbed
back on to the bed, lifted up the lacy vest Janice was wearing, and patted her
stomach.

"I can't see the baby yet!"

Janice smiled, and stroked the slight bump. "That's because he's only very little. Or she. We don't know yet. We'll find out soon if you're having a brother or sister!"

"Can I chose its name?"

"He or she, not it. And we'll all choose the name
together."

Harley frowned. "Will its other name be Stark?"

Janice ruffled his hair. "He or she, not it, H, how many
more times? Yes, the new baby's surname will be Stark. The same as
Max."

"And you, by tomorrow."

She put her arms around Harley and hugged him
tight. "Yes, and me, later today, actually!"

Harley looked up at her. "But not me."

She stroked his hair away from his forehead. "No, not you. Because Dave is your daddy, not Max. People usually have their daddy's
surname, you see. Come on, we've told you all about this."

"Yes."

"Why, do you want to be called Harley Stark?"

Harley giggled. "No. It's silly!"

She laughed. "Yes, it is a bit, isn't it?"

"Harley Bentley-Brown is a much better name."

"You're right, it is."

Harley pulled himself away from her. "Will Daddy and
Isabel be at the wedding?"

"No," she said, and got out of bed. "I did ask them, but
Daddy said that Isabel might think it was a bit peculiar."

"Why?"

"Oh, I'll explain when you're a bit older. It's a
grown up thing."

"It's a grown up thing!" he sang, and did a little
dance; then he laughed, ran out of the room, and clattered down the stairs; she
could hear Sam barking, waiting to be taken out.

Janice stood there for a moment; she'd had a weird
feeling just then, when Harley did that little dance, and then she realised why;
he'd moved exactly the same as Dave did, when he was on stage.  Oh dear, don't
say Harley was going to be rock star, too! She laughed, and went over to look
out of the window.

The sun shone, the sky was a cloudless blue, and
the merest breeze rustled the leaves of the apple trees in the garden. Perfect. She wondered if she might actually be dreaming; no-one could be this
happy, could they? How could life really be this good, without suddenly
sending you some enormous banana skin, making you slide on your arse, just to
let you know that, hey, you were right! It was all a joke, sucker! No, you
don't
deserve happiness!

She mustn't think like that; to do so was crazy.

Today she was marrying Max Stark, the loveliest man
in the world, in Marsham village church, and next year she would give birth to
their child. At the end of the summer the Sunrise café would close; Max was
opening a restaurant, in partnership with a friend of his. They'd looked at
several sites and eventually agreed on one in Norwich; they were looking at
houses in west Norfolk, too. Max had agreed with her that they couldn't move
too far away from Fennington, because they couldn't take Harley too far away
from Dave. As it was, Harley now spent every other weekend with Dave, round at
his girlfriend's flat. Janice liked Isabel well enough and Harley seemed to get
on with her; she wasn't sure how Dave felt about her, though.

She looked not unlike Ariel Swan. Not as pretty,
though.

Janice had been surprised and pleased to find that
she wasn't jealous of Isabel at all; if anything, the girl seemed to find
her
something of a threat. Funny!

She stretched and yawned; there was Max, with his
coffee, walking out into the garden. She opened the window, and sniffed the
delicious morning air.

"Hey!" she called out.

He looked up, smiling. "Morning, Mrs Stark!"

"Not yet, I'm not! I don't know, is it unlucky, or
something, to call me that before we get married?" Something occurred to her. "Oh! We're not supposed to see each other this morning, are we?"

"Bit late for that! It's a load of bunkum anyway; the
first time round I did all the 'right' things, and where did that get me?"

She smiled at him. How she loved him. "I'm just going to
lie in the bath. Will you bring me some coffee?"

"Sure thing!"

There was plenty of time left for her preparations;
the long bath, the fake tan, the body lotion, the careful blow drying of her hair
- which was now shoulder length! Carolyn was doing her make-up, because she was
good at that sort of thing, and she would wear a calf length, fitted dress in
off-white broderie anglaise, with a wide neck and short sleeves.

The wedding would be quiet, with just a few of
Max's friends, Lisa, James and Kim from the café (closed today, of course),
Janice's mother, Linda, and her boyfriend Graham, Carolyn and her latest plus
one, and Max's sister's family, all the way from North Yorkshire. The only
other person Janice would have wanted to be there was Evelyn; but she had
passed away in her sleep, just four months before. Janice was surprised that
she and Linda came to terms with her death more easily than they'd anticipated.