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Ace
Ace watched Nanou, who was pretending not to watch him or show that she was worried, and very annoyed with his brother for causing a disturbance. She was doing what she did best. Nanou was keeping the peace so that he wouldn’t become more upset than he already was. She knew him the best just like he knew her, so he recognised the frown that creased her forehead and the way she bustled about the kitchen, faking normality, fussing over him until he was ready to speak and share his problems. Even this irritated him because it was all down to Lance.
They had a routine, for when he was upset about something. He would sit at the table, on the fourth chair along. The ones on his right and left were empty because he liked the feeling of being protected on each side.
Nanou would chatter on, suggest a treat, he would nod to accept, shake to decline, then he would think, or fume, or fidget with his silver rings, turning the skull, his favourite. Ten times clockwise, five times anti, until he could formulate everything that was going on in his head, untangling his thoughts, separating the colours and laying the wires out in a straight line.
They’d had the best silent moments in the kitchen, where just having her near gave him immense comfort as he processed his thoughts, deciphering the code of human behaviour. Working out why his teacher got annoyed when he asked if she was wearing her bathrobe for school. That’s what the flowery wrap-around dress had looked like to him, and it made the other kids laugh. The fifty lines he’d had to write out didn’t amuse him at all.
And then there were the cracks caused by the earthquakes they’d learned about in geography. What if they kept on going all the way from New Zealand to his house on the hill? It might snap the cliff in half, and they’d all fall into the sea. Stuff like that bothered him. Lots of things did, especially loud noises. They were the worst. Not the best affliction to have when your dad was a rock star.
‘Would you like something to eat, chéri? A slice of brioche? Ooh, what about a milkshake? I have strawberry, your favourite.’ Nanou stood still, hand on hip, looking hopeful.
Ace nodded and smiled to himself, two things making his lips change direction and his cheeks ball slightly. The first was that Nanou still treated him like he was ten, reaching into the cupboard that contained all the special treats she stashed just for him. The second was that the shouting seemed to have stopped, meaning that his dad and Lance had either called a truce or with any luck, he’d gone back to Paris. Everyone knew that he hated shouting, or any loud noises and Ace suspected that Lance purposely did both whenever the opportunity arose.
When he was a kid, Ace had taken to wearing earphones whenever Lance turned up because by this time, he’d worked out that his elder brother would never be the friend he’d hoped for. There was a photo on the landing, of Ace reading a book and wearing a huge set of earphones from his dad’s studio. They blocked out all the things that upset him, like Lance.
This memory stirred another, one much happier than any that involved his brother. Of concerts where he’d watched his dad perform from the wings, a huge pair of ear defenders protecting him from the noise. And in some ways his hypersensitivity had been an ironic blessing because from within his silent, peaceful world he had developed a heightened visual awareness.
Ace might not have heard the screech of the guitar at full volume, but he’d felt the beat of the drum that vibrated across the stage and upwards through his body as he watched intently from his muffled place. A heartbeat that connected him to his dad as he rocked around the world.
The wings had been a window from where he’d observed the roadies and technicians who worked as hard as the band, and in his teenage years he shyly admired the beautiful women who flocked around his dad and bandmates. Then as he got older and a bit wiser, Ace came to recognise the seedier, uglier side of rock and roll, the sex and the drugs, the jealousies and rivalries. The rock world had two faces. The dark shadow of the money men at the record label, and the internal squabbles of an entourage that vied for attention, and poor old Gus who was the middleman, always stuck between them and the band, keeping it all together.
And then the glorious faces of the fans who wanted nothing more than to see their idol on stage and spend a night in his company, basking under the lights, letting their hearts and minds be lifted by the music and lyrics they knew by heart. Ace would become lost in the sway of the crowd, a human wave of bodies reaching out their arms, fingers straining towards the stage, craving the physical touch of their idol.
Ace knew every lyric, every move his dad made as he performed. The sinews in his arms stretched between muscles, skin drenched in sweat, the notes he was making with his fingers. After hours of sitting by his dad’s side in the studio, learning, watching, listening to his gentle voice, Ace was a skilled musician too, but that wasn’t where his true talent lay.
When he was thirteen his dad had given him a Nikon camera. It was Ace’s most treasured possession, next to his Fender guitar and Triumph Motorbike, oh and his leather jacket. He’d started off photographing the band, at rehearsals or on stage but his attention soon turned to the people backstage, or the view from their hotel, or the guy who drove the tour bus and soon his passion for photography spilled onto the streets, or from an aeroplane window, the school bus, capturing the kid who graffitied rude words on the back of the seats, the setting sun, the waning moon, or the edge of the cliffs that looked onto his favourite muse, the Atlantic sea.
His dad said that Ace had a unique talent, the ability to communicate wordlessly through sight, to look beyond and capture a moment that told a story without lyrics and music. Which was why his art sold all over the world, hung in galleries and hotels and the homes of collectors. He had millions of followers on social media, a waiting list for commissions that included fashion magazines and a star-studded array of celebrities and on the insistence of his dad and Gus, his own manager, Mitzi, who was based in London. She handled everything, much to Ace’s delight because it left him free to do what he did best, looking at the world through the lens of a camera, where it was nice and safe.
Feeling bad for Nanou, let alone his dad who hadn’t looked thrilled at the surprise arrival of his pain-in-the-backside son, Ace took a breath and broke the ice as she passed him his milkshake that was topped with fresh cream and a sliced strawberry, just how he liked it.
‘Has he gone?’
Nanou looked aggrieved as she shook her head. ‘Non, chéri. L’enfant terrible is still here and I have no idea where your papa is. Do you know why they were arguing?’
Ace nodded. ‘Long story short, Lance has got wind that Gus isn’t well and in his own sensitive way has more or less suggested that Dad packs him off to some hospice or other so my useless brother can step into his shoes.’
Nanou’s hand flung to her chest and with her other she pulled out a chair and sat. ‘But Joe told me that Gus will be okay and his heart problem can be treated, that I should not be concerned. Is this true? Please tell me it is.’
Ace reached out and took Nanou’s hand, feeling bad for scaring her. ‘Yes, I promise. Dad is covering all the costs of his treatment and Gus is really positive. He’s going to need a big op, bypass surgery, Dad said.’
‘So, while Gus is worrying about all this, Lance is trying to steal his job? Incroyable.’
Ace stood and went to get a spoon from the drawer, a smile on his lips as he spoke. ‘Oh. Yes. Lance is incredible, all right. I was listening from the hall, and he gave it his best shot, but Dad isn’t having any of it. There are plenty of others who can step into Gus’s shoes while he’s having treatment, like Oliver at the agency, people who know the business way better than Lance so there’s no chance he’s getting a look-in. I think that’s what sent him crazy earlier, somebody saying no. He’s not used to that. And Dad says it like it is, so Lance wasn’t happy. I got sick of his whiny voice so went out and left them to it.’
Taking his seat, Ace picked out the strawberry and ate it before stirring the cream into his shake. It was how he always did it and the fact that Nanou had forgotten the spoon told him she was stressed about Lance and again, anger surged.
‘Well, I am glad Joe has put down his foot and if we are lucky, the terrible child will go soon. I do not want him here when your friend arrives, or Gus, who needs to rest. I want them both to have a good time, not be stuck in a war zone.’
At the mention of their guests Ace felt his heart lift, then tense slightly at the spectre of Lance whose sour face could spoil milk, never mind a celebration. ‘Have you got her room ready? I can help if you’re busy.’
Nanou gave him one of her looks that told him he was surplus to requirements. ‘It is all done. Don’t you worry. She’s in the room between you and your mama’s. Gus is in the end because we all know how loud he snores, but Lance will just have to deal with that, won’t he?’
The cheeky wink from Nanou made Ace laugh. ‘Mum’s still not said when she’ll arrive but you know what she’s like, so we can expect her when we see her.’
‘Well, she has never missed a birthday yet, so she will definitely be here. I will ring tonight and see if I can find out. I miss her a lot so I hope she stays a while and she might cheer Joe up too. He has been so quiet lately and I am a little worried. A party and some new faces are just what we need.’
