OUR LIVES WOULD HAVE MEANING
Prologue
~ Standing On The Edge Of Forever ~
1968 – 1988: The Truth Is Hard To Find When It’s Playing Tricks With Your Mind
Life. It’s strange. It’s unforeseeable. Unpredictable. No matter how much you know, and how much you learn – every time you think you cracked it, every time you think you found the key, it turns its back at you and something completely different than what you expected happens. And anything can happen. All the time. When you’re ready for it or when you least expect it. Life doesn’t care about that. It just goes on and on and if you can’t keep up with it, leaves you behind, dazed and confused. And you stumble on, and sometimes you’re lucky, and sometimes you’re not. You tumble, you fall, you get up again. You act and sometimes you don’t, thinking maybe you cause less trouble if you just don’t move. Until you learn that you manage to hurt others with actions just as much as with apathy. Because in life everything effects everything. A butterfly can cause a typhoon. A gesture can start a war. A single word can change a life. And then there are all these things that only happen, because something significant has not happened. There’s a whole universe filled with lost plot lines of life, all those forlorn, big things that never happened, because someone somewhere at sometime didn’t do that little thing that might have changed the course of history forever. In Hollywood they make movies of that. The kind of movies everyone thinks are crap, because they’re just not realistic.
Funnily enough, though, most of the things that really do happen in life, are far more dramatic and entertaining than anything Hollywood could ever capture on celluloid. The story you are about to read is no exception. And still – everything could have gone completely different. But it didn’t. Because that’s life.
1968 – 1974: The Start Of Whatever
The story begins on April, 28th, 1968, the day Kathleen Donald gives birth to a little boy. They’ve decided to call him Howard Paul. Kathleen watches the little bundle of life in her arms curiously. His tiny hands are clenched to fists and he seems to be fighting a foe only he can see. So much energy, Kathleen thinks, he is going to be a fighter, he’ll make his way. And still she hopes he won’t have to fight too hard in his life, because just like every other loving mother she wants nothing but the best for her child.
Which is exactly the same thing Jenny Orange wants for her children, and even though she does everything within her might, she can’t save her boys from experiencing one of the worst feelings a child can be faced with: being left behind. God knows she tried. Still, Jason Thomas Orange learns early that grown-ups, even your own Dad, don’t always do what’s right. And he learns it the hard way.
In Frodsham, Cheshire, Gary Barlow never learns anything the hard way. He grows up protected and happy. When he finds his passion is music, his parents supply him with undying support. It is something he will take for granted for a long time, but once he’s found out it’s not necessarily a natural thing in every family, he keeps his parents’ efforts precious in his heart ever after.
Undying support is something another little boy a couple of miles further south grows up with as well. In Stoke-on-Trent Robert Peter Williams manages to twist his Mum, Nan and sister around his little finger on a regular basis. Unfortunately he is not half as successful with that strategy at school. Somehow his teachers just don’t buy it. But that won’t stop little Robbie, he’s somewhat sure he can make it big in life. He’s got what it takes.
In another town, somewhere north-east of Manchester, Mark Anthony Patrick Owen is not so sure about having what it takes. Winning a smiling competition is not enough of a reference for a place in life, he thinks. The day he has to bury the dream of becoming a professional football player is one of the saddest days in his life. And still he smiles. Because it’s what he does, even though he knows it’s not right to smile when you don’t mean it. No one he smiles at will ever notice, though, because he didn’t win that smiling competition for no reason.
Five boys, five lives. Who will they be? Will their life have meaning? Eventually?
1988: In The Cold Reflection Of Time
Looking back many years later, Nigel Martin-Smith recalls that moment in 1988 when he first heard about the New Kids On The Block. Their song “You Got It (The Right Stuff)” had just gone to No. 1 in the charts, and there was some radio feature about them one morning when he was driving into town. Five working class boys from Boston managed by some genius idiot, who’d figured exactly what girls want. The song was hopeless crap and poorly produced, and still it fucking worked. Girls in the U.S. went crazy for them and they were about to crack Europe. Nigel clearly remembers the thought that crossed his mind that day: it would be ridiculously easy to find five decent working-class lads in and around Manchester who’d do almost anything for fame and money. And as to knowing what silly, young girls want – he sure was well fit for that job. If you knew what young, gay lads go crazy about, you know what teenage girls will love. Yes, Nigel Martin-Smith vividly remembers that thought. What he can’t remember, though, is why he’d never pursued that idea. It got lost somewhere along the way. Shame, really. That could’ve worked just fine. He could be rich now.
1968 – 1988: The Truth Is Hard To Find When It’s Playing Tricks With Your Mind
Life. It’s strange. It’s unforeseeable. Unpredictable. No matter how much you know, and how much you learn – every time you think you cracked it, every time you think you found the key, it turns its back at you and something completely different than what you expected happens. And anything can happen. All the time. When you’re ready for it or when you least expect it. Life doesn’t care about that. It just goes on and on and if you can’t keep up with it, leaves you behind, dazed and confused. And you stumble on, and sometimes you’re lucky, and sometimes you’re not. You tumble, you fall, you get up again. You act and sometimes you don’t, thinking maybe you cause less trouble if you just don’t move. Until you learn that you manage to hurt others with actions just as much as with apathy. Because in life everything effects everything. A butterfly can cause a typhoon. A gesture can start a war. A single word can change a life. And then there are all these things that only happen, because something significant has not happened. There’s a whole universe filled with lost plot lines of life, all those forlorn, big things that never happened, because someone somewhere at sometime didn’t do that little thing that might have changed the course of history forever. In Hollywood they make movies of that. The kind of movies everyone thinks are crap, because they’re just not realistic.
Funnily enough, though, most of the things that really do happen in life, are far more dramatic and entertaining than anything Hollywood could ever capture on celluloid. The story you are about to read is no exception. And still – everything could have gone completely different. But it didn’t. Because that’s life.
1968 – 1974: The Start Of Whatever
The story begins on April, 28th, 1968, the day Kathleen Donald gives birth to a little boy. They’ve decided to call him Howard Paul. Kathleen watches the little bundle of life in her arms curiously. His tiny hands are clenched to fists and he seems to be fighting a foe only he can see. So much energy, Kathleen thinks, he is going to be a fighter, he’ll make his way. And still she hopes he won’t have to fight too hard in his life, because just like every other loving mother she wants nothing but the best for her child.
Which is exactly the same thing Jenny Orange wants for her children, and even though she does everything within her might, she can’t save her boys from experiencing one of the worst feelings a child can be faced with: being left behind. God knows she tried. Still, Jason Thomas Orange learns early that grown-ups, even your own Dad, don’t always do what’s right. And he learns it the hard way.
In Frodsham, Cheshire, Gary Barlow never learns anything the hard way. He grows up protected and happy. When he finds his passion is music, his parents supply him with undying support. It is something he will take for granted for a long time, but once he’s found out it’s not necessarily a natural thing in every family, he keeps his parents’ efforts precious in his heart ever after.
Undying support is something another little boy a couple of miles further south grows up with as well. In Stoke-on-Trent Robert Peter Williams manages to twist his Mum, Nan and sister around his little finger on a regular basis. Unfortunately he is not half as successful with that strategy at school. Somehow his teachers just don’t buy it. But that won’t stop little Robbie, he’s somewhat sure he can make it big in life. He’s got what it takes.
In another town, somewhere north-east of Manchester, Mark Anthony Patrick Owen is not so sure about having what it takes. Winning a smiling competition is not enough of a reference for a place in life, he thinks. The day he has to bury the dream of becoming a professional football player is one of the saddest days in his life. And still he smiles. Because it’s what he does, even though he knows it’s not right to smile when you don’t mean it. No one he smiles at will ever notice, though, because he didn’t win that smiling competition for no reason.
Five boys, five lives. Who will they be? Will their life have meaning? Eventually?
1988: In The Cold Reflection Of Time
Looking back many years later, Nigel Martin-Smith recalls that moment in 1988 when he first heard about the New Kids On The Block. Their song “You Got It (The Right Stuff)” had just gone to No. 1 in the charts, and there was some radio feature about them one morning when he was driving into town. Five working class boys from Boston managed by some genius idiot, who’d figured exactly what girls want. The song was hopeless crap and poorly produced, and still it fucking worked. Girls in the U.S. went crazy for them and they were about to crack Europe. Nigel clearly remembers the thought that crossed his mind that day: it would be ridiculously easy to find five decent working-class lads in and around Manchester who’d do almost anything for fame and money. And as to knowing what silly, young girls want – he sure was well fit for that job. If you knew what young, gay lads go crazy about, you know what teenage girls will love. Yes, Nigel Martin-Smith vividly remembers that thought. What he can’t remember, though, is why he’d never pursued that idea. It got lost somewhere along the way. Shame, really. That could’ve worked just fine. He could be rich now.
Chapter One
1989 – 1993: Leave Your Thoughts And Save Yourself
1989 (21 years old)
Around that time Howard lives for the weekends. His weeks are busy - painting vehicles in the daytime, modelling for catalogues and brochures in the evenings, and keeping his ever changing girlfriends satisfied at nights. Mum does the laundry, and the cooking. He's got a fast car, a decent stereo, and a lot of nice clothes (these catalogue-guys really pay well). Still the weekdays are draining and he usually can't wait for the weekend to begin. Clubbing, dancing, drinking, hanging with his friends, picking up girls - in no particular order. That's on Fridays and Saturdays. Then there are the Sundays - his favourite time of the weekend: a cab home from whatever part of the town he got stranded the night before, a good breakfast, a lie-in, a shower. And then he gets ready to go to The Apollo.
There's nothing in his life he prepares himself more carefully for. He spends an unhealthy amount of time peering at his reflection in the steamy bathroom mirror, stroking the stubble on his chin, wondering whether to shave or not. His eyes beam and his muscles tigthen when anticipation gets a hold of him. He's excited and exciting, energetic and eager. And he can dance.
At The Apollo there's a lad who can dance even better. Howard loves to watch him, secretely, from somewhere in the back, in the dark. Attentively he studies his moves. For technical reasons, that is. He studies his body. Just about as attentively. For technical reasons only, of course. And he studies his face. With utmost attention. For no particular reason, at least none Howard could think of. There seem to be butterflies in his tummy while he does so, which is a bit worrying and leaves him confused, with a strange feeling of guilt, shame, and embarrassment. After all he's not gay, right?
This breakdancer - his name is Jason, so much Howard knows - never takes any notice of him, though. Not that he was arrogant or something, he's just losing himself while he's dancing, fully concentrated, with no eyes for the outside world and those watching him. Which is something that attracts Howard even more so. At times it attracts him so much he has to eventually turn away, leave the club and get some fresh air. "Steady, boy," he tells himself.
Later that year the world watches happy Germans dance on the Berlin wall. Howard understands about the historical meaning of it perfectly well and still he couldn't care less - he prefers watching a certain tall, slightly too skinny breakdancer dance at The Apollo. His dancing might not change the world or make it into the history books, but its impact on Howard is more decisive than the end of the Cold War and the fall of the Iron Curtain. For Howard's started writing his own history.
1990 (18 years old)
In the summer of 1990 every young bloke in England watches the World Cup on TV, except for the clever lads who saved their money and drove to Italy to see a couple of matches live, get sunburnt by the sea, and seduce beautiful Italian girls. Mark was told Italian girls were pretty and lovely and he'd have good chances over there, as he's not much smaller than most Italian men. But Mark hadn't managed to spare enough money to accompany his mates. They left two weeks ago and have already seen the Three Lions beat Belgium and Cameroon, and tonight they are in Turin watching the semi-final-match against bloody Germany. Mark is doomed to watch it with the rest of the sad bunch of losers he calls friends, who didn't manage to travel to Italy either, in the pub - accompanied by the old men, and lots of beer. Mark doesn't like the old men much. And he doesn't like the beer either.
If he's honest he doesn't like most of the other aspects of his life as well. He hates his job, he hates the customers, he hates the whole bank. He doesn't even like Oldham anymore, not like he used to. The town seems to have shrinked lately, and it appears to get smaller and smaller by the hour. Mark feels caved in here, and the city walls seem to close in on him, leaving him with a depressing feeling of breathlessness and claustrophobia. He desperately needs to get out of here. That's why he wrote that application the other day, for this job in the Manchester branch of the bloody bank. If he needs to work in a bank - at least it should be in a real town. Where there is life, and people he doesn't know yet, and music, and excitement. Manchester next year. The world the year after. That's a plan, innit? He may not have money, a fast car, or too much self-esteem - but at least he's got a plan.
Later that night Paul Gascoigne cries publically, then the whole of England cries publically, and the ugly Germans have won again. Mark cries publically, too. First for England's loss in the pub, and then for the pain his drunk football coach has caused him in the dark backyard behind the pub. He's Mark's first love, but he never tells him that. After all it's just one of the many things Mark never speaks about.
1991 (21 years old)
It's not been an easy thing to do and Jason feels a bit pathetic for mourning the loss of a car that much. After all it's just a machine that takes you from one place to another, right? That's what he tells himself the day after he sold it while he's hanging out with Howard, getting pissed. He surely deserves a drink now.
"I still think that guy ripped you off", Howard hiccups into his ear. The music in the club is way too loud for proper conversation, but once Howard has something to point out, even wild horses can't hold him back and he sure won't be bothered by some loud music. Jason loves when he is that protective and lets him get away with it, even though they both know perfectly well Howard is not exactly what you’d call an acknowledged expert when it comes to advice on money. But Jason knows this is not about money. It's about changes, and the fact that Howard doesn't like changes very much, neither for himself nor for those he cares about. Only this time Jason can't give a shit for Howard's issues, not if he doesn't want to be a painter and decorator for the rest of his life.
"You know, there really was no need to sell the car. You can make good money with a bit of modelling." Howard shakes his head before downing the rest of his Vodka-orange. Ah, yes, the modelling. Howard's favourite subject of discussion these days. After learning that Jason had decided to quit the job and attend college, Howard had arranged a meeting with the boss of his model agency. A sleazy, spine-tingling guy who gave Jason the creeps whilst he was carefully examining his body, as if he was some exotic sideshow exhibit. Jason decided he was not willing to be booked for this guy's next funfair. Selling the car and a couple of other belongings appeared to be the far lesser of two evils.
"I won't have time for modelling, y'know?!" Jason yells back into Howard's ear. He doesn't want Howard to think he's not appreciating his help. In fact he soaks up every little bit of support and encouragement he can get, like a flower absorbs the morning dew in prospect of a new hot summer day.
"Are you really sure you're doing the right thing?!" Howard screams into his direction while his eyes are firmly tucked on the nice butt of the blonde one on the dancefloor. Vicky. Howard’s been talking about little else than her, ever since he first saw her two weeks ago. "Absolutely sure, mate!" It's a lie, but he knows Howard won't notice 'cause he's too distracted by watching Vicky shake her hips underneath the disco ball. Jason watches Howard's profile for a while and a feeling of sadness strikes him that has nothing to do with the loss of the car, the security of his job, or his life as it was so far. Before the sad feeling takes over completely he downs his drink and lets his eyes stray, scanning the dancefloor, looking out for his Vicky for tonight. Because if all else fails, even if everything in his life goes wrong, the money’s tight, his self-confidence is low – there’s still always a Vicky.
Later that month Magic Johnson announces that he has HIV and retires from Basketball. As sad as this news makes Jason, at the same time it's the ultimate affirmation that his decision is right. Life is too short to paint other people's bedroom walls while the foreman fumbles through the housewife's underwear drawer. There must be more out there. There just has to be a life out there he can stand in the long turn without constantly having that sick feeling in his stomach.
1992 (21 years old)
For the first time in years Gary questions what he's doing. He's on his way back to Frodsham, flooring the accelerator of his Ford Orion on the M 56. The first thing he did back in the car after leaving the club tonight was pulling off his bow-tie and loosening the collar of his green silk shirt. Which is unusual for him. Any other night the first thing he does is choosing a tape to sing along to on the way home. But tonight he feels the desperate urge of getting rid of his profession's uniform. So in a rare outburst of anger Gary throws the bow-tie onto the passenger seat. It's not that his show tonight was rotten or the audience didn't appreciate it. They applauded him like always. And rightly so - his timing was brilliant, as was his voice.
It's just that tonight there was this group of young lads in the club, celebrating a stag do. Tommy's stag do. ("Hey, you! Organ man! Can you play something for Tommy?!" - "Yeah! Play something for Tommy!" - "Tommy will lose his freedom next week!") It's Gary's job to fulfil requests, so he plays Elton John's "Sacrifice". They're too drunk to spot the pun. But that's not what bothers him. What bothers him is that moment he noticed that albeit being older than him, Tommy and his mates looked a lot younger than Gary. In one of the breaks Gary got himself a drink at the bar and all the middle-aged men there greeted him joyfully. They had a chat, a laugh and a drink together and then there was this moment that made his mood swing so rapidly: Gary caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. What he saw scared the hell out of him - he looked more like the middle-aged guys he was drinking with, than the mid-twenties of the stag-do-fraction. He'd started assimilating his audience. This was no good. Christ, he was only 21!
So while speeding down the M 56 Gary asks himself questions. Where do you want to go from here? Where do you see yourself in 5 years? Do you really think you can make it big with your music? Do you really think you'll ever be able to play anything else but these clubs? Do you really want to wear polka-dotted bow-ties for the rest of your life? Is that it?
Earlier that day Gary had read an article in the Chester Chronicle about the pope issueing an apology and lifting the edict of the Inquisition against Galileo Galilei. If it took the Catholic church 350 years to acknowledge the simple truth that the earth circles around the sun - how long would it take some record company to realize the simple truth that Gary Barlow was a brilliant singer and songwriter? After all the Catholic church and record companies have a lot in common when it comes to considering what's wrong and what's right - they very often decided in mysterious ways.
Galileo struggled all his life to convince the pope that the earth does move and was banned to house arrest for his efforts. What if Gary would never be able to convince anyone of his talents and that he was worth signing? What if he'd have to spend the rest of his life singing the clubs, getting chubby and looking at lot older than he actually was?
While turning into the drive of his parents' house he knows he's got to change something. First of all: hang the bow-ties up.
1993 (19 years old)
Back in Stoke Robbie had only played the Artful Dodger. Ever since he came to Manchester he's perfected his pickpocketing for real. He likes to call it “method acting” and he tells the grumpy policeman that, twisting and twirling as best as he can in the officer's firm grip. Said officer is having none of it. "You're not fucking Robert De Niro!" the pockmarked redhead lets him know. Robbie yet still has to learn to keep his big mouth shut. "You know, Sir, I fully agree with you", he retorts, looking at the officer with his best innocent expression, eyes wide open, "I'd like to think I'm more of a Marlon Brando, actually." He knows it's a mistake the very moment it's popped out of his mouth, but as per usual he just can't stop himself. After all: how is he supposed to know what he thinks before he hears what he says? Still the redhead is not impressed, and to shut Robbie up he chooses the simple way (and who could blame him?) and knocks him out with a solid and heartfelt right haymaker.
Robbie spends the night in detention. It's not that bad. Detention cells at least are heated, a comfort he misses back in his room in that apartment he shares with "friends". Once he gets back there, he's going to be king for a day. In a household full of losers, addicts and dickheads you are king when you can show off a black eye and a sore brow. However, you are not king for the officers of the early shift. "Get up, lazy sod!" is his wake-up call. The policeman (to Robbie's relieve not the redhead from the night before) pushes him down the corridor. "You wait here!" he barks before disappearing behind the counter. Rob knows the procedure all too well. He knows if he wants his purse, his shades and his shoelaces back, he's got to wait. Robbie hates waiting, especially when he's hungover and captured in a room that smells of stamping ink, Mr Clean and coffee and – to top it all – is filled with the sound of Key103. He nearly has to throw up, but he fights it. The silly DJ is talking endlessly, something about a dead actor. Shot on set. What the fuck? Who? The information only slowly sinks into his hazy mind: Brandon Lee, son of the legend Bruce Lee, was accidentally shot and killed while filming a movie called "The Crow". Robbie stumbles over to the large wooden bench on the opposite wall. He needs to sit. Shot on set, blimey! Maybe becoming an actor isn't such a good idea after all?
1989 (21 years old)
Around that time Howard lives for the weekends. His weeks are busy - painting vehicles in the daytime, modelling for catalogues and brochures in the evenings, and keeping his ever changing girlfriends satisfied at nights. Mum does the laundry, and the cooking. He's got a fast car, a decent stereo, and a lot of nice clothes (these catalogue-guys really pay well). Still the weekdays are draining and he usually can't wait for the weekend to begin. Clubbing, dancing, drinking, hanging with his friends, picking up girls - in no particular order. That's on Fridays and Saturdays. Then there are the Sundays - his favourite time of the weekend: a cab home from whatever part of the town he got stranded the night before, a good breakfast, a lie-in, a shower. And then he gets ready to go to The Apollo.
There's nothing in his life he prepares himself more carefully for. He spends an unhealthy amount of time peering at his reflection in the steamy bathroom mirror, stroking the stubble on his chin, wondering whether to shave or not. His eyes beam and his muscles tigthen when anticipation gets a hold of him. He's excited and exciting, energetic and eager. And he can dance.
At The Apollo there's a lad who can dance even better. Howard loves to watch him, secretely, from somewhere in the back, in the dark. Attentively he studies his moves. For technical reasons, that is. He studies his body. Just about as attentively. For technical reasons only, of course. And he studies his face. With utmost attention. For no particular reason, at least none Howard could think of. There seem to be butterflies in his tummy while he does so, which is a bit worrying and leaves him confused, with a strange feeling of guilt, shame, and embarrassment. After all he's not gay, right?
This breakdancer - his name is Jason, so much Howard knows - never takes any notice of him, though. Not that he was arrogant or something, he's just losing himself while he's dancing, fully concentrated, with no eyes for the outside world and those watching him. Which is something that attracts Howard even more so. At times it attracts him so much he has to eventually turn away, leave the club and get some fresh air. "Steady, boy," he tells himself.
Later that year the world watches happy Germans dance on the Berlin wall. Howard understands about the historical meaning of it perfectly well and still he couldn't care less - he prefers watching a certain tall, slightly too skinny breakdancer dance at The Apollo. His dancing might not change the world or make it into the history books, but its impact on Howard is more decisive than the end of the Cold War and the fall of the Iron Curtain. For Howard's started writing his own history.
1990 (18 years old)
In the summer of 1990 every young bloke in England watches the World Cup on TV, except for the clever lads who saved their money and drove to Italy to see a couple of matches live, get sunburnt by the sea, and seduce beautiful Italian girls. Mark was told Italian girls were pretty and lovely and he'd have good chances over there, as he's not much smaller than most Italian men. But Mark hadn't managed to spare enough money to accompany his mates. They left two weeks ago and have already seen the Three Lions beat Belgium and Cameroon, and tonight they are in Turin watching the semi-final-match against bloody Germany. Mark is doomed to watch it with the rest of the sad bunch of losers he calls friends, who didn't manage to travel to Italy either, in the pub - accompanied by the old men, and lots of beer. Mark doesn't like the old men much. And he doesn't like the beer either.
If he's honest he doesn't like most of the other aspects of his life as well. He hates his job, he hates the customers, he hates the whole bank. He doesn't even like Oldham anymore, not like he used to. The town seems to have shrinked lately, and it appears to get smaller and smaller by the hour. Mark feels caved in here, and the city walls seem to close in on him, leaving him with a depressing feeling of breathlessness and claustrophobia. He desperately needs to get out of here. That's why he wrote that application the other day, for this job in the Manchester branch of the bloody bank. If he needs to work in a bank - at least it should be in a real town. Where there is life, and people he doesn't know yet, and music, and excitement. Manchester next year. The world the year after. That's a plan, innit? He may not have money, a fast car, or too much self-esteem - but at least he's got a plan.
Later that night Paul Gascoigne cries publically, then the whole of England cries publically, and the ugly Germans have won again. Mark cries publically, too. First for England's loss in the pub, and then for the pain his drunk football coach has caused him in the dark backyard behind the pub. He's Mark's first love, but he never tells him that. After all it's just one of the many things Mark never speaks about.
1991 (21 years old)
It's not been an easy thing to do and Jason feels a bit pathetic for mourning the loss of a car that much. After all it's just a machine that takes you from one place to another, right? That's what he tells himself the day after he sold it while he's hanging out with Howard, getting pissed. He surely deserves a drink now.
"I still think that guy ripped you off", Howard hiccups into his ear. The music in the club is way too loud for proper conversation, but once Howard has something to point out, even wild horses can't hold him back and he sure won't be bothered by some loud music. Jason loves when he is that protective and lets him get away with it, even though they both know perfectly well Howard is not exactly what you’d call an acknowledged expert when it comes to advice on money. But Jason knows this is not about money. It's about changes, and the fact that Howard doesn't like changes very much, neither for himself nor for those he cares about. Only this time Jason can't give a shit for Howard's issues, not if he doesn't want to be a painter and decorator for the rest of his life.
"You know, there really was no need to sell the car. You can make good money with a bit of modelling." Howard shakes his head before downing the rest of his Vodka-orange. Ah, yes, the modelling. Howard's favourite subject of discussion these days. After learning that Jason had decided to quit the job and attend college, Howard had arranged a meeting with the boss of his model agency. A sleazy, spine-tingling guy who gave Jason the creeps whilst he was carefully examining his body, as if he was some exotic sideshow exhibit. Jason decided he was not willing to be booked for this guy's next funfair. Selling the car and a couple of other belongings appeared to be the far lesser of two evils.
"I won't have time for modelling, y'know?!" Jason yells back into Howard's ear. He doesn't want Howard to think he's not appreciating his help. In fact he soaks up every little bit of support and encouragement he can get, like a flower absorbs the morning dew in prospect of a new hot summer day.
"Are you really sure you're doing the right thing?!" Howard screams into his direction while his eyes are firmly tucked on the nice butt of the blonde one on the dancefloor. Vicky. Howard’s been talking about little else than her, ever since he first saw her two weeks ago. "Absolutely sure, mate!" It's a lie, but he knows Howard won't notice 'cause he's too distracted by watching Vicky shake her hips underneath the disco ball. Jason watches Howard's profile for a while and a feeling of sadness strikes him that has nothing to do with the loss of the car, the security of his job, or his life as it was so far. Before the sad feeling takes over completely he downs his drink and lets his eyes stray, scanning the dancefloor, looking out for his Vicky for tonight. Because if all else fails, even if everything in his life goes wrong, the money’s tight, his self-confidence is low – there’s still always a Vicky.
Later that month Magic Johnson announces that he has HIV and retires from Basketball. As sad as this news makes Jason, at the same time it's the ultimate affirmation that his decision is right. Life is too short to paint other people's bedroom walls while the foreman fumbles through the housewife's underwear drawer. There must be more out there. There just has to be a life out there he can stand in the long turn without constantly having that sick feeling in his stomach.
1992 (21 years old)
For the first time in years Gary questions what he's doing. He's on his way back to Frodsham, flooring the accelerator of his Ford Orion on the M 56. The first thing he did back in the car after leaving the club tonight was pulling off his bow-tie and loosening the collar of his green silk shirt. Which is unusual for him. Any other night the first thing he does is choosing a tape to sing along to on the way home. But tonight he feels the desperate urge of getting rid of his profession's uniform. So in a rare outburst of anger Gary throws the bow-tie onto the passenger seat. It's not that his show tonight was rotten or the audience didn't appreciate it. They applauded him like always. And rightly so - his timing was brilliant, as was his voice.
It's just that tonight there was this group of young lads in the club, celebrating a stag do. Tommy's stag do. ("Hey, you! Organ man! Can you play something for Tommy?!" - "Yeah! Play something for Tommy!" - "Tommy will lose his freedom next week!") It's Gary's job to fulfil requests, so he plays Elton John's "Sacrifice". They're too drunk to spot the pun. But that's not what bothers him. What bothers him is that moment he noticed that albeit being older than him, Tommy and his mates looked a lot younger than Gary. In one of the breaks Gary got himself a drink at the bar and all the middle-aged men there greeted him joyfully. They had a chat, a laugh and a drink together and then there was this moment that made his mood swing so rapidly: Gary caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. What he saw scared the hell out of him - he looked more like the middle-aged guys he was drinking with, than the mid-twenties of the stag-do-fraction. He'd started assimilating his audience. This was no good. Christ, he was only 21!
So while speeding down the M 56 Gary asks himself questions. Where do you want to go from here? Where do you see yourself in 5 years? Do you really think you can make it big with your music? Do you really think you'll ever be able to play anything else but these clubs? Do you really want to wear polka-dotted bow-ties for the rest of your life? Is that it?
Earlier that day Gary had read an article in the Chester Chronicle about the pope issueing an apology and lifting the edict of the Inquisition against Galileo Galilei. If it took the Catholic church 350 years to acknowledge the simple truth that the earth circles around the sun - how long would it take some record company to realize the simple truth that Gary Barlow was a brilliant singer and songwriter? After all the Catholic church and record companies have a lot in common when it comes to considering what's wrong and what's right - they very often decided in mysterious ways.
Galileo struggled all his life to convince the pope that the earth does move and was banned to house arrest for his efforts. What if Gary would never be able to convince anyone of his talents and that he was worth signing? What if he'd have to spend the rest of his life singing the clubs, getting chubby and looking at lot older than he actually was?
While turning into the drive of his parents' house he knows he's got to change something. First of all: hang the bow-ties up.
1993 (19 years old)
Back in Stoke Robbie had only played the Artful Dodger. Ever since he came to Manchester he's perfected his pickpocketing for real. He likes to call it “method acting” and he tells the grumpy policeman that, twisting and twirling as best as he can in the officer's firm grip. Said officer is having none of it. "You're not fucking Robert De Niro!" the pockmarked redhead lets him know. Robbie yet still has to learn to keep his big mouth shut. "You know, Sir, I fully agree with you", he retorts, looking at the officer with his best innocent expression, eyes wide open, "I'd like to think I'm more of a Marlon Brando, actually." He knows it's a mistake the very moment it's popped out of his mouth, but as per usual he just can't stop himself. After all: how is he supposed to know what he thinks before he hears what he says? Still the redhead is not impressed, and to shut Robbie up he chooses the simple way (and who could blame him?) and knocks him out with a solid and heartfelt right haymaker.
Robbie spends the night in detention. It's not that bad. Detention cells at least are heated, a comfort he misses back in his room in that apartment he shares with "friends". Once he gets back there, he's going to be king for a day. In a household full of losers, addicts and dickheads you are king when you can show off a black eye and a sore brow. However, you are not king for the officers of the early shift. "Get up, lazy sod!" is his wake-up call. The policeman (to Robbie's relieve not the redhead from the night before) pushes him down the corridor. "You wait here!" he barks before disappearing behind the counter. Rob knows the procedure all too well. He knows if he wants his purse, his shades and his shoelaces back, he's got to wait. Robbie hates waiting, especially when he's hungover and captured in a room that smells of stamping ink, Mr Clean and coffee and – to top it all – is filled with the sound of Key103. He nearly has to throw up, but he fights it. The silly DJ is talking endlessly, something about a dead actor. Shot on set. What the fuck? Who? The information only slowly sinks into his hazy mind: Brandon Lee, son of the legend Bruce Lee, was accidentally shot and killed while filming a movie called "The Crow". Robbie stumbles over to the large wooden bench on the opposite wall. He needs to sit. Shot on set, blimey! Maybe becoming an actor isn't such a good idea after all?
Chapter Two
1994 – 1998: There Is Progress Now
1994 (26 years old)
It’s the year Howard finally is able to quit the job in the garage. What had happened? Somewhere around 1991 Nigel, his modelling agent, had introduced him to Richard, the owner of Manchester’s then largest and most famous night club. Richard was always looking out for good DJs and gave Howard a small slot on Thursday nights. In no time he built up a reputation, got the more coveted weekend slots and was booked all over the country. He didn’t make much money, but he got free journeys, hotels and drinks. By 1993 he did gigs in Liverpool, London, Glasgow, and Birmingham as well as in Berlin, Amsterdam, and Ibiza, on a regular basis. With every of his journeys his sound and his remixes reached a wider audience – and one of those listening to them was a guy named Trevor, who approached Howard after a gig in London. Trevor had been a pop star in the 1980’s, but then settled to rather produce music than perform it. He was now one of the most popular and most renowned music producers in the U.K. and ran his own studio in London. Howard didn’t hesitate for a second and followed Trevor’s invitation, travelled to the capital every now and again to hang around in Trevor’s studio. Before he halfway realized it, Howard worked for him on a couple of projects, shaping up backing tracks, adding a bit of a bass line here, adjusting the sound of a potential top ten hit there. Always in awe of shiny electronical equipment his heart jumped every time he met a new mixer. He learned to master the desks as quickly as he’d learned to master the turntables when he started djing. Then Trevor asked Howard to assist him on an album of one of Britain’s greatest bands around that time, and his name in the credits was followed by a couple of prestigious offers – that’s why in 1994 Howard finally quit his job at the garage and produced an album for an ageing boyband, giving them a nice little make-over they desperately needed. It wasn’t the best of albums, but thanks to a devoted fanbase it got to No. 4 in the charts and one of the singles even made it to No. 1. Suddenly Howard was rich and something close to famous.
He splits his time between London and Manchester. He has girls in both towns and in a couple of other towns all over Europe. He keeps himself busy, because the only person he really wants to spend time with, is completely occupied with studying and working his butt off in a bar, in order to pay his bills, and thus barely has time for him. Every now and then they spend one of Jason’s rare nights off to go for dinner (for which Howard pays) and a movie (for which Jason pays, much to Howard’s disapproval) and a couple of drinks in some pub (for which Howard pays, much to Jason’s disapproval). Sometimes they are accompanied by the one or the other girl. And sometimes Howard brings an old friend from back in the days at The Apollo. Or one of his new friends from London. And one fine day in 1994 Jason brings a friend from uni, because he feels Howard might like him and the other way around. And he’s damn right. So while Jason’s enjoying his curry, Howard and Gary nearly forget to eat – they’re too busy comparing technical equipment they’ve purchased over the years and being in awe of each other.
Later that year they meet for what by then has become a regular habit they call a CMD-night (curry, movie, and drinks-night) and while having curry, have a discussion about which movie they’re going to see. A discussion that’s more than typical for them: Howard wants to see “Pulp Fiction”, Jason suggests “The Shawshank Redemption” and Gary says he’d favour “Forrest Gump”. The discussion is friendly, full of banter and it’s clear from the beginning that they won’t watch any of these films. They end up watching “The Usual Suspects” and they’re all very happy with that. That was to become the way they handled things between them: three completely different characters whose great affection and huge respect for each other makes them compromise – and the result will benefit them all.
1995 (23 years old)
On a Tuesday in May Mark gets promoted and doesn’t even know why. Humble as ever he supposes he owes this to his cute smile and friendly behaviour. Heather and Michael roll their eyes to that when he mentions it at the breakfast table. Robbie would’ve given him a cosh around the head – if he’d been up that early in the morning. Which – of course – he isn’t. He’s still in bed after another night of singing, showing off, and drinking. And very probably doing whatever kind of drugs he could get a hold of. Mark sighs into his morning tea. He’s closed his eyes to it for quite a while, but he can no longer deny it: Rob drinks too much. And if he’s honest with himself: he drinks more than is good for him, too. He wouldn’t dare to blame Rob for that, after all his drinking didn’t start after he met him, but…well, Robbie isn’t very helpful if you’re trying to stay sober. It’s gotten Mark into the one or the other uncomfortable situation, but until now it’s only been embarrassing, not dangerous. Mark is clever enough, though, to know it’s only a matter of time before that might change for worse. Still he believes that meeting Rob is the best thing that has happened to him ever since he came to Manchester. All the things that are going well for him – career, money, friends – he doesn’t really care that much about. The only thing he really cares about lies in his bed right now, a hangovered mess of a man. A boy. The funniest boy on the planet. The loveliest fucked-up brat in the known universe.
His Mum is nagging him about a girlfriend and getting married all the time. She wants grandchildren. “When, Mark, when?” Mark doesn’t have the heart to tell her that the reason he can’t possibly commit to a girl is a boy. Usually his Dad saves him. “He’s young, darling, he needs to fool around. Given time….” Yes, given time. Que sera. Whatever will be, will be.
The thing is: Mark wants children. The only question is: how? He doubts he’ll find a girl that would be willing to give birth to a couple of children for him and then leave the kids with him and Rob. He doubts Rob would want that. He takes another sip of his tea. He’s so lost in that merry-go-round of thoughts, he hardly realizes that Heather is trying to speak to him.
“Erm, Mark, there’s something we’d like to talk about to you…”
“Huh?”
“You see,” Heather’s clearly nervous, she glances at Michael, who nods at her reassuringly, “it’s just, he practically lives here, doesn’t he? And we thought, well….since he’s here all the time….you know, he uses water…”
“Lots of water!” Michael exclaims. They look at him in surprise, quiet Michael is not famous for sudden outbursts. He sighs and shrugs his shoulders, then apologetically throws up his hands, “sorry, love, didn’t mean to interrupt ya.”
Heather turns her head back to Mark, “…well, like I said, he uses water, and electricity, and…” Mark feels ashamed, why hadn’t he thought about that? He’s shared this apartment with these two wonderful people for three years now and they work hard for their money, whereas Rob….well….
“Say no more, you are absolutely right. I’m sorry, I’m awfully sorry! I’ll talk to him! He earns money now from this engagement in this show, you know? I’ll talk to him!”
They all know he won’t. They all know he will pay Rob’s share.
That night Rob and Mark go to see “Braveheart”. They sit in a couple booth in the last row of a shabby cinema and make out while the Scots fight the English. Mark can feel Rob’s hands everywhere, tingling on his skin, sending shivers down his spine. Rob’s kisses cause sensation in Mark’s tummy. Goosebumps all over his body. And all the time there’s this voice in his head “he practically lives here, doesn’t he?” The realization that this is very true makes Mark feel insanely happy. He unwraps himself from Rob’s latest kiss, takes Rob’s head in his hands, and tickles him softly behind his ears. Rob giggles. Mark pulls him closer, bringing their foreheads together. He closes his eyes to escape Rob’s intense gaze. Only then he dares to confess it. “I love you.” Rob’s answer is a firm squeeze and a long kiss. On the screen William Wallace dies a horrible death. Mark couldn’t care less.
1996 (25 years old)
Jason receives his degree in May and two weeks later he starts working for the NPS in the Wythenshawe Probation Office on Brownley Road. At first, Janice, his superior at the HQ, and David from Human Ressources have their doubts whether to send him back to Wythenshawe. After some discussion they agree on trying for six months, to see if the benefit of Jason knowing how people from Wythenshawe tick, overweighs the fact that practically every offender there knows him personally. “If you feel you need more distance, give me a call, will you?” Janice is worried. She thinks Jason’s too emotional when it comes to his home borough.
But Jason knows it’s right, he knows he can handle it. The job is rewarding. Yes, there are setbacks, there are offenders he sees more regularly than he wishes to, but still, there are some whom he can help working their way into a life without drugs, burglaries, and rip-offs. He loves what he does, and he works hard. Always the first in the morning, and the last to leave. Always there when he’s needed. Some of "his" offenders knock on his door at night, if necessary, scaring the one or the other girlfriend away. (“I really like you, but, well, I just can’t live like this, y’know? I’m terribly sorry.” That’s what these girls say before they leave. Some of them even cry a little bit. Jason always understands, gives them a hug and lets them go. A cynic would probably say he’s just not that bothered.)
Part of Jason’s job is speaking to senior year classes, explaining what he does, as a warning. He usually ends with “Thank you for your attention and – please, don’t get this the wrong way – but I hope I’ll never see anyone of you ever again!” When the laughter’s died down sometimes the pupils have further questions.
“Erm, excuse me, Sir, Mr Orange?”
“Jason, just call me Jason, okay?”
“Erm, okay, Jason, well, my brother says you were on the telly when you were young? Like dancing?”
“Yeah, that’s right. That was a long time ago, y’know? I used to breakdance…anyone still knows breakdance? No?”
His life is good, he’s got girls (and girls only, ‘cause with girls he doesn’t feel like he’s betraying a certain someone), and Gary to hang out with, and work. He’s never bored, he’s got books, and music, and dreams of travelling to far away countries. He’s never bored, but always longing. ‘Cause Howard’s busy being a famous music producer, constantly cancelling appointments, constantly being sorry. Stitching little wounds into Jason’s heart, one by one. They hardly bleed, but they hurt nonetheless.
The morning after he went to see “Trainspotting” with Gaz (CMD-night unplugged: Gary and Jason minus Howard) a young lad comes into the office. Tall, rakishly handsome and with his hair dyed peroxide blonde, he reminds Jason of Sick Boy. There’s something about him in the way he moves, the way he fills the room with his mere appearance. The aura of a movie star. He does not come over to his desk sheepishly like the other offenders, who pass their conditions-of-probation-papers over to Jason like they were drenched in poison. No, Sick Boy-lookalike greets him “good morning, Sir” with a broad grin, flops onto the chair opposite Jason’s desk without being asked to, and starts playing around with his Manchester-City-rubber duckie (Gaz has funny ideas of what makes a good Christmas present). Jason lets him be and takes a look at his papers. After all he is just another lad who got himself into trouble. ‘Cause just like everyone else entering this office, Robert Peter Williams is on probation.
1997 (26 years old)
Jason is Gary’s best man and he feels strangely guilty about it. He feels he’s only earned this honour because Gary hasn’t seen much of Howard lately. Which, of course, is Howard’s fault. Watching Howard in amongst the other guests from his place next to the nervously wobbling groom, Jason thinks he is putting a rather good face on the matter. Then he figures that Howard is fumbling around with his mobile phone. Jason suppresses the urge of rolling his eyes. Maybe Howard doesn’t care about not being best man that much at all.
Gary is nervous and radiating in equal shares. His fingers are constantly moving, as if he was warming up to play the piano. His smile is all proud and loved-up, though. Then the organ starts to play and the back door swings open and there she is, slowly walking down the aisle: Dawn. Beautiful, shy, silent, wonderful Dawn.
“Lads, I’ve got to tell you something.”
“Uhhh, look at Mr Serious here! Shall we guess? Let me guess…you’ve been voted teacher of the year?! No! Wait! Wait! Now I know! You’ve convinced Dawn to let you buy a grand piano!”
“Oh, shut up, Howard! – What is it, Gaz?”
“I have convinced Dawn of something more important.”
“There is something more important in your life than owning a grand piano?”
“Howard!”
“Never mind, Jay, he just can’t work more than 2 Vodka-oranges anymore, the old man!”
“Eh, watch it Barlow!”
“Ah, you’re very probably right, Gaz. He ain’t getting any younger, is he? – Now what is it you’ve convinced Dawn of?”
“I’ve convinced her to marry me.”
“Yes!”
“No!!”
“Awwww, Gaz, that’s beautiful….!”
“No way! Fuck!”
“August, 26th, lads. Keep the date clear!”
“I sure will! Congrats, mate, that’s good news!”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Gaz! Don’t marry! You know it’s wrong! – Christ, I need a drink now!”
“You know, mate, this is a wonderfully reversed cliché, innit? Usually the male PE teacher marries the female music teacher, but Dawn and you, you’ve kinda swapped that cliché by…”
“Orange! Stop jabbering, shut the fuck up and down the drink!”
“I love you, too, Donald… Well then, let’s drink! To Dawn and Gary – may they live happily ever after!”
“Happily ever after!”
“Amen!”
While Gary is dancing with his Mum, and Jason with Dawn, Howard listens to the band. They’re utter crap, but the singer… well, he’s got potential. He’s still got work to do on his voice, but without a doubt he’s a born entertainer. Gary’s Dad has replaced Gary on dancing with his Mum, and Gary takes the opportunity to rest his sore feet for a while and chat to Howard. But if he was hoping for some proper personal words with his friend, he was wrong. Howard’s all business these days. “Where did you find that band?” – “Jay recommended them.” – “Seriously? They’re crap, man!” – “They’re affordable, you know?” – “Still saving for the grand piano, eh?” Howard chuckles. Sometimes – just sometimes – Gary could just smash Howard’s face in.
On stage Robbie is suffering. He still can’t believe he did what he did. This time he’s managed to actually shock himself. He sings on autopilot while in the back of his head he is wishing he had a Neuralyzer, like Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones used them in “Men In Black”. A Neuralyzer to erase Mark’s memory of what has happened last night. Oh, a kingdom for a Neuralyzer.
Gary sits next to Howard, watching Jason dance with his wife. ‘My wife’, he thinks, ‘my wife’. He likes the sound of that. Mrs Dawn Barlow. He likes the sound of that, too. His eyes scan the bandstage, the instruments, the singer. For a little moment he thinks he might like to go over, enter the stage, take a seat behind the organ and start playing some of the old tunes. He wonders if he’s still got it. Could he make the audience sway, and cheer, and sing along? He used to miss being on stage for a while, but ever since he teaches classes, it’s different. He’s got an audience now every day, a very young audience, critical, bold at times, or annoying. But he can work them and he comes home happy. His eyes stray back to the dancefloor, where Jason makes Dawn swing around herself. Her dress waves, then softly falls back into position over her tall, stunning body. Every inch of her is grace and beauty. Yes, Gary Barlow is a very happy man. And he knows it.
Next to him Howard watches the dancing couple, too. His eyes, however, are not on Dawn. And though he, too, sees nothing but grace and beauty, it fails to make him happy. And he knows it’s his own fault.
1998 (24 years old)
In 1998 Robbie finally manages to get himself into jail. No one could save him, neither Mark, nor Jason. And God knows they tried. Mark gave him everything he could and more: love, attention, money. All of his love, and lots of attention. They never speak about the money. Money doesn’t matter to Mark. Only Rob does and now he’s in trouble and there is nothing Mark can do about that. Jason told Rob over and over to stay away from these people. Jason, who kind of adopted him as his little brother. Who always came up with jobs for him, singing jobs at weddings and street parties. He introduced him to Gary, who’d work with him on his singing skills and general music education. He introduced him to Howard, who gave him a couple of jobs as a background singer on albums he produced. And still Robbie fucks it all up. It’s like he’s constantly pressing the self-destruct-button – and every time he does someone, his Mum, his sister, Mark, Jason, is there to save him, just in time. But not this time. This time he makes sure they don’t have a chance to. Robbie’s finally succeeded to fail.
Mark is inconsolable, of course. He’s absolutely shattered, crying nearly all the time. It’s the moment Mark says “What have I done wrong?” that kills Robbie. He realizes Mark feels responsible for his downfall and that absolutely knocks him out. He’d never ever considered that Mark might feel guilty or responsible for any of his actions. He’d never ever considered that this is what you feel when someone you love with all your heart fucks up. And now Rob’s scared to death of losing Mark and going to jail. He honestly can’t say what he fears more. He’s so fucking frightened that he has no strength left to console Mark, to ensure him it’s not his fault, or to give him hope he’ll come back in two years a better man. All he can bring himself to do is beg Jason to look after Mark while he’s away. He makes him swear he will. Jason promises he’ll do the best he can.
The day after Mark and Rob went to see “Saving Private Ryan” and two day before his imprisonment starts, Jason has invited him over to his place. There’s homemade curry galore, but neither of them is able to eat. Robbie knows he’s not just there to say goodbye, he knows there’s more to this and he knows he won’t like what he’s about to hear. Jason has talked to first-time-detainees a hundred times before, but this is different. He’s painfully aware that he’s allowed Rob to occupy too much space in his heart to still be his probation officer, he should’ve consigned him to someone else long ago. But now it’s too late, and they both have to go through this. Jason doesn’t hold back anything, it kills him but Rob needs to be prepared, he needs to know that jail is not a welcoming, nice place. As far as Rob understands, it is going to be very much like the first 30 minutes of “Saving Private Ryan” for the next two years now. And as scared as he is, he feels he deserves it – for fucking up his life on purpose and for hurting those that love him by doing so.
“You know, Rob, you may not be the same person when you come back, but…you know…it’s up to you…and you alone, what you will be like then?”
“I want to be a better person, Jay. – Do you think I could be a better person?”
“You can be anything you want to be, Rob. Just go on trying, will ya?”
Oh, yes, he so fucking would.
1994 (26 years old)
It’s the year Howard finally is able to quit the job in the garage. What had happened? Somewhere around 1991 Nigel, his modelling agent, had introduced him to Richard, the owner of Manchester’s then largest and most famous night club. Richard was always looking out for good DJs and gave Howard a small slot on Thursday nights. In no time he built up a reputation, got the more coveted weekend slots and was booked all over the country. He didn’t make much money, but he got free journeys, hotels and drinks. By 1993 he did gigs in Liverpool, London, Glasgow, and Birmingham as well as in Berlin, Amsterdam, and Ibiza, on a regular basis. With every of his journeys his sound and his remixes reached a wider audience – and one of those listening to them was a guy named Trevor, who approached Howard after a gig in London. Trevor had been a pop star in the 1980’s, but then settled to rather produce music than perform it. He was now one of the most popular and most renowned music producers in the U.K. and ran his own studio in London. Howard didn’t hesitate for a second and followed Trevor’s invitation, travelled to the capital every now and again to hang around in Trevor’s studio. Before he halfway realized it, Howard worked for him on a couple of projects, shaping up backing tracks, adding a bit of a bass line here, adjusting the sound of a potential top ten hit there. Always in awe of shiny electronical equipment his heart jumped every time he met a new mixer. He learned to master the desks as quickly as he’d learned to master the turntables when he started djing. Then Trevor asked Howard to assist him on an album of one of Britain’s greatest bands around that time, and his name in the credits was followed by a couple of prestigious offers – that’s why in 1994 Howard finally quit his job at the garage and produced an album for an ageing boyband, giving them a nice little make-over they desperately needed. It wasn’t the best of albums, but thanks to a devoted fanbase it got to No. 4 in the charts and one of the singles even made it to No. 1. Suddenly Howard was rich and something close to famous.
He splits his time between London and Manchester. He has girls in both towns and in a couple of other towns all over Europe. He keeps himself busy, because the only person he really wants to spend time with, is completely occupied with studying and working his butt off in a bar, in order to pay his bills, and thus barely has time for him. Every now and then they spend one of Jason’s rare nights off to go for dinner (for which Howard pays) and a movie (for which Jason pays, much to Howard’s disapproval) and a couple of drinks in some pub (for which Howard pays, much to Jason’s disapproval). Sometimes they are accompanied by the one or the other girl. And sometimes Howard brings an old friend from back in the days at The Apollo. Or one of his new friends from London. And one fine day in 1994 Jason brings a friend from uni, because he feels Howard might like him and the other way around. And he’s damn right. So while Jason’s enjoying his curry, Howard and Gary nearly forget to eat – they’re too busy comparing technical equipment they’ve purchased over the years and being in awe of each other.
Later that year they meet for what by then has become a regular habit they call a CMD-night (curry, movie, and drinks-night) and while having curry, have a discussion about which movie they’re going to see. A discussion that’s more than typical for them: Howard wants to see “Pulp Fiction”, Jason suggests “The Shawshank Redemption” and Gary says he’d favour “Forrest Gump”. The discussion is friendly, full of banter and it’s clear from the beginning that they won’t watch any of these films. They end up watching “The Usual Suspects” and they’re all very happy with that. That was to become the way they handled things between them: three completely different characters whose great affection and huge respect for each other makes them compromise – and the result will benefit them all.
1995 (23 years old)
On a Tuesday in May Mark gets promoted and doesn’t even know why. Humble as ever he supposes he owes this to his cute smile and friendly behaviour. Heather and Michael roll their eyes to that when he mentions it at the breakfast table. Robbie would’ve given him a cosh around the head – if he’d been up that early in the morning. Which – of course – he isn’t. He’s still in bed after another night of singing, showing off, and drinking. And very probably doing whatever kind of drugs he could get a hold of. Mark sighs into his morning tea. He’s closed his eyes to it for quite a while, but he can no longer deny it: Rob drinks too much. And if he’s honest with himself: he drinks more than is good for him, too. He wouldn’t dare to blame Rob for that, after all his drinking didn’t start after he met him, but…well, Robbie isn’t very helpful if you’re trying to stay sober. It’s gotten Mark into the one or the other uncomfortable situation, but until now it’s only been embarrassing, not dangerous. Mark is clever enough, though, to know it’s only a matter of time before that might change for worse. Still he believes that meeting Rob is the best thing that has happened to him ever since he came to Manchester. All the things that are going well for him – career, money, friends – he doesn’t really care that much about. The only thing he really cares about lies in his bed right now, a hangovered mess of a man. A boy. The funniest boy on the planet. The loveliest fucked-up brat in the known universe.
His Mum is nagging him about a girlfriend and getting married all the time. She wants grandchildren. “When, Mark, when?” Mark doesn’t have the heart to tell her that the reason he can’t possibly commit to a girl is a boy. Usually his Dad saves him. “He’s young, darling, he needs to fool around. Given time….” Yes, given time. Que sera. Whatever will be, will be.
The thing is: Mark wants children. The only question is: how? He doubts he’ll find a girl that would be willing to give birth to a couple of children for him and then leave the kids with him and Rob. He doubts Rob would want that. He takes another sip of his tea. He’s so lost in that merry-go-round of thoughts, he hardly realizes that Heather is trying to speak to him.
“Erm, Mark, there’s something we’d like to talk about to you…”
“Huh?”
“You see,” Heather’s clearly nervous, she glances at Michael, who nods at her reassuringly, “it’s just, he practically lives here, doesn’t he? And we thought, well….since he’s here all the time….you know, he uses water…”
“Lots of water!” Michael exclaims. They look at him in surprise, quiet Michael is not famous for sudden outbursts. He sighs and shrugs his shoulders, then apologetically throws up his hands, “sorry, love, didn’t mean to interrupt ya.”
Heather turns her head back to Mark, “…well, like I said, he uses water, and electricity, and…” Mark feels ashamed, why hadn’t he thought about that? He’s shared this apartment with these two wonderful people for three years now and they work hard for their money, whereas Rob….well….
“Say no more, you are absolutely right. I’m sorry, I’m awfully sorry! I’ll talk to him! He earns money now from this engagement in this show, you know? I’ll talk to him!”
They all know he won’t. They all know he will pay Rob’s share.
That night Rob and Mark go to see “Braveheart”. They sit in a couple booth in the last row of a shabby cinema and make out while the Scots fight the English. Mark can feel Rob’s hands everywhere, tingling on his skin, sending shivers down his spine. Rob’s kisses cause sensation in Mark’s tummy. Goosebumps all over his body. And all the time there’s this voice in his head “he practically lives here, doesn’t he?” The realization that this is very true makes Mark feel insanely happy. He unwraps himself from Rob’s latest kiss, takes Rob’s head in his hands, and tickles him softly behind his ears. Rob giggles. Mark pulls him closer, bringing their foreheads together. He closes his eyes to escape Rob’s intense gaze. Only then he dares to confess it. “I love you.” Rob’s answer is a firm squeeze and a long kiss. On the screen William Wallace dies a horrible death. Mark couldn’t care less.
1996 (25 years old)
Jason receives his degree in May and two weeks later he starts working for the NPS in the Wythenshawe Probation Office on Brownley Road. At first, Janice, his superior at the HQ, and David from Human Ressources have their doubts whether to send him back to Wythenshawe. After some discussion they agree on trying for six months, to see if the benefit of Jason knowing how people from Wythenshawe tick, overweighs the fact that practically every offender there knows him personally. “If you feel you need more distance, give me a call, will you?” Janice is worried. She thinks Jason’s too emotional when it comes to his home borough.
But Jason knows it’s right, he knows he can handle it. The job is rewarding. Yes, there are setbacks, there are offenders he sees more regularly than he wishes to, but still, there are some whom he can help working their way into a life without drugs, burglaries, and rip-offs. He loves what he does, and he works hard. Always the first in the morning, and the last to leave. Always there when he’s needed. Some of "his" offenders knock on his door at night, if necessary, scaring the one or the other girlfriend away. (“I really like you, but, well, I just can’t live like this, y’know? I’m terribly sorry.” That’s what these girls say before they leave. Some of them even cry a little bit. Jason always understands, gives them a hug and lets them go. A cynic would probably say he’s just not that bothered.)
Part of Jason’s job is speaking to senior year classes, explaining what he does, as a warning. He usually ends with “Thank you for your attention and – please, don’t get this the wrong way – but I hope I’ll never see anyone of you ever again!” When the laughter’s died down sometimes the pupils have further questions.
“Erm, excuse me, Sir, Mr Orange?”
“Jason, just call me Jason, okay?”
“Erm, okay, Jason, well, my brother says you were on the telly when you were young? Like dancing?”
“Yeah, that’s right. That was a long time ago, y’know? I used to breakdance…anyone still knows breakdance? No?”
His life is good, he’s got girls (and girls only, ‘cause with girls he doesn’t feel like he’s betraying a certain someone), and Gary to hang out with, and work. He’s never bored, he’s got books, and music, and dreams of travelling to far away countries. He’s never bored, but always longing. ‘Cause Howard’s busy being a famous music producer, constantly cancelling appointments, constantly being sorry. Stitching little wounds into Jason’s heart, one by one. They hardly bleed, but they hurt nonetheless.
The morning after he went to see “Trainspotting” with Gaz (CMD-night unplugged: Gary and Jason minus Howard) a young lad comes into the office. Tall, rakishly handsome and with his hair dyed peroxide blonde, he reminds Jason of Sick Boy. There’s something about him in the way he moves, the way he fills the room with his mere appearance. The aura of a movie star. He does not come over to his desk sheepishly like the other offenders, who pass their conditions-of-probation-papers over to Jason like they were drenched in poison. No, Sick Boy-lookalike greets him “good morning, Sir” with a broad grin, flops onto the chair opposite Jason’s desk without being asked to, and starts playing around with his Manchester-City-rubber duckie (Gaz has funny ideas of what makes a good Christmas present). Jason lets him be and takes a look at his papers. After all he is just another lad who got himself into trouble. ‘Cause just like everyone else entering this office, Robert Peter Williams is on probation.
1997 (26 years old)
Jason is Gary’s best man and he feels strangely guilty about it. He feels he’s only earned this honour because Gary hasn’t seen much of Howard lately. Which, of course, is Howard’s fault. Watching Howard in amongst the other guests from his place next to the nervously wobbling groom, Jason thinks he is putting a rather good face on the matter. Then he figures that Howard is fumbling around with his mobile phone. Jason suppresses the urge of rolling his eyes. Maybe Howard doesn’t care about not being best man that much at all.
Gary is nervous and radiating in equal shares. His fingers are constantly moving, as if he was warming up to play the piano. His smile is all proud and loved-up, though. Then the organ starts to play and the back door swings open and there she is, slowly walking down the aisle: Dawn. Beautiful, shy, silent, wonderful Dawn.
“Lads, I’ve got to tell you something.”
“Uhhh, look at Mr Serious here! Shall we guess? Let me guess…you’ve been voted teacher of the year?! No! Wait! Wait! Now I know! You’ve convinced Dawn to let you buy a grand piano!”
“Oh, shut up, Howard! – What is it, Gaz?”
“I have convinced Dawn of something more important.”
“There is something more important in your life than owning a grand piano?”
“Howard!”
“Never mind, Jay, he just can’t work more than 2 Vodka-oranges anymore, the old man!”
“Eh, watch it Barlow!”
“Ah, you’re very probably right, Gaz. He ain’t getting any younger, is he? – Now what is it you’ve convinced Dawn of?”
“I’ve convinced her to marry me.”
“Yes!”
“No!!”
“Awwww, Gaz, that’s beautiful….!”
“No way! Fuck!”
“August, 26th, lads. Keep the date clear!”
“I sure will! Congrats, mate, that’s good news!”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Gaz! Don’t marry! You know it’s wrong! – Christ, I need a drink now!”
“You know, mate, this is a wonderfully reversed cliché, innit? Usually the male PE teacher marries the female music teacher, but Dawn and you, you’ve kinda swapped that cliché by…”
“Orange! Stop jabbering, shut the fuck up and down the drink!”
“I love you, too, Donald… Well then, let’s drink! To Dawn and Gary – may they live happily ever after!”
“Happily ever after!”
“Amen!”
While Gary is dancing with his Mum, and Jason with Dawn, Howard listens to the band. They’re utter crap, but the singer… well, he’s got potential. He’s still got work to do on his voice, but without a doubt he’s a born entertainer. Gary’s Dad has replaced Gary on dancing with his Mum, and Gary takes the opportunity to rest his sore feet for a while and chat to Howard. But if he was hoping for some proper personal words with his friend, he was wrong. Howard’s all business these days. “Where did you find that band?” – “Jay recommended them.” – “Seriously? They’re crap, man!” – “They’re affordable, you know?” – “Still saving for the grand piano, eh?” Howard chuckles. Sometimes – just sometimes – Gary could just smash Howard’s face in.
On stage Robbie is suffering. He still can’t believe he did what he did. This time he’s managed to actually shock himself. He sings on autopilot while in the back of his head he is wishing he had a Neuralyzer, like Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones used them in “Men In Black”. A Neuralyzer to erase Mark’s memory of what has happened last night. Oh, a kingdom for a Neuralyzer.
Gary sits next to Howard, watching Jason dance with his wife. ‘My wife’, he thinks, ‘my wife’. He likes the sound of that. Mrs Dawn Barlow. He likes the sound of that, too. His eyes scan the bandstage, the instruments, the singer. For a little moment he thinks he might like to go over, enter the stage, take a seat behind the organ and start playing some of the old tunes. He wonders if he’s still got it. Could he make the audience sway, and cheer, and sing along? He used to miss being on stage for a while, but ever since he teaches classes, it’s different. He’s got an audience now every day, a very young audience, critical, bold at times, or annoying. But he can work them and he comes home happy. His eyes stray back to the dancefloor, where Jason makes Dawn swing around herself. Her dress waves, then softly falls back into position over her tall, stunning body. Every inch of her is grace and beauty. Yes, Gary Barlow is a very happy man. And he knows it.
Next to him Howard watches the dancing couple, too. His eyes, however, are not on Dawn. And though he, too, sees nothing but grace and beauty, it fails to make him happy. And he knows it’s his own fault.
1998 (24 years old)
In 1998 Robbie finally manages to get himself into jail. No one could save him, neither Mark, nor Jason. And God knows they tried. Mark gave him everything he could and more: love, attention, money. All of his love, and lots of attention. They never speak about the money. Money doesn’t matter to Mark. Only Rob does and now he’s in trouble and there is nothing Mark can do about that. Jason told Rob over and over to stay away from these people. Jason, who kind of adopted him as his little brother. Who always came up with jobs for him, singing jobs at weddings and street parties. He introduced him to Gary, who’d work with him on his singing skills and general music education. He introduced him to Howard, who gave him a couple of jobs as a background singer on albums he produced. And still Robbie fucks it all up. It’s like he’s constantly pressing the self-destruct-button – and every time he does someone, his Mum, his sister, Mark, Jason, is there to save him, just in time. But not this time. This time he makes sure they don’t have a chance to. Robbie’s finally succeeded to fail.
Mark is inconsolable, of course. He’s absolutely shattered, crying nearly all the time. It’s the moment Mark says “What have I done wrong?” that kills Robbie. He realizes Mark feels responsible for his downfall and that absolutely knocks him out. He’d never ever considered that Mark might feel guilty or responsible for any of his actions. He’d never ever considered that this is what you feel when someone you love with all your heart fucks up. And now Rob’s scared to death of losing Mark and going to jail. He honestly can’t say what he fears more. He’s so fucking frightened that he has no strength left to console Mark, to ensure him it’s not his fault, or to give him hope he’ll come back in two years a better man. All he can bring himself to do is beg Jason to look after Mark while he’s away. He makes him swear he will. Jason promises he’ll do the best he can.
The day after Mark and Rob went to see “Saving Private Ryan” and two day before his imprisonment starts, Jason has invited him over to his place. There’s homemade curry galore, but neither of them is able to eat. Robbie knows he’s not just there to say goodbye, he knows there’s more to this and he knows he won’t like what he’s about to hear. Jason has talked to first-time-detainees a hundred times before, but this is different. He’s painfully aware that he’s allowed Rob to occupy too much space in his heart to still be his probation officer, he should’ve consigned him to someone else long ago. But now it’s too late, and they both have to go through this. Jason doesn’t hold back anything, it kills him but Rob needs to be prepared, he needs to know that jail is not a welcoming, nice place. As far as Rob understands, it is going to be very much like the first 30 minutes of “Saving Private Ryan” for the next two years now. And as scared as he is, he feels he deserves it – for fucking up his life on purpose and for hurting those that love him by doing so.
“You know, Rob, you may not be the same person when you come back, but…you know…it’s up to you…and you alone, what you will be like then?”
“I want to be a better person, Jay. – Do you think I could be a better person?”
“You can be anything you want to be, Rob. Just go on trying, will ya?”
Oh, yes, he so fucking would.
Chapter Three
1999 – 2003: To Function Is Hereditary
1999 (31 years old)
There are only three rules in Howard’s life. Not more. Because basically Howard doesn’t believe in rules. Life, he thinks, is too short for missing out on fun because of too many rules. And he knows that all rules in the world can’t prevent you from making mistakes anyway, because mistakes, Howard is sure, are a part of life and learning from them is what’s generally known us growing-up. Still there are three rules he’s held on to for most of his grown-up life:
# 1 No booze before 4 p.m.
(except for holidays and Christmas)
# 2 No drugs in the house
# 3 No married women
Success proved him right, ‘cause he’s done pretty well in his life so far by adhering to these three simple rules. In 1999, however, he breaks one of them and it is something he will regret for a very long time. And he will never ever again sleep with a married woman.
His downfall is dramatic. Beginning of the year he is still tipped to become the biggest producer in the country and quite huge abroad. He’s booked for three major albums that year, one of them a certain American pop princess. Supposed to earn him a Grammy or two. Then he breaks rule # 3 and before he knows it his career lies in pieces before him, completely shattered, like something that’s crushed on the pavement after jumping out of the 46th floor. No one comes to help him scratch the pieces from the pavement, though. All of a sudden no one wants to work with him anymore. Booked artists cancel under dubious circumstances. Some people don’t answer his calls, others change their numbers over night without bothering to tell him the new one. Only very few tell him to the face. Like Blur’s Damon (nice chap, after all, Howard thinks) “You know I like you, How,” he tells Howard the other day, “and we would’ve loved to work with you, you know that, don’t you? But he’s big, he knows everyone and everyone’s scared of him! To be honest: I’m scared of him, too…” Howard understands. So William Orbit gets the job with Blur. Only fair, Howard muses, he sure didn’t sleep with Simon Cowell’s wife.
That year the wheat separates from the chaffs. The day the taxmen search his London flat (7 in the morning – what the fuck??), he receives two text messages. 2. In letters: t-w-o. His average of received text messages used to be 75. And that was on the quieter days. These days he’s happy if he receives two. The first one comes in at 7:55: “Hi How, you alright? Am a bit worried, since I’ve not heard from you since Sunday. Give me a call, will ya? Gaz” He sits on his sofa in his underwear and watches the officers do their job. His head aches, he’s in desperate need of a shower, and right now he hates his life. The mobile buzzes again at 8:20: “Been thinking over what we talked about last night. Sod it all. Just come home, mate. J” The TV is on, but mute. MTV’s playing Fatboy Slim’s “Praise You”. It’s going to be a big year for Fatboy Slim. Only fair, Howard thinks, he didn’t sleep with Cowell’s wife either. You alright? Am a bit worried…sod it all. Just come home, mate. 190 characters of proof that all’s not lost. Yes, the wheat separates from the chaffs, but friends will be friends. I’m going home, he thinks, I’m going home. Going home. Good song title, that.
2000 (28 years old)
The last time Mark visits Rob in prison is in August. It’s three more months in there for Rob, but Mark just can’t bring himself to go there anymore. The mere thought of this place causes him severe headache, he doesn’t sleep and is hardly able to eat days before he’s supposed to go there for the next visit. He’s caught up in a fight between his desire to not let others down and his inner voice of reason that is telling him that there’s nowt wrong about avoiding what makes you feel bad if it makes you feel that bad. Jason never gets tired of softly pointing out that his voice of reason might be right, but it takes Mark until August that year to finally manage to tell Rob that he can’t come anymore. To Mark’s great relief Rob seems to understand. In fact, Rob is astounded and deeply thankful that Mark came to visit him that often. He couldn’t possibly ask for more or be mad that Mark just can’t stand it anymore.
“’I’m so sorry, Rob, I feel horrible, but I just can’t…”
“Tis alright, mate. Alright. Don’t worry, it’s not long now, y’know?”
“I miss you, you know that? I miss you so much, but…”
“I know. I miss you, too. (and after a long pause) Are you talking to someone about all of this?”
“Yeah, Jason, and he must be sick of it. But you know, he’s lovely, he’s keeping me busy, taking me out all the time, well, they do, him and Gary. And I met Howard. You know, Howard Donald, the Howard Donald?!”
“I sang at Gary’s wedding, did you know that? Did I ever tell you that? That was the night after…”
“Rob, don’t. We said we let it be.”
“Yeah….I sang at his wedding. He’s got a beautiful wife. Maude. No. Shawn. No.”
“Dawn. Her name is Dawn.”
“Dawn. Yeah. Beautiful woman. – So, you finally met Howard Donald?”
“He’s cool.”
“He’s the coolest, man, I mean he had the nerve to shag Cowell’s missus….”
“Destroyed his career. He’s not happy.”
“Mmmhh… – How’s Jay?”
“You know…Jay is Jay….he’s always good. He works too much. They want him in the head office now, since he did this big youth project last year…might also get him into politics somehow, as far as I understand….didn’t he tell ya?”
“Nah, never talks about himself much, it’s always more about me, y’know?”
“He’s got a girlfriend, couple of months now.”
“Fuck!? He didn’t say a word!”
“Laura. She’s nice. Very pretty. Model or something, Howard introduced them.”
“You don’t like her.”
“What? How do you…?”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“I don’t really…I couldn’t say. – As long as he likes her….it doesn’t matter, does it?”
“Yeah.”
“Listen, Rob, I’m really sorry, I…I dunno how to explain, I just…”
“Markie, tis alright, really….please, don’t cry….it’s all good….three months, Markie! They’ll pass in no time! Look how far we got! – Take your time, do what’s good for you, calm down. We’ll be fine…”
When Jason visits Rob two weeks later, Rob asks him a favour. So Jason goes to his local HMV and buys a CD (Rob’s scribbled down something on a piece of paper: Coldplay – Parachutes. Jason forgot to ask which one was the album title and which one the band’s name.) He goes to pay for it and have it gift-wrapped, then carefully attaches the enveloped message Rob has handed him over. He doesn’t know what it says, but he feels it’s extremely important to Rob, so instead of giving it to Mark the next time he meets him, as requested by Rob, he heads over to see Mark that very evening. Some things cannot wait.
Mark only opens the envelope after Jason has left, with trembling fingers. He’s scared. What is it that’s so important to Rob he feels it’s needed to be delivered this way instead of just telling him personally in a few weeks when he’s out of jail? Or why – if it was so urgent it couldn’t wait until then – didn’t he just call him? Mark closes his eyes while he unfolds the note, then has to force himself to open them in order to read. And even though he’s shitting a brick, he can’t fight a little smile, when he notices the effort Rob has made to make his usual horrible scrawl readable for him:
I’m trying every day, but I have not yet found the right words to tell you how incredibly sorry I am, how much I despise myself for what I did to you. But I need you to know I am trying and one day I will be able to. For now this is the best I can come up with, this is the closest to what I’d like to express: please, play song six of this album. Welcome to my head. Love always, Rob.
Song six? A trembling finger pushes the next-button. …3. 4. 5. 6. Song six: ‘Trouble’ – I never meant to cause you trouble, I never meant to do you harm…
Trouble. Tears. Tribulation.
2001 (31 years old)
She doesn’t come to pick up her stuff herself. She sends her brother. Of course, she always hires people for the dirty jobs. David, her brother, doesn’t talk much.
“Erm, Jason? I think I’ve got everything, what d’you think?”
What is he supposed to answer? That he thinks she took much more than everything when she did what she did? That he would give her everything he owns if she in return gave back a couple of things she’s taken away from him? Like his heart? (Okay, okay, bad example, she never really had that, since he exclusively gave that to someone else a long time ago.) But what about his beliefs? His faith? His guts? Ah, sod all of that! All he really wants back is his baby. Their baby.
“Yeah, mate, I think that’s everything.”
It’s not just that he doesn’t sleep anymore. He can hardly breathe, he constantly feels like he’s choking. Sometimes he wishes he would. Sometimes all he wants to do is bang his head to the wall until the pain kills the thoughts. He’d give a lot to kill the thoughts. And the memories.
“I’ve been thinking…”
“Tell me something new.”
“…I’ve been thinking, I won’t take that job, I just…it just doesn’t sit right in my head. I can’t do it, I feel like I’m acting, trying to be something I’m not all the time. I…I don’t like it.”
“Oh, you don’t like it, do you? Are you kidding me?”
“No.”
“Jay, we’ll be having a child, how do you think shall we work this? With your old job? Are we supposed to live here?”
“What’s wrong about living here?”
“What’s wrong about…? EVERYTHING is wrong about….how can you possibly consider…?! Where’s your ambition? Where is your FUCKING ambition?! – I just think you didn’t put enough effort into making this work! No one said it was going to be easy. Or – pleasant! God, I was hoping you’d finally MAKE something out of your life!”
Two days later he told her he’ll take the job. All she answered was that there was no need to anymore.
The worst thing is that he can’t speak about it. To no one. They are all worried about him, his Mum, his brothers, his friends. But he can’t tell them what she did. He just can’t. He’s considered it, he’s contemplated it, he’s thought it over. He still can’t. Coz they’d think she’s horrible, they’d hate her. Maybe they’d even think it was his fault. He’s convinced it’s his fault. Why didn’t he soldier on in this job? Why didn’t he try harder? Why did it take him two days – two fucking days! – to decide about their future?? Maybe, if he hadn’t procrastinated like he had, if he’d for once not spend a ridiculous amount of time on over-thinking and worrying…maybe everything would be different now. But he didn’t. And so he’s not telling anyone what has happened and it kills him. Slowly and painfully. At some point, around October, he decides to run away. For the first time in his life Jason runs away from his problems. He takes his backpack, a year off and a flight to the other side of the world. It’s hot and sticky there, the sand stings his feet and the sun burns his skin. He couldn’t care less. He just sits and watches the waves and waits for the pain to cease. It’s December by now, and every day when he passes the beach bar they play this song. It resounds in his head while he sits and stares holes into the air. December, 21st. On an island in the sun. He is on an island in the sun. December, 22nd. We’ll run away together, we’ll spend some time forever, we’ll never feel bad anymore. Run away – done. Spending some time – done. Not feeling bad anymore – fail. December, 23rd. Hip hip. People everywhere on the planet are setting up Christmas trees. December, 24th. We’ll never feel bad anymore. Children all over the world are in wild anticipation. December, 25th. Hip Hip. Christmas. He’d have been a father by now.
2002 (31 years old)
He can’t exactly say when it started, but at some point, after several nights he’d slept on the sofa, she suggested they could buy a day bed for his study in the basement. And now he sleeps there every night and it’s become somewhat normal. So normal in fact, that he’s surprised about his friends’ reactions when he incidentally mentions it.
“Fuck, Gaz, you sleep in your study?”
“Geez, the study is in your basement, isn’t it? I could never sleep in the basement…”
“Yes, Markie, we all know you’re afraid in the dark!”
“It’s just, I snore, and Dawn can’t stand it…it’s not that bad!”
It’s a lie, it is bad. He knows it and they can sense it. They don’t say anything, though, not even Howard. He’s learned his share on his way down and he hardly ever cracks jokes about the grand piano anymore. One day, he thinks, when I have my money back, I’ll buy him a grand piano. He needs one. He deserves one. Gary’s picked him up when he was at his lowest and now he helps him fill that abysmal hole Jason has left in Howard’s life when he vanished. (“I’m taking a year off, How, I just have to. If I don’t do it now I’ll never do it, y’know? It’s only a year, it’ll pass in no time.” Bastard.)
It’s a CMD-night. CMD-night reloaded – Gary and Howard and Mark plus Rob minus Jason. Gary loves spending time with them. They’re good lads and seeing their problems and struggles and tumbles and falls, it sets his own into perspective. His life hasn’t exactly turned out the way he hoped? Well, their’s haven’t either. That’s growing up, isn’t it?
“Christ, Barlow, we really need to get you back into shape before Jay returns. He’ll kill me when he sees how you’ve piled on the pounds!”
“He ain’t heaaaaa-vyyyyy, he’s my broooooo-theeeeer…..”
“Rob! That’s not funny!”
“Oh, c’mon, Markie, Gaz knows I don’t mean it! – You know what, Gaz? I could use some exercise, too, let’s sweat together!”
“Let’s sweat together! A problem shared is a problem halved…”
“We’d be fine if we got you halved….”
“Howard!”
“Ouch! Christ, how can someone so small punch so hard…?”
“When’s Jay back?”
“You mean: how much time have we got to halve Gazza?”
“No, Howard, I mean When’s. Jay. Back?”
“I don’t know, Mark, I don’t know. I wish I did. I hope soon.”
“Yeah, hopefully soon.Who’d have thought we’d miss that old soppy chatterbox that much?”
“A toast! To Jay! May he be back soon!”
“And to Gaz! May he shrink quickly!”
“Bastards!”
Of course Gary knows it’s only a question of time until she will ask him to move out or get divorced. Whatever it is she desires first. They are not attempting anything on reconciling, somehow they both know there’s no use for that. As sad as it is, but they’ve just lost it. The truth hurts, but it’s the truth nonetheless. It’s just – he’ll miss having the kids around. His heart cramps when he only thinks about a life without them in it every day. He hates the thought of only seeing them every second weekend. It’s just not enough, they are growing so incredibly fast! So he never complains about living in his study and he only bites his lip when she buys a new bed and he swallows his pride when she brings her new man home. His life is work, the kids, food, music, and CMD with the lads every fortnight. And hoping she won’t ask him to move out.
But she does. On a Wednesday morning, before he leaves for school. He chokes. He nods. He leaves the house. He starts the car. The music blasts from the stereo. Liam Gallagher tells him not to cry his heart out. I’m trying, mate, I’m trying.
2003 (29 years old)
Kids. That’s what it’s about. Weeks of rows and agony and rows and agony and rows again. Lots of passive aggressiveness on Mark’s side. Lots of active aggressiveness on Rob’s side. Yes, he’s been aggressive, because he didn’t understand the problem. Mark’s problem. Because Robbie is sorted out these days. He’s got a regular job, reading news for BBC Radio Manchester (thanks to Howard’s connections). And he’s clean. Tee-total. No booze, no drugs. Chocolate and cigarettes are his only guilty pleasures. He pays taxes, he votes, he’s got money on the bank. And he takes good care of Mark. Mark has to work a lot and Rob has started taking over most of the household duties. And he’s started cooking homemade meals. They are not really good yet, but no one is born a master, right? It’s all not enough, because the harder Rob tries to do everything right, the more Mark and him fight. And until that mellow Sunday afternoon in late September Rob had no idea why.
“Would you like to go out for dinner tonight?”
“Dunno.”
“We could ask the lads...”
“Howard’s in London.”
“Well, Gaz and Jay, then?”
“Yeah.”
“Shall I call them?”
“Can I stop you from doing so?”
“We don’t have to go…”
“Yeah.”
“Fuck, Mark, what’s up? What the fuck is wrong?!”
“Nowt. Call Jay and Gaz.”
“I don’t want to call Jay and Gaz now. Tell me what’s wrong!”
“Nowt.”
“Christ, Markie, speak to me! Please?! WHAT AM I DOING WRONG?!”
There’s a long silence. Mark’s eyes fill with tears and Rob curses himself for shouting at him.
“Markie….I’m sorry….!”
Mark looks lost. He sits on the sofa, wrapped up in one of his huge woollen cardigans, and his eyes are unnaturally big, and his ruffled hair sticks out of his head in the most awkward directions, because he’s been fumbling through it with nervous fingers too much. The sight causes Rob physical pain. Mark is sad and gloomy and Rob knows it’s his fault, it must be his fault, because if ever something went wrong between them, it was always his fault, only this time he just doesn’t know why. He can’t find out, because Mark won’t speak. Can’t speak. Doesn’t speak.
“Please, Markie, please please talk to me. I can’t do what’s right, if you don’t tell me what’s wrong…”
He still doesn’t speak. He bites his lip. He crumples the poor cardigan. He takes a deep breath. And then he gathers all his courage: “I don’t know if you understand me, Rob, but, well, I….I want children. Kids. Like, really.”
So that’s what it’s all about. Kids.
“But we can’t…I don’t get that….how do you….?”
Mark doesn’t answer that. But Rob’s not daft, Mark’s got it all planned out, he’ll find himself a girl (that’s the easy part) and then he’ll leave him (that’s the hard part). And there is absolutely nothing Rob can do, except to accept Mark’s choice. There’s no easy part in this one for Robbie.
They don’t go out for dinner that night. They break up. They talk, they cry, they remember, they hold each other. They know it’s over. Whenever Rob looks back on that last summer they shared together, it’s always with that song in his head…”I think it’s kind of funny, I think it’s kind of sad, the dreams in which I’m dying are the best I ever had”
Mark was the best he ever had. And now he is gone. “It’s a very very mad world…”
1999 (31 years old)
There are only three rules in Howard’s life. Not more. Because basically Howard doesn’t believe in rules. Life, he thinks, is too short for missing out on fun because of too many rules. And he knows that all rules in the world can’t prevent you from making mistakes anyway, because mistakes, Howard is sure, are a part of life and learning from them is what’s generally known us growing-up. Still there are three rules he’s held on to for most of his grown-up life:
# 1 No booze before 4 p.m.
(except for holidays and Christmas)
# 2 No drugs in the house
# 3 No married women
Success proved him right, ‘cause he’s done pretty well in his life so far by adhering to these three simple rules. In 1999, however, he breaks one of them and it is something he will regret for a very long time. And he will never ever again sleep with a married woman.
His downfall is dramatic. Beginning of the year he is still tipped to become the biggest producer in the country and quite huge abroad. He’s booked for three major albums that year, one of them a certain American pop princess. Supposed to earn him a Grammy or two. Then he breaks rule # 3 and before he knows it his career lies in pieces before him, completely shattered, like something that’s crushed on the pavement after jumping out of the 46th floor. No one comes to help him scratch the pieces from the pavement, though. All of a sudden no one wants to work with him anymore. Booked artists cancel under dubious circumstances. Some people don’t answer his calls, others change their numbers over night without bothering to tell him the new one. Only very few tell him to the face. Like Blur’s Damon (nice chap, after all, Howard thinks) “You know I like you, How,” he tells Howard the other day, “and we would’ve loved to work with you, you know that, don’t you? But he’s big, he knows everyone and everyone’s scared of him! To be honest: I’m scared of him, too…” Howard understands. So William Orbit gets the job with Blur. Only fair, Howard muses, he sure didn’t sleep with Simon Cowell’s wife.
That year the wheat separates from the chaffs. The day the taxmen search his London flat (7 in the morning – what the fuck??), he receives two text messages. 2. In letters: t-w-o. His average of received text messages used to be 75. And that was on the quieter days. These days he’s happy if he receives two. The first one comes in at 7:55: “Hi How, you alright? Am a bit worried, since I’ve not heard from you since Sunday. Give me a call, will ya? Gaz” He sits on his sofa in his underwear and watches the officers do their job. His head aches, he’s in desperate need of a shower, and right now he hates his life. The mobile buzzes again at 8:20: “Been thinking over what we talked about last night. Sod it all. Just come home, mate. J” The TV is on, but mute. MTV’s playing Fatboy Slim’s “Praise You”. It’s going to be a big year for Fatboy Slim. Only fair, Howard thinks, he didn’t sleep with Cowell’s wife either. You alright? Am a bit worried…sod it all. Just come home, mate. 190 characters of proof that all’s not lost. Yes, the wheat separates from the chaffs, but friends will be friends. I’m going home, he thinks, I’m going home. Going home. Good song title, that.
2000 (28 years old)
The last time Mark visits Rob in prison is in August. It’s three more months in there for Rob, but Mark just can’t bring himself to go there anymore. The mere thought of this place causes him severe headache, he doesn’t sleep and is hardly able to eat days before he’s supposed to go there for the next visit. He’s caught up in a fight between his desire to not let others down and his inner voice of reason that is telling him that there’s nowt wrong about avoiding what makes you feel bad if it makes you feel that bad. Jason never gets tired of softly pointing out that his voice of reason might be right, but it takes Mark until August that year to finally manage to tell Rob that he can’t come anymore. To Mark’s great relief Rob seems to understand. In fact, Rob is astounded and deeply thankful that Mark came to visit him that often. He couldn’t possibly ask for more or be mad that Mark just can’t stand it anymore.
“’I’m so sorry, Rob, I feel horrible, but I just can’t…”
“Tis alright, mate. Alright. Don’t worry, it’s not long now, y’know?”
“I miss you, you know that? I miss you so much, but…”
“I know. I miss you, too. (and after a long pause) Are you talking to someone about all of this?”
“Yeah, Jason, and he must be sick of it. But you know, he’s lovely, he’s keeping me busy, taking me out all the time, well, they do, him and Gary. And I met Howard. You know, Howard Donald, the Howard Donald?!”
“I sang at Gary’s wedding, did you know that? Did I ever tell you that? That was the night after…”
“Rob, don’t. We said we let it be.”
“Yeah….I sang at his wedding. He’s got a beautiful wife. Maude. No. Shawn. No.”
“Dawn. Her name is Dawn.”
“Dawn. Yeah. Beautiful woman. – So, you finally met Howard Donald?”
“He’s cool.”
“He’s the coolest, man, I mean he had the nerve to shag Cowell’s missus….”
“Destroyed his career. He’s not happy.”
“Mmmhh… – How’s Jay?”
“You know…Jay is Jay….he’s always good. He works too much. They want him in the head office now, since he did this big youth project last year…might also get him into politics somehow, as far as I understand….didn’t he tell ya?”
“Nah, never talks about himself much, it’s always more about me, y’know?”
“He’s got a girlfriend, couple of months now.”
“Fuck!? He didn’t say a word!”
“Laura. She’s nice. Very pretty. Model or something, Howard introduced them.”
“You don’t like her.”
“What? How do you…?”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“I don’t really…I couldn’t say. – As long as he likes her….it doesn’t matter, does it?”
“Yeah.”
“Listen, Rob, I’m really sorry, I…I dunno how to explain, I just…”
“Markie, tis alright, really….please, don’t cry….it’s all good….three months, Markie! They’ll pass in no time! Look how far we got! – Take your time, do what’s good for you, calm down. We’ll be fine…”
When Jason visits Rob two weeks later, Rob asks him a favour. So Jason goes to his local HMV and buys a CD (Rob’s scribbled down something on a piece of paper: Coldplay – Parachutes. Jason forgot to ask which one was the album title and which one the band’s name.) He goes to pay for it and have it gift-wrapped, then carefully attaches the enveloped message Rob has handed him over. He doesn’t know what it says, but he feels it’s extremely important to Rob, so instead of giving it to Mark the next time he meets him, as requested by Rob, he heads over to see Mark that very evening. Some things cannot wait.
Mark only opens the envelope after Jason has left, with trembling fingers. He’s scared. What is it that’s so important to Rob he feels it’s needed to be delivered this way instead of just telling him personally in a few weeks when he’s out of jail? Or why – if it was so urgent it couldn’t wait until then – didn’t he just call him? Mark closes his eyes while he unfolds the note, then has to force himself to open them in order to read. And even though he’s shitting a brick, he can’t fight a little smile, when he notices the effort Rob has made to make his usual horrible scrawl readable for him:
I’m trying every day, but I have not yet found the right words to tell you how incredibly sorry I am, how much I despise myself for what I did to you. But I need you to know I am trying and one day I will be able to. For now this is the best I can come up with, this is the closest to what I’d like to express: please, play song six of this album. Welcome to my head. Love always, Rob.
Song six? A trembling finger pushes the next-button. …3. 4. 5. 6. Song six: ‘Trouble’ – I never meant to cause you trouble, I never meant to do you harm…
Trouble. Tears. Tribulation.
2001 (31 years old)
She doesn’t come to pick up her stuff herself. She sends her brother. Of course, she always hires people for the dirty jobs. David, her brother, doesn’t talk much.
“Erm, Jason? I think I’ve got everything, what d’you think?”
What is he supposed to answer? That he thinks she took much more than everything when she did what she did? That he would give her everything he owns if she in return gave back a couple of things she’s taken away from him? Like his heart? (Okay, okay, bad example, she never really had that, since he exclusively gave that to someone else a long time ago.) But what about his beliefs? His faith? His guts? Ah, sod all of that! All he really wants back is his baby. Their baby.
“Yeah, mate, I think that’s everything.”
It’s not just that he doesn’t sleep anymore. He can hardly breathe, he constantly feels like he’s choking. Sometimes he wishes he would. Sometimes all he wants to do is bang his head to the wall until the pain kills the thoughts. He’d give a lot to kill the thoughts. And the memories.
“I’ve been thinking…”
“Tell me something new.”
“…I’ve been thinking, I won’t take that job, I just…it just doesn’t sit right in my head. I can’t do it, I feel like I’m acting, trying to be something I’m not all the time. I…I don’t like it.”
“Oh, you don’t like it, do you? Are you kidding me?”
“No.”
“Jay, we’ll be having a child, how do you think shall we work this? With your old job? Are we supposed to live here?”
“What’s wrong about living here?”
“What’s wrong about…? EVERYTHING is wrong about….how can you possibly consider…?! Where’s your ambition? Where is your FUCKING ambition?! – I just think you didn’t put enough effort into making this work! No one said it was going to be easy. Or – pleasant! God, I was hoping you’d finally MAKE something out of your life!”
Two days later he told her he’ll take the job. All she answered was that there was no need to anymore.
The worst thing is that he can’t speak about it. To no one. They are all worried about him, his Mum, his brothers, his friends. But he can’t tell them what she did. He just can’t. He’s considered it, he’s contemplated it, he’s thought it over. He still can’t. Coz they’d think she’s horrible, they’d hate her. Maybe they’d even think it was his fault. He’s convinced it’s his fault. Why didn’t he soldier on in this job? Why didn’t he try harder? Why did it take him two days – two fucking days! – to decide about their future?? Maybe, if he hadn’t procrastinated like he had, if he’d for once not spend a ridiculous amount of time on over-thinking and worrying…maybe everything would be different now. But he didn’t. And so he’s not telling anyone what has happened and it kills him. Slowly and painfully. At some point, around October, he decides to run away. For the first time in his life Jason runs away from his problems. He takes his backpack, a year off and a flight to the other side of the world. It’s hot and sticky there, the sand stings his feet and the sun burns his skin. He couldn’t care less. He just sits and watches the waves and waits for the pain to cease. It’s December by now, and every day when he passes the beach bar they play this song. It resounds in his head while he sits and stares holes into the air. December, 21st. On an island in the sun. He is on an island in the sun. December, 22nd. We’ll run away together, we’ll spend some time forever, we’ll never feel bad anymore. Run away – done. Spending some time – done. Not feeling bad anymore – fail. December, 23rd. Hip hip. People everywhere on the planet are setting up Christmas trees. December, 24th. We’ll never feel bad anymore. Children all over the world are in wild anticipation. December, 25th. Hip Hip. Christmas. He’d have been a father by now.
2002 (31 years old)
He can’t exactly say when it started, but at some point, after several nights he’d slept on the sofa, she suggested they could buy a day bed for his study in the basement. And now he sleeps there every night and it’s become somewhat normal. So normal in fact, that he’s surprised about his friends’ reactions when he incidentally mentions it.
“Fuck, Gaz, you sleep in your study?”
“Geez, the study is in your basement, isn’t it? I could never sleep in the basement…”
“Yes, Markie, we all know you’re afraid in the dark!”
“It’s just, I snore, and Dawn can’t stand it…it’s not that bad!”
It’s a lie, it is bad. He knows it and they can sense it. They don’t say anything, though, not even Howard. He’s learned his share on his way down and he hardly ever cracks jokes about the grand piano anymore. One day, he thinks, when I have my money back, I’ll buy him a grand piano. He needs one. He deserves one. Gary’s picked him up when he was at his lowest and now he helps him fill that abysmal hole Jason has left in Howard’s life when he vanished. (“I’m taking a year off, How, I just have to. If I don’t do it now I’ll never do it, y’know? It’s only a year, it’ll pass in no time.” Bastard.)
It’s a CMD-night. CMD-night reloaded – Gary and Howard and Mark plus Rob minus Jason. Gary loves spending time with them. They’re good lads and seeing their problems and struggles and tumbles and falls, it sets his own into perspective. His life hasn’t exactly turned out the way he hoped? Well, their’s haven’t either. That’s growing up, isn’t it?
“Christ, Barlow, we really need to get you back into shape before Jay returns. He’ll kill me when he sees how you’ve piled on the pounds!”
“He ain’t heaaaaa-vyyyyy, he’s my broooooo-theeeeer…..”
“Rob! That’s not funny!”
“Oh, c’mon, Markie, Gaz knows I don’t mean it! – You know what, Gaz? I could use some exercise, too, let’s sweat together!”
“Let’s sweat together! A problem shared is a problem halved…”
“We’d be fine if we got you halved….”
“Howard!”
“Ouch! Christ, how can someone so small punch so hard…?”
“When’s Jay back?”
“You mean: how much time have we got to halve Gazza?”
“No, Howard, I mean When’s. Jay. Back?”
“I don’t know, Mark, I don’t know. I wish I did. I hope soon.”
“Yeah, hopefully soon.Who’d have thought we’d miss that old soppy chatterbox that much?”
“A toast! To Jay! May he be back soon!”
“And to Gaz! May he shrink quickly!”
“Bastards!”
Of course Gary knows it’s only a question of time until she will ask him to move out or get divorced. Whatever it is she desires first. They are not attempting anything on reconciling, somehow they both know there’s no use for that. As sad as it is, but they’ve just lost it. The truth hurts, but it’s the truth nonetheless. It’s just – he’ll miss having the kids around. His heart cramps when he only thinks about a life without them in it every day. He hates the thought of only seeing them every second weekend. It’s just not enough, they are growing so incredibly fast! So he never complains about living in his study and he only bites his lip when she buys a new bed and he swallows his pride when she brings her new man home. His life is work, the kids, food, music, and CMD with the lads every fortnight. And hoping she won’t ask him to move out.
But she does. On a Wednesday morning, before he leaves for school. He chokes. He nods. He leaves the house. He starts the car. The music blasts from the stereo. Liam Gallagher tells him not to cry his heart out. I’m trying, mate, I’m trying.
2003 (29 years old)
Kids. That’s what it’s about. Weeks of rows and agony and rows and agony and rows again. Lots of passive aggressiveness on Mark’s side. Lots of active aggressiveness on Rob’s side. Yes, he’s been aggressive, because he didn’t understand the problem. Mark’s problem. Because Robbie is sorted out these days. He’s got a regular job, reading news for BBC Radio Manchester (thanks to Howard’s connections). And he’s clean. Tee-total. No booze, no drugs. Chocolate and cigarettes are his only guilty pleasures. He pays taxes, he votes, he’s got money on the bank. And he takes good care of Mark. Mark has to work a lot and Rob has started taking over most of the household duties. And he’s started cooking homemade meals. They are not really good yet, but no one is born a master, right? It’s all not enough, because the harder Rob tries to do everything right, the more Mark and him fight. And until that mellow Sunday afternoon in late September Rob had no idea why.
“Would you like to go out for dinner tonight?”
“Dunno.”
“We could ask the lads...”
“Howard’s in London.”
“Well, Gaz and Jay, then?”
“Yeah.”
“Shall I call them?”
“Can I stop you from doing so?”
“We don’t have to go…”
“Yeah.”
“Fuck, Mark, what’s up? What the fuck is wrong?!”
“Nowt. Call Jay and Gaz.”
“I don’t want to call Jay and Gaz now. Tell me what’s wrong!”
“Nowt.”
“Christ, Markie, speak to me! Please?! WHAT AM I DOING WRONG?!”
There’s a long silence. Mark’s eyes fill with tears and Rob curses himself for shouting at him.
“Markie….I’m sorry….!”
Mark looks lost. He sits on the sofa, wrapped up in one of his huge woollen cardigans, and his eyes are unnaturally big, and his ruffled hair sticks out of his head in the most awkward directions, because he’s been fumbling through it with nervous fingers too much. The sight causes Rob physical pain. Mark is sad and gloomy and Rob knows it’s his fault, it must be his fault, because if ever something went wrong between them, it was always his fault, only this time he just doesn’t know why. He can’t find out, because Mark won’t speak. Can’t speak. Doesn’t speak.
“Please, Markie, please please talk to me. I can’t do what’s right, if you don’t tell me what’s wrong…”
He still doesn’t speak. He bites his lip. He crumples the poor cardigan. He takes a deep breath. And then he gathers all his courage: “I don’t know if you understand me, Rob, but, well, I….I want children. Kids. Like, really.”
So that’s what it’s all about. Kids.
“But we can’t…I don’t get that….how do you….?”
Mark doesn’t answer that. But Rob’s not daft, Mark’s got it all planned out, he’ll find himself a girl (that’s the easy part) and then he’ll leave him (that’s the hard part). And there is absolutely nothing Rob can do, except to accept Mark’s choice. There’s no easy part in this one for Robbie.
They don’t go out for dinner that night. They break up. They talk, they cry, they remember, they hold each other. They know it’s over. Whenever Rob looks back on that last summer they shared together, it’s always with that song in his head…”I think it’s kind of funny, I think it’s kind of sad, the dreams in which I’m dying are the best I ever had”
Mark was the best he ever had. And now he is gone. “It’s a very very mad world…”
Chapter Four
2004 – 2008: Shouting Love At The World
2004 (35 years old)
In March there’s a break in the production of “Demon Days”. Howard travels up north to see his lawyer, check the state of the renovation of his house, and book a flight to Ibiza. Before he leaves again he calls Jason. They meet on a Thursday morning in a café in the departure area of ManchesterAirport. Jason tries to hide his dislike for the location of their meeting, but fails.
“I’m sorry, mate, I know this is not the best place for coffee, but I’m in a real hurry, if I don’t go there now, someone’s gonna snatch that pad from under my nose. It’s got 12 rooms, you know, a large pool and enough room for a billiard table and…it’s just perfect! You’re gonna love it!”
Jason knows it’s silly to be jealous of a 12-room-beach villa and still he is. He can’t help it. Even the prospect of hanging out there with Howard in the near future fails to cheer him up. As much as he’s happy for Howard being back in business (because Jason’s always happy when Howard is, and Howard is happy) – it also means he’s always short on time. And, yes, he knows it’s childish, but he’s miffed that this is Howard’s place of choice for one of their rare meetings. Someone jostles against Jason and he nearly spills coffee over his shirt. He feels the anger rise up inside of him and it takes a lot of energy, but he fights it. He puts the cup back down on the table and tries to relax. Take a deep breath, he tells himself, enjoy the time you've got with him, don’t screw it up by being miserable. Just look at him (a mantra that almost always works). Howard looks great, he’s grown his hair (or maybe he was just so busy he didn’t have time to see a hairdresser) and he’s excited and radiant and even the little bit of foam from his café latte above his lip can’t destroy the impression of outmost perfection. Howard, meanwhile, is busy checking his mobile, and once Jason has noticed, he suppresses the urge of whacking Howard with said mobile and instead tries a little trick he’s learned from Gaz: rapid change of subject. (Something that evidently works on a whole classroom full of silly boys with rebellious hormones and a short span of attention, should work wonders here as well, shouldn’t it?)
“How’s Rob?”
Howard looks up from his mobile. “Huh? Oh…he’s fine, I think. He’s got an offer…but, Jay, this is not official yet, so no talking to no one, okay?”
“My lips are sealed.”
“Las Vegas.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Nope. A rat pack show, you know, classic tunes, Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis, jr....”
“Which one of them is Rob supposed to be?”
“All of them – it’s a one man show. Just Rob, a band and a stool.”
“And a fag and a glass of whiskey.”
“Exactly.”
“You must be kidding.”
“No, Jay, I’m not kidding, and you know what? I think he can do that! He’s ditched the acting lessons for singing lessons and he’s really improved and well, we know he’s a born entertainer, right?”
“What if he starts drinking again? Or doing drugs? Do you really think Las Vegas is a good place for him?”
“Well, he managed to stay clean in L.A. so far, didn’t he? Seriously, you should see how determined he’s about it, he’s working so hard, you’d be proud.”
“Yeah. – I miss him.”
“You should’ve come with me and Gaz in February…”
“Well, someone needed to look after Mark, right?”
“Yeah. How is Mark?”
“Okay.”
“Is that a euphemism for shite?”
“No, it’s a euphemism for a couple of ups and a lot of downs.”
“No Mum-to-be yet?”
“Not the right one…”
A metallic female voice announcing flight no. ZB 516 to Barcelona ends their conversation. A hug at the check-in desk ends their meeting. A long last look at Howard’s unruly locks in amidst a crowd of neatly coiffured heads is the last Jason sees of him for another couple of weeks. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
Howard whistles a melody while boarding (a tune later to be known as “Feel Good Inc.”). Yesterday his lawyer has told him that the tax authorities will soon release the rest of his still confiscated capital. He’s planning on spending all of it on a lot of nice things and the house in Ibiza is only the beginning. Sooner or later he’ll take Jason there, to spoil him. Get him fed (he was so skinny!) and tanned (he was so pale!) and maybe even make him sleep (ambitious plan, innit?). And someday he’ll take all the lads there, for a week of fun, nothing but fun. So much to look forward to! It’s been a long way to get back and it hasn’t been easy. But Howard’s managed to leave the past behind and start all new. And he’s not someone to forget those that stuck with him when his life went down the gutter. He’s back, a better man than before, and he’ll give back. Big time. The stewardess hands him a newspaper that announces “Doctor Who” will be back next year and Christopher Ecclestone is going to be the Doctor. Howard grins. Some days are simply perfect. The world is a good place.
2005 (33 years old)
They avoid speaking about Rob. Mark knows they mean well when they don’t, but part of him wished they would, whereas another part of him is glad they don’t. He’s amazed how they still manage to be in contact with both of them. Usually after splitting up, friends of the couple have to decide which one they stay friends with, and Mark knows he’d get the short straw if they ever had to decide – they were Rob’s friends before they were his friends. Another piece of proof just how magnificent these lads are and how lucky he is to call them friends. They somehow manage to stick with both of them without making Rob feel bad or Mark feel guilty.
It’s CMD-night – CMD-night remastered: Mark, Jason and Gary minus Rob plus ½ of Howard. Because Howard is still on his way and only speaks to them on the phone every 15 minutes to update them about the traffic situation on the M 6. At least until Jason stops him: “Oh, How, stop whining! Why’d you have drive anyway? I’ve told you to take the train!” For the next ten minutes Jason and Howard argue on the phone. Gary and Mark can vividly imagine Howard’s response to Jason’s reproach about his irresponsible use of a ridiculously huge car.
“Holy Jesus, they bicker like an old couple!” Gary lets out with a sigh.
“Well, you know, in a way they are an old couple, aren’t they?” Mark muses and like every so often lately, his eyes are dark and his expression is sad and thoughtful and Gary knows he’s not happy and he hates that there’s nothing he can do about that. Not that they haven’t tried – him and Jason have tried to set Mark up with every nice, single woman they know (Gary 8 / Jason 19). They’ve distracted him, talked to him, drank with him, cried with him. All to prevent Mark from despairing and thinking that his decision to leave Rob was wrong. Even though they weren’t too sure that this was the right thing to do. But in a friendship, to a certain extent, you’re always on your friend’s side, even when you’re not completely convinced your friend’s side actually is the right side. “We must have a little patience with him”, Gary would always say. “No problem”, Jason would answer with a sigh, “coz patience is my second first name”. After the date with girl no. 27 had failed last week, though, even their forbearance was exhausted. But they needn’t have worried, because right now, while they’re munching away on their curries, their dark knight in shiny armour is on his way, driving his metallic horse up along the ruthless M 6: Sir Howard of Donald and his ridiculously huge Audi are on the quest. And while they are pondering whether to have dessert or not, Sir Howard finally arrives at the Round Table. And he’s not alone: he brings a maiden. Just to screw up their statistics. (New score: Gary 8 / Jason 19 / Sir Howard 1). Where he’s met her and how long he knows her no one knows. She’s an actress, he informs the others, while she’s checking her make-up (or whatever else it is girls do when they disappear from restaurant tables with their little handbags), and this afternoon she got the call that another red-haired girl got the role as the new Doctor’s assistant. “Unbelievable!” Mark says with eyes as big as dessert plates. He’s never seen a more beautiful red-haired girl EVER.
Meanwhile, in the ladies’ restroom, the most beautiful red-haired girl Mark has ever seen desperately tries to calm down and cover up the dark rings under her eyes. Because even the most beautiful girls get nervous when they meet a smile like Mark’s. Emma takes another deep breath, nods reassuringly at her reflection in the mirror and heads back to the table only to blunder into a gem of a conversation:
“…who’s going to be the new Doctor?”
“David Tennant.”
“Uhmm….??”
“Oh, c’mon, Jay, you MUST know David Tennant…?”
“It really is about time we got you a TV, mate.”
Nerds. His friends are nerds. Oh, well…he’s cute anyway…
2006 (36 years old)
Jason’s parked the car a little down the road, out of the sight of the small red brick house that is No. 34. It’s a silent street in a silent part of Manchester and he sits, unable to leave the car yet, his hands tightly clasped around the steering wheel. Is he doing the right thing? What if…what if his brother is right and he really doesn’t give a shit? Why take a risk and possibly screw what he’s got now? His life is good these days, he’s stable, and yes, sometimes even happy. He has learned to enjoy the simple things in life, to relax, to let go, to be gracious with himself. If what he’s trying today goes wrong, it might have all been in vain. He might be back in hell in no time, suffering for another couple of years. And Jason sincerely doubts he’d have the energy to work his way back into life once more. That’s why he can’t leave the car now, why his hands can’t let go of the steering wheel.
When he told his brothers about his plan, they weren’t impressed. They had a couple of long discussions about it and all of them ended with “well, do what you feel like doing”. He understood their point of view perfectly well, but for him, once he’d started contemplating it, there was no turning back. He talked to Gary, Howard and Mark, and they were nothing but supportive and encouraged him to go on. But it wasn’t until he’d called Rob in Vegas that he was absolutely sure. Not that Rob had said anything spectacular or extraordinary – but after he’d talked to him it felt…complete and he finally felt safe enough to make that call. The call that led to the invitation to come out here, come to this small red brick house in this silent road in this silent part of the city. He has invited him, and so Jason can be almost sure he won’t slam the door in his face. All he has to do now is get out off the car, walk up to his house and ring the bell. It seems so easy. It’s so darn hard to do.
But he does it. The door opens and he looks into a somewhat familiar face, aged, different, but still the same. An undeniable resemblance with his own reflection. A stone in his stomach, a lump in his throat. So many questions. He speaks first:
“Hello, Jason…I’m so glad you’ve come…”
Jason swallows. There’s something he didn’t consider…how to call him? All those years gone by without contact…but now he’s here and that’s all that counts. Isn’t it? He hopes his voice won’t crack. It doesn’t.
“Hi…Dad.”
Breaking news – 20th September 2006:
Top Gear presenter Richard Hammond is seriously injured after crashing
a jet-powered car at 280 mph – Probation officer from Wythenshawe meets
his Dad for the first time after he left his wife and 6 sons 24 years ago
One will be printed, one not. And still, they have one thing in common: A happy ending.
2007 (36 years old)
At 10 minutes to 10 Gary leaves his office and heads over to the gym. It’s a wonderful, sunshiny day, which is nice, because it’s his big day today. Generally Gary’s not someone who’s insecure or scared in front of audiences but today…well, he’s a bit nervous, and who could blame him? So far, he’s happy he’s managed not to spill egg or coffee over his new shirt and tie. Mark would kill him if he had. He’d taken half a day off to go shopping with Gary, because “new jobs require new clothes” and that was Mark’s friendly way of telling him that his current clothes were not suitable for his new job, or – as Howard would put it more bluntly – that they were simply shite. Gary hates shopping, but Mark made it all easy for him and that afternoon with him was good fun. And now he is dressed for success, which, if he’s honest, is nice and actually makes him feel more comfortable. Still, no matter how well you're dressed, on decisive days like these, even small things can cause a rapid mood swing. So when Gary crosses the car park, he notices Mark’s new Volvo and Jay’s old Mercedes, but the simple fact that Howard’s ridiculously huge Audi isn’t there, is enough to make him crack. Where is he?
In the gym Jason is equally nervous about the fact that Howard’s still missing. Mark, however, is unimpressed. Unlike Gary, they know why Howard is late.
“It’s always the same with him! Always does everything last minute!”
“Jay, don’t get into a fuss, he’ll just sneak in at the last moment. That’s what he always does at weddings, why shouldn’t it work here?”
“It’s just, he’s been talking about planning this for months and then still doesn’t get anywhere…. And he really could have hired someone to supervise the transport…but no….”
“Where did he buy it?”
“Little shop in Oldham Street. God knows how he found it…”
“Oldham Street? – I think I know it…there’s a café over the street, right?”
“Dunno, never been there… Oh, I think they’re beginning now. And still no sign of the Donald!”
“Breathe, Jay, breathe…”
Gary takes his seat on the improvised stage, facing all 537 pupils and his fellow teachers. He straightens his new tie once more and tries not to wobble around on his chair. Then he lets his eyes stray over the crowd of students. If this was happening a year later, Dan would be in amongst them. And he would very probably hate it. As it is now, both Dan and Emily are tremendously proud of their hero-Dad and Gary fully cherishes this blind adulation for as long as it lasts – they’ll start being ashamed of him soon enough, so much he knows. He teaches whole classes filled with teenagers embarrassed by their uncool parents, he knows what he can expect of his children over the next years. The bigger the children, the bigger the worries, so they say. But for now they are the most wonderful kids he could wish for and that’s all that counts, right? Enjoy it while it lasts, he tells himself. Next to him Charlotte Taylor, the vice-chair of the parent’s council, sneezes. “Bless you!” Once again Gary notices just how very pretty she is and wonders why he hasn’t asked her out yet. Nice legs, really.
When Howard finally enters the gym five minutes later, the ceremonial act has already started and a tall, baldy guy is just about to welcome everyone. Howard stands by the door and looks around. Left of him, in the last row, Mark’s raised his arm a little, just so Howard can see where they’ve kept a free seat for him. He can see Jason next to Mark and even though he’s not looking at him, Howard knows he’s frowning. Before he goes over to his seat, he makes sure Gary sees him, because somehow Howard knows it will calm Gaz. Once he’s flopped down next to Mark (not without giving him a little nudge to say hello, that is), he gets his mobile out, touches the screen until he’s found what he’s looking for and hands it over to Mark. Mark takes a look at the picture on the screen, smiles like the Cheshire cat, lets out a little “awwww, what a beauty!” and passes the mobile over to Jason, who rolls his eyes, mumbles “you took a picture??”, causing Howard to grunt back “of course I did, for Rob, you twat!”, which makes Mark smile even more so and finally Jason surrenders and smiles, too.
In all their smiling they nearly miss the moment Gary is declared the new headmaster. Nearly.
Later that day, eight time zones and 5,000 miles away, Robbie watches the first episode of a new TV show – it’s called “The Big Bang Theory” – when his laptop announces “You’ve got mail”. There’s no text in the new message, only an attached jpeg-file, showing (shot from a very strange angle) four obviously heavily drunk men in what he identifies as Gary’s living-room, worse for wear but inanely grinning into the camera, weirdly arranged around a brand new, beautifully polished, black Grand Piano. The smallest one of them actually lies on said Grand Piano, and is completely covered in a huge red ribbon (that quite obviously originally was draped around the piano). Robbie laughs so hard he nearly chokes on a sip of coffee. God, how he misses these bastards!
2008 (34 years old)
He gets ready just like every other night, alone in his wardrobe. There’s no difference in his daily routine just because it’s his birthday. They will do a little happy-birthday-jolly-good-fellow-singalong later on stage and he supposes they’ll have a cake prepared for that occasion, but it’s all more for the audience than for him. Robbie doesn’t mind much anyway, he’s not that keen on being reminded he’s turning yet another year older. Thirty-four. How time flies! Sometimes he can’t believe it’s his fourth year in Vegas. He wanted to quit after the third year, but they convinced him to stay and success proved them right. After announcing another season of Robbie Williams & The Blue Suede Shoes Band, all tickets sold out within five days! For the whole season!
Amongst those buying the coveted tickets for his show was someone from England. He stayed up late to make sure he got four tickets, first row, no less, for February, 13th.
When Robbie steps out on stage that night he feels something is different, but he can’t put his finger on it…it’s just an odd feeling deep down in his stomach. He’s been restless lately, four years in one place and with the same job is half an eternity for Robbie Williams. He feels it’s about time he got out of this town – as much as he loves it (after all it’s made him rich beyond his wildest dreams!), he feels like it's time for a change. If only he knew where to go to, he’d go there gladly – to waste his money, eat too much, and see a (preferably pretty) therapist four times a week until he was fixed. A couple of weeks ago he bought a huge illustrated atlas and he spent hour after hour peering at the colourful maps, reading out loud names of countries and cities and villages and counties, just to see if any of these names make his soul swing. A sign, a hint. But nothing happened. Nowt. Nada. Zilch. Frustrating, really. The perfect excuse to feel sorry for himself. And feeling sorry for yourself is a very good reasons to get yourself a drink. Or two. Or three. Or how many are ever necessary to make you feel good again.
So, yes, he’s downed a couple of drinks before he stepped out on stage tonight. But that’s definitely not the reason for that strange rumble in his tummy. He might not be feeling too good, but the show must go on. And so he gets into position, one hand on the microphone, the other on the brim of his hat. Light. Music. The first cue, the one where he looks up and faces the audience for the first time. Four faces in the first row, trying to keep cool, but failing. Four broad grins, so familiar. Robbie misses the second cue (the one where he’s supposed to start singing). They’re all in black suits, white shirts and black ties – just like him. He misses the third cue (the one where he’s supposed to start singing if he missed the second cue). The band soldiers on while his jaw drops. He misses the fourth and the fifth cue. He gets his sixth cue from Gary and starts singing. They’re still grinning. He’s grinning. Grin while you’re singing. They are here. All of them. Pack your bags, they’ve come to take you home.
Nine months later they come to see his new house.
“God, this is so big, I’d be scared to get lost in here!”
“I’d be scared you get lost in here, too, Markie!”
“I had no idea they pay that well in Vegas, holy shit!”
“Rob, is there at least one room in this house without a TV?”
“The question is: why are they all on?”
“Coz it’s CIN! I love CIN! Lots of silly celebs doing silly things….look, John Barrowman’s on! I LOVE John Barrowman!”
“Rob, are you on something?”
“Oh, c’mon, Dougie, EVERYONE loves John Barrowman!”
“Who’s John Barrowman?”
“Oh, Jay…”
“I thought you got him a TV?”
“I did!”
“But you forgot to show him how to put it on?”
“Very funny!”
"I know how to put it on....I think..."“Lads, I love this place, but I’m starving…”
“Me too…let’s go!”
It’s CMD-night once more, a very special edition – CMD-night deluxe: Howard, Mark, Jason, Gary & Robbie. No less.
2004 (35 years old)
In March there’s a break in the production of “Demon Days”. Howard travels up north to see his lawyer, check the state of the renovation of his house, and book a flight to Ibiza. Before he leaves again he calls Jason. They meet on a Thursday morning in a café in the departure area of ManchesterAirport. Jason tries to hide his dislike for the location of their meeting, but fails.
“I’m sorry, mate, I know this is not the best place for coffee, but I’m in a real hurry, if I don’t go there now, someone’s gonna snatch that pad from under my nose. It’s got 12 rooms, you know, a large pool and enough room for a billiard table and…it’s just perfect! You’re gonna love it!”
Jason knows it’s silly to be jealous of a 12-room-beach villa and still he is. He can’t help it. Even the prospect of hanging out there with Howard in the near future fails to cheer him up. As much as he’s happy for Howard being back in business (because Jason’s always happy when Howard is, and Howard is happy) – it also means he’s always short on time. And, yes, he knows it’s childish, but he’s miffed that this is Howard’s place of choice for one of their rare meetings. Someone jostles against Jason and he nearly spills coffee over his shirt. He feels the anger rise up inside of him and it takes a lot of energy, but he fights it. He puts the cup back down on the table and tries to relax. Take a deep breath, he tells himself, enjoy the time you've got with him, don’t screw it up by being miserable. Just look at him (a mantra that almost always works). Howard looks great, he’s grown his hair (or maybe he was just so busy he didn’t have time to see a hairdresser) and he’s excited and radiant and even the little bit of foam from his café latte above his lip can’t destroy the impression of outmost perfection. Howard, meanwhile, is busy checking his mobile, and once Jason has noticed, he suppresses the urge of whacking Howard with said mobile and instead tries a little trick he’s learned from Gaz: rapid change of subject. (Something that evidently works on a whole classroom full of silly boys with rebellious hormones and a short span of attention, should work wonders here as well, shouldn’t it?)
“How’s Rob?”
Howard looks up from his mobile. “Huh? Oh…he’s fine, I think. He’s got an offer…but, Jay, this is not official yet, so no talking to no one, okay?”
“My lips are sealed.”
“Las Vegas.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Nope. A rat pack show, you know, classic tunes, Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis, jr....”
“Which one of them is Rob supposed to be?”
“All of them – it’s a one man show. Just Rob, a band and a stool.”
“And a fag and a glass of whiskey.”
“Exactly.”
“You must be kidding.”
“No, Jay, I’m not kidding, and you know what? I think he can do that! He’s ditched the acting lessons for singing lessons and he’s really improved and well, we know he’s a born entertainer, right?”
“What if he starts drinking again? Or doing drugs? Do you really think Las Vegas is a good place for him?”
“Well, he managed to stay clean in L.A. so far, didn’t he? Seriously, you should see how determined he’s about it, he’s working so hard, you’d be proud.”
“Yeah. – I miss him.”
“You should’ve come with me and Gaz in February…”
“Well, someone needed to look after Mark, right?”
“Yeah. How is Mark?”
“Okay.”
“Is that a euphemism for shite?”
“No, it’s a euphemism for a couple of ups and a lot of downs.”
“No Mum-to-be yet?”
“Not the right one…”
A metallic female voice announcing flight no. ZB 516 to Barcelona ends their conversation. A hug at the check-in desk ends their meeting. A long last look at Howard’s unruly locks in amidst a crowd of neatly coiffured heads is the last Jason sees of him for another couple of weeks. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
Howard whistles a melody while boarding (a tune later to be known as “Feel Good Inc.”). Yesterday his lawyer has told him that the tax authorities will soon release the rest of his still confiscated capital. He’s planning on spending all of it on a lot of nice things and the house in Ibiza is only the beginning. Sooner or later he’ll take Jason there, to spoil him. Get him fed (he was so skinny!) and tanned (he was so pale!) and maybe even make him sleep (ambitious plan, innit?). And someday he’ll take all the lads there, for a week of fun, nothing but fun. So much to look forward to! It’s been a long way to get back and it hasn’t been easy. But Howard’s managed to leave the past behind and start all new. And he’s not someone to forget those that stuck with him when his life went down the gutter. He’s back, a better man than before, and he’ll give back. Big time. The stewardess hands him a newspaper that announces “Doctor Who” will be back next year and Christopher Ecclestone is going to be the Doctor. Howard grins. Some days are simply perfect. The world is a good place.
2005 (33 years old)
They avoid speaking about Rob. Mark knows they mean well when they don’t, but part of him wished they would, whereas another part of him is glad they don’t. He’s amazed how they still manage to be in contact with both of them. Usually after splitting up, friends of the couple have to decide which one they stay friends with, and Mark knows he’d get the short straw if they ever had to decide – they were Rob’s friends before they were his friends. Another piece of proof just how magnificent these lads are and how lucky he is to call them friends. They somehow manage to stick with both of them without making Rob feel bad or Mark feel guilty.
It’s CMD-night – CMD-night remastered: Mark, Jason and Gary minus Rob plus ½ of Howard. Because Howard is still on his way and only speaks to them on the phone every 15 minutes to update them about the traffic situation on the M 6. At least until Jason stops him: “Oh, How, stop whining! Why’d you have drive anyway? I’ve told you to take the train!” For the next ten minutes Jason and Howard argue on the phone. Gary and Mark can vividly imagine Howard’s response to Jason’s reproach about his irresponsible use of a ridiculously huge car.
“Holy Jesus, they bicker like an old couple!” Gary lets out with a sigh.
“Well, you know, in a way they are an old couple, aren’t they?” Mark muses and like every so often lately, his eyes are dark and his expression is sad and thoughtful and Gary knows he’s not happy and he hates that there’s nothing he can do about that. Not that they haven’t tried – him and Jason have tried to set Mark up with every nice, single woman they know (Gary 8 / Jason 19). They’ve distracted him, talked to him, drank with him, cried with him. All to prevent Mark from despairing and thinking that his decision to leave Rob was wrong. Even though they weren’t too sure that this was the right thing to do. But in a friendship, to a certain extent, you’re always on your friend’s side, even when you’re not completely convinced your friend’s side actually is the right side. “We must have a little patience with him”, Gary would always say. “No problem”, Jason would answer with a sigh, “coz patience is my second first name”. After the date with girl no. 27 had failed last week, though, even their forbearance was exhausted. But they needn’t have worried, because right now, while they’re munching away on their curries, their dark knight in shiny armour is on his way, driving his metallic horse up along the ruthless M 6: Sir Howard of Donald and his ridiculously huge Audi are on the quest. And while they are pondering whether to have dessert or not, Sir Howard finally arrives at the Round Table. And he’s not alone: he brings a maiden. Just to screw up their statistics. (New score: Gary 8 / Jason 19 / Sir Howard 1). Where he’s met her and how long he knows her no one knows. She’s an actress, he informs the others, while she’s checking her make-up (or whatever else it is girls do when they disappear from restaurant tables with their little handbags), and this afternoon she got the call that another red-haired girl got the role as the new Doctor’s assistant. “Unbelievable!” Mark says with eyes as big as dessert plates. He’s never seen a more beautiful red-haired girl EVER.
Meanwhile, in the ladies’ restroom, the most beautiful red-haired girl Mark has ever seen desperately tries to calm down and cover up the dark rings under her eyes. Because even the most beautiful girls get nervous when they meet a smile like Mark’s. Emma takes another deep breath, nods reassuringly at her reflection in the mirror and heads back to the table only to blunder into a gem of a conversation:
“…who’s going to be the new Doctor?”
“David Tennant.”
“Uhmm….??”
“Oh, c’mon, Jay, you MUST know David Tennant…?”
“It really is about time we got you a TV, mate.”
Nerds. His friends are nerds. Oh, well…he’s cute anyway…
2006 (36 years old)
Jason’s parked the car a little down the road, out of the sight of the small red brick house that is No. 34. It’s a silent street in a silent part of Manchester and he sits, unable to leave the car yet, his hands tightly clasped around the steering wheel. Is he doing the right thing? What if…what if his brother is right and he really doesn’t give a shit? Why take a risk and possibly screw what he’s got now? His life is good these days, he’s stable, and yes, sometimes even happy. He has learned to enjoy the simple things in life, to relax, to let go, to be gracious with himself. If what he’s trying today goes wrong, it might have all been in vain. He might be back in hell in no time, suffering for another couple of years. And Jason sincerely doubts he’d have the energy to work his way back into life once more. That’s why he can’t leave the car now, why his hands can’t let go of the steering wheel.
When he told his brothers about his plan, they weren’t impressed. They had a couple of long discussions about it and all of them ended with “well, do what you feel like doing”. He understood their point of view perfectly well, but for him, once he’d started contemplating it, there was no turning back. He talked to Gary, Howard and Mark, and they were nothing but supportive and encouraged him to go on. But it wasn’t until he’d called Rob in Vegas that he was absolutely sure. Not that Rob had said anything spectacular or extraordinary – but after he’d talked to him it felt…complete and he finally felt safe enough to make that call. The call that led to the invitation to come out here, come to this small red brick house in this silent road in this silent part of the city. He has invited him, and so Jason can be almost sure he won’t slam the door in his face. All he has to do now is get out off the car, walk up to his house and ring the bell. It seems so easy. It’s so darn hard to do.
But he does it. The door opens and he looks into a somewhat familiar face, aged, different, but still the same. An undeniable resemblance with his own reflection. A stone in his stomach, a lump in his throat. So many questions. He speaks first:
“Hello, Jason…I’m so glad you’ve come…”
Jason swallows. There’s something he didn’t consider…how to call him? All those years gone by without contact…but now he’s here and that’s all that counts. Isn’t it? He hopes his voice won’t crack. It doesn’t.
“Hi…Dad.”
Breaking news – 20th September 2006:
Top Gear presenter Richard Hammond is seriously injured after crashing
a jet-powered car at 280 mph – Probation officer from Wythenshawe meets
his Dad for the first time after he left his wife and 6 sons 24 years ago
One will be printed, one not. And still, they have one thing in common: A happy ending.
2007 (36 years old)
At 10 minutes to 10 Gary leaves his office and heads over to the gym. It’s a wonderful, sunshiny day, which is nice, because it’s his big day today. Generally Gary’s not someone who’s insecure or scared in front of audiences but today…well, he’s a bit nervous, and who could blame him? So far, he’s happy he’s managed not to spill egg or coffee over his new shirt and tie. Mark would kill him if he had. He’d taken half a day off to go shopping with Gary, because “new jobs require new clothes” and that was Mark’s friendly way of telling him that his current clothes were not suitable for his new job, or – as Howard would put it more bluntly – that they were simply shite. Gary hates shopping, but Mark made it all easy for him and that afternoon with him was good fun. And now he is dressed for success, which, if he’s honest, is nice and actually makes him feel more comfortable. Still, no matter how well you're dressed, on decisive days like these, even small things can cause a rapid mood swing. So when Gary crosses the car park, he notices Mark’s new Volvo and Jay’s old Mercedes, but the simple fact that Howard’s ridiculously huge Audi isn’t there, is enough to make him crack. Where is he?
In the gym Jason is equally nervous about the fact that Howard’s still missing. Mark, however, is unimpressed. Unlike Gary, they know why Howard is late.
“It’s always the same with him! Always does everything last minute!”
“Jay, don’t get into a fuss, he’ll just sneak in at the last moment. That’s what he always does at weddings, why shouldn’t it work here?”
“It’s just, he’s been talking about planning this for months and then still doesn’t get anywhere…. And he really could have hired someone to supervise the transport…but no….”
“Where did he buy it?”
“Little shop in Oldham Street. God knows how he found it…”
“Oldham Street? – I think I know it…there’s a café over the street, right?”
“Dunno, never been there… Oh, I think they’re beginning now. And still no sign of the Donald!”
“Breathe, Jay, breathe…”
Gary takes his seat on the improvised stage, facing all 537 pupils and his fellow teachers. He straightens his new tie once more and tries not to wobble around on his chair. Then he lets his eyes stray over the crowd of students. If this was happening a year later, Dan would be in amongst them. And he would very probably hate it. As it is now, both Dan and Emily are tremendously proud of their hero-Dad and Gary fully cherishes this blind adulation for as long as it lasts – they’ll start being ashamed of him soon enough, so much he knows. He teaches whole classes filled with teenagers embarrassed by their uncool parents, he knows what he can expect of his children over the next years. The bigger the children, the bigger the worries, so they say. But for now they are the most wonderful kids he could wish for and that’s all that counts, right? Enjoy it while it lasts, he tells himself. Next to him Charlotte Taylor, the vice-chair of the parent’s council, sneezes. “Bless you!” Once again Gary notices just how very pretty she is and wonders why he hasn’t asked her out yet. Nice legs, really.
When Howard finally enters the gym five minutes later, the ceremonial act has already started and a tall, baldy guy is just about to welcome everyone. Howard stands by the door and looks around. Left of him, in the last row, Mark’s raised his arm a little, just so Howard can see where they’ve kept a free seat for him. He can see Jason next to Mark and even though he’s not looking at him, Howard knows he’s frowning. Before he goes over to his seat, he makes sure Gary sees him, because somehow Howard knows it will calm Gaz. Once he’s flopped down next to Mark (not without giving him a little nudge to say hello, that is), he gets his mobile out, touches the screen until he’s found what he’s looking for and hands it over to Mark. Mark takes a look at the picture on the screen, smiles like the Cheshire cat, lets out a little “awwww, what a beauty!” and passes the mobile over to Jason, who rolls his eyes, mumbles “you took a picture??”, causing Howard to grunt back “of course I did, for Rob, you twat!”, which makes Mark smile even more so and finally Jason surrenders and smiles, too.
In all their smiling they nearly miss the moment Gary is declared the new headmaster. Nearly.
Later that day, eight time zones and 5,000 miles away, Robbie watches the first episode of a new TV show – it’s called “The Big Bang Theory” – when his laptop announces “You’ve got mail”. There’s no text in the new message, only an attached jpeg-file, showing (shot from a very strange angle) four obviously heavily drunk men in what he identifies as Gary’s living-room, worse for wear but inanely grinning into the camera, weirdly arranged around a brand new, beautifully polished, black Grand Piano. The smallest one of them actually lies on said Grand Piano, and is completely covered in a huge red ribbon (that quite obviously originally was draped around the piano). Robbie laughs so hard he nearly chokes on a sip of coffee. God, how he misses these bastards!
2008 (34 years old)
He gets ready just like every other night, alone in his wardrobe. There’s no difference in his daily routine just because it’s his birthday. They will do a little happy-birthday-jolly-good-fellow-singalong later on stage and he supposes they’ll have a cake prepared for that occasion, but it’s all more for the audience than for him. Robbie doesn’t mind much anyway, he’s not that keen on being reminded he’s turning yet another year older. Thirty-four. How time flies! Sometimes he can’t believe it’s his fourth year in Vegas. He wanted to quit after the third year, but they convinced him to stay and success proved them right. After announcing another season of Robbie Williams & The Blue Suede Shoes Band, all tickets sold out within five days! For the whole season!
Amongst those buying the coveted tickets for his show was someone from England. He stayed up late to make sure he got four tickets, first row, no less, for February, 13th.
When Robbie steps out on stage that night he feels something is different, but he can’t put his finger on it…it’s just an odd feeling deep down in his stomach. He’s been restless lately, four years in one place and with the same job is half an eternity for Robbie Williams. He feels it’s about time he got out of this town – as much as he loves it (after all it’s made him rich beyond his wildest dreams!), he feels like it's time for a change. If only he knew where to go to, he’d go there gladly – to waste his money, eat too much, and see a (preferably pretty) therapist four times a week until he was fixed. A couple of weeks ago he bought a huge illustrated atlas and he spent hour after hour peering at the colourful maps, reading out loud names of countries and cities and villages and counties, just to see if any of these names make his soul swing. A sign, a hint. But nothing happened. Nowt. Nada. Zilch. Frustrating, really. The perfect excuse to feel sorry for himself. And feeling sorry for yourself is a very good reasons to get yourself a drink. Or two. Or three. Or how many are ever necessary to make you feel good again.
So, yes, he’s downed a couple of drinks before he stepped out on stage tonight. But that’s definitely not the reason for that strange rumble in his tummy. He might not be feeling too good, but the show must go on. And so he gets into position, one hand on the microphone, the other on the brim of his hat. Light. Music. The first cue, the one where he looks up and faces the audience for the first time. Four faces in the first row, trying to keep cool, but failing. Four broad grins, so familiar. Robbie misses the second cue (the one where he’s supposed to start singing). They’re all in black suits, white shirts and black ties – just like him. He misses the third cue (the one where he’s supposed to start singing if he missed the second cue). The band soldiers on while his jaw drops. He misses the fourth and the fifth cue. He gets his sixth cue from Gary and starts singing. They’re still grinning. He’s grinning. Grin while you’re singing. They are here. All of them. Pack your bags, they’ve come to take you home.
Nine months later they come to see his new house.
“God, this is so big, I’d be scared to get lost in here!”
“I’d be scared you get lost in here, too, Markie!”
“I had no idea they pay that well in Vegas, holy shit!”
“Rob, is there at least one room in this house without a TV?”
“The question is: why are they all on?”
“Coz it’s CIN! I love CIN! Lots of silly celebs doing silly things….look, John Barrowman’s on! I LOVE John Barrowman!”
“Rob, are you on something?”
“Oh, c’mon, Dougie, EVERYONE loves John Barrowman!”
“Who’s John Barrowman?”
“Oh, Jay…”
“I thought you got him a TV?”
“I did!”
“But you forgot to show him how to put it on?”
“Very funny!”
"I know how to put it on....I think..."“Lads, I love this place, but I’m starving…”
“Me too…let’s go!”
It’s CMD-night once more, a very special edition – CMD-night deluxe: Howard, Mark, Jason, Gary & Robbie. No less.
Chapter Five
2009 – 2019: If I Could Take Your Blows
The years pass by and they all enter the fourth decade of their lives. They watch their children mature and their parents grow old – it seems, the more independent the kids get to be, the more their Mums and Dads need support. They are middle-aged men now, fully grown-up, responsible husbands, domestic partners or boyfriends (whatever status is valid at a time), fathers (except for Jason) and bosses (except for Robbie), in a phase where - how Mark can’t stop pointing out - “half of our lives are over”. But these are not the things they want to talk or think about, especially not on CD-nights (they ditched the movies somewhere around 2010, when they tacitly agreed that the movies took up too much of their time together). CD-nights are supposed to be fun and distraction from the daily routine. The exhausting daily routine they call their lives. Because except for Robbie, they all work too much. They spent an unhealthy amount of time in their workplaces: Gary not only in his headmaster-office, but everywhere in “his” school in Salford, Mark in a huge, sunlit office in the top storey of a tall building in Manchester’s financial district, Jason in a far smaller, far less sunlit office in the headquarters of the GMPT on Talbot Road, and Howard in the studio in his huge mansion in Altrincham. “He works too much”, becomes their phrase of choice when they try to explain why Mark looks gloomy and tired, Howard smokes too much, Gary has gained or Jason has lost weight. For a while, Robbie seems to be the healthiest and happiest of them, but then he gets restless again, buys a second home in London and booze and drugs find their way back into his life. “All he needs is a job and a nice boy- or girlfriend to look after him!” That’s Howard’s panacea for a stable life. None of them ever tells him that he himself is living proof that his theory is utter rubbish. It would be unnecessarily rude and after all, he only means well.
There are good years and crap years. 2009 is one of the worst, it’s the year Gary’s Dad dies. It happens out of the blue and the months after turn out to be one long nightmare for Gaz. The others get painfully aware that it’s all just a matter of time until they have to deal with that kind of pain, too. 2011 isn’t fun either – Rob needs to enter rehab, Howard finds a melanoma on his upper thigh (it’s malignant, but can be extirpated before metastases could spread), and someone breaks into Jason’s flat, devastating the whole place and his car, that was parked in front of it. (No one is ever charged with it, though Jason thinks he knows who it was.) But the ultimately worst year is 2014, the year of Mark’s complete breakdown. In March he needs treatment for upper gastrointestinal bleeding due to his gastric ulcer and has to stay in hospital for several weeks. He recovers only slowly and soon later is diagnosed with burnout.
“We should’ve seen that coming.” Jason feels guilty, he’d noticed Mark wasn’t well. “We need to look more after each other.”
“We hardly manage to look after ourselves”, Rob throws in, then adds while pointing a finger at himself, “or is that just me?” A classic Robbie, always manages to make everyone grin. Born entertainer in every life situation.
“When exactly did life become so fucking difficult?” Howard’s smile has already died down again and he’s fumbling for his cigarettes.
“It’s not really that difficult – we’re just crap at it, I’d say”, the mischief in Jason’s eyes belies his words. Gary shakes his head slowly. “I’m not crap, me. But my day just has not enough hours to look out for you lot!” A classic Gary, this one. Sprinkling them with a bit of his self esteem, ever so generously.
They’re laughing it away for a while. But still 2014 marks a turning point. They all start working less, except for Gary. They let him get away with that, though, because he’s totally inedible when he’s not allowed to work. They all vividly remember four weeks in 2012, when he had to stay at home because of a slipped disc. He did all their heads in, being bored and grumpy and awfully miserable. They were glad when he finally got back to work.
Mark, however, finally takes note of the signs his body is sending him. He takes his family on a journey to the south of France in the summer holidays, enjoying time with his kids and Emma. At some point they start talking again, proper talking, not the kind of “can-you-do-the-schoolrun-on-your-way-to-work”/”sure-darling” or “when-will-you-be-home”/”what’s-for-dinner”-conversations they have back home. No, real, proper talking, about things they have on their minds: his ailment, stress, money, their future. They talk the nights through, like they used to when their love was still young. For the first time in a long time, Mark gets an aerial view of his life again and he sees all the beauty of it spread out before him. He’s got so much many people strive for, but never achieve: healthy kids, a wonderful wife, a bunch of brilliant friends. He realizes he needs to relax, worry less and be thankful. Once he’s back from the sick-leave, it’s what he works on every day. He doesn’t succeed every day, though, but every day he is successful, he’s happy. The happier he is, the less his stomach hurts. The fewer he worries, the better he sleeps. And the better he sleeps, the happier he is.
That’s what he tries to explain to his friends on their next CD-night, “…it’s like a…uhm…, what do you call the opposite of a vicious circle? A benevolent circle?”
“Dunno if there’s a term for it…but “benevolent circle” sounds nice, mate,” Jason is intrigued, “they should credit you if this ever makes it into the Oxford Dictionary.”
“It’s a good thing you’re back, Markie,” Robbie sighs, “we were running out of deep stuff to talk about and I think, Jay was beginning to get bored of us.”
“How could I ever get bored of you, Rob? I can hardly imagine a life without a detailed weekly summary of the latest happenings in the Big Brother-house.”
“Awwww, bless you, mate! I’m fun to hang out with, am I not??”
But of course not everything is bad in their lives. The best things in life, however, are moments, snapshots, short-lived highlights that are – unlike the bad times – hard to detect and almost impossible to hold on to. That’s why mankind has invented celebrations – to mark and preserve happy memories. Howard, Mark, Jason, Gary and Robbie celebrate the milestones of their lifes together: weddings, births, christenings, birthdays, promotions, anniversaries. Whenever something decisive happens to one of them, be it happy or sad, the other four will be there.
And then there are the things where it’s just the five of them. CD-nights, every 2nd Friday. Two weeks in Howard’s house in Ibiza every July (thus usually including Jason’s birthday). Little journeys organised (and paid for) by Rob and Howard: bungee jumping, skydiving, go-karting. Blackpool, Vegas, Monaco. Brit Awards 2015, Olympic Games 2016, World Cup 2018. Fife lives less ordinary – thanks to two of them earning more money than they could ever spend in a lifetime. (Rob at one point realizes that amongst the five of them, importance of job and amount of income is completely disproportionate. He tells Howard and they agree that something’s rotten in this world.)
They travel to lots of interesting places and attend all kinds of exceptional events. But when they’re back home and relive their journeys on CD-nights, all they seem to remember is how Gary, on one occasion, took a sip of Orangina and then got tickled by Rob until the Orangina ran out of his nose. Or how, on another occasion, Howard stole Mark’s ice cream cone and trampled all over it, as if it were a dangerous animal and he’d kill it to protect Mark. Or how, on yet another occasion, Jason had to dye his hair peroxide blonde after losing a bet and upon seeing the result, Robbie laughed so hard, he fell of a stool in the hotel bar and nearly broke his arm. All these intriguing places and mesmerising events become mere scenery for what they would really keep precious in their memories: in their heads, Tokyo will never be more than the afterimage for them spending two hours in Howard’s bathroom, exploring they joys of the heated loo seat. They will only ever remember Moscow as the place where Jason won the chat-up-competition. And for them, New York will forever be the town, where they spent a whole weekend constructing paper planes and throwing them off the roof terrace (in their defence: it was raining heavily the whole weekend long).
With every journey they bring home more stories only they think are funny. If they’re honest, they’d have to admit that they don’t care about Formula-1-races or being backstage at Glastonbury all that much – as long as they can spend time together, giggle, chat and tease the hell out of each other, it doesn’t really matter what’s happening around them. When they’re packing for one of their trips, none of them is nervously anticipating speed boat-racing or skiing – all they’re really looking forward to, is enjoying their time together and adding more silly stories to their unwritten travel diaries. And it’s the small things they’re unconsciously doing, that show just how much they appreciate each other: Like Howard doing what they call “the hotel run” – collecting all chocolates from their pillows to give them to Gary. Or Jason always leaving the window seat to Mark. Or Robbie and Howard exchanging their milk and sugar with every cup of coffee they order. Every once in a while, one of them will eventually notice one of these little routines going on and it will never fail to prompt a smile. Sometimes, while smiling like this, two pairs of eyes meet and they will wink at each other and the two broad smiles will instantly turn into two massive grins. And occasionally, one will nudge the other to hint out on one of these situations with a nod, both of them inanely grinning, of course.
And still, no matter how much they love each other and how much fun they have together – there are things they don’t talk about. Whether it’s a flaw in their friendship, or maybe just a part of the secret why they get along so well together, is difficult to decide. But fact is, they never tell Gaz they don’t like Charlotte very much, not even when he announces their getting married. Gary’s happy with her, so much they know, and if she makes him happy, that’s the most important thing and they’ll find a way of dealing with her. No need to stress Gary. Then they all know there’s still unfinished business between Mark and Rob, but if Mark and Rob are fine with things the way they are, then that’s fine with Gary, Jason and Howard. And it’s none of their business anyway. And yes, sometimes Gary, Rob and Mark could just whack Howard’s and Jason’s heads together, but if they can’t get started, there must be some kind of reason for that, and that’s that. Who are they to interfere? Every once in a while, when two or three or four of them are talking about one of these issues, they recapitulate something Jason has pointed out several years before, for a reason they’ve long forgotten: “Just because something would make you unhappy, does not necessarily mean the person you’re thinking about is unhappy in the given situation. To believe that is arrogant and condescending. There are always reasons behind everything, lots of them you can’t see or couldn’t imagine, even if you tried.” So, no, they might not understand what it is Gaz sees in Charlotte, and maybe they’d be unhappy with the partially unresolved situation Rob and Mark are in, and they don’tget why Jay and Dougie just won’t realize they’re made for each other. But they’ve learned that as a friend you must not always understand, but accept your friend’s choices in life. And the five of them know they only worry about these things anyway, because they want their friends to be happy. Life has taught them, though, that the definition of happiness is far more complex than what their little minds know. In their own ways they’ve all experienced, how the big happy thing they’d been longing for exploded right in front of their eyes, leaving them behind in a field full of splinters of broken dreams. On the other hand, they’ve all learned how something small, something unexpected, would reveal itself to be the thing that would make them the happiest. And as much as they’d want this sometimes, they know they can’t take the blows for each other. When it comes to dealing with your personal share of happy and sad, you’re on your own. The closest thing to taking your friends’ blows is celebrating the good times together, and be there for each other when the going gets tough. Only that the good stuff usually comes with an invitation and you can prepare yourself, while the shit just happens without a warning.
Like 2019. When they’re all watching this episode of “Piers Morgan’s Life Stories” (or how Rob calls it “Sleazy Guy’s Freak Show”) – not because they like the show, but because they know the guest: Laura, Jason’s ex-girlfriend from some 20 years ago. The model-turned-(not-very-successful)-TV-presenter-Laura. The ex-girlfriend-Jason-never-really-talks-about-Laura. The what-the-hell-will-she-sulk-about-in-this-horrible-show-Laura. The desperately-needs-a-new-job-attention-seeking-Laura. Jason so hopes she won’t sell out on their story publicly. But she does. 4.3 million viewers all over the U.K. feel pity for the poor girl. 4 viewers in Manchester don’t.
Upon “It’s the hardest thing I ever had to do…and I (sniffing) had to decide about this all alone…I was (sobbing) soooo alone (more sobbing),” Gary frowns and notices that she cries without tears before he turns out the TV and goes to pick up his car keys. So, that's what happened, before he disappeared to New Zealand back then. Gary had always reckoned something had happened.
Mark forces himself to watch a little longer, but at “I don’t want to be accusatory, you know, I’ve completely forgiven him, I have…(sniffing), but he was just so busy making a career….(more sniffing) he wouldn’t have had time for me and our baby…,” he cringes and knows he can’t stand watching any more of this. He gets his phone to dial Gary’s number and ask if he can pick him up on his way. He could have a 19-year-old daughter or son now. Mark had always thought it was a shame Jason wasn't a Dad.
Meanwhile Robbie’s eyes are still glued to the telly, strangely fascinated by this girl’s guts – she actually has the nerve to dry a non-existent tear away from her cheek with a tissue she’s been handed by Sleazy Guy. “It’s the only thing that – if I had the chance to go back and live my life again, I’d rearrange.” Rob shudders and thinks she should have invested her money in acting lessons rather than in that boob job. “So not buying it, love!” he shouts at her, before heading to his bedroom to get dressed. Stupid bitch. He'd have done everything for you and you know it! Robbie thinks it's just so typical of Jay to never speak about it.
When Robbie arrives at Howard’s place, he finds him still tucked on the sofa, unbelievingly staring at the TV screen. “I can’t believe he kept that inside all those years…” I wish he would've told me. Howard had always thought it was his fault Jason had disappeared for a whole year.
“I can’t believe he protected a silly cow like that all those years, but he did, How, he did. Because that’s what he’s like.”
“Yeah. That’s what he’s like.” Howard still does not move. Robbie nods his head thoughtfully and watches him for a while. “But that’s part of why you love him, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“Now, c’mon, old man, get going. There’s someone who needs you.”
“Yeah.”
Jason turns off the TV, gets up to unlock the door and then wearily sits back down on his sofa. Right at the moment he doesn’t know much, his head is empty. All he knows is he won’t be alone tonight.
Life is a jigsaw with lots of missing pieces. Every experience you make and every single thing you learn is one of the missing pieces. And you keep collecting piece by piece and try to connect them, try to puzzle them together. But even when you find a new piece, it doesn’t always help you see more of the bigger picture. That night Mark, Gary, Robbie and Howard find a new piece of the jigsaw that is Jason’s life – one he had hidden from them for a very long time, for reasons they can imagine, but still not fully understand. And even though it’s a more than unexpected piece they’ve found, it still fits into his life’s jigsaw oddly well. And this, they conclude that night, is about as close as you can get to another person: not really being surprised when you find out something new about someone you love.
They still don’t know everything about each other. And some things they don’t talk about. But how’s that supposed to matter? It doesn’t matter at all, because a good friendship is able to take that.
* * *
And so the years go by. Of course, these are only snippets of the stories of their lives so far. If you were to write them all down, you’d fill book after book until you’d have a whole shelf crammed with cloth-bound memories. But, seriously, who’d want to read all of that? Because, after all, these are just five ordinary lads from Northern England, aren’t they?
Just like in everyone else’s life, some things turned out the way they hoped they would, and some things didn’t. Some dreams came true, others not. Not everything that happened can be explained, not everything that did not happen can be understood. That’s just how life is. But to get an idea of who they are and how they got where they are now – this should do.
Five lives – five meanings. Five friends.
And this is all that matters now, and that was all that happened anyhow.
The years pass by and they all enter the fourth decade of their lives. They watch their children mature and their parents grow old – it seems, the more independent the kids get to be, the more their Mums and Dads need support. They are middle-aged men now, fully grown-up, responsible husbands, domestic partners or boyfriends (whatever status is valid at a time), fathers (except for Jason) and bosses (except for Robbie), in a phase where - how Mark can’t stop pointing out - “half of our lives are over”. But these are not the things they want to talk or think about, especially not on CD-nights (they ditched the movies somewhere around 2010, when they tacitly agreed that the movies took up too much of their time together). CD-nights are supposed to be fun and distraction from the daily routine. The exhausting daily routine they call their lives. Because except for Robbie, they all work too much. They spent an unhealthy amount of time in their workplaces: Gary not only in his headmaster-office, but everywhere in “his” school in Salford, Mark in a huge, sunlit office in the top storey of a tall building in Manchester’s financial district, Jason in a far smaller, far less sunlit office in the headquarters of the GMPT on Talbot Road, and Howard in the studio in his huge mansion in Altrincham. “He works too much”, becomes their phrase of choice when they try to explain why Mark looks gloomy and tired, Howard smokes too much, Gary has gained or Jason has lost weight. For a while, Robbie seems to be the healthiest and happiest of them, but then he gets restless again, buys a second home in London and booze and drugs find their way back into his life. “All he needs is a job and a nice boy- or girlfriend to look after him!” That’s Howard’s panacea for a stable life. None of them ever tells him that he himself is living proof that his theory is utter rubbish. It would be unnecessarily rude and after all, he only means well.
There are good years and crap years. 2009 is one of the worst, it’s the year Gary’s Dad dies. It happens out of the blue and the months after turn out to be one long nightmare for Gaz. The others get painfully aware that it’s all just a matter of time until they have to deal with that kind of pain, too. 2011 isn’t fun either – Rob needs to enter rehab, Howard finds a melanoma on his upper thigh (it’s malignant, but can be extirpated before metastases could spread), and someone breaks into Jason’s flat, devastating the whole place and his car, that was parked in front of it. (No one is ever charged with it, though Jason thinks he knows who it was.) But the ultimately worst year is 2014, the year of Mark’s complete breakdown. In March he needs treatment for upper gastrointestinal bleeding due to his gastric ulcer and has to stay in hospital for several weeks. He recovers only slowly and soon later is diagnosed with burnout.
“We should’ve seen that coming.” Jason feels guilty, he’d noticed Mark wasn’t well. “We need to look more after each other.”
“We hardly manage to look after ourselves”, Rob throws in, then adds while pointing a finger at himself, “or is that just me?” A classic Robbie, always manages to make everyone grin. Born entertainer in every life situation.
“When exactly did life become so fucking difficult?” Howard’s smile has already died down again and he’s fumbling for his cigarettes.
“It’s not really that difficult – we’re just crap at it, I’d say”, the mischief in Jason’s eyes belies his words. Gary shakes his head slowly. “I’m not crap, me. But my day just has not enough hours to look out for you lot!” A classic Gary, this one. Sprinkling them with a bit of his self esteem, ever so generously.
They’re laughing it away for a while. But still 2014 marks a turning point. They all start working less, except for Gary. They let him get away with that, though, because he’s totally inedible when he’s not allowed to work. They all vividly remember four weeks in 2012, when he had to stay at home because of a slipped disc. He did all their heads in, being bored and grumpy and awfully miserable. They were glad when he finally got back to work.
Mark, however, finally takes note of the signs his body is sending him. He takes his family on a journey to the south of France in the summer holidays, enjoying time with his kids and Emma. At some point they start talking again, proper talking, not the kind of “can-you-do-the-schoolrun-on-your-way-to-work”/”sure-darling” or “when-will-you-be-home”/”what’s-for-dinner”-conversations they have back home. No, real, proper talking, about things they have on their minds: his ailment, stress, money, their future. They talk the nights through, like they used to when their love was still young. For the first time in a long time, Mark gets an aerial view of his life again and he sees all the beauty of it spread out before him. He’s got so much many people strive for, but never achieve: healthy kids, a wonderful wife, a bunch of brilliant friends. He realizes he needs to relax, worry less and be thankful. Once he’s back from the sick-leave, it’s what he works on every day. He doesn’t succeed every day, though, but every day he is successful, he’s happy. The happier he is, the less his stomach hurts. The fewer he worries, the better he sleeps. And the better he sleeps, the happier he is.
That’s what he tries to explain to his friends on their next CD-night, “…it’s like a…uhm…, what do you call the opposite of a vicious circle? A benevolent circle?”
“Dunno if there’s a term for it…but “benevolent circle” sounds nice, mate,” Jason is intrigued, “they should credit you if this ever makes it into the Oxford Dictionary.”
“It’s a good thing you’re back, Markie,” Robbie sighs, “we were running out of deep stuff to talk about and I think, Jay was beginning to get bored of us.”
“How could I ever get bored of you, Rob? I can hardly imagine a life without a detailed weekly summary of the latest happenings in the Big Brother-house.”
“Awwww, bless you, mate! I’m fun to hang out with, am I not??”
But of course not everything is bad in their lives. The best things in life, however, are moments, snapshots, short-lived highlights that are – unlike the bad times – hard to detect and almost impossible to hold on to. That’s why mankind has invented celebrations – to mark and preserve happy memories. Howard, Mark, Jason, Gary and Robbie celebrate the milestones of their lifes together: weddings, births, christenings, birthdays, promotions, anniversaries. Whenever something decisive happens to one of them, be it happy or sad, the other four will be there.
And then there are the things where it’s just the five of them. CD-nights, every 2nd Friday. Two weeks in Howard’s house in Ibiza every July (thus usually including Jason’s birthday). Little journeys organised (and paid for) by Rob and Howard: bungee jumping, skydiving, go-karting. Blackpool, Vegas, Monaco. Brit Awards 2015, Olympic Games 2016, World Cup 2018. Fife lives less ordinary – thanks to two of them earning more money than they could ever spend in a lifetime. (Rob at one point realizes that amongst the five of them, importance of job and amount of income is completely disproportionate. He tells Howard and they agree that something’s rotten in this world.)
They travel to lots of interesting places and attend all kinds of exceptional events. But when they’re back home and relive their journeys on CD-nights, all they seem to remember is how Gary, on one occasion, took a sip of Orangina and then got tickled by Rob until the Orangina ran out of his nose. Or how, on another occasion, Howard stole Mark’s ice cream cone and trampled all over it, as if it were a dangerous animal and he’d kill it to protect Mark. Or how, on yet another occasion, Jason had to dye his hair peroxide blonde after losing a bet and upon seeing the result, Robbie laughed so hard, he fell of a stool in the hotel bar and nearly broke his arm. All these intriguing places and mesmerising events become mere scenery for what they would really keep precious in their memories: in their heads, Tokyo will never be more than the afterimage for them spending two hours in Howard’s bathroom, exploring they joys of the heated loo seat. They will only ever remember Moscow as the place where Jason won the chat-up-competition. And for them, New York will forever be the town, where they spent a whole weekend constructing paper planes and throwing them off the roof terrace (in their defence: it was raining heavily the whole weekend long).
With every journey they bring home more stories only they think are funny. If they’re honest, they’d have to admit that they don’t care about Formula-1-races or being backstage at Glastonbury all that much – as long as they can spend time together, giggle, chat and tease the hell out of each other, it doesn’t really matter what’s happening around them. When they’re packing for one of their trips, none of them is nervously anticipating speed boat-racing or skiing – all they’re really looking forward to, is enjoying their time together and adding more silly stories to their unwritten travel diaries. And it’s the small things they’re unconsciously doing, that show just how much they appreciate each other: Like Howard doing what they call “the hotel run” – collecting all chocolates from their pillows to give them to Gary. Or Jason always leaving the window seat to Mark. Or Robbie and Howard exchanging their milk and sugar with every cup of coffee they order. Every once in a while, one of them will eventually notice one of these little routines going on and it will never fail to prompt a smile. Sometimes, while smiling like this, two pairs of eyes meet and they will wink at each other and the two broad smiles will instantly turn into two massive grins. And occasionally, one will nudge the other to hint out on one of these situations with a nod, both of them inanely grinning, of course.
And still, no matter how much they love each other and how much fun they have together – there are things they don’t talk about. Whether it’s a flaw in their friendship, or maybe just a part of the secret why they get along so well together, is difficult to decide. But fact is, they never tell Gaz they don’t like Charlotte very much, not even when he announces their getting married. Gary’s happy with her, so much they know, and if she makes him happy, that’s the most important thing and they’ll find a way of dealing with her. No need to stress Gary. Then they all know there’s still unfinished business between Mark and Rob, but if Mark and Rob are fine with things the way they are, then that’s fine with Gary, Jason and Howard. And it’s none of their business anyway. And yes, sometimes Gary, Rob and Mark could just whack Howard’s and Jason’s heads together, but if they can’t get started, there must be some kind of reason for that, and that’s that. Who are they to interfere? Every once in a while, when two or three or four of them are talking about one of these issues, they recapitulate something Jason has pointed out several years before, for a reason they’ve long forgotten: “Just because something would make you unhappy, does not necessarily mean the person you’re thinking about is unhappy in the given situation. To believe that is arrogant and condescending. There are always reasons behind everything, lots of them you can’t see or couldn’t imagine, even if you tried.” So, no, they might not understand what it is Gaz sees in Charlotte, and maybe they’d be unhappy with the partially unresolved situation Rob and Mark are in, and they don’tget why Jay and Dougie just won’t realize they’re made for each other. But they’ve learned that as a friend you must not always understand, but accept your friend’s choices in life. And the five of them know they only worry about these things anyway, because they want their friends to be happy. Life has taught them, though, that the definition of happiness is far more complex than what their little minds know. In their own ways they’ve all experienced, how the big happy thing they’d been longing for exploded right in front of their eyes, leaving them behind in a field full of splinters of broken dreams. On the other hand, they’ve all learned how something small, something unexpected, would reveal itself to be the thing that would make them the happiest. And as much as they’d want this sometimes, they know they can’t take the blows for each other. When it comes to dealing with your personal share of happy and sad, you’re on your own. The closest thing to taking your friends’ blows is celebrating the good times together, and be there for each other when the going gets tough. Only that the good stuff usually comes with an invitation and you can prepare yourself, while the shit just happens without a warning.
Like 2019. When they’re all watching this episode of “Piers Morgan’s Life Stories” (or how Rob calls it “Sleazy Guy’s Freak Show”) – not because they like the show, but because they know the guest: Laura, Jason’s ex-girlfriend from some 20 years ago. The model-turned-(not-very-successful)-TV-presenter-Laura. The ex-girlfriend-Jason-never-really-talks-about-Laura. The what-the-hell-will-she-sulk-about-in-this-horrible-show-Laura. The desperately-needs-a-new-job-attention-seeking-Laura. Jason so hopes she won’t sell out on their story publicly. But she does. 4.3 million viewers all over the U.K. feel pity for the poor girl. 4 viewers in Manchester don’t.
Upon “It’s the hardest thing I ever had to do…and I (sniffing) had to decide about this all alone…I was (sobbing) soooo alone (more sobbing),” Gary frowns and notices that she cries without tears before he turns out the TV and goes to pick up his car keys. So, that's what happened, before he disappeared to New Zealand back then. Gary had always reckoned something had happened.
Mark forces himself to watch a little longer, but at “I don’t want to be accusatory, you know, I’ve completely forgiven him, I have…(sniffing), but he was just so busy making a career….(more sniffing) he wouldn’t have had time for me and our baby…,” he cringes and knows he can’t stand watching any more of this. He gets his phone to dial Gary’s number and ask if he can pick him up on his way. He could have a 19-year-old daughter or son now. Mark had always thought it was a shame Jason wasn't a Dad.
Meanwhile Robbie’s eyes are still glued to the telly, strangely fascinated by this girl’s guts – she actually has the nerve to dry a non-existent tear away from her cheek with a tissue she’s been handed by Sleazy Guy. “It’s the only thing that – if I had the chance to go back and live my life again, I’d rearrange.” Rob shudders and thinks she should have invested her money in acting lessons rather than in that boob job. “So not buying it, love!” he shouts at her, before heading to his bedroom to get dressed. Stupid bitch. He'd have done everything for you and you know it! Robbie thinks it's just so typical of Jay to never speak about it.
When Robbie arrives at Howard’s place, he finds him still tucked on the sofa, unbelievingly staring at the TV screen. “I can’t believe he kept that inside all those years…” I wish he would've told me. Howard had always thought it was his fault Jason had disappeared for a whole year.
“I can’t believe he protected a silly cow like that all those years, but he did, How, he did. Because that’s what he’s like.”
“Yeah. That’s what he’s like.” Howard still does not move. Robbie nods his head thoughtfully and watches him for a while. “But that’s part of why you love him, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“Now, c’mon, old man, get going. There’s someone who needs you.”
“Yeah.”
Jason turns off the TV, gets up to unlock the door and then wearily sits back down on his sofa. Right at the moment he doesn’t know much, his head is empty. All he knows is he won’t be alone tonight.
Life is a jigsaw with lots of missing pieces. Every experience you make and every single thing you learn is one of the missing pieces. And you keep collecting piece by piece and try to connect them, try to puzzle them together. But even when you find a new piece, it doesn’t always help you see more of the bigger picture. That night Mark, Gary, Robbie and Howard find a new piece of the jigsaw that is Jason’s life – one he had hidden from them for a very long time, for reasons they can imagine, but still not fully understand. And even though it’s a more than unexpected piece they’ve found, it still fits into his life’s jigsaw oddly well. And this, they conclude that night, is about as close as you can get to another person: not really being surprised when you find out something new about someone you love.
They still don’t know everything about each other. And some things they don’t talk about. But how’s that supposed to matter? It doesn’t matter at all, because a good friendship is able to take that.
* * *
And so the years go by. Of course, these are only snippets of the stories of their lives so far. If you were to write them all down, you’d fill book after book until you’d have a whole shelf crammed with cloth-bound memories. But, seriously, who’d want to read all of that? Because, after all, these are just five ordinary lads from Northern England, aren’t they?
Just like in everyone else’s life, some things turned out the way they hoped they would, and some things didn’t. Some dreams came true, others not. Not everything that happened can be explained, not everything that did not happen can be understood. That’s just how life is. But to get an idea of who they are and how they got where they are now – this should do.
Five lives – five meanings. Five friends.
And this is all that matters now, and that was all that happened anyhow.
Chapter Six
2020: You Can Look Back, But Don’t Stare
“They’re tearing down The Apollo.”
“You’re kidding!”
“No, mate, they’re tearing it down.”
“But, they can’t…it’s a landmark…”
“Obviously it’s in danger of collapsing and there’s no way they can save it.”
Jason’s shocked by Howard’s revelation. After all, The Apollo is a piece of their youth, a piece of their history, a piece of their…relationship. It’s where they met. They can’t tear it down!
“What’s The Apollo?” Gary asks with his mouth still full of curry.
“Christ, Barlow, you don’t know The Apollo?” Howard shakes his head. “What planet were you living on before we met?”
“You know, I was a nerd with a bow-tie, singing the clubs. I wasn’t one of the cool kids, me.”
They’re all laughing now, Gary’s honesty is always invigorating.
“It’s the place myself and Howard met, back in the day. We used to go there every Sunday to dance.”
“Jay was the best break-dancer there” Howard adds, glancing at Jason with that awe-struck expression on his face he only ever saves for him.
“You used to break-dance?” Mark asks in slight surprise.
“Well, I wasn’t born with an arthritic knee, you know?” Jason winks at him. The memory of those days makes him smile. The competition, the battles, the energy – it was fierce. It was great. It’s long gone.
“So,” Mark sniggers, “you trying to tell me I’m surrounded by a DJ-turned-producer, a former break-dancer, an organ-player who used to play the clubs and a Frank-Sinatra-imitator? Heaven help me!”
“Eh, you, small one! Watch it! People payed to hear me sing!” Robbie straightens his back and broadens his shoulders in an attempt to appear more authoritative. But Mark can’t be stopped that easily now. “You call that singing?” More laughter and a mock pout from Robbie, before he gives in and joins in the laughter. Mark still can’t stop giggling…”I’m just imagining you four together on a stage, Gaz behind the organ, and you lot hopping around, singing some silly tune, old men boy-band….”
“And you’d be our manager, ripping us off on the money!” Gary throws in.
“No, no, we’d put him up front to smile the first row into unconsciousness!” Robbie is all smiles and his eyes glisten.
“Yeah, he’d be a hit with the elderly ladies…” Jason grins impishly.
“You know, lads,” Howard looks around the table with a thoughtful expression on his face, “there was this guy back then, he was my agent, when…I used to model, y’know? His name was Nigel…and he always had the weirdest ideas, a real plonker…however – one fine day he said to me: Howard, he said, Howard, I have this idea of auditioning four or five lads together for a band, an English equivalent to the New Kids On The Block, what d’you think? And well, I thought he was high or something, and so I just said: Nige, I don’t think that’ll work here in England.” Howard giggles into his glass of diet-coke. “An English version of the New Kids On The Block. Twat!”
“The New Kids On The Block? God, that’s long ago…I don’t even remember any of their songs…”
“But they were big around that time!”
It’s Robbie who remembers first and – of course – starts singing straight away, “You got the right stuff, baby, oh-ohh-ohoho-oh-ohh-oh-ho, oh-ohh-ohoho - the right stuff!”
A general “Ahhhh….yeah, now I remember!”
“They weren’t cool.” Howard still isn’t impressed.
“They couldn’t dance decently, no no!” is Jason’s expert opinion.
“Most of them couldn’t sing and their songs were utter crap!” Rob remembers vividly.
“But they were pretty, weren’t they?” Gary throws in to their defence.
“So, if I sum this up correctly: we could’ve been them if Howard hadn’t killed that guy’s idea!” Mark’s pointing with his finger at Howard.
“It’s all Howard’s fault!” – “We could’ve been rich and famous!” – “We could’ve been stars!” – They’re all throwing their napkins and spoons at Howard, who ducks away, hoping they’ll stop this soon.
“Eh, watch it! – Not in the face! – Ughhh! – You know, you can throw things at me, but I still say that would’ve never ever EVER have worked here!” They’ve run out of things to throw. The giggling slowly dies down. Howard sorts his hair.
“You know, I agree with you, mate. It wouldn’t have worked here.” Rob says, and Gary nods his head in approval. “Remember those Irish guys? With the Cat Stevens songs? What was their name again?”
“Backzone?” Rob makes a guess.
“No, no, Boyzone!” Mark remembers them.
“Ah, yeah, Boyzone! They were cute…they asked me to produce their album, did you know that?”
“Why’d you turn it down?”
“The record company wanted them to cover Barry Manilow…”
“I used to play Manilow songs in the clubs! Good songs, really…”
“Oh, Gaz…please…” Jason smiles uneasily.
“No, no, Gazza’s right – I met Manilow in Vegas a couple of times, he’s still biiiiig there, nice chap, true gentleman.” Once Rob is impressed by someone, he’ll stand in for them big time. “Seriously, Jay, the songs aren’t that horrible, some are quite good, actually, like….spirits move me, every time I’m near you…” Gary joins in “…whirling like a cyclone in my mind…”
Jason’s not easy to convince, though. “You’re causing a cyclone in my mind, too!”
“Why, thank you, Sir!”
“You’re welcome, mate. – Anyway, what happened to... Boyzone?”
“No idea, to be honest. The album was a disastrous fail. Wonder what they’re doing these days…” Howard scratches the stubble on his chin.
“Probably went back to school and got themselves proper jobs?”
“Oh, Mark, don’t be so hard on them…they were young and dreamt of being famous.…”
“Bob, when ever did you turn that considerate?” Gary shakes his head in bewilderment.
Mark looks thoughtful and a bit tired, resting his head in his hands. “I never wanted to be famous, not that I remember.”
“Fame sucks.” Howard sure knows what he’s talking about. He thinks for a while, then a grin sneaks into his face, “The money is good, though.”
“Yep” Robbie is quick to remark, “I don’t dig the fame either, but I needed an excuse for the drugs.” His cheekiness only earns him a punch on the back of his head by Howard. “That’s nothing to make fun of, mate!”
“I wanted to be a popstar, me. A boy can dream, eh?” Gary giggles. “Can you imagine me and my organ and the bow-ties on MTV?” More general giggling.
“Well, it didn’t happen and just for the record: it’s not Howard’s fault!” Mark says, feeling he owes Howard a bit of rehabilitation.
Jason has followed their conversation silently, with that contemplative, slightly aloof expression on his face they know so well. The expression that predicts one of his random, out-of-this-world annotations. He takes a breath, but Robbie leapfrogs him by announcing “Silence, please! Mr. Skeleton is about to sparkle us with a few words of wisdom!”
Jason smiles at him leniently. “Thank you, Rob, you’re so kind. – You know, I think you may be right, perhaps this whole boyband-idea wouldn’t have worked here, but tell you something? We’re such a good team, are we not? – I think we could’ve done it! We’re tight, and we’re all grafters, and we all love to show off, don’t we? D’you know what I mean? In a parallel universe – we’d have been the best boyband ever.”
Sometimes, just sometimes, they let him have the last word. Especially when they think he's right.
You can look back, but don’t stare. And that’s what they do, individually, and when they’re together. They look back on their lives, and they figure these are good lives. Not perfect. There still is room for improvement, there always is. But good. Lots to be proud of, few to deeply regret. They’re good people, they don’t cause any harm that’s beyond repair. They’ve got families. People actually look up to them, for various reasons. They love and they are loved. And they’ve got each other and that alone is reason enough to have a big, smug grin on your face when you wake up in the morning.
The little boy from Droylsden, the one who clenched his fists when he entered this life, has proved his Mum right: he’s a real fighter. He doesn’t always get everything right, especially not the first time around, but he’s kind and caring and he never gives up. The little boy from Oldham, the one with the most beautiful smile you have ever seen, has fought his demons and made his way. These days he’s honest with himself, thinks with his heart and doesn’t always smile along to everything. The little boy from Wythenshawe, the one with the big blue eyes, has learned everything about forgiving and acceptance there is to know and if you ask, he lets you in into his world of thoughts and wisdom. He still finds it hard to go to bed before everything is at its exact place, but he’s found enough peace to not be sleepless anymore. The little boy from Frodsham, the serious, ambitious one with the white hair, has grown up to be a true gentleman and a pillar of society. He doesn’t need to put himself first anymore and he just loves being part of a team. The little boy from Stoke-on-Trent, the one with the cheeky smile, well, he still manages to get himself into trouble. But he’s found himself people that look after him, true friends that see the good heart beyond his bravado. And he repays them with sharing his soulfulness with them.
They were raised on the feeling their lives would have meaning. Which proved itself true.
“They’re tearing down The Apollo.”
“You’re kidding!”
“No, mate, they’re tearing it down.”
“But, they can’t…it’s a landmark…”
“Obviously it’s in danger of collapsing and there’s no way they can save it.”
Jason’s shocked by Howard’s revelation. After all, The Apollo is a piece of their youth, a piece of their history, a piece of their…relationship. It’s where they met. They can’t tear it down!
“What’s The Apollo?” Gary asks with his mouth still full of curry.
“Christ, Barlow, you don’t know The Apollo?” Howard shakes his head. “What planet were you living on before we met?”
“You know, I was a nerd with a bow-tie, singing the clubs. I wasn’t one of the cool kids, me.”
They’re all laughing now, Gary’s honesty is always invigorating.
“It’s the place myself and Howard met, back in the day. We used to go there every Sunday to dance.”
“Jay was the best break-dancer there” Howard adds, glancing at Jason with that awe-struck expression on his face he only ever saves for him.
“You used to break-dance?” Mark asks in slight surprise.
“Well, I wasn’t born with an arthritic knee, you know?” Jason winks at him. The memory of those days makes him smile. The competition, the battles, the energy – it was fierce. It was great. It’s long gone.
“So,” Mark sniggers, “you trying to tell me I’m surrounded by a DJ-turned-producer, a former break-dancer, an organ-player who used to play the clubs and a Frank-Sinatra-imitator? Heaven help me!”
“Eh, you, small one! Watch it! People payed to hear me sing!” Robbie straightens his back and broadens his shoulders in an attempt to appear more authoritative. But Mark can’t be stopped that easily now. “You call that singing?” More laughter and a mock pout from Robbie, before he gives in and joins in the laughter. Mark still can’t stop giggling…”I’m just imagining you four together on a stage, Gaz behind the organ, and you lot hopping around, singing some silly tune, old men boy-band….”
“And you’d be our manager, ripping us off on the money!” Gary throws in.
“No, no, we’d put him up front to smile the first row into unconsciousness!” Robbie is all smiles and his eyes glisten.
“Yeah, he’d be a hit with the elderly ladies…” Jason grins impishly.
“You know, lads,” Howard looks around the table with a thoughtful expression on his face, “there was this guy back then, he was my agent, when…I used to model, y’know? His name was Nigel…and he always had the weirdest ideas, a real plonker…however – one fine day he said to me: Howard, he said, Howard, I have this idea of auditioning four or five lads together for a band, an English equivalent to the New Kids On The Block, what d’you think? And well, I thought he was high or something, and so I just said: Nige, I don’t think that’ll work here in England.” Howard giggles into his glass of diet-coke. “An English version of the New Kids On The Block. Twat!”
“The New Kids On The Block? God, that’s long ago…I don’t even remember any of their songs…”
“But they were big around that time!”
It’s Robbie who remembers first and – of course – starts singing straight away, “You got the right stuff, baby, oh-ohh-ohoho-oh-ohh-oh-ho, oh-ohh-ohoho - the right stuff!”
A general “Ahhhh….yeah, now I remember!”
“They weren’t cool.” Howard still isn’t impressed.
“They couldn’t dance decently, no no!” is Jason’s expert opinion.
“Most of them couldn’t sing and their songs were utter crap!” Rob remembers vividly.
“But they were pretty, weren’t they?” Gary throws in to their defence.
“So, if I sum this up correctly: we could’ve been them if Howard hadn’t killed that guy’s idea!” Mark’s pointing with his finger at Howard.
“It’s all Howard’s fault!” – “We could’ve been rich and famous!” – “We could’ve been stars!” – They’re all throwing their napkins and spoons at Howard, who ducks away, hoping they’ll stop this soon.
“Eh, watch it! – Not in the face! – Ughhh! – You know, you can throw things at me, but I still say that would’ve never ever EVER have worked here!” They’ve run out of things to throw. The giggling slowly dies down. Howard sorts his hair.
“You know, I agree with you, mate. It wouldn’t have worked here.” Rob says, and Gary nods his head in approval. “Remember those Irish guys? With the Cat Stevens songs? What was their name again?”
“Backzone?” Rob makes a guess.
“No, no, Boyzone!” Mark remembers them.
“Ah, yeah, Boyzone! They were cute…they asked me to produce their album, did you know that?”
“Why’d you turn it down?”
“The record company wanted them to cover Barry Manilow…”
“I used to play Manilow songs in the clubs! Good songs, really…”
“Oh, Gaz…please…” Jason smiles uneasily.
“No, no, Gazza’s right – I met Manilow in Vegas a couple of times, he’s still biiiiig there, nice chap, true gentleman.” Once Rob is impressed by someone, he’ll stand in for them big time. “Seriously, Jay, the songs aren’t that horrible, some are quite good, actually, like….spirits move me, every time I’m near you…” Gary joins in “…whirling like a cyclone in my mind…”
Jason’s not easy to convince, though. “You’re causing a cyclone in my mind, too!”
“Why, thank you, Sir!”
“You’re welcome, mate. – Anyway, what happened to... Boyzone?”
“No idea, to be honest. The album was a disastrous fail. Wonder what they’re doing these days…” Howard scratches the stubble on his chin.
“Probably went back to school and got themselves proper jobs?”
“Oh, Mark, don’t be so hard on them…they were young and dreamt of being famous.…”
“Bob, when ever did you turn that considerate?” Gary shakes his head in bewilderment.
Mark looks thoughtful and a bit tired, resting his head in his hands. “I never wanted to be famous, not that I remember.”
“Fame sucks.” Howard sure knows what he’s talking about. He thinks for a while, then a grin sneaks into his face, “The money is good, though.”
“Yep” Robbie is quick to remark, “I don’t dig the fame either, but I needed an excuse for the drugs.” His cheekiness only earns him a punch on the back of his head by Howard. “That’s nothing to make fun of, mate!”
“I wanted to be a popstar, me. A boy can dream, eh?” Gary giggles. “Can you imagine me and my organ and the bow-ties on MTV?” More general giggling.
“Well, it didn’t happen and just for the record: it’s not Howard’s fault!” Mark says, feeling he owes Howard a bit of rehabilitation.
Jason has followed their conversation silently, with that contemplative, slightly aloof expression on his face they know so well. The expression that predicts one of his random, out-of-this-world annotations. He takes a breath, but Robbie leapfrogs him by announcing “Silence, please! Mr. Skeleton is about to sparkle us with a few words of wisdom!”
Jason smiles at him leniently. “Thank you, Rob, you’re so kind. – You know, I think you may be right, perhaps this whole boyband-idea wouldn’t have worked here, but tell you something? We’re such a good team, are we not? – I think we could’ve done it! We’re tight, and we’re all grafters, and we all love to show off, don’t we? D’you know what I mean? In a parallel universe – we’d have been the best boyband ever.”
Sometimes, just sometimes, they let him have the last word. Especially when they think he's right.
You can look back, but don’t stare. And that’s what they do, individually, and when they’re together. They look back on their lives, and they figure these are good lives. Not perfect. There still is room for improvement, there always is. But good. Lots to be proud of, few to deeply regret. They’re good people, they don’t cause any harm that’s beyond repair. They’ve got families. People actually look up to them, for various reasons. They love and they are loved. And they’ve got each other and that alone is reason enough to have a big, smug grin on your face when you wake up in the morning.
The little boy from Droylsden, the one who clenched his fists when he entered this life, has proved his Mum right: he’s a real fighter. He doesn’t always get everything right, especially not the first time around, but he’s kind and caring and he never gives up. The little boy from Oldham, the one with the most beautiful smile you have ever seen, has fought his demons and made his way. These days he’s honest with himself, thinks with his heart and doesn’t always smile along to everything. The little boy from Wythenshawe, the one with the big blue eyes, has learned everything about forgiving and acceptance there is to know and if you ask, he lets you in into his world of thoughts and wisdom. He still finds it hard to go to bed before everything is at its exact place, but he’s found enough peace to not be sleepless anymore. The little boy from Frodsham, the serious, ambitious one with the white hair, has grown up to be a true gentleman and a pillar of society. He doesn’t need to put himself first anymore and he just loves being part of a team. The little boy from Stoke-on-Trent, the one with the cheeky smile, well, he still manages to get himself into trouble. But he’s found himself people that look after him, true friends that see the good heart beyond his bravado. And he repays them with sharing his soulfulness with them.
They were raised on the feeling their lives would have meaning. Which proved itself true.
Epilogue
2021 – 2057: Just Footprints In The Sand
Robbie was the first one. He died in January 2021, only 14 days before his 47th birthday. And if they were honest, it was to be expected. Somehow they’d all known he’d be the first one to leave. Ever restless and easily bored, it was strangely sensible that he needed to experience something new – and since he’d tried everything possible in life, well…
The last time they’d all been together was Mark’s birthday. Rob wasn’t feeling too good then, and two days later he was hospitalized. He called the lads and told them he’d be fine in no time. The next morning Robbie’s Mum called Mark in his office, completely devastated. Rob had died that very night, complications from pneumonia. He had been too exhausted, his immune system had been to weak to fight the disease properly. Robbie had never done his body any favours and he’d literally tried every drug he could get hold of. Live fast, die young. Mark sat at his desk in silence for two hours, before he started calling the others.
The funeral was horrible, as none of them was prepared for losing a friend yet. Gary sang “They Can’t Take That Away From Me” at the service (throughout which Howard covertly took Jason’s hand and upon Gary singing “the way you wear your hat” squeezed it so hard, Jason had to bite his lip to not let out a cry of pain). Then they all went to see Rob lowered into the earth. It was the moment Mark decided he wanted to be incinerated. And that was the only proper thought Mark was able to form in his head that day. The rest of him was only functioning.
Rob left a hole in their lives that could not be filled, a kind of hollow feeling, rumbling strangely in their stomachs, and every time they met, they felt it the worst. It was hard to accept that there’d be an original cast member missing in CD-nights, from then on it would be Howard + Gary + Jason + Mark + {forever – Robbie}. In fact, for a couple of years they met less frequently, in a sad and helpless attempt to try and avoid the pain they felt, when he was missing in amongst them. But they couldn’t talk about it. Howard tried occasionally, but every time Mark would immediately close the shutters, Gary would wobble on his seat uncomfortably, and Jason would look at him with sad eyes and a close-to-unnoticeable shake of his head that seemed to say “Can’t you see they’re not ready for this, mate?” It only changed after Gary’s first heart attack, and that was in November 2026. That evening, when they gathered in Gary’s hospital room, everything they’d denied in the previous years, the fragility of life, it all became painfully real with Gary’s pale face hardly recognizable against the white hospital linen. But it made them finally acknowledge that it was better to stand the pain of missing Robbie, then not to see each other.
The following years were good years, apart from the arthritis in Jason’s knee, Gary’s weak heart, Mark’s peptic ulcer, and Howard’s tinnitus. And apart from Robbie missing. Those good times ended abruptly on the 21st December 2035. It was Gary’s third heart attack and this time all help came too late. After the first wave of shock had passed him, Jason realized it was an absurd twist of fate that Gaz had died only four weeks before he was about to retire. The man who could never stop working died before he was forced to stop working. Jason couldn’t help thinking that Gaz had somewhat planned this. He told the others after the funeral, when he was drunk enough to say something like this out loud. It was meant to be consoling and it worked for Howard, who nodded his head thoughtfully, but Mark was having none of it: “What an utterly selfish thing to do! Just go and leave us coz he didn’t wanna be bored?! What about us?! What about us…” He spit the words out, so as to punish Gary. And Robbie. Because, quite obviously, Robbie had done just about the same a couple of years earlier. Mark went home and curled himself up in his bed and cried - for Gary, and for Robbie, and for his aching heart, and for all the wrong decisions, and all the unfulfilled hopes, and all the unanswered prayers. He cried until there were no more tears left inside him. After that he never cried again.
He did not even cry on that rainy day in October 2046 when Howard called him, to tell him something he had dreaded hearing for nearly a year. Jason had only told few people of the cancer that was spreading out over his body. Having been skinny all his life, no one really noticed he was seriously ill. And that was just the way Jason wanted it to be. Considerate as ever he didn’t wish to bother anyone with his problems. Secretly he organised his funeral, sorted his things, gave away everything he didn’t necessarily need, deposited a letter for Howard with his lawyer, and sold the old Mercedes to a young lad who seemed to be worthy of it. Then he silently swaggered out of this world. He died the way he had danced: seemingly effortless. Two weeks after the funeral Howard’s girlfriend called Mark and begged him sternly to come over and make Howard talk again. It took Mark six hours of sitting by his side until Howard said something. One word only. “Bastard.”
Over the next couple of years Howard and Mark were often seen together, taking long walks and sitting on a bench in the park, talking, smoking and laughing. They got drunk together every year on January, the 20th, February, the 13th, and July, the 10th. Howard knew they were talking about the old times too much, glorifying them, but then again it seemed to be the only thing that kept him alive. Throughout 2054 he slowly lost Mark, who started forgetting things, mixing up persons, and situations. In February 2055 he had to be moved into a care home. Howard visited him once a week. On good days they chatted away like they always had, on bad days Mark wouldn’t even know who Howard was. There were more bad days than good days.
Howard ignored the feeling that the man he was visiting wasn’t really Mark anymore for quite some time. He chose to deny the fact they all had left him, one by one. As long as he went to see Mark, he was still there. And as long as he didn’t visit the other’s graves, they weren’t gone. Especially as Howard saw them around. He saw Robbie when he heard someone sing “Mr. Bojangles”. He saw Gaz every time he saw a grand piano. He saw Mark when he passed their favourite bench in the park. And he saw Jason. All the time. Everywhere.
He thought it wasn’t fair, since he was the oldest. It would have been his job to go first. It was just so typical of these bastards to ignore God’s plan and do what they liked. And even though Howard was surrounded by his family, his daughters, his grandchildren – he felt lonely. And he was tired. Every now and again someone from his former life called, asking him to accept a lifetime achievement award, or to laureate someone else who’d get one, or simply to be interviewed about “that time back then”. He never returned any of those calls. This part of his life was over.
In the autumn of 2057 he travels to Ibiza once more. He sits around in the garden a lot, on his favourite lounger, a blanket over his legs, a cuppa in hands, thinking about his life. He loves being in this place, for it seems to ooze happy memories, full of life and laughter. On some days the memories appear to be ridiculously vivid. Howard can almost see his daughters as little girls, jumping on the trampoline, he can almost smell the sun lotion some of the beautiful girls he’d dated over the years used, while slouching by the pool in their small bikinis, he can almost hear Vicky and Grace sing the ABC-song on the terrace like they did so many years ago. But there is one memory he has picture, sound and smell to, all combined: Jay’s 42nd birthday. What a perfect day that had been…just the five of them barbecueing in his garden. Howard can’t help but smile.
From his place on the lounger he can see Rob, young and strong and carefree, teasing Mark in the pool. Sweet Markie, gasping for air, giggling wildly, splashing water around. A little turn to the right and there’s Gaz, turning the meat on the barbecue, sipping on his Bacardi-coke, laughing about something Jason has said. A little turn to the left and there's Jason, by the pool, a towel around his hips, his hair dark from dampness, his blue eyes sparkling, smiling at Howard. The sight has taken Howard’s breath then, and it is no different now. Jason tilts his head slightly and nods reassuringly while his quiet smile broadens. And Howard knows it is time to follow.
Robbie was the first one. He died in January 2021, only 14 days before his 47th birthday. And if they were honest, it was to be expected. Somehow they’d all known he’d be the first one to leave. Ever restless and easily bored, it was strangely sensible that he needed to experience something new – and since he’d tried everything possible in life, well…
The last time they’d all been together was Mark’s birthday. Rob wasn’t feeling too good then, and two days later he was hospitalized. He called the lads and told them he’d be fine in no time. The next morning Robbie’s Mum called Mark in his office, completely devastated. Rob had died that very night, complications from pneumonia. He had been too exhausted, his immune system had been to weak to fight the disease properly. Robbie had never done his body any favours and he’d literally tried every drug he could get hold of. Live fast, die young. Mark sat at his desk in silence for two hours, before he started calling the others.
The funeral was horrible, as none of them was prepared for losing a friend yet. Gary sang “They Can’t Take That Away From Me” at the service (throughout which Howard covertly took Jason’s hand and upon Gary singing “the way you wear your hat” squeezed it so hard, Jason had to bite his lip to not let out a cry of pain). Then they all went to see Rob lowered into the earth. It was the moment Mark decided he wanted to be incinerated. And that was the only proper thought Mark was able to form in his head that day. The rest of him was only functioning.
Rob left a hole in their lives that could not be filled, a kind of hollow feeling, rumbling strangely in their stomachs, and every time they met, they felt it the worst. It was hard to accept that there’d be an original cast member missing in CD-nights, from then on it would be Howard + Gary + Jason + Mark + {forever – Robbie}. In fact, for a couple of years they met less frequently, in a sad and helpless attempt to try and avoid the pain they felt, when he was missing in amongst them. But they couldn’t talk about it. Howard tried occasionally, but every time Mark would immediately close the shutters, Gary would wobble on his seat uncomfortably, and Jason would look at him with sad eyes and a close-to-unnoticeable shake of his head that seemed to say “Can’t you see they’re not ready for this, mate?” It only changed after Gary’s first heart attack, and that was in November 2026. That evening, when they gathered in Gary’s hospital room, everything they’d denied in the previous years, the fragility of life, it all became painfully real with Gary’s pale face hardly recognizable against the white hospital linen. But it made them finally acknowledge that it was better to stand the pain of missing Robbie, then not to see each other.
The following years were good years, apart from the arthritis in Jason’s knee, Gary’s weak heart, Mark’s peptic ulcer, and Howard’s tinnitus. And apart from Robbie missing. Those good times ended abruptly on the 21st December 2035. It was Gary’s third heart attack and this time all help came too late. After the first wave of shock had passed him, Jason realized it was an absurd twist of fate that Gaz had died only four weeks before he was about to retire. The man who could never stop working died before he was forced to stop working. Jason couldn’t help thinking that Gaz had somewhat planned this. He told the others after the funeral, when he was drunk enough to say something like this out loud. It was meant to be consoling and it worked for Howard, who nodded his head thoughtfully, but Mark was having none of it: “What an utterly selfish thing to do! Just go and leave us coz he didn’t wanna be bored?! What about us?! What about us…” He spit the words out, so as to punish Gary. And Robbie. Because, quite obviously, Robbie had done just about the same a couple of years earlier. Mark went home and curled himself up in his bed and cried - for Gary, and for Robbie, and for his aching heart, and for all the wrong decisions, and all the unfulfilled hopes, and all the unanswered prayers. He cried until there were no more tears left inside him. After that he never cried again.
He did not even cry on that rainy day in October 2046 when Howard called him, to tell him something he had dreaded hearing for nearly a year. Jason had only told few people of the cancer that was spreading out over his body. Having been skinny all his life, no one really noticed he was seriously ill. And that was just the way Jason wanted it to be. Considerate as ever he didn’t wish to bother anyone with his problems. Secretly he organised his funeral, sorted his things, gave away everything he didn’t necessarily need, deposited a letter for Howard with his lawyer, and sold the old Mercedes to a young lad who seemed to be worthy of it. Then he silently swaggered out of this world. He died the way he had danced: seemingly effortless. Two weeks after the funeral Howard’s girlfriend called Mark and begged him sternly to come over and make Howard talk again. It took Mark six hours of sitting by his side until Howard said something. One word only. “Bastard.”
Over the next couple of years Howard and Mark were often seen together, taking long walks and sitting on a bench in the park, talking, smoking and laughing. They got drunk together every year on January, the 20th, February, the 13th, and July, the 10th. Howard knew they were talking about the old times too much, glorifying them, but then again it seemed to be the only thing that kept him alive. Throughout 2054 he slowly lost Mark, who started forgetting things, mixing up persons, and situations. In February 2055 he had to be moved into a care home. Howard visited him once a week. On good days they chatted away like they always had, on bad days Mark wouldn’t even know who Howard was. There were more bad days than good days.
Howard ignored the feeling that the man he was visiting wasn’t really Mark anymore for quite some time. He chose to deny the fact they all had left him, one by one. As long as he went to see Mark, he was still there. And as long as he didn’t visit the other’s graves, they weren’t gone. Especially as Howard saw them around. He saw Robbie when he heard someone sing “Mr. Bojangles”. He saw Gaz every time he saw a grand piano. He saw Mark when he passed their favourite bench in the park. And he saw Jason. All the time. Everywhere.
He thought it wasn’t fair, since he was the oldest. It would have been his job to go first. It was just so typical of these bastards to ignore God’s plan and do what they liked. And even though Howard was surrounded by his family, his daughters, his grandchildren – he felt lonely. And he was tired. Every now and again someone from his former life called, asking him to accept a lifetime achievement award, or to laureate someone else who’d get one, or simply to be interviewed about “that time back then”. He never returned any of those calls. This part of his life was over.
In the autumn of 2057 he travels to Ibiza once more. He sits around in the garden a lot, on his favourite lounger, a blanket over his legs, a cuppa in hands, thinking about his life. He loves being in this place, for it seems to ooze happy memories, full of life and laughter. On some days the memories appear to be ridiculously vivid. Howard can almost see his daughters as little girls, jumping on the trampoline, he can almost smell the sun lotion some of the beautiful girls he’d dated over the years used, while slouching by the pool in their small bikinis, he can almost hear Vicky and Grace sing the ABC-song on the terrace like they did so many years ago. But there is one memory he has picture, sound and smell to, all combined: Jay’s 42nd birthday. What a perfect day that had been…just the five of them barbecueing in his garden. Howard can’t help but smile.
From his place on the lounger he can see Rob, young and strong and carefree, teasing Mark in the pool. Sweet Markie, gasping for air, giggling wildly, splashing water around. A little turn to the right and there’s Gaz, turning the meat on the barbecue, sipping on his Bacardi-coke, laughing about something Jason has said. A little turn to the left and there's Jason, by the pool, a towel around his hips, his hair dark from dampness, his blue eyes sparkling, smiling at Howard. The sight has taken Howard’s breath then, and it is no different now. Jason tilts his head slightly and nods reassuringly while his quiet smile broadens. And Howard knows it is time to follow.
