Page 61 of Tribute Act

Derek visibly brightened. “Yeah?” He glanced at Mack again, plainly curious.

“Had me nearly bawling my eyes out last time he played,” Jago said, stretching for a glass for Derek’s whisky. A man of few words, Jago, and not many of them compliments, so this was high praise indeed. I glanced at Derek. He was doing that thing he sometimes did where he projected an air of confident bonhomie but was secretly a bit anxious. I could tell from the way he rocked on his heels and kept looking around, from the way his smile kept fading and having to be topped up. I even felt weirdly protective towards him for a moment, which was ridiculous, not to mention misplaced—of the two of them, it was Mack I was more concerned about tonight—yet I couldn’t help but react to Derek’s obvious nervousness.

Fixer, you see.

It was funny, really. My own parents were pretty similar types—both solid and dependable—but, for whatever reason, their marriage hadn’t lasted. Derek was a bloody mess, but he was the sun, moon, and stars as far as Mum was concerned. I still remembered the mortifying vows they’d made at their wedding when I was a spotty teenager. Mum going on about Derek being the love of her life. I’d wanted to retch at the time, but it was true. Maybe the reason they’d lasted was because he needed her so much and she had such a lot to give. Both of Derek’s previous marriages had failed because of cheating, but in all the years he’d been with Mum, I’d never so much as seen him glance at another woman, so who knew what he’d been searching for till then.

Relationships were weird. People were weird.

I glanced over at the table where Mack sat, and my heart clenched. He seemed nervous too, but there was no bonhomie on his part. He might have been going to his own execution. I wished I could just wave a magic wand and make things right between him and Derek. Or at least, right enough that their relationship didn’t feel completely broken.

Once we had our drinks, I led Derek over to Mack’s table. Andy was there, and Derek greeted him by name, so plainly knew him, at least a little. Mack introduced him to Don and another guy, dark haired with a greying beard, called Ben. No sign of Tash or Amy tonight.

Everyone shifted round so we could all sit in the booth. Somehow I ended up between Mack and Derek, which felt all wrong, not to mention being some kind of awkward metaphor. I made a mental note to nip off to the gents in five minutes so they’d have to sit together.

“Hey, you’re Dex MacKenzie!” Ben said after a minute. “I’d heard you live round here.”

That pleased Derek. He smiled wide. “Yeah, I run the ice cream place near the Tesco Express.”

I had to suppress the urge to roll my eyes at that one—it’d been years since Derek had run anything. I glanced at Mack, who offered an understanding quirk of a smile.

And then Ben started on about—of all bloody things—Derek’s failed solo album.

“That was a great album, man. Some of songs on there—what was that one, “Just Like Me”? Gorgeous. What was going on with your record company? They didn’t promote it at all.”

Right then, Derek looked strangely vulnerable. I’d heard him ranting a few times over the years about his treatment at the hands of his record company, but here, now, faced with someone honestly praising his music, he didn’t seem pissed off at all. Just sort of grateful, and maybe sad.

“That’s a good song,” Mack agreed. “‘Just Like Me,’ I mean.”

Derek stared at him, looking surprised. “You like it?” he said at last.

Mack cleared his throat. “Yeah, that little instrumental opening—that’s lovely.”

“And that first line,” Ben interjected. “God, what a gut punch. The words on that song, man.”

Mack nodded agreement, and Derek’s throat bobbed with emotion.

I tried to remember the song they were talking about, but I couldn’t. Derek occasionally played that album when he was a bit drunk and nostalgic, but I couldn’t say I’d paid it much attention.

I excused myself and went to the gents. When I came back, I slipped into the other side of the booth next to Don, leaving Mack and Derek sitting together. Then I just leaned back and listened. It was all music talk, so I didn’t have anything to add, but I was happy just listening. After a while, I offered to get another round in, and when I got back from the bar, they were onto guitars—first guitars specifically.Derek mentioned that he’d saved up some of the money he earned as a milk boy for his first Fender.

Mack seemed surprised by this. “I never knew you were a milk boy.”

“Yeah,” Derek said. “I used to get up at five every morning—well, six days a week. Could hardly keep my eyes open in school.” He laughed, but Mack frowned.

“How old were you?”

“Twelve when I started—my mam needed the money. My dad had left and there were five of us. I gave her most of my wages, but I got to keep a bit for myself and there were tips sometimes.” He shrugged, then winked at Andy. “That’s my excuse for doing so shite at school.”

Funny, Derek talked about himself a lot, but not about his childhood. Not about his days as a milk boy. It was always the glory days he spoke about: touring with the band, going on Top of the Pops, having a single at number two in the charts.

I glanced at Mack. He appeared thoughtful, unaware of my scrutiny as he watched Derek banter with Andy and Ben.

When it came time for Mack’s set, he got ready with his usual laid-back ease.

“He doesn’t seem nervous, does he?” Derek murmured to me.

“No,” I agreed. “He always looks really relaxed.”