The Church and the Tradesman - 12. The Mentor

“What are you looking at?” said Tyrone.

My eyes were on the television behind him. I picked up the remote control to fumble with the volume. There was a reporter outside the front of the hospital, and she was about to interview Bob!

‘I should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to keep his trap shut’.

There was no depth to which my colleague wouldn’t sink, and nothing he wouldn’t do to make a bit of extra dosh. I wondered if my boss was watching as I glared nervously at the small screen at the end of the bed.

“It’s your fat friend,” said Tyrone. “This should be hilarious.” He flashed me a mischievous smile and pushed back his golden locks before making himself comfortable on the arm of the chair.

It was a stupid presumption to make. Bob was never funny when it came to making money. Neither would he allow friendship or loyalty to get in the way of personal gain. Tyrone was unlikely to be laughing once Bob had finished. I barred my face with my hands and peeked through my fingers preparing myself for the worst.

The reporter introduced him as a contractor who had been working in the house at the time of the incident, and my workmate smiled into the camera. I was sure he was laughing at me.

“Can you tell us what happened last night?”

“There was an unfortunate accident involving a colleague of mine.”

“Eyewitnesses describe seeing a naked man jumping from a first-floor window, was this your colleague?”

Bob looked hesitant as if he was trying to remember what happened. I was infuriated, he wasn’t even there at the time.

“He didn’t jump, he fell. It was an accident,” said Bob, who was looking a little out of his comfort zone. I could see why. The interview had attracted a small but vociferous posse of young girl fans who had gathered behind him, pulling faces and waving at the camera. He was clearly rattled by their presence as the reporter pressed him for some answers.

Tyrone was enjoying every second of it, laughing and turning to me excitedly as if expecting me to join him.

“What was he doing on the window ledge?” asked the reporter.

“I can’t say for certain. You’ll ave to ask him. Maybe he got lost.”

“He was outside the first-floor window.”

“Yes, I know that.”

“What was he doing out there?”

“Probably checking the drainpipes. It’s an important part of the job.”

“At four o’clock in the morning?”

The interview was interrupted when one of the girls reached over and took Bob’s hat. As he spun around, another girl slapped his balding head.

“Oi, stop it, you lot. Gimme me fucking hat back.” The girls were laughing, but the reporter wasn’t amused. She told them to back off, and one of the news crew stepped to try to calm them down.

“Why wasn’t he wearing any clothes?” asked the reporter. Her question was met by a chorus of whistles and laughter from the girls who were getting the better of the crew.

“I dunno, it was bleeding hot in there.”

“He was naked!”

“Who told you that?”

“There are photographs.”

I dropped my head in shame as Bob floundered to explain something he knew nothing about.

“Oh, well, he hasn’t been all that well lately. He must’ve just lost it. I don’t think he knew wot he was doing. We were under a lot of pressure, you see. It wasn’t easy. We were at it since early that morning, almost twenty-hours without a break. Am I allowed to swear?”

“No!”

Bob was more at home lying about work than he was about my exploits and he looked to gaining confidence.

“Where was Tyrone when all this was going on?”

“He was with me,” said Bob. “He had nothing to do with the accident. I don’t think he even knew Andy was there. We were aving a chat downstairs. He ain’t a bad kid. Nothing like wot you lot say.”

“Are you his manager?” asked one of the girls.

“No,” he mused. "I suppose you could say I’m more of a confidant.”

Tyrone roared with laughter as I allowed my hands to slide down my face, staring in disbelief at Bob’s performance.

“He’s such a dick.”

“No, he’s not,” said Tyrone. “He’s a comic genius, I love him.”

He loved Bob because he was getting him off the hook, although I couldn’t understand why. He hated Tyrone and had the perfect opportunity to pay him back for his petulance.

“Can you get me his autograph,” asked one of the girls.

“Me too,” added another. “And a photograph.”

“Can you give him a message?”

“Can we meet him?”

“Have you got any tickets?”

“I can probably arrange all of that if you give me my fucking hat back.” The girls were surprisingly taken in by Bob’s pathetic lies. He got his hat back and I could see him scheming as he turned the table on them. “Is that it?” he asked the reporter.

“No. The police told us they were called to the house to investigate a possible threat against the singer. What can you tell us about that?”

“I don’t know anything about it. He was with me all the time. It must have been a hoax. You lot should get your facts straight before reporting shit like that.” He turned to the girls for back up, and they all agreed with him, sneering at the camera and poking their tongues at the reporter.

“Tyrone was seen entering the hospital earlier, is he visiting your colleague?”

“I dunno.”

“I thought you said you were his confidant?”

“I shouldn’t imagine he was visiting Andy. He doesn’t even know him. I think the press should leave him alone. Shouldn’t they girls?”

Bob had them eating from his hand like he was some kind of guru. They jeered the reporter while Bob gave her a smug grin. Then he silenced them with a wave of his hand.

Tyrone was jumping around the room laughing like a little kid. He looked like he was going to wet himself.

“See, nothing to worry about. You shouldn’t doubt your friend. Bob’s obviously a man of great wisdom.”

I picked up the remote and muted the volume. “He’s deceitful and underhanded. And he’s been paid.”

“Maybe.”

“Mrs Dewsbury?”

“She may have had something to do with it.”

“How much?”

“More than the News of the World.”

My mouth dropped open, but it made sense.

‘The greedy little fucker’.

“No one's gonna believe him.”

“Who cares. That’s the official story. It’s up to you if you want to say anything different, but if I were you, I’d stick with this version. Let’s face it, no one’s gonna believe what really happened. I don’t even believe it myself, and I was there. But what your buddy said is at least somewhat credible. I think.”

“He told them I was crazy. I’m not having that.”

“Andy, you threw yourself naked into a wet bush in front of a crowd of girls and paparazzi. Does that sound sane to you?”

“It was your fault, and you kissed me.” My memory was a little blurred, but I could definitely remember that part. Then I covered my mouth as I recalled what else he did to me.

Tyrone rolled his eyes. “Fine, tell them everything, I’m sure all your friends would like to know you're gay.”

“You little wanker!” I tried to grab his arm, but he skipped out of reach.

“You really should come out of the closet, Andy. I mean, how old are you now? Twenty-one?

“How do you know all this?” Then I sighed. “Bob. You asked him if I was gay?”

“We talk a lot. He’s my confidant, didn’t you know? I’m thinking of hiring him, to keep me amused.”

“What about the police, you're not going to be able to bribe them?”

“Who cares, there was no crime, so nothing happened. The press will make up some sordid story, but they’ll do that anyway. Chill out, Andy. You could be a celebrity if you play your cards right.”

“You can shove it up your arse. You did all this on purpose, didn’t you? It’s a publicity stunt to keep you in the news before the Brit Awards.”

It sounded good, but my theory was full of holes. I couldn’t imagine him going to those kinds of extremes for a bit of publicity which he didn’t really need, and then trying to cover it up. I was confused. I wasn’t sure what the truth was anymore. Nothing made sense.

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” he said. “You're only famous for a short time. Unless you're me, of course.”

“You're a fucking idiot! I wouldn’t want to be you.”

Tyrone looked hurt, although I couldn’t understand why. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable observation to me. I doubted if I was the first person to point it out to him.

“I tried to help you, and this is how you thank me,” he said. “Maybe I shouldn’t have bothered.”

“You didn’t do it to help me. You did it to help yourself. It was all your fault anyway. You're crazy. A total lunatic. You made a fool of me. Used me as part of some weird game, because you were bored. I nearly died because of you.”

I rested my head back on the pillow and closed my eyes hoping it would all go away, like a bad dream. Maybe he would take the hint and leave me alone to wallow in self-pity.

‘What happened to Jazz’?

I needed her there. Everything had gone so badly wrong.

Sleep was a welcome distraction and aided by the painkillers, I started to doze. Tyrone must have gone; driven away by my remarks. He wasn’t used to people talking to him like that. Telling him the truth.

‘At least he allowed me the last word’.

For some reason that was important to me. He may have ruined my life, but he didn’t have the last say.

- Sunday 5pm -

“You're not going die on me are you?”

I was surprised to hear his voice but not disappointed. When I opened my eyes, he was right in front of my face, staring at me with a soppy grin and big wide eyes. He was too close for comfort but I could hardly back away.

“Don’t look so scared, I’m not gonna bite you.”

“What?”

“Well, not again anyway. I got you some coffee and a doughnut. You’ve been asleep for over an hour.”

I eyed him suspiciously as I tried to sit upright but the pain in my back worsened. As I screwed up my face and swore under my breath, Tyrone jumped to my assistance, placing his arm around me and lowering me until I was comfortable again.

“Thanks.”

He looked pleased with himself and pointed at the coffee and doughnut.

“I would have preferred tea,” I moaned. “And I don’t like doughnuts.”

It was going to take a lot more than that to win me over. If that was what he was trying to do. I wondered if he was going to ask me to sign some kind of statement absolving him and the record company of any guilt. Maybe he was going to offer me a tidy sum to keep my mouth shut. It seemed likely. They paid Bob, and he didn’t know anything. I was bound to get a few quid for my troubles. Compensation for losing my job at least. I was sure I wouldn’t have one come Monday morning.

“I went to a lot of trouble to get that. There was a bit of a scene in the cafeteria.” I spit my coffee back into the cup as I tried not to laugh. I knew Tyrone’s idea of a bit of a scene would likely be chaos in most people’s eyes.

“What happened?”

“Oh, there was a reporter there from the News of the World.”

“A short fat guy?”

“That’s him. Anyway, he started chasing me. He had a photographer with him. My security guy was chasing them, and the hospital security were chasing, well, they were chasing everyone. It didn’t end well.” He pulled a face, and I giggled, imagining a Benny Hill style chase around the cafeteria.

He made it sound like it was nothing out of the ordinary and to him it probably wasn’t.

‘Is his life really this chaotic? Is this normal for him’?

I couldn’t imagine having to live like that. All the money and fame in the world wouldn’t have been enough to make me want to swap places with him. I suddenly felt a little guilty for not wanting his doughnut.

“Why didn’t you ask Mrs Dewsbury to get the coffees for you?”

“She’s not here. I already told her to go back to the house. She wouldn’t understand anyway; she doesn’t get that I need a life sometimes.”

I wanted to tell him that this wasn’t most people’s idea of a life but what he said bugged me. He made it sound like he wanted to be there. Almost as if he was doing it through choice rather than out of pity or merely trying to keep the lid on his extraordinary antics from the night before. I could have thought of a million places I would rather be than sitting in a hospital talking to a loser like me.

I figured he was waiting until the crowd outside dispersed before he left and he seemed to confirm this with regular glances out the window followed by a frustrated frown.

“You might need to disguise yourself as a porter or something and go out the back.”

“Maybe,” he said. “I’ve done it before.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah, for sure. I’ve been a police officer, a construction worker.”

“A red Indian?”

He looked confused. “No, why would I disguise myself as a red Indian?”

“It doesn’t matter. They were before your time.”

“Whatever. You should be more concerned about your own disguise.”

“It’s not me who they want,” I said smugly, but he just laughed.

“You wanna bet. You're a star. They’re gonna be all over you, and the fans too. I think they’re gonna like you Andy.” He licked his lips provocatively and blew me a kiss before walking over to the window to answer his phone.

I had to believe this was all part of some kind of charm offensive designed to keep me sweet. If so, he was obviously overestimating me. He didn’t need to try to win me over. I was happy to accept cash.

“I don’t wanna go back to the house. I’ll call you when I’m ready.” It sounded like Tyrone was talking to Mrs Dewsbury. I tried not to listen as his phone call became increasingly heated. “Tell them not to worry about me, I’m okay.”

I was pretending to watch the television, flicking through the channels as Tyrone stomped around the room, muttering to himself. Then he kicked the chair, and I laughed.

“What’s so funny," he demanded.

“I think that Mrs Dewsbury brings out the worst in you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“When she’s not here, you become almost human. But after two minutes of talking to her, you revert into your bratty pop star mode.”

“You're wrong.”

“Prove it!”

His face turned deep red as he struggled to contain his anger and come up with a credible response. Eventually, he collapsed in the armchair and threw his leather jacket on the floor. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“Yes, you are. You're making fun of me.”

“Everyone’s making fun of you, Tyrone. They’re all laughing at you.”

He balled his fists and looked like he wanted to attack me. He had done it before and I still had the tooth marks to prove it.

“You're lying,” he said. “People like me.”

“Only because they don’t know you.” I braced myself for another verbal onslaught, but it failed to materialise. Perhaps I was right after all about Mrs Dewsbury. He seemed to consider my response for a moment.

“You really don’t like me, do you?”

‘Duh, you think’?

“Whatever gives you that impression?” My tone was blunt and sarcastic and a hefty blow to his inflated ego. He looked hurt. Much more than I expected. Too much to be credible.

‘Like I really matter to him’.

There was a standoff as we both tried to ignore one another. I turned the volume up on the television and pretended to be a gardening enthusiast while Tyrone leafed through a magazine. It was maybe five minutes before he broke the silence.

“I don’t care what you think anyway.”

“Are you still here, I thought you had gone back to Hollywood?”

"Oh look,” he said. “There’s a picture of me in Hello magazine. Don’t see any pictures of you here. Maybe in plumber’s weekly.” He laughed but it was fake, and my eyes didn’t leave the television.

“I wouldn’t want my picture in Hello magazine. I’m not like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You love people looking at you. Posing for the cameras. I bet you spend half your life looking in the mirror. You’ve probably got pictures of yourself all over your house.” He didn’t answer, and I sneered at him. “I knew it. You have, haven’t you?” My accusation was watered down with a faint smile as I goaded him. “Well?”

“A couple,” he admitted. “But they were important events in my life. When I got my first number one and stuff.”

“You’ve got the gold discs on the wall too, haven’t you?”

“Platinum.”

“Oh, sorry. Platinum. How many?”

“Four.”

“Piss off. You’ve not had that many hits.”

It was a mistake. He went on to name each one, its chart position and how many weeks it stayed there. I yawned and tried my best to look bored.

“I get it. You don’t like my music. It doesn’t bother me.”

“Yes, it does.” I couldn’t resist giggling at his spoilt brat antics.

“Why would I be concerned about what you think. You mean nothing to me. You're just a plumber. I don’t care what you think.” My eyes followed him as began pacing the small room again. He was full of nervous energy as he looked out the window with a troubled expression.

“How am I gonna get out of here?”

I shook my head, unconcerned by another of his self-inflicted problems.

“You could jump.”

“Very funny.”

“It worked for me.”

“Well, you're an idiot.”

“And you're a wally.”

I laughed as he narrowed his eyes at me. “A wally? What’s a wally? What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means you're a plonker. An asshole.”

“Don’t call me an asshole.”

“You're an asshole.”

“I said don’t call me that.”

“Asshole!”

“Fuck you!”

“Yeah, you wanted to.” I gave him a smug smile, raised my eyebrows, and folded my arms, confident I scored some good points. He confirmed it by frowning at me as he circled the bed as if he were about to attack.

“You think I’m interested in you, don’t you? I’m not attracted to you. Not even a little bit. I was toying with you last night. It was a game. You're really not my type. Oh my God, I can’t believe you thought I was serious.” He walked away laughing to himself as I struggled to keep the hurt from my face.

What he said shouldn’t have bothered me. I knew he was just striking out to defend himself. He didn’t want to appear vulnerable, or for me to think I had some kind of hold over him. As much as I tried to brush off his remarks though, they hurt much more than they should have done and I couldn’t stop him from seeing it.

“I didn’t think anything,” I mumbled. There was a long silence as I returned to the gardening show.

“So are you gonna sulk now? Because I told you I wasn’t attracted to you. Are you upset?”

“Of course I’m not upset. Do you think it bothers me? I don’t give a shit if you like me or not!”

“Wow, you are upset.” He looked surprised. “Have you got a crush on me?”

I looked around me for something I could throw at him or hurt him with. I was shaking with anger, but as I tried to get up, I felt a sharp pain in the small of my back and dropped down on the pillows.

“Why don’t you leave me alone. I don’t know why you came here in the first place.”

“I told you. I like you, and I wanted to make sure you were okay. Do you think I was lying when I said that?”

“You lied about everything else.”

We were interrupted by his phone. He glanced at the display and walked to the window in a huff.

I wondered when my parents were going to get here.

‘What will they say? What do I tell them’?

When he finished his call, I reminded him that he still owed me a new phone.

“You’ll get more than just a new phone out of this, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Compensation. The record company will make you an offer to compensate for your injury and whatever you lost. Time off work, your phone—your dignity.” He laughed, but I was tight-lipped. “It was a joke, Andy. I do like you really. Just not in the way you thought. You make me laugh though, and that’s the truth.”

“Whatever.”

“And you're honest, you say what you mean. Not what I want you to say.”

“You're a dick!”

He smiled, and for some reason, I did too. “Mrs Dewsbury never calls me a dick.”

“She probably doesn’t know what a dick is.” He thought that was quite funny.

“I think you may be right. She saw yours though last night. I noticed her looking at it.” My memory was still quite cloudy, and I didn’t particularly want to recall the sordid details of what had been a rather unpleasant experience. “Maybe you two can hook up when you're better.” He held up his hands when I scowled at him. “Maybe not then.”

“She’s not my type,” I said with a wry smile, and he came over to stand next to the bed.

“How about that.”

“How about what?”

“We were both smiling at the same time, without being horrible to each other. That must be the first time since we met.”

“And the last,” I said, but a glance at his goofy face made it difficult to remain angry. He was impossible to ignore.

“Well, I should be going.” He glanced at his watch, and I nodded. “I have no idea how I’m gonna get out of here.” Another glance out of the window had him shaking his head, and I thought he might want to stay. I wanted him to, but I didn’t know why and I didn’t want him to know, so I kept quiet.

“Thanks for visiting.”

“I hope you feel better. Is there anything you want me to do for you before I go? Do you want me to sign anything for you? I know you don't want a CD because you hate my music.”

I nodded and smiled. “Send me something.”

“Okay, give me your address.” He pulled out his phone and typed my address into it, before taking my picture.

“What are you doing?”

“Don’t panic, I’m just taking your picture. I’ll put it on the wall next to the platinum discs. No hard feelings then, Andy. We’re friends, right?”

“Oh, sure we are. Next time I’m in LA, I’ll stop by, and we can catch up on old times. Maybe you can invite Witney over for coffee.”

“You could come to my house, I wouldn’t mind.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“I know you were. But if you were ever in town at the same time as me, you could come over. I hardly ever go out anywhere in LA.”

I smiled and accepted his offer even though I knew it would never happen. He would forget all about me by tomorrow.

“I hope you get your awards.”

“Really?”

“No. I just thought I’d say that.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. I won’t even be watching.”

“And I was gonna thank you in my acceptance speech.”

“Don’t bother.”

His phone interrupted our little exchange, so I watched TV as I heard him making arrangements with his security people. I might have guessed. They were going to get him out in the back of an ambulance.

“I have to go. The press will leave you alone after a while. Just tell them—whatever you want. I suppose.”

“Don’t worry, I won't tell them what really happened. They would never believe me.”

There was a knock on the door and Tyrone was gone.

It was a relief to be alone. He was hard work. Relaxing in his company was impossible. In a few hours, he had very nearly driven me mad and I couldn’t figure out how. No one had ever had such an overwhelming effect on me before or caused me so many problems in such a short space of time. I hated him but at the same time, now he was gone I kind of missed him too.

His reasons for visiting me in the hospital were unclear. Whether he was genuinely sorry about what happened or if he merely wanted to be sure I wouldn’t blow his cover to the media. Maybe I was cynical, but Tyrone seemed to have so many sides to his personality it was difficult to know which one was really him.

I decided for the sake of my own sanity to believe he came because he felt terrible for what he did. After all, he could have sent Mrs Dewsbury with a chequebook if he just wanted to buy my silence. It worked okay with Bob.

Everyone has their price, and I was no different. Tyrone may have been impressed with my honesty towards him, but he still knew I could be bought like everyone else. It would be stupid of me not to accept a generous sum as compensation, and my mind was already thinking of how I would spend the money.

- Sunday 7pm -

My mother wasn’t convinced by my elaborate story which followed along the same lines as Bob’s. She couldn’t understand how I could possibly fall out of a closed window and she had a point. My dad was more accepting; he would believe anything that didn’t rock the boat. I could tell he didn’t want to be there, he was missing Songs of Praise and spent most of his time looking out of the window.

“We couldn’t park,” he said. “Took us ages.”

“The press?”

“Yes. It’s crazy out there. I’ve never seen so many people.” My mum was prone to exaggeration, but this time I believed her. “We had trouble getting in here. Didn’t we Eric?”

My dad mumbled incoherently and yawned. He was only the driver really. He wasn’t interested in my life.

My mum was more interested in the gossip. “So this pop star. They said on the news that someone tried to attack him. It wasn’t you, was it?”

“That’s nonsense, Mum. He just came to visit me.” My dad raised his eyebrows, but mum was impressed.

“That was nice of him. What’s he like?”

“He’s unusual.”

My dad rolled his eyes. I always suspected he knew about me but didn’t say anything, probably because he didn’t want to upset my mum. Anything for an easy life, I don’t think he wanted to rock the boat.

“Have you been watching the news?” she asked, and I nodded. “You created quite a stir, but I don’t know what all the fuss was about.”

“I wouldn’t believe anything you see on the news, Mum. They make things up, you know.”

“They’re obsessed with these bloody pop stars,” said my dad. “Load of poofs.”

I swallowed hard and looked away from his stare. “He’s quite popular at the moment, Dad.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“They said on the radio that someone jumped out of his window. We didn’t know it was you.” My mum sounded concerned. “They said it was his boyfriend.” She laughed, as my dad glared at me. He looked as though he wanted to say something but stopped himself at the last moment. It was a familiar mannerism which he had perfected over time.

“Like I said, Mum, you can’t believe everything you hear. Oh, any chance you could bring me some clothes in from home. I lost mine. It’s a long story.”

My dad nodded. “Of course you did, Son.” Then he looked at his watch. He wanted to go. It was getting late, and I was starting to feel tired.

“You should get some rest dear.” I agreed with my mum, suddenly the chances of that happening were zero.

I could hear her shrill voice from the other end of the corridor accompanied by the heavy clack, clack, of her thigh length leather boots.

“Andy! Where the fuck are you?”

My dad shook his head in despair, and I covered my face with the sheet as the door flew open.

“Hello Jazz.”

“I missed church because of you.”