Rat Tale (Sorry Andy Taylor)

Chapter 1

I set my guitar, protected by the battered plastic case, down on the rough concrete outside the warehouse, and I waited for the rest of the band to arrive. To pass the time, I lit myself a cigarette. Even this early in the morning, the heat was stifling and rose off the tarmac and corrugated walls, making it almost unbearable. That was pretty unusual for Cullercoats. Such a shame, considering how convenient it was to practice here; it was quiet and nobody disturbed us, no matter how loud we were being.

Eventually, Mick (the bassist) showed. He was lugging along his instrument too, but it didn't prove too difficult for him. Mick's other hobby was hanging out with a set of dumbbells, and I often joined him.

"Hey Andy," he took a position beside me and lit a cigarette from my own, "how's it hanging?"

I grinned.

"Slightly to the left."

He chuckled at our ongoing joke, even thought this must've been the hundredth time we'd said it. By now, it was tradition. However, we fell silent after that, not having much to say to each other; the silence would've been awkward if we weren't long-time friends.

Eventually, the third band member decided to show up, and pulled up in his beaten-up looking van. Despite being an alright guy, Eric wasn't on great terms with us presently, but he sure did know how to bang those drums, and we were eternally grateful. Plus, he had a car to carry all the electrical equipment in, and we didn't.

I dropped my cigarette on the floor and put it out with my foot.

In the sweltering heat, we unloaded the amps, cables and the drum kit, and carried them into the warehouse. The door opened jerkily, revealing the inside. It was cool and dark - a perfect contrast to the scalding street. After we'd positioned all our stuff in a satisfactory way, I collapsed onto the dusty sofa with a cold drink from Eric's van.

"It's too hot today," Eric sighed, flopping down next to me.

I just nodded, my eyes closed.

"I might not even practice, I don't really feel like it" he admitted.

I sat bolt upright.

"Are you serious? I bunked off work today to practice with you, and make sure we're perfect before our next tour! Which is very soon, if you hadn't noticed! I can't afford to do it again, I'll get fired!"

Eric gave me a questioning look, like he was judging me, and anger boiled up inside. Somehow, I managed to control it.

"Andy," he started patronisingly, "it's not a proper tour, is it? We're a shitting cover band for fuck's sake, keeping some old men vaguely entertained in some clubs-"

I cut him off with a glare. With a flash of fury, I gripped the threadbare sofa cushion, in an effort to stop myself from hitting him square between the eyes. Or somewhere else where it'd hurt even more.

"What's your problem, Eric?" I shot back, voice positively dripping with anger, "if you don't want to be in this band, you can leave whenever you want. You don't seem very committed."

As soon as the words had left my lips, I regretted it. What the hell was that for? We needed Eric for the band's next tour, which was merely weeks away. Even if we were a 'shitting cover band', it was still important. Money is money.

My not-so-great friend returned the hate-filled stare I'd doled out earlier, then rose to his feet.

"Eric, mate, where are you going?" I clamoured desperately. He couldn't leave us, not now! How would we find another drummer in a few weeks, and practice too? It was far too valuable to let him go. I had to stop him.

"Mate??" He hissed.

I gave him a reproachful look. It didn't work.

"I'm not your fucking mate," he didn't even look at me as he began to move his drums, which we'd only just put down, "and I'm leaving, since I'm welcome to at any point."

You could cut the tension in the air with a knife, and I cringed at Eric's words, dripping with sarcasm. Everything in the dingy warehouse stood completely still, and anger fizzed between us. Now was the time to drop the friendly thing I was attempting.

"Fine. Go. We can find another drummer for the tour." my words were cool and emotionless, but inside, my hot, white anger threatened to spill over.

Unsurprisingly, Eric had nothing to say to that. I didn't know how much longer I could hold back from knocking the wind out of him.

I'd had enough. With purpose and as much control as I could muster, I sprung to my feet, retrieved my own guitar and slung the case over my shoulder, wrapped my cable around it, and hoisted up the amp. Given my size, it was sickeningly heavy, and I had no idea how I was going to get all the way home with it, but I wouldn't let Eric see that. I'd leave with at least a little dignity left.

Eric exited with half of his drum kit to load it into his van. Still, no words passed between us.

Leaning against the wall nearby, Mick watched the whole situation unravel with wide eyes. I had no idea what he thought of it - probably not much, since he wasn't the brightest. But he was a decent guy, and I was sure he'd side with me.

Finally, as Eric was leaving with his last drum, he uttered something.

"I hope your two-man band goes well, Andy Taylor!"

Those words were full of loathing, anger and laughter. God I hated Eric. I flipped him off as he left.

Fuelled by strong emotion, I hefted all of my equipment out as quickly as possible, and I emerged into the bright daylight. I found myself blindly blundering along the concrete behind Eric's van as it pulled off, growing further and further away. I carried on even after it turned the corner and left me. Completely unaware of my actions, I continued to stumble and hurry, trying to push the emotions down so I didn't completely snap. I couldn't stop, I'd start thinking about what had happened.

But eventually, the sweltering heat broke it's tendrils through my haze of anger, and I had to stop in the shade under the ledge of another warehouse. I was panting heavily, unaware until now of how much I'd exerted myself. My arms ached terribly, so I dropped the equipment gently and rested against the cool wall behind me. The exhaustion got the better of me, and I slid down to rest on the floor, chest still rising and falling rapidly.

It was then I realised how much of an asshole I'd been.

Things had been getting tense between Eric and I for a little while now; we wanted different things for our band, and we never stopped arguing about it. Today was just another argument. But this time, I'd taken it too far, hadn't I? I'd suggested that he leave, and oh boy, he'd taken that opportunity.

Why did I never think before I spoke? God, I HATED not stopping for a second to collect my thoughts. I wouldn't be in this ridiculous situation right now if I had.

I ran a hand through my shoulder-length brown hair, checking that I hadn't messed THAT up too. I wouldn't be surprised. Luckily, though, it had escaped unscathed, so that I looked the part of a rocker, without my damn band.

Oh, and I'd left my other friend behind - all on his own - to go off on my own fruitless mission. What had I expected to do? Catch the man driving away in a car on foot, while I lugged a heavy guitar and it's equipment with me?

I really was a simpleton.