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| PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE by Janey PART 1 Today was a day I’d been dreading for some time. I am meeting up with James, Sean and Nicky of Manic Street Preachers and their manager, Martin Hall, so that they can offer some constructive criticism on the biography of the group that I have ended up co-writing. I am not a journalist; I’m not even a fan. My friend Steph had been researching this book and had written a few chapters of it, before she was taken away from us after developing complications from a horrific car crash. She had been certain she was going to die; we were all optimistic that she would be fine, but it happened so quickly. She developed a blood clot in her brain, and even though they performed emergency surgery, it wasn’t enough. She died whilst under the anaesthetic. In the few days she was alert after the accident and prior to the operation, we had discussed who would finish the book for her, adamant in my mind that she would be coming home and would be able to finish it herself, I had said yes to placate her, and agreed to her request. After all – she was going to be fine. Only she wasn’t. Only after she died did I learn that she had had terminal cancer. Steph was only 36 – the same as me – and we’d been friends for years and years. We had known Richey and Nicky really well during our early school days. As we got a little older, we were introduced to James and Sean, and some little while later, Flicker. We went along to their rehearsals and all of their early gigs, which was just as well or they would have had no audience at all. I always went along to support Richey, though in the early days he was their driver. We always got along well and I loved being with him. He was a sensitive soul, but hell he could make me laugh. Their music never impressed me; it was Steph who was the ardent fan, though I felt she crossed a line by sleeping with Nicky and James at various times over the years. She slept with Richey once as well many years later, but then complained that he avoided her like the plague and wouldn’t even talk with her any more let alone shag her again. One thing we all later learned about Richey; he would never shag a groupie more than the once and in his eyes that’s what Steph had become. Steph had opted to stay in Wales to go to university, but I went to Norwich. Wales was becoming claustrophobic to me and I needed to get away. I missed Steph and Richey like hell, but we made up for it by writing long, long letters to each other. Gradually I got shorter and shorter ones from Steph, but I didn’t mind that because I still had Richey’s to look forward to. We met up whenever we could, but as impoverished students it wasn’t easy. I still went to see them many, many times and always with Steph, but whilst she would go and meet them backstage to chat with them, I just wanted to catch up with Richey and then get away. Richey would meet me in the car park away from everyone else. He was the only one I bothered with at that time because he was my friend, and I loved him and worried about him in equal measure. Over the years there was a marked shift in mood about Richey and I could never understand why no one else could see it; by the time they did it was too late. After university Steph went into journalism, starting as a junior at the local paper, and I eventually became an author. Initially I wrote stories for women’s magazines as a way of making money whilst I was working on my first novel. Three novels later and finally I had one published. Novel number twelve is now being finished, ready for publication. Steph progressed steadily and managed to land a much sought after position with Britains foremost music paper, and a couple of years later she also had her own weekly column in a favourite tabloid. We could afford to see each other more often. We went to as many Manics gigs together as we could, but still I hated it and I could never eloquently express why. Their music had grown incredibly accomplished and was nowhere near as raw and ‘angsty’ as it once was. The clothes were toned down, and the make –up. My friend was no longer a part of the band – where he was – well, we all had our own ideas about that, and mine were at odds with Steph’s. She continued to meet up with them regularly. She would shag James or one of the crew and then carry on with her life. “Aww Karen they really want to meet you. They hear me talking about you and want to know what you’re like now. They haven’t seen you in over ten years, I have no photos of you because you run a mile or twist your head and ruin the shot all the time, and your books don’t have your pictures on the dust jackets. Come on, come and catch up with them again. We’ll have a ball.” She had pleaded with her eyes but I had turned her down. They were a part of my past and had betrayed my friend. Ok so they hadn’t – Richey was his own man and no one could prevent him from living his life his way. I knew that from all of the long letters and telephone conversations that we shared, but still there were times when my irrational mind blamed them in some way. That was me trying to come to terms with my own guilt – displacement the psychotherapists call it. When it came to Richey I always had a nagging feeling that I never did enough and never said the right thing. When he first went I thought that I was going mad. I had dreams about him walking into my home, saying ‘hi’, sitting down with a pen and pad of paper, and nursing a glass of neat vodka like nothing had happened. Then I would wake up, walk into my living room only to crumble in a twisted heap on the floor, sobbing my heart out because he wasn’t there. ‘A tiny animal turned into a quarter circle’ – that was me at those times. I still occasionally dream of Richey now. There are several that I have but one is occurring more and more often, and I find it confusing and unsettling. In it Richey looks happy and healthy, but there is a strange atmosphere to it; an aura I find unnerving. Steph had asked me why I was so worried if Richey seemed so happy and well, and for all words are the tools of my trade, I just could not express my anxieties and concerns concisely at all. My concerns came out as the rantings of a mad woman and I could tell from the way that her brown eyes had clouded over, that she thought I was being over sensitive at the least and utterly psychotic at worst. For once, I was lost to explain my gut instincts and I felt ashamed of myself. The glance of abject pity that she flashed at me did nothing to assuage my discomfort. So here I am, 9 months later and the manuscript has been accepted for publishing subject to endorsement from the guys, and I have to drive to Wales to see them. I’ve tried as hard as humanly possible to get the agent and publishers to deal with it, and then pass a list of their desired changes to me and I would review them. I have no problem in altering things if it made it more factual and more accurate, but no, they would only deal directly with me. My guess is they want me to suffer. I hate it already. For her part Steph had been very honest. She had written about sleeping with them all except Sean, and that she continued to have sex with James on a casual basis practically everytime they met up, knowing how it made her seem. “James is my friend,” she wrote, “he has been for many years. It’s just that sometimes we are two old and lonely friends who have sex together. It is uncomplicated, we trust each other, and neither of us expects anything more. It fulfils a need – we are all human after all.” Steph wasn’t perfect but who the hell was? We all make mistakes at times, and she could always accept that. She lived life to the full; if an opportunity presented itself then she took it and worried about the consequences later. Several times she had told me that the only time she had ever been truly heart broken was when Nicky got married. She loved him and she never stopped loving him. After the last time she had met them before she died, she had called me as soon as she had got home, in floods of tears, her voice shaky and continuously getting hitched in her throat. She still loved him and hugging as a friend and nothing more stung her. He still had the ability to make her stomach do somersaults and get tied up in knots at the same time. Her palms would get sweaty and she would unconsciously start mirroring his actions. But Nicky was a ‘NO GO’ zone. She could have found him naked on her bed and she would still have said ‘no’. Why? Because he was married and she would never knowingly sleep with a married man – no matter how much pain it would cause her to turn him down. I never understood why she would continue to put herself though so much pain and misery time and time again. “It’s easy,” she had answered, “I would rather hurt but still be able to see him and speak with him, than be like you and James.” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” “Look, I love Nicky but I can’t have him, however I still need to see him. You love James but from the first time I had sex with him, you dismissed him from your life. It was easier for you to let go because he hurt you. I could never understand why you never hated me though.” I hadn’t hated her ever – but for a time our friendship was stretched almost to breaking point. Then I came to my senses, why would I discard her as my friend just because she treated men the same way that they usually treated women? Richey was far worse than Steph; different groupies all the time, not showing affection (sex was sex and nothing more. He never saw the point in kissing or cuddling), and having several partners in one night. Yet I never stopped loving him or wanting to take care of him so it would have been hypocritical of me to start preaching to her. The real sickener had been Steph sleeping with James: she knew I liked him – I’d confided in her. James and I were both fine at chatting and joking with each other but we were both painfully shy when it came to moving things on. The realisation that he could have sex with Steph, knowing and accepting that that was all that it would ever be, stung like a bitch. Then, they did it again. Once I could have turned a blind eye to; I could have put it down to curiosity or bravado. Doing it again was like he stabbed me in the back with the sharpest, longest knife he could find. No matter how much I cared for James and wanted our friendship to be something more, I simply couldn’t trust him not to be tempted. I couldn’t trust myself not to give in to him when he flashed those huge sad brown puppy dog eyes at me. It was easier to cut and run and that’s what I told Steph – it wasn’t the first time, it was the second that really did the damage. Not actually liking their music but liking them immensely as people complicated things. My anger at James gave me a reason to have less and less contact with them, then when Richey went I had ceased all contact with them completely. I stood at the back of halls or stadiums so that I could get away quickly and never have to meet them. I still went because Steph wanted me to. I could have driven her to the gigs and then waited in the car for her to take her home after the gig had finished, but no, instead she wasted her money or I would waste mine on a ticket that I didn’t want or appreciate. The older we became, the more I convinced myself that my choice over James had been the correct one. James was still shagging Steph whenever she gave him the ‘come on’, and despite a half a dozen or so well publicised engagements, his inability to commit was legendary. I parked my car in front of the large imposing house situated at the end of an extremely long drive. It wasn’t a hotel but the home of a record company executive friend of Martins who had agreed to have us all stay there whilst he and his family were on holiday. I switched off the engine and the c.d. player, undid my seatbelt and sat rooted to the spot, just staring ahead as though paralysed. Inside that place were three people I hadn’t seen for more years than I cared to remember, three people I was once very close to. How I wanted to turn around and drive straight back home. Confrontations were never my strong point and that was exactly what this was. No nice and fluffy reunion – this had the potential for getting nasty. ‘Come on you stupid woman,” I moaned to myself as I pulled the catch to the boot of the car. ‘Just get in there, record their concerns, give them the usual lame platitudes and leave. With any luck you’ll be back on the road before nightfall.’ The publishers had forwarded galley proofs of the biography to the guys what seemed like an eternity ago, to ensure that they all had ample opportunity to read it thoroughly. This was purgatory. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t little Karen Smith. You look great Karen.” I hadn’t seen or heard anyone approaching me and the shock of hearing that once familiar voice startled me and I hit my head on the roof of the boot, catching the sharp lock mechanism and screamed out ‘FUCKING HELL FIRE!’ at the top of my voice. I ran my hand over my throbbing scalp and became aware of something warm, sticky and wet – blood. ‘Great! Just the thing to start this nightmare that I needed,’ I thought to myself. “Karen are you ok?” came the deep, yet almost singsong voice, closer to me now. “Fine Nicky, thanks,” I answered abruptly, turning around to face him, still nursing my aching head. “It’s great to see yo…” I didn’t let him finish, “just point me in the right direction. Let’s get this out of the way.” He looked hurt. The warm smile that he had flashed me had disappeared and he appeared genuinely hurt by my dismissiveness. “At least let me carry your bags in.” “I only need one,” I said, taking it and then slamming the boot down. “What about clothes?” “I’m not stopping Nick. I’m going straight back home.” “But we have so much to catch up on and talk about. Ten years worth, plus a bit more actually.” Clutching my document case firmly to stop my hands from shaking, I simply said, “let’s get one thing straight, shall we? I’m here because I have to be. If it weren’t for Steph, and honoring a promise, I wouldn’t be here at all. This is purely business, so, we discuss any problems and I go. No chit chat, no reminiscing. I don’t want to go back there, I want to do this and move on.” I stared him straight in the eyes and he shifted uneasily. “Now lets get on with it shall we?” He pointed to an open door at the side of the house. “In there, second from the left. James and Sean are both waiting.” “Good,” I simply said and walked off, leaving Nick bewildered, perplexed and uncomfortable. Inside the old house it was quite lavish and over the top in its décor as I had imagined that it would be. I could never understand why so often people with huge amounts of money had absolutely no taste apart from utter bad taste. Talk about garish – the place was hideous. The door to the room that Nicky had mentioned was open, so I strode in as purposely as I could muster, my nerves jangling like mad despite my appearance of calm and control. “Karen!” James shrieked, rushing towards me with outstretched arms. “Bloody hell you look, kinda wonderful. Long time no see stranger.” I dodged out of his way and sat down on a lone chair, so that no one would be able to sit next to me. “Martin not here?” I said simply. “No he’s…” began James. “Fine. Either we do this without him or you discuss it with the agent and publisher. It’s up to you.” James and Sean gawped at Nicky who had just followed me into the room. He merely shrugged his shoulders and shook his head in despair and confusion. “Well you’re not the timid little thing that we used to know anymore are you?” commented Sean with as much joviality as he could muster. “Nice to see you being so assertive Karen. I like it.” “Look,” I said firmly, “for once and for all, I am Not your friend; I do NOT want to be here, and, I want to do this as quickly as possible and then get back to my life. Now please, don’t waste my time.” A heavy silence hung in the air and although I distracted myself by taking an A4 notebook, pens, Dictaphone and the manuscript out of my bag, I was acutely aware of the stabbing glances of venom that were being directed at me. “Since when did you become such a prize bitch?” spat James. “Either discuss the book or I go James,” I replied, my voice thankfully not making them aware of my panic and fear. “It’s up to you.” “What the fuck has happened to you?” James asked. “You were never as bitter as this before.” “Before when or what precisely?” I threw back at him. “I stopped seeing you all when Richey was still with us, so don’t act like we were bosom buddies or some such thing, because we weren’t and we aren’t. Richey was my friend, pure and simple. You were too Nick, once, but you changed. You get so caught up in all the fame crap that you started to believe your own publicity.” “So she says in that bloody book,” he barked, “but I don’t understand what the hell she was referring to. I only ever acted up for the press, the videos and the live shows.” “Nicky is just not a prima donna,” agreed Sean. “Steph got that one wrong.” I rubbed my head and groaned, it was still throbbing madly and I was starting to feel very hot and nauseous. “Karen are you ok?” asked Sean with concern in his voice and eyes. “I’ll be fine, I’m just feeling a little hot, that’s all.” “You should get that cut on your head looked at,” said Nicky. “I’m fine,” I said weakly, my vision getting all blurry and fuzzy. “Really I’ll be…” Part 2 <<< Janey's stories |