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James and his lead guitarist, Fin, suddenly appear beside me. “Alright boys?” I ask.
James is practically bouncing up and down. He’s a tall boy at six foot two, with broad shoulders but still slightly gangly arms and legs. Energy seems to pour off him and you can’t help but smile if you’re with him. He has charisma in spades as well as a great voice, which is why he’s the front man, even as the youngest of the group.
“Uncle Jackson said he thinks we have some reps coming. Have you heard anything?” James stares around the large open plan space. Staring towards the left of the stage were a red velvet roped off area screams VIP’s only. The low green light from an iconic chandelier gives it an almost sultry feel. Clearly expecting they’ll magically appear there if he looks hard enough.
“Not directly, but I would expect there to be. I know we had a few calls about the gig.”I turn to the boys. “If we do get anyone in tonight, Uncle Jackson will speak with them. Is that ok with you guys? He’s looking forward to it.”
Both the boys nod. “Fine by me, Mrs. G.”
I sigh, shaking my head at them. These boys, they love to wind me up. “Still not married, Fin.” I chuckle. Still, it’s better than ‘Momma G’, which has unfortunately caught on with them recently. Christ, it’s bad enough that I have an eighteen-year-old at the ripe old age of just thirty six. The thought of four boys at my age, we’re just not going to go there.
I’d do anything for my son, I’d put his welfare at the forefront of any decisions. Even staying in London in a house Marshall owned. Building a new life when all I’d felt was loneliness and anxiety. I’d driven myself to distraction whether I had made the right decisions. The indecision weighing me down, should I have stayed put and fought for the boy I had loved. James’s father. I missed him. I wanted him here with us.
But that was a total pipe dream, he and his family making it clear he was not interested. His family in particular making his and their views well known. He was destined for great things, top university, any job he wanted, connections at the top of every organisation. And then there was me. Teenage mother with zero prospects, orphan, no money, no connections. What sort of a girl gets pregnant at seventeen? Not the right sort in their world.
When James was born, things got worse. Always worrying I wasn’t doing things right. Whilst technically I was an orphan, I never felt like one. I did have an amazing support network. Marshall. The Greystone family. And when things were bad, and my feelings of inadequacy, failure, and not measuring up became too much, I lifted my baby out of his cot, felt his warmth, breathed in his smell. It soothed my soul, bolstered my battered spirit, and rejuvenated me on my darkest days.
As time moved on, I worked around James. He slowed me down slightly, but I never let it stop me completely. Everything had a work around. Every problem a solution. Even if it was a compromise. Greystone House as I christened it, became the heart of our operations.
But it niggled at me. Should James know his dad? Should he know us as we are now? I tried a few times to reconnect, but again—rebuffed, rejected, not interested.
I asked James when he turned ten years old if he wanted to know who his father was, and he said no. He had father figures in his house already. My brothers filled that gap effortlessly. And when he was older, after a particularly rough day, he pulled me into a hug, telling me I was enough, he didn’t need anyone else, I let it all go. Pushed the question and conversation to the back of my mind once again and carried on, as I had done for the longest time.
I asked him again recently, receiving a much colder and sure response. “I’m as interested in him as he is in me,” he told me. “Not at all.”
I left it at that.
A loud bang above our heads and the thud of feet moving around pulls me back to the here and now.
“Fucking doors are open!” James shouts at the top of his lungs and the boys rush off heading to the left of the stage towards the back rooms to get sorted.
From this point forward, I won’t step foot in the green room, or the storage room for that matter, unless I have to. And if I have to find someone back there, I’ve learned to knock. Or even better, send in one of my brothers. I’ve walked in on things I did not need to see one too many times. All Jude ever says is, “Eighteen, you know,” with a shrug.
I do know. Living with my brothers at that age, as we shared the house into my twenties and thirties, I learned fast. Even now, timing, I’ve decided, is everything. When to be in the house and when to be out!
The place is absolutely packed. A local DJ is on stage, the music pounding, revving up the crowd to a fever pitch. The band has a great following, and I note that the front of stage has been commandeered by mostly girls. This is the sort of crowd the boys love.
I walk over to Jonno, who has finally returned from parking the car and looks a bit like a drowned rat, and take a deep breath. “I love this building. Do you think James will still play here when he’s super famous?”
“It’s famous enough already. James will push it into the stratosphere. ‘The’ place for bands to play. Our boys are going for it.” I blow out the breath, fiddling with my hair as nervous excitement takes over, and try to detach my shoulders from around my ears as the DJ shouts the lads to the stage and Jonno snickers, “You know you don’t have to go out there and sing right?” He laughs even louder as three of the boys hustle past me and out into the limelight.
“I feel like I’m about to.”
James suddenly bounds past, stopping to kiss my cheek. “Don’t bloody pass out, Mum,” he grins, rolling his eyes, “I’ve got this.”
Jonno lets out a peel of laughter. “Cheeky little shit,” he yells over the music, punching his arm. James takes off, out of the curtain and onto the stage, and I finally blow out a relieved breath.
Once on stage, he’s smiling, waving, transforming into the performer he is.
“I couldn’t hide him or you forever, Evie,” Jonno repeats, looking at me with his big brown eyes full of empathy and love.
“I know,” I agree. “You weren’t hiding him. We were protecting him.”
Jonno draws me into his side and gives me a squeeze. “We won’t stop protecting him no matter his age.” From behind the curtain, we both watch James jumping around like a madman, wild screams erupting from the crowd below. “But I don’t believe he needs as much as you think.” Jonno smiles.
I look at the smile on James’s face, and I know Jonno is right.
Chapter
