Chapter Three

It wasn’t actually on all the channels. The kids’ channels and a couple of the mainstream ones were showing the usual weekend cartoons. There was a repeat of Match of the Day, a documentary with colour footage of the first world war, and what looked like Grand Prix qualifying. But on just about all of the others Marty, in one shape or form, was popping up at least once every half an hour - and he wasn’t even there to enjoy it.

“Police in Arizona have said that they are concerned for the wellbeing of the pop singer Martin King, who disappeared from his ranch near Tucson on Friday night. King, 35, rose to fame in the early 1990s as a member of boy band BackBeat. Hugely successful in the UK and Europe, they were known for their fanatical teenage fans. His disappearance in Manchester in November 1995 was one of the factors which ultimately caused the band to split. King was found in Liverpool, dazed and seemingly suffering from amnesia, several months later, but his whereabouts during those months has never been adequately explained. Rumours that this latest disappearance is linked to events ten years ago are believed to be being investigated by police.”

Jeff couldn’t help thinking that the pictures they showed of the local police didn’t give any indication that they had the faintest notion of what they were dealing with. It was probably easier that way. At least, it was easier as long as he actually showed up again soon. If he didn’t it would be a bloody disaster.

“After a period out of the public eye, King returned to the pop scene in 1998 with the award-winning album Mind Games. Awarded a record 14 Brit awards, King has also received a number of Ivor Novello awards for songwriting jointly with his partner Stephen Warren.
However, his most recent album The Black One was generally regarded as a flop, at a time when his former BackBeat band mates have been topping the charts with their comeback single “Back in the Day”. Jeffrey Hands, Duncan Woods, Sebastian Morrison and Jake McDonald were last night playing to a packed house at London’s 02 Arena, and have so far not made any formal comment on the fate of their former bandmate.”

Footage of them performing at the Brit awards came onto the screen, which made Jeff immediately change channel – only to hit archive footage from an interview which they had done in the very early days, where the shoulder pads were so big they all looked like American footballers. Then he hit their last video from the first time around, with lots of waves and surfboards. Mouse came in just as they screened the footage of him talking to the fan in the reception the night before.

“Morning. You all right?”

“I’m fine. I’ll be better once we’ve all agreed what we are going to do about this, and better still once they’ve found the bugger, but I’m fine.” Jeff took a glug of black tea, and wished that he was still allowed milk and sugar. “Still can’t wait to get to Wembley at the end of the week.”

Mouse looked at him, a bit unsure, but saw that he did still mean it. There was actually no reason why he shouldn’t, so long as nobody did anything stupid.

“Can’t wait to see the crowd again?”

Jeff was staring at the TV and didn’t seem to hear him.

“Was it a camera phone that she got you on last night?”

“Can phones do video?. I didn’t see any proper gear or anything, though. Jeff, believe me, I didn’t mean to say anything. I know what we agreed.”

Jeff turned round, amused at his concern.

“That’s nothing to worry about. You were great. Much better than if we had actually decided to say something. You know how to say the right thing, you do.”

“Thanks. But still….”

“Don’t worry about it. At least it means that they had something else to show apart from you bawling your eyes out on Parky.”

Mouse smiled broadly at the memory.

“Oh God. Long hair, and wearing some strange flowery thing. Don’t remind me.”

“I tell you, watching some of this stuff this morning has been a bit like watching our obituaries. Did you hear the BBC were calling you Sebastian? I’d almost forgotten that was your name.”
“Can you watch an obituary? I thought you only got those in the papers.”

Jeff didn’t hear. He was flicking through the channels, and had found the footage of Mouse in the reception again.

“I think it might have been a camera phone, you know. There are some really good Panasonics just come out. Might go and treat myself when this is all done.”

He kept hold of the remote, ignoring the rest of the room as the others arrived.

Duncan was the last one to join them, looking as if he either hadn’t slept or hadn’t woken up. In the end it had been a good evening: the hotel had done a reasonable job of keeping out the nutters, and nobody bothered him with too much Marty crap. He’d ended up crashing the end of a thirtieth birthday party which had been held in one of the function rooms, and spent most of the night in the bar with a group of nurses and Jake’s dad. Ed had been a bit of a pain in the arse, presumably on Jeff’s orders, but it still felt like the morning after a good night before. And Nicola had been nowhere to be seen.

He sat down next to Mouse, and asked him if he was still really, really, really, really, really, really, really cut up about it all.
“Cut it out. I only used five, I think.”

“Four, actually.” Jake disliked imprecision.

“OK, let’s get on with this.” Jeff’s management face was back “Thank you everyone for coming out on a Sunday. We all know why we are here, and I have to say that I really, really” He glared at Duncan who was about to try to derail him, “I really, really wish that we weren’t. Anyhow, I reckon we need to decide what we need to do in terms of press response, and also whether there is anything we need to do about the shows scheduled for the next few weeks.”

It was actually reasonably painless. The biggest problem was the things that they were all afraid of, and those weren’t actually happening – at least, not yet. Most of what they needed to achieve they actually got from being in the same room with everyone, telling one another that it was all still OK. There was no indication of a backlash against them, although the timing of Marty’s disappearance shortly before they were due to open at Wembley had not gone unnoticed. A formal statement would almost certainly be interpreted as meaning exactly the opposite of whatever it was that they said. Keeping on saying the same things would also be taken to mean that they didn’t mean whatever it was that they kept on saying. So the plan was just to say what they meant, so long as it wasn’t that Mart was a skanking scheming bastard and they hoped that he never came back, and to say it at reasonably regular intervals and using different words. The same with the concerts: no change to the set lists, and they would see what they needed to add into the links nearer the time. The only warning came from the record company rep, who was a stand-in and nobody could remember his name.

“It’s going to need to be different every night, though, lads. If Marty’s still missing, the papers are still going to be looking for news. Everything you say up on that stage could be a headline. And everything you say when you’re not up there, too.”

“No pressure there, then, Duncs.” Jake tried for a reaction as the suits were leaving.

“It’s OK. I know when to keep me gob shut. And I do hope the silly bastard’s OK, even if I do still hate him too.”

“It’s me’s got to be careful. After all that shit he said about me, they’re going to want to twist anything I say just to keep it interesting.” Jeff walked over to the window “Maybe I need to find other ways to make it interesting”

“It’ll be OK. You’ll see. It’s not like any of us ever did anything bad to him. People will see that. I know they will.” The world according to Mouse was generally a pretty benign place, but everything everyone had said just seemed to confirm it. Jeff was happy to be told to stop beating himself up, at least for the time being.

The others were about to leave him alone to his thoughts and his gizmos when there was a knock at the door. Room service. A hesitant waiter came in carrying a tray with four glasses of thick, green liquid on it, and set it down on the table by the window. Ever since the reunion, Jake had done his bit to keep their collective body and soul together by encouraging the others to share his passion for organic food and strange dietary supplements. The others regarded it on the same level as Jeff’s tendency to buy gadgets and burst into tears, or Duncan sleeping with the fans. Jeff took one of the glasses with a resigned air and gulped it down, only to nearly spit it all back out again.

“Christ, Jake. What the fuck have you had them put in there this time?”

Mouse was struggling to swallow his as well, but was a bit quieter about it. Duncan was still standing holding the glass, looking at it as if it was likely to answer back.

“It’s called spirulina. It’s a sort of algae, and it’s got all sorts of minerals and stuff. I thought we all needed a boost.” Jake seemed genuinely unperturbed by the taste, which managed to be bitter and cloying at the same time.

Mouse held his breath and tried to down it, but the aftertaste was unbelievably foul.

“Oh God. Is it actually meant to taste like that?”

“It’s not that bad. You get used to it.” Jake was nonplussed.

Duncan eventually took the plunge, swigging deep, and instantly regretted it. He couldn’t bring himself to swallow, although he tried a couple of times. Jeff saw what was happening, and grabbed his phone just as Duncan spat it back out, through the hand with which he had covered his mouth. His white T-shirt had green, swampy rivulets running down it as he dashed for the bathroom to drink water from the tap. Jeff, meanwhile, had started laughing: he laughed as freely as he cried. His laughter started from his toned, fake-tanned belly and rapidly spread out to swallow up the rest of him. He was laughing from the soles of his feet as he waved his phone screen at Mouse.

“Oh that’s great. A great one for the family album, that is.”

A stream of obscenities rang out from the bathroom, over the sound of the running tap.