Excerpt from Release

He bent over his bike again, but was distracted by the sound of crunching gravel. “Oh, shit,” Jamie muttered where he sat. “Incoming Samaritan.”

They exchanged weary looks. If travelling England had taught them one thing, it was that people were much too helpful. They’d been offered everything from directions to a sip of whisky in the rain, which was fine but for the tiny fact that the whole point of this tour was to do it the hard way.

A mud-spattered car slowed to a stop beside them, and Michael steeled himself. Just say no, he told himself. Just smile and say ‘thanks but no thanks’.

But the person in the car didn’t roll down the window, didn’t address them. When Michael squinted at the dappled glass, the young man inside averted his eyes. The car started rolling again, wheels turning out towards the road, only to swerve back and stop.

“What the hell?” Jamie chuckled. “Is he drunk or something?”

There was a moment of hesitation so palpable that Michael could almost hear it. Then the window was rolled down, slowly and jerkily, as if the hand that turned the handle was nervous. When it was almost all the way down, a young man with a wilting fringe peered out. He looked too young to be driving a car, but maybe it was just his big eyes and reedy thinness that peeled off the years. “You okay?” He scrunched up his face against the rain and put a hand over his eyes to shield them.

Michael stood up. “Yeah, thanks, we’re fi–” He stopped. The stranger was wearing the weirdest expression. Almost as if he was… awed. “… uh, fine.”

“I’m sorry,” the boy said, and then he let slip a giggle that sounded out of breath. “This is just… such an honour.” He looked from Michael to Jamie, his cheeks colouring, and then his eyes trailed away to where Becca was drumming her fingers against her saddle, fifty yards up the road. He blinked and frowned, as if there was something wrong with the picture.

Jamie stood up and brushed the grit from his tracksuit. Then he walked up to the car, leaned with his elbow on the roof and gave the lad inside his trademark look – the sideways grin, the one he’d always used for the camera. “You know who we are?”

The young man laughed and nodded, and then he held out his hand. But before Jamie could take it, he drew it back and wiped it on his corduroys, as if he was afraid of contaminating Jamie with his sweaty ordinariness. Sticking it out of the window again, he waited until Jamie hesitantly shook it. “I’m Adam, and yes,” he giggled, “I know who you are.” He was speaking too quickly, as if he was afraid of being interrupted.

Jamie chuckled warmly. “Well, hi there, Adam. Nice to meet you.”

Michael’s heart pulsed with ridiculous love. Jamie had been indulgent with another awkward youngster a couple of years back. If there was one thing he was phenomenal at, it was making people feel comfortable. Sometimes Michael was as awed by him as Adam seemed to be.

The boy wasn’t letting go of Jamie’s hand. Instead he pulled him closer to the car, confiding in a husky tone, “I have all three of your albums.”

“Oh, so you’re the one who bought them?” Michael grinned. The joke was wearing a bit thin, but he needed to say something to break the spell. It was enough to watch audience members throw yearning looks at Jamie every night. He didn’t need another rival.

Adam nodded eagerly and finally loosened his grip, apparently to swipe his fringe from his face. “Actually, I’ve got two copies of each,” he said. “I keep one in the plastic, the original plastic, um, wrapper, you know… They’ll be worth money one day.”

“Yeah, because right now, they’re worth fuck-all,” Becca snorted as she came walking back, pushing her bike. “What was it in that Virgin sales bin? Fifty pence?”

Adam gave her a filthy look, and seeing it, Michael prickled. Becca was a bloody handful, and he reserved the right to complain about her diva ways whenever he wanted, but he couldn’t stand it when other people didn’t appreciate her. “She’s right,” he said. “Fugue wasn’t exactly Top of the Pops material.”

“But that’s where you’re wrong,” Adam insisted, all serious and big-eyed. “People may not get you just yet, but that’s because you’re so far ahead. I get you, though. It’ll be insane, just wait and see. And when that day comes, remember me. I was a fan all along. Not like these other knuckleheads.” He jerked his thumb in the general direction of the world outside his car. “I think what you’re doing is amazing.”

“Well, thanks for your support,” Michael said, demonstratively turning a foot towards the road.

“Do you want a ride?” Adam asked. “Or I could take your, I don’t know… keyboards?”

“We’ve got a minivan that transports our stuff. Cal drives it.”

Adam relaxed so visibly that Michael almost laughed. The guy had been all wound up because their drummer was missing? This really was a fan.

“Okay,” he smiled lopsidedly and started rolling up the window again. “Well, see you tonight then. It’ll be smashing!” With that, he drove away, waving until they couldn’t see him anymore.

“Aw, bless his heart,” Becca cooed.

Jamie mimed hitting her upside the head. “Without the fans, we wouldn’t even be a band.”

“Oh yes, we would,” she sniffed. “And it would be a hell of a lot more avant garde than playing in Wiltshire town halls.”

“Whatever gave you the idea that Pax is supposed to be avant garde?”

Becca laughed, a sound that sometimes made people think she was a smoker. “Your spaced out fucking hippie album from last year?”

“It’s not a hippie album,” Jamie muttered, but Becca had already jumped onto her bike and was pedalling away as if having the last word was a matter of life and death.

Michael smiled at her receding back. “It’s like having some kind of terrier with us.”

Jamie cocked his head. “A terrier who can play.”

“And mix a wicked Black Russian.”

Jamie nodded gravely. “A talent not to be discounted.”

Their eyes met in silent laughter. A moment of hesitation – and then Jamie stepped forward to plant a soft kiss on Michael’s lips. “Darling.”

Michael closed his eyes to the grey sky above them, to the glistening wet hedges. In that moment, only Jamie existed: his velveteen lips, his warm body. The faint taste of wine. Breaking off the kiss, Michael smiled against his mouth. “At least brush your teeth before we go on tonight.”

Jamie scoffed. “I’m not snogging the audience, Mike. And bad breath isn’t actually visible.”

“Not yet.”

Another car appeared on the horizon, and they quickly stepped away from each other. Jamie withdrew his arm from Michael’s waist, and they slipped back into character. The whole country might know that they were queers, but shoving it down their throats was never a good idea.

Jamie gripped his handlebars, put a foot on the pedal and pushed off. As he swung his other leg over the cross bar, the bike wobbled a little, but then he got control over it and was on his way. Michael followed him closely, shaking his head. One of these days, Jamie was going to end up in a ditch, tangled in his bike. Not that it would make him reconsider the liquid snacking. I have one silver lining in my life, he would say, and you want to take it from me?

And Michael would retort, I’ll show you silver lining.

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