FicWad

‘And… and then she… she…’
‘She what?’
‘She got him to sing for the camera!’

Peals of laughter rang from the coach as it sped down the highway. The bags were all packed and everyone had left for the airport, excited for the rest of the tour. Having been uplifted and fired up by getting back to work on the album Patrick had decided to sit and chat with The Academy Is on the way to the airport, and they were having a whale of a time. The journey had consisted mostly of studio talk, ‘party tricks’ (Mike had shown them about ten times how he could roll his tongue into a clover shape), and now William’s revelation about a drunken Sisky and an unfortunate interviewer.

‘Yeah, well… she appreciated my talent.’
‘Ah, come on man, you sang… oh, what was it… Abba! The Winner Takes It All! Yes!’
‘Hey, can we have a repeat performance, huh?’
‘Oh no, don’t get him started! No, Adam!’

No sooner had the words left Butcher’s mouth than Sisky had launched into a brand new Abba repertoire, complete with attempts at the top opera notes. It was no surprise, then, that everyone was relieved to arrive at the airport and bundle out of the coach leaving the poor driver stuck inside while Sisky paid the fare.

The guys grabbed their bags and headed inside, all the while laughing and chatting and making edits to the album which they’d have to remember for later. The bags went through; boarding passes were checked; the whole entourage made their way out to the plane. Patrick made his way towards the back with the others, and took a seat next to William as the air hostesses went through the motions.

‘I can’t wait to get home, man. Well, I know it’s not home any more, but… it’ll be great to see all the old haunts.’
‘Yeah, totally. My mom’s missed me too.’
‘Hah, my parents have been calling me for weeks now!’

The conversation continued for a little while as the plane climbed above the clouds into the brilliant blue sky. But after a while they began to tire, and William leaned his head against the window for a little nap. Patrick lay back and closed his eyes too, for once not plugging himself into his iPod, and allowed himself to take in the quiet hum of the plane.

‘…and I don’t even know what’s gonna happen with him. He won’t know what’s going on… Every time I’m not thinking about her I see his face, all sad and…’

A snatch of conversation came to Patrick’s attention. He strained his ears to catch some more of it… but couldn’t hear anything. He eventually resorted to straining his neck to see down the aisle. Pete was sat across from him, a couple of rows in front, muttering away to Andy next to him. He had his typical ‘sad Pete’ face on: a completely blank expression, except for slightly sunken eyes. Patrick frowned to himself.

What’s going on?

He watched as they carried on the conversation for a while longer. Suddenly Andy stood up and edged past Pete’s seat, patting him on the shoulder before heading down to the bathroom at the front of the plane. After a few seconds Patrick rose from his own seat and walked down the aisle, sitting in the vacant space next to Pete. He was listening to something on his iPod, staring vacantly out of the window, completely unaware that Patrick was there… until he felt a tap on his shoulder.

He frowned at the warm smile that greeted him… which faded rapidly.
‘What do you want, Patrick?’
‘I – I just – wondered if you were OK…’
‘Do I look OK?’
Patrick blinked, feeling a little hurt at Pete’s hostility.
‘Alright, I was only askin’…’
There was a small silence, in which Pete turned back towards the window and sighed.
‘It’s just you seem so… upset. Did everything go OK with Ashlee and Bronx?’
‘Surprised you noticed,’ Pete muttered under his breath.
‘What? Pete, why didn’t you come and talk to me about it?’
‘You know what, Patrick?’ Pete turned round again angrily. ‘After they left I came looking for you. I looked absolutely everywhere. But I couldn’t find you anywhere. Several times I tried calling you, and not once did you answer. So then I get on the coach, and there you are at the back, laughing away with all your new chums.’
‘Pete, don’t start this again–’
‘Hey, shut up. I’m not done yet. So then we get to the airport, and I call after you but no, you rush ahead without a backwards glance. So how could I have talked to you, huh? How could I when other people are taking your attention all the time?’

Patrick licked his lips nervously. OK, maybe he hadn’t been there a lot recently… and maybe he should have been there when Pete’s family had left, just to be someone to cheer him up… but he was overreacting again! The whole jealousy thing was beginning to annoy him. They were grown adults, for goodness’ sake.

Pete was watching him, shaking his head slightly.
‘And just so you know, no, things weren’t OK. Things were terrible. But I’m not telling you the whole story all over again.’
‘Pete, come on!’
‘You can ask Andy if you wanna know. Here he comes.’ Pete switched on his iPod and turned back to the window resolutely. ‘He’s a better listener than you’ll ever be.’
Andy arrived and slid back into his seat.
‘Hey, Patrick.’

Patrick smiled in response. There was a little silence. He was dying to know what had happened, wanting to cheer him up… but he knew it would be stupid to ask Andy to relay the story with Pete sitting in between them moodily. And that last comment had hurt Patrick. Pete had always come to him and told him everything. Sure, he knew Andy was good with advice, but he’d always tell Patrick too. And he’d always listen to whatever Pete had to say, even if it was complete nonsense.

Realising he wasn’t getting anywhere, he stood up and made his way back to his seat, where he sat miserably and stared at the feathery clouds for the rest of the flight.

********************************

The new buses were everything they’d hoped for: clean, comfortable, fairly roomy, with huge windows made of dark glass. Everyone piled onto their own buses to quickly write up a set list, and then try out the new bunks with well-earned naps. Since it was usually Andy’s job to write up the set list, Patrick thought it wise to leave him alone for the time being. Instead he retreated to his bunk, watching the rain run down the windows and staring at the Chicago skyline.

Being home at last, on a kind of whistle-stop tour of all the familiar places he’d grown up in, and being tucked up in bed on a drizzly autumn day made Patrick feel quite drowsy. He pulled the duvet tighter round himself, and soon enough felt himself fall into a pleasant sleep.

Various bizarre dreams came and went as he dozed: he visited the sky monkeys and played with them in their foam mansion; he went ice-skating with his brother and found a lost cat, which they proceeded to eat for breakfast; he watched the Northern Lights, complete with rainbow rabbits darting around the sky and a Bach symphony playing in the background. But one dream struck him much harder than the others…

The path was desolate, dry, and so long. Patrick had been treading this path for such a long time now, and as he looked up at the heavy clouds he wondered when it would finally start to rain. The fields either side of him were bare and grey, with nothing to quench his thirst; and although huge clouds had gathered, the heat was oppressive and uncomfortable.

He stopped and looked up, shifting his backpack and breathing heavily. Ahead of him, about two hundred metres away, were two gates. Both looked identical, both were dull and wooden… but the scenery beyond them was so different. Behind the left gate was a rolling meadow, full of fresh, dewy grass and daisies. The sun was setting gently, leaving the sky an orange glow, and some brown cows grazed lazily, standing by a little lake. But behind the right gate the scenery was… wild. The trees twisted into amazing shapes, there were all sorts of cubby holes to explore, stars streaking across a pitch black sky, fish jumping up a huge cascading waterfall, the moonlight twinkling on their silver backs.

Patrick stood there, shifting his weight from foot to foot, trying to decide. Both were equally fascinating. But he knew that ‘both’ wasn’t an option. Only one of them could be visited. But which?...

All of a sudden, he knew. The left gate looked promising, much more inviting than the right. Patrick had no idea why… Perhaps it was that the right side looked cold, dark, scary. The left side looked so calm, so pleasant. He could see himself spending a night in that field.

He edged forward slowly, taking the left fork in the path, and took the gate off the latch. It swung open gently, and Patrick took in the natural, pungent scent of wet grass…

FLASH.

Patrick’s eyes jolted open. It took him a minute to realise that he was no longer in a field, but rather on a bus in Chicago. The other dreams had been trivial, but the last one… Patrick felt it had some meaning. He lay still in the bed for a few minutes (realising in the back of his mind that they’d arrived at the venue) and tried to decipher his dream… but nothing came to him. He sighed, stretched a little, and reluctantly climbed out of the warm bed in search of the others, shaking his head slightly as he left the bunk area.

********************************

A few hours later, and Fall Out Boy were setting up backstage, moments away from performing. They stood at the door listening to the end of Panic! At The Disco’s set, and heard the screams of their home town as Brendon wrapped things up. It was time for the high-five ritual.

Every night before they played, the band members would all high-five each other as a good luck charm. It had made sure things ran smoothly… usually. But tonight as they went through it, Pete made no effort to look at Patrick. A limp slap of his hand, and he was away, grabbing his bass and running on stage. Patrick frowned… but shook it off.

No way is he ruining a gig at home. Just forget about him, man. If he wants to be all arrogant then that’s his prerogative, not yours.

They got into their set with Sugar We’re Goin’ Down, followed up by Saturday, then I Don’t Care, w.a.m.s, A Little Less Sixteen Candles… Everything was going brilliantly, everyone was loving it. Patrick himself was in high spirits. But, niggling away at the back of his mind, were Pete’s comments.

Surprised you noticed.
Things weren’t OK. Things were terrible.
He’s a better listener than you’ll ever be.

He looked over at Pete between songs… but Pete could be quite an actor when he wanted to be. There was no sign of anything wrong. But Patrick noticed after the show that he hadn’t come over at all. Almost every night it would happen: Pete would wander across the stage to whisper something funny in his ear, rest his head on his shoulder, maybe even kiss him if the right crowd was there and the opportunity arose. He knew Patrick got unnerved, but it was how they worked. But tonight… nothing.

And it continued. For the next few days there was nothing. No conversation, no tap on the shoulder, no interaction on stage, not even a wounded glance. Pete kept himself to himself, and by this time Patrick couldn’t have cared less. He visited The Academy Is’ bus more and more often. The studio sessions went ahead, and he and William went out for a drink afterwards. The long nights returned, but instead of writing and recording, they were filled with watching films, playing video games, talking and laughing long into the night.

One evening they were in New York. Another show had gone ahead with no banter between the two frontmen, and Pete was retreating back to the bus with a copy of a tabloid magazine. He climbed the steps into the warm lounge and searched the cupboards for some bottles of beer, cracking one open and slumping on the couch to read it. It was all the energy he could muster that night, and he was using it to get drunk and read trash. What a waste of time, he thought to himself fleetingly, but soon buried himself in the magazine.

A few beers and fifty pages later, he almost dropped the paper in shock. There, smack bang in the centre of the page, were Patrick and William. They looked a little drunk themselves, holding on to each other and pulling faces at the camera, looking funny because of the height difference. Pete searched Patrick’s face (quite a feat in his tipsy state) and saw how happy he looked, how natural, even in the presence of the paparazzi.

Pete slammed the paper onto the sofa and stood up, filled with anger. There was only one thing for it. He grabbed his hoodie and zipped it up tight, before throwing the door open and storming off. William’s bus was right ahead.