Page 15 of The Reboot
‘It’d be different now, though, wouldn’t it? We’re older … wiser, hopefully.’
‘Hmm.’ Roly wasn’t so sure about the wiser part. Growing up inside Oh Boy! wasn’t the same as growing up in the real world. They’d been exposed to a lot of stuff, of course, that most kids their age never got to experience. They’d travelled the world, meeting presidents and prime ministers, soaking up different cultures and partying with rock legends and movie stars. There’d been cocaine and Kristal, and exotic food that his mum and nan had never even heard of. But they’d been shielded from a lot of stuff too. He’d only realised once he’d been kicked out how cocooned he’d been in ways, how ill equipped he was to function in normal life. It had been too much too fast, and at the same time too little, too late.
‘Anyway,’ Charlie said, ‘I thought you had a right to know, so you won’t be blindsided if you see it on social media or something.’
‘Thanks. I appreciate it.’
‘And maybe Zack will still call you.’
‘I don’t see that happening. What about Vince? Will he be involved?’
‘Of course.’ Charlie rolled his eyes. ‘As if we could make a move without our puppet-master.’
‘Well, I guess that’s me out, then.’ Vince, the man who’d made and managed them, was a ruthless music mogul, who’d never forgiven Roly for fucking up.
‘Would you even want to do it?’ Charlie asked.
‘Yes, I would.’
‘Really?’
‘Like you say, it’d be different now. I’m not going to go off the rails again at this stage. And it’d be fun, all of us back together. I mean we had a laugh, didn’t we?’
‘You’re only remembering the good parts – how it was at the start.’
‘Maybe. But even so, worst-case scenario, it’s just a job, and there are a lot harder ways of making money. Any job has good and bad parts. Besides, I could really do with the money.’
‘Yeah, I heard what happened with Marty.’ Charlie threw him a sympathetic look. ‘That sucks.’
‘It really does.’ But maybe his mum had been right about something turning up. An Oh Boy! reunion might be the miracle he needed. He just had to do whatever it took to make sure he was part of it – even if it meant sucking up to Zack.
5
When he got homethat night, Roly flopped on the sofa and took out his phone to check out Twitter and Instagram – just a quick look, he told himself. He’d mostly managed to stay away from social media lately. He knew no good ever came of it. But every so often he couldn’t resist and went back to scrolling through his feed, looking for mentions of him or the band, checking to see if anyone was talking about him and what they were saying. He also had a bad habit of hate-stalking Zack, even though everything the twat posted only enraged him. He jumped on every trending hashtag and espoused every topical cause going. He was a self-styled hero of feminism one week, a staunch critic of racism in the music industry the next, an ally to the dispossessed and disadvantaged. He was always pontificating sanctimoniously about one thing or another, though his ‘activism’ seemed to mainly consist in wearing T-shirts printed with various trite slogans. Roly doubted the dickhead could even spell ‘feminism’.
When he started typing ‘Oh Boy’ into the search bar on Twitter, it immediately autofilled with a list of hashtags – alongside the usual and unsurprising #Ohboy, there was #Ohboyreunion. There was nothing particularly significant about the fact that that was trending. The fans had been speculating about one practically from the moment the band broke up, constantly sending their baseless longings out into the ether, and every so often a rumour would surface that seemed to have more substance to it. Fans would pick up on something one of the band had tweeted or said in an interview, and they’d be off, reading meaning into every glance or soundbite, weaving together a story from a random collection of social media posts and interview comments, forensically examining every statement and photograph for evidence to back up their theory.
That seemed to be what was happening now, and he spent the next couple of hours following the thread of the story. The fans were avidly piecing together clues, working themselves up into a fever about it. It all seemed to have been sparked by a casual throwaway remark of Zack’s on some chat show about ‘all the lads’ having been in touch again recently. Yeah, notallthe lads, Zack. But the band members themselves seemed to be at it now too, dropping coy hints on their Instas and Twitter, posting cryptic messages to each other on their public platforms. He was tempted to post a few bitter subtweets aimed at them, and to make some cryptic posts of his own.
At least the fans hadn’t forgotten him. There was plenty of chatter about whether he’d rejoin the band for any potential comeback, lots of them fervently wishing and hoping for his return and saying it wouldn’t be the same without him. He was touched by how often his name came up, showered with heart emojis and kisses. God, he loved his fans – well, maybe not the ones who’d written fan fiction about him and Zack getting it on (eww!), which Zack had insisted on reading out sometimes when they were all stoned. It was excruciating. Not even the drugs could dull the toe-curling horror of the images that story had planted in his brain.
Eventually he managed to tear himself away from his obsessive scrolling, tossing his phone on the couch in disgust. But then he turned on the TV and started looking through YouTube. It had been years since he’d gone down this particular rabbit hole. It made him melancholy and nostalgic, but, once he started, he couldn’t seem to tear himself away, watching old music videos, interviews, snippets of live performances…
It had been years since he’d seen the video for their first single ‘Cool Like You’. Objectively, he knew it was corny and clichéd, the five of them horsing around on the beach, dancing in the waves. But he had no detachment from it now. Watching it wasn’t like remembering; it was as if he was there, living it again. He could feel the sting of the icy water on his legs, taste the salty ozone of the air, and his heart raced once more with the heady mixture of nerves and excitement that they were actually doing this – they were making a video for their single. It had been so muchfun– five young guys, just goofing off. It had been hard work too, but, at the same time, it had seemed laughable to call it work when they were having such a fucking blast.
There was Zack, lying down on the sand, letting the waves wash over him. Prick! He always had to go one better than the rest of them, push things further, incessantly pulling focus and hogging the limelight. But he was just a kid, Roly thought, feeling a strange wave of tenderness towards him – just a skinny young kid like the rest of them, five teenagers who’d lucked out and couldn’t believe that this was their life. They looked like utter gobshites, and it was so beautiful he wanted to cry.
Even though it made him ache with longing and loss, he couldn’t tear his eyes away, and he watched video after video – live shows, interviews, TV appearances, awards ceremonies. The songs were mostly crap, the melodies so simple and catchy that they were irritating by the second listen, and the choreography was embarrassing. They looked like twats doing the ridiculous dance routines, or clutching their hearts as they powered through schmaltzy ballads, their faces contorted into earnest pantomimes of devotion and heartache that they’d never actually experienced. Yet somehow the energy was beautiful, and it touched him as he watched and watched, wallowing in the nostalgia, tears rolling down his face.
His eyes started to droop over footage of a concert at the Aviva. It had been a brilliant gig, a triumphant homecoming at the end of a hugely successful European tour, and they were all on a high. But there was a nauseating lurch in the pit of his stomach as other memories crept in. It was just before Christmas, so he’d been staying in Dublin for a few days, and he’d met up with Ella the following night. It was the first time in ages they’d been out together, just the two of them. She’d worn a sparkly silver dress, and those thick black tights she was so fond of. She’d looked amazing, and he’d been a total prick to her.
He’d been at the height of his asshat phase. He’d taken her to some pretentious bar on the quays, and spent all night snorting coke in the loos and boasting about the band to her. It was all a bit hazy, but he knew he’d been off his head, all pumped up on chemically induced arrogance and free-floating spite. He’d been full of his own importance, showing off about his money and fame, trying to impress her with what a big deal he was.
She was in Trinity and she was seeing some guy, he recalled. She’d seemed really excited about it all. But he’d hardly listened when she tried to tell him about it. He couldn’t even remember what she was studying. Philosophy, maybe? As he thought about it now, he realised he’d felt resentful of her that night. He couldn’t for the life of him fathom why, because he’d been on top of the world then – he was in the biggest boy band on the planet, rolling in cash, travelling the world, living in five-star hotels … Everything he could wish for was on offer. The world was one giant buffet of money, sex and drugs, all his for the taking. His life was amazing.
But he hadn’t felt it, he realised now. He’d had this incredible life, but it didn’t touch him. He’d felt remote from it, jaded, empty and joyless. It was like fireworks were going off all around him, but he couldn’t catch a spark. Whereas Ella … she’d positively glowed when she spoke about her studies, her new boyfriend, her part-time job in some crummy cafe … He saw now that he’d envied her. Because he’d had it all, but she was the one who was happy. She was enjoying her life, and he wasn’t. So he’d tried to shit all over it and make her feel small. He couldn’t recall exactly what he’d said, but he was sure it would have been mean, belittling and thoroughly nasty, because that was him, back then. It was no wonder she’d given up on him and cut him out of her life.
He’d never really understood why they’d kept in touch since school in the first place – just that sometimes he felt the need to talk to her and only she would do. They’d only seen each other a handful of times over the years, and their friendship had always seemed tenuous at best – not built to last. So it hadn’t been a surprise when they’d finally drifted apart. It had seemed inevitable, just a matter of time, and he knew it was his fault when it finally ended.
