Johnny Be Good Read online

  Phew.

  ‘I don’t really know else what to do.’ I glance back at the computer screen. Someone’s just posted a message.

  ‘Go for a swim?’ he suggests, helpfully.

  ‘Santiago’s just treated the pool.’ I strain to read what it says.

  ‘Go for a drive?’

  ‘I don’t have a car.’ Something about his gig next week.

  ‘You can take one of my cars.’

  ‘Really?’ Now he has my full attention.

  ‘Sure. The Porsche 911 would be okay to use.’

  ‘The Porsche?’ I’m flabbergasted.

  ‘Sure. Why not? You can drive, can’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but are you really going to let me drive your Porsche?’

  ‘Maybe not the Carrera GT, but the 911 is fine.’

  I don’t actually know what he’s talking about. ‘Porsche’ is ‘Porsche’ to me, although it does sound like he has two.

  ‘Wicked!’ I reply with delight. ‘Maybe I’ll do that next weekend?’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ He stands up and pokes his head out of the door.

  ‘Christian, what the hell are you doing? Get your arse in here!’

  ‘Alright, fuckwit, I was just talking to Davey.’

  A man who I can only assume to be Christian enters the room. He has straight, black hair, cut indie-boy style.

  ‘Hi.’ He comes around to my side of the desk to shake my hand. ‘I’m this tosser’s mate from back home,’ he informs me in a Geordie accent. He’s about the same height as Johnny, but not as lean, and his skin is positively pasty in comparison.

  ‘Christian’s going to be using the office a bit,’ Johnny explains. ‘You can use that desk,’ he tells his friend, making a poor attempt to tidy up a messy pile of paperwork. I get up and take the papers from him, relocating them to my desk.

  ‘Christian’s writing my biography, aren’t you, mate? Going to tell it like it is, eh?’

  ‘Yep. About time the world knew what a wanker you are.’ They both laugh and play-punch each other.

  ‘That chilli still okay to eat?’ Johnny asks me.

  ‘Um, I don’t think so.’ I rack my brains. ‘There’s some spaghetti Bolognese in the freezer. I could defrost it if you like?’

  ‘Cool. You want some, too, Meg?’

  ‘So how are the preparations for Thursday going?’ Christian’s dark-brown eyes flick between Johnny and me once we’re all seated outside on the terrace. I’m facing away from the view this time so Christian can have the pleasure.

  Johnny stares across at me. ‘Don’t ask her, she didn’t even know I had a gig coming up.’

  ‘No shit?’ Christian’s eyes widen in shock.

  I feel my face heat up.

  Johnny grins. ‘Preparations are going fine, mate. Record company have it in hand. Nothing left to do except write some fucking songs.’

  ‘Have you got any new material?’ Christian asks.

  ‘A few songs, yeah, but it’s still a work in progress.’

  I’d like to know more about the gig, but I’m too embarrassed to ask in case I get ridiculed again. I turn to Christian instead.

  ‘Have you written much of your book?’

  ‘No,’ he answers. ‘I’m kicking it off with the comeback on Thursday.’

  ‘So, mate,’ Johnny interrupts. ‘Up for a big one tonight?’

  ‘No way,’ Christian moans. ‘I’m fucking jet-lagged.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’ Johnny waves his hand dismissively and Christian gives him a wry look.

  ‘How’s Serengeti? You still seeing her?’ Christian continues.

  ‘You should know,’ Johnny answers. ‘Fucking journo,’ he elaborates, tapping a fag out onto the tabletop and lighting up.

  Christian chuckles. ‘I don’t believe anything I read unless I’m the one who wrote it.’ He stands up and starts to clear the plates.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get those,’ I say.

  ‘Thanks.’ He hands me his empty plate and Johnny’s almost full one. ‘I’m gonna take my bag up,’ he says. ‘Am I in the gold room?’ he asks Johnny.

  ‘You’re in whichever room you like,’ Johnny replies, reaching across the table and flicking his ash onto his pile of half-eaten spaghetti. ‘Except for Meg’s, of course. Keep your hands off my staff.’

  Christian rolls his eyes and heads back indoors.

  ‘See you downstairs in twenty,’ Johnny calls after him.

  ‘I’m telling you now, I’m not having a late one,’ Christian calls back.

  ‘Sure you’re not, mate.’ Johnny grins at me. ‘Can you book Davey?’ He discards his cigarette onto the ground and gets up.

  ‘Sure,’ I reply. ‘Guest list anywhere?’

  ‘Nah. We’re kicking off round TJ’s place.’

  ‘TJ…’

  ‘Member of my band,’ he explains.

  ‘Oh.’ Should I have known that?

  After they’ve left I try to get enthusiastic about going for another swim in the pool or watching a film in the private cinema, but in the end I just wander upstairs to bed.

  Chapter 6

  Thirty-one…Oh, I give up.

  It’s seven o’clock in the morning and I’m out in the pool doing my laps. I reach the shallow end and stand up, wringing my hair out as I climb up the steps.

  It’s another glorious day. I wrap a towel around myself and stand there on the stone terrace, looking down at the city. The smog has lifted and it’s just blue, blue skies as far as I can see.

  I hear a loud yawn from behind me and turn around to find Christian, in boxer shorts and a T-shirt, stretching his arms above his head.

  ‘Hi.’ He smiles, sleepily. ‘Nice day.’

  ‘Sure is.’ I smile back.

  ‘How’s the water?’ He motions towards the pool.

  ‘Gorgeous. You going in?’

  ‘Nah.’ He shakes his head and yawns again. ‘Maybe later.’

  ‘You’re up early.’

  ‘Jet lag,’ he explains.

  ‘What time did you guys come in last night?’ I didn’t hear them.

  ‘I cracked at about midnight. Fuck knows about Johnny. He’ll probably walk in the door at any moment.’

  Hmm, so Johnny doesn’t always get his own way, then.

  ‘You hungry?’ he asks me, pointing his thumb towards the house.

  ‘A little.’

  He waits outside the door for me while I quickly dry off with the towel and put on the fluffy bathrobe that I found in my bathroom. He slides the door closed behind us and follows me to the kitchen. It’s Monday morning and Rosa will be here soon.

  ‘Toast? Fruit? Cereal?’ he asks.

  ‘Cereal sounds good.’

  Christian starts opening cupboards and pulling out boxes.

  ‘What is that?’ I point at a colourful box, standing out amongst the more muted tones of mueslis and fibre-based cereals.

  ‘Fruity Pebbles,’ he reads from the box. It’s decorated with cartoon drawings of Fred and Barney from The Flintstones.

  ‘Are you going for the kiddie cereal?’ He asks the question as though he’s speaking to a small child.

  ‘Hell, yeah!’ I reply and he laughs, taking two bowls out of a cupboard and pouring Pebbles, followed by milk, into both. He grabs a couple of spoons from a drawer and brings everything to the table.

  I peer inside the bowl. It’s full of flat, little rice crispy-style things, brightly decorated in all the colours of the rainbow. We both scoop up spoonfuls and shove them into our mouths. It’s really sweet. I start to giggle.

  ‘I fucking love kids’ cereal,’ he tells me between mouthfuls.

  ‘It’s the best,’ I agree.

  ‘So how did you get this job?’ he asks, adding, ‘If you don’t know anything about Johnny…’

  I fill him in.

  ‘So you had to pack up and leave, just like that?’ he looks at me, wide-eyed.

  ‘Yeah.’ I laugh, slightly in disbelief. It still seems so unreal. />
  ‘I love that you don’t know anything about Johnny,’ he says. ‘He’s got way too big an ego as it is.’

  I shrug. ‘So what about your book?’ I ask. ‘How did that come about?’

  ‘Um, well, he pretty much just asked me if I wanted to write one and I thought, why the fuck not?’

  ‘What have we got here, then?’ Rosa appears at the door.

  ‘Hi, Rosa!’ we both chorus. Christian stands up.

  ‘Hello, my boy,’ she says warmly, coming round the table to give Christian a hug. ‘Good to have you back.’ Then she frowns, looking down at the remnants of our cereal. ‘What are you two eating?’

  ‘Fruity Pebbles!’ I tell her, enthusiastically.

  ‘They rock!’ Christian adds.

  Rosa rolls her eyes and starts to put the boxes of cereal away. ‘I could make you a nice omelette or something, if you’d prefer?’ she says. ‘Or a full English breakfast? I know how to do those.’

  ‘No, no, it’s okay.’ I get up. ‘I’d better go and get showered.’

  ‘Yeah, me too,’ Christian says. We take our bowls to the dishwasher, but she snatches them from us and shoos us away. Christian follows me up the stairs.

  ‘No doubt see you in the office,’ he says, breaking off at the top of the stairs to turn left as I go right.

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Half an hour later I walk into the office to find him already in there, tapping away at the keyboard. He smiles and says hi, but his expression is distracted.

  I log onto Facebook. A crazy number of girls have written ‘I love Johnny’ on his wall. Yawn.

  The two gigantic post bags to the side of my desk have been taunting me for days now. I know I should tackle some actual fan mail instead of this online nonsense, but it’s just so addictive. I reluctantly close down the window on my computer and reach for a handful of fan mail. The first envelope I open is plain white with black, spidery handwriting.

  Dear Mr Jefferson,

  I am your biggest fan.

  Yeah, yeah, heard it all before.

  I have listened to your songs on the radio since I was twenty years old. Now, like you, I have just turned thirty. I am sure you will go on to sell many more records. But, sadly, I will not be around to hear them. I am dying of cancer.

  Oh.

  And the only thing that would make me truly happy as I lie on my deathbed, would be to meet you in person and shake your hand…

  I breathe in, sharply.

  ‘You alright?’ Christian peers at me over the top of his screen.

  ‘Hey? Oh yeah, just a horrible fan letter. He’s dying of cancer and wants to meet Johnny.’

  To my surprise, Christian casts his eyes to the heavens.

  ‘What? You think he’s lying?’ I ask.

  ‘No. I mean, he probably is ill. But do you know how many letters Johnny must get like that?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Hundreds. Thousands. He can’t meet everyone.’

  ‘True,’ I concede. ‘So what do I do? Do I show him this one?’

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ Christian says. ‘I’d put it to one side and see how many you get, then decide what to do. There will be ones that you should show him, but you can’t show him everything. That would really do his head in.’

  However horrible it seems, I know Christian’s right. I open another envelope as Christian goes back to tapping on his keyboard.

  As the morning wears on, with Rosa bringing us in regular cups of coffee and freshly baked peanut butter cookies, there’s still no sign of Johnny.

  ‘Did he even come home last night?’ I ask eventually.

  ‘I think so,’ Christian replies, before finally succumbing to his curiosity and my concern. He pushes his chair out from under the desk and stands up. ‘I’ll go check on him.’

  He returns after a couple of minutes. ‘He’s coming down now.’ Ten minutes later, a shirtless, sleepy Johnny stumbles into the office and slumps down in the Eames chair. He’s wearing dark shades.

  ‘Good night?’ I ask brightly, struggling to look at his face and not his chest. It isn’t easy.

  ‘I don’t really remember so I reckon it must’ve been pretty good. You are such a pussy,’ he says to Christian.

  ‘Fuck off,’ his mate replies and keeps on typing.

  ‘Can you stop doing that for a minute?’ Johnny asks.

  ‘Why?’ Christian answers.

  ‘I want to talk to you.’

  Christian’s tapping comes slowly to a stop. ‘What?’ he asks, a little irritably.

  ‘What’s your problem?’ Johnny asks.

  ‘What do you mean, what’s my problem?’ Christian snaps.

  ‘Chill out, mate.’ Johnny grins. ‘Has he been in this mood all morning?’ he asks me.

  ‘Erm,’ I say hesitantly, ‘I think he might just be in the Zone.’

  ‘The fucking Zone.’ Johnny laughs.

  Christian goes back to his keyboard.

  ‘Oh, whatever,’ Johnny says, getting to his feet and ambling towards the door. I follow him.

  ‘Johnny, could we sit down and talk about those photoshoot and interview requests?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. In a while, crocodile,’ he replies, heading into the kitchen. Rosa greets him with her usual gusto, vigorously grabbing his upper arms with her chubby hands and making ‘grr’ noises. He seems to like it.

  ‘What are you up to today?’ she asks, setting about making coffee.

  ‘Today, Rosa, my gorgeous girl, I’ve got the band coming over. Anytime now, in fact.’

  It’s two o’clock.

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’ I ask.

  ‘Nope, Meg. I just got to get myself in ‘the Zone’, that’s all,’ he answers sarcastically.

  The buzzer goes.

  ‘That’ll be them now,’ Johnny says, staying put.

  I head towards the front door. Four scruffy-looking individuals stand behind it, all wearing shades. I stand aside to let them pass. Two carry guitar cases, one has a keyboard, and the last guy is carrying a pair of drumsticks, so I figure the drum kit is already upstairs in the studio. I say hi and introduce myself and they all nod and grunt. I don’t get an introduction back.

  Johnny is at the top of the stairs as they traipse up in the direction of the studio.

  ‘Be with you in a minute, guys,’ he calls out, and heads towards his room at the end of the landing. I watch from the bottom of the stairs as they enter the studio and slam the door shut behind them.

  ‘They were a chatty bunch,’ I say to Christian as I re-enter the office.

  He chuckles. ‘They turned up at the club as I left last night,’ he explains. ‘Late night, I’m guessing. Right.’ He stands up and grabs a pad and pen from his desk. ‘I’m off to take some notes. Catch you later.’

  A couple of hours pass and I manage to put a dent in the fan mail. Occasionally I can hear music coming from the studio upstairs, but it sounds muffled. At 4.30, Christian pops his head around the door. ‘Come up and have a listen,’ he says.

  The music gets louder as we get closer to the studio. He opens the door and ushers me inside. Johnny and the band are behind a glass screen. Johnny is shouting out instructions and the four guys are nodding their acknowledgement. Christian pulls out a chair for me behind the mixing desk and sits down beside me. His notepad in front of him is full of messy scribblings.

  ‘Have you heard any new stuff?’ I ask.

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Who are the band?’

  ‘The drummer’s Lee, TJ is on bass, Mike’s on rhythm and Bri is on keyboards. On tour there’s a much bigger team–backing singers, sax, violins, the lot, but this is more of an acoustic set. Johnny’s playing a couple unaccompanied.’

  I look at Johnny’s side-profile now as he talks to his band, guitar strap stretched across his chest. He’s wearing a tight, faded grey T-shirt. A cord trails from the acoustic guitar hanging behind him, leading to an unseen amp. The band nod at what he’s saying and h
e turns to face the glass, swinging the guitar around into his hands. He starts to strum and Christian turns up the sound on one of the dials in front of him.

  I recognise the tune; it’s an acoustic version of one of his more upbeat hits. Johnny steps up close to the mic, lips touching it as he starts to sing. His voice fills me up, warm and soulful, and I’m mesmerised, rooted to the spot.

  And then he looks up and it’s like an electric shock as his green eyes penetrate me. He’s singing to me and I’m frozen, unable to tear my gaze away. I’m locked in a stare with him.

  And then he looks down, back at his guitar, and doesn’t meet my eyes again. The song finishes and he turns back to his band. It’s as though I was never there.

  I suddenly feel overwhelmed. Tears prick my eyes, and I’m aware of how crazy that sounds, how bizarre it is.

  I glance at Christian and am surprised to find him calmly watching me.

  I stand up, nervy with embarrassment. ‘I should get back to work,’ I say, fidgeting with thin air.

  ‘Right you are,’ he says, and looks down at his hand, pen hovering over a blank sheet in his notepad.

  I walk to the door and glance back at Johnny for a moment, and in that very same instant he meets my eyes again, his expression grave.

  I try to keep my legs steady as I walk out the door.

  Chapter 7

  I reach the end of my length to find a large pair of pale, hairy feet before me.

  ‘Argh!’ I splutter and hang on to the side of the pool, looking up to see Christian grinning down at me.

  ‘Pebbles time?’

  I laugh and tell him I’ll meet him in the kitchen. Twenty-eight will do. I seem to be getting further and further away from my goal of fifty.

  ‘Another late one?’ I ask as I sit down.

  ‘Not too bad, actually,’ he answers. ‘Gig tomorrow night so Johnny’s a bit stressed.’

  ‘What the hell is that?’ Johnny asks as he comes into the kitchen, again wearing dark shades.

  ‘Pebbles,’ I tell him, my heart flipping. I feel like I haven’t seen him for ages. ‘Want some?’

  ‘No way. Looks technicolour vomit.’

  ‘I could get you something else to eat?’