Dream On (5 page)

Shane's sex life aside, Dave could see his point.

Dave had booked the spot at The Bandstand well in
advance; choosing the first Saturday in the month was pretty clever of him, he
thought; people would be out and about, with money to spend, if they'd just been
paid. He'd considered setting the date in good time important, too, for band
morale; if they had to get ten songs good and tight in time for the gig, there
would be no mucking around, no skiving band practice. He'd worked hard with
Shane's sister, Zoe, to organise their stage gear.   No, they weren't wearing
'fur rugs and skirts'. Zoe had fashioned authentic looking animal skin
waistcoats, to be worn with heavy brown tunics, and brown boots made out of a
soft leather-look fabric. When they tried the clothes on, though, he understood
what Shane meant about Ritchie's skinny white legs.

Shane wanted to go bare legged to show off his
heavily muscled, bronzed thighs, but a vote was cast and it was agreed that
brown leg coverings, in the same material as the tunics, would be the order of
the day.

"It's more, like, authentic, anyway," Dave told the
disappointed Shane.  He'd been using the word 'authentic' a lot whilst the
costumes were being made. "We've got to look like real Vikings, not like we're
going to a fancy dress party." Even though Boz's helmet had, in fact, been
purchased from a fancy dress shop.

Sitting at the side of the stage, now, five minutes
before they were due to start, Dave was stricken with spasms of insecurity. He'd never felt like this before; when he was fronting Critical Mass he just
went out there and did his stuff; he looked forward to going on and never
suffered from nerves. This time it was different. Thor was his idea, his
baby, his
creation.
 They were opening with 'Valhalla', his song.  They'd
spent all afternoon doing the final run through, the sound checks, but what if
it he messed up? Forgot the words, broke a guitar string?

He thought he might actually be sick.

What if everyone laughed at him?

What if they got booed off stage, like at the last
Critical Mass gig?

"Howay, man, get a grip," said Boz, adjusting his
Viking helmet, "this is rock and roll, not a funeral!"

To Dave's relief, Boz leapt onto the stage, amid
beery cheers and good natured laughter.

"Hello, Wembley!" he shouted, and everyone in the
room - all seventy or so of them - cheered again. "We're Thor, and we're about
to invade your
ears
!" He twirled one of his drumsticks round. "Let's
rock!"

Janice sat at the back of the room on a bar stool,
with Carolyn. She couldn't work out whether she felt proud of Dave, or
embarrassed for him. Maybe it was because she knew him so well - but those
stupid outfits! Yes, yes, she knew Thor was a rock band with a Viking theme -
boy, did she know; Dave must have told her fifty times over the past few weeks
- but clearly she hadn't been listening properly when he told her about the gear
they would be wearing. She'd imagined a bit of animal skin here and there, if
she'd imagined anything at all; she certainly hadn't expected them to look as
if they'd arrived straight from one of those Viking battle re-enactment events
that occurred at the Danes' Camp Visitors' Centre each summer.

She felt awkward, too, sitting there with Carolyn. What if Carolyn thought they were awful but didn't like to say anything?

"They're great!" Carolyn shouted in her ear, over the
music.

Did she sound as if she was just saying it?

"D'you think so? Really?"

"Yeah! It's good how they're playing some covers as
well as their own stuff, so it doesn't get boring."

Ah. "D'you think their own stuff is boring
then?"

Pause. "No. But we don't know it, do we? You want to listen to stuff you
know when you're on a night out."

Janice grinned. Dave would go mad if he heard
that.

"So, we just all keep churning out 'Sweet Home Alabama' and
'Hey Joe' for the next twenty years, do we? Because people are too
brain dead to actually listen to and appreciate something they haven't heard
before?" was one of his favourite rants.

"What do you think of the gear, then?" Janice dared
herself to ask. "D'you think it's a bit much?"

"Nah, they look cool," said Carolyn. "It looks realistic,
not silly. Mind you, I could do Shane some damage whatever he's wearing! Your Dave looks pretty hot, too."

Your Dave.

The closing bars of 'Saved' signalled the end of
the first set, and Dave came bounding over to Janice; he kissed her on the
cheek. For a moment she felt happy; it was as if they were still together.

"What did you think?" he asked. His face was
flushed, his eyes glittery; his face bore the same look she remembered from when
he used to take speed, before Harley was born.

"I thought you were brilliant!" Carolyn chimed in. "Is Shane coming over here for a drink, too?" Her head bobbed about as she
scanned the room. Dave looked at Janice and winked; though Shane and Carolyn
had got it together on a few occasions over the years, their couplings had
never been anything but a port in a storm for Shane. She was, Shane said, one
of the "ten to two" girls; the ones you asked for a dance ten minutes before a
nightclub closed, knowing you could probably get to accompany them home without
so much as buying them a drink first.

"You were great," Janice said, and smiled at him. He ordered her a Bacardi and Coke; as he paid for it and accepted praise for
his performance from various people at the bar, she realised how much she
wanted him to stay with her, not just buy her a drink and bugger off back to
his mates. She wanted him to tell her she looked nice, too. She'd managed to
squeeze herself into her size twelve jeans (even though she had to wear a loose
top to cover the roll of fat that bulged over the waistband), and she was sure
her hair was starting to grow. She was feeling confident; she wanted him to
think her as pretty as he had when they'd first met. Oh why, why, was she so
weak when it came to Dave? She was so strong, so organised about every other
aspect of her life, but she just couldn't stop loving him, and loving him
wrecked her defences.

"You look really nice tonight," Dave said to her,
as he handed her the drink, and he kissed her on the cheek again.

She smiled at him; then, over his shoulder, she saw
a sight that made the smile freeze on her lips. Her chest tightened; an
atmosphere of doom seemed to pervade the room.

All her tomorrows flashed in front of her eyes.

Alison Swan had just walked in.

Dave gave the signal, and the second set kicked off
with 'Flying High', the new song he'd written about the joys of freedom. Ritchie
had laughed when he first played it to them, saying it was blatantly ripped off
from Lynyrd Skynyrd's 'Freebird', but Dave resented this; it might be influenced
by that great rock classic, but there was nothing wrong with that, was there? The key phrase being '
influenced by'
not '
ripped off from'
. 'Flying High' was followed by Guns
'n' Roses' 'Sweet Child O' Mine',
and the place really took off; girls were dancing, guys playing air guitars
down at the front. Dave couldn't remember having felt this good in years. He
was back in the saddle again! This was what it was all about! Another two up
tempo covers, then they slid easily into the long intro for 'Cross the Sea',
his own song about the brave Viking warrior's pain as he waved farewell to his
wife and child. Janice and Carolyn had moved nearer the front; he looked at
Janice as he sang the song, and he felt her eyes looking into his, too. He
wondered if she could feel the meaning in the lyrics, too, as he sang. As the
song came to a close he peered around the room to see how it was going, to
gauge the reaction of his audience, and that was when he saw her. Right in
front of the stage.

Alison.

Ariel.

Dave didn't know how he managed to get through the
song.

She looked different. Well, she would, wouldn't
she? In the eight years since they'd broken up she'd lived in London, travelled
all around South America and South East Asia, then lived in London again, tried
to make it in the music business - and failed, which was why she was back.

Gone was the waist length hair; it was still that
dazzling white blonde colour (natural? He was never quite sure), but now it was
cut just to her jaw and tucked behind her ears. She looked the same, but more
- more
travelled,
sophisticated. He laughed at himself. Yeah, hiking
to the other side of the globe probably would tend to make you look kind of
travelled, wouldn't it? She was still slim, not an ounce of extra flesh on
her - maybe a bit too thin, but who cared? Not he, when she was wearing his
all-time favourite outfit for women; frayed denim shorts over thick black
tights, and cowboy boots.  Her face was thinner, too, he noticed; when she
smiled at him he could see the hollows under her cheek bones. Oh, and those
eyes. He remembered
drowning
in her eyes. Ridiculously huge pale blue
sparklers with long, black, fluttering eyelashes.   He'd written a song about
them once. That perfect pouty mouth. Who could look at that mouth and not
want to kiss the life out of it? God, but she was so damn
pretty.

Dave was hardly aware of the audience clapping as
they finished the set; it was gone eleven o'clock and he saw Shane's Uncle Vic doing
that slicing of the throat movement, indicating that they were to finish and
not play another number. Good. He didn't want to. Not tonight, with Alison
there.
Ariel.
He waved to the audience and shouted out something like
thank
you and goodnight,
after which Shane grabbed the microphone and said
something else about them playing next week at The White Hart. Dave was glad
Shane had remembered. He had forgotten everything.

Then he remembered Janice.

Janice was watching him, and she knew. She knew
him so well. She'd observed his shock when he saw Alison Swan standing there,
even though Dave probably thought he was hiding it from the world. The show
was over, and she knew the exaggerated larking around on stage as the band packed
their gear away and drank the pints of lager she'd bought ten minutes ago was
for Alison's benefit, to show her what a great time he was having - and to
cover up the fact that he was completely
thrown
by her presence.

Janice watched as Alison sipped her glass of wine
and chatted to her friend with the long black hair. Oh yeah, Melodie Waters. Hadn't seen her around for ages, either.
Mind you, though, she never went to the places Melodie Waters was likely to hang
out.

Was Alison hanging around to talk to Dave?

Janice looked at Dave again; he was laughing at something
Boz was saying, but his eyes darted this way and that. Perhaps he felt her
looking at him, because he smiled at her, then, gave her the thumbs up signal
and blew her a kiss. The next moment his eyes swivelled across to Alison Swan
once more.

"Come on, let's go," she said to Carolyn.

"What? I thought we'd stick around a bit! I was
thinking that Shane might want to have a bit of a celebration, if you know what
I mean!" Carolyn laughed, and threw a coquettish smile at Shane, who wasn't
looking.

"If he wants you, he knows where to find you,"
Janice said. She didn't like Carolyn making a fool of herself, but she could
hardly blame Shane; Carolyn didn't do herself any favours. "Come on, let's go. We can get a cab from the rank."

All evening, she'd hoped Dave might want to come
home with her so he could tell Harley about the gig in the morning. She'd been
thinking of suggesting this to him, but she wasn't about to hang around; Dave
knew where to find
her,
too.

Alison-Ariel was still there. There could only be
one reason, couldn't there? Dave leapt down from the stage, and walked towards
her.

"Hello, stranger," he said. He reached out and
took her hand.

She smiled; Dave felt that tell-tale lurch in both heart
and groin.

"Hello," she said, softly, and put her drink down.
"Come here, then."

He enveloped her slender frame with his arms; she
felt so delicate after Janice's warm, soft curves. Almost fragile. Alison
wasn't fragile, though, not at all. She smelled wonderful, of some sort of
upmarket patchouli oil, he thought.

"How long has it been?" she asked, pulling away
from him. "Five, six years?"

"Got to be. I haven't seen you since before you went
off travelling."

"Mm - I always think I'll bump into you when I come back to
visit Dad, but I never seem to."

"Yeah, well, up until recently I haven't been going out
that much."

"No." She smiled again.
Beautiful.
Dave
was aware of another twinge in the groin area, and hoped it wasn't going to get
embarrassing.

"I heard you're a dad now," Alison-Ariel said. "Glad you
haven't given up the music, though. I don't know the girl you're with -
Janice, isn't it?"

"We're not together anymore," Dave said - then
wondered if he should have added that so quickly. Maybe he should have held
out, not let her know he was available. Semi-available, anyway. He didn't
want to upset Janice. He pushed away the memory of a night in bed with her
only a couple of weeks before, and the fairly recent conversation in which
they'd discussed getting back together again.  She'd chucked him out, hadn't
she? "Yeah, Harley's four. He's a brilliant kid."

Ariel smiled. "I can't imagine you as a dad. Hey
-
no offence! You know what I mean, though, don't you? You think of
the person you used to know and - "

"I thought you were great!" cut in another voice.  "Ariel
heard you were playing and said we had to come along!"