Lonely Teardrops (2008) (29 page)

‘You deserve to do well. I think you’re wonderful!’ she murmured, moving into his arms.

 
‘You’re not too bad yourself.’

Pushing her down on the bed he stroked and caressed her, touched and explored her body which he’d come to know almost as well as his own. He teased her with his fingers, with his tongue, till she was gasping and begging him to love her, and finally, exhausted from their love making, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

When morning came the first thing he did was reach for her again. She was all sleepy and warm and instantly wound her arms about his neck, eager for more loving. Vinny liked that in her too, that eagerness to please.

Harriet simply loved him all the more, no thought now in her head of leaving him.

The Scrapyard Kids were doing well. They played at hotels and clubs, church halls and ballrooms all over Manchester, including Belle Vue and the Locarno. They played in the interval at the Classic Cinema on Oxford Road, and even at the Ritz on pancake night, which was hilarious with the girls tossing pancakes then feeding them as fast as possible to their man. They were making more money than some professional bands.

Unfortunately, despite Harriet striving to encourage restraint, the lads were spending it as fast as it came in. Several of them bought cars, and smart new suits. It never occurred to them to save, or rent a place of their own, or cook a meal. They simply stayed at better hotels, ate out every night, and spent the rest on drinking in bars and idling away hours on end in snooker clubs and taking girls out. It was a hedonistic sort of life, with no thought of tomorrow, which was worrying.

Nevertheless, she was content to be with Vinny. It was fun in a way, exciting, and life was never dull. Even if they hadn’t hit the big time, they were a success in their own little world, and Vinny remained convinced that one day some record producer would walk in and catch their act. Then their fortunes would truly be made. The other lads would laugh at his dreams, content simply to have a bit of money in their pockets.

Most of the time everything went smoothly, although there was occasional friction between Vinny and Al, the drummer. Vinny seemed to hate it if anyone was given more attention than him, or if Al’s drum solo went on for longer than he liked. He’d suddenly leap in front of him and start banging on his guitar, stopping it in mid-flow.

Mostly Al would be philosophical about this attitude, but one night Vinny allowed him even less time than usual. Al had scarcely got started before Vinny stepped forward and brought the guitars back in far too soon. It was evident Al was annoyed. Later, after a drink or two, the pair of them had a real set to, in which Vinny got so furious he accused Al of deliberately trying to undermine his authority. Al argued vehemently that he was doing nothing of the kind, that Vinny wasn’t some star who could hog all the limelight.

At this Vinny flew into a rage and smashed his guitar on a bar stool, swearing never to play the damn thing again.

He sulked for days after that. Eventually though, he went out and bought himself a new guitar, but he wasn’t happy. Vinny had loved that old instrument, had had it for years, and blamed Al entirely for the loss of it. At the very next gig he made it clear before they even went on that he was the one in charge of the band, and the drum solo would end when he said so.

But Al still wasn’t having it. ‘You don’t interrupt till I’m good and ready, that was our deal, if you remember. I get one full minute, nothing less.’

‘You’ll get thirty seconds, if you’re lucky.’

‘Perhaps you’d prefer to find yourself another drummer then?’ Al taunted him.

‘Good idea. You’re sacked.’

Harriet instantly stepped in to calm frayed tempers. ‘Vinny, you can’t do this, not right now. This isn’t the moment, not with an audience waiting. Listen to them, they’re getting impatient, doing the slow hand clap. Sort this out later, for goodness sake, and get on that stage.
Now
!’

‘Why does everyone think they can tell me what to do?’ Vinny yelled, and stormed out of the hall. The band did not go on that night. The following morning Al packed his bags and left.

‘You’d be wise to leave too,’ he warned Harriet. ‘He’s falling apart. I know the band is doing well and Vinny is on a high, but it won’t last. He’ll go all the way down, right to the bottom.’

‘Not if his friends stand by him, he won’t,’ Harriet stubbornly retorted.

Chapter Twenty-Five

It took them over a month to find another drummer, the result being that they missed several gigs in the mean time. Even when they found one he wasn’t half as good as Al. The row between the two friends, united in their passion for music, had distressed Harriet as it was so unnecessary.

It had been Al who’d encouraged the band to widen their repertoire and try a few different numbers such as
La Bamba
, a Ritchie Valens number,
Bongo Rock
, and
Everybody Likes to Cha Cha Cha
, a dance craze that was doing the rounds. It boosted their popularity ratings enormously.

In her heart of hearts, Harriet realised that she was in more trouble than she cared to admit. Even if the band was no longer sleeping rough, or living in poverty, she was on the fringes of a world she neither understood nor fitted into. She’d lost her innocence, her naivety. She now recognised the funny cigarettes as marijuana, and it was clear that Vinny was becoming increasingly unpredictable, so volatile she worried for his health.

He seemed to have boundless enthusiasm and energy, completely high and out of control, leaping about and pounding on the strings of his guitar, screaming instructions to everyone, urging them to greater heights of creativity. He’d often refuse to stop practising even when everyone else was exhausted. On other occasions he’d have no energy at all. He’d retreat to his bed and refuse to speak to anyone for days on end, apparently swamped in deep depression. At those times it was impossible to please him or do anything right.

Harriet was growing more and more certain that he had a serious problem, that the pot he smoked was doing him no good at all, and that maybe he was involved with other drugs too.

She put the question to him one evening and could see at once that was a bad mistake. They’d been sitting in bed together, in some overpriced hotel near Piccadilly Gardens having just made love, and she’d thought this a good moment to make her plea. Instead, he glared coldly at her.

‘You stupid bitch! You think that’s what this is all about, drugs? In any case, what business is it of yours what I do?’

Harriet was appalled by his reaction, that he saw her concern as interference. ‘I - I’m just worried about you.’

He seemed to speak through gritted teeth as his jaw tightened, green-gold eyes flashing fire. ‘That’s all you imagine trash like me is fit for, is it? I’m just some no-good Irish lad who spent his youth in institutions, so I must be a drug addict, or evil in some way? You don’t think that maybe I’m in the music business simply because I enjoy it, might even have a modicum of talent?’

Harriet was mortified, never having realised he could be so touchy. Vinny clearly carried a great big chip on his shoulders over his difficult background, and she’d just made matters worse. She stroked his arm, trying to pacify him. ‘Look, I apologise. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry, I really am. Forget I asked.’

Pushing her roughly away, he taunted her. ‘Naw, come on, get it off your chest, why don’t you? There must be a reason why you asked. Is it because I’m not good enough for you, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes?’

Something inside Harriet snapped at his sarcasm, reminding her as it did of Joyce. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, but OK, I’ll be honest. I hate you smoking that weed. I don’t think it’s doing you any good at all and I want you to stop.’

He looked at her askance. ‘
You
want me to stop?’

‘Yes!’

‘And why in hell should I do what
you
say?’

‘Because I ask you to.’

He put back his head and roared with laughter. ‘You’re a real treasure, you know that, babe? You ought to put yourself up for sainthood.’

Harriet said no more, simply flounced away and curled up at the far side of the bed, swamped in misery.

Before morning he’d apologised for ‘his callousness’, pulled her to him and made love to her so passionately, so sweetly, that for the first time Harriet admitted to herself the dangerous path she trod. She realised it was far too late now to deny she had feelings for him, or pretend their relationship was simply physical. She was mesmerised by him, addicted to Vinny as much as he was to that weed. And she still hadn’t told him about her condition.

‘Don’t I just love it when you heckle and fuss over me,’ he said, purring softly into her neck, licking the arch of her throat with his tongue, nibbling her ear, pretending she was his pet kitten and he wanted to stroke her.

‘So will you do as I ask?’ Harriet risked repeating the question, certain he must love her a little, deep down, or he wouldn’t have apologised for his bad behaviour, would he?

Vinny looked at her blank-eyed, shaking his head in a bemused fashion as he adopted his most Irish accent with not a trace of Manchester in it. ‘Sure and I haven’t the first idea what it is yer wanting me to do? Aren’t I the picture of innocence?’
 

He indeed looked so innocent in that moment, Harriet couldn’t help but giggle. ‘All right, I give up, but please try to cut down. Will you do that for me, at least?’

By way of an answer he sat up in bed and lit up another spliff, grinning cheekily at her as he did so.

Harriet took this as a warning to keep her nose out of his private life.

There were times when Vinny wondered why he bothered with her when there were any number of adoring fans around eager to enjoy his attention. Harriet was pretty enough with that heart-shaped face and bouncy bob of blond hair which curled under her pointed chin, and those solemn, slate grey eyes looking so adoringly up at him. But she came from a different world.

For all her parents might not have been happily married, her father had clearly adored her, as had her grandmother. And although Champion Street might not be a well-off neighbourhood, and the bit where Vinny lived behind the new fish market should have been condemned back in the dark ages, nevertheless, nobody could deny its innate decency. It was a tight-knit community in which people cared about each other. Harriet might tactfully never say as much, but Vinny was all too aware that she had a completely different set of morals to his own.

Yet perhaps it was because of these differences that he found her so enchanting. He liked having her around. She was brave and intelligent, determined and strong, hard working and uncomplaining, although he didn’t find her easy to understand. Harriet Ashton was different to all the other girls who fawned upon him, always managing to keep a part of herself private. She represented a challenge, one he couldn’t resist.

Most of all she was warm and loving, always willing to listen to him talk and sympathise with his problems. He needed her, liked her fussing and caring for him like some sort of mother hen, and in one respect at least he knew her intimately. He knew how she liked to be touched, how to tease and provoke her till she was begging for him to take her. She was so giving, so loving, sex with Harriet was never dull.

He only had to touch her, to kiss her, as he was doing now, pulling open her blouse and suckling each nipple of her pert, firm breasts for her to moan in ecstasy, unable to resist, desperate for more. He was always on a high after a successful gig, he thought, as he pushed her, unprotesting, down on the grubby floor of the pub’s back office which was serving as a dressing room.

‘Someone might walk in,’ Harriet gasped, in a futile attempt to be sensible.

‘Let them,’ he cried, reaching under her skirt to remove her panties. Then he was rubbing himself against her, pushing himself inside, filling her with his love as they both moved instinctively together, savouring their pleasure in each other.

The door opened and Duffy and the rest walked in. Harriet leapt to her feet, embarrassed, tucking her blouse into her skirt, snatching up discarded clothing, feeling a burning shame as she searched for her shoes.

Vinny just put back his head and roared with laughter. ‘Right on cue, lads, as always,’ he said. Turning to Harriet, he kissed her on the nose. ‘Go back to the hotel, there’s a good girl.’

She was disappointed. ‘Aren’t you coming?’

‘I’ll see you later, right?’

For all he enjoyed that vulnerability and need in her, perversely there were times when it cramped his style somewhat to know that wherever he went, whatever he did, she would be waiting for him back at the hotel. She wasn’t, after all, the only girl in the world. And once he hit the big time, when he got the call from London, he’d move on, and this little dalliance with Harriet Ashton would simply be a fond memory. Freedom, that was the name of the game.

The next morning, feeling guilty over his apparent neglect, since he hadn’t climbed into her bed until past five in the morning, Vinny suggested they take a day off and have some fun. ‘Why don’t we go to the Speedway at Belle Vue? Or would you prefer the Water Chute? How about that? We’re getting far too wrapped up in problems.’