Page 1 of Wish You Once More
1
Mat
“What do you say, little bro? Are you in?”
The answer to Jonny’s question should have been simple:Sorry, no, Jonny. The timing isn’t great, and I’m not sure our manager would approve of me taking a week off to play a gig with my brother for a tiny festival no-one’s actually heard of.
Harsh, but true.
Plus:Not to mention how pissed off Scott would be.
Of course, the words which came out of my mouth totally contradicted my thoughts.
“Yeah, sure. Sounds like a blast.”
“Brilliant! Thanks, Mat. You don’t know what this means.”
I did, actually. It would mean a shitload of increased interest in the festival, which the residents of our hometown didn’t always relish. Having the bassist from Trash Gun take up the vacant slot in his brother’s band was as newsworthy as it got. Jonny babbled on about how much he looked forward to seeing me, how my sister-in-law and nephew would appreciate me being around for a while, not to mention Dad.
“Look, J, I’ve gotta go. We’re on deadline here, and if we don’t get these tracks down, we won’t hit the release dates.” While I enjoyed chatting with Jonny, now wasn’t the time.
“Sure, give me a call later and we’ll sort out all the details.”
We said our goodbyes and I ended the call, a sinking sensation in my stomach.
Scott would kill me.
As if on cue, he appeared at the door to the studio’s kitchen. We’d already had several heart-to-hearts in here, when he was sorting things out with Rosie Tatton, his now girlfriend. It seemed odd seeing Scott so settled, much calmer than the loose cannon he used to be. Maybe he wouldn’t flare up as much as I feared.
“You okay, buddy?” he asked, stepping up to the counter and pouring himself another coffee. For Scott, caffeine was about as far as the addictions went these days, unless you counted the now very occasional joint we sometimes wound the day down with.
“All good.” I waved my phone at him. “My brother wanted to ask me something.”
“How’s Jonny doing? I haven’t seen him in ages.”
If I had to guess, it would probably be around two years. In the past, we’d go to Darthampton, my hometown by the river, during summer breaks from uni. Manchester wasn’t as pretty, plus we had the advantage that my family ran a holiday home business. We often took advantage of a last-minute break if there was a cancellation. But since Trash Gun had rocketed up the popularity charts, visits had become a lot less frequent. I hadn’t been home since Christmas, and even then, I’d only been there three days, and barely left the house.
When Jonny told me his bassist was leaving his band to move to Bristol, which was shit timing for their most celebrated gig of the year, I knew what he’d be angling for. The band played the Dart Sundowner without fail every year, and had done since he was twenty and I was eighteen. Back then, neither of us had any idea how things would pan out. If I’d been a betting man, Jonny would have been the one fronting a rock band - he certainly had the talent - and I’d be the one maintaining rental properties and organising cleaning rotas. A guest appearance from one of the indie rock world’s most popular bassists - I had the internet magazine’s award to prove it - would ensure a record-breaking attendance. Ha, who was I kidding? I was no Dave Grohl. But it would probably increase donations and merchandise sales. I hadn’t meant to say yes to Jonny. But I had. Now I had to deal with the consequences.
“Yeah, he’s good.” I hesitated. I needed to gauge Scott’s mood before telling him. Fireworks wouldn’t be pleasant for the rest of our recording session.
“Is he still playing in that band? The JRs or whatever they’re called.”
Jonny had thought it amusing to name the band after himself, not realising that his initials were also a hugely famous soap opera character from the eighties. Dad had taken great delight in educating him on all things Dallas. I’m pretty sure Jonny only started wearing a Stetson at gigs to take the piss out of its origins.
“He is. They’re doing the festival again this year.”
Scott sipped from his mug. “We should go down and support him. Be nice to take Rosie down there and show her some of my childhood.”
I swallowed hard. “I’ve already said I’ll go.”
“Cool, can you arrange a house for us? Get your dad to sort us something out on the waterfront?”
The floor was suddenly riveting, and I avoided Scott’s gaze. “Sure, shouldn’t be too much of a problem.” I dragged a hand through my hair.
“What aren’t you telling me, Mat?”
My head snapped up. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”
