He would open a shoe box full of photographs and pictures cut from magazines and newspapers, of him and Lester together. At that time Lester was one of the world’s biggest pop stars, idolized and followed by millions of fans in dozens of countries, his songs and style imitated by many other groups. Like most pop heroes, Lester contained the essential ingredients of both tenderness and violence, and was neither completely boy nor girl, changing continuously as he expressed and lost himself in various disguises.
In this world before Gabriel was born, people did stranger things than they seemed to now. It amused Dad to boast of ‘going to bed in Memphis and waking up in San Francisco’. He had worn a silver suit open at the front to reveal a shaggy chest on which a heavy medallion bounced. He had padded shoulders on which his curly hair rested — so luxuriant that Gabriel wondered where he had obtained the wig — and dark eye shadow, applied only ‘approximately’, as well as what looked like his grandmother’s earrings. On his feet, fatefully, Dad wore boots with platform soles.
Mum, who had just left art school, helped with the costumes. That was how she and Dad had met, she on her knees, measuring Dad’s inside leg for a pair of red satin trousers though he’d only requested a spangled waistcoat.
It was the platform soles, those Eiffel Towers of footwear with flashing lights in the heel, that had proved calamitous. Lester and the Leather Pigs were playing a gig in the north of Finland. It was dark on stage, and Rex, becoming overexcited as a woman in the audience bared her chest, essayed an ill-advised shimmy. Normally, when performing, he didn’t stir at all; Lester did more than enough of that for the whole band.
Suddenly Rex twisted his ankle. As he struggled to maintain his balance, he saw Lester smiling at him, imagining that Rex was dancing. Rex crashed down from his platform boots to find himself grovelling on the floor of the stage like an injured insect. Craggy roadies immediately ran to him. But instead of rushing him to hospital, they attempted to reinstate Rex so that he could complete the gig, propped up like a shattered ornament between a couple of speakers.
It was discovered that Rex’s leg and ankle were broken. The roadies suggested that for the rest of the tour Rex be held up in a harness, suspended from the ceiling, not unlike a puppet. Rex objected to this humiliation; while the band completed the tour, he made his way home.
By the time Rex had mended, Lester had moved on to a style of music involving flatter shoes, funkier tunes and darker hair. When Rex begged Lester to let him rejoin him Lester insisted he wanted a different sound and less hirsute musicians. Rex volunteered to shave his body, but he never worked with Lester again.
Dad had first gone to gigs as a teenager. It wasn’t long before he was playing live himself. He loved the fear and anticipation of walking on stage with a band, and the noise of the crowd and their adoration. He liked seeing different cities and concert halls. He began to understand the need of actors to perform; he knew, too, that they never did the same thing every night. He believed the audience understood that what he was playing was different, or difficult, or ironic, or was just what was required in the circumstances.
After a good gig there were parties and backstage foolishness. Dad said that then you were your own drug, and the intoxication lasted several hours, though it wasn’t long before you had to repeat it. It was a ‘sailor’s’ existence that Dad thought would be his life, insulated from the steep complications of the everyday world, like having to prepare food or form relationships that could survive daylight.
Following the accident he did, after a year, go on the road with Charlie Hero, a follower of Lester Jones whose music resembled Jones’s. But Dad was getting older. In the bands he played with, though he was often the most accomplished musician, he was made to stand at the side of the stage, in shadow, where he got cold and had to wear thick socks; he was kept out of the videos for being too ugly, and eventually out of the bands altogether.
Before the accident Dad had been known as Free-standing Fred. Unlike many musicians, he rarely drank or used stimulants. But after it he was known as Restless Rex. People said he could never stand unaided again, without a drink in his hand.
After the phone call from Lester, Dad bought some beers to celebrate. They hurried up the stairs once more and lay down together in the single bed.
‘I like a hard bed,’ said Dad.
‘Good for our backs.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Dad, your ear is bleeding.’ Gabriel fetched a wet towel and bathed his father’s ear. ‘Now keep still.’
‘That really was Lester Jones. He’s been receiving my correspondence.’
‘You write to him?’
‘Always have. His manager and I once spent a night in jail together. I keep Lester informed about what’s going on in the real world and so on.’
‘How would you know?’
‘Don’t be cheeky.’
‘I didn’t know you were writing to him.’
‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me. I go to cafés with the other old men, and just write anything. Children only see a small part of their parents.’
‘Oh,’ said Gabriel. ‘Will I be shocked by you? Should I see a psychiatrist?’
‘I’ve witnessed it, pal. When the parents go mad, they rush their kids onto the couch. Isn’t that what happened to Zak?’
‘Yeah, when his old man came out — over Sunday lunch — Zak was sent to a suit who asked him dirty questions and told him to express himself.’
‘Did he express himself?’
‘So much so that his mother stopped him going and told the psychiatrist to see a psychiatrist. She had thought it would make Zak good, not rebellious.’
Dad was laughing.
‘Luckily for you, we can’t afford that funny stuff. And you’re a beautiful kid, Angel.’ He went on, ‘Lester’s been commissioned to work on his autobiography. The only problem is, his head is riddled with holes. All I’ve lost is my hair. Lester needs to be reminded of what close mates we were, and how I helped him make those records. That’s partly my guitar sound on there. It was me who told him to be bold. “Go further,” I said all the time. “Be as mad as you can be.” He always reminded me of Orson Welles.’
‘Sorry? Is that the younger Welles or the older? When are you going to see him?’
‘When are we going, you mean?’
‘You’re taking me?’
‘Tomorrow morning.’
‘I’m supposed to be at school.’
Dad hesitated. ‘You’ve had more than enough education. Lester is more important than algebra. Promise you won’t tell Mum.’ Dad started to roll a joint. ‘Don’t tell her anything about me, except that there’s some kicking life in your old dad yet.’
Two years ago the three of them had gone to see Lester perform in a football stadium. He, Mum and Dad spent the day searching through boxes in order to dress up in ‘Lester’ gear, seventies clothes, glitter and make-up, applied by Mum. Of course, Lester walked on stage wearing a dark suit, although he did wear high heels with it. Gabriel had been pained to see his father among the ticket touts and pushing hysterical crowd, ankle-deep in the rubbish on the floor, surrounded by people wearing T-shirts with Lester’s face on, knowing Dad could have been rocking on stage.
‘Dad, can you tell me who that man was?’ said Gabriel.
‘Which man?’
‘The one who held you against the wall. What does he want?’
‘Don’t ask. He wants … only money. He was good enough to lend me something a few days ago, when I was cycling for the company. I thought I’d be able to pay him back.’
‘And will you?’
‘I think we’ll be all right now.’
‘How?’
‘Lester will take care of us. I’m certain of it. I’ll be out of here in a few weeks. Maybe in a few days. It’s going to be the high life for us! I’m thinking of taking you to New York for a bit.’