All the Small Things (part 22)
Sunday afternoon
“That's it, Bolton. You're dead.”
“Never! This time I… Ah… awww!” Danny's controller fell to the cushion. “How many is that? You got a cheat or something.”
“Pure talent, mate. Pure talent.”
“And so modest.” Tom's voice came from the doorway. He shuffled in, sat on the two-seater and put his mug on the table, yawned and stretched.
Harry twisted round.
“Tom. Last night… Sorry.”
Danny turned his head and watched them.
Tom shrugged. “We all have bad days.” He nodded at Danny and smiled. “I'm sorry about earlier, guys, thanks for sorting me out, and the kitchen…”
He picked up his mug and slurped a couple of mouthfuls as the other boys returned to the game. “Where's Dougie?”
Two shrugs answered him.
“In his room?” Danny said.
Tom shook his head. “I just looked in there.”
“He said he had some stuff to do.”
“In the loo?” Danny moved his fist back and forth in the air.
“What, you muppet, for six hours?”
“Hah, like you never did. Maybe he's reading the articles.”
“Readers' lizards,” Tom said.
Danny and Harry snorted and turned to look at him. His tongue suddenly flicked out from his expressionless face. They collapsed against each other.
“Seriously, guys.” Tom sipped his tea and waited for them to calm down. “Seriously, nobody's seen him?”
“Nope.”
Harry put his controller on the table. “He got the glass out of his foot, then said he had to do something. Exact words.”
“So he's just gone off . We don't know where, or when, or if he'll be back.”
Harry jumped to his feet. “I'd better check…”
He bounded up the stairs. The toilet and bathroom doors were open. So was Doug's. Harry stepped inside the bedroom, saw nothing but Zukie and his bits and pieces, the usual unmade bed and piles of clothes and shoes. He turned to leave, stopped in his tracks when Year 3000 sounded from somewhere behind him.
“James will kill you if he hears that.” He turned and followed the ring tone. The phone was half hidden under a pillow on the bed. He picked it up and checked the caller-ID. “If Tom doesn't do it first.”
He pressed the answer button.
“Tom… no, it's me. No, he's left it behind again… No, nothing.”
Harry juggled the phone one-handed as he stood looking out the window. His mouth twitched. He flipped the phone into the air one last time, then set it on the amp beside Doug's bed and headed back to the living room.
“Harry's here. Let's just get on with it, and check with Dougie when he gets back.” Danny looked up as Harry walked in the room. “Go through the songs we've wrote, pick the ones for the album. All right?”
“He should be here,” Tom said. Danny and Harry rolled their eyes at each other.
“Shall we grab a drink and get started?” Harry said.
As he reached into the back of the fridge for another can, Harry stopped, struggled with something for a moment, then pulled out a huge beef joint.
“2.3 kilos. Tom, what were you thinking when you got this?”
“My mum always gets a big roast for Sunday. I guess I saw it…”
Harry looked at the label, checked his watch. “Well, it needs to be eaten. Who's cooking?” He looked from one guilty face to the other. “Oh, come on.”
“But you're so good at it, Harry.”
Harry looked at his watch again. “It'll have to go in now, then.” He turned to the oven, opened the door and scowled into it. “Why do I always end up in the fucking kitchen?”
Danny laughed. “Hey, that were a song!”
“Oh no, not another of your obscure guitar legends.”
“Jona Lewie? Dunno if he's a legend. I think he's just obscure.”
The sun was low in the sky when the lock clicked, the door swung open, and Doug stumbled into the hallway. He reached up and tugged several times at his key, and the purple carrier bag in his hand swung and thumped against the thick wood. The key left the lock suddenly, sent him hopping a couple of paces backwards.
“Crap.” He stepped round the door and pushed it shut, then bent, wheezing. The house was full of drum and guitar sounds.
Doug straightened and limped towards the stairs, leaned heavily on the bannister and climbed one at a time. He grunted as he reached the landing, then hobbled to the bottom of the second flight and looked up.
At the other end of the corridor, the music stopped in mid-beat. Doug's head snapped around, his hand tensed on the rail. Danny's laugh rang out, Tom said something, there was a quick burst of guitar, another answered it, and the drums started up again.
Doug put his foot on the bottom step and gritted his teeth.
At the top of the stairs, he turned the corner into Tom's room and caught his breath, then made his way to the desk at the far end. He flopped into the chair, took out two white boxes from the carrier bag and set them on the desk, lifted Tom's computer and placed it upside down in front of him.
He closed his eyes, wrinkled his forehead. “Battery,” he murmured, opened them and ran his finger over the faded stickers and random perforations on the underside of the laptop.
“Battery.” He moved a catch, slid a lever. A black brick the size of his hand popped out. He slid it the rest of the way, lifted it and and sniffed.
“Eugh.” He pulled it away from his nose, coughed, and set it down.
He picked up the smaller of the white boxes, struggled with the plastic sealing tape for a moment, then shook an identical brick onto the desk. He looked from one to the other, held them side by side, set the old one down and offered the new one to the hole in the computer. It slotted in, slid smoothly…
And stopped, with the end of the battery sticking out a quarter of an inch.
Doug pushed on it a couple of times, pulled it out halfway and tried sliding it in more carefully. Each time it went so far, and no further. He took the battery out, turned it around every way he could, looked into the slot, tried wiggling the catch and lever. He even put the old battery back in. It fitted perfectly. He took it out and tried the new one again.
It still wouldn't go.
Doug growled, planted an elbow on the desk and propped his forehead against his hand, stared either side of his wrist at the upturned computer. His free hand went to his mouth. He bit at the nail on his thumb, ran each fingernail in turn between his front teeth, then made one last attempt to coax the battery into place.
He squeezed his eyes shut, lowered his head onto his forearm and rocked it from side to side.
Harry looked at his watch, put down his sticks, and stood. “Need to go do a couple of things in the kitchen. Want another drink?”
Tom nodded, pointed to his bottle. Danny held his up, raised a finger. Harry nodded and left.
“Where the hell is Dougie?”
“He's sixteen, and it's a sunny day in London. Got any sense, he'll be out in park watching girls. Like we should be.” Danny swirled what was left in the bottle, then drained it. “He didn't sleep last night either, you know. Harry told me. Probably fell asleep under a tree.”
“He could at least have told us where he was going, or taken his damn phone.”
“Tom, just… aww, he'll be all right.”
Doug sat up, and pulled the new battery out of the computer. He turned it over in his hands, and, with a sigh, reached for its box.
His fingers were an inch away when he stopped, looked at it again, then stared at the old one where it lay on the desk.
“So fucking stupid,” he whispered, pulled off a small plastic cap and revealed a set of metal teeth. He tried again. The battery slid and clicked into place.
Hands shaking, he turned the computer right side up, tore open the other box and shook out a power supply and a mains cable. He fitted them together, crouched beneath the desk and plugged the box into the wall, then fed the cable up behind the desk, shuffled backwards and straightened up.
Thunk. The desk, the laptop, and the old battery all jumped.
“Fukkit!” Doug sank forward, groaned, and rubbed the back of his head.
He kept his hand there, moved further back and hesitantly brought himself upright, then waddled forward on his knees, stretched across the desk for the power cable and fitted it into the laptop. Two small lights near the hinge winked on, one flashing yellow, one steady green.
Doug pressed the latch, eased the lid open, and hunted around the keyboard. He held his breath, narrowed his eyes, poised a finger over the on button.
He pressed it.
Harry sighed, shoved his phone in his pocket and stared out the window.
The microwave pinged. He turned, took out the plate of potatoes, prodded a couple with his finger, then rolled them onto the baking tray and slid it into the oven. He lowered the plate into the sink, stared again out the window while his hands reached to the counter for something to occupy themselves.
A quiet cough brought him back to earth.
Harry caught the eight-inch knife he was flipping, set it down and looked at Danny's reflection in the window.
“You could do a magic act. The Amazing Juddo and his Drumsticks of Death.” Danny smiled. “Can you pull Dougie out of a hat? Tom's gettin, well… Thought I'd see if you needed a hand.”
“Sorry, Dan. I'll be right up. Drinks are there if you want them.”
The laptop whirred, chimed sweetly, then chuffed to itself for an eternity. At last, Tom's dimpled snarl appeared on the welcome screen.
Doug deflated onto the desk, knelt for a minute or so, then looked up at the screen. Tom and his dimple were still there.
He grunted, and pushed himself onto his feet, gathered the old battery, the boxes and bits of paper and plastic into the carrier bag, then limped across the room. After one last glance at the computer, he turned and began his slow descent of the stairs.
⇐ Part 21 - Part 23 ⇒