— They’re supposed to be backing vocalists.
— Ah, fuck off, Cuffe, said Billy. — The cunt’s jealous, so he is.
— Yeah, said Outspan.
— Sap, said Imelda.
— Grow a pair o’ tits, pal, an’ then yeh can sing with them, said Billy.
— Are you startin’ somethin’?
— Don’t annoy me.
— Here! said Jimmy. — None o’ tha’.
The time was right for a bit of laying down the law.
— No rows or scraps, righ’.
— Well said, Jim.
— An’ annyway, said Jimmy. — The girls are the best lookin’ part o’ the group.
— Dirty bastard, said Natalie.
— Thanks very much, Jimmy, said Imelda.
— No sweat, ’melda, said Jimmy.
— What’ll we sing? Bernie asked Joey The Lips.
— You know Walking in the Rain?
— Lovely.
— I WANT HIM, Imelda sang.
— It doesn’t exactly have a strong feminist lyric, does it? said James.
— Soul isn’t words, Brother, said Joey The Lips. — Soul is feeling. Soul is getting out of yourself.
— But it’s corny.
— You’re not singin’ it, Specky, said Imelda.
— It’s wha’ yeh’d call crossover music, Jimmy explained. — It appeals to a wider market. Black an’ whi’e. Redneck an’ Dub.
— An’ it’s good, said Natalie.
— You speak the truth, Sister, said Joey The Lips.
— We need rain and thunder. — Brother Billy, you can supply us with the meteorological conditions?
— The wha’?
— Rain and thunder?
— I don’t know abou’ the rain but I can give yeh all the fuckin’ thunder yeh want.
He attacked the kit.
— Fuckin’ hurricane if yeh want it.
Jimmy spoke. — Can yeh rattle one o’ the cymbals gently?
— Gently? — Jaysis, I don’t know. — How’s this?
— Grand, said Jimmy. — That’s the rain.
— Good thinkin’.
The girls were practising a move. They crossed their arms over their chests every time they sang HIM.
— The wall of sound. Mr Spector’s Wall of Sound here, Brothers, said Joey The Lips. — Brother Outspan, you’re the main man on this one.
— Fuck! Am I?
— Stay cool, said Joey The Lips. — Let’s hear it.
— CHUNGHA — CHUNGHA — CHUNGHA — CHUNGHA —
— Terrif, said Joey The Lips. — Sisters.
The Commitmentettes got ready.
— Rain, Joey The Lips shouted.
Billy gave him rain.
— Thunder. — A bit less.
He nodded to the girls.
— DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO—
DOOO—
DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO—
DOOOooo—
Natalie, in the middle, stepped forward.
— I WANT HIM —
— Get up!
— That’s not funny, Brother, said Joey The Lips. — We start again.
— Sorry.
— Rain. — Now thunder.
— DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO —
DOOO —
DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO —
DOOOooo —
I WANT HIM —
AN’ I NEED HIM —
AN’ SOME DAY —
SOME WAY —
WOO OH WOO O —
O —
OH —
I’LL SEE HIM —
Bernie and Imelda stepped up to join Natalie. They sang together now.
— HE’LL BE KIND O’ SHY — Y —
Imelda started laughing but they didn’t stop.
— AN’ REAL GOOD LOOKIN’ TOO —
OOO —
AN’ I’LL BE CERTAIN —
HE’S MY GUY —
COS THE THINGS —
HE’LL —
LIKE —
TO —
DOO —
— Thunder, Joey The Lips roared.
A cymbal hopped off its stand.
— LIKE WALKIN’ IN THE RAIN, Natalie sang.
— LIKE WALKIN’ IN THE RAIN, Bernie and Imelda sang.
Then they were together again.
— AN’ WISHIN’ ON THE STARS —
UP ABOVE —
AN’ BEIN’ SO —
IN LOVE.
If Outspan had broken one string it wouldn’t have mattered. But he broke two so they had to stop till he replaced one of them and Joey The Lips tuned it.
— Tha’ was smashin’, girls, said Jimmy. — Fair play to yis. They’ll be eatin’ chips ou’ o’ your knickers.
— You’re fuckin’ sick, you are.
* * *
Things were going very well.
There were mistakes, rows, a certain amount of absenteeism but things were going well. Joey The Lips was a calming influence on them. It must have been his age. As well as that, they now knew about his past. They’d seen the photographs of Joey The Lips with the stars:
Joey The Lips and Otis Redding on horses, on Otis’ ranch, Joey The Lips said.
Joey The Lips on-stage lying on his back, behind him James Brown’s legs, one of them blurred.
Joey The Lips, with hair, in the studio, Gladys Knight, headphoned, smiling at him.
Joey The Lips and Marvin Gaye, both in skull caps and caftans, standing in front of a pile of rubble, Detroit.
There was even one of Joey The Lips with B. P. Fallon, Fallon with his arm around Joey The Lips’ shoulders, half of Yoko Ono’s head in the background.
And Jimmy had found Joey The Lips’ name in the credits on a few of his albums. (—Is tha’ our Joey? Outspan asked.
— Yep, said Jimmy.
— Fuckin’ hell, said Outspan.
He read the list to Derek.
— Berry Gordy, Smokey Robinson, Lamont Dozier, Joey Irish Fagan, Steve Cropper, Martha Reeves, Diana Ross and The Lord, Jehovah. — Who’s he?) When they saw Joey The Lips looking pleased they knew they were doing alright. And Joey The Lips always looked pleased.
* * *
Or, Joey The Lips nearly always looked pleased. He looked shocked when Dean found Natalie kissing him.
Dean wasn’t looking for them when he found them. He was shutting the garage door and they were behind it. He pulled the door in towards him and there they were, Joey The Lips the one up against the wall, which struck Dean as unusual when he thought about it later. Natalie jumped back, leaving Joey The Lips’ right hand holding air. Dean was going to put the door back but Joey The Lips spoke. Natalie had dashed back inside.
— Do I look different? said Joey The Lips.
— No, Joey.
— Good good, said Joey The Lips. — Because you fairly ruffled my savoir faire there, Dean, my man.
— I, said Dean. — I thought yeh were goin’ for chips.
— I am gone, Dean.
If that was a hint or a plea or an order Dean didn’t know it because he told the lads when he got back inside. He wasn’t ratting. He needed to hear himself saying it. Then he’d be able to believe it.
— FUCK OFF! said Outspan.
— Honest to God, said Dean.
— Where? said Derek.
— Ou’ there, said Dean. — Behind the door.
— It’s not fuckin’ dark yet.
— I know.
— My Jaysis, wha’!
— Fuckin’ hell!
— HEY, YOU! Deco roared across the garage at Natalie.
Natalie was filling the girls in on how she’d got on with Joey The Lips.
— Were you havin’ it off with Joey behind the door?
— Fuck yourself.
— Were yeh?
— What’s it to you if she was? said Bernie.
— You’re fuckin’ taller than him! Deco shouted.
This went against nature.
— So?
None of the lads could answer that one. It was ridiculous, but it hurt too. Natalie was a good looking, a lovely looking young one, younger than them. Joey The Lips was a baldy little bollix nearly fifty. He wore slippers —
For a few minutes The Commitments broke up.