‘What do you think?’ Johnny grins.
I stand there like a lemon.
‘I’ve got one for you, mate,’ Johnny says, looking back over at the group of girls, who are watching him.
To my enormous relief, Christian says, ‘No, thanks.’
‘Why not?’ Johnny asks, irritated.
‘Just not in the mood.’ Christian shrugs his shoulders.
‘Whatever.’ Johnny looks away and swigs from his bottle of whisky. ‘Waste not, want not,’ he says, glancing back at Christian and winking.
‘If you don’t need me, I’m going to head back to the hotel,’ I say, trying to swallow the bile rising up in my throat.
‘No, stay,’ he commands.
‘Why?’ I ask. I can’t bear to watch this any longer.
‘Because I might need you.’ He turns back to the girls. ‘More?’ he asks the prettiest. She nods, smiling flirtatiously up at him, and tilts her head back. He tips whisky straight into her mouth.
Another hour passes and I’m privy to Johnny getting increasingly wasted. The girls are completely off their trolleys, too. He’s stumbling now, and they’re giggling and trying to hold him up.
Christian and I, in contrast, are quite sober.
‘I’m really bloody tired, now,’ I complain to Christian.
‘Yeah, I think I’m going to hit the sack, too.’
‘I don’t know why he won’t let me leave.’ I look over at
Johnny, who has just wrapped his arm around the blonde girl and given one of her boobs a sneaky squeeze.
‘Just go,’ Christian encourages.
Johnny stumbles over to us, almost pulling the girl over as he fails to let go in time. They both look back at each other and laugh hysterically.
‘Johnny, I am going to go now,’ I say, determinedly.
‘Me too,’ he slurs. ‘Bring her.’ He indicates the prettiest girl.
‘I will,’ I answer, although I have absolutely no intention of bringing her. The dirty slapper can stay right where she is.
Johnny stumbles out of the room, leaning on Christian for support. Christian doesn’t look very amused. I follow them and make a call, asking for our car to be brought around to the back door.
There are still hordes of fans waiting outside, even though we’ve been in there for hours and they would have had no way of knowing if Johnny had slipped out through a side entrance earlier. Their dedication is quite something because it’s freezing cold and there’s a chance of snow tonight.
‘Can you do a few autographs?’ I ask.
Johnny shakes his head and mumbles something unintelligible so I open the door for him to climb in the car and look back at the now-baying crowds.
‘I’m sorry,’ I shout. ‘I’m sorry, we’ve got to go!’
It makes no difference to their fury, and as the car moves away, we’re pelted by plastic bottles and food wrappers. Christian and I flinch with every hit, but Johnny is oblivious, passed out in the corner.
I book two hotels at the next city, in case we have to move again, and decide to do this for the rest of the tour. Sometimes we’ll need the back-up, sometimes there will be enough security in place so we won’t, but it’s worth paying the cancellation fee, and chances are the manager will let us out of it in the hope we’ll return and stay with them next time.
Right now we’re in Amsterdam, four dates in, and after Johnny’s initial tour downer, he seems to be well in his stride.
It’s early evening and we’ve got the night off before tomorrow’s concert. We played the first of three gigs in Amsterdam last night and the atmosphere was storming. It’s Christian’s last night before he flies back to London.
There’s a knock on the door. Johnny is sitting on the bed, plucking at his guitar strings and I’m sitting opposite him on an armchair. I get up to answer the door.
‘Hey, Johnny,’ TJ says, nervously glancing at me. ‘We’re thinking of moseying on down to the, you know, red-light district. You wanna come?’
I immediately tense up, but he replies, ‘Nah,’ so I relax again, until he says, ‘Why pay for it when you can get it for free?’ Then he emphasises his comic timing with a few rapid strums on his guitar.
TJ laughs and shuts the door behind him.
‘Nutmeg,’ Johnny says, sternly, as soon as I turn back to him. It’s the first time he’s called me Nutmeg in weeks, and warmth rushes through me. ‘You didn’t bring my girl back for me the other night.’
‘Oh,’ I reply, and go cold again. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Vienna?’ I ask, just to be sure.
‘Mmmhmm.’
‘Sorry, I thought you’d be too drunk to notice.’
‘I’m never too drunk.’ He winks at me. ‘So where does Christian want to go tonight?’ he asks, resting his guitar up against the bed.
‘I don’t know. The Dinner Club or something?’
‘Supperclub?’
‘Yeah, that’s the place.’
‘I know it. Sure, yeah, book a table. Join us, if you like.’
‘Okay,’ I reply, pleased. It’s the first time I’ve been included in their dinner plans since we were in Big Sur. ‘Nine-ish?’ I ask.
‘Yep, cool.’
‘Hey, I forgot to tell you, my brother got engaged,’ Christian says to Johnny. We’re crossing the Prinsengracht canal on our way to the restaurant. Johnny decided he wanted to brave the cold Amsterdam weather and go for a rare walk instead of taking the car. Supperclub is only about half a mile away from the hotel.
‘Wow! That’s cool, man. Say congratulations from me.’
‘What’s your brother’s name?’ I ask. It’s not really relevant to the conversation, but it’s my best shot at being included in it.
‘Anton,’ Christian replies. ‘I have a younger brother, too. Joel.’
‘How is little Joel?’ Johnny asks.
‘He’s fine. He’s working with Dad now, you know.’
‘Is he?’
‘What does your dad do?’ I ask, as we approach a bridge to cross another canal.
‘He owns an electrical shop up in Newcastle,’ Christian explains.
‘Cool,’ I say.
‘Actually, it’s pretty warm. What with all the electrical appliances turned on, and all.’
‘You’re so funny, you should do stand-up,’ I tease.
‘No, that’s my older brother.’
‘
Is
he a comedian?’ I ask, then see Christian’s face. ‘Stop winding me up, you.’
‘Sorry. No, he’s an accountant. Hey, did you know the word naive isn’t in the dictionary?’ Christian glances at me.
‘Ha ha.’ I play-punch him on the arm. ‘I’m not falling for that one.’
I’m walking in the middle of the two guys, Johnny to my right and Christian to my left.
‘What about you, Meg, do you have any brothers or sisters?’ Christian asks.
‘I have one sister, Susan. She’s older. Thirty-two. Married. Boring. We don’t get on.’
‘Why not?’ Johnny looks interested.
‘She’s so full of herself. And I don’t like her husband. He’s a prat.’
The guys chuckle. ‘Tell it like it is, Meg,’ Christian says.
‘Well, he is. Last Christmas we all went to stay with my parents–they live in the south of France,’ I explain. ‘And one night, without even asking, he opened up a bottle of wine which my dad had been saving for ages. He guzzled half of it down like it was water and didn’t buy a single bottle of booze the whole time they were there. He’s such a stingy git. It really pisses me off when my sister doesn’t pull him up on it.’
‘My brother’s girlfriend–well, fiancée now–is a bit like that,’ Christian says. ‘It drives Mum mad. She always makes herself at home when she comes round ours, but my mum’s kitchen is my mum’s kitchen, and you’d better have permission even to make yourself a cup of tea or it’ll get her back up. And if you’re caught rooting around in her cupboards for crisps or anything like that, you’re in big trouble.’
I laugh. ‘Was she like that with Clare?’
Christian looks a little taken aback at the mention of his ex-girlfriend’s name, and I regret being so brazen, but he recovers quickly.
‘Yeah, she was a bit.’ He humphs. ‘That’s probably part of the reason she left.’
Johnny and I never did find out why he and Clare split up. Now I’m curious.
‘Doesn’t sound like much to complain about to me,’ Johnny says from beside me. ‘At least you’ve
got
siblings…’
I instantly feel guilty and look down at the footpath.
Christian reaches behind me to slap Johnny on the back. ‘They’re a pain in the arse. You’re much better off with me. Well, us,’ he says, nudging me.
Johnny looks at us both and smiles. ‘So where is this bloody restaurant? Whose stupid idea was it to walk here, anyway?’
‘Why did you and your girlfriend split up?’ I ask Christian, two hours and several glasses of wine later.
‘She ran over my dog.’
‘No!’ I gasp. Johnny sniggers beside me. I give Christian a wry look. ‘You don’t have a dog, do you?’
‘Not since she ran over it, no.’ Christian pulls a sad face.
‘Stop it! Tell me the truth!’ I prod him in the ribs.
‘Ow! Stop it or you’re going to get hurt,’ he warns me.
‘Okay, okay! Spill the beans, then.’
‘We had a difference of opinion,’ he says.
‘Oh. About what?’ I ask.
‘She didn’t have a sweet tooth, Megan. Seriously clashing personalities.’
‘Okay, I give up,’ I say, sitting back in my seat and giving Johnny an unimpressed look. ‘Is he always like this?’ I ask.
‘Afraid so,’ Johnny says, and flags down one of the ridiculously good-looking waitresses to order another bottle of wine for Christian and me. He’s on the spirits again, so Christian and I have got through two bottles on our own.
‘Oh no, I don’t think I can drink any more,’ I protest.
The waitress looks at the three of us, waiting for a final answer.
‘We’ll take that bottle,’ Johnny tells her. Even in the dim lighting I can see she’s on edge. She’s trying to be professional and not seem overawed by her customer’s star status, but it can’t be easy. We’ve already been interrupted three times by other diners wanting autographs. Johnny signs them, quite happily, even with his mouth full.
‘Seriously, I’ll fall over if I drink much more,’ I inform him.
‘We’re not going to have a difference of opinion about alcohol
consumption, are we, Nutmeg?’ Johnny asks, raising his eyebrow. ‘Anyway, we’ll pick you up, won’t we, Christian?’
By the time we get to our next venue, I am positively steaming. I wanted to go back to the hotel, but the boys dragged me to a club and I was too far gone to object. Right now I’m sitting in a darkened booth surrounded by Christian, Johnny and the four members of the band who have joined us following their ‘erotic adventure’.
They’re stoned now as well as drunk, and are not shy around me regarding what they got up to. If I weren’t so drunk myself I’d probably feel sickened. As it is, I’m feeling sickened anyway, thanks to all that wine.
‘You alright, Megan?’ Christian slurs in my ear.
‘No,’ I slur back. ‘Feel like I’m going to throw up.’
‘She’s not going to chuck up here, is she?’ TJ butts in.
‘Want me to take you to the bathroom, Megan?’
‘Mmm…’ I nod my head, although I don’t really want Christian to take me. Where are your girlfriends when you need them? ‘Actually,’ I say, ‘I think I’d rather go back to the hotel.’
‘Okay.’ He gets up and holds out his hand for me. I slowly scoot along the booth seat. Johnny grabs my arm.
‘Where are you going?’ he asks, annoyed.
‘I’m taking her back to the hotel,’ Christian tells him.
‘Why?’
‘Look at her, Johnny, she’s wasted.’
I stumble slightly and Christian holds me up.
‘She’s alright. You’re alright, aren’t you, Nutmeg?’ Johnny tries to sound jolly.
‘No,’ I shake my head.
Christian starts to lead me away.
‘Oh, come on,’ Johnny calls. ‘The party’s only just starting!’
‘See you tomorrow, mate,’ Christian calls back.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ is the last thing I hear Johnny say before Christian manoeuvres me through the packed club.
I barely remember the taxi ride back to the hotel. The next thing I know I’m outside my room.
‘Can’t find my key,’ I say with frustration, and empty the contents of my bag onto the corridor carpet. Christian immediately bends down to retrieve the key, then picks up my belongings and stuffs them back into my bag while I stagger up against the wall.
‘Whoa, you alright, Meg?’
I don’t answer. He puts the key in the lock and turns it, helping me into my bedroom.
‘Gotta go bathroom,’ I say.
Five minutes later he knocks on the bathroom door. ‘Meg, I’m worried. Can I come in?’
‘Yeah. Urgh…’
I’m kneeling on the floor in front of the toilet. I haven’t been able to throw up.
‘Jeez, let me help you out of your coat–you must be boiling,’ he says, before adding, ‘I’ve called room service. They’re bringing up some toast.’ He seems remarkably sober considering how much he had to drink. But then, maybe that’s just in comparison to me.
He makes me eat two slices before sitting me on the bed and pulling back the covers. He kneels down and removes my high heels then leans me forward and unzips my dress. ‘You can take it off when I’ve gone,’ he tells me, ever the gentleman.
But like a lunatic I tug it over my head and it gets stuck, so he has to jump in and help me out of it. Luckily, I wore a bra tonight.
He sits on the armchair opposite the bed.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask, blearily.
‘I’m staying with you.’ He wriggles around.
‘Don’t be silly. I’ll be fine.’
‘Meg, don’t argue with me.’
‘Christian, I’m okay. Go to bed.’
‘No, Meg. Go to sleep.’
‘In that case,’ I say, groggily shifting over in my bed, ‘sleep up here.’
He looks over at me in my nice, king-size bed and doesn’t have to be told twice. ‘Only if you’re sure.’
‘Sure I’m sure.’ I roll over and close my eyes.
In the early hours of the morning I awake, feeling horribly worse for wear. I groan.
‘You okay?’ Christian murmurs.
‘Why did I do that?’ I hold my hand to my head.
‘You didn’t have much choice. He’s very hard to say no to.’
‘You manage to, most of the time.’
‘It’s taken years of practice.’ His voice is even deeper than usual. He sounds rough.
I slowly sit up in bed. I really need some headache tablets, but I don’t want to get out of bed wearing next to nothing.
‘What do you need?’ Christian asks, sensing my anxiety.
I tell him.
‘Where are they?’
‘In my washbag in the bathroom.’
He brings the tablets back, along with a glass of water.
‘Get that down you.’
I do as he says and then lie back down beside him. My arm rubs hard against his. I instinctively edge away.
Suddenly he gets out of the bed.
‘Where are you going?’ I ask, startled.
‘I’m going to head back to my room.’ He pulls his trousers on. ‘You’re alright now, yeah?’
‘Yes, I’m fine.’
He slips his shoes on and grabs his jacket, heading to the door.
‘See you for breakfast?’
‘Sure.’
It occurs to me for a horrible moment that Johnny might see him come out of my room and jump to the wrong conclusion. But he doesn’t. And when I finally emerge later that morning, Christian has already set off for the airport.