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Rand’s face collapsed into regret. “Shit. I never knew that either. Well, she’s no wisp now and no one’s pushing her around anymore. I reckon she’s doing the pushing.”
“People don’t change.”
He scoffed. “You did. You used to be this sweet kid.”
Rielle flexed her fingers. “I was never a sweet kid.”
He sighed. “No, I guess not. False memory.”
She glared at him. “Don’t.” How did they get from a game of football to this. She wanted Rand to shut the fuck up.
He grabbed her chin and brought her face up close to his. He smelled of grass and sweat. “You were a sweet kid. I get why you can’t forgive yourself, why you needed to reinvent yourself, but I’m not letting you distort my memories with your self-hatred.”
She shook free of him. “If I’d have been less of a monster and more like a kid who went to the library things might be different.”
“You have to move on Rie,” said Rand in a voice doused with pain and history and exasperation. He didn’t say more because Bodge trotted up with an esky full of ice. She’d never been so grateful to see him. She plunged her fist into the icy cold.
Bodge said, “Neddy’s out,” and tipped his head towards the middle of the grass area where Neddy, Tim and Jake stood. Neddy was turned towards them. Rielle could see his face was red. He made an angry gesture towards her and when Tim turned to follow his hand, Neddy swung at him, collecting Tim on the jaw, making him stagger backwards.
Neddy didn’t see Jake coming. But Rielle did. Jake was full of surprises. What Neddy would’ve seen was blue sky as he went down and then nothing at all.
“Bloody hell,” said Bodge.
Rand elbowed her. “Godzilla enough for you?”
16. Slightly Godzilla
Perth punters were having a good time. They’d started the night chanting, “We want the hanging roadie.” And there was a group of girls in the mosh pit wearing t-shirts that said, Heart Hanging Roadie and Having Hanging Roadie’s Baby.
As unexpected as it was, Collin Ng was quick to give them a taste of what they wanted. He rolled recorded tape of Neddy on the trapeze creating waves of laughter and establishing the tone for the night. Jake looked at Bodge who mouthed, “Great gig.?
??
An hour later it was a great gig threatening to go wrong. On stage, Jonathan Bennett wasn’t playing by the rules. Getting signed as support act for Ice Queen was a big deal for Problem Children, but now were on stage the plan was to convince the punters they were better than a mere support act, better than the headliners. Fair enough, but that didn’t mean they could bugger around with the show schedule and that’s what they were trying to do.
At the end of their set, they played a second encore, and Jonathan was gearing up for a third, though he knew they had a time limit on stage because of neighbourhood noise restrictions enforced later in the night.
The instant Jake recognised Jonathan wasn’t about to leave the stage, he moved. He grabbed Problem Children’s stage manager, Ross Rowland by the arm. “Get them off now.”
“Nah, mate. Just one more song. Look at the crowd. They’re loving it.”
“Now,” said Jake, and when Ross shook his head, he said, “We’ll pull sound, right now. Get them off.”
Ross growled, spoke into his headset and Jonathan glanced to the side of the stage and frowned. He would’ve heard Ross’s instruction in his earpiece loud and clear, but he pretended otherwise. He obviously didn’t think Jake had the balls to pull their sound or lighting, if he played another song. He signalled the band, introduced a new song and launched into it. The bastard knew he was stealing time from Ice Queen, and he didn’t care. “Fuck!” Jake gave instructions through his headset to Bodge, Tim and Glen and midway into the song, Jonathan’s big plan unravelled. The singer had to watch as the lighting changed to illuminate two guitarists at the side of the stage, Rand and Stu, playing the Problem Children song, but giving it their own style—upstaging the band as the punters turned their attention to two of the world’s hottest young guitarists.
Jake had effectively snookered Jonathan. He had to keep singing and yet he’d lost control of the performance. The four guitarists on stage brought the song to a crashing end and over applause Rand said, “It’s bedtime for Problem Children. Say goodnight, boys,” as he and Stu subtly herded the support band off stage.
Jonathan spoke into his mic but, two words into his goodnight message, realised it had been turned off. Jake had given him dead air. He frowned and waved to the audience as he and the band made their way off the now partially lit stage. It was an odd, fractured ending to their show, making them look unrehearsed and unprofessional, but as far as Jake was concerned, they’d brought it on themselves.
“What the fuck, Ross?” Jonathan screamed, when he arrived in the backstage area.
“Don’t look at me. Take it up with Jake.”
Jake was ready. “You’re lucky I didn’t yank your power and leave you in the dark. Don’t do that again.”
Jonathan slammed his hand into a piece of staging. “You fucked us over, you fucking—”
Jake stepped up close to the taller man, interrupting him. This was a test he needed to pass. “You want off the tour, just say the word. You want on, we play by my rules.”
