Yours Remotely

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 8

I had asked Ben to drive me to London. The road trip with him and his friend, Connor, was an experience. Connor was a relentless joker, and during the four-hour drive, he never stopped talking, except when Ben or I were talking. Ben had brought a pile of CDs that he played so loudly that the speakers were ready to rupture.

Connor was Ben’s best friend. They had known each other since they were five and Connor’s family had moved to the area, making them classmates. Connor had grown up to be a tall man, but that was about the only positive thing I could say about his appearance. He was funny-looking and had dark hair that resembled an afro. He liked to jokingly complain that Ben got all the women and he was stuck with their ugly friends. Connor had a good sense of humour, but Gwen and mum’s suggestions that Connor and I would make a great couple fell on deaf ears. Ben and I were equally horrified by the idea although for different reasons. Nobody ever asked for Connor’s opinion, and I didn’t need to. He was into small, slim and long-haired blondes. I was too big, too dark and too short-haired. The idea was stillborn.

* * *

Friday night in London was busy as expected, but Ben, who had lived in the city for a year once upon a time, knew the best bars near our hotel. We finally found a place that wasn’t too busy or too quiet, and we managed to find ourselves a three-seater table.

When Connor went to get us another round, Ben raised his almost empty glass and looked at me. “So, who’s this mysterious friend of yours that you’ve come to see?”

My face flashed a guilty red. “An old school friend.”

“Who?”

I sipped on my cocktail while I desperately racked my brain for a female equivalent of the name Gary and failed. I eventually came up with Mary. Mary was such an ordinary name that Ben couldn’t possibly remember any Mary in particular.

“Mary,” he repeated. His face didn’t light up in recollection of me ever having had a friend called Mary, but Ben didn’t seem to think of it as important. “Where is she tonight? Should she not come out and meet you now that you’re here?”

What was this? An interrogation?

“She couldn’t get the night off. Don’t worry, I’m sure Mary’s not your type.”

Ben stuck his tongue out at me. “Didn’t want to meet her anyway.”

I followed his gaze to the bar where Connor was trying to chat up two women – in the hope that he would get lucky with at least one of them. One of them was short and blonde although not particularly skinny. The other one was a redhead with glasses who obviously thought that Connor was the biggest moron of all time.

“Helen is leaving. Next Friday.”

Ben’s words took me by surprise. He had switched from an interrogator straight to a confused young man.

“What are you going to do?” I asked and grabbed the slice of lemon stuck to the rim of my glass, proceeding to suck it.

“Don’t do that in front of Connor or you’re in trouble,” Ben pointed out and raised his eyebrows at my slice of lemon. I blushed again. I hadn’t thought that lemon slices could be suggestive.

“What makes you think I should do anything?” Ben asked with his arms folded. Although he put on a brave front, I thought he wanted help. He didn’t even notice the good-looking brunette who walked past and gave him a long, admiring look.

“It couldn’t possibly be that you have talked about her non-stop for the past two years.” I pushed my empty glass nearer the edge of the table.

Ben glared at me. “I have not.”

“If you haven’t, then you shouldn’t be bothered that she’s leaving.”

Up at the bar, the redhead looked bored to death although, surprisingly enough, her friend seemed to be deep in conversation with Connor.

Ben decided to ignore my sarcasm. “So, what should I do?”

I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms, mimicking my brother. “You should ask for her phone number. It doesn’t take more than that.”

“And what if she doesn’t want to give me her number?”

I rolled my eyes. “Why wouldn’t she? You haven’t been such an awful workmate, have you? Everybody exchanges phone numbers when someone leaves.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.” Ben sounded unconvincing and let out a big sigh.

Connor returned with our drinks. He sat down looking well pleased with himself. He glanced over at the women who were still at the bar.

“At least one of us is getting lucky tonight,” he said confidently.

I kept my opinion to myself.

* * *

After a busy day, Saturday night finally arrived. After a lot of humming and hawing, I had settled on a denim skirt and heeled boots. I started to regret my choice while queuing outside the studio due to security checks. The wind outside was freezing, and although there were only half a dozen people in front of me, getting in seemed to take forever. At the door, I was handed a visitor pass to accompany my ticket. Then we were led down long corridors and staircases into the studio where the set was going to be recorded.

The room was small, with approximately fifty seats. I sat down in the third row from the back, near the aisle. I looked around and concluded that the studio was probably also used for TV since all kinds of strange-looking lamps and camera racks hung from the ceiling. I could tell all this after my lengthy television career of one afternoon.

Three men busied themselves on stage with microphones and other sound equipment. There was nothing to stop me running to the stage – except the knowledge that I would be thrown out and catch everyone’s attention.

The remaining seats quickly filled up after my arrival. Only a few minutes later, eight o’clock on the dot, the band appeared. Their entrance was modest; first Jamie with his drumsticks in hand, then Mick and Alex and, finally, Gary. They took their spots on stage, Gary’s being at the microphone stand near the edge of the stage. He glanced at the crowd as if to greet them and then turned to look at his bandmates. Seconds later, ‘Liar’ hit the air.

The band played a total of ten songs that night. The second, much to the crowd’s liking, was ‘Rushing Forward’ before a couple of album tracks I didn’t recognise. Then they slowed down a little and played their first single, ‘Jetlag’, followed by something different. Their only cover that night was of Radiohead’s classic, ‘Creep’, which they played acoustically. I would never have called myself a Radiohead fan, but this version had me enthralled. I could totally relate to the lyrics, and Gary’s voice suited the song perfectly. He sang it so beautifully that I thought I would be nothing but a puddle of melted wax under my chair by the end of the song. I might as well have evaporated because he had given no indication that he even noticed I was there. Towards the end of the song, I found myself wiping tears from my eyes and hoping that the gig would end so that I could return to my hotel room and cry myself to sleep.

I was relieved when the band picked up pace again and played three album tracks. I could barely tear my eyes off Gary. Even though he was playing in front of a small crowd, Gary might as well have been headlining at Wembley Stadium. He sang his heart out and gave the audience his all – except me, of course.

The gig ended with a fantastic rendition of ‘A Series of Unfortunate Misunderstandings’. The band disappeared as quickly as they had arrived and left me feeling empty.

Security was quick to get us out of the studio. I was drifting down the corridor in the 50-strong crowd when someone called me.

“Miss Woods,” I heard again from somewhere behind my back.

I stopped and pushed my back against the wall, but the young man behind me still walked straight into me. After we exchanged apologies, I noticed a huge man standing nearby and looking at me.

“Miss Woods?” he asked.

I admitted that it was me even though I wasn’t often called Miss.

“Come with me,” the man said, gesturing in the opposite direction.

A couple of passers-by glanced at me curiously when I followed the big man. He did not waste time explaining but guided me through the labyrinthine building towards the unknown.

Suddenly, after we went through yet another fire door, we encountered Gary with a can of beer in his hand. He greeted the big man with a nod and said, “I’ll take over from here, Biggo.” Gary wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

The man who had brought me over gave us a knowing look and went back in the direction we had come from.

Gary took me in through a door on the left and explained, “Biggo takes his job very seriously.”

I found myself in a dressing room where the rest of the band was having an animated conversation. Jamie looked very focused on his drumsticks, Mick was typing a text message, and Alex was in the middle of changing into a clean t-shirt, and at the same time, they were all talking loudly over each other. Gary asked me to wait for a moment and disappeared through the door in the back wall.

Mick greeted me cheerfully, and I made a point of asking who Biggo was.

“Biggo is our tour manager. He does security and whatever else needs doing.” Mick grinned. “Biggo’s a real jack-of-all-trades.”

“And why is he called Biggo?”

All three of them laughed out loud.

“His real name is Oscar, but because he’s such a big guy, he quickly became Big O, and over time, that became Biggo. This was long before our time,” Alex explained.

“And probably long before we were even born,” Mick added.

Alex and Jamie chuckled. Alex pulled a box of cigarettes out of his pocket. “Anybody else coming out for a smoke?”

Mick and Jamie declined, and I shook my head. Alex went out on his own.

A moment later, Gary reappeared in a fresh set of clothes. He was now in a white t-shirt with NO written on the front in bold, black letters. He stepped over to me, put his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eyes. “I didn’t want to smell all sweaty around you.”

Before I could reply, he turned around and grabbed his beer off the table.

“Where’s Alex?” he asked when he realised the bassist was gone.

“Went for a smoke,” Jamie answered. He didn’t look up from the drumsticks he was trying to fit into a bag.

“I wouldn’t say no to a smoke. You coming?” Gary turned to look at me.

I agreed and followed him into the corridor. Walking behind him, I noticed that the back of his t-shirt said YES. I caught up with him and said, in answer to his question, that I was keeping well. I asked him how he had known I was there when he had never even looked in my direction.

Gary grinned. “I picked you out of that crowd long before you had seen me.”

Then he swung around towards me and pushed my back against the wall. I thought he was about to kiss me, but he didn’t even though his lips were only an inch from mine.

“Just wait until I get you to my room,” he whispered hoarsely. He was so close that his eyelashes almost touched mine. Then he took a couple of steps back and pointed at the stairs and the exit sign at the end of the corridor. I followed him into the crisp night air.

Behind the door was a fabulous rooftop terrace. It was not huge, but big enough. I was relieved to see that there was a gap between the handrail and the edge of the roof.

“Cool view or what,” Alex said when he noticed us. He pushed his cigarettes towards Gary and then towards me. I declined again. He pushed the box back in his back pocket.

“It is that,” Gary said while trying to shelter the lighter Alex had handed him from the wind. I stood next to Gary with my arms crossed and wondered why he and Alex did not appear to be cold even though they were only in their t-shirts. I had to admit that the terrace did have a fantastic view over London. I hadn’t realised how high up we were.

“‘Creep’ went really well,” Alex remarked and looked at Gary.

“Really well, much better than I had expected. What did you think?” Gary turned to look at me.

“It was beautiful,” I said. I did not want to start weeping in front of him and Alex.

“Maybe we should add it to the setlist. I mean, for the tour,” Gary said, turning back to Alex, who nodded in agreement. I realised I had become an outsider as the pair of them discussed the technicalities of ‘Creep’ and other songs they wanted to play on tour. Gary was excited about some new song that had no title yet but that he wanted to test in front of a live audience as soon as possible. Alex lit another cigarette. Gary realised I was cold and wrapped his free arm around me. Eventually, they both admitted that they were getting cold and realised that I had to be bored of band talk. I told them that I felt privileged to be let in on private conversations between band members. That made them laugh and we moved back into the dressing room where Mick and Jamie told us they’d been waiting for us. Everybody was supposed to leave the studio in a minibus even though Mick was going home to his girlfriend and Jamie and Alex were heading out. Gary explained that we were going to a hotel.

“Hotel? Why are you staying in a hotel in your own city?” I wondered out loud.

Gary looked embarrassed. “Well, sometimes it’s just handier.”

“Gary’s so young he hasn’t moved out of his parent’s house yet,” Alex said with a grin.

Gary shot him a murderous look but carried on packing his bag.

“And Gary’s mum doesn’t want him to bring women to her house,” Mick joked.

Gary responded by throwing an empty beer can in Mick’s direction. The look on Gary’s face told me that his friends were telling the truth.

“Gary’s the baby in the band,” Alex pointed out confidentially when walking past me, “only 21.” He whistled carelessly and left the room.

“You’re one to speak,” Gary shouted after him even though he must have known that Alex could no longer hear him and would not care anyway. “Alex was 22 in November. I’m only a year younger than them.”

I felt old. My 24th was only three months away.

Gary took his bag and then my arm.

“Let’s go. Patience is not a virtue Biggo was blessed with.”

* * *

Getting into the hotel room was like a military operation. Gary didn’t want anybody to see us going in together, so he got off at the side door. Half a block later, Biggo stopped the van, and I stepped off at the front door. Mick, who was still aboard on his way to his girlfriend Sheila, tried to convince me that people would look at me curiously. The hotel was known for its famous clientele. I told him I had nothing to worry about; it was obvious that I was no superstar.

I was right. When I entered the lobby, a couple of people glanced at me, but when they didn’t recognise me, they let me go about my business. I tried to look casual even though I had never set foot in the place before and had no idea where I was going.

Gary had told me the room number was 413. I presumed that it was on the fourth floor, but it was only a presumption, and the hotel was enormous. I stepped into the elevator and went up to the fourth floor. Once there, I followed the signs, but it felt like a long walk. It was quiet all around, and I didn’t meet a single person. I started to wonder if there was a room 413 in the hotel. Maybe he’d said 314? I’d be mortified if I knocked on the wrong door…

I finally reached 413. I took a deep breath, then knocked and waited. Knowing my luck, it would be opened by some fat, balding businessman, not Johnny Depp or Julia Roberts or whoever might be in London filming their latest blockbuster. Then the door opened and Gary stood behind it. He let me in and moved the DO NOT DISTURB sign from the back of the door to the outside.

“We’ll have use for that.” He raised his eyebrows in that naughty way he had. Then he put the safety chain in place and helped me out of my coat.

“Do you want a drink?” he asked and stepped to the TV to turn it down.

Shivering, I said I would have some tea.

“Tea. A woman after my own heart,” he said with a smile and flicked the kettle on.

I sat down on the bed to wait.

“Sugar?”

“One please.” It was strange to think we knew one another’s tea drinking preferences.

Gary put a cup on the bedside locker on my side, walked around the bed and put his cup on the other one. Then he sat down behind me with a leg on each side of me.

“You’re shivering,” he said and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me closer to him. His warmth and the steaming hot tea soon thawed me out all the way down to my toes. Reaching out for our cups from the bedside lockers on opposite sides of the bed, we swayed from side to side as if in a rowing boat.

As the teacups emptied, Gary’s hands moved from my stomach, slowly made their way up and eventually reached my breasts.

* * *

I woke up to a knock on the door. While I was trying to escape back to sleep, I heard the safety chain being removed, muffled voices and then some clattering and the click of the door. When I finally tried to open my eyes, I could just about distinguish the outline of Gary who was bustling around the table.

I was about to sit up when he turned to face me. His face lit up when he realised I was awake. “Morning. I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I ordered a bit of everything,” he said with a slightly embarrassed nod towards the table.

I sat up and eyed the contents of the tray. There was everything from croissants to toast and yoghurt to strawberries. Gary raised his eyes to the ceiling.

“Woman, give the man a moment’s peace to eat. This engine needs fuel to run too, you know.”

After a moment’s confusion, I understood what he meant and pulled the duvet up to cover my breasts. With flushed cheeks, I looked around for my clothes.

“Here,” Gary said and tossed me a sparkling white bathrobe from the coat rack.

With muttered thanks, I crawled inside the bathrobe and got up for breakfast. Gary poured us tea from a massive pot.

We breakfasted mostly in silence. I suddenly couldn’t think of anything to say, and Gary was quiet too. By the time we only had strawberries left, I was stuffed. Gary looked from me to the strawberries and back again, wanting me to start. I took one and dipped it in whipped cream. Then I had another one and another one again. Gary didn’t get anywhere near as many as I did but didn’t seem to mind. When I was about to take a bite of the last, large strawberry, he suddenly brought his fist down on the table and looked away while letting out a frustrated sigh. I stopped mid-motion, my mouth open in anticipation of the juicy strawberry. For a few seconds, I sat frozen still while Gary drummed the table with his fingers. Then he stood up, hastily ran his fingers through his hair and stepped over to me. He grabbed my arm so firmly that I knew his fingers would leave a bruise on it and pulled me to my feet. I looked at him in surprise. There was something about him that worried me.

After a moment’s silence, I heard my phone ring. I looked from Gary to my handbag and back again. He let go of my arm so quickly and suddenly that it swung back between us. I hurried to answer the phone. It was Ben.

“Where the hell are you? I’ve been knocking on your door for the last ten minutes and there’s no reaction. We have to check out in an hour and-”

“It was a bit of a late one last night. I didn’t come back to the hotel.”

“You didn’t come back! You can’t walk the streets of London in the middle of the night-”

“I didn’t. Everything is fine, and I’m all good. I’ll be there in half an hour.” I rang off before he had a chance to respond.

I stuffed the remainder of the strawberry I was still squeezing between my fingers into my mouth.

“That was my brother. I have to go,” I said and started picking my clothes up off the floor.

Gary said nothing. His hands rested on the table top, and his eyes were fastened to it. I slunk past him into the bathroom and tried to make myself presentable. I returned to the room where Gary was cleaning up after our breakfast. He looked annoyed.

I stopped at the bathroom door and repeated, “I have to go.”

As if in slow motion, Gary stacked a glass inside another one. Then he took a couple of steps towards me.

“We have a gig down your way sometime in March or April. I’ll let you know when.”

I nodded and headed for the door. When I turned back to say something to him, he had his back to me again and I saw him kick the leg of a chair in frustration.