Page 46 of When We Were Young

Mixing a track was like a visit to the opticians. Tony the audio engineer would fiddle with knobs and faders and Will had to decide ‘better or worse?’, ‘more or less?’ They’d listened to ‘Intertwined’ a thousand times, and it was making him pine for Emily.

‘Hello!’ came a voice from behind them.

Standing there in thigh-high boots looking unbelievably glamorous was Christie Blackmore – the Christie Blackmore.

She held out her hand. ‘Christie Blackmore from The Underdogs.’

He knew who she was; everybody knew who she was.

‘Hi.’ He shook her hand. She looked great. She must have been, what, forty? Forty-five?

‘We’re label-mates,’ she said. ‘I thought I’d introduce myself. We’re recording down the hall.’

‘It’s great to meet you!’ The high-pitched excitement in his voice was mortifying.

‘I was hoping I’d run into you at some point. I’ve been playing “Fever” on repeat for two weeks now, haven’t I, Joe?’

There were two minions behind her. The one called Joe nodded enthusiastically.

‘Sorry about that, Joe,’ said Will.

‘How’s it going?’ she asked.

‘Uh… it’s going great. Just working on the last few tracks – we’ve got ten days left.’

‘You’re in expert hands with Tony here. He’s a genius.’ Christie exchanged air kisses with Tony. ‘Are you staying at the Four Seasons?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Island puts everyone up there. We should all grab a drink and hang out before you go back,’ she said.

‘That would be amazing.’ He was buzzing – Christie Blackmore had written some of his favourite songs.

‘How about tonight? Say, ten? In the bar?’

‘Sure,’ he squeaked.

‘The Library Bar, not the lobby bar.’

‘Library Bar. Ten.’ Matty and Reu wouldn’t believe this.

‘See you later.’ When she smiled, it lit up the whole room.

‘Yeah. See ya.’

Will stood gaping at the door as it closed behind her.

‘I had posters of her on my wall when I was a kid,’ he told Tony.

‘Jesus,’ said Tony. ‘Don’t tell her that!’

Christie Blackmore knew how to party. She took over the Library Bar, dispensed with the pianist, and played the piano into the small hours.

Everyone sang along, and she would hear no excuses when she asked Will to sing a duet.

She ordered so many shots Ed had to help Reu to his room before midnight.

Her entourage was about thirty strong, all friendly, but very loud.

By 4 a.m. most had left and even Matty was calling it a night.

Will stood up to leave with him when Christie said, ‘Do you want to hear our new song? It’s not finished yet, but it’s nearly there. ’

Will was getting a headache. He should go to bed, but how often did you get the chance to hear an Underdogs record before its release?

‘That’d be brilliant.’

He was having trouble walking straight as the three of them headed to the lifts. Matty was even worse, stumbling over nothing and landing on his arse in the corridor. Christie appeared completely unaffected by all the tequila slammers she’d knocked back.

Matty stumbled out of the lift at the tenth floor. He couldn’t be persuaded to join them, and zigzagged off down the corridor. Christie pressed the button for the penthouse, and at the top floor, they walked the length of the corridor to the double door entrance to her suite.

She swung them open to reveal a wood-panelled living room with leather sofas and bookshelves reaching up to the high ceiling. A grand piano stood gleaming before a twinkling slice of the New York skyline.

‘Wow!’ He went to the window. The first glimmer of sunrise glowed pink behind the Chrysler to his left, and the Empire State rose to a point on the right.

‘Drink?’ She handed him a glass of something amber coloured on ice.

‘Thanks.’ He shouldn’t drink any more – his head was killing him.

An ivory key made a bright tink when he pressed down on it.

‘Do you play?’ she asked.

‘Only “Chopsticks”.’

‘You should learn. I started playing piano around your age.’ She fiddled with the stereo. ‘This is that song I was telling you about.’

He settled on a sofa as music filled the room.

Her song was fantastic. It pissed all over what he had been working on that week.

He’d always loved her voice. He felt like pinching himself: he was in a penthouse suite overlooking Manhattan, listening to the latest Underdogs song before anyone else. With Christie Blackmore.

He splayed his arms along the back of the sofa. His eyelids were heavy, he closed his eyes and let the music wash over him.

The jerk of his head woke him with a start.

He blinked. Christie Blackmore was kneeling before him. Jesus, he must be dreaming. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, but she was still there, sliding her hands up his thighs.

‘What are you doing?’ His speech was slurred.

‘Worshipping you, like everybody else,’ she said. ‘Isn’t that why we do it? For adoration?’

The feel of her fingers on his fly was enough to get things stirring.

‘Wait…’

All communication from his brain stalled.

‘Relax, enjoy it.’

Oh God, what was she doing with her tongue?

She looked up at him through her thick eyelashes, the same look that had followed him around his room when he was a teenager. He remembered listening to her husky vocals alone in his room with her poster on the wall watching him, whatever he was doing.

No, no, no.

He struggled to find the words to refuse politely.

Christ, why did he need to be polite?

‘I’m sorry… I can’t… I’m with someone…’

She pulled back and laughed. ‘So am I. So what? I don’t want to fucking marry you.’

With each bob of her head, she was blowing his mind.

He’d stop her in a second, but – oh God – she was insanely good at this. All he needed to do was ask her to stop. He should do it now before it was too late. He should do it right now. Oh God, he’d reached the point of no return. He may as well get it over with.

As he came, pain detonated in his skull.

Daylight flooded the room, the baby grand piano a silhouette against the bright window.

He needed to piss. He stood up but collapsed back onto the sofa, his head throbbing.

He tried again, this time not fully straightening up, gathering his undone jeans at the waist. Using the sofa to support himself, he shuffled towards the hallway.

He paused, leaning on a table with an enormous display of flowers.

The smell of lilies turned his stomach. Across the hall he found the bathroom in all its honey marble splendour with another slice of the city reflecting in the mirrors.

He pissed, then lay down, resting his forehead on the cool marble floor.

He must have dozed off again because he woke to the sound of Christie talking on the phone across the hall.

He needed to get out of there.

He hauled himself up on the toilet bowl and staggered to the sitting room.

Where the fuck were his shoes? He crawled around the sofa on his hands and knees, searching for them.

He’d have to go barefoot. It took all his effort to make it down the corridor to the lifts.

Where the hell was he? He got in the lift and pressed the ground floor button.

Jesus, this was the worst hangover he’d ever had.

His head was on fire, but his body was freezing, and his throat felt raw when he swallowed.

He allowed his body to slide down the mirrored wall of the lift and sat shivering on the floor, praying no one would get in.

The bell dinged, and he made it out of the lift just before the doors shut.

Ed always made sure they each had a hotel business card, so no matter how hard they partied, they could get a cab back to the hotel.

He rummaged in his pockets: no card, no wallet, nothing.

Sweat was collecting in his eyebrows. He couldn’t think straight.

He’d stayed at so many hotels over the last few months, he couldn’t remember where he was staying.

A front desk clerk was approaching – no doubt she wanted to kick him out. He was out of place, bedraggled and barefoot in the smart lobby. At least he’d done up his fly in the lift.

‘May I help you, sir?’ She took him by the elbow and led him to a discreet desk behind a pillar, where he sank into a seat.

He went to speak, but his throat was coated in broken glass. All he could manage was a hoarse grunt. He tried again, but it was no use – he’d lost his voice. Fuck .

‘I’ll get some water,’ she said.

She was back in a moment. He took a gulp of the iced water, but swallowing was agony.

‘Do you need a doctor, sir?’

He shook his head.

She sighed. ‘You’re with the record company, aren’t you?’

He nodded. She got a pen and notepad out of the desk drawer. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked, sliding them towards him.

He scrawled his name on the paper.

Her frown melted as she read his name. ‘ You’re Will Bailey?’ She looked at him with wide, round eyes. ‘I love “Fever”! I bought it yesterday.’

He wrote: I can’t remember where I’m staying.

‘You’re staying here!’ she gushed.

Relief washed over him.

‘Have you lost your key?’

He nodded.

‘I’ll get you another. I’ll be right back.’

His head was so heavy he rested it on his forearms while he waited.

‘Here’s your new card, Mr Bailey. When you use it, the old one will be deactivated automatically.’ She spoke with a sing- song voice. ‘You’re in room 1046. Take this elevator to the tenth floor and follow the signs.’

He took the key card and mouthed ‘thank you’.

As he walked the few steps towards the lift, it was as though someone was turning down the volume on the world. The edges of his vision became bleached, closing in around him.

Everything went white.