Reluctant rockstar, p.1
Reluctant Rockstar, page 1
Reluctant Rockstar
Reluctant Rockstar #1
Frances Fox
ISBN: 9798223337904
Copyright: Frances Fox 2023
Edited: Lourenza Adlem
Website: francesfoxbooks.co.uk
About Reluctant Rockstar
A tired rock star and a judgemental gardener...what could possibly go wrong?
The Purple Lizards are a rock world phenomenon, but lead singer Martin’s tired of his rock-and-roll persona. He’d rather be at home with his garden. When he gets home from tour he finds his gardener has had a heart attack and Simon, his grandson, is helping him out. Simon’s different to Fred. He talks, for a start. Martin and Fred have a perfectly functional friendship based on long silences and discussions about heritage vegetables. Simon talks about personal things as well. It makes Martin prickly.
Simon’s at a bit of a loss. He stepped up to help his grandfather whilst he was in hospital despite his misgivings about the absent Martin. But Fred clearly likes him, which is unusual. Fred prefers plants to people. That he actively likes a rock star who used to smash up hotel rooms is really strange. Simon’s reserving judgement. Apparently the band have a break in their tour coming up. He’ll see whether he can work for the man once he’s spent some time with him.
A tired rock star and a judgemental gardener...what could possibly go wrong?
Contents
About Reluctant Rockstar
Contents
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Chapter 1: Martin
Chapter 2: Simon
Chapter 3: Martin
Chapter 4: Simon
Chapter 5: Martin
Chapter 6: Simon
Chapter 7: Simon
Chapter 8: Martin
Chapter 9: Martin
Chapter 10: Simon
Chapter 11: Martin
Chapter 12: Simon
Chapter 13: Martin
Chapter 14: Simon
Chapter 15: Martin
Chapter 16: Simon
Chapter 17: Martin
Chapter 18: Simon
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Chapter 1: Martin
Martin was exhausted. He’d been hoping the Green Room was empty so he could sit in the quiet for a while and not have to think or engage with anyone. He really wasn’t up for any sort of argument.
However. The sound of a raised voice that penetrated into the corridor through the not-quite-shut door gave him the heads up that his solitary break wouldn’t be happening. He stood with his hand on the door handle, listening. It was Ken, he thought. He couldn’t make out the other voice.
He switched on his phone’s record function and held it to the crack in the door.
“I’ll go to the papers,” Ken was saying. “They’ll be interested to know the great Pete Heggarty is fucking a bloke!” He was slurring a bit. He did that a lot these days.
Heggarty...Martin presumed it was Heggarty...said something too quiet to hear. Ken’s voice got even louder. “You’ll sign up if you know what’s good for you. I’ve given you enough time to bring those dip-shit band members of yours round. Else everyone will know.”
Martin sighed and pushed open the door. “That’s enough,” he said quietly, with as much authority as he could summon. He stepped into the small room. “Ken. You’re fired. Get your things and leave. I’m emailing the agency now saying you’re no longer our manager. I’m citing bullying and intimidation.”
Ken opened his mouth to reply, but Martin held up his phone. “I recorded you. Out.” He jabbed at the open door into the corridor behind him with a vicious thumb.
Ken paused, clearly thinking about making something of it, took another look at Martin’s expression, and shot out the door, muttering under his breath.
Martin looked at Pete Heggarty, sat in one of the saggy armchairs of the Green Room. He looked irritated, but not distressed. “How long’s that been going on?” he asked him, closing the door behind him and then flopping loose-limbed and tired into the neighboring armchair. He rested his head back against the chair cushions. God, that was good.
Heggarty sighed, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “A couple of months,” he said. “Since we started the tour, more or less.” He paused and then added, “Thanks. I was getting to the stage where thumping him was beginning to look like the only way to shut him up. He wouldn’t leave it.”
“My pleasure,” Martin said, trying to cover up his exhaustion with the whole situation. Not just today...but the whole tour. His whole professional life. “Arsehole. I’ve not been happy with him for months...he’s got a coke habit that would put a member of parliament to shame and I think he’s started gambling. I stopped trusting him when someone came round last year debt collecting for some online casino. No loss. Although now I need to find us a new manager. I’ve been putting it off, that’s all.”
“He wanted me to sign us up with them on a ridiculously prescriptive contract,” Heggarty said, coming alive a bit and sitting forward in the chair to put his elbows on his knees. “It’s not just me that makes choices for Heggarty’s Bow though—even if I cared that he’d out me to the press as bi. Try that blackmail shit with Lindy and he’d end up with a broken nose.”
Martin stifled a snort. “I didn’t think you were exactly closeted anyway,” he said.
“Well no. I just do my thing,” Heggarty said. “You’re right...he must have been permanently high as a kite not to notice it wasn’t the lever he thought it was.”
He paused.
“I haven’t had the chance to thank you for picking us up as your support on this tour,” he finally went on slightly more awkwardly, rubbing his hands on his jeans-clad knees. “Er. I...we...we really appreciate it. It’s our big break.”
Martin shook his head, uncomfortable with the thanks. “No,” he said, “that’s all right. Don’t thank me. It’s mutually beneficial, after all. Lots of fans are buying tickets to see you, rather than us. Another couple of years and you’ll be headlining and we’ll be supporting you.” He grinned at Heggarty reassuringly. “That’s the way these things go.”
Heggarty nodded, accepting the brush-off gracefully. “You’re right,” he said. “But still. We’re having a great time. It’s a whole new world for us; we’ve not worked with anyone as big as the Lizards before. Quite the eye-opener.” He grinned at Martin. “Even if the wild-boys reputation doesn’t seem to be all it’s cracked up to be.”
Martin laughed. “Maybe when we were younger,” he said. “But these days...after we lost Dave...the rest of us decided to rein things in a bit.”
Heggarty nodded. “I can see that,” he said.
Martin shivered, remembering. Dave had like to party. Drowning in a swimming pool whilst high had made him a footnote in the annals of rock history and landed the Purple Lizards with a reputation for wild behaviour that still followed them fifteen years later.
“These days...” Martin said. “These days it’s a job more than anything. We’re all about the music. And in between, I like to go home and look after my garden.” He shot Heggarty a tired sideways grin. “Don’t tell the press, though,” he said.
Heggarty laughed. “Your secret’s safe with me,” he said. He looked at his watch. “I need to go and find the others,” he said. “I suppose we should actually talk about getting a manager at this point, rather than sorting things out ourselves.”
Martin sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “I did find it freed up quite a bit of space in my head when we handed the booking and admin over to someone else. That’s a conversation I need to have with Ginny and Pin and Crow as well now.” He pulled a face. “We were already kicking a change around... I was going to get Steve Petrie over for a chat at some point. No time like the present. Do you want a chat with him too?”
“Steve Petrie? He’s a bit high-powered for us I should think.”
Martin shook his head. “Nah, mate. Don’t sell yourself short. No harm meeting him and sizing him up. He’s a nice guy—he’ll tell you straight whether he thinks you’re a good fit.”
Heggarty nodded. “If you don’t mind, then yes please,” he said. “I’ll go and tell the others. Hopefully Ken will have got enough of a head start that Lindy won’t be up on charges for assault.”
Martin chuckled quietly as the other man left the room. He hadn’t spent much time with the members of Heggarty’s Bow, but they seemed like nice kids. They did appear very much like kids to him though...a good fifteen years younger than Martin’s colleagues, mid-twenties at the most. Not the crazy rock-and-roll stereotypes the Purple Lizards had been at that age. He shuddered. He didn’t ever want to go back to that. It hadn’t been a good time.
He was looking forward to this break in the tour before they did the Japanese leg. Three weeks home with his garden and the soothing company of Fred his elderly gardener was just what the doctor ordered to get over his irritation with Ken and the impending exhaustion that inevitably came with a long tour. And this was a big one. It was true what he’d told Pete Heggarty...Heggarty’s Bow were crowd-pullers, with a large and growing fan base. The Lizards had been lucky to get them as a support band. In another couple of years they’d be headlining this sort of tour.
Martin wished he wasn’t so permanently fed up with it all. All the time he was on tour he craved the peace and quiet of his home; and when he was at home he dreaded going out on tour again. Anyway. It w
There, that should put the cat among the pigeons. He stood by for the first irate text, but Pin beat Ginny to it and rang him. He grinned as he picked up the call. “Coffee?” he said.
“Yeah, you bet,” Pin said. “That man was always an arsehole and he’s only got worse over the last couple of years. Crow and I are in the coffee shop over the road from the venue. Want to meet us there? I’ll message Ginny.”
“Sure,” Martin said. “I’m on my way.”
No solitary time for him today.
Chapter 2: Simon
Simon was trying to fix the leak in the greenhouse irrigation when he heard someone come in through the open door.
“Gramps?” he called out, doubtfully. It was unlikely his grandmother would let his grandfather walk this far though. He’d not been out of hospital long enough to satisfy her, even if he felt up to it.
“Who’s there?” a voice answered him. “Fred?” the man said cautiously.
Simon stood up from behind the row of aubergines, brushing off his knees. “No,” he said, peering over them at the man in the doorway, who was looking at him with alarm. “Fred’s grandson. Simon.” He stepped carefully between the plants and extended a hand to the man looking at him dubiously. “Fred...did Gran contact you? Moira, I mean?”
The man must be Marty Lizard. Simon wasn’t sure whether that was a stage name or not, his Grandad just called him Martin. Simon hadn’t met him in person, although he’d seen him on telly...he was hot as fuck when he performed and teenage-Simon would have had to confess to having a few posters up on his bedroom walls.
But adult-Simon didn’t know what he looked like without all that make-up he wore on stage and for interviews and appearances. This bloke was unassuming, of medium height with brown hair and brown eyes; and a mobile mouth that was curled unhappily into a frown at the moment. But there was no-one else it could be, surely? Who else would wander out to the greenhouses at Sandiford and expect to find Fred?
The man was still looking at Simon cautiously, not taking his outstretched palm, his own hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. Simon dropped his hand.
“Where’s Fred?” the man said after a sizeable silence as they assessed each other. “Is he all right? No-one’s been in touch.”
“Er. Right. Okay.” Simon rubbed his hands over his face before he remembered they were muddy. Bollocks. Way to go to make a good first impression on the rock god, Si. “He’s all right. At least, he’s all right now. He had a heart attack a couple of weeks ago. Not a big one.”
Marty paled. “A heart attack?” he asked, his voice tight, clearly missing Simon’s modifier about Fred being okay now.
“Shit,” Simon said, stepping up and taking his elbow. “Come outside and sit down, it’s really hot in here...” He guided him out to the bench set against the garden wall, grabbing his rucksack from the floor by the door as he did so. “Here, sit,” he said, pushing him a little until his knees folded. “You are Marty Lizard, yes?” he finally thought to query as he knelt on the ground beside him, fumbling in his bag for his water bottle.
The man nodded. Well, that was one thing Simon didn’t have to worry about, anyway. “Here,” he said, unscrewing the cap and thrusting the bottle at him. “Have some water. I’m sorry, I shocked you. He’s okay. He’s out of hospital. He’s going to be fine.”
Marty took a big gulp of the water and then another smaller one, surreptitiously wiping his eyes. Simon pretended not to notice. He’d had the same reaction when his grandmother had phoned him the day it had happened. “So, what?” he said. “Fred shipped you in to cover so his beloved plants didn’t die?” He was attempting a smile to cover the shock and Simon returned it.
“That’s it. And your beloved plants, too.” One of the reasons Fred was so keen on Marty was because he was as obsessed with gardening as the old man himself. Simon found it unlikely given his career choice; but Fred was adamant the man had green fingers. “Gran’s put her foot down. He’s got to pace himself, listen to the therapists they’ve referred him to, and only eat fry-ups on special occasions.”
“When did it happen?” Marty took another swig from the bottle and handed it back to Simon, who wiped the neck and took a drink himself before putting the lid back on and dropping it into the bag at his feet.
“Er...” Simon counted days as he got himself off the dusty ground by Marty’s feet and sat beside him on the bench. “Sunday last week. So ten days. He wasn’t in long...they let him out on Friday with a big bag of drugs, a list of appointments, and instructions to take it easy.”
Marty laughed. “I bet he’s not happy with that.”
“Nope,” Simon said, popping the ‘p’.
Marty laughed again. He had a nice laugh.
He pushed his hair off his face and turned toward Simon, offering his hand. “Martin Porter,” he said. “Marty Lizard is a stage name, if you hadn’t realised. My friends call me Martin.”
“Simon Fielding,” Simon responded. “Si. I’m sorry I gave you a shock.” Martin’s hand was cool and firm and he could feel the guitar callouses on his fingers.
“No, it’s all right,” Martin said, releasing him. “I was on edge because I could see that you weren’t Fred, through the aubergines. I was worried I’d have to deal with a prowler. And then yeah, you took me by surprise. My own fault for being on a hair trigger though.”
Simon shook his head. “I can see how you would be,” he said, “given your situation. Fred says you get the occasional person snooping about?”
“Yeah, I do. I’m as low-key as possible, but if people want to find out your address there’s always a way. ‘Specially in these internet days. Fred’s the one who usually comes across them though.” He smiled. “He mostly gets people gone before I even know about it, even when I’m here.”
“He told me the alarm codes and all that stuff,” Simon said. “I’ve been checking the house like he told me. Gran...Moira...said to tell you she’ll be back as usual to clean tomorrow, but, and I quote, she’s taken the week off to kick the stubborn old buzzard in to touch.”
Martin laughed again, a chuckle of genuine amusement. “They’re both very kind to me,” he said. “I really appreciate the fact that they’re so down to earth.”
Simon chuckled as well. “You can say that again,” he said. “My mother is appalled by them sometimes.” He sighed. “Although she was pretty appalled when I wanted to become a gardener and work with plants rather than a doctor or a solicitor. Talking of which. Were you looking for Fred for any particular reason? He basically rang me the day after he was admitted to hospital and said I should come and take over from him and not to bother you because you had a tough schedule on this tour. And I’m between jobs... I was working at a National Trust place but they laid staff off last month...so I bit his arm off.” He gestured admiringly. “You’ve got a lovely place here.”
It really was beautiful. It was a pocket-sized manor house with a couple of acres of grounds. Over the years, Fred and Martin had turned the walled garden and greenhouse into a well-oiled, sustainable fruit-and-veg operation. Fred took the produce to the food bank every week.
Martin shook his head. “No, only to let him know I was back and see how the new plants were doing.” He gestured to the greenhouse.
“Oh! Really well!” Simon got to his feet. This was his area... he could talk about heritage vegetables all day, much like his grandfather. And, apparently, Martin.
The other man got to his feet as well. “Talk me through it, then,” he said. “I’ve been away for three months. We were only discussing what to sow when I was last home.”
Chapter 3: Martin
It was a huge relief to finally be home, Martin thought, as he made his way back up to the house. He’d dumped his bags in the hall and gone straight out to find Fred for a dose of reality and to get some dirt on his fingers. Instead he’d found Simon and scared himself stupid for a moment, thinking something had happened to his old friend. He understood the impulse not to bother him whilst he was on tour...but it wasn’t as if a heart attack was a minor issue.
