Page 43 of Marley
“Yeah, I know, Dad, I know. Listen, I’ve got a meeting about to start, so I’ll call her or pop into the shop to see her when I get a chance. And I’ll get Jim to ring her ... Yep. See ya later, Dad.”
“What was that all about?” I asked straight away.
“Hello, Len. How are you today, Len? Yeah, I’m great, Marls, how are you doing, mate?” My brother’s tone dripped with sarcasm.
“Fuck off, Len. I only saw you last night. What’s the ol’ man want?”
He let out a long breath and threw the pen he was fiddling with on his desk. His eyes move from mine to Maca’s.
“Georgia’s being a princess about what car she wants.”
“I thought Jim said he’d bought her a beamer?” I questioned. If my dad wouldn’t buy her the car she wanted, then I would. It was the very least I could do.
“She doesn’t want a beamer, she wants a Triumph Herald,” Maca said from beside me, “with a sunroof.”
Len’s eyebrows shot up. “How the fuck d’ya know that?” He asked. Yeah, how did he know that?
“It’s what she’s always wanted. I always planned on buying it for her.” He looked between the two of us as he talked.
“Burnt orange and black, Triumph Herald with a sunroof and one of those fake walnut interiors.” He informed us.
“Well, where the fuck is the ol’ man gonna pluck one of them from?” I asked.
“He can’t, that’s the problem,” Len states.
“I’ll find one.” Maca interrupts. “Call your dad and tell him I’ll find one, even if I have to get it shipped from another country. I’ll find one in the best nick I can, but check that his boys will be okay spraying it if I can’t get the colour she wants.”
Len and I looked at each other in silence for a few seconds. I was hoping he was thinking the same thing as me. I shrugged my shoulders to let Len know that I wasn’t gonna be the one to tell him.
“Mac, look mate...” Len started and then looked to me for help.
“Don’t tell her. I know she won’t accept it if she knows it’s from me, so just don’t tell her.”
Len and I mirrored each other’s movements as we both sat back in our chairs.
“You sure, mate?” Len asked. “The ol’ man’s had his feelers out for the last month or so, and he’s come up with nothing. You gonna have time to do the same? Sounds like a bit of a mission to me?”
“I’ll find time,” Maca said quietly. “I’d really like to do this for her.”
I spent the next few weeks travelling the country, trying to find that poxy car for my sister. Maca was obsessed with getting one in time for my dad to present to her on her eighteenth birthday.
With four days to spare, we found the perfect car. The colours weren’t right, but the interior was spot on. Maca paid for someone to drive it down from Northampton to one of my dad’s blokes in Bethnal Green the same day. The boys worked on it ‘round the clock and on the 24thof September, my sister got the car of her dreams.
Not invited to the birthday celebrations, Maca and I went to our local pub, got completely smashed and staggered home with just each other, two chicken tikka masala’s, two keema naans, and a large rice for company.
It was after that night that I noticed a bit of a change in Maca. I wouldn’t call it an improvement really, just a change. Instead of seeming as though he was permanently grieving what he’d lost with my sister, for a while he just became angry.
We had some time off until the following spring, in which we took a holiday in Barbados over Christmas, rather than me going home and Maca spending it alone like he had the previous year. We bought ourselves a building in the Docklands area of East London and contracted my dad’s building firm to renovate the old warehouse for us and turn it into nine apartments. The entire top floor was being turned into the penthouse that Maca and I would share. We also started work on songs for our next album.
We were booked in for studio time in early March, but Maca had been writing as far back as the end of the U.S. tour so we rented a hall not far from the studios where we could leave our gear set up and create the music to go with the songs Maca had come up with.
Outside of the band, we rarely saw Billy and Tom. They were both married with babies on the way in the summer. We were all amicable with each other, but apart from the music, we just didn’t have anything in common. Maca and I were both single and out and about at least four nights a week, attending events, parties, the opening of an envelope even. We were there, usually with a few pretty girls on our arms.
There was a never ending supply of women, all nameless and faceless; one blurring much into the other. We still had the occasional three way and the odd all-out orgy, but not at any stage did either of us meet anyone that made us want to go back for seconds. We were kings of the double F... Fuck and Forget ‘em should’ve been tattooed on our foreheads, or our foreskin for that matter, because no matter how many times we told the girls, how clearly we spelled it out, they just wouldn’t listen.
I arrived at rehearsals late one morning and when I walked into the hall, I could hear Tom and Billy in conversation.
“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with the lyrics, although I fail to see how it will ever get airtime on mainstream radio. What I’m saying is that Marley ain’t gonna like it, neither will Len, for that matter.” Tom stated before taking a long draw on his cigarette.
