Maybe Tomorrow (part 1)
Happy birthday, oh_mumble,
... and thank you for the nagsencouragement, the comments, and the odd bit that I may have borrowed from your canon.
This is set a little over two years after All the Small Things. Just as well, because it's been festering in the back of my head for nearly that long. As with any story, please remember:
This is fiction. The characters and events in this story are imaginary. Nothing is implied or should be inferred about people, places, or events in the real world.
Contains strong language from the outset.
Maybe Tomorrow
No man means all he says, and yet very few say all they mean,
for words are slippery and thought is viscous.
- Henry Brooks Adams
Three hands drove the last chord from the guitars; the snare and kick drum thudded out the last beat. As the notes faded away, the stadium held its breath.
And then, seventeen thousand voices erupted.
Danny bounced up to the microphone and wiped the sweat from his face, his smile widening to stretch from ear to ear. “Thank you everybody! Good night!”
The boys raised their hands in a wave, and - BANG! - the pyros sent up a shower of sparks and white smoke. The traps dropped, and they were under the stage blinking away the ghosts of the spotlights.
A voice roared at them from the shadows. “Move!”
They pulled out their ear-sets as the crew moved in, swapped instruments and radio packs for towels and water bottles, and shouted inaudible thanks and see-yous. As they blinked and grinned at each other, Harry bounded down the backstage stairs, arms outstretched. He picked up Doug, swept Danny along, ran into Tom and pulled them all into a sweaty hug.
“Come on girls, time for that later.” Their tour manager put out his arms and began to herd them along the corridor. “Go go go. There's god knows how many screaming teenies will be after your scrawny bodies in a minute.”
“All right, Tommy.” The group broke up and started to jog away.
Danny looked back over his shoulder and gave a big thumbs-up. “Cheers, Tommy!”
“Shoo.” The grey-haired man swept his arms towards him, eyebrows fierce together over twinkling eyes.
Danny laughed, and jogged after the others. He caught up with Doug, slapped him on the backside, and sprinted off down the concrete tunnel.
The four of them spilled out the door, gulped diesel-scented air as they clambered into the tour bus, pounded up the steps to the top deck and hurled themselves onto the couches in the rear lounge. They slouched, panted, and mopped sweat, then swayed with the quiet motion of the bus. Eight eyes shone over four towels, four huge smiles and…
“Yeah!”
“Fuckin A!”
“Best one yet.”
Tom frowned. “I don’t know. I thought there were a couple of times when…” He lowered his head, peered up at Danny, at Doug, at Harry, and promptly disappeared under a blizzard of soggy towels.
He dug himself out and threw them back.
Danny started beating his palms on his knees, “dumm, dumm, duh-duh-dumm.” He grinned at Harry. “That were great tonight. You really went for it, didn’t you?”
Harry pulled his sticks from his back pocket and joined in with the rhythm. “It’s been hard work, but I’ll make proper musicians out of you yet.”
Tom smiled. “Are you going to teach us to sing like you, as well?”
“Yeah,” Doug said, “Tom’s gran really liked that last year.” He grimaced, and pulled his mouth to one side.
“Fuck no.” Harry stopped drumming and shook his head. “I never wanted to do that in the first place. It was you lot.”
“It weren’t that bad,” Danny said. “Nobody got taken to hospital, anyway.” He clamped his hands to his head. “Oh! Oh! My ears!” dodging as Harry snatched another towel and whipped it at him.
“Ask the fans what they’d rather have,” Harry said. “Crap singing, or good drumming.”
“It was supposed to be comedy, Enrique.”
“Fuck off. Whatever. I’d rather die than sing on stage again.” He sat back, wiped the back of his hand across his forehead and raised his arms into a stretch. Beside him, Doug drained his water bottle, reached into the bin and brought out a can.
“What was that shit?” He popped the can open and gulped down several mouthfuls, belched, and scrunched up his face. “I can’t get the fucking taste out of my month.”
Tom and Harry turned to each other and burst out laughing.
“What?” Danny stopped his drumming.
“When you were doing your solo and we're in the little shack, bar, thing...”
“They gave me this-”
“You said you’d drink anything we put in front of you.”
“You should have seen his face.” They screwed up their faces at each other and fell about laughing again.
Doug glared, emptied the can, swallowing as he reached for another. “There’s a difference between a joke and fucking poisoning someone.” He sat back and sipped his drink. “Gaahhh!” He shuddered, stuck out his tongue and scraped it against his teeth.
Tom and Harry collapsed in more fits of laughter. Danny shook his head and picked up the beat where he’d left off.
The coach stopped at a set of lights. Harry turned, pressed his face to the window, then turned back. “Right, our mission here is done. Who’s coming clubbing?”
Danny sat up and pushed his hair off his face. “Try and stop me.”
Tom frowned. “Don’t know.” He tilted back his head and sniffed. “I’m still feeling pretty wrecked-”
“Come on, Tom.”
“Come on, mate, it’ll be good. Travel day tomorrow, rest then.”
“Bit of adrenaline, just what the doctor ordered.”
A tiny smile crept onto Tom’s face.
“That’s the way, Tommy boy.” Harry slid along the seat. “You’re coming, aren’t you, Pugs?”
Doug's face contorted as he took another drink.
“Come on, mate,” Danny said, “be a right laugh. Maybe your girlfriend from last year will be there, you remember, the one with the-”
“I’d rather drink a gallon of that camel piss.”
“Boring.” Harry circled one arm around Doug’s neck and knuckle-rubbed his head. “Come on, you know you want to.”
“Get off!” Doug twisted in Harry's arms. As he pushed at the drummer's chest, the bus lurched round a corner and over a bump. He yelped, and the pair of them thumped back onto the couch.
“Hotel,” Tom said, as the bus came to a halt. They heard the door open.
“Right, lads, my room, half an hour.” Harry bounced off the seat and headed down the narrow staircase. Tom started after him, Danny a couple of paces behind. Doug rubbed his neck, wincing, then he gulped down the last of the drink and binned the can.
As he stepped down from the bus, the others were gathered, waiting for him. Harry draped an arm across his shoulders, and together they walked towards the hotel.
Doug hunched over the coffee table, oblivious to the off-key whistling in the bathroom and the knocking on the door. He chewed at the end of a pencil, scribbled something on a sheet of hotel paper, sat up a little and studied it. He didn’t look up when Danny pushed the door open and strutted in.
“Not going like that, are you mate?” Danny ran his hand through his damp ringlets, still a novelty after years of straightening. “Eh? Why haven't you changed?”
“What?” Harry emerged from the bathroom, threw his towel on the bed, stepped into his trousers, and turned toward the table. “Pugsley, what the… Come on, go and get ready.” He picked up his shirt and slipped his arms into the sleeves, then started on his buttons. “Pugs!”
“I’ve got this-”
“Fuck’s sake, Dougie, not again. Leave that and come and have some fun.” Harry moved towards the table.
“What’s wrong?” Tom came into the room, clicking the door shut behind him.
“Nothin,” Danny said. “Dougie’s decided not to come.”
“Anything wrong?” Tom asked.
Doug shook his head. “I’ve got...” He tapped his head, then the paper with his pen. “I want-”
“He wants to feel wanted.” Harry grabbed Doug's arms and pinned them behind him. “We want you, Pugsley. Don't we, lads?”
“Don’t…” Doug tried to stand, tried to shake himself free.
Harry pushed him back down onto the chair and reached towards his ribs. “We. Want. You!”
“No! Aahh…” Doug twisted in Harry’s arms. “Lea-he-heave me alone.”
“To. Come. With. Us.” Harry tickled again. Danny scooted forward and reached for Doug’s legs.
“Get off me-ha-how.” Doug squirmed. The larger boys pulled together, and he slid off the chair and thumped onto the floor. “Ow, fuck!”
“Come on, Dougie, it’ll be fun.” Harry shifted round, changed his grip on Doug’s arms and sat across the smaller boy’s hips. He ran his fingers along the lower edge of his ribs.
“Harry, please, I don’t…”
Tom frowned. “Harry, that’s enough. If he doesn’t-”
“You know you want to really.” Harry started to bounce. “See, you’re enjoying yourself already.”
Doug shook his head, coughed and tried again to wriggle free. “Stop it, I've got to, you’re…”
Danny released his hold and edged away. “Harry...”
“Get… off!” Doug's face turned dark. “Oh shit...”
“What would you do without us?” Harry ran his hand up Doug’s side towards his armpit. “Nothing.”
“Bastard! Fuck!” Doug thrashed, then pushed against the floor, the veins on his neck standing out as he lifted the drummer a foot in the air.
“Yee-har! Get along little Dougie!”
“Get the fuck off me!”
“Harry, mate. Leave him.” Danny put a hand on Harry’s shoulder.
“Why? We're just-”
Doug yelled out, forced his hips off the ground and sent Harry off balance. He twisted and slid free, churning his legs as the drummer tried to get another hold on him.
“Fuck!” Harry crumpled. Doug rolled away, pushed himself onto his feet and hobbled towards the door.
“Dougie?” Tom turned as he went past. On the floor behind him, Harry curled up, gasping for breath..
“You never listen.” Doug reached the door and pulled it open. “You never know when to fucking stop.” The door closed itself behind him.
“Don’t think he wants to go, mate.” Danny crouched down beside Harry. “Caught you good, did he?”
“Little shit.” Harry coughed, pulled himself upright and leaned against the dresser. He slid a hand into his trousers and winced. “Let him fucking stay here, then.”
Tom and Danny frowned at each other as Harry sat panting.
He rose painfully to his feet. “Come on, let’s go and have some fucking fun.”
Harry clambered through the taxi door and dropped himself in the seat, Danny close behind. Tom glanced back into the lobby, then stuck his head in the door.
“Changed my mind. I’m going to stay here.”
“What?” Harry rolled his eyes. “Not you as well. We get one night when we can have a bit of fun…”
Danny nodded at the empty seat beside him, craned his head at the window and peered upwards. “He’ll be OK.”
Tom followed his gaze. He shook his head. “It isn't that. I’m still not right.” He sniffed. “Flu meds are starting to wear off. I’d better get an early night.”
Danny tilted his head. “Sure?”
“Yeah. I wouldn't be able to drink anyway. Sorry guys, have a good time.”
“And then there were two,” Harry muttered.
Tom shrugged. He closed the taxi's door and patted its roof, stood back and watched it pull away, coughing as the smoke drifted past his head. He blew his nose, then glanced upwards, frowned, and turned towards the lobby.
Tom tapped on the door, turned his head and listened.
“Dougie?” He tapped again and waited. When no answer came, he sighed, took three paces sideways to his own door, swept the card through the lock and went in.
The heavy door clunked shut behind him. Tom shed his jacket, hung it in the wardrobe, and stood for a moment beside the connecting door to Doug's room. He shook his head, dug into his pocket and pulled out a wad of tissues, grimaced and dropped them in the bin, then took a fresh handful from the box on the dresser, buried his nose in it and honked. He took a deep breath and blew again, sniffed a couple of times, and shook his head.
“Fuck.”
He picked up the kettle from its tray on the dresser, carried it into the bathroom and filled it, brought it back out and plugged it in. As it started to crackle and hiss, he searched through the clutter on his dresser, tutted and went back into the bathroom. A moment later, he emerged with a foil sachet, ripped it open and dumped the powdery contents in the mug.
Tom sat on the bed and stared into the mirror. He began to sigh; it turned into a coughing fit that left him bent double. He straightened up, muttering to himself, and his eyes drifted towards the connecting door. He rubbed a palm up his face, across his forehead, then back down the way it came.
He sniffed again.
The kettle boiled and clicked off. Tom’s head jerked towards it, then he sat back, slipped his phone out of his pocket, flipped it open and pressed a couple of buttons. He held it to his ear, listened, and frowned.
“Hi love, it's me, I'm in the hotel. The concert went great. Uh, Danny and Harry are out and Dougie is, I don't know, something's wrong, and, I don't know, I feel like crap and I really wish you were here now and I can't wait til tomorrow.” He sniffed. “Call me when you get this, OK? Love you.”
He put his phone in his pocket, stood, and reached towards the kettle, snatched back his hand at a sudden torrent of conversation from the corridor. As it turned to laughter, he hurried to the door and put his eye to the peephole. The voices faded, and Tom shuffled back into the room. He stopped beside the connecting door and brushed his fingertips on the handle
“Don't,” he muttered, turned sharply, retraced his steps and picked up the cards that were hanging on the main door. He shuffled through them - Do Not Disturb, Please Clean Me, Breakfast Order - and found himself once more at the door to Doug's room.
Tom sighed, gripped the knob and twisted. The door opened an inch. Somewhere on the other side, water was running.
“Dougie?” Tom opened the door wider and pushed his head through. Doug's room was empty, but the bathroom door was slightly ajar, enough to reveal a phone and wallet piled beside the wash basin and, further down, a bare foot bent against the white tile floor. A shadow passed over it, then a hand draped a crumpled mass of wet cloth over the edge of the basin, followed a few seconds later by an equally crumpled and wet pair of boxers.
A shower curtain scraped along its rail, and the water splattered and hissed into the bath.
Tom pulled back and eased the door shut. He returned to the kettle, coughed and frowned as he waited for it to boil again. He filled the cup and carried it to the table, stirred it and stared for a long time into the swirling liquid.
“Fuck.”
He got up and stood at the window, blew his nose, pressed his head to the glass and closed his eyes.
At last he sniffed, blew his nose again and went back to his cup. He read through the breakfast menu while he finished the drink, read it again, then got up and stood beside the connecting door. He sighed, knocked twice, and called out.
“Yeah?” Doug’s muffled voice answered.
Tom opened the door enough to put his head through.
Doug walked towards him from the bed, damp-haired with a towel round his waist. “You’re back early.”
“Didn’t go.”
Doug narrowed his eyes. “Oh.”
“Yeah. I...”
The bass player turned away and sat on the end of the bed.
Tom opened the door and took a few steps after him. “Dougie, are you-?”
“Tom, I’m fine.” Doug’s mouth twitched. “Go and worry about Grumpy and Dopey being plastered across the front page tomorrow.”
Tom's face turned red. “I thought, earlier… your idea, I thought maybe you wanted-”
“Shit.” Doug rose halfway. “It’s in his room.” He sank back, turning his head towards the window. “Fuck.”
“I could go…” Tom gestured towards the door. “Grum... Harry’s room.” He patted his pocket. “Master key. I could get it.”
“Forget it. It was crap anyway.” Doug stood again and took a step towards Tom. “Was there anything else?”
Tom backed into the doorway and glanced into Doug's bathroom. The damp clothes were still draped over the basin; on the floor below, a small puddle shimmered and shook.
“I just…” Tom sneezed, pulled a tissue from his pocket and cleared his nose. “I… was making some tea. You want a drink?”
“Will you stop fucking trying to-”
Tom cringed.
“Sorry.” Doug’s eyes flicked down to the floor. “It's all right. I’m all right. Tired. Just tired. You know?”
The older boy nodded, and with a last glance into the bathroom, he retreated the rest of the way through the door. “Yeah, me too. I’ll leave you to it, then. Oh.” He waved the card in his hand. “Breakfast. You want me to order?”
Doug sighed. “Yeah, why not?” He nodded. “Night, Tom.”
“G’night Dougie.” Tom eased the door shut. The latch clicked, and he stood, biting his lip and staring at the handle. His arm dropped to his side, and he turned and shuffled towards his bed.
“Fuck.”
Part 2 ⇒