Shout the Call

We spent the rest of the day just chilling out, watching films and drinking red wine. The rest of the band were minding their own and pottering around through the house.

“One more bottle?” Aaron asked, tipping the bottle upside down and tapping it’s base. We managed to get through one bottle in just over an hour.

“We really shouldn’t,” I replied.

“Why?”

“Oh, well since you put it that way,” I answered, smiling, “At least I’ll be preparing my body for the three weeks to come.”

We both laughed.

“Yup,” Aaron said, feigning seriousness, “We do like a drink or two and we do love to party. Any designs you have on having your full quota of eight hours sleep a night should be scrapped. Seriously, I cannot remember the last time I really slept; well at least not properly, anyway.”

My heart sank just a little. If I don’t eat and sleep well I turn into an angry, irritable monster but then I suppose when you’re out doing what these guys do, adrenaline kicks in and you self sustain, somehow, on bad diet and plenty of alcohol. Ah, the life of a rock-star.

“You want to come down to the cellar?” Aaron asked, “I think it’s probably my favourite place in the entire house and not just because it’s where I keep the wine I’ve collected from all over the world…..” Aaron stopped for a second and looked almost apologetic for bragging, “The acoustics are awesome. It’s where I spend practically all of my time. It’s just a very special place and it’s where I feel most at peace. It’s also where I write about ninety percent of our songs. Come down with me, I think you’ll love it.”

I was just about to answer when Aaron stopped me.

“Oh and just so you know, the only people that have ever been down there is me and Jim. The rest of the guys know not to invade my space. You are the only person I feel comfortable enough to want to share it with.”

“Of course I’ll come down with you,” I replied sincerely, feeling very special indeed, “It sounds amazing.”

Aaron pulled me up from the settee and led me through to the kitchen before opening a door that presented a stone stairway which led down to the cellar. Aaron led me through, flicked on a wall light and shut the door behind him. As we came to about half way down, I was taken aback by the room before me. I could totally see and feel why Aaron loved it down here so much.

******

This was no cellar – it was a bloody bungalow! In the far corner of the room was a cosy living area that had a sofa-bed, a coffee table, a small dining table, cupboards, and a mini fridge. This all took up at least half of the cellar. The other half was part recording studio – part wine cellar. If Aaron wasn’t careful, he would wind up living down here without the need to see or speak to the rest of the band.

“So, you like it?” Aaron asked nervously.

“Um, yeah!” I answered eagerly, “it’s, well, it’s amazing.”

“Just so you know – I’m not a recluse or anything,” Aaron went on, “it’s just that I like to get away sometimes. You won’t believe this but I’m not the drugged up, alcoholic the press would have you believe.”

“Aaron, I’m the last person to believe the drivel that the local and national press print,” I assured him, “I used to work for my local newspaper and left within months of starting there. I walked out because I refused to print lies and that’s all I’m going to say on that matter.”

“Oh right, okay,” Aaron replied, looking as though he knew he’d touched a nerve but he also looked thankful too.

“So anyway,” he went on, “shall we just stay down here. I was only going to have one more drink, if you’re up for it. There will be plenty of time for more on the bus.”

“One more then and that’s it, okay?”

“Cool,” Aaron replied excitedly as he pulled a bottle out from the wall; a whole wall that was one huge wine rack. Amazing really wasn’t the word.

******

It was nearing five pm and I was starting to feel anxious. At seven, we would be getting on the tour bus to Dover and heading to Calais. This sounds pretty pathetic but the furthest I had ever been from home, up until now, was the Isle of Arran in Scotland. I had always dreamt of travelling far further afield but my measly budget wouldn’t allow that. New Music, Non Stop changed all that though in such a short amount of time. I mean, eighteen months is no time at all in the grand scheme of things.

“Aaron, where the bloody hell are ya?” I heard Jim shout from upstairs.

Aaron kept still and silent and gestured for me to follow suit. His shoulders began to shake and I could tell straight away that he was giggling, albeit very quietly.

“Aaron!” Jim yelled again, “for crying out loud mate, get up here now and get your shit together. Have you seen the time?”

I wanted to open my mouth to answer. I know how Jim must have been feeling. I’m all for a good time but when there are deadlines to adhere to, a line has to be drawn. I wanted to call back but not even a syllable escaped my mouth as Aaron crashed his to mine, silencing me with his heavenly lips. I melted into the kiss immediately and time suddenly meant nothing. I couldn’t believe what was happening and how his kiss was making me feel. Aaron, it seemed, was more than aware of how this particular practical joke was affecting me.

“Sod ya then,” Jim shouted once more, “I’ve had enough of your bullshit!”

Aaron broke off the kiss and fell about giggling.

“How old are you Aaron?” I asked sarcastically.

“Never too old, sweet cheeks,” he replied as he pecked my lips. He grabbed my hand and we headed back up the steps. I couldn’t stop the sigh of relief coming from my mouth as Aaron opened the cellar door to the kitchen.

“Jim, have you been after me?” he asked with just a hint of a playful smirk on his lips. (Man, did he know how ridiculously sexy he was?)

“Shut up Aaron!” Jim shot back, “We’ve got forty five minutes to pack up and get out. Think you can cope?”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Aaron answered nonchalantly, “I have Bea here to help me if I get into any bother.”

Jim looked straight at me, annoyed.

“I’m sorry Jim,” I shot out before Aaron could get a chance to shut me up; “It’s my fault. I asked Aaron if he could take me down the cellar….”

“You wouldn’t believe how very wrong but totally awesome that sounds.” Aaron said, laughing at the innuendo in my apology.

“Enough. I really don’t need to know what you pair have been up to,” Jim said, waving his hands in our face as if trying to swat away his imagination like a fly.

“Really Jim,” I went on, trying not to let embarrassment get the better of me, “It really is not what you think.”

“Bea, love; I don’t give two hoots what you do or don’t do with Aaron or any of the other band members, for that matter,” Jim said plainly, “as long as you do what you’re being to do, that’s fine with me. The way you conduct yourself outside of the business part of this, well, it’s your call.”

Jim smiled at me; it was a fatherly smile. He knew I was getting worked up. I smiled back nervously.

“Anyway, we’ve just wasted five minutes of precious time having this conversation,” Jim said, glancing at his watch. “Now get off with ya. Get yourself sorted Aaron.”

******

We made the ferry with just over twenty minutes to spare. It seemed that Aaron had already packed the lion’s share of his stuff, leaving just a few last minute bits and pieces to take care of. Jim seemed suitably amazed and equally bewildered at how efficient the band had been at getting sorted.

Jim parked the tour bus up in one of those extra huge spaces; the ones that were always reserved for such vehicles. He checked we were all present as we piled out the door.

“Right, go and stretch your legs and grab a drink or two if you must, but please, let’s not get trashed before we arrive in France,” Jim warned, “We’ll have plenty of time to make merry when we get there. Because we travelled late, you have tomorrow off but on Thursday, it all kicks off. Let’s just take it easy eh?”

For the first time since Monday lunch time, the whole band seemed to agree.

******

A feeling of déjà vu coursed through me as we found a table big enough to accommodate the six of us. Liam Johnson, Shout The Call’s lead guitarist was the first to speak, not even waiting for our bums to touch the leatherette seats.

“So, what we all having then? I’ll get this one in.”

“Bleedin’ hell, that’s a first!” the bands rhythm guitarist, Jack Illingsworth, scoffed.

“Certainly is,” Aaron agreed, “but if you’re offering, mine’s a JD.”

“Oooh, hitting the Bourbon like a boss already eh?” Liam asked.

“Be rude not to.” Aaron answered.
On by one, the rest of the band put their orders in and Jim shouted, “I’ll have a shandy!” from the other side of the room.

“What you having, Bea?” Liam asked. Could I handle any more alcohol? I could imagine my little liver pleading with me; begging me not to let even one more drop of alcohol pass my lips.

“Just a mineral water for me please – still.” I replied, knowing what the reaction would be.

“No you fucking won’t,” Liam shot back, “Look here honey, you’re on tour with Shout The Call now, not a bunch of Nun’s. Let your hair down and go crazy!”

I sighed in deep realisation. I suppose if you can’t beat them, you may as well join them.